The Way to London: A Novel of World War II

By Alix Rickloff

From the author of Secrets of Nanreath Hall comes this gripping, beautifully written historical fiction novel set during World War II—the unforgettable story of a young woman who must leave Singapore and forge a new life in England.

On the eve of Pearl Harbor, impetuous and overindulged, Lucy Stanhope, the granddaughter of an earl, is living a life of pampered luxury in Singapore until one reckless act will change her life forever. 

Exiled to England to stay with an aunt she barely remembers, Lucy never dreamed that she would be one of the last people to escape Singapore before war engulfs the entire island, and that her parents would disappear in the devastating aftermath. Now grief stricken and all alone, she must cope with the realities of a grim, battle-weary England.

Then she meets Bill, a young evacuee sent to the country to escape the Blitz, and in a moment of weakness, Lucy agrees to help him find his mother in London. The unlikely runaways take off on a seemingly simple journey across the country, but her world becomes even more complicated when she is reunited with an invalided soldier she knew in Singapore.

Now Lucy will be forced to finally confront the choices she has made if she ever hopes to have the future she yearns for.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Sep 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9780062433213

Alix Rickloff

Award-winning historical fiction author Alix Rickloff’s family tree includes a knight who fought during the Wars of the Roses and a soldier who sided with Charles I during the English Civil War. With inspiration like that, what else could she do but write her own stories? She lives in Maryland in a house that’s seen its own share of history so when she’s not writing, she can usually be found trying to keep it from falling down. .

Book preview

Chapter 1

Singapore, September 1941

Troop movements. Battles. Sinkings. Bombings. Russia resisting. England persevering. Japan rattling sabers. America dithering.

Boring. All of it completely dulls-ville.

Lucy Stanhope turned the page and her attention to the announcement of a Portuguese woman giving birth to septuplets, an Australian man being sued by a wife he claimed he’d never met, a strike of the Great World amusement park’s cabaret girls.

Now, this was news.

Yet still hardly worth more than a quick scan.

She tossed aside the newspaper and waved a languorous hand to signal one of the Singapore Swimming Club’s white-jacketed waiters. It was one in the afternoon. Surely, not too early for a cocktail.

Miss Stanhope? he said with a little bow.

A gin rickey. Heavy on the gin. And could you do something with this umbrella? If I lounge out here much longer, I’ll be pink as a lobster.

Of course. The waiter shifted the wide beach umbrella, casting a shadow over all but her trim ankles. Will that be all?

Can you conjure a breeze? Not one of these pesky little things more water than air, but an honest-to-goodness gust that brings with it a tang of wood smoke and a rattle of leaves?

Pardon, miss? She’d clearly confused the poor chap. He probably assumed she’d started on the gin rickeys with her bacon and eggs this morning.

She didn’t know why she’d spoken. Maybe it had been the six-month-old copy of Woman’s Own just arrived in this morning’s post. All those photographs of sweet fresh-faced girls in hand-knitted cardigans and crocheted wraps like sweet old Granny used to make. Well, not Lucy’s granny. She doubted either the dear departed Countess of Melcombe or the Main Line society grande dame Mrs. Carlton Stanhope III would be caught dead doing anything so plebeian as crocheting. But other people’s grannies. Other people who posed on picturesque stone walls while equally fresh-faced smiling young men in sleeveless sweaters looked on in innocent adoration. Other people who sipped cocoa by roaring fires while playing Parcheesi with Mom, Dad, and little gap-toothed Junior.

One big happy family.

Talk about fictional. Almost as far-fetched as the article she’d just read about Hitler’s being eaten by his pet alligator.

Never mind. Just the drink, thank you.

The waiter made another little bow and scurried his way around the crowd of swimsuit-clad women basking on lounge chairs in the equatorial sun, past the patient Chinese amahs leading their little charges toward the pool like ducklings in a row, and finally through clusters of wrought iron tables where wealthy European tuans and their memsahibs picked at their three-martini lunches and chatted about tonight’s dance at the Tanglin Club; the recent arrival of Mr. Duff Cooper and his stylish wife, Lady Diana; and which wives had strayed from their marriage vows with the dashing officers arriving fresh on the island’s shores like a sampan’s catch of the day.

It would be the same tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. On and on into infinity. She was so tired of it all—the pettiness, the triviality. Surely, this wasn’t the best life had to offer.

Lucy turned her gaze to the sea, watching the to-ing and fro-ing of ships in the harbor. Merchant cruisers, great wallowing cargo ships, and passenger liners refitted as troop transports, while the little lighters and trading junks circled like minnows. She fanned herself against the tropical heat and accepted her drink with a smile. The sweet bite of it slid cool and far too easily down her throat.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d be pickled as an onion by sunset.

Not that it mattered. This afternoon’s jam-packed schedule included shopping for a new pair of shoes to go with the frock she’d bought last week, wandering past the Padang to watch the cricketers practice, then dinner and dancing at Raffles Hotel with Lieutenant Chambers . . . Chandler . . . Chalmers . . . or was he a captain? She couldn’t remember and frankly didn’t care.

He’d talk to her about England, his wife and or sweetheart back home, Malaya’s bloody (insert heat, humidity, or bugs here), while kneading her knee with one hand and smoothing his pencil-thin mustache with the other. Then they’d drive home to her stepfather’s wide verandaed house on Orchard Road, where he’d offer her a chaste kiss good night on the steps to the clashing sound of cicadas and the clinging hothouse scent of frangipani.

