From New York Times bestselling author Michelle Gable
comes a dual-narrative set at the famed Heywood Hill Bookshop in London about a
struggling American writer on the hunt for a rumored lost manuscript written by
the iconic Nancy Mitford—bookseller, spy, author, and aristocrat—during World
War II.
In 1942, London, Nancy Mitford is worried about more than
air raids and German spies. Still recovering from a devastating loss, the once
sparkling Bright Young Thing is estranged from her husband, her allowance has
been cut, and she’s given up her writing career. On top of this, her five
beautiful but infamous sisters continue making headlines with their
controversial politics.
Eager for distraction and desperate for income, Nancy jumps
at the chance to manage the Heywood Hill bookshop while the owner is away at
war. Between the shop’s brisk business and the literary salons she hosts for
her eccentric friends, Nancy’s life seems on the upswing. But when a mysterious
French officer insists that she has a story to tell, Nancy must decide if
picking up the pen again and revealing all is worth the price she might be
forced to pay.
Eighty years later, Heywood Hill is abuzz with the hunt for
a lost wartime manuscript written by Nancy Mitford. For one woman desperately
in need of a change, the search will reveal not only a new side to Nancy, but
an even more surprising link between the past and present…
Enjoy this excerpt:
April 1946
Hotel de Bourgogne, Paris VII
There they are, held like flies in the amber of that
moment—click goes the camera and on goes life; the minutes, the days, the
years, the decades, taking them further and further from that happiness and
promise of youth, from the hopes…and from the dreams they dreamed for
themselves.
—Nancy Mitford,The Pursuit of Love
“Alors, racontez!” the Colonel said, and spun her
beneath his arm.
Nancy had to duck, of course. The man was frightfully short.
“Racontez! Racontez!”
She laughed, thinking of all the times the Colonel made this
demand. Racontez! Tell me!
“Allô—allô,” he’d say across some crackling line. “Were
you asleep?”
He might be in Paris, or Algiers, or another place he could
not name. Weeks or months would pass and then a phone rang in London and set
Nancy Mitford’s world straight again.
“Alors, racontez! Tell me everything!”
And she did.
The Colonel found Nancy’s stories comical, outrageous,
unlike anything he’d ever known, his delight beginning first and foremost with
the six Mitford girls, and their secret society. Nancy also had a brother, but
he hardly counted at all.
“C’est pas vrai!” the Colonel would cry, with each
new tale. “That cannot be true!”
“It all happened,” Nancy told him. “Every word. What do you
expect with a Nazi, a Communist, and several Fascists, in one family tree?”
“C’est incroyable!”
But the Hon Society was the past, and this gilded Parisian
hotel room was now, likewise Nancy’s beloved Colonel, presently reaching into
the bucket of champagne. How had she gotten to this place? It was the
impossible dream.
“Promise we can stay here forever,” Nancy said.
“Here or somewhere like it,” he answered with a grin.
Nancy’s heart bounced. Heavens, he was ever-so-ugly with his pock-marked face and receding hairline, the precise opposite of her strapping husband, a man so wholesome he might’ve leapt from the pages of a seedsman catalogue. But Nancy loved her Colonel with every part of herself, in particular the female, which represented another chief difference between the two men.
“You know, my friends are desperate to take a French lover,”
Nancy said, and she tossed her gloves onto the bed. “All thanks to a fictional
character from a book. Everyone is positively in love with Fabrice!”
“Bien sûr, as in real life,” the Colonel said as he
popped the cork.
The champagne bubbled up the bottle’s neck, and dribbled
onto his stubby hands.
“You’re such a wolf!” Nancy said. She heaved open the
shutters and scanned the square below. “At last! A hotel with a view.”
Their room overlooked Le Palais Bourbon, home to l’Assemblée
nationale, the two-hundred-year seat of the French government, minus the
interlude during which it was occupied by the Luftwaffe. Mere months ago German
propaganda hung from the building: DEUTSCHLAND SIEGT AN ALLEN FRONTEN.
Germany is victorious on all fronts. But the banners were gone now, and France
had been freed. Nancy was in Paris, just as she’d planned.
“This is heaven!” Nancy said. She peered over her shoulder
and coquettishly kicked up a heel. “A luncheon party tomorrow? What do you
think?”
“Okay, chéri, quoi que tu en dises,” the Colonel
said, as she sauntered toward him.
“Whatever I want?” Nancy said. “I’ve been dying to hear
those words! What about snails, chicken, and port salut? No more eating from
tins for you. On that note, darling, you mustn’t worry about your job
prospects. I know you’ll miss governing France but, goodness, we’ll have so
much more free time!”
Nancy was proud of the work the Colonel had done as General
de Gaulle’s chef du cabinet, but his resignation made life far more
convenient. No longer would she have to wait around, or brook his maddeningly
specific requests. I’ve got a heavy political day LET ME SEE—can you come at
2 minutes to 6?
“It’s really one of the best things that could’ve happened
to us,” Nancy said. “Oh, darling, life will be pure bliss!”
Nancy leaned forward and planted a kiss on the Colonel’s
nose.
“On trinque?” he said, and lifted a glass.
Nancy raised hers to meet it.
“Santé!” he cheered.
Nancy rolled her eyes. “The French are so dull with their
toasts. Who cares about my health? It’s wretched, most of the time. Cheers to
novels, I’d say! Cheers to readers the world over!”
“À la femme auteur, Nancy Mitford!” The Colonel
clinked her glass. “Vive la littérature!”
Excerpted from The Bookseller’s Secret by Michelle
Gable, Copyright © 2021 by Michelle Gable Bilski. Published by Graydon House
Books.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
MICHELLE GABLE is the New York Times bestselling
author of A Paris Apartment, I'll See You in Paris, The Book
of Summer, and The Summer I Met Jack. She attended The College of
William & Mary, where she majored in accounting, and spent twenty years
working in finance before becoming a full-time writer. She grew up in San Diego
and lives in Cardiff-by-the-Sea, California, with her husband and two
daughters. Find her at michellegable.com or on Instagram, Twitter, or
Pinterest, @MGableWriter.
SOCIAL LINKS:
Author website: https://michellegable.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MGableWriter
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mgablewriter/
Hotel de Bourgogne, Paris VII
—Nancy Mitford,The Pursuit of Love
Nancy had to duck, of course. The man was frightfully short.
“Racontez! Racontez!”
Nancy’s heart bounced. Heavens, he was ever-so-ugly with his pock-marked face and receding hairline, the precise opposite of her strapping husband, a man so wholesome he might’ve leapt from the pages of a seedsman catalogue. But Nancy loved her Colonel with every part of herself, in particular the female, which represented another chief difference between the two men.
Photo credit: Joanna DeGeneres |
Author website: https://michellegable.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MGableWriter
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mgablewriter/
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