Ruby Jackson - A Christmas Gift

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2014

Copyright © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2014

Cover photography by Henry Steadman (woman); Other photographs © Monty Fresco/Getty Images (child); Carl Mydans/Getty Images (snow); Alamy (fir trees); Shutterstock (all other images)

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2014

Ruby Jackson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

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.

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, downloaded, 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.

Source ISBN: 9780007506316

Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007506330

Version: 2014-09-19

This book is for my American sisters, Susan A, Trisha S, and Holly McG

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 77–85 Fulham Palace Road Hammersmith, London W6 8JB www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2014 Copyright © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2014 Cover photography by Henry Steadman (woman); Other photographs © Monty Fresco/Getty Images (child); Carl Mydans/Getty Images (snow); Alamy (fir trees); Shutterstock (all other images) Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2014 Ruby Jackson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. 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. 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, downloaded, 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. Source ISBN: 9780007506316 Ebook Edition © October 2014 ISBN: 9780007506330 Version: 2014-09-19

Dedication This book is for my American sisters, Susan A, Trisha S, and Holly McG

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Acknowledgements

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About the Author

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January 1945, Somewhere in Egypt

Not for the first time Sally wondered how she would cope. They were so young, younger even than the boys who had been at school with her – children some of them, not even the slightest shadow of down on their soft, young faces.

‘Pull yourself together, Sally Brewer. You’ve seen injured servicemen before.’

I know, she argued with herself, but they were all nicely bandaged and in clean hospital beds. She shuddered as she relived climbing out of the lorry to find herself turning to face three field ambulances. From each ambulance, injured men in bloodied, torn uniforms were carried gently, but as rapidly as possible, into the field hospital.

What use here was a pretty girl in a pretty dress? It was capable hands they needed.

Sebastian, as always, was just behind her, and, as always, seemed to read her thoughts. ‘Come along, Sally, there are medicines that don’t come from a pill bottle. A smile from your beautiful eyes does wonders. I know. I’ve seen it. Wear the silver frock tonight. They’ll think you’re the Christmas fairy.’

Two days later.

‘Come on, Sally darling, let’s go over that number again.’

Sally pulled off her uncomfortable but very flattering long blond wig and threw it across the room at Prince Charming who did not, at that moment, look at all attractive. His blond peruke was bouncing on the top of his own thick brown hair and likely to fall off at any moment.

He caught Sally’s wig, stuck it on top of his slipping peruke and ogled her. ‘Arr, but you’re a dainty wench, and I don’t doubt these soldier lads’ll be slobbering at your door in a minute.’ Just as quickly he changed back to serious. ‘I can hear the clumping of the great clods already, Sal, and we have to get the number right.’

‘The only thing that can be heard approaching over sand, Sebastian, is an armoured vehicle. These men are not clods, and I have the dratted number right.’

‘Darling,’ he held out his arms in supplication, ‘it’s not my fault we’re doing panto in the desert in January. I think the CO sounds like a really decent chap. Imagine some of the permanently constipated officers we’ve met over the years suggesting a pantomime. And Father Christmas. Wait till you see me as Santa Claus.’

‘They’ll never believe that you’re Santa, Sebastian, you’re too tall and too thin.’

‘Picky. Let me tell you, Cinderella, that when the engineers and two of the nurses from the hospital have finished with me, Father Christmas himself will have doubts about his authenticity. Think, Sal. Some of these boys have been away from home for two, even three, Christmases. Realistically, odds are that more than one of the youngsters who follow you around like puppies will never see another Christmas. Lovely idea to have a late one and it is only January. Pretty please, I’d rather not dance by myself. One does look rather a fool.’

The ENSA company was stationed in an abandoned settlement somewhere, they believed, in the Egyptian desert. Apart from a half-finished aircraft hangar, their accommodation consisted of a ruined, deconsecrated church, its dilapidated hall and several barely standing wooden huts. There was one rather tired-looking date palm growing, or perhaps not – they could not be sure.

One of the young soldiers from the army base had told Sally that the presence of the tree showed that there was, or at least had been, water there. ‘All you need to survive in the desert,’ he had assured her almost gleefully. ‘Perfect food, the date; it’s got everything one needs to sustain life.’