Author Archives: Jane Cable

SUNDAY SCENE: LAURA R LEESON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE VALENTINE RETREAT

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Twenty years ago, I spent time in California. As a naïve Brit, it was equal parts amazing and terrifying, and I remain fascinated by the diverse and nature of a society surprisingly different to our own. When it came to choosing a setting for my debut novel, Los Angeles seemed a natural choice – because rather like me, I wanted ex-pat Megan to find herself struggling to discover her place in an unfamiliar, challenging world.

Added to which, Megan is a survivor of a controlling relationship – what began as a fairy tale marriage to a high-profile, successful businessman has already disintegrated, so when she meets Jim on a weekend away at The Valentine Retreat, the last thing she thinks she’s looking for is romance.

The setting for a pivotal scene – where Megan tentatively looks to the future and begins to believe she might want it to include Jim – takes place in the hotel bar:

 

The pianist was in full flow as Megan entered the bar. His fingers moved across the keys with the kind of confidence only a seasoned professional possessed. The music he produced was quiet and understated, which was more than could be said for his shirt. The vibrant duck-egg blue and plum check of the fabric was highly visible under his beige linen suit, open at the neck and unapologetic.

Megan smiled. For the first time in such a long time, she felt a spike of anticipation about this evening.

The room was less populated this evening, the weekend buzz replaced by mellow groups seated at some of the low tables, visible through the waving fronds of the potted plants as she took a seat at the bar.

‘Hi.’
There was no need to turn, she recognised the voice. ‘Hi, Jim,’ she said as he shrugged his way out of his leather jacket. She looked more closely at his face. ‘What did you do?’
Jim’s hand travelled up, his fingers tracing over a small patch of damaged skin. ‘Would you believe me if I told you there were five of them and I took them all down single-handed?’
‘Um, no. Not really.’ Trying to appear serious, she couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.
‘Damn.’ He grinned. ‘Cut myself shaving.’
‘Does it hurt?’
‘It didn’t, until I put aftershave on without thinking.’ He pulled a face then shrugged. ‘A bit of pain reminds me I’m still alive.’
‘Do you need reminding?’ She kept her tone light, but it was a genuine question. She had spent months wondering if she was still alive.”

 

After living a lie for far too long, and desperate for honesty from others, this is the moment when Megan begins to believe in Jim. However, Megan’s past hasn’t finished with her, the hotel is not all it seems, and Jim is harbouring more than his fair share of secrets. Secrets which may cost them both a great deal more than their happiness.

In the time-honoured tradition of romantic suspense, The Valentine Retreat is a fast-paced and twisty novel, but at its heart lies the story of two people who just want to find someone to rely on, and trust with their deepest emotions.

 

For more information – please visit my website www.laurarleeson.com or search for me on social media @laura_R_Leeson

CARIADS’ CHOICE: FEBRUARY 2022 BOOK REVIEWS

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Paula Brackston’s The Little Shop of Found Things reviewed by Georgia Hill

Paula Brackston’s The Little Shop of Found Things appealed straightaway. Xanthe and her mother escape a troubled past to open an antiques shop. Xanthe is able to ‘read’ objects and a silver chatelaine reaches out to her with its story. She is compelled to travel back in time to 1605 in order to solve a cruel injustice. Paula throws a lot into the book: time travel, psychometry, antiques knowledge, ley lines, some gentle romance and a truly terrifying ghost. The depiction of the turbulent early seventeenth century is gritty and unflinching in all its misogynistic, violent glory and some parts of the book aren’t for the faint-hearted. The historical detail is superb, and the writing is richly detailed. I galloped through it. Recommended, especially if you are interested in early seventeenth century history.

 

Amanda James’ A Secret Gift reviewed by Jane Cable

Now who can resist a bit of Cornish magic? I certainly can’t but when Amanda James’ heroine, Joy, is first given the secret gift she really thinks she can. But meeting a young homeless man on the verge of suicide changes that, and begins to change Joy too.

