The Foyles Bookshop Girls Read online

  THE FOYLES BOOKSHOP GIRLS

  Elaine Roberts

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

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  About The Foyles Bookshop Girls

  London, 1914: one ordinary day, three girls arrive for work at London’s renowned Foyles bookshop. But when war with Germany is declared their lives will never be the same again…

  Alice has always been the ‘sensible’ one in her family – especially in comparison with her suffrage-supporting sister! But decidedly against her father's wishes, she accepts a job at Foyles Bookshop; and for bookworm Alice it's a dream come true.

  But with the country at war, Alice’s happy world is shattered in an instant. Determined to do what she can, Alice works in the bookshop by day, and risks her own life driving an ambulance around bomb-ravaged London by night. But however busy she keeps herself, she can’t help but think of the constant danger those she loves are facing on the frontline…

  Alice, Victoria and Molly couldn’t be more different and yet they share a friendship that stems back to their childhood – a friendship that provides everyday solace from the tribulations and heartbreak of war. Perfect for fans of Elaine Everest, Daisy Styles and Rosie Hendry

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About The Foyles Bookshop Girls

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Acknowledgments

  About Elaine Roberts

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  To my husband, Dave, and my son, James. Without them, and their

  never-ending support and belief, this story would never have been

  written.

  Chapter 1

  June 1914

  Alice Taylor was a little breathless. A small bead of perspiration had formed on her forehead. She lifted her head slightly to enjoy the breeze that rippled along the river, breaking up the heat of the early morning June sunshine. Alice sighed. The summer of 1914 was going to be a hot one. The small heels on her ankle boots clipped the pavement purposefully as she hurried across Westminster Bridge towards Big Ben, leaving her visit to St Thomas’ Hospital behind her.

  The tall black ornate ironwork of the streetlights lined the bridge, high above the people walking along, each rushing to their destination. Horses pulled their carts, leaving piles of dung in their wake. The everyday pungent stench went unnoticed by everyone. Children leant against the sides of the bridge to enjoy the boats chugging along the river. Their arms were outstretched, waving, as they got nearer. Some mothers stopped to enjoy the scene, while others shouted to hurry their children along.

  ‘Come on, we’ll be late, you can watch them another time.’

  ‘Don’t let me have to tell you again.’ A woman snatched her child away from the side of the bridge and dragged him along the road, scuffing his worn shoes as he went.

  On another day, she would have stopped to admire the boats and the sun glinting off the River Thames, but not today. If she didn't get a move on, she'd be late. An army of people had gathered outside the Houses of Parliament and Alice glanced over, intrigued by what they were all looking at. Shrill voices chanting ‘votes for women’ carried through the air. She took a step towards the crowd that was growing in size.

  ‘Votes for women.’ A single voice rang out.

  Alice came to an abrupt standstill. That was Lily's voice, wasn't it? She stood on tiptoes, stretching her neck to see above everyone, but all she could see were the placards held high. She wrinkled her nose as the strong smell of coffee wafted around her. Crowds were building, spilling onto the pavement.

  Men frowned and shook their heads as they were made to step into the road.

  A deep voice shouted out, causing the spectators to look around. ‘Get back to your kitchens.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be allowed. God help us all if women get the vote,’ another yelled as he walked by.

  Some women jeered in response, while others mumbled to each other. People stopped and stared. They all wanted to see what the commotion was about, but not wanting to get involved, they moved on quickly.

  Alice wanted to push through the crowd to see if it was her sister’s voice she’d heard. If so, she’d try to pull her away, but Lily's fiery nature would mean a commotion, drawing unwanted attention to them. Their father would be furious if Lily was involved in what he called ‘that nonsense’. A stout, grey-haired woman walked through the crowd, wearing a tall, black, wide-brimmed hat. She was carrying a long white cotton bag with ‘Votes For Women’ emblazoned on the front of it. The bag rested against her long black skirt, while her white blouse rippled underneath the strap. She stood in front of Alice, thrusting a handful of leaflets at her. ‘Take one, miss, this is all about you and your future, and your daughter’s.’

  Alice looked down at the white paper with ‘Votes for Women’ printed across the top in large, thick black letters.

  The old lady moved her white-gloved hand nearer. ‘Go on, you know it's important we all stand together.’

  Alice reached out and did as she was bid. The woman smiled and moved on into the crowd. The loud musical chimes of Big Ben made her jump; she automatically glanced down at her wristwatch as they continued. Thank goodness they’d alerted her to how late she was going to be if she didn't hurry. Deciding against worrying about Lily's folly, Alice thrust the leaflet into her skirt pocket and turned right onto Whitehall. The tall buildings, with what her father liked to call ‘architectural details’ of pillars and scrolls, were invisible to her as she focussed on reaching W & G Foyles Bookstore, on Charing Cross Road, where she worked as a shop assistant. Alice's stomach churned and she felt nauseous thinking about the confrontation between Lily and their father, but she told herself she could say, hand on heart, and on a stack of bibles if her father insisted, that she hadn't seen Lily at the demonstration.

