In 2015 I joined an Anzacs on the
Western Front tour, visiting the Belgian and French WW1 battlefields where my
grandfather and his brother served with the Australian Imperial Forces.
Looking at the lovely towns and villages and soft green fields it was hard to
imagine the horrors of that war until our guide held up enlarged photos of
blackened, treeless wastelands littered with bodies of men and horses. We
visited the immaculately cared for Commonwealth War Graves and memorials and it
was very humbling to see the thousands of graves of young men who never went
home. Particularly sad was the inscription on so many headstones - "Known
Only to God". I could only assume their bodies were unrecognisable and
their identity discs buried in the mud or blown elsewhere. When thousands died
in one battle, the ghastly task of identifying and recording the death on their
service records would have been huge, and I am sure mistakes were made. After
the tour ended, I got to wondering if it was possible for a soldier to swap
identity discs with another who had been killed in battle. In those days,
War Service records were hand-written with basic descriptions of the soldier - name,
address, age, marital status, religion, place of birth, height, weight and
colouring. Curiosity grew to a real need to know, so I contacted London's
Imperial War Museum and the Australian War Memorial in Canberra asking that
question. Both replied that it was possible but the chance of discovery
very real and the penalties very harsh. Neither confirmed it did happen but
that was good enough for me for me to begin my third book, The
Proposition. My protagonist enlisted to avoid jail, knowing very well it
was be killed on the battlefield or return home to face the law. Then, the one
chance for a new life was in front of him.
Blurb
They
met on the eve of a battle. One enlisted to avoid prison, the other enlisted to
avoid the money lenders. On the bloodied fields of France, Harry Connelly
collapses beside the corpse of Andrew Conroy. It is a risk, a hanging offence,
it’s his only hope for a future. Harry swaps identity discs.
Now
Andrew, he is just another face in post war London until a letter arrives with
a proposition. Accepting is out of the question, refusing plunges him into a
nightmare of murder, jealousy and greed. To survive he must live this lie
without a mistake, until he falls in love with Lacey. To keep her he must tell
the truth and face the consequences.
Excerpt
“Excuse me, call of nature.”
The niggling coil of unease had been growing and now, as Andrew watched
the dining room door close behind Elliot, his instincts were jabbing at him.
His host had been charming and hospitable. Last night, after a delicious dinner
at Browns Hotel, they’d touched on their family connection, unsure of what to
say without offending the other. Elliot had twirled his glass between his
fingers. “My grandparents made a lot of money from the textile industry, my
father sold seventy percent of those businesses and invested in other profitable
enterprises. To put it simply, he was a very astute, successful businessman,
but I’m afraid he was not a good husband and father. He cared little for us and
it distresses me that he cared even less for you and your mother.”
Today, Elliot had proudly introduced him to his pride and joy, a dark
grey Austin-20hp and they’d motored smoothly out of London and onto the soft
Essex countryside. When they’d stopped at Thaxted’s Swan Inn for lunch, Elliot
had commented, “Every spare acre in Essex has been growing vegetables, doing
their bit for the war effort and rationing.” When they continued on to Saffron
Walden, he’d pointed to his left, “Railway station, a branch line from Audley
End. Made a big difference to this town.”
They’d stopped briefly in High Street, then through the marketplace,
bumping over cobblestones to a wider road and finally stopping at the entrance
of a large Victorian house. He’d been shown to his room overlooking the rear of
the house with its garden rows of vegetables. Elliot had apologised again,
business to attend to and please make himself at home. Not used to the
substantial meals, he’d slept until five pm. At seven pm, he’d joined Elliot in
the dining room where silver serving dishes containing roast beef, baked
potatoes and green vegetables sat on spirit warmers. “Very informal this evening,” Elliot had said
breezily. “I asked my daily help to prepare something easy for us, so please,
help yourself.” The only time his host’s friendliness disappeared was when the
daily help tapped on the door to tell him she’d answered the phone and left the
message on the phone pad. Something was very wrong, or perhaps he was too jumpy
from living on this tight rope of lies.
The door opened again. “Much more comfortable,” Elliot grinned. “More
wine?”
“No thank you, I might not be able to climb the stairs, but I must thank
you for another very pleasant evening.”
Elliot’s grin disappeared. “It’s time to discuss the business
proposition which will give us both what we want.”
“I confess I was intrigued when I received your letter,” Andrew replied
guardedly.
“You will perform a service and if that service is completed
satisfactorily, I will pay you three hundred pounds and pay your outstanding
debts.”
Andrew went perfectly still. “Perform a service?”
“You will impregnate the woman I married.”
Author Bio
Jan Selbourne grew up in Melbourne, Australia. Her love of literature
and history began as soon as she could hold a pen. Her career started in the
dusty world of ledgers and accounting then a working holiday in the UK brought
the history to life. Now retired, Jan can indulge her love of writing and
travel. She has two children and lives near Maitland, New South Wales.
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