It had become a dully familiar ritual in the two years since she’d been forced to give up her dream of a flat in Paris to come to live with her mother and stepfather in British Malaya—thank you very much, Mr. Hitler. Perhaps that’s why she’d been waxing nostalgic about board games and long country rambles. It was simply tedium with the status quo. Had to be. She’d never rambled in her life and she’d rather jab herself with a sharp stick than play a game of Parcheesi.

She lit a cigarette and lay back, sipping her drink.

She didn’t even have Yoon Hai to divert her from this attack of restlessness. He remained trapped on his father’s rubber plantation in Penang playing dutiful son until who knew when. She closed her eyes, imagining their reunion. The way his glossy hair slid like silk between her fingers, the long slender shape of his hands, and the feel of his golden skin against hers. A frisson of delight shivered up her spine to lift the hairs at the back of her neck, and . . .

Wow, golly!

Cold water obliterated her daydream like a dropped bomb. She gasped, her body unconsciously lurching to escape, her gin rickey spilling in a sticky mess across her brand-new swimsuit to ooze down her thighs and between her legs. A half-inflated beach ball rolled under her lounge chair.

So sorry. Are you all right? A young man stood over her, water sluicing off his chest and down his legs to puddle at his feet.

What do you think? she fumed.

If I had to make a guess, I’d say you’ll live to tan another day.

Talk about someone who looked as if he’d stepped off the pages of a magazine—here was fresh faced with a capital FF. He slapped wet hair off his forehead, cloudless blue eyes barely hiding his amusement at her expense. Had she met him on the dance floor or at the club bar, she might have thought him handsome in a gee-whiz vicar-y sort of way. But as he stood over her dripping pool water, his mouth twitching in silent laughter, she wanted to punch him square in his Roman nose. I might, but your continued survival is very much in doubt.

He watched her wipe pointlessly at her legs with a towel. You could just dive in and wash it off.

What did you say? she asked through gritted teeth.

The water’s perfect. Just dive in . . . His words trickled to a halt as he took in her well-coiffed hair, her expertly applied cosmetics, a bathing costume never meant to actually touch water. Forget it. Then he grinned—the fiend actually grinned—and stuck out his hand. Corporal Michael McKeegan. And you are?

None of your damn business. She looked around, hoping someone would take pity on her and drag this madman away.

You don’t sound like a Brit. You a Yank or an Aussie?

A citizen of the world.

The same waiter who’d brought her the drink and moved her umbrella came puffing up, his face a mask of concern. Miss Stanhope? Can I help?

He fluttered around her like one of the growing cloud of fruit flies until she shooed him away. I’m fine. Just . . . She took a deep breath. Just clean up this mess and bring me a whiskey neat.

She stood up, flinging off her silk wrapper, feeling Corporal McKeegan’s smug gaze turn to a look of approval. She started to walk toward the edge of the pool.

Miss Stanhope? he said softly, almost apologetically.

She swung around. What do you want now?

He pointed to her chair. Could you hand me the beach ball? There’s a good lass.

She threw it at him as hard as she could.

It turned out the night’s menu consisted of two wide-eyed navy ensigns happy to leave behind the perils of the North Sea for the sultry—and safer—Malacca Straits.

Lucy laughed at their jokes, listened to their stories, and flirted unabashedly when she wasn’t being swept around the Raffles Hotel dance floor as the orchestra played the latest from Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey. Her gown floated like a cloud, candles flickered like millions of tiny glowworms from every table, and she’d drunk just enough to feel deliciously alive and perfectly content.

A feeling she knew couldn’t last.

A tinkle of musical laughter underpinned by a masculine chorus signaled her mother’s arrival, and an immediate clenching of Lucy’s stomach.

Lady Amelia Fortescue retained the youthful exuberance and delicate girlish features that had captured not one, not two, but three wealthy and influential husbands, and continued to tempt men to her side like bees to a honeypot.

She and her entourage took a table in a small alcove shielded by a bank of potted palms, but Lucy continued to hear snatches of sparkling conversation above the clink of glasses and the pop of champagne corks. Waiters hovered like dragonflies, and every eye in the place seemed focused on the dazzling beauty mugging for her admirers like a starlet to the cameras. In a steel-gray silk organza gown by Schiaparelli and drenched in diamonds, Amelia—as she had always insisted Lucy call her—was the epitome of style.

Lucy’s façade slipped. Suddenly she felt frumpy and out of step, her outfit too gaudy, her manner too gauche. She dismissed her own small following, now sadly less attractive, and sank into a chair as far away as possible from the newcomers without retreating completely.

She fumbled in her purse for a Sobranie. Damn. Her cigarette case was empty. She sighed and settled for a gin fizz . . . make that two. It was shaping up to be that kind of night. At least her stepfather had chosen to amuse himself elsewhere.

Alone, my dear? You must be losing your touch.

Speak of the devil, or what she imagined the devil must look like—tall, lean, dark, and smiling.

Hello, Father. Fortescue hated being reminded of their familial relationship. He frowned as he offered her a cigarette from his own gold monogrammed case.

I thought you were dining with Captain Chambers tonight, he said with a flick of his lighter.

She leaned forward, dragging in a relaxing lungful of smoke. I did. He had to be back on base at ten. I wasn’t ready to leave so I gracefully declined his invitation of a ride home.

My little girl is flying solo tonight.