This is a colourful book with an engaging cast of characters and a Cornwall I recognise. And as a resident of the county, that is a rare thing to find. It’s a place where real people live, and for me that gave the story a fantastic grounding, an effective counterpoint to the mystical, magical elements. But hey, this is Cornwall after all, so they could very well be real too. Read it and find out.

 

Emily Blaine’s The Bookshop of Forgotten Dreams reviewed by Angela Petch

Like eating whole bars of chocolate with whipped cream, I read this book as a kind of guilty pleasure. But how ridiculous is that attitude?

We all need love stories brimming with frisson and impossibility. And as an author, having a heroine who “thought about books every minute of the day… and talked about them just as much…”, who owns a quirky bookshop in a little town in France, and is a feisty heroine, … what’s not to like? She wraps books up as little mysteries and sells them as little temptations. I want to go to her town and buy several.

Enter the dastardly hero – a man who is a film idol, a heart throb, “the mad dog of the movies…” unstable with a fiery temper – is masterful – but a bit too much… and who is exiled to Sarah’s town by legal requirement.  Will 1 + 1 = 2??? Highly unlikely. Sarah thinks of men as “a little bit like heights. I knew they existed, and they fascinated me, but as soon as I got anywhere near them, vertigo would throw me so off balance…”.

It’s a steamy book – oo la la! I had to fan my heaving bosom several times and it’s very enjoyable. A glorious escape.

 

Georgia Hill’s On a Falling Tide reviewed by Natalie Normann

This is my first book by Georgia Hill, and it won’t be the last. I absolutely loved this book, and couldn’t put it down. It’s a dual time line story, following Lydia in 1863 and Charity in the present. The changes between the two time periods works seamlessly. The story kept surprising me. Every time I thought I had figured out what was going on, there was another twist, and I did not see the last one coming at all. That’s some seriously good writing. Highly recommend this book.

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: KENDRA SMITH ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED

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I enjoyed writing one of my latest protagonists, Victoria, in my fourth book, Everything Has Changed. She’s been in a car accident and ‘lost’ six years of her life due to amnesia. When she wakes up in hospital, she remembers her children as adorable 10-year-old twins. They’re not. They are 16 and sulky. And her marriage is dangling by a thread.

Last thing she remembers is that she was a fun-loving mum. As she says, ‘where had the chaotic, popcorn-in-her-bra mum gone?’ Some parts of the book poke fun at who she’s become, other sections are more reflective.  I posed the question: what would it be like to be catapulted into ‘your’ future with no warning. Especially if you didn’t like how the ‘future’ was looking – and moreover, what if you didn’t like your new self very much? And (let’s turn up the heat) what if your husband didn’t like you. This is a scene just before a family gathering. Victoria is remembering a holiday in Greece and how her husband James used to feel about her. Will he ever feel like this again?

Victoria clasped the brooch tightly in her fist. The pin at the edge pierced her skin and she flinched. She was setting the table in the kitchen. James had given her the brooch when they were on holiday in Greece. Since she’d found those photos and that list, more had come back to her. ‘It’s beautiful like you’. It was a white pebble polished till it gleamed and there were tiny pearls surrounding it. She remembered the beach, Izzy and Jake had run into the waves and then come out and rolled in the sand. They must have been about five. And then James, holding a squealing twin under each arm, armbands bulging out the sides as he plunged into the water. She’d watched, her sarong gently flapping across her legs. There were flashes of vivid memory.

Life had been uncomplicated, hadn’t it? They loved each other. James was trying for a promotion and they were trying for another baby – or were they? It was a bit fuzzy. And then what? Had all the wet towels on the floor, the unanswered text messages, the late hours at the office, the headache of bringing up twins with two sets of everything from homework to nits – had that all seeped into the fibre of their marriage like rain soaking through a faulty roof, until the rot had set in?

