THE GIRL FROM VICHY - BY ANDIE NEWTON - ARIA FICTION - EXTRACT

About the book


1942, France.

As the war in Europe rages on, Adèle Ambeh dreams of a France that is free from the clutches of the new regime. The date of her marriage to a ruthless man is drawing closer, and she only has one choice – she must run.

With the help of her mother, Adèle flees to Lyon, seeking refuge at the Sisters of Notre Dame del la Compassion. From the outside this is a simple nunnery, but the sisters are secretly aiding the French Resistance, hiding and supplying the fighters with weapons.

While it is not quite the escape Adèle imagined, she is drawn to the nuns and quickly finds herself part of the resistance. But her new role means she must return to Vichy, and those she left behind, no matter the cost.

Each day is filled with a different danger and as she begins to fall for another man, Adèle's entire world could come crashing down around her.

Adèle must fight for her family, her own destiny, as well as her country. 

THOUGHTS/ REVIEW:

The Girl From Vichy had been on my most anticipated reads. I fell in love with Andie Newton's beautiful book, The Girl I Left Behind. I still think about that book to this very day and remember how much I enjoyed it. I am probably going to re-read right away because I am definitely going to have some withdrawals after reading this, and will be anxiously awaiting for Andie Newton's next release. 

In The Girl From Vichy we are introduced to our heroine, Adele Ambeh escaping Vichy, escaping Gerard whom she is to marry and leaving her family behind to seek refuge in Lyon to a convent ran by the Sisters of Notre Dam del la Compassion. While there, Adele helps in the fight by rallying with the Resistance. 

There is just something so special about Newton's writing that really tugs at my heart, for the incredibly strong female characters, the hardships and sacrifice they face, and the triumph of overcoming evil and difficulties, written in a beautiful and hopeful story that stays with you long after you have finished reading. 

The writing was poignant, immersive, and rich in detail. This incredible well researched historical fiction took my breath away. From the first page, the suspenseful atmosphere kept me turning those pages and my heart pumping. What a fantastic story that everyone should read. 

I highly recommend this book! 

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT:




Andie Newton is an American writer living in Washington State with her husband and two boys. She writes female-driven historical fiction set in WWII. The Girl I Left Behind is her first novel. She would love to say she spends her free time gardening and cooking, but she’s killed everything she’s ever planted and set off more fire alarms than she cares to admit. Andie does, however, love spending time with her family, ultra trail running, and drinking copious amounts of coffee.

Follow Andie:

Twitter: @AndieNewton

Facebook: @newtonauthor

 

 

Buy links:

 

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3faj7SE

iBooks: https://apple.co/2PcXAOM

Kobo: https://bit.ly/2SEfo7h

Google Play: https://bit.ly/2Dk1mmA

 

Follow Aria

 

Website: www.ariafiction.com

Twitter: @aria_fiction

Facebook: @ariafiction

Instagram: @ariafiction

EXTRACT

The seats in premiere class felt velvety and plush; it should have been easy for me to relax, especially as the train rolled out of the station. Yet my thoughts were dizzying, one rolling into the other as we steamed down the track. Was Mama going to wait until the wedding ceremony to break the news, or was she doing it right now? I patted my face and felt my throbbing head. I already knew Gérard would be furious and Papa would be hurt, but Charlotte—she’d be crushed—she was excited for me to be married like her.

I folded my hands in my lap only to unfold them, trying to breathe slower, deeper, but nothing seemed to work. Teacups clinked from the buffet car and old women chatted over their cigarettes. I slipped off my shoes and rested my feet on the vacant seat in front of me, eyes closing, thinking that would help calm my nerves, only to be barked at seconds later by a woman standing over me in the aisle.

‘Excusez-moi!’ she said.

I shot up in my seat, trying to piece together the last fading moments before putting my feet up.

‘My seat!’ She pointed. ‘Your feet are on my seat.’

‘Oh…’ I gave her some room, swiftly putting my shoes back on as she sat down in a huff. ‘Pardon me,’ I said, as she fit her bottom into the seat cushion, getting comfortable, smoothing her beige skirt over her lap. ‘The seat was empty when we left Vichy.’

She glared, setting a book she’d brought with her on her lap. ‘It’s taken now.’ Her gaze turned out the window, looking at the lavender fields as we travelled through the country, a light smile meant only for herself replacing the scowl. I found it incredibly hard not to stare. A businessman in a suit bumped my elbow on his way back from the lavatory, apologizing with a flick of his newspaper, and I sat up a little straighter, but still watching her.

Her voice had seemed deeper than a woman’s ought to be, and her nails were natural, not a fleck of paint anywhere on them. And her jewellery—she didn’t wear a necklace, a bracelet, or a ring. In fact, aside from her long hair and the dreadfully plain dress she had on, there wasn’t anything feminine about her.

She must have felt my gaze rolling over her body because she flashed me a condescending smile. ‘Is there something else?’ She traced an invisible circle on top of her book, over and over again, on her lap.

‘No,’ I said, fluttering my fingers into a wave. ‘Nothing else. Sorry for bothering you.’ I reached for a cigarette, digging around in my pocketbook looking for my case, mumbling to myself about how I didn’t know the seat was taken. I sat back in my seat when I found it, and then sank down low when I felt Mama’s cloisonné lighter. She’d never shared her lighter with me before, keeping it in her apron pocket for as long as I could remember, but I was glad she had. The silver was dull—a nice patina from years in Mama’s hand.

I struck the flint wheel and the woman immediately gasped, squeezing the spine of her book, getting as close to the window as she could as I puffed my cigarette to life. A throaty cough followed her shifting eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ I finally asked.

She flicked a finger at the ashtray. ‘I have an affliction to cigarettes, if you must know,’ she said. ‘It’s the smoke.’