I’m not your little anything, and I have two eager young men vying for my attentions. We came up with a game. I’ve set each of them a task. Whoever returns first gets the honor of my company the rest of the evening.

But you’re free now, so how about a dance? I’ve had a hellish day and a turn around the floor with a pretty young thing is just what the doctor ordered. His eyes shone with a challenging gleam.

None of your usual pretty young things available?

His gaze narrowed. Hasn’t your mother taught you yet that it’s not polite to bite the hand that feeds you?

At least not until someone with a better menu comes along. Yes, I’ve learned the lesson well.

Fortescue’s hand upon the small of Lucy’s back was overwarm, and his fingers linked with hers squeezed ever so slightly as he guided her steps in a slow graceful waltz. You’re looking particularly nice tonight. One of your little creations?

Yes, actually. She had purchased the gown from a stall in Change Alley, the design ghastly but the fabric a perfect shade of peacock blue. With the removal of the ugly glass beading and cheap lace, along with a few alterations to the bodice and sleeves, it had turned out rather dashing.

I’ll admit you seem to have a flair for that sort of thing. Can’t imagine where you come by it. Amelia can barely dress herself without assistance, much less sew her own damned clothes.

You’d be surprised how much you pick up in the name of academic discipline.

His smile held nothing of pride or amusement. His eyes remained cold, but for a dark assessing glitter she knew all too well.

Did you come with Amelia? she asked in a bid to deflect his unwanted attention.

No, is she here?

You know that she is. It’s why you asked me to dance. You’re well aware that it annoys her.

Does it? He spun her so that she was forced to concentrate on her feet instead of her questions. Actually, I’ve been at the office since dawn. Nonstop meetings with chaps from the government. Everyone’s up in arms about our lack of preparedness in case of attack.

Are we unprepared?

Don’t be absurd. The Japs wouldn’t dare attack from the sea. And what army would ever manage to trek through all those miles of jungle? You needn’t worry, my dear. You’re quite safe.

I never doubted it for an instant.

He sought to guide her toward a darker corner of the room, but she quickly pivoted, throwing her weight backward as she one-two-three-ed toward the middle of the floor. He had to follow or look as if he were being tugged like a dog on a leash.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of one of her ensigns standing with a ridiculous umbrella high in his hand as if carrying the king’s scepter. At the back of the crowd, the other boy pushed his way through waving a bunch of bananas over his head like a trophy. Then Fortescue spun them away and into the shadows of a terrace door and out of sight. His grip never faltered. His hand ran up her back in a gesture of possession.

I remember when you first arrived in Singapore, fresh from that expensive Swiss finishing school. Tall and skinny like a giraffe on stilts. And now here you are, a ravishing young woman. Quite a coup for the man who finally wins your hand. He fingered one of her shoulder straps, his gaze taking on a predatory glitter. His breathing grew harsh, the odor of whiskey thick enough to knock her back a step. I won’t say your heart because you haven’t got one. If you had, you’d have seen how much I desire you and you’d have taken pity.

You’re drunk.

He pawed the bare skin of her arm, his pinky ring scratching her. We’re not related by anything other than serendipity, you know.

A fact that has always been of great solace to me. She slid from his grip just as he lowered his head to take her in a sloppy kiss. By now, her stomach fluttered, and her knees trembled. She tried to keep the waver from her voice, angry at letting her stepfather’s boorish behavior affect her. If you’ll excuse me.

She stepped into the light of the dance floor, where he could not follow, though she sensed his angry gaze drilling into her back. Sinking into her chair, she sought to slow her breathing and calm the shudders racing up her spine. Fortescue’s attentions were growing more tiresome and more frequent. Amelia would be no help. A twenty-one-year-old daughter only served to emphasize her own fading charms. She saw her as a rival who must be thwarted at every turn. Normally, Lucy didn’t mind, but tonight she would have given almost anything to be able to curl into her mother’s arms and pour out her troubles.

Miss Stanhope? The hotel’s maître d’ hovered respectfully. A message just arrived for you. The caller said it was most urgent.

Thank you. She read the short note, the knots immediately loosening, a smile touching her lips. Just arrived and must see you. Meet me in an hour. The usual spot. She folded Yoon Hai’s note and placed it in her purse. I’ll be leaving. Have my car brought round.

Of course, Miss Stanhope. And your tab?

She gathered up her wrap and bag as she rose, her moment of weakness tamped down where it would never show. Put it on Mr. Fortescue’s account.

The Botanic Gardens were quiet this time of night, the visitors having departed with the sun. No one would trouble them with disapproving glances or insults hissed behind clenched teeth as they meandered the paths hand in hand or stole a kiss beneath the trees. She met Yoon Hai here as frequently as subterfuge would allow. For both of them, inventing excuses to slip away alone had grown difficult, and finding a place where they would not be discovered by her family or his, nearly impossible.

She leaned her head on his shoulder as they passed cultivated beds of orchids and low ferns, thick groves of rain trees and palms, a long ornamental lake thick with lotus. The loamy, pungent aroma of earth mingled with a salty sea breeze. The unexpected shriek of a macaw or cockatoo punctuated the steady whirr of cicadas and trumpet beetles. I didn’t expect you back until next week at the earliest.

My uncle desired my presence at a stockholders’ meeting. Times are tense, and the Yoon family must present a solid front if we’re to survive any unrest.

Do you think it will really come to war?

It’s not a question of will it come, but when. My family back in China has been fighting this enemy for many years. I’ve been lucky that I’ve been living here and can pretend for a little longer.

