Tuesday, 18 September 2018

The Fake Date
by
Lynda Stacey


It's publication day and I would like to thank the Author, Lynda Stacey, so much for asking me to review The Fake Date. I have hosted Lynda a few times now on Boon's Bookcase and she is always so lovely and so when she contacted me to ask me to review her latest book, I jumped at the chance! Please find my review of this great thriller below. Thanks again to Lynda for sending me a copy of The Fake Date for review.




Nine hours and eleven minutes …

That’s how long it’s been since Ella Hope was beaten to within an inch of life and left for dead.
She lies, unable to move and praying for somebody to find her, as she counts down the minutes and wonders who could have hated her so much to have hurt her so badly.
Was it the man she went on a date with the previous evening, the man linked to the deaths of two other women? Or somebody else, somebody who wants her out of the picture so much they’re willing to kill?
Whoever it is, they will pay. All Ella has to do first is survive …







Review
Ella Hope has been beaten so badly and left for dead after a date and she is just looking at her watch waiting for either someone to find her or for death to arrive. The opening chapter in this book is amazing and so detailed, that I found myself holding my breath with anticipation of someone finding Ella before it’s too late!

All Ella wanted to do was find a good story for the newspaper she worked for as a reporter, but as she can’t remember much about the date before she was attacked, will she be able to bring the attacker to justice?

Rick is standing trial for the brutal attack of Ella and is strongly defending his innocence. Can Ella remember enough of that night to put him behind bars, or is she clutching at straws and convincing herself he did it?

This is a great psychological thriller and one where I thought I knew what was going on and then the plot thickens and I started doubting myself! 

I would thoroughly recommend this book as it certainly keeps you on your toes from start to finish!

Thank you to the author for sending me a copy for review.




Monday, 17 September 2018

** COVER REVEAL **

Today I am delighted to be able to show you the cover for Jill Mansell's new novel, Maybe This Time. You will have to wait until January until the hardback is published, but by the look of the fabulous cover, it will be worth waiting for!

You can pre-order this book on Amazon by clicking here







Wednesday, 12 September 2018

A Letter from Paris
by
Louisa Deasey
BLOG TOUR
It's my turn on the Blog Tour for A Letter from Paris by Louisa Deasey and what a fabulous cover it is! 





A Letter from Paris is a memoir for Paris lovers everywhere. When Louisa Deasey receives a message from a Frenchwoman called Coralie, who has found a cache of letters in an attic written about Louisa’s father, neither woman can imagine the events it will set in motion.

The letters, dated 1949, detail a passionate affair between Louisa’s father, Denison, and Coralie’s grandmother, Michelle, in post-war London, and take Louisa on a journey to discover who her father - who had died when she was six - really was.
She uncovers his secret service in WWII, his integral role in the international art scene, and his career as a writer, swept under the carpet by a family that considered him a black sheep. Her journey of discovery takes her all the way to the City of Lights and connects her with an extended family she never knew existed and a stepmother she thought she’d lost forever. 



Extract
It was late on Saturday night when Coralie first contacted me. Despite a sudden summer storm, my inner-city apartment was stifling. I’d returned from a friend’s house for dinner. An amazing cook, she’d made a small group of us seafood and salads, and we’d talked into the night as we waited for the storm to settle. Dinner at Carmen’s was the highlight of an awful week.
In the space of seven days, I’d attended a funeral, been to the emergency ward, and had to call the police because my downstairs neighbour had gone off the rails.
I’d quit my job at the University a fortnight earlier after an impossible situation, and the prospect of starting from scratch depressed me. The job had been so ideal when I’d started, and ended so awfully, leaving a sad hollow in my stomach, a resistance to giving anything else my all.
I wanted to write, maybe freelance again — but I had to come down from the year-long stint at the University, the disappointment I felt at how that had all turned out. There was no space in my head to plan and dream — everything felt a bit scary. I wondered if there was something wrong with me, for not being able to ‘hack’ the situation at the University, if only to keep earning a regular income.
I felt caught between worlds, unsure of who I was or what I wanted, restless but tired. Anxious and disorientated. Disappointed in myself, somehow.
I sat trying to remember who I was, and what I wanted — if I could trust myself to want something again.
A Facebook ‘message request’ appeared on my phone as my neighbour’s shouts of abuse reached up from her balcony below.
30 January 2016
Hello Louisa,
I hope you won’t mind me contacting you in such an unsolicited way.
My name is Coralie. I live in Paris, France. My grandmother, Michelle Chomé, recently passed away and we found in her apartment a stack of letters written during the year 1949 to her parents in Paris. At the time she was an au pair in London.
In these letters she speaks of an Australian man called Denison Deasey. She met him on the train to London — he was there that same year with his sister. It seems he took her on some very special outings around London ... she was very smitten with him.
Are you related to Denison Deasey? Again, I hope I am not disturbing you in any way ...
Denison. His name was a shock and a surprise, like the stranger who typed it. I hadn’t thought about dad on any conscious level for such a long time. His story was a scar that still tugged and pulled whenever it was exposed.
Seeing his first name and reading of him was an unexpected visitation. It brought him back, it called him in. I realised just how much I missed him without knowing him, how much I still wanted to know.
I returned to that long-familiar longing, the knowing but not knowing, the unfinished story. Unsure what to hope for, unsure if I should.
I’d only reactivated my Facebook account that morning after a two-week break, to stop getting alerts from University pages. Even odder, I’d then changed my profile picture to an old picture I’d taken at the Louvre, an unexpected pang to return to France having surged over me as I sat up in bed after waking. I’d been trying to think of something that excited me, since I was feeling so lost.
I have to go to Paris again this year, I’d written in my diary.
But here was a message — from Paris. It seemed like a confirmation. I had to get back there. But how?



