Churchill’s Angels. Ruby Jackson
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RUBY JACKSON
Churchill’s Angels
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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London SE1 9GF
Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Jacket layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2013
Jacket photographs © Colin Thomas (girl); UPPA/Photoshot (background)
The Author hereby waives all moral rights in the Work. Notwithstanding the foregoing, the Publishers undertake to include the Author’s name in all copies of the Work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Source ISBN: 9780007506231
Ebook Edition © May 2013 ISBN: 9780007506255
Version 2016-10-17
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
This book is dedicated to Sarah and Colin Ramsay
Table of Contents
Read on for an exclusive extract from Grace’s story, Wave Me Goodbye.
August 1939
‘Cheerio, Mrs Richardson.’
Daisy Petrie held the door open as her last customer, still grumbling under her breath, left the shop.
‘Give me strength,’ Daisy muttered. ‘I have got to get out of here.’
She stood for a moment watching the old lady’s progress along the crowded High Street. Two large trams passed each other as they flew noisily along their tracks and the indistinguishable words of a carter and a van driver drifted over to her on the warm air.
The day promised to grow even warmer, and she caught the smell of fresh fish from the open window of a neighbouring shop.
Hope somebody buys them before they go off, she thought ruefully as she stepped back into Petrie’s Groceries and Fine Teas.
She looked around the family’s small shop, the place where she had worked almost every Saturday while growing up, and full time since she had left school. It was, as small, family-run grocery shops go, a pleasant place. Behind