Not us, she’d thought. The twins will never tell a counsellor, ‘Mummy and Daddy have fallen out of love.’ Or will they?

Victoria moved round the table and mechanically placed knives and forks opposite one another. The napkins, the salt and pepper, it was all new to her. Household items were a surprise every time she opened the cupboard.

‘You’re wearing the brooch?’

She abruptly turned round as James walked towards her carrying a dish of salad.  ‘Yes.’

He glanced at it and she stared at his jaw, at his shirt collar and tried to remember how many times she might have lain against the crook of his neck, crying sometimes, laughing perhaps, sharing a secret? Where had his passion for her gone? The spark? She could feel it, she couldn’t miss it, fizzing up inside her. What about him? She studied his mouth. It was moving. ‘Where do you want these?’ He stared at her.

 

Find out more about Kendra and her other books on Facebook at Kendra Smith Author and on Twitter @KendraAuthor

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: ROSIE PARKER ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM ONLY HUMMINGBIRDS FLY BACKWARDS

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I began writing this novel not long after my own brother had a motorbike accident leaving him brain damaged. It took me quite a few years and several novels later to be able to fictionalise and give this story over to other characters to breathe life and their own tale.

Only Hummingbirds centres around twins Ronnie and Jake, now grown with their own families. After Jake’s horrific accident the two families decide to go on holiday to Brittany.

Much of the action takes place on the beaches and sand dunes of two seaside resorts: a fictional one in Brittany (based on Beg Meil where I holidayed with my own family), and the Somerset one of Brean (where my brother and I went many times, as children).

This novel has twin timelines (early 1970s and late 1980s), twinned places (West Country and Brittany), and focuses on twins Ronnie and Jake (before and after their marriages). When the two families decide to holiday in Brittany secrets begin to surface. Will Ronnie’s marriage survive, will she succumb to the charms of Xavier, and will she get her impossible wish?

Some of the story is shown in flashback and some in the form of letters. Below is part of a flashback from when the twins were young and on a day trip to Brean.

‘Howzat!’ cries Dad, not bothering to keep a note of triumph out of his voice.

            ‘Aw,’ says Jake, dropping his cricket bat.

            ‘Not fair. You should have bowled underarm,’ I shout at Dad. But the wind carries my voice up and away, just as it had sailed the ball plop into Dad’s hand.

            ‘What?’ he calls out.

            ‘Oh. Never mind.’

            I glance over to where the cars are parked at the edge of the dunes. Brean Sands is long and flat, the beach damp and hard from drizzle and high tides. When you swim in the sea, you get covered in brown stuff. We’re never too sure if its silt from the Bristol Channel Estuary, or sewage from neighbouring Weston Super Mare. I wonder if Mum is getting out the sandwiches yet. There’s no sign of her.

Our neighbour Beryl waves from her deckchair which is parked next to Slimy Bob’s Hillman Minx. Both her and stupid Marilyn sit with floppy sunhats. Marilyn is ill, and I once thought it’d be like in the book Heidi, with me tending the sickly Marilyn, but I soon discovered being Heidi is much overrated.

            ‘Come on Veronica!’ Dad beckons to me with large gestures. ‘Look lively. It’s Jake’s turn to bowl.’

I’m still fielding.

            Jake runs up to the crease Dad has made in the sand with his bat, and bowls – overarm – and wide.

            ‘Bad luck, lad. Try again,’ shouts Dad, as I fetch the ball then throw it to Jake, who rubs it on his groin – like real cricketers do. He pounds up to the crease, bowls, and this time Dad hits it. High high up into the sky only to disappear into the dunes.

            ‘Six!’ shouts Dad. Showing off as usual. I half run, half walk to fetch the ball – my brown Clarks sandals plodding on the sand. Dad is a member of Clifton Cricket Club: Jake and I are only ten. Which tells you all you need to know about Dad’s competitiveness.

            The wind off the sea is quite strong, but I can hear a soft laugh from behind the next dune.