Saturday, 8 September 2018

You Let Me In
by
Lucy Clarke
BLOG TOUR


It's my stop on the Blog Tour for You Let Me In, the new novel by Lucy Clarke. I have a review for you by my lovely guest reviewer, Julie Williams, who has read all of Lucy's previous books and nearly took my arm off to read and review this one!




Review


I have been eagerly waiting for a new Lucy Clarke book to be written as not only do I love psychological thrillers, but I always enjoy this author’s breath holding chilling tales. Lucy’s writing cave is a beach hut so it’s not surprising that she incorporates the sea into all her novels.


Elle, currently separated from her husband Flynn, is talked into renting out her perfect, Cornish coastal house to a stranger on AirBNB. She is not altogether comfortable with this idea, but the money will come in handy so she puts her valuables away and locks her precious writing room and heads off on a break in France.


On her return Elle senses that things aren’t what they should be and doubt lingers as she discovers her writing room unlocked, her late Mother’s brooch missing from her coat and other things that makes her paranoid and at times doubting her own sanity.


Under pressure and desperate to meet her publishers’ deadline for her second book deal, which she has been paid a hefty sum upfront, the words just won’t flow. Panic sets in as if it doesn’t get published then her home will be at risk, losing her dream home is not an option she wants to contemplate. 


As further strange events occur no one escapes Elle’s suspicions or mine either.


The last few chapters give us the reveal and what a surprise it is, I had no idea which is both refreshing and exciting as a reader.


A chilling, pacy story that had me hooked from start to finish. 


Many thanks for the book Julie and for the honour to guest review it for the blog tour on your blog.

Friday, 7 September 2018

Summer of Secrets
by
Nikola Scott
BLOG TOUR
Today, it's my stop on the Summer of Secrets Blog Tour and below you will find my review and a little bit about the author.


* Paperback: 352 pages
* Publisher: Headline Review (6 Sept. 2018)
* Language: English
* ISBN-10: 1472241185
* ISBN-13: 978-1472241184



BLURB: August 1939
At peaceful Summerhill, orphaned Maddy hides from the world and the rumours of war. Then her adored sister Georgiana returns from a long trip with a new friend, the handsome Victor. Maddy fears that Victor is not all he seems, but she has no idea just what kind of danger has come into their lives...

Today
Chloe is newly pregnant. This should be a joyful time, but she is fearful for the future, despite her husband's devotion. When chance takes her to Summerhill, she's drawn into the mystery of what happened there decades before. And the past reaches out to touch her in ways that could change everything...



Review

This is a book that time lapses between 1939 and the present day. I love reading these types of books to see how they reveal how they interact with each other.

Chloe is a photographer who is married to Aiden, a controlling GP whose public persona is completely different to the one Chloe sees behind closed doors.

Maddy and her sister Georgiana live in Summerhill. An idyllic location, but which holds so many secrets and tragedy.

Georgiana has brought back a group of friends to Summerhill that she made through her travels and one in particular, Victor, has caught her eye and becomes her beau, but Victor has eyes for someone else far closer to home….

With the breakout of war in 1939, Maddy witnesses a plane go down in the village and finds the missing pilot (William), but he is in no hurry to return to base.

Back in the present day, Chloe realises she is pregnant and this triggers off a whole array of mixed emotions, which are not always good ones. She has been offered the chance to photograph Maddy at Summerhill as she is the illustrator of a children’s book and has been asked to produce another one. Chloe is excited to be asked to work with such a wonderful lady, but Aidan is not so keen and does everything he can to stop her from working. As he says, she has everything she wants and needs, so doesn’t need to work! Can’t say he is my favourite character in the book!

Chloe also has a severely disabled brother Danny, who lives in a care home, but when she finds out that Aidan has gone behind her back with regards to his living accommodation, Chloe finally comes to a decision that will change her life and her unborn baby’s life, forever.

This is a very cleverly written book which interacts all the characters nicely. Some I liked, some I didn’t! but that’s how a good writer makes you feel! A lovely book that I could possibly see as a film/tv drama!

Thank you so much to Anne Cater and Headline for a copy of this book and for allowing me on the blog tour.





ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Nikola Scott was born and raised in Germany and studied at university there. Having been obsessed with books from a young age, Nikola moved to New York City after her Master's degree to begin her first job in book publishing, a career in which she could fully indulge her love of fiction!  She spent ten years working in publishing in New York and then in London, editing other people's books, before she decided to take the leap into becoming a full-time writer herself.  She now lives in Frankfurt with her husband and two sons. MY MOTHER'S SHADOW was published in 2017 to wonderful reviews. Her new novel SUMMER OF SECRETS is coming in September 2018.

