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The Spitfire Girl in The Skies – Fenella J. Miller
About the book
The second Spitfire Girl novel from bestselling author Fenella J Miller.
The ATA training base, Hampshire, 1940.
Ellie Simpson is attached to an Air Transport Auxiliary base in Hampshire. Life as an ATA pilot is tough, but despite the long hours and danger, Ellie can think of nowhere she'd rather be. Not only does she love flying, but doing important war work, alongside new-found friends, provides a welcome distraction from worrying about loved ones fighting on the front line.
Being an ATA girl is definitely exciting, but as Ellie soon finds out wearing the distinctive blue uniform also means putting her life on the line every time she takes to the skies. It will take friendship and a strength she didn't know she possessed to help her county – and those she loves – to survive.
An inspiring story of an incredible girl going above and beyond during World War II.
About the author
Fenella J Miller was born in the Isle of Man. Her father was a Yorkshire man and her mother the daughter of a Rajah. She has worked as a nanny, cleaner, field worker, hotelier, chef, secondary and primary teacher and is now a full time writer. She has over thirty eight Regency romantic adventures published plus four Jane Austen variations, three Victorian sagas and seven WW2 family sagas. She lives in a pretty, riverside village in Essex with her husband and British Shorthair cat. She has two adult children and three grandchildren.
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EXTRACT
By the time the lorry had returned to his base at Hornchurch after Neil’s funeral it was as if nothing untoward had taken place. The men were smoking, joking and talking eagerly about getting to the mess for a few beers and a knees-up that evening.
Greg wanted to mourn his best friend for longer than a few hours but his wasn’t the only squadron to lose members and the last thing that was needed was for the base to fall into a sombre mood. To win this war they had to stay focused, positive, push the negative things aside and get on with it.
He was about to head for the Officers’ Mess on his multicoloured bike – a Christmas present from his darling girl – when someone from his squadron yelled at him.
‘There’s a party somewhere – hop in – we’ll give you a lift.’
Why not? He might as well get legless, drown his sorrows, and what better place to do it than at a party? Neil had been his best friend. His loss was going to be hard to adjust to. Obviously the chaps in this squadron would miss him, but they hadn’t trained with him, known him since long before this bloody war started. Stiff upper lip and all that.
The vehicle they were travelling in had been requisitioned – at least he hoped it had – for the evening and was crammed full of young men just like him, all eager to forget they might be next to go for a Burton.
‘Do we have to take any booze?’ Greg asked the man he was crushed against.
‘No, just drop a couple of quid in a kitty on the way in.’
‘Who’s holding this shindig?’
‘No idea. Open invitation to all the bods here.’
The conversation was cut short as the driver spun the wheel and the vehicle lurched sickeningly, throwing him against the man sitting next to him. By the time they’d untangled themselves they screeched to a halt outside an impressive building.
‘Here we are, lads,’ the driver yelled. ‘Not sure when your transport will be returning – hope you’ve got permission to be out all night.’
The CO had told the squadron to go out and get drunk but hadn’t specified when they should return. He hoped to God there wouldn’t be a German raid tonight as there’d be no one sober enough to fly.
He followed the noisy group up the stone steps, under the portico, and into an entrance hall that reminded him sharply of his own ancestral home. But the resemblance was superficial as this place was in urgent need of repair – whoever lived here must be land rich and cash poor, unlike his own unpleasant family.
There was a dozen or so partygoers milling about in the space but the sound of jollity and revelry was coming through the open double doors of the drawing room. No sign of a bar so he couldn’t find himself a much needed drink before he entered the fray.
The drawing room, like the hall, was vast, elegantly furnished, but definitely run down. Two sets of French doors stood wide open onto a terrace. This was where the party was. The last thing he wanted was to smile and be sociable but that was how it was done in the RAF. Onwards and upwards – think about tomorrow not yesterday.
As he was making his reluctant way towards the terrace a familiar voice hailed him. ‘Greg, how wonderful to see you. I hoped you would be here.’ The honourable Elizabeth Hamilton rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck. She was a deb he’d had a brief affair with a couple of years ago. He’d met up with her again at a village social just after he’d been transferred to the squadron and had spent an enjoyable day catching up over a picnic. She wouldn’t ask him how he was feeling, want to talk about his grief; she was exactly the distraction he desperately needed.
‘Elizabeth, I might have known you would be anywhere there was a party going on.’ He extricated himself from her arms without reciprocating her kiss but she seemed unbothered by his rejection.
‘I’m sorry about your friend, I know you have just returned from his funeral. The night is for forgetting, for having a jolly good time and I’ll help you do that.’
The next few hours passed in a haze of loud music, too much alcohol and wild dancing. By the time it got dark he’d forgotten everything apart from the pleasure of holding a beautiful girl in his arms and twirling her around the ballroom. His misery at the death of his friend had been numbed by drink. Live in the moment is what they were advised to do and he was doing that with a vengeance.
‘I’m bushed, I need some fresh air and another drink.’
‘So do I, Greg, let’s get one and have a stroll around the garden. Now it’s dark, it’s lovely out there.’
When she kissed him he responded and what happened next was inevitable. If they’d still been inside, in full view of his comrades, things would have been different.
He tumbled her to the ground behind a concealing shrub and she was as eager as he to make love. For a few minutes he forgot Neil, Ellie, everything that mattered to him as his baser instincts took over. It had been too long since he’d slept with a woman and not even a bomb dropping could have prevented him from being unfaithful.
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