  Two men in dark suits walked in front of her and lit cigarettes. She wrinkled her nose when the slight breeze caught the smoke and it wafted in her face. Their black trousers held sharp creases, which had been ironed in, front and back, matching their long sack coats. Bowler hats were perched precariously on their heads.

  ‘What do you think then, about the Austrian being shot?’ the smaller man asked his companion, tucking a newspaper under his arm.

  ‘I can't see why the shooting in Sarajevo should affect this country.’

  The man lifted his arm slightly, to adjust the position of his daily paper. ‘No, let's hope not; we have enough problems…’ he responded, pausing to listen to the women's voices as they carried through the air. ‘Those women are causing havoc.’

  The taller man laughed. ‘I'm more concerned about the unions and the talk of a general strike.’

  ‘Yes, the thought of strikes is worrying.’ The other man sighed. ‘The unions are getting stronger and if the miners, transport workers and dockers all stop work, it will bring the country to a standstill. T
he threat of it alone is already putting up prices. Mark my words, it won’t be long before it affects my grocery business and I’ll be the bad person when the prices go up.’

  ‘We’ve noticed it at the factory too; it could be a rough ride ahead. My wife is already complaining she can’t get what she needs from the milliners.’

  Alice sighed. Anxiety threatened to engulf her. Having no desire to overhear their conversation, —the same one she had heard a hundred times over between her older brother, Robert, and her father— she stepped out into the wide road to pass the two men. All this talk of strikes, and now Lily getting involved in politics; at twenty years old, her younger sister wanted to take on the establishment. Alice shook her head. Talking to her feisty sibling, before she got arrested, was paramount. Their Grandpa Gettin was always saying Lily was like their mother, Sarah, when she was her age and she in turn reminded him of her mother, Alexandra, when she was alive.

  Alice quickened her step. Her grip tightened on her empty shopping bag as it swung by her side, brushing against her black tulip-shaped, ankle length skirt. A red tram approached, she was convinced they were travelling faster than they used to. She stepped onto the pavement as it trundled past; the breeze blew a strand of her long brown hair across her face. Her slender fingers pulled it away and pushed it behind her ear, under her narrow-brimmed hat, before checking the small pearl earrings nestling on her earlobes.

  The men's voices faded into the morning air as each step took her further away.

  ‘Read all about it,’ a newspaper boy yelled, pulling at his flat cap to keep the sun off his face. His brown jacket looked worn and threadbare. His black trousers sat an inch above his scuffed shoes. ‘The heir to the Austrian throne and his wife shot dead in Sarajevo.’ Men in suits swarmed towards the boy from all directions, frantically searching in their trouser pockets for the halfpenny needed to buy the newspapers that were under the lad's arm. ‘Your change, sir.’

  ‘Keep it.’ The man stepped away, staring at the front page.

  ‘Come on, lad, I’m going to be late for work.’

  ‘Hold on, mate.’ The boy handed over the paper and quickly pocketed the money.

  Alice crossed Trafalgar Square, where the tall column was sited, with the famous admiral looking down on Londoners going about their business. The National Gallery stood tall and vast on her left as she made her way along Charing Cross Road. Drivers of the horse-drawn carriages were careful to avoid the motorcars as they drove past. The dull thud of the hooves clip-clopping on the tarmac provided the usual melodic background for the engines coughing and spluttering above them. Horse dung lay in a line along the road, the earthy smell mingling with the overpowering fumes from the cars. Shopkeepers said good morning to everyone they saw as they pulled down awnings to protect their produce from the early morning sunshine. As she walked by, Alice watched their practiced hands wipe down the windows with rags, reminding her of her father's wrath when he had caught her throwing away some worn bed linen. He’d lectured her about not wasting his hard-earned money, insisting the sheets were cut up, hemmed and used as rags, just like his mother used to do. Her mother hadn't said a word against him. She stored them away in a cupboard and his instructions were still waiting to be carried out. Alice had never met her father's family and neither had her mother. As a child, she had built fantasy pictures in her mind about them, and as an adult she had thought about visiting them in Norfolk, but she didn't want her father's anger to come down on her. He kept in touch by visiting them once a year, but he always went alone.

  The chimes of Big Ben told her it was now quarter to nine. Alice shook her head, annoyed with herself for having gone to St Thomas' Hospital before work, instead of afterwards.

  Chapter 2

  Alice sighed with relief. Foyles Bookstore frontage was unmissable. The message was clear. They were the largest booksellers in London, with six floors. If a novel was purchased and returned after it was read, there would be a refund of two thirds of the price for each book. They had created quite a name since William and Gilbert Foyle started selling their own unwanted books in 1903. Everyone who started working there was told about their vision of having a bookshop for the people.

  She paused for a moment to take a couple of deep breaths, hoping to lessen the heat on her face, catching sight of her reflection in a shop window. Her slender figure was slightly distorted by the glass as she patted down the wide, black-edged lapels of her white blouse. Her hand automatically ran down the small black buttons, twisting each one in turn. She took a deep breath, patted her pinned up hair and stepped towards the open doorway of the shop.