Please visit http://www.nikolascott.com/for more information,  or find Nikola on
Instagram @nikolascottauthor, 
Twitter @nikola_scott
and  Facebook/NikolaScottAuthor.





Amazon UK https://www.amazon.co.uk/Summer-Secrets-Nikola-Scott/dp/1472241185/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1533569764&sr=1-1

Wednesday, 5 September 2018

One Day in December
by
Josie Silver
BLOG TOUR


It's my turn on the Blog Tour for One Day in December by Josie Silver. I cannot wait to read this book, but you will have to do with an extract for now! So sit back and enjoy the very beginning of One Day in December.





Extract

2008
December 21st

It’s a wonder everyone who uses public transport in winter doesn’t keel over and die of germ overload. In the last ten minutes I’ve been coughed on and sneezed at, and if the woman in front of me shakes her dandruff my way again, I might just douse her with the dregs of the lukewarm coffee that I’m no longer able to drink because it’s full of her scalp.

I’m so tired I could sleep right here on the top deck of this swaying, rammed-full bus. Thank God I’ve finally finished work for Christmas, because I don’t think my brain or my body could withstand even one more shift behind that awful hotel reception desk. It might be festooned with garlands and pretty lights on the customer side, but step behind the curtain and it’s a soulless hellhole. I’m practically asleep, even when I’m awake. I’m loosely planning to hibernate until next year once I get home to the nostalgic familiarity of my parents’ house tomorrow. There’s something soothingly time warp-ish about leaving London for an interlude of sedate Midlands village life in my childhood bedroom, even if not all of my childhood memories are happy ones. Even the closest of families have their tragedies, and it’s fair to say that ours came early and cut deep. I won’t dwell though, because Christmas should be a time of hope and love and, most appealing of all at this very moment, sleep. Sleep, punctuated by bouts of competitive eating with my brother, Daryl, and his girlfriend, Anna, and the whole gamut of cheesy Christmas movies. Because how could you ever be too tired to watch some hapless guy stand out in the cold and hold up signs silently declaring to his best friend’s wife that his wasted heart will always love her? Though – is that romance? I’m not so sure. I mean, it kind of is, in a schmaltzy way, but it’s also being the shittiest friend on the planet.

I’ve given up worrying about the germs in here because I’ve undoubtedly ingested enough to kill me if they’re going to, so I lean my forehead against the steamy window and watch Camden High Street slide by in a glitter of Christmas lights and bright, fuggy shop windows selling everything from leather jackets to tacky London souvenirs. It’s barely four in the afternoon, yet already it’s dusk over London; I don’t think it got properly light at all today. 
My reflection tells me that I should probably pull the naff halo of tinsel from my hair that my cow of a manager made me wear, because I look like I’m trying out for Angel Gabriel in a primary school nativity, but I find that I really can’t be bothered. No one else on this bus could care less; not the damp, anoraked man next to me taking up more than his half of the seat as he dozes over yesterday’s paper, nor the bunch of schoolkids shouting across each other on the back seats and certainly not dandruff woman in front of me with her flashing snowflake earrings. The irony of her jewellery choice is not lost on me; if I were more of a bitch I might tap her on the shoulder to advise her that she’s drawing attention to the skin blizzard she’s depositing with every shake of her head. I’m not a bitch though; or maybe I’m just a quiet one inside my own head. Isn’t everyone?

Jesus, how many more stops is this bus going to make? I’m still a couple of miles from my flat and already it’s fuller than a cattle truck on market day. Come on, I think. Move. Take me home. Though home is going to be a pretty depressing place now that my flatmate, Sarah, has gone back to her parents’. Only one more day then I’ll be out of here too, I remind myself.
The bus shudders to a halt at the end of the street and I watch as down below a stream of people jostle to get off at the same time as others try to push their way on. It’s as if they think it’s one of those competitions to see how many people can fit into one small space.

There’s a guy perched on one of the fold-down seats in the bus shelter. This can’t be his bus, because he’s engrossed in the hardback book in his hands. I notice him because he seems oblivious to the pushing and shoving happening right in front of him, like one of those fancy special effects at the movies where someone is completely still and the world kaleidoscopes around them, slightly out of focus.
I can’t see his face, just the top of his sandy hair, cut slightly long and given to a wave when it grows, I should imagine. He’s bundled into a navy woollen reefer jacket and a scarf that looks like someone might have knitted it for him. It’s kitsch and unexpected against the coolness of the rest of his attire – dark skinny jeans and boots – and his concentration is completely held by his book. I squint, trying to duck my head to see what he’s reading, wiping the steamed‑up window with my coat sleeve to get a better look.

I don’t know if it’s the movement of my arm across the glass or the flickering lights of dandruff-woman’s earrings that snag in his peripheral vision, but he lifts his head and blinks a few times as he focuses his attention on my window. On me.
We stare straight at each other and I can’t look away. I feel my lips move as if I’m going to say something, God knows what, and all of a sudden and out of nowhere I need to get off this bus. I’m gripped by the overwhelming urge to go outside, to get to him. But I don’t. I don’t move a muscle, because I know there isn’t a chance in hell that I can get past anorak man beside me and push through the packed bus before it pulls away. So I make the split-second decision to stay rooted to the spot and try to convey to him to get on board using just the hot, desperate longing in my eyes.