Fortescue says Singapore is impregnable. That between the British defenses and the terrain to the north, we’re safe.

Hai didn’t answer right away. She felt his fingers close around hers. I hope your stepfather is right.

Suddenly afraid, she pulled him off the path into the shade of a palm grove, her arm sliding behind his neck. He smelled musky and sweet and tasted of wine. I don’t want to think about it anymore, she said, cold despite his arms around her. It’s nothing to do with us.

He caressed her rib cage and drew her close until she pressed lengthwise down his body. She felt his excitement and heard the quick hitch of his breathing. Her skin prickled with anticipation as he rained kisses along her collarbone and up her neck. The bark of the tree he backed her into was rough as his kisses grew more demanding, his touch more insistent. Hai? she whispered.

Don’t be afraid, he murmured. I won’t ever hurt you.

I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. I don’t care what people think. You do.

He laughed, his voice gentle, his caresses turning her limbs to honey. You care more than you let on.

She ducked her head, unnerved at the way he seemed to see things within her she dared not admit even to herself. She’d gone to great pains to cultivate her aura of cynical indifference. One was able to conceal so much behind a set of bared teeth and a rapier tongue. Perhaps it was time to move on from Hai. Too close meant too comfortable. And too comfortable meant trouble.

Always had. Always would.

Hai laughed again and then left no more time for breath or speaking.

On second thought, maybe she’d keep hold of him a little longer.

Chapter 2

Raffles Place and the bustling streets leading off it were a shattered-mirror reflection of Paris elegance and London efficiency. The fashionable department stores of John Little and Robinsons stood alongside the imposing financial edifices of the Chartered Bank, the Bank of Taiwan, and Hong Kong Bank. Clerks and managers from the big firms like Shell and the Netherland Trading Company scurried like ants from a kicked hill, their minds full of account balances and letters of credit, seeing nothing of the exotic oasis around them. Lush palms swayed in the humid breeze amid riotous colorful beds of canna and bougainvillea. Coolie-driven rickshaws warred for space with electric trams, buses, and long sleek passenger cars while a burly bearded Sikh in turban and uniform directed traffic amid a harsh chorus of a dozen languages.

Once, not so long ago, Lucy might have taken delight in the enchanting chaotic crossroads of disparate empires, but two years of life lived within the narrow-minded confines of what passed for society in Singapore had dulled her pleasure and deadened her curiosity.

I’ll only be a moment, Jim, Lucy said, tilting the brim of her hat to cover her eyes against the glare as her stepfather’s Malaysian syce helped her from the car.

She stepped into the cool quiet interior of Renee Ullman’s, her eyes taking a moment to adjust after the bright afternoon sun. Immediately, three eager shopgirls descended upon her. She allowed them to shepherd her through half a dozen dress changes until she settled on a tea gown in cream chiffon that, with a few minor touches, might be just the thing for next month’s yacht club ball; three new hats; and a dozen pairs of silk stockings. Her packages approved, wrapped, and placed on her stepfather’s account, Lucy made her way through to a counter where men’s watches lay in long glass cases and a haberdasher’s dummy sported a handsome sharkskin dinner jacket. This time of day, there were few shoppers about, and the attendant was at the far end of the floor folding shirts.

She was alone as she perused the choices of Rolexes and Longines, when a young Chinese businessman browsing a spinner rack of leather replacement bands cleared his throat.

You came, he murmured under his breath. I wasn’t sure if you would.

Lucy didn’t look up or acknowledge Yoon Hai in any way. You’re playing with fire. They’re growing suspicious.

A young shop clerk watched them from the far end of the counter. A soldier browsed among the guidebooks and cheap tourist souvenirs. And was it her imagination or did the pair of aging matrons by a display of foundation garments look a bit more interested in Yoon Hai than in the girdles on display?

Ignoring her words, Hai edged closer. She could smell his cologne and the fresh scent of his skin. Listen to me, Lucy. You must leave Singapore. Buy your passage immediately and go home to England, where you’ll be safe.

Have you read the papers? England’s a smoldering ruin.

Singapore will be worse.

What have you heard?

I don’t need to hear anything. It’s in the very air, the whispers on the street, the eyes watching. It’s a matter of time before our peace is shattered. I want you safely out of here before that happens.

Fortescue will never leave his business behind, and Amelia will never leave Fortescue.

Then you must leave without them.

And go where?

Your real father lives in America, does he not?

As far as I know. I haven’t heard from him in years. He has a new family to occupy his time and spend his money on.

Then your mother’s people in England. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned toward her, his expression urgent.

We don’t hear from them except for the obligatory Christmas card. Amelia has a way of burning her bridges. The shop clerk continued to eye them questioningly. The soldier glanced up from his copy of Willis’s Travel Guide. Lucy recognized the young man from the swimming club. Today, he wore the uniform of the Royal Engineers. In the store’s bleak overhead lights, his jungle tan was sallow, dark sooty circles trapped beneath his pale eyes, skin stretched tight over the angled bones of his face. His blond hair had been smoothed down with oil, though the island’s eternal humidity had already caused small curls at the nape of his neck and just behind his ears. He stared at her, and she found herself coloring under his gaze.

Please, Lucy. I can do nothing for you but this one small thing. Hai put a hand on her sleeve.

Lucy stepped subtly from under his touch as the clerk headed in their direction. He cast a sidelong glance at Hai, who wandered away to browse among the ties. Is there something I can help you with?

