Sneak Peek Excerpt from The Alice Network!
I’m thrilled to share an excerpt from my forthcoming historical novel THE ALICE NETWORK with you! I’ll be posting another longer excerpt on May 1st as well, so make sure to check back on that date.
The first person I met in England was a hallucination. I brought her with me, onboard the serene ocean liner that had carried my numb, grief-haunted self from New York to Southampton.
I was sitting opposite my mother at a wicker table among the potted palms in the Dolphin Hotel, trying to ignore what my eyes were telling me. The blond girl by the front desk wasn’t who I thought she was. I knew she wasn’t who I thought she was. She was just an English girl waiting beside her family’s luggage, someone I’d never seen before—but that didn’t stop my mind from telling me she was someone else. I averted my eyes, looking instead at the three English boys at the next table, who were busy trying to get out of tipping their waitress. “Five percent tip or ten?” a boy in a university tie was saying, waving the bill, and his friends laughed. “I only tip if they’re pretty. She had skinny legs . . .”
I glowered at them, but my mother was oblivious. “So cold and wet for May, mon Dieu!” She unfolded her napkin: a feminine flurry of lavender-scented skirts among the heaps of our baggage. Quite a contrast to me, all rumpled and cross. “Put your shoulders back, chérie.” She’d lived in New York since she married my father, but she still sprinkled her phrases with French. “Do stop slouching.”
“I can’t slouch in this getup.” I was crammed into a waist cincher like a band of iron, not that I needed one because I was built like a twig, but my froth of skirts wouldn’t hang right without it, so band of iron it was. That Dior, may he and his New Look rot in hell. My mother always dressed right at the crest of any new fashion, and she was built for the latest styles: tall, tiny waisted, voluptuously curved, a confection in her full-skirted traveling suit. I had a frilly traveling suit too, but I was drowning in all that fabric. Nineteen forty-seven was hell for little bony girls like me who couldn’t wear the New Look. Then again, 1947 was hell for any girl who would rather work calculus problems than read Vogue, any girl who would rather listen to Edith Piaf than Artie Shaw, and any girl with an empty ring finger but a rounding belly.
I, Charlie St. Clair, was officially three for three.
THE ALICE NETWORK releases June 6! But there’s a Goodreads giveaway if you want a chance to read early. Enter here!