He’s not film-star good-looking or classically perfect, but there is an air of preppy dishevelledness and an earnest, ‘who me?’ charm about him that captivates me. I can’t quite make out the colour of his eyes from here. Green, I’d say, or blue maybe?
And here’s the thing. Call it wishful thinking, but I’m sure I see the same thunderbolt hit him too; as if an invisible fork of lightning has inexplicably joined us together. Recognition; naked, electric shock in his rounded eyes. He does something close to an incredulous double take, the kind of thing you might do when you coincidentally spot your oldest and best friend who you haven’t seen for ages and you can’t actually believe they’re there.

It’s a look of Hello you, and Oh my God, it’s you, and I can’t believe how good it is to see you, all in one. 
His eyes dart towards the dwindling queue still waiting to board and then back up to me, and it’s as if I can hear the thoughts racing through his head. He’s wondering if it’d be crazy to get on the bus, what he’d say if we weren’t separated by the glass and the hordes, if he’d feel foolish taking the stairs two at a time to get to me.
No, I try to relay back. No, you wouldn’t feel foolish. I wouldn’t let you. Just get on the bloody bus, will you! He’s staring right at me, and then a slow smile creeps across his generous mouth, as if he can’t hold it in. And then I’m smiling back, giddy almost. I can’t help it either.

Please get on the bus. He snaps, making a sudden decision, slamming his book closed and shoving it down in the rucksack between his ankles. He’s walking forward now, and I hold my breath and press my palm flat against the glass, urging him to hurry even as I hear the sickly hiss of the doors closing and the lurch of the handbrake being released.

No! No! Oh God, don’t you dare drive away from this stop! It’s Christmas! I want to yell, even as the bus pulls out into the traffic and gathers pace, and outside he is breathless standing in the road, watching us leave. I see defeat turn out the light in his eyes, and because it’s Christmas and because I’ve just fallen hopelessly in love with a stranger at a bus stop, I blow him a forlorn kiss and lay my forehead against the glass, watching him until he’s out of sight.

Then I realize. Shit. Why didn’t I take a leaf out of hapless guy’s book and write something down to show him? I could have done that. I could even have written my mobile number in the condensation. I could have opened the tiny quarter-pane and yelled my name and address or something. I can think of any number of things I could and should have done, yet at the time none of them occurred to me because I simply couldn’t take my eyes off him.

For onlookers, it must have been an Oscar-worthy sixty-second silent movie. From now on, if anyone asks me if I’ve ever fallen in love at first sight, I shall say yes, for one glorious minute on 21 December 2008.

Monday, 3 September 2018

The Shrouded Path
by
Sarah Ward
BLOG TOUR
I'm thrilled to be kicking off the Blog Tour for Sarah Ward's latest book, The Shrouded Path. I have loved all of the author's previous books and they just seem to be getting better and better each time, so I was chomping at the bit to read this one and I want to thank Sarah Ward for sending me a copy. 

Review
When you read on the first page that in 1957 six teenage girls walk along the train tracks, enter a tunnel and only five come out, you know that this book is going to be an absolute corker!

Meanwhile in 2014, Mina's terminally ill mother insists she has seen "Valerie" who was one of her childhood friends  in the hospital and wants her to find her, but Mina has no idea who this person is and it becomes a race against time to find out who and where Valerie is. 

Mina also finds some photographs and one in particular of some schoolgirls taken in the church yard, leaves Mina more confused as there seems to be a clue written on the back, but she has no idea who the girls in the photograph are, or what the word on the back, GIVEN, means....

DC Connie Childs is back and is teamed up with a new partner by the name of Paul Dahl and they have been given the task of investigating an unexplained death of an elderly lady who was about to write her memoirs. Was someone trying to stop her from writing about the past?

Connie's boss, Sadler, is having problems of his own when his mother becomes ill and it seems she is keeping some secrets that none of her family would ever have imagined. 

Although there are quite a few characters in this book, the way the author entwines them all is amazing and the attention to detail with the description of Bampton and the surrounding areas of Derbyshire, is second to none. 

This was a fabulous read and one which I think you could read as a stand alone, but I would recommend reading all of Sarah's books as they just keep getting better and better. This was certainly one of those books where I just had to keep reading "one more chapter" before bed! 

I would thoroughly recommend this psychological thriller that will leave you guessing until the very last chapter.

To order this book on Amazon click here





Friday, 24 August 2018


Kiss of Death
by
Paul Finch
BLOG TOUR


It's my turn on the Blog Tour for Paul Finch's latest book, Kiss of Death. Today, I have an extract for you so sit back and enjoy!