I’d like to see the gold one there with the grommeted band, Lucy replied.

Of course.

She pretended to ooh and ahh over the watch while her mind churned with questions. I’ll take it. Put it on Reginald Fortescue’s account.

He took the watch and headed toward the register while Lucy meandered toward Yoon Hai, feigning delight in a blue silk tie with yellow dots. Don’t worry about me. I’m like a cat. I always land on my feet, she whispered under her breath.

Miss Stanhope? Is that you? A handsome older gentleman with wavy blond hair and a California bronze smiled across a display of the latest in leather footwear. "It is you. I’d know that profile anywhere. One part Greta Garbo, two parts Irene Dunne, with a splash of Rita Hayworth and a twist of Carole Landis."

You make me sound like a cocktail.

One sip is all it takes to be knocked flat. He placed his hands over his heart in mock surprise as he took a few staggering steps backward.

Though the soldier’s attention was seemingly directed at a map of the Cameron Highlands and the pleasures to be found there, Lucy would swear he was listening to every word spoken.

I’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Oliver. I thought you’d be at lunch with Lady Amelia. I know she mentioned it when I saw her this morning.

Mason Oliver was reputed to be an influential producer from Hollywood. Since his arrival in Singapore, he had become a fixture at the big airy house on Orchard Road, his constant presence at Amelia’s side accepted by everyone—Fortescue included. Lucy’s stepfather probably found himself relieved at his wife’s preoccupation. It meant he could conduct his own affairs with greater ease.

Normally, Lucy took pains to avoid the men Amelia corralled for her amusement. They tended to be arrogant sods with the personality of jungle hyenas—her stepfather being a case in point—but Mr. Oliver, despite his artificiality and outrageous personality, was of a different mold. He made her laugh. He was kind in a generous-uncle sort of way. And not once had he tried to get her alone in a dark corner. The man was either a saint or a poof, and personally, she didn’t care which. She liked him. Not something she was able to say about very many people.

He smiled, the corners of his hazel eyes crinkling, his veneered teeth unnaturally white. I’m just headed to pick her up. I’ve discovered the dearest little club off Bras Basah Road, very exclusive. Very avant-garde. There are only four tables in the whole place. Lady Amelia will love it.

Lucy doubted it. Amelia liked to create a spectacle. If she couldn’t be seen, it wasn’t worth the trouble.

"It sounds tip-top. Just her cup of tea. And after, you should take her to the Great World. It’s her favorite. She loves the bangsawan theater."

Really? Oliver clapped his hands together. I never would have thought it, but sure. It sounds like fun.

Lucy wished she could be a fly on that wall. Amelia despised the rowdy crowds and cheap entertainments to be found among the stalls and stages, but for the chance to be Hollywood’s next leading lady, she’d stand on her head singing Rule, Britannia! if Mr. Oliver suggested it.

Who’s your gentleman friend? Mr. Oliver asked. His gaze wandered over Yoon Hai with avid curiosity. I don’t think we’ve met.

Yoon Hai is a business associate of Fortescue’s. His family runs one of the most successful trading syndicates here in the city, Lucy evaded. Hai held out a hand, which Oliver shook. No enterprise makes a move here without consulting the Golden Seas Corporation.

I’m sure with tailoring like that; Savile Row?

Tsim Sha Tsui, Hai replied in perfect Etonian English.

Oliver waved a breezy hand as he sighed dramatically. Stunning.

Lucy wasn’t certain whether he referred to Hai or his suit.

Ah well, I can’t hang around. I’m already late. Lady Amelia will fret, and I want everything to be perfect for our farewell luncheon.

You’re leaving Singapore?

Duty calls, and I’m needed back at the studio. He handed her his card, a thick white stock embossed in looping black script. If you’re ever in the States, look me up. I’ll make you a star. Right up there with Carole Lombard.

Yes, she was sure of it now. The soldier was definitely eavesdropping. The guidebook he read was completely forgotten as he chuckled to himself. How dare he laugh at her? The ridiculous Mr. Oliver, fine, but not at her. And why couldn’t she be the next Carole Lombard? She wasn’t exactly an ogre in the looks department, and hell, if she’d learned anything from Amelia, it was how to playact.

Anger pricked her, tiny needles of heat burning through her usual cool ambivalence. She pushed them away, refusing to let some no-consequence corporal with a warped sense of humor ruin her afternoon.

She took the card with a smile of thanks and tucked it in her handbag. I just might do that, Mr. Oliver. She couldn’t help a swift glance toward that odious smirking soldier. But he was gone. As was Yoon Hai.

In their place stood the store clerk with the wrapped watch and a knowing expression she wanted to wipe off his greasy face.

Get up." Amelia’s voice rocked Lucy into consciousness.

The late-morning sun slanted through latticed shutters and a haze of mosquito netting to burn red against Lucy’s eyelids and straight to her brain. She rolled over, hoping to escape the onslaught beneath her pillows, but that only disturbed her still-wobbly stomach. She lay perfectly still while her nausea settled and tried to recall last night’s entertainments. There had been dinner followed by drinks at the club and then dancing. She vaguely recalled a taxi and more dancing, much more drinking, and there had been some sort of commotion involving a rickshaw, two rather boisterous RAF officers, a ladies’ brassiere, and the imposing statue of Sir Stamford Raffles that stood in pride of place outside Victoria Memorial Hall. What time is it? Lucy asked.

Nearly ten.

What are you doing up . . . and dressed?

