Even before you reach the end of the book, it's apparent that this is only the first installment in what is intended to be a series of Livy Nash mysteries... and I for one can't wait for the second.
We first meet Livy as a borderline alcoholic Lancashire lass working a dispiriting proof-reading job at a down-market women's magazine in immediately post-war London... shades of AJ Pearce's "Dear Mrs Bird." Slowly, however, Livy's wartime service, working for Britain's espionage network, comes into view, with the flashbacks only accelerating as she is invited to meet the mysterious Mr Fleming, an editor at a considerably more prestigious publication. And from there... no, no more spoilers.
Suffice, however, to say, if you like your spy novels flavored with excellent period detail, hardbitten agents, international intrigue, and lashings of revenge, "Spitfire"... Livy' nickname, bestowed in tribute to the fighter plane of the same name... will more than measure up. Well-realized characters occupy well-wrought situations; the action and intrigue are all but non-stop, the London and Parisian settings are delightful, and there's probably half a dozen twists that you probably won't have spotted coming from a mile off.
In fact, if one has to pinpoint one flaw in the entire book, you'll find it in chapter seven, where Livy discovers a "black canister about the width of a fifty pence." It's an interesting observation, bearing in mind that the country's first decimal coinage, the 50p included, did not make a bow until 1968. But it's also the kind of error that could as easily have been inserted by a well-meaning copy-editor as the author, so we'll skip blithely over it and hope for that little bit more care next time.
Because otherwise, "Spitfire" is a veritable hurricane of excitement.