Extract
Detective Superintendent Gemma Piper was never less than impressive. Even now, in jeans, a T-shirt and body armour, and clambering over a rusty farm fence, she cut a striking figure. With her athletic physique, wild mane of white-blonde hair and fierce good looks, she radiated charisma, but also toughness. Many was the cocky male officer who’d taken her gender as a green light for slack work or insubordination, or both, and had instantly regretted it.
‘This lot been cautioned, Jack?’ Gemma asked.
‘They have indeed, ma’am,’ Reed said.
‘Responses?’
‘The only one I heard was this fella.’ Reed indicated Boar, who, having had his mask pulled off, resembled a pig anyway, and now was in the grasp of two uniforms. ‘Think it went something like “fuck off, you dick-breathed shitehawk”.’
‘Excellent. Just the thing to win the jury over.’ Gemma raised her voice. ‘All right, get them out of here. I want separate prisoner-transports for each one. Do not let them talk.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Wolf sneered, still gripped by the large Welsh cop, though he seemed to have recovered some of his attitude. ‘No one’s talking here except you. And you’ve got quite a lot to say for a slip of a tart.’
Gemma drew a can of CS spray from her back pocket and stalked towards him.
‘Ma’am!’ Reed warned.
DSU Piper was renowned, among other things, for almost never losing her cool, and so managed to bring herself to a halt before doing something she might regret. She stood a couple of feet from the prisoner, whose thin, grizzled features split into a yellow-toothed grin. 
‘Don’t say nothing!’ he shouted to his compatriots. ‘Do you hear me? Don’t give these bastards the pleasure. Say nothing, and we’ve got plenty chance of beating this.’
‘You finished?’ Gemma asked him.
He shrugged. ‘For now.’
‘Good. Take a long look at your friends. This is likely the last time you’ll see them till you’re all on trial. And very possibly on that day, one, or maybe two of them, could be looking back at you from the witness stand. How much chance will you have then?’
Wolf hawked and spat at her feet.

Monday, 20 August 2018

The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street
by
Rachel Dove


BLOG TOUR

Sadly, this is the last blog tour I have planned with Brook Cottage Books, as JB Johnston is taking a well earned break from organising blog tours and is currently writing her very own novel! Good luck JB in everything you do and on behalf of all the authors, publishers and bloggers who have worked with you, we wish you all the very best of luck in the future.

Today I have an extract for you of The Wedding Shop on Wexley Street. As we are in full wedding season now, what better way to sit back and have a sneaky peak into this author's latest novel.

Series: Westfield village series #3
Genre: romantic fiction
Release Date: 10th August 2018
Publisher: HQ Digital

Maria is ready to say 'yes' to the dress!
As owner of Happy Ever After, Maria Mallory is Westfield's resident wedding planner, spending her days making dreams come true for future brides.
Maria even has her own perfect day planned out too, she just needs to find the right man. So when she falls in love with local celeb Darcy Burgess she can't believe her luck – it was finally her turn for her Happy Ever After. Or so she thought.
Jilted at the altar, Maria can't believe that her fairytale ending hasn't come true. She's ready to give up on love once and for all. But little does she know that once you stop looking for it, love has a way of surprising you…
A laugh-out-loud romance, perfect for fans of Holly Martin and Tilly Tennant.






EXTRACT
Two hours later, Maria found herself in Harrogate, squeezed into the red dress, heels pinching her feet, wondering why the hell she wasn't sat on Cass's couch eating ice cream and crying. She said the same to Cass as they walked on tottering heels to the nearest trendy bar, Ice, in the wine bar and posh eatery part of Harrogate's city centre, which, coincidentally, butted up against the legal quarter of Harrogate, and no doubt the two sides kept each other in business quite well too. Walking into Ice with Cassie, it was hard to ignore the stares that her friend attracted. Cassie Welburn was, let's face it, sex on a twenty nine year old stick. She was always tanned thanks to her meticulous salon treatments, plucked and shaped to perfection, and tonight, as usual, was dressed to kill. Even Maria's daring red dress looked tame in light of Cassie's black and silver dress, slashed to the thigh, combined with sparkly silver heels that make Cassie even taller than her just under six foot frame. Maria blushed and nudged Cass's elbow with her own.
"People are staring Cass." Cassie shrugged. 
"Let them stare, girl. Don't worry, I've got your back." Maria belatedly realised that tonight, thanks to that ridiculous article, the stares may indeed be for her and not her glamorous friend. She cringed inwardly, and planted a smile on her face.  She took her friend by the arm, and pushing her boobs out and her chin up, she headed to the bar. "Let's get smashed," she declared. 


BUY LINK Amazon UK - https://goo.gl/5EgXqB



A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR




I am a writer and teacher, living in West Yorkshire with my husband, our two sons, and our furry pets.  In July 2015, I won the Prima magazine and Mills & Boon Flirty Fiction Competition, with my entry, The Chic Boutique on Baker Street, out now in ebook and paperback. The Flower Shop on Foxley Street followed this in 2017 and both books hit the Amazon top 200. Chic Boutique got to #2 in the rural life humour chart and is regularly in the top 100 of that chart.  I am the winner of the Writers Bureau Writer of the Year Award in 2016 and I have had work published in the UK and overseas in various magazines.  My next book, The Long Walk Back, is out in January 2018 and I am currently writing the last book in the Westfield series. My first book with Manatee Books, Nice Guys Finish Lonely, is out in April 2018 in ebook and paperback. I love to write romantic fiction, both rom-com and harder hitting women's fiction.  I am also a post 16 teacher and am undertaking an MA in Creative Writing at Teesside University. 