I’ve been up since half eight, thank you very much. That’s when I was rousted from my bed by a call from Fortescue and ordered to attend him at his office downtown.

Lucy’s wobbly stomach nearly rebelled. She rolled over to face her mother, who stood crisply coiffed and coutured beside the bed. Her rich auburn hair was barely threaded with gray, her delicate features hardly touched by age. Even dragged from her bed, she maintained her glamorous air. For a moment, Lucy thought of that damned copy of Woman’s Own and wished she had one of those comfortable parents who baked cookies and knitted doilies rather than this cool untouchable queen.

Fortescue told me what happened. How could you do such a thing? Amelia’s voice emerged in a harsh half whisper. She ran an agitated hand up and down the string of pearls at her throat. It’s too dreadful to contemplate.

Lucy struggled up, her head swimming

Reviews for The Way to London

[countrylife_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A journey from Asia to England during the chaos of wartime.A journey from self-centeredness to selflessness through trial by fire.Banished from Singapore just before war hits, Lucy is sent to England to stay with relatives, where she meets the irrepressible young boy, Bill, evacuated from blitz-torn London. Bill’s only desire is to return home to his mother. Grown up with money but not love, Lucy’s experiences and personality are written in a believable way.The Way to London is Lucy’s way to a mature and fulfilled heart.

[sensitivemuse · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

So what I was expecting from this book is a typical journey of a young woman and a boy she finds along the way. I was expecting a serious journey, perhaps with a few tear jerker scenes along and a bit of romance to lighten the mood. I was happy to be wrong about it when I finally finished the book.Besides the obvious journey to London, it’s also more of Lucy’s road to developing her true self and coming to terms with it. She comes across characters that have had a hand in impacting her life and assisting Lucy in finding self finding journey.The plot here was steady and flowing, there were some lulls here and there but it’s pretty much cut and clear. I did like reading Lucy’s character development throughout the novel. She went from spoiled entitled brat to someone who really did have a soft caring heart. It was great to see her develop into a more caring loving person of not others but also of herself. No matter how much she tries to go back to her selfish ways something always gets her back on track to show her true caring nature and that it is more rewarding helping and caring for others.Lucy’s chemistry with Bill and Michael make the book more enjoyable to read. Bill because he brought out the caring aspect in Lucy, Michael because he challenged her and made her see things in a different light (plus, well he managed to wriggle under Lucy’s skin which was nice and fun to read as he had caught her speechless in some moments)What I didn’t expect from the book was the funny light hearted moments. I found myself laughing here and there with Bill’s behavior and his uncanny ability to involve himself and Lucy into potentially hairy situations, or the times where Lucy fights with Michael, and it seems Michael is the only one that can render Lucy speechless and flabbergasted. Those were great moments in the book and it kept the reading at a light hearted mood despite what was happening around them.I enjoyed this book a lot and I do recommend it if you’re in the mood for something light despite the dark setting of WWII London.

[erinclark_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Twenty one year old Lucy Stanhope is a spoiled socialite living it up in Singapore right before America joined in fighting with the Allies during WWII. She drinks too much, smokes too much and sleeps around too much, much to the annoyance of her mother and step father. They bundle her off to England to stay with her Aunt at an old ancestral home, Nanreath Hall which has been converted to a military hospital. But she is abysmally bored and out sorts, fighting with her Aunt and wishing for her former glamorous, partying life style. Lucy befriends a young boy Bill, who has been sent from London to the country for safety during the Blitz. He is desperate to get back to London to reunite with his mother. On a lark Lucy promises to help him return to London. They set off on what they thought would be a short and easy trip but turns in to quite the adventure. They are helped along the way by a former soldier who eventually becomes Lucy's love interest. I liked the book, but did not love it. It jumped around a bit and I had trouble connecting with any of the characters. I would recommend it for those who are interested in WWII historical fiction. I did enjoy the descriptions of what life was like for people in London during this period of time.

[cariola_6 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I simply could not get into this one. The characters are overly familiar stereotypes and the plot is predictable. Lucy Stanhope, the pampered protagonist, is so unlikable that you just know she will end up being reformed by love and circumstances, and you know by the second chapter that the man who will spur that reform is going to be the same young officer who flirts with her by the side of a ritzy hotel pool in Singapore. By the time I got 30 pages in, I was bored to death, and it was a real struggle for me to finish the book. I heaved a sigh of relief when I did and quickly moved on to something more original.

[bettytaylor56 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Pampered, stubborn, impetuous, reckless. That’s Lucy Stanhope, granddaughter of an earl. Not a very likeable person…at first.Set in the early days of WWII, Lucy is living in Singapore with her mother and stepfather. But after a questionable incident she is exiled to England to live with her aunt. Lucy is one of the last people to get out of Singapore before the war reaches the island. Lucy learns that her mother has perished at sea. While in Singapore Lucy had met Mason Oliver, a Hollywood producer. He gave her his business card and said he would make her a star. So rather than live with her elderly aunt she set out for London to meet with Mr. Oliver before he leaves for the US. Along the way she rescues Bill, a young boy who has run away from the home he had been placed in. He is determined to find his mother in London. Reluctantly Lucy agrees to help him find his mother. She also encounters a soldier she had met in Singapore, Corporal Michael McKeegan. They have sparred from the moment they met. “The Way to London” is a delightful read. No alternating perspectives, no back and forth in time. Lucy’s character development was so beautifully written. I loved seeing her slowly mature and begin to put the needs of others before herself. And along the way she discovers what love is…something she had never felt. I loved the simple storyline that held my heart throughout the journey.