 

I write romcoms under my own name of Rosemary Dun – this novel I’ve used a pen name – Rosie Parker.

https://www.facebook.com/RosemaryDunAuthor

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: ELAINE EVEREST ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM HER WOOLWORTHS GIRLS BOOKS

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Having (so far) written ten books in ‘The Woolworths Girls’ series I thought long and hard about a favourite scene from the series. My mind kept straying to Alexandra Road in Erith, Kent, where many of my characters either live or visit. Why is it so special to me? It is because I not only set the series in the town where I was born and lived for so many years, but because it was also the road where I lived when first married in 1972. Writers are told to write about what they know, and I certainly made the most of that!

Although I set my books in the past it was easy to imagine number thirteen in times gone by as the road had changed very little externally since 1903 when the houses were built. The four terraces of bay fronted homes may now have new families living in them and so many mod cons, but the ghosts of the past linger on. As a young bride I was told stories of the people who first lived there, and what happened during the two wars. Even though I was not writing novels at that time I adored these stories, as well as the gossip and tittle tattle, with some linking to my own family. I discovered two great aunts had lived at the top end of the road during the 1920s, and a couple only a few doors up from my house had a son who had been in the army with my dad. Across the road another neighbour informed me she had been ‘courted’ by my dad… It was almost as if my family had turned into my own saga! My only thoughts whilst living at number thirteen was that I’d really liked to have experienced the WW2 years living in the house as it survived apart from a wonky wall in the hall which occurred after a bomb dropped nearby in 1940.

These days I devour any information about people who once lived in Alexandra Road. Fortunately, with being able to use Facebook, local groups have popped up where we can chat about our school years and living in the area of Slade Green and Erith. I’ve heard from three women who all lived in number thirteen at different time. I even chatted with the lady whose father had laid the awful multi-coloured floor tiles in the living room during the 1950s that were still there in 1972. What grabbed my attention most was the talk of street parties to celebrate, the end of wars, coronations of different monarchs, royal weddings, and our own much loved queen’s anniversaries. Alexandra Road won the best decorated street in the South-East in 1977 for Queen Elizabeth’s silver jubilee and I was there and part of the history of the road. I recall how every house was adorned in silver foil scrunched along the guttering, courtesy of a local meat pie factory. How sheets were dyed so we could make bunting that hung across the road between every one of the seventy-five houses.  It was a grand street party with trestle tables up the road and children in fancy dress. Not having children to dress up, my three dogs wore red, white, and blue ribbons attached to their collars.

Looking back, it is the road I remember most, and recalling the stories I wove around the lives of the families behind the lace curtains in those bay windows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: SUSAN GRIFFIN ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SCARLETT’S STORY

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Scarlett is a character from my novel The Amethyst Necklace, and was the first person to appear in my head when I was thinking up the plot for the book. However, as that book progressed, Scarlett soon became a larger and more colourful character than I had anticipated, with her own heart-breaking story overshadowing the dual-timeline book.

However, she was a pivotal part of the novel so I kept her in and decided to give her a smaller role to play in the book. That was when realisation dawned. Scarlett had to have her own novel, so that she could spread her wings, and tell the readers of The Amethyst Necklace her own story. And Scarlett’s Story, the book, was born.

After suffering the loss of her mother and siblings to the Spanish Influenza Epidemic, Scarlett’s father returns from the war in 1918 a changed man. The shock of this and her recent losses, gives Scarlett the strange gift of second sight, where she experiences dreams and visions of what might happen in the future. As a child this is frightening and something to be kept hidden, and when her father dies soon after his return from the trenches, Scarlett is left an orphan at only 10 years old.

Scarlett has experienced a difficult life, but with courage and determination she claws her way to a comfortable lifestyle. It’s not one, though, that’s true to her nature, and when she finally falls properly in love, with all the joy and heartache that brings, she comes to realise where her real values lie.