I love to chat on twitter so come say hi! @writerdove
I also run a blog (very occasionally these days): racheldoveauthor@wordpress.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RachelDoveauthor/?ref=bookmarks
Twitter: https://twitter.com/WriterDove
Goodreads Author Page:  https://goo.gl/CPJkbr
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/writerdove/
Google+ https://plus.google.com/u/0/+RachelDovewriter


GIVEAWAY
 A signed spiral bound paperback of the book plus bookmarks
(open Internationally)
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, 17 August 2018

The Deserter's Daughter
by
Susanna Bavin

I would like to say a huge thank you to the author and Allison & Busby for sending me a copy of The Deserter's Daughter for review. I can only apologise it has taken me so long to read it! Please find my review below of this wonderful family saga.


Review

Carrie is so excited to be marrying Billy and trying on her wedding dress with her mother’s veil makes her almost burst with pride. Her half sister Evadne isn’t so happy about her younger sister marrying before her and feels bitter and jealous of her sister beating her to the alter.

When the local priest Father Kelly comes to the house and spills the beans that Carrie’s father was shot at dawn for being a deserter and not a hero as they all thought (apart from Carrie’s mother, who kept the secret for years), Billy’s mother comes marching round to inform Carrie that the wedding is off and that he wants nothing more to do with her.

Carrie is desperate to marry Billy and can’t bring believe that he doesn’t want to marry her and tries all sorts of ways to meet him to make him change his mind. He is adamant that he doesn’t want to marry a deserter’s daughter and that he has prospects as a town hall clerk and wants to get on with the rest of his life. Carrie is left distraught at this news in more ways than one…

No sooner is Carrie coming to terms with being dumped by Billy, when she meets Ralph, an up and coming antique dealer who sweeps her off her feet and promises her the world and that she won’t have to want for anything. They are married by special licence and you know what they say, “marry in haste, repent at leasure”!

Ralph and his brother Adam couldn’t be more different. Ralph is unpredictable and Carrie is wary of him and does whatever she can to please him, but the feelings just aren’t there and although she tries her hardest to stay away from Adam, it sometimes proves difficult as he is a doctor caring for Carrie’s mother, who has had a devastating stroke and is unable to move.

This is the author’s first novel and what a corker of a saga it is! Full of twists and turns and at one point, I found I was holding my breath and eager to turn the next page to read what happened! Full of suspense, tragedy, a true saga full of love and devastation (which is right up my street!) and I really cannot wait to read this author’s next book which is out in paperback in October. The attention to detail in the book is wonderful and I really can’t believe this is the author's  first novel! Wonderful.


Tuesday, 7 August 2018


The French Adventure
by
Lucy Coleman
Blog Tour


I'm delighted to have the lovely Lucy Coleman featuring on Boon's Bookcase again and I have an extract from The French Adventure for you.


Genre: Sweet romance/cosy mystery
Release Date:1 February 2018
Publisher: Aria Fiction (Head of Zeus)
Packed full of French flavour and idyllic settings this is a romantic, heart-warming and unputdownable new novel about life and love, perfect for anyone who loves Milly Johnson, Lucy Diamond and Debbie Johnson.
Suddenly unemployed and single, Anna escapes to her parents' beautiful house in France for a much-needed recharge – and to work out what she wants to do next with her life now her carefully mapped out plan has gone out the window.
Anna gives herself 6 months to recuperate, all the while helping renovate her parents' adjoining gites into picturesque B&Bs. But working alongside the ruggedly handsome Sam on the renovation project, she didn't expect for life to take an unexpected, if not unwelcome, twist...

EXCERPT
The L Word
Two weeks today will be the first anniversary of our first real date. Being wined and dined in a chic little French restaurant was a gigantic step forward; it signalled the beginning of a new era in my relationship with Karl. Even though at least half of the meal was spent talking about work, his intentions were clear – we were no longer simply colleagues and romance was in the air.
Since then, Karl must have told me that he loves me more than a thousand times. You might think I’m exaggerating, but I can assure you that’s not the case. He usually manages to slip it into the conversation at least three times a day. The first time he said the L word to me, it slid off his tongue so easily I could almost have missed it. It wasn’t a staring into each other’s eyes moment of discovery, just a casual ‘love you, babe’.
As the months rolled by, I pushed aside my growing fear that it was only a word to him. Because it means so much more to me, I freeze whenever he tacks it onto a sentence.
And, yes, I’m very aware that my air of disapproval does make me sound ungrateful and undeserving. But it’s all about self-preservation, you see. I’ll never utter that word again until I’m one hundred per cent certain that the man I’m saying it to believes I’m their soul mate too – the perfect fit.
The last time I uttered the L word, was six years ago. It was to a guy I’d known since childhood and the man I genuinely believed I would marry when the time was right. He was handsome in a rugged way, fired up with ambition and exciting to be around. Sadly, everyone we knew thought we were the perfect couple too, except the guy in question, as it turned out…


BUY LINK http://smarturl.it/TheFrenchAdventure

GOODREADS https://goo.gl/k3hEkq



ABOUT LUCY COLEMAN



Lucy Coleman always knew that one day she would write, but first life took her on a wonderful journey of self-discovery for which she is very grateful.
Family life and two very diverse careers later she now spends most days glued to a keyboard, which she refers to as her personal quality time.
‘It’s only when you know who you are that you truly understand what makes you happy – and writing about love, life and relationships makes me leap out of bed every morning!’
If she isn’t online she’s either playing with the kids, whose imaginations seem to know no bounds, or painting something. As a serial house mover together with her lovely husband, there is always a new challenge to keep her occupied!