[irregularreader · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Lucy Stanhope is a spoiled debutante living the good life in Singapore in the early years of WWII. Her mother is a selfish narcissist, and her step-father is a lecherous creep, and Lucy has no problems defying them or society to live the way she wants. However, when the weight of scandal becomes too much, Lucy finds herself packed up and shipped off to Nanreath Hall in England. Going from the tropical luxury of Singapore to the dreariness of war-time Britain is a kick in the teeth for Lucy. When she befriends a young war orphan, the two make plans to escape the drudgery of the country for London. The perilous journey across a war zone will force Lucy to face her priorities in life, and to confront her mistakes.This is a beautiful, vividly written book. Rickoff has put an enormous amount of effort into packing every page with an incredible amount of historical detail. You can almost smell the tropical flowers on the breezes of Singapore, and feel the clammy touch of the fog in England. The story is slowly paced, allowing plenty of time to take in the story and get to know the characters.That being said, this book wasn’t really up my alley. I’m not really one for romances (though if I were going to pick a romance genre it would likely be historical romance). It also kind of irked me that as rich in detail as most of the book was, the author is still relying on the “spoiled brat of a woman is made pure and whole by the love of a noble man” trope, which is nearly as bad as “the pure and virtuous woman finds the strength to tame the wild, uncouth man” trope. For all the detail and time spent on the setting and getting to know our main characters, the interaction between Lucy and her foil/savior, Michael, is uncomplicated and a bit flat. You know through all the sniping that they’re going to wind up together in the end, though I have to admit there were other contenders I was rooting for, and one (from her time in Singapore) whose story would (in my opinion) have been a bit more interesting.So in all, this is a well written book in a genre I don’t have a lot of patience for. If you’re generally a fan of romance novels, or are into the WWII setting, this might be a good title for you to try.An advance copy of this book was provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

[bluegiraffe-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I enjoyed reading this interesting if a bit predictable book. This work of historical fiction is set in WWII; it begins Singapore and ends in London with a road trip along the way (as the title alludes to). Lucy is an unhappy, rebellious, spoiled young woman - unhappy and rebellious for good reasons, but still. She is sent away from Singapore to relatives in Cornwall by her truly awful mother (the relatives and the country house in Cornwall will be familiar to readers of Alix Rickloff's "Secrets of Nanreath Hall"). In Singapore she meets a young man who is also headed to Britain. Once Lucy gets to Cornwall the story really begins, as Lucy gets involved with a young evacuee, Bill who is miserable in his foster parents' home. The two of them end up on a journey to London to find Bill's mother (and a symbolic journey to find love). Bill provides amusement in the novel; I enjoyed that character more than any other. The young man joins Lucy and Bill and there is a satisfying end for all. As I say, a bit predictable, but still quite enjoyable. I would recommend it to anyone who is looking for a well-written and researched WWII novel that is somewhat lighter in tone than most in that category. I received a copy through the Early Reviewers Giveaway.

[whitreidtan · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Our family and our experiences shape us into the people we are. If we are loved, we are likely to become loving ourselves. And this is, of course, the life we all deserve and that we wish for others. But many people aren't brought up in love, instead they are brought up in pitiable or hurtful circumstances. This too shapes the people they become. Suffer neglect or disdain and we might assume that is our due and fade into the background or we might act out to force attention onto ourselves. Certainly we'd have trouble developing into a person who both gives and receives love. But it doesn't have to be this way. Some rare and strong people can break out of the emotional void in which they have been raised and learn to care for others. Alix Rickloff's newest novel, The Way to London, is a story of one such rare character as she bumps haltingly towards a kinder, more loving and open existence.Lucy Stanhope is a pampered, spoiled brat. She's shallow and completely disaffected by anything that doesn't touch her personally. Yes, she's rather odious and delights in causing scandals but she's this way in large part because of the lack of love in her upbringing. She lives with her glamorous, titled mother, who refuses to be called mother by her daughter, and her sleazy but wealthy stepfather in Singapore. When she is caught carrying on an affair with the heir to a rich local family, she is banished from Singapore, sent back to England to live with an aunt she doesn't even know. On the way there, the ship she is on is torpedoed and eventually it turns out that Lucy is among the last to leave Singapore in advance of the Japanese invasion during WWII. When she reaches England, she is unhappy and continues with her scandalous attention seeking, larking about as if there wasn't a deadly war on. Uncharacteristically she befriends a young evacuee boy, Bill Smedley, and agrees to take him back to London from Cornwall to search for his mam. Along the way, they face disappointment and diversions, misunderstandings and close calls, and Lucy is forced to trust and rely on steady, nice, good guy Michael McKeegan, a soldier invalided out of the army whom she first met in Singapore and whom she can't quite believe is for real. As Lucy tries to find her own sense of belonging and home, she struggles with the promise she made to Bill, especially when fulfilling that promise might conflict with her own possibly selfish wants and desires.Lucy's character to start is defensive, brittle, brash, and determined. She is completely closed off to others emotionally, taking what she wants without getting her heart involved, never risking real hurt. Her behaviour may be shocking and undesirable but it shields an aching heart and when she opens up just a little to the sneaky, endearing rapscallion that is Bill, her whole being starts to change. Her experiences as the two of them, sometimes joined by Michael, journey toward London help to crystallize her character, giving her an insight into her own heart that she never before wanted to examine. Bill is a delightful, cheeky child and his presence as Lucy's side kick lightens the book up considerably. Their interactions are often humorous and sweet. Michael is almost too good to be true as a character and he selflessly plays Lucy's knight in shining armor more than once. The plot clips along at a good pace and the reader is often uncertain whether old Lucy (selfish and out for herself) or evolving Lucy (learning to honor commitments and not playing fast and loose with others) is going to choose what she does next. The historical details are well researched and presented and the scrapes that Lucy and Bill get into on the way to London and once there are completely believable and quite entertaining. The love story gets a little bit of a short shrift but Lucy is learning to love in more ways than just a traditional love story so it works. With so many WWII novels recently, this one stands out as different: a maturing and personal discovery set during wartime heightened and highlighted by the circumstances but still very internal for all that. Historical fiction fans who can get past an initially not altogether pleasant main character will enjoy this novel quite a bit.