This excerpt from the book is my favourite chapter, where Scarlett realises that the man standing in front of her is the handsome stranger in her dreams.

Then it happened. As we locked our gaze defiantly, each of us it seemed was unable to look away. And as the seconds ticked by, I began drowning in those hazel eyes. With a jolt I realised that this was the man I’d been dreaming of for years, the man who in my dreams had loved me more than life itself.

Breaking the spell, Frankie tore his eyes from me and shook his head vigorously. Then, turning on his heel, he hurried back through the hallway, leaving me gasping for breath and wondering what exactly had just happened.

As Frankie reached the door, he spun around and glared back at me. ‘Women like you don’t know what harm they’re doing!’ he bellowed, before striding angrily down the footpath and banging the back gate shut behind him.

This is the point in the novel where Scarlett understands she may have been mistaken in her search for the comfort of material possessions in her life. And later in the book when she thinks she’s lost Frankie, after his plane is shot down over enemy occupied France, she is heartbroken.

With Scarlett’s Story I wanted to give Scarlett a difficult journey, a mission to become someone of importance, even though she was from lowly beginnings. This was a challenge she rose to and overcame, and once she had accepted love into her life, she went from a child who had nothing, to a woman who had everything.

As is so often the case in life, what we think we want and what we really need, are two different things entirely. And when Scarlett fell in love for the first time, she soon realised it was love that she had been searching for all along.

 

 

https://susangriffinauthor.com/

 

 

 

 

 

CARIADS’ CHOICE: JANUARY 2022 BOOK REVIEWS

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Rosemary Noble’s The Bluebird Brooch, reviewed by Jane Cable

Very seldom does a book or a film make me cry, but this beautiful multi-generational love story made me so invested in the characters it did bring me to tears.

Laura has been dumped by her boyfriend so her life is in a state of flux when she hears she has inherited a house from a great aunt she didn’t know she had. Even more surprising is the fact her grandmother Peggy is still alive, albeit trapped in a silent post-stroke world in a nursing home. But Peggy has plenty of spirit and her world is brought back to life by Laura’s presence.

Together they trace family history, and Noble skilfully weaves the narratives of the women of the past with those of the present until the story is complete. Or is it? Perhaps there is one final secret that needs to be revealed before both Laura and Peggy can find happiness and peace.

 

Ella Gyland’s The Helsingør Sewing Club, reviewed by Natalie Normann

One of the most incredible stories from WW2 is how the majority of Danish Jews were saved, right under the noses of the Gestapo and SS. Ordinary Danes risked everything to rescue friends, neighbours and total strangers to safety in Sweden.

In The Helsingør Sewing Club, this story comes to life when Cecilie Lund finds something in her late grandmother’s flat. It leads her to a meeting with a man who knew her grandmother in 1943, and she discovers just how brave she was.

Ella Gyland writes with warmth and respect, but doesn’t hide the realities of just how dangerous and risky it was. The story is beautifully written, with no sentimentality or exaggerations, giving the events even more of an impact. It’s so moving and painful to read at times, but it’s also impossible not to keep reading!

The research is phenomenal, and I can only imagine the work! I love the characters and how their story is told. It’s sad and brutal, but also hopeful and an inspiration for how everyone can make a difference.

 

Jane Cable’s The Forgotten Maid, reviewed by Jessie Cahalin

Set in Cornwall in the Regency era and 2015, we move from Thérèse’s world to Anna’s: Thérèse is a French maid and Anna is employed to set up a glamping sight. Both protagonists are warm characters suffering a sense of loss and longing. Cable artfully weaves in the link between the past and the present and tangles the reader in the mystery of this time shift novel. I was hooked from the first chapter when Thérèse’s spirit is left fluttering in the novel, waiting to be discovered. The ethereal quality in Cable’s writing is both haunting and believable. Clever twists and turn in the plot kept me captivated, and I adored the emotional parallel between the two characters. Poetic, accomplished writing – another triumph for Jane Cable.

