charlie_cochrane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charlie_cochrane) wrote2013-02-25 12:16 pm
charlie_cochrane) wrote2013-02-25 12:16 pm
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Promises Made Under Fire is out today
My latest foray into WWI, Promises Made Under Fire, is out today in e-book and audio version.
"I can recommend it whole-heartedly. Emotional, but no real angst, still moving and lovely. This would be an excellent entry point into MM romance" Read full review.
France, 1915
Lieutenant Tom Donald envies everything about fellow officer Frank Foden--his confidence, his easy manner with the men in the trenches, the affectionate letters from his wife. Frank shares these letters happily, drawing Tom into a vicarious friendship with a woman he's never met. Although the bonds of friendship forged under fire are strong, Tom can't be so open with Frank--he's attracted to men and could never confess that to anyone.
When Frank is killed in no-man's-land, he leaves behind a mysterious request for Tom: to deliver a sealed letter to a man named Palmer. Tom undertakes the commission while on leave--and discovers that almost everything he thought he knew about Frank is a lie...
Here's a bit from the scene where Tom has to carry out Foden's request to visit his mother:
Two days later—a bright, bitterly cold morning—I headed to London, address in hand. At first, when I turned into the road, I thought I’d gone wrong, but unless Foden had written Avenue when he’d meant Street or Road—or Bentham had copied it incorrectly—there could be no mistake.
I walked along, noting the numbers but not being as bullish as I was under fire. I’d pictured Mrs. Foden as the cook to some prosperous but modest family, not the sort of household living here, and by the time I was still a dozen houses from my target I’d convinced myself this was either a huge mistake or all my preconceptions about Frank’s background were awry. I quickened my step, lunged down the area steps (and “over the top”) and rapped on the tradesman’s door.
The sort of butler who eyed you as if you were something to scrape from his boot opened it.
“Can I help you? Sir?” He added, after giving me a once-over.
I tipped my hat, stopping just short of saluting—even in officer’s clothes I felt like a little boy asking for my football back. “Yes, I’m looking for Mrs. Foden.”
I didn’t realise the butler could look any more disapproving until I saw his change of expression. “You will not find her down here.” He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “If you make your way to the house door I will await you there.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense, but I obeyed him. Perhaps there’d been some problem and the cook had left the household? Was I being called to see the master or mistress of the house, who would then explain the chain of events to me? Or did my uniform, and the all too-obvious regimental badge, make the butler think of Foden and decide it was better I spoke with the employer first before upsetting a member of his household? Thoughts sped through my brain faster than bullets across No-man’s-land as I slowly climbed the area steps and then up to the front door.
It opened as soon as I hit the top step, as though the butler had either been watching for me or known to perfection how long it would take to make the short journey.
“I shall inform Mrs. Foden of your arrival,” he said, looking down his nose at me. “Who shall I say it is?”
“Captain Donald,” I replied, my relatively new rank still tripping a tongue which wanted to say “Lieutenant.” “I served with her son.”
"I can recommend it whole-heartedly. Emotional, but no real angst, still moving and lovely. This would be an excellent entry point into MM romance" Read full review.
France, 1915
Lieutenant Tom Donald envies everything about fellow officer Frank Foden--his confidence, his easy manner with the men in the trenches, the affectionate letters from his wife. Frank shares these letters happily, drawing Tom into a vicarious friendship with a woman he's never met. Although the bonds of friendship forged under fire are strong, Tom can't be so open with Frank--he's attracted to men and could never confess that to anyone.
When Frank is killed in no-man's-land, he leaves behind a mysterious request for Tom: to deliver a sealed letter to a man named Palmer. Tom undertakes the commission while on leave--and discovers that almost everything he thought he knew about Frank is a lie...
Here's a bit from the scene where Tom has to carry out Foden's request to visit his mother:
Two days later—a bright, bitterly cold morning—I headed to London, address in hand. At first, when I turned into the road, I thought I’d gone wrong, but unless Foden had written Avenue when he’d meant Street or Road—or Bentham had copied it incorrectly—there could be no mistake.
I walked along, noting the numbers but not being as bullish as I was under fire. I’d pictured Mrs. Foden as the cook to some prosperous but modest family, not the sort of household living here, and by the time I was still a dozen houses from my target I’d convinced myself this was either a huge mistake or all my preconceptions about Frank’s background were awry. I quickened my step, lunged down the area steps (and “over the top”) and rapped on the tradesman’s door.
The sort of butler who eyed you as if you were something to scrape from his boot opened it.
“Can I help you? Sir?” He added, after giving me a once-over.
I tipped my hat, stopping just short of saluting—even in officer’s clothes I felt like a little boy asking for my football back. “Yes, I’m looking for Mrs. Foden.”
I didn’t realise the butler could look any more disapproving until I saw his change of expression. “You will not find her down here.” He took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “If you make your way to the house door I will await you there.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense, but I obeyed him. Perhaps there’d been some problem and the cook had left the household? Was I being called to see the master or mistress of the house, who would then explain the chain of events to me? Or did my uniform, and the all too-obvious regimental badge, make the butler think of Foden and decide it was better I spoke with the employer first before upsetting a member of his household? Thoughts sped through my brain faster than bullets across No-man’s-land as I slowly climbed the area steps and then up to the front door.
It opened as soon as I hit the top step, as though the butler had either been watching for me or known to perfection how long it would take to make the short journey.
“I shall inform Mrs. Foden of your arrival,” he said, looking down his nose at me. “Who shall I say it is?”
“Captain Donald,” I replied, my relatively new rank still tripping a tongue which wanted to say “Lieutenant.” “I served with her son.”