The Secret Dressmaker by Jenny O'Brien

 

"My loyalties will first and foremost always be to my daughters... followed closely to my country. If I can combine them, so much the better".

The Secret Dressmaker by Jenny O'Brien is a vivid and suspensul historical fiction set in France during the WWII. It is a moving story of loss and tragedy, lies and deception, and the strength of the human spirit.

This is the second book in Threads of Resistance series, and can be read as a standalone.

The Secret Dressmaker

Shelves of sequins in a kaleidoscope of colours. Bolts of silk and tulle against the back wall. The sewing room was the last place anyone had seen her daughter alive.

Northern Ireland, 1942. Flora Toussaint packs parachutes for the RAF, haunted by the twin daughters she was forced to give up eighteen years ago. When British intelligence shows her photographs of her girls - now young women in occupied Paris - her world shifts. One is safe. One has vanished. And their father, the celebrated couturier Lucien Lumineau, is suspected of collaborating with the Nazis.

Flora agrees to a dangerous mission: parachute into France, pose as a seamstress at the Moulin Rouge, and uncover the truth. Lodging above a brothel where Edith Piaf sings after hours and where Pablo Picasso still holds court, she mends costumes between shows, searches for any trace of her missing daughter between curfews, and circles closer to Lucien.

But Lucien isn't the man she remembers. Neither is their history. And what Flora discovers will unravel everything she thought she knew - about Lucien, about her daughters, and about the night she gave them away.

A sweeping tale of wartime Paris, family secrets and impossible choices. Fans of Kate Quinn, Pam Jenoff and Kristin Hannah will be mesmerised by The Secret Dressmaker.

For eighteen long years Flora Toussaint has carried the guilt of giving up her twin daughters, Violette and Marguerette. Now at last, she knows where they are.

One day, while packing the parachutes at the Taylor's Mill, the military production in Northern Ireland, Flora is approached by someone from the British intelligence service. Tomas Rives is aware of Flora's past. He brings in photos of her twin daughters, now young women. She learns that while one of her girls is safe, the other has disappeared, seemingly without a trace.

Their father is a brilliant and celebrated couturier Lucien Lumineau, who is suspected of collaborating with the Nazis.

What Tomas tells Flora about her girls, shocks her to the core. 

"Flora felt her world shatter. Everything she'd been told by the nuns. Everything she'd thought and hoped for her daughters. Everything Lucien had promised. All lies."

Tomas asks Flora to go to France on a special mission for the War Office.

Flora has no choice but to go back to the city she fled eighteen years ago. Her mission is perilous. She has to parachute into the occupied France, and assume the identity of a seamstress at the Moulin Rouge.

And above all, she has to find her missing daughter before the Gestapo does.

Living above a brothel, Flora mends flamboyant costumes by day and searches the shadows of wartime Paris by night.

Returning to Paris brings back many memories that Flora tried to suppress, of her tragic beginnings and most miserable childhood with a cruel foster family, of the nuns who took her in but also despised her humble origins, and most of all, the day when she lost her daughters and left Paris for good.

And then she meets Lucien, the man she loved all those years ago, the man who betrayed her. 

"A complex man, far more complex than she'd thought when she'd first met him.Then he'd been the handsome atelier with more charm than was good for any woman. Now she didn't know what to think".

As Flora follows the trail of secrets through the dangerous world of occupied Paris, she begins to question everything she believed about the man she loved and the daughters she was forced to leave behind. The truth about that long-ago night might be darker than she remembered and imagined.

Is Lucien truly a traitor, conspiring with the enemy? Will Flora be able to find her missing daughter, and will this quest uncover more devastating secrets that might destroy them all?

The Secret Dressmaker is an emotionally charged, entirely compelling tale of secrets and espionage, and one woman's determination to protect her children.

The author creates a captivating portrait of Paris during the Nazi occupation. Aside from the main plotline, it features some famous people like Edith Piaf and Pablo Picasso. The storyline is moving and heart-breaking. 

Flora is a complex main character. Family bonds and love are more important to her than the idealistic ideas of patriotism. As she declares, her loyalties lie foremost with her daughters.

Many thanks to Jenny O'Brien and Rachel's Random Resources for my e-copy of the book!

Purchase Links

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Secret-Dressmaker-Jenny-OBrien-ebook/dp/B0GSVGSK36

https://www.amazon.com/Secret-Dressmaker-Jenny-OBrien-ebook/dp/B0GSVGSK36

Author Bio – Jenny O’Brien writes complex thrillers and heartbreaking historical fiction, as well as intriguing romances. Silent Cry, initially self published, topped the Amazon kindle chart in both the UK and the USA. Most of her books have followed suit. 

Jenny has over 40 years experience as a qualified nurse. She turned to creative writing as a hobby when her children were born. Now, 20 years later, she's retired from the day job to focus on writing. She's currently working on the third book in the Threads Series. 

Born in Ireland, she now lives in Guernsey with her husband and children.

Social Media Links – https://www.facebook.com/JennyOBrienWriter/

https://www.instagram.com/scribblerjb/

https://x.com/ScribblerJB

Photo diary: Project 365, week 15

 Eventful, that's how I would describe the past week.

In the last couple of years we have enjoyed short holidays in Paris several times. My husband has been working in Paris these couple of  years, and rents a teeny tiny apartment in the Marais. 

I was a very impressionable 25-year-old when I visited Paris for the first time, romantically inclined to see everything through the rose-tinted glasses. 

Fast forward thirty years, my idealistic views have changed, perhaps not entirely, as now I'm discovering it through the eyes of my boys. 

Sasha loves travelling by train, and he keeps showing me his social story about our trip to Paris (many thanks to his disability team who created, printed out and laminated the story, Sasha absolutely loves it). He knows what he wants, yet he doesn't understand the costs, or how much planning it takes.

Sash was so happy when we got on the train, radiating joy and excitement.

We arrived to Paris in the evening, walking from the metro station to the apartment where we stayed.

While my husband and Sasha stayed in the apartment to relax after the trip, Eddie and I ventured out to buy something for dinner, and Eddie practiced his French, ordering a bao bun from the Chinese food vendor (my French is about Mr Bean's level, if you remember Mr Bean's holiday, well, maybe a tiny bit better).

We haven't had any particular plans in mind for Sunday. I was hoping to see Notre Dame at some point, but you cannot book a slot in advance, like I did with the exhibition tickets. They release slots on a daily basis, and you need to keep checking if there are any openings. The reservation slots are free. 

After a quick lunch at the cafe Beaubourg near the Centre Pompidou (five minutes walk from where we stay), we walked towards the Notre Dame to see if there was any chance of getting in without the reservation. The queue was endless, and we didn't bother. Sasha cannot do queueing.

It was a sunny day, and we decided to have a river cruise. We had to wait for twenty minutes, and goodness me, didn't Sasha let us know that he doesn't want to wait. My husband had to leave the queue and take him away. When it was time to get in, I made a quick call and asked if they were still around, and perhaps could join us.

Once on the boat, Sasha was as good as gold, smiling and enjoying the ride. 

It was warm, but not too hot, the sun was shining, the scenery was pretty amazing. I would have loved it much more, if not for the obnoxious Italian woman behind me. She must have been one of the so called influencers/TikTokers, totally oblivious how it might spoil the trip for anyone else, taking video of herself and shouting so loudly that I could hardly hear the guide.

The tour took about an hour, we reached the Eiffel Tower, and then travelled back. 

If you think of taking this tour, you can book tickets in advance, but then you still have to wait in the same crowd before getting on the boat. Tickets cost 17 euros per person. 

Later that day we popped into the Lego store, and admired the Eiffel Tower made of Lego bricks. I was surprised when Eddie asked me if I could get him a small Fortnite/Durr Burger set. 

I booked tickets for Artemisia Gentileschi exhibition at Jacquemart Andre Museum well in advance. She was an important artist in the Baroque, and a true hero, a survivor of rape, who showed a great strength of character. Her works are imbued with rage against male dominance and violence. A powerful exhibition.

Having a pause in one of the rooms at the museum... Can you spot my Hunger Games badge?

My husband has been promising to take me to see Ralph Lauren in St Germain. While there, I took a few photos and shared them with my family. My sister-in-law commented that we were very brave, venturing to the posh boutique store. I replied that we were not brave but brazen. The personnel looked at us with an air of superiority, however, I'm not easily intimidated. 

It's a beautiful house, more like a museum of fashion, with lots of portraits on the walls. 

I loved that suit on the standing mannequin. Such elegant lines. No idea how much it would cost, as they don't display the prices (so vulgar!) and we didn't ask. :)

From fashion to gastronomic pleasures. We had a hot chocolate at Cafe de Flore, apparently, this is one of the top three places in Paris to have a hot chocolate. It is one of the oldest coffeehouses in Paris, and has become iconic as it's associated with Sartre, Camus and Simone de Beauvoir.

Another day, another museum... Eddie and I had tickets to the Degenerate art in Musee Picasso. The term was coined by the Nazis to condemn the modern art. It is an educational exhibition, which makes you think about propaganda and distortion of reality. Topical, and sadly on point, as people are so easily led by all sorts of political agenda, and propaganda is rampant.

We also saw the permanent collection at the Museum. This portrait of Picasso's son is one of my favourites.

Bachir ice cream is all the rage at the moment. We passed by this Lebanese ice cream place a few times, and the queues are unbelievable. By pure chance, we happened to pass it one afternoon, when the queue was considerably shorter. Here is my happy child with the famous pistachio ice cream. It was so big, he struggled with it. It is tasty, but my advice, if you're not hungry, don't go for the grande version. 

More food pics, this is a very pretty avocado toast.

Every morning I checked the Notre Dame site, hoping to get a slot for our visit. When one of the slots became available on Wednesday afternoon, I couldn't believe my eyes. I quickly filled in the form, but by the time I finished, the slot was already gone. Drat. Back to the start of the page, and thankfully a later slot appeared. I booked us in as fas as I could.

For me, the visit to Notre Dame was the highlight of our trip. They've done an amazing job of restoring this historical place after the inferno. 

We moved slowly, and Sasha was very calm and thoughtful. For some reason he feels safe in churches, and loves visiting them. I lit two candles, asking whoever listens up above to be kind to my boys.

In the evening we had a short walk along the river, and talked about our short holiday. 

Sasha was super excited to go back home the next day. He was beaming, getting on the train. 

I was feeling a bit sad to say Good bye to Paris, but also glad to go back home to my comfortable bed. The sofa bed where we slept in the apartment is the most uncomfortable bed ever. Plus the lights outside keep going on and off all the night, like a blinking disco. 

On the train I had a beer, haven't tried Two Tribes brand before, and apparently Nomad is only available on Eurostar.

Friday was the day of unpacking, laundry, groceries and a bit of ink drawing. 

And now back to "normal"... 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

The Last Train from Paris by Juliet Greenwood (guest post)

 

I'm thrilled to invite Juliet Greenwood to my blog today. Juliet talks about the inspiration behind her historical novel, set in Paris during WWII. Scroll down to read the fascinating story of Juliet's Mum.

I'm adding this book to my must-read list. If I haven't had too many book blogging commitments this month, I would have loved to read this novel, especially that I've just stayed in Paris for several days.

The Last Train from Paris

 For Iris, each visit to her mother in St Mabon’s Cove, Cornwall has been the same – a serene escape from the city. But today, as she breathes in the salt air on the doorstep of her beloved childhood home, a heavy weight of anticipation settles over her. Iris knows she’s adopted, but any questions about where she came from have always been shut down by her parents, who can’t bear to revisit the past.

 Now, Iris can’t stop thinking about what she’s read on the official paperwork: BABY GIRL, FRANCE, 1939 – the year war was declared with Nazi Germany.

 When Iris confronts her mother, she hits the same wall of pain and resistance as whenever she mentions the war. That is, until her mother tearfully hands her an old tin of letters, tucked neatly beside a delicate piece of ivory wool.

 Retreating to the loft, Iris steels herself to at last learn the truth, however painful it might be. But, as she peels back each layer of history before her, a sensation of dread grows inside her. The past is calling, and its secrets are more intricate and tangled than Iris could ever have imagined.

 The year is 1939, and in Paris, France a young woman is about to commit a terrible betrayal… 

 A beautifully written and addictively compelling historical novel about the terrible choices ordinary people were forced to make in the horrors of World War Two. If you loved The Tattooist of Auschwitz, The Alice Network and The Nightingale, you will devour this book.

 

What readers are saying about Juliet Greenwood:

“This was fantastic! Perfect for a Kate Morton or Lucinda Riley hangover, this book will draw you in and won't let go until you've read the last page. This book was unputdownable – fascinating characters, excellent writing, and a plot that keeps you turning the pages. I loved every second of it." Reader review, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

“I found myself reading chapter after chapter, unable to put it down. A first-time read by this author but certainly not the last.” Reader review, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

“For readers of Kate Morton and Lucinda Riley, this book will be one of your favorites… A historical novel that will keep you reading until the end.” Reader review, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

“An absolutely brilliant read. I could not put it down…I loved how the war changed everyone and it was a gripping story... I really loved it. Cannot recommend it enough.” Reader review, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

“Did everything that I was looking for… it left me wanting to read more from Juliet Greenwood.” Reader review, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

 

Purchase Link - https://geni.us/290-al-aut-am

 

Author Bio –

Juliet Greenwood is a historical novelist, now published by Storm Publishing. Her first novel was a finalist for The People’s Book Prize and two of her books reached the top 5 in the UK Kindle store. Juliet has always been a bookworm and a storyteller, writing her first novel (a sweeping historical epic) at the age of ten. She lives in a traditional cottage in Snowdonia, North Wales, set between the mountains and the sea, with an overgrown garden (good for insects!) and a surprisingly successful grapevine.

 

Social Media Links –

Storm:                   https://stormpublishing.co/

 Website:              http://www.julietgreenwood.co.uk/

Facebook:            https://www.facebook.com/juliet.greenwood

Twitter: https://twitter.com/julietgreenwood

Instagram:           https://www.instagram.com/julietgreenwood/

Guest Post by

Juliet Greenwood

 

My inspiration for The Last Train from Paris

 

The inspiration for The Last Train from Paris originated in so many memories of my childhood in the 1960s and 70s. Most were impressions of my parents’ generation, the sense of something underlying their ordinary, everyday lives that I didn’t understand, and, to be honest, wasn’t particularly interested. My world was the future, with the optimism and sense of increasing prosperity of those years. It was when my parents acquired a fridge to replace the pantry, a washing machine superseded the twin tub and the mangle on the draining board, and we eventually had a TV – black and white, of course - although some of the neighbours had the wonder of colour. The NHS was still a miracle. The Second World War was twenty years ago, which is lost in the mists of time when you are ten.

            It was only years later that I began to understand (some of it only recently), that what lay underneath the adults’ lives was a memory of fear and a sense that life really could change in an instant and nothing was certain. It’s something we haven’t really experienced since, at least not until Covid hit. All through that surreal and frightening time of the pandemic, when everything was turned upside down and our lives were suddenly controlled by rules and constrictions we followed to help us all survive, those memories of my childhood surfaced.

I remembered how conversations between the adults had always seemed to stray back to the war, to my dad seeing the barrage balloons going up over London, my mum making her way through bombed out Birmingham to study, and standing in the garden watching the glow that lit up the night as Coventry burned. Then there were my teachers who were refugees, who had lived through the nightmare of Europe descending into total war, who had survived the firestorm that engulfed Hamburg, and the inhuman nightmare of concentration camps.

            The films of my childhood about the war mostly followed the heroics of battles, retelling the major conflicts on land and sea and in the air. My mum always refused to watch them. At the time, that all fitted in with women being viewed as weak, and rather silly, confined mostly to the domestic sphere, with very little public appearance at all. It was taking my permitted walks during Covid through almost deserted streets and countryside, hungry to meet other dogwalkers to have some human contact, that I remembered most vividly the stories Mum told me of having been a 17 year old studying near Paris on the day war broke out and having to make her way back to Calais by train, to catch the last civilian ferry back to Dover, which was stalked by a German submarine in the middle of the Channel.

            It was then that it struck me that she had seen a side of war that, until recently, hasn’t often been portrayed. The experiences of the civilians, not as victims, but survivors. And in particular the women who kept lives together under the most horrendous of circumstances, responsible for feeding families, keeping them safe, keeping some kind of sanity and humanity, and surviving to build a future after it was over. That was what my mum had seen as a teenager, as she watched families saying goodbye on the stations as her train made its way from Paris, families remembering a previous conflict and knowing they were facing the horrors of occupation and total war. It was also the terror of imminent extinction she experienced as she sat in the silent ferry as the submarine sought for any sound that might betray its presence.

            It was thinking over those memories, and especially after we had found my parents’ letters to each other while Mum was in France, and the note she sent when she finally landed in Dover, that made me passionately want to tell the stories of the civilians making their choices as best they could, and surviving by working together and sharing their humanity as the unthinkable overtook their lives.

Above all, I wanted it to be a story of the strength and resilience of so-called ‘ordinary’ people, and the extraordinary way we pull together in times of crisis, whatever we are facing, be it war, a pandemic, or the many difficulties and tragedies of family life. I suppose, in the end, it’s about the power of love, and the way it pulls us through, whatever happens, and in hope of building a better future.

Musée Carnavalet, Paris

If someone told me just a few weeks ago that I would be staying in Paris soon, I'd have burst into laughter. Yet in the second week of the Easter holidays I found myself wandering the streets of Paris and exploring two of its numerous museums.

The trip itself wasn't a walk in the park, as everything has to be planned, taking into consideration Sasha's needs. His autism means hightened anxiety, even with medication and behavioural techniques for managing stress. 

After a long discussion with my husband, we thought it might be a good idea to expose Sasha to some new experiences and sights, since we tend to do the same things, and visit the same places with him.

Overall, it was a positive experience for him, though I was always on edge, not able to relax for a minute, concerned how our boy will feel and behave.

Eddie and I visited two wonderful museums, Petit Palais and Musée Carnavalet. My husband was a real trooper. While we explored the museums, he took Sasha to cafes and accompanied him on long walks. 

It's been thirty years since I first arrived to Paris, wide-eyed and elated. A total innocent abroad. I loved visiting Le Louvre, Musée de Cluny and Notre-Dame then. I will always cherish the memories of those distant days, when I was young and carefree, and seeing everything through rose-coloured glasses.

Before our trip, we were searching online for smaller museums, that would have a cafe, possibly a garden or park nearby, where Sasha could escape if he found it too much of a sensory overload being in the museums.

Petit Palais and Musée Carnavalet suited our plans perfectly. Both happened to be great choices, and I cannot say which one Eddie and I enjoyed more. They are both splendid, both worth visiting, and I'm so glad I had a chance to see their collections.

 Musée Carnavalet is a museum of history of Paris. Spreading over two town buildings - Hôtel Carnavalet and Hôtel Le Peletier de Saint-Fargeau - it houses an amazing collection of artefacts reflecting the history of Paris, from prehistory to modern day. 

The collection consists of nearly 625,000 works: paintings, sculpture, drawings, models, photos, furniture and more.

It's wonderful that at least 10% of the works are displayed at children's eye level, so that they can enjoy the intricate models and displays.

As you enter the museum, the first rooms show an array of shop signs to reflect the city's heritage.

As Sasha wasn't that interested in the museum, we searched for the museum cafe first, going across the inner courtyard. It was a bit chilly but at least it didn't rain. We found a couple of tables in the corner, away from the other people. 

The choices are quite limited, if you only want a drink and a little bite. Prices are like this: cafe creme - 5 euros, tea - 6, diet coke - 5.50, juice - 6.50, Le Big Cookie - 5 euros (and that is just one cookie). 

We left Sash and my husband to enjoy a bit of sunshine, and began the tour of the museum.

The basement rooms are dedicated to prehistory, antiquity and the period from the Middle Ages to the mid-16th C.

It's impossible to cover everything in a short blog post, so I will highlight a few of our personal favourites, and those historical artefacts that we found fascinating.

I've always found the story of Hėloϊse and Abelard's doomed love affair captivating. At the museum you can see the heads and hands of the effigies of the tragic lovers.

Où est la très sage Heloïs,

Pour qui fut chastré et puis moyne

Pierre Esbaillart à Sainct-Denys?

Pour son amour eut cest essoyne.

This is a fragment of a big mural as you climb the stairs. The murals by Paolo Antonio Brunetti used to belong to the Duc de Luynes' townhouse, which was demolished in 1900. The frescoes were saved and re-assembled in the Musée Carnavalet in 1909-11. 

Portrait of Francis I, who loved arts and fashion, and who invited Leonardo da Vinci to his court. Leonardo brought Mona Lisa with him, which the king has acquired, and this iconic artwork can now be seen in the Louvre.

There are big rooms, showing the interiors of the Parisian homes of the nobility, with the exquisite woodwork and rich silks.

I loved seeing the portrait of Madame Recamier by François Gérard in the 19C rooms. I've seen her portrait many times in art history books, and was thrilled to see the painting in real life. She is absolutely stunning. You can almost see her lips moving mischievously.

Juliette Recamier was a Parisian socialite, who was married at the age of 15 to someone thirty years older than her. She was intelligent, quick-witted, and her beauty inspired many artists of her day.

The French Revolution takes a central stage in the museum. Carnavalet has the world's largest collection of artefacts and objects dating between 1789-1799. It covers a vast selection of historical posters, pamphlets, paintings, sculpted busts, flags, furniture, weapons, models of The Bastille and guillotine, medals etc.

It is sobering to walk from portrait to portrait and read the short biographies, learning that this person was executed, and that one, and that one. Terribles times, tragic deaths, rivers of blood. All in the name of freedom and equality.

The furniture below belonged to Marie Antoinette, when she was a prisoner at the Tour du Temple. The bed looks quite petite. I even checked how tall Marie Antoinette was (168cm, if you're curious). I'm the same height, and I would find the bed short.

This faience ecritoire (writing case with the ink stand) with a motto "Vivre Libre ou Mourire (live free or die)" circa 1791 caught my eye. 

The bust of Napoleon by Charles-Louis Corbet.

The room with this beautiful window is dedicated to the years 1830-50. There is a superb portrait of Franz Liszt on display, and other romantic artwork.

George Fouquet asked the famous artist Alphonse Mucha to design the interior for his boutique at 6 Rue Royale, and what a splendid piece of art is this shopfront! So flamboyant and extravagant.

We loved Marcel Proust's re-created bedroom, with its simple bed and comfy armchair. You can sit on a bench next to it and listen to the extracts from his famous novel, In Search of Lost Time.

Crib of the Imperial Prince Louis-Napoleon. It is very grand, but doesn't look particularly comfy for a baby.

A pretty fan with giraffes.

In a hurry, I didn't take a snap of the name of this portrait of a mime artist. The reverse search of the image doesn't bring any results. If you do know the name of the artist and the mime, please let me know.

Commedia dell'Arte was very popular in Paris from the late 16th C. These are painted wooden sculptures from Dominique Séraphin's theatre. The painting in the background shows the main characters of the Commedia dell'Arte: Harlequine, Colombina, Pulcinella, etc.

By this point of the tour we were hastening our pace, as my husband texted me, asking how long we were planning to explore. I wish we had more time.

This striking portrait of Juliette Gréco, French singer and actress, renown for her bohemian lifestyle, and being an inspiration of the song Michelle by the Beatles.

If you find yourself in Paris and want to escape the crowds of Le Louvre, Musée Carnavalet is worth visiting. 

It is free, and you don't have to book in advance. I hope to explore it in-depth one day, and let's not wait another thirty years until I visit Paris again.