[susan0316 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a well written book about WWII and how it affected the lives of the rich. I can promise you that you won't like the main character at the beginning of the book - she is sarcastic and rude and a real elitist who doesn't care how other people live or how the war is changing their lives. Don't let your feelings towards her, affect your decision to continue reading this book. I think that the author deliberately made her unlikable to show how she changes throughout the book. When you finish this book, you'll be glad that you read it and left with a memory of a strong female character.The book begins in Singapore, where spoiled and pampered Lucy is living the life of luxury with little thought about the oncoming war. After a possible scandal involving her, she is exiled to London to live with an aunt that she barely knows. On the way to London, the transport ship that she is on is torpedoed and she arrives at her aunt's with none of her beautiful clothes. Her aunt's huge home is now being used by the military as a hospital and she isn't at all happy about the rules that she is forced to follow. On a whim, she decides to help a young evacuee return to London to find his mom. What should have been a one day trip, ends up taking weeks and once she gets to London, it's not the beautiful and extravagant London that she remembers. Will Lucy grow up and accept life like it is during these war years or will she continue to yearn for her extravagant and pampered lifestyle from earlier? Her decision affects not only her but other people in her world who have come to know the real Lucy and why she acts the way that she does.This is a lovely book about the changes being brought about by war and about finding happiness no matter what you have to leave behind.

[hobbitprincess · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It was difficult to read a book with a main character that I heartily disliked for almost the entire novel. I frankly didn't care what happened to Lucy. I knew how it was all going to end; that was evident from the start. Why did I give it 3 stars then? I enjoyed the historical aspect of the book, which takes place in England during WW II. I thought that the time period was researched well and was presented in a realistic manner, especially the scenes in London. I got a real feel for how ordinary people would keep going with their lives as much as they could, despite the horrors all around them. I would have been interested in hearing more about what happened in Singapore - that was only touched on at the beginning. I also understand why Lucy was the way she was from her family background. It didn't endear me to her, however. One character I did enjoy was Bill, a young evacuee. His sense of humor, grittiness, and style in which he manages on his own made for some good reading. If I could have learned to like Lucy more, the novel would have been more enjoyable. **I received a free copy of this book from LibraryThing's Early Reviewers program in exchange for an honest review.**

[cherylk_44 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I looked forward to reading this book. I am a fan of these types of books. As the saying goes, the first impression is the most important. Well my first impression of Lucy was not a great one. I found her to be inconsiderate, disrespectful, and childish. I am glad that her step father and mother finally took a stand against Lucy and sent her away, even if it took an incident to make them act. After, that incident, I thought I would try to be open minded towards Lucy, thinking that she would change for the better. Which, she did but it was a slow change. One that I would and expect. It is not like I expected Lucy to change overnight. Although, I had another problem. It was the rest of the story and the other characters. I found no connection to any of it. Thus it made it made for me to want to stick with this book and continue until the end. Not, that I did as I only made it about half way. I lost my way to London.

[crazeedi73 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I read halfway through, thinking the story was going to capture my interest. I just couldn't waste any more time with it. I don't know if it's the main character or if it is the writing style. I know I did not care for Lucy's personality at all. And the writing seems very empty. I have to say thanks to library thing for this advanced copy. I wish I could have said I enjoyed this book.

[jcgirl-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Alix Rickloff's book The Way to London tells the story of Lucy Stanhope set in World War II on the eve of Pearl Harbor. Living in Singapore Lucy is enjoying her social life of privilege without a care in the world. When the United States joins the war, she soon realizes that her social life and future is over. Tragedy strikes her life as she tries to evacuate Singapore before the war consumes the area. London, England becomes her new home, living with a distant aunt in the country while seeking to deal with her grief. She soon meets Bill, a young evacuee looking for his mother after escaping the Blitz in London. Lucy soon learns to appreciate the glamour of lust land of the country and lessons of life and love. Author Alix Rickloff turns a fascinating time in history into a vivid story filled with pure emotion, real devotion, and an authentic look at durability.

[gmathis_7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Lucy is a rich, spoiled brat, too old to be scolded like a child; but she should be. Bill is a poor, 12-year-old brat who has grown up on the streets of East End London far too fast. Neither is likeable individually, but together, they are irresistible as they bumble their way to wartime London to find Bill's mother.There's also some irresistible chemistry between Lucy and an invalided-out corporal she snags into helping with the road trip.We could split definitional hairs for hours, but I wouldn't label this as a historical novel per se; but it is a fast-reading, very pleasant story about a challenging time to be alone in the world.