  The shutters were being lifted and bookstands were being placed by the entrance and to the side of the store. Customers of all ages were already gathering.

  ‘Morning, Miss Taylor.’ A slim man towered above her. ‘You only just made it on time.’ He frowned.

  Her heart pummelled in her chest. She looked up at his stern expression. His grey hair was greased back. ‘Sorry, sir, I foolishly went to St Thomas' before I came to work.’ Colour flushed her cheeks; Mr Leadbetter was a stickler for timekeeping.

  ‘Oh.’ His face softened. ‘Nothing wrong I trust?’

  ‘No, sir, I’ve so many books indoors, I wanted to give some to the hospital…’ Alice's voice faded to a mumble. ‘For the patients.’

  Mr Leadbetter raised his eyebrows. His hands linked behind his back, making his dark grey jacket gape revealing more of his blue tie and lily-white shirt. ‘Very commendable.’ He paused for a moment. ‘You do know we sell second-hand books as well as new ones, don't you?’

  The corners of Alice's lips lifted slightly. ‘Of course, sir, I’ve worked here for a few years now. I just thought it would be a good thing to do, but I should have waited until my day off.’

  Mr Leadbetter nodded and stepped aside for Alice to walk through the store to the staff room. Having removed her hat and left it with her shopping bag, she stood in front of a large white clock face with its wooden surround and pulled her clocking-in card from the individual slots next to it. She dropped it into a hole in front of the clock and pulled it out again. Alice looked down at the time stamp, realising she had only just made it on time. Quickly placing it back, she hurried into the shop.

  Foyles had an air of a library about it as men, women and children lifted books from the shelves to look at the covers and read the first few pages. People whispered to each other, some louder than others, as their excitement grew. The bookshop had become a popular meeting place. There were shelves upon shelves of old and new books, priced from tuppence upwards. She took a deep breath, never tiring of the smell that came from them. She smiled, remembering how Mr Leadbetter had caught her with her nose in a book, her eyes shut, savouring the smell. He hadn't questioned her; he understood and they spent ten minutes trying to work out how to describe it. Was it woody? But then there was a trace of something else; maybe it was the ink or dust. If the previous reader had been a smoker, then that also clung to the pages. No one in the store thought it was odd; they were book lovers, after all.

  Alice stepped behind the counter and placed her pad of bill payments in front of her.

  ‘Morning, Alice, everything all right? I saw old Leadbetter talking to you.’

  Alice looked up and smiled at Molly. ‘Shh, don't call him that, he’s quite nice really.’

  ‘Huh, I am not so sure about that.’ Molly pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin, showing she was a head taller than her friend. She pushed back her blonde fringe and patted the bun that was neatly formed at the nape of her neck. ‘I don't think he likes me.’

  Alice laughed. ‘He’s probably heard what you call him.’ She reached for a pen and placed it on top of her pad. ‘Right, I'm ready.’ Alice glanced over at the payment booth, expecting to see Victoria sitting there but it was empty. ‘Is Victoria in yet?’

  Molly shrugged her shoulders. ‘Vic’s nearly always late. I don't know how she gets away with it.’

&n
bsp; Alice frowned. ‘Don't call her that, she hates it.’ She took a deep breath; the waft of carbolic soap hit her. In an attempt to clear her throat, she gave a slight cough.

  Molly's bottom lip jutted out as she stared intently across at the payment booth. ‘Well, you can't deny Miss Victoria Appleton seems to get away with things that no one else would.’

  Alice sighed. ‘Stop being mean, she has a lot on her plate, and anyway she probably gets docked fifteen minutes pay every time she’s late.’

  Molly's eyes looked heavenward. ‘As always.’ She frowned. ‘If she’s so poor, you wouldn’t think she could afford to lose money like that.’

  ‘Stop it. You or I wouldn't be able to cope with the things she does at twenty years old.’ Alice glared at her friend for a moment before allowing her features to soften. ‘Something’s clearly bothering you but we can't talk about it now; maybe at lunch time.’

  ‘What makes you think something’s wrong?’

  Alice laughed. ‘You’re obviously not in a good mood.’ Glancing over at the payment booth again she saw Victoria stepping inside and locking herself in. She looked pale and weighed down. Alice smiled and waved at her friend but she wasn't looking her way.

  ‘I’m in a perfectly good mood for a Monday morning, thank you very much.’ Molly smiled through gritted teeth.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Alice turned to give Molly her full attention. ‘Didn’t you have a very good weekend?’

  Molly stared down at the counter, her fingers tracing the wood grain. ‘It was fine.’

  Alice shook her head. ‘We’ve been friends since we were children; you do know you can tell me anything, don't you?’

  Molly looked up and frowned. ‘We have, but we come from very different backgrounds.’

  ‘Not that different, and it's never been an issue before, so what’s happened to make it one now?’ Alice squinted at her, trying to read what was going on.