 

Clare Mackintosh’s Hostage, reviewed by Jill Barry

You can save hundreds of lives, or the one that matters most. That’s the dilemma facing flight attendant Mina when she’s 35,000 feet high in the sky on the inaugural non-stop flight from Heathrow to Sydney. The story unfolds on the ground, focussing on Mina’s husband and their young daughter, as well as in the air, with brief chapters introducing certain passengers by their seat numbers. The planet Earth’s future is the theme of Clare Mackintosh’s stunning novel in which eco-warriors on board are banding together in order to hijack the Boeing 777 aeroplane and force those in power to take action before it’s too late. Deep-seated fears and the tangled emotions of Mina and her police officer husband are revealed against a background of high tension while the hours slip by and the aircraft’s fuel supply diminishes. Maybe best not to read this one if planning a long-haul flight!

 

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: PENNY HAMPSON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM A PLETHORA OF PHANTOMS

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One of the perks of being a writer is being able to put one’s characters in dangerous situations and coming up with believable ways in which they can extricate themselves. A favourite example of mine occurs in my book, A Plethora of Phantoms, because it marks the point where my main character starts to become the man he wants to be.

Aristocrat Freddie Lanyon is not your typical hero; he’s reserved, doesn’t enjoy being the centre of attention, and is head over heels in love with Bath antique dealer Marcus. Sadly, Freddie thinks he’s blown his chance for love because he’s too timid about coming out. Marcus has gone missing, so, urged by Marcus’ distraught sister, Freddie stays the night with her in Marcus’ flat above the antique shop. Unfortunately, a quiet night’s sleep is not what Freddie gets.

Woken in the early hours by the sounds of a violent scuffle in the street outside, Freddie spies Marcus being assaulted by two thugs as they attempt to gain entry to the shop below. Freddie telephones the police for assistance and is instructed to remain where he is, but this is an instruction that Freddie chooses to ignore – it would be a pretty dull story if our hero did nothing at all.

Tiptoeing swiftly down to the first-floor kitchen and pausing only to pick up something heavy – a sharpening steel – Freddie carried on towards the ground floor entrance of the flat. The bolts slid back silently. The sound of muffled voices told him that the street door had been breached and the intruders were attempting to gain entry to the shop.

            “Hurry up!” A harsh voice ordered.

            There was a groan. Freddie knew it was Marcus. Anger rose in his chest.

            “Key in the bloody number or I’ll hammer you again and you wouldn’t want me to spoil that pretty face of yours, would you?”

            Another voice chipped in, “You’d have thought he’d had enough when we smashed his fingers. Must be something really special in that safe of yours, eh, Spender?”

            Freddie took a deep breath. Now was not the time to hesitate. He had to take them by surprise.

            Clutching the steel in one hand Freddie flung the door open and charged forward with a roar, but instead of aiming high he went low, landing a heavy blow across the legs of the assailant who had Marcus in a stranglehold. The guy screamed as his limbs buckled and he crumpled into a heap on the floor, freeing Marcus. Freddie leapt on to the thug’s back, determined to keep him immobile until the police arrived, and watched as Marcus slid to his knees making choking sounds. Bracing himself for an attack from the assailant’s accomplice, Freddie looked up to see this guy staring open-mouthed with terror, not at him, but at something behind him.

            The crook’s mouth opened and closed but there was no sound as he slowly backed away.

            If Freddie didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that this ugly customer had seen something awful, not just a bloke in pyjama bottoms wielding a steel.

I loved turning Freddie into an action hero. Seeing Marcus being threatened with violence galvanises him into doing something out of character to save the day, although he does have a little supernatural assistance – this is a ghost story, after all.

I had great fun with Freddie, especially in this scene where he changes from being a quiet man to action hero.

 

To discover more about my action-filled romance stories visit my website: https://pennyhampson.co.uk/