Lucy also writes under the name Linn B. Halton.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LinnBHaltonAuthor/

Twitter: 
https://twitter.com/LucyColemanAuth

Goodreads Author Page: 
http://ow.ly/mk3H30atV5h

Website: 
http://linnbhalton.co.uk/

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Saturday, 4 August 2018

The Girl in The Letter
by
Emily Gunnis
BLOG TOUR


It's my stop on the Blog Tour today and I really can't wait to read this one, but will have to wait until April 2019 for the paperback to be published! To wet your appetite, I have an extract for you below and now I have read it, I really can't wait!


BLURB: 'A great book, truly hard to put down. Fast paced, brilliantly plotted and desperately sad at times - all hallmarks of a bestseller' Lesley Pearse on The Girl in the Letter  Perfect for fans of Kate Morton and Kathryn Hughes, this gripping novel of long-buried secrets will stay with you for ever. A heartbreaking letter. A girl locked away.  A mystery to be solved. 1956. When Ivy Jenkins falls pregnant she is sent in disgrace to St Margaret's, a dark, brooding house for unmarried mothers. Her baby is adopted against her will. Ivy will never leave. Present day. Samantha Harper is a journalist desperate for a break. When she stumbles on a letter from the past, the contents shock and move her. The letter is from a young mother, begging to be rescued from St Margaret's. Before it is too late.  Sam is pulled into the tragic story and discovers a spate of unexplained deaths surrounding the woman and her child. With St Margaret's set for demolition, Sam has only hours to piece together a sixty-year-old mystery before the truth, which lies disturbingly close to home, is lost for ever... Read her letter. Remember her story...

Extract:

Prologue 
Friday 13 February 1959

My darling Elvira, I do not know where to begin. You are just a little girl, and it is so hard to explain in words that you will understand why I am choosing to leave this life, and you, behind. You are my daughter, if not by blood then in my heart, and it breaks to know that what I am about to do will be adding to the mountain of hurt and pain you have had to endure in the eight long years of your short life. 

Ivy paused, trying to compose herself so that the pen in her hand would stop shaking enough for her to write. She looked around the large drying room where she had hidden herself. From the ceiling hung huge racks crammed with sheets and towels meticulously washed by the cracked and swollen hands of the pregnant girls in St Margaret’s laundry, now ready to go down to the ironing room and out to the oblivious waiting world. She looked back down to the crumpled piece of paper on the floor in front of her. 

Were it not for you, Elvira, I would have given up the fight to stay in this world much sooner. Ever since they took Rose away from me, I can find no joy in living. A mother cannot forget her baby any more than a baby can forget her mother. And I can tell you that if your mother were alive, she would be thinking of you every minute of every day. When you escape from this place – and you will, my darling – you must look for her. In the sunsets, and the flowers, and in anything that makes you smile that beautiful smile of yours. For she is in the very air you breathe, filling your lungs, giving your body what it needs to survive, to grow strong and to live life to the full. You were loved, Elvi, every minute of every day that you were growing inside your mother’s tummy. You must believe that, and take it with you. 

She tensed and stopped momentarily as footsteps clattered above her. She was aware that her breathing had quickened with her heart rate, and underneath her brown overalls she could feel a film of sweat forming all over her body. She knew she didn’t have long before Sister Angelica returned, slamming shut the only window in her day when she wasn’t being watched. She looked down at her scrawled letter, Elvira’s beautiful face flashing into her mind’s eye, and fought back the tears as she pictured her reading it, her dark brown eyes wide, her pale fingers trembling as she struggled to take the words in. 

By now, you will have in your hands the key I enclose with this letter. It is the key to the tunnels and your freedom. I will distract Sister Faith as best I can, but you don’t have long. As soon as the house alarm goes off, Sister Faith will leave the ironing room and you must go. Immediately. Unlock the door to the tunnel at the end of the room, go down the steps, turn right and out through the graveyard. Run to the outhouse and don’t look back.

She underlined the words so hard that her pen pierced a hole in the paper. 

I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you face to face, but I feared you would be upset and would give us away. When I came to you last night, I thought they were letting me go home, but they are not, they have other plans for me, so I am using my wings to leave St Margaret’s another way, and this will be your chance to escape. You must hide until Sunday morning, the day after tomorrow, so try and take a blanket with you if you can. Stay out of sight. 

Ivy bit down hard on her lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The memory of breaking into Mother Carlin’s office at dawn was still raw, the anticipation of finding her baby’s file turning to shock as she discovered no trace of Rose’s whereabouts. Instead, the file contained six letters. One was to a local psychiatric unit, the word copy stamped in the corner, recommending she be admitted immediately; the other five had been written by Ivy herself, begging Alistair to come to St Margaret’s and fetch her and their baby. A rubber band was wrapped tightly around these letters, Return to sender written in Alistair’s scrawl across every one. 
She had walked over to the tiny window of the dark, hellish room where she had suffered so much pain and watched the sunrise, knowing it would be her last. Then she had slotted Alistair’s letters into an envelope from Mother Carlin’s desk, scribbled her mother’s address on it and hidden it in the post tray before creeping back up the stairs to her bed. 

Without any hope of freedom, or of finding Rose, I no longer have the strength to go on. But Elvira, you can. Your file told me that you have a twin sister named Kitty, who probably has no idea you exist, and that your family name is Cannon. They live in Preston, so they will attend church here every Sunday. Wait in the outhouse until you hear the bells and the villagers begin arriving for church, then hide in the graveyard until you see your twin. No doubt you will recognise her, although she will be dressed a little differently to you. Try and get her attention without anyone seeing. She will help you. Don’t be afraid to escape and live your life full of hope. Look for the good in everyone, Elvira, and be kind. I love you and I will be watching you and holding your hand forever. Now run, my darling. RUN. Ivy XXX 

Ivy started as the lock to the drying room where she and Elvira had spent so many hours together clicked suddenly and Sister Angelica burst through the door. She glared at Ivy, her squinting grey eyes hidden behind wire-framed glasses that were propped up by her bulbous nose. Ivy hurriedly pushed herself up and stuffed the note into the pocket of her overalls. She looked down so as not to catch the nun’s eye. 
‘Aren’t you finished yet?’ Sister Angelica snapped. 
‘Yes, Sister,’ said Ivy. ‘Sister Faith said I could have some TCP.’ She buried her trembling hands in her pockets. ‘What for?’ 
She could feel Sister Angelica’s eyes burning into her. ‘Some of the children have bad mouth ulcers and it’s making it hard for them to eat.’‘Those children are of no concern to you,’ Sister Angelica replied angrily. ‘They are lucky to have a roof over their heads.’ Ivy pictured the rows of babies lying in their cots, staring into the distance, having long since given up crying. Sister Angelica continued. ‘Fetching TCP means I have to go all the way to the storeroom, and Mother Carlin’s dinner tray is due for collection. Do you not think I have enough to do?’ 
Ivy paused. ‘I just want to help them a little, Sister. Isn’t that best for everyone?’ Sister Angelica glared at her, the hairs protruding from the mole on her chin twitching slightly. ‘You will find that hard where you’re going.’ Ivy felt adrenaline flooding through her body as Sister Angelica turned to walk back out of the room, reaching for her keys to lock the door behind her. Lifting her shaking hands, she took a deep breath and lunged forward, grabbing the nun’s tunic and pulling it as hard as she could. Sister Angelica let out a gasp, losing her balance and falling to the ground with a thud. Ivy straddled her and put one hand over her mouth, wrestling with the keys on her belt until they finally came free. Then, as Sister Angelica opened her mouth to scream, she slapped her hard across the face, stunning her into silence. 

Panting heavily, with fear and adrenaline making her heart hurt, Ivy pulled herself up, ran through the door and slammed it shut. Her hands were shaking so violently, it was a struggle to find the right key, but she managed to fit it into the lock and turn it just as Sister Angelica rattled the handle, trying to force the door open.

She stood for a moment, gasping deep breaths. Then she unhooked the large brass key Elvira needed to get into the tunnels and wrapped her note around it. She heaved open the iron door to the laundry chute and kissed the note before sending it down to Elvira, pressing the buzzer to let her know it was there. She pictured the little girl waiting patiently for the dry laundry as she did at the end of every day. A wave of emotion crashed over her and she felt her legs buckling. Leaning forward, she let out a cry. 

Sister Angelica began to scream and hammer on the door, and with one last look back down the corridor that led to the ironing room and Elvira, Ivy turned away, breaking into a run. She passed the heavy oak front door. She had the keys to it now, but it led only to a high brick wall topped with barbed wire that she had neither the strength nor the heart to climb over. 

Memories of her arrival all those months ago came flooding back. She could see herself ringing the heavy bell at the gate, her large stomach making it awkward to lug her suitcase behind Sister Mary Francis along the driveway, hesitating before she crossed the threshold to St Margaret’s for the first time. Hurrying up the creaking stairs two at a time, she turned as she reached the top and pictured herself screaming at the girl she once was, telling her to run away and never look back. 

As she crept along the landing, she could hear the murmur of voices coming towards her and broke into a run, heading for the door at the foot of the dormitory steps. The house was deathly quiet, as all the other girls were at dinner, eating in silence, any talk forbidden. Only the cries of the babies in the nursery echoed through the house. Soon, though, Mother Carlin would know she was gone, and the whole building would be alerted. 

She reached the door of the dormitory and ran between the rows of beds just as the piercing alarm bell began to ring. As she reached the window, Sister Faith appeared at the end of the room. Despite her fear, Ivy smiled to herself. If Sister Faith was with her, that meant she was not with Elvira. She could hear Mother Carlin shouting from the stairway. 

‘Stop her, Sister, quickly!’ 

Ivy pulled herself up onto the ledge and, using Sister Angelica’s keys, opened the window. She pictured Elvira running through the tunnels and out into the freedom of the night. 

Then, just as Sister Faith reached her and grabbed for her overalls, she stretched out her arms and jumped. 


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: 


Emily Gunnis previously worked in TV drama and lives in Brighton with her young family. She is one of the four daughters of Sunday Times bestselling author Penny Vincenzi.


Follow her on Twitter @EmilyGunnis
Instagram @emilygunnis
and Facebook @emilygunnisauthor