1941, Giggleswick: Flora Whittaker runs The Cunning Vixen Inn, a small pub in the centre of the village. When her husband, Bill, re-enlists in the war, he leaves Flora to run the pub with the help of young May, the next-door neighbour''s daughter. Flora has several money-saving and illegal schemes running, and when young May starts courting local policeman PC Whinray, he seems to show interest in Flora''s illegal activities. Trying to alleviate their money troubles, Flora decides to let her room to Matt Walker, who is here on behalf of the War Office to oversee the smooth transfer of Italian POWs into Settle. Flora finds out that Matt''s mother was once the landlady of The Cunning Vixen and they become good friends, even though her mother and the rest of the town do not welcome Matt''s presence. Meanwhile, Bill hears from sources about Matt''s stay and begins to get suspicious. Matt has a big secret, and he is about to share it with his host. Will it shatter her world, or will it bring her and her mother closer together? Praise for Diane Allen ''Warm-hearted and compassionate'' - Lancashire Post ''If you are a lover of historical sagas . . . this novel is definitely for you'' - Historical Novel Society

Autorentext

Diane Allen was born in Leeds, but raised at her family's farm deep in the Yorkshire Dales. After working as a glass engraver, raising a family and looking after an ill father, she found her true niche in life, joining a large-print publishing firm in 1990. She now concentrates on her writing full time, and is Honorary Vice President of the Romantic Novelists' Association. Diane's novels include A Precious Daughter, The Girl from the Tanner's Yard and The Miner's Wife.

Diane and her husband Ronnie live in the Dales market town of Settle, and have two children and four beautiful grandchildren.

Klappentext

The brand-new, heartfelt novel from Diane Allen, A Village Scandal, is set in the sleepy village of Giggleswick, where nothing seems to happen. However, behind closed doors, there are secrets to be unfolded . . .