SUNDAY SCENE: NATALIE NORMANN ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SUMMER ISLAND

When I was asked if I could write a contemporary romance set in Norway, I jumped at the opportunity. I didn’t have a story, but I knew the perfect setting.

I love islands, but I couldn’t make up my mind which one of my favourite places to use, and I ended up making my own fictional island. From that, came Summer Island with it’s quirky characters and the best part of Norwegian summers.

It was the perfect place for a romance between two people with broken hearts who think they have lost what they loved most.

Ninni Torp comes to her beloved island to heal from the biggest shock in her life, only to find there are bigger suprises in store for her.

I also had great fun dropping a big city boy in an unfamiliar environment. Jack Greene arrives from London to sell the farm he has inherited, and finds the experience more than a little strange.  Like here in this scene, where he gets into a rowing boat for the first time.

 

Jack looked at Frikk with a wary expression on his face. The dog looked back at him, ears up, tail down.

‘Are you sure he’s friendly?’

‘Are you scared of dogs?’ Ninni smiled at him.

Jack kept a watchful eye on Frikk. ‘No, not really. I’m not used to them, that’s all. We never had any pets. My brother is allergic.’

Ninni turned to Frikk. ‘Say hello to Jack, Frikk.’

The dog lifted a paw and Jack, after a moment’s hesitation, shook it. ‘That’s pretty good,’ he said and smiled.

Ninni laughed. ‘He has excellent manners. Better than most people, I think.’

She climbed into the boat, keeping it steady by standing with her legs apart. ‘Come on, Frikk, jump in.’

The dog looked at Jack, seemed to grin at him, and then jumped. Ninni grabbed him and lifted him to the front. She looked up at Jack. ‘Come on.’

Jack hesitated. ‘Are you sure that thing is safe?’

‘My word, you are a scaredy-cat. Don’t worry, if you fall while getting into the boat you can’t drown. That’s what the life jacket is for.’

She held out a hand, but Jack ignored it. Copying her, he carefully stepped into the boat, then sat down. He stretched out his hands and grabbed hold of the gunwale on both sides.

Ninni didn’t say anything. It wasn’t nice to make fun of someone sitting in a boat for the first time, no matter how hilarious he looked. He seemed so sure of himself on land and now he sat there, staring at the water as if it was going to attack him.

She sat down in the aft and pulled the cord to the engine a couple of times. It spluttered and then started.

The wind was coming from the south and the water was a bit choppy. The bow jumped on the waves and Frikk had a grand time barking at them.

Jack turned pale.

Ninni leaned forward. ‘Are you seasick?’

‘No.’ He shook his head, then turned a shade greener.

 

I can’t even express how much fun I had writing the two books in A Very Hygge Holiday: Summer Island, and the sequel Christmas Island.

SUNDAY SCENE: LIZ FENWICK ON THE HELFORD RIVER AS A SETTING FOR HER NOVELS

I first visited the Helford River in June 1989 and it has held my heart since then. It has become my muse, or a major part of it at least. It is difficult to write about this part of Cornwall without reference to the river. It pulls you in as much as the moon pulls the tide in. My first six novels are set on both the north and the south side of the river and this coming Spring my latest novel, The Secret Shore, returns there once more, this time set in 1942. The protagonist Merry Tremayne was born on the south side on a farm just above Frenchman’s Creek. From her early explorations of the many creeks that feed the river she draws her very first map. This is the start of her life journey that many woman of her time did not and could not travel.

It was a challenge to look at the river through Merry’s eyes as I am so accustomed to viewing it through my own. But a setting only has true meaning when seen through the eyes of those viewing it. With each novel I have had to look at this familiar landscape and yet see it anew. In my debut, The Cornish House, it was fun to look at the area through the eyes of a stroppy London teenager. All Hannah could see was an empty landscape devoid of her former luxuries such as a decent latte and all she could smell was the air reeking of cow shit! Whereas Gabe in A Cornish Stranger experienced the area through the river’s sounds… the shrill cries of the wading birds at low tide and the soft wind in the Eucalyptus trees.

Merry is an Oxford geographer who doesn’t simply see fields and hills, but their structure, composition and development. She only notices their true beauty when she thinks of her mother Elise, an artist. It is Elise’s view which causes Merry’s analytical mind to stop every so often, enabling her to pause and see the elegance beyond the facts and figures.

Standing high on the plateau above the Helford, I watched the world change from the indistinct shapes of dawn to the defined ones of the day and I recalled my mother’s search for what she described as impossible light. It was the moment when the beauty was so sharp, so clear it hurt and broke into your mind and your soul giving everything new meaning. The only thing she had been able to compare it to was when she fell in love with my father. In that moment of understanding, her perception of everything changed.

When writing about landscape it’s important for me to be in my character’s mind because what the character sees also reveals her point of view. Does she pick out the light or does she notice how rundown things are? Victoria in Under A Cornish Sky sees the landscape through history and folklore whereas when Merry is on the river she experiences it quite differently.

This old canoe had provided Oliver and I with endless trips on the Helford and around its creeks while we pretended that we were travelling on the Amazon, or the Nile, or the Yangtze. The bending oaks and hollies had become far more exotic and dangerous.

The joy of writing is that with each book and each character I can take a fresh look at the landscape around me and discover something totally new. I appreciate it all the more for the experience.

 

 

www.lizfenwick.com

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: JAN BAYNHAM ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM HER NANNY’S SECRET

My third book, ‘Her Nanny’s Secret’, is a dual timeline novel, set in wartime and the sixties in rural mid-Wales and Normandy. It involves secrets, forbidden love, loss, and hope. In the 1963 story, my main character, Annie, travels to France with Clara Pryce to whom she was nanny when she was younger. Clara’s father had been shot down over Normandy in June 1943. Now as an adult, Clara is keen to try to find out what happened to him and where he’s buried. My chosen scene in the novel is when Annie accompanies Clara to Ville de Roi, a town near where her father’s Spitfire fighter plane had been shot down. It’s her first day and I want to capture Annie’s reactions to French life, seeing it through the eyes of someone who had never been to France before.

As she and Clara approach the town, ‘the sea sparkled like a mirror in the afternoon sun’ to the left; ‘coves and inlets surprised her around each bend’ in the road. Once parked, they wander through the streets, eventually choosing a pretty crepêrie where they can have lunch.

La Belle Epoque was situated down a narrow, cobbled street branching off from the main square. Outside, tables, covered with red-and-white tablecloths, and bentwood chairs were placed along each of the two large windows. Ornamental fruit trees in brightly glazed pots separated each table.

‘Is it warm enough to sit outside, do you think?’ asked Clara.

Just being able to sit out in the fresh air to eat is a new experience for Annie. A real treat. None of the cafés in Pen-y-Rhos have outdoor seating.

They sat down and studied the menu. Annie had never seen such a choice and couldn’t decide from the images between a savoury galette filled with ham and cheese, topped with a fried egg, or, to satisfy her sweet tooth, a crêpe, oozing with cooked local apples and whipped cream.

Clara laughed at her indecision and Annie wondered if her eyes were as wide as she felt them to be.

Back home, pancakes are only eaten on Shrove Tuesday and then always with lemon juice and white sugar.

Later in the scene, they come to a central square where a group of elderly men are playing a game Annie hadn’t seen before.

‘Pétanque,’ said Clara. ‘It’s very popular in this part of France.’

They found a bench and watched the game in progress. One man threw a small white ball onto the dusty gravel, a ‘jack’ Clara called it. In turn, each player threw a larger silver coloured ball, a boule, as close to the jack as they could. The men became more animated as the game went on especially when someone’s boule knocked another’s further away from the jack.

‘Every village will have a square for pétanque. Can you see how earnestly the old men take the game? You must never disturb a player when they’re about to throw.’ Clara laughed, waving a finger.

Clara explains to her that even the smallest village in France would have a square and a town hall, a mairie. Annie can’t get over how many cafés and bars there were in one place.

Pretty window boxes adorned the upstairs windows and scarlet summer geraniums and tumbling blue lobelia gave a blaze of colour.

During the rest of her time in France, Annie is to encounter many more new experiences. In the search for Clara’s father, she could never have imagined the outcome of the visit. Keeping her secret for over twenty years is justified at last.

 

https://janbaynham.blogspot.com

 

SUNDAY SCENE: ANGELA BARTON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SPRING BREEZE

I love the freedom of writing fiction. I construct imaginary buildings and places, create characters, invent stories for them and decide how they’ll react to the obstacles I put in front of them. I forge their relationships, decide who they’ll fall in love with and I determine their outcome. But over the years as my writing has evolved, I like to include real events from history, real people who were alive at the time of my story, and real objects. In Spring Breeze, Irène Némirovsky and Picasso make appearances and interact with my characters, but my excerpt below is about an object.

A great deal of responsibility comes with including actual people or objects in a book. Research has to be thorough and accurate, then entwined into the storyline without sounding like a history lesson! I never enjoyed history at school. Every time I was given homework is was to learn a seemingly endless list of names and dates. I wanted dramatic stories, heroes and heroines. I wanted adventure, romance and excitement. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I became a writer. Now I can make my own stories whilst adding a touch of realism and history to them.

My protagonist in Spring Breeze is Matilde Pascale. She used to work in an auction house before the German invasion caused its closure. Forced into working for the enemy at the Jeu de Paume museum in Paris, Matilde discovered an object she’s been asked to log; a priceless artefact from history. Imagine the scene. Matilde has been led to the basement of the Jeu de Paume museum where the Germans are storing looted valuables: jewellery, antiques, paintings, ornaments etc. It’s gloomy, lit by dim bare light bulbs, it’s eerily quiet except for the faint echoes of footfall on the floor above her, and she’s alone in the vast storage room.

 

Kneeling, Matilde placed her notepad and pen on the floor. Whatever could it be? She touched it. It felt solid. She peeled back its wrapping and saw material that had been rolled tightly. She found one end but it was too heavy to unroll. She followed a fold, running her fingers along its length and gradually teasing out the material until she had enough to fold it back. Slowly she peeled back a corner to reveal embroidery. The workmanship was exquisite, in vibrant colours and Latin inscriptions. The material felt like linen and smelt musty, like walking into an old church. Looking closely she could see that it had been sprinkled with moth powder. She unfolded a little more: a horse, a man with a sword, arrows. The figures were immediately so individual and so identifiable that her mouth fell open. Her eyes, now wide with wonder and horror, took in what lay before her on the floor.

It was the Bayeux Tapestry.

Matilde knelt reverentially before the giant roll of fabric and pulled on her gloves. She gently laid her palm against the cloth, leaned forward and smelled it. A frisson of awe forced her to close her eyes and wonder at the history this tapestry had seen. It had been associated with such bellicose men as William the Conqueror and Napoleon Bonaparte. It had survived the French Revolution in the 18th century and withstood examinations and transportations.

 

www.angelabarton.net

 

SUNDAY SCENE: SUZANNE SNOW ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SNOWFALL OVER HALESMERE HOUSE

Inspiration for me often begins with the setting and I knew I had found my characters’ home when I visited this gorgeous house and garden in Cumbria. Soon I could envision Ella and Max here and picture their story unfolding around me. The scene I’ve chosen to share is set on a Sunday evening when Ella is feeling tense and alone in the house on her first weekend at Halesmere. Active by nature, she heads out into the frosty night for a walk in the grounds to settle herself before bed:

 

Not a thing seemed to be stirring when Ella reached the empty lane; she felt like the only person awake and watching the world at this hour. She really ought to go back to bed; midnight would soon be past, and she couldn’t spend the night marching up and down the drive.

She heard Prim before she saw her as she neared the house. She saw the dog freeze, then her tail shot up and Prim barked once, cautiously, then let out a volley of noise that had Max running after her.

‘Prim, shut up, there’s nothing there,’ he hissed. ‘Be quiet, you’ll wake the kids up.’

Ella had been looking for a tree or convenient spot where she might hide, but it was too late. Prim had found her and immediately swapped the barking for a madly wagging tail and a desperate wish to put her paws on Ella’s shoulders.

‘Who’s there?’ Max called sharply.

‘It’s me.’ She stepped forward, offering a quick smile she wasn’t sure Max would see through the dark. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to set Prim off like that.’

‘Ella! You had me worried for a minute, Prim’s never barked like that before.’

‘Just doing her job, aren’t you, girl.’ Ella stroked the dog leaning against her legs.

‘I suppose.’ Max was wearing a T shirt over lounging trousers, and he shivered. ‘It’s pretty late to be out for a stroll. Couldn’t sleep?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Walking usually helps.’

‘I work rather than walk when I can’t sleep.’ He wrapped his arms across his body. ‘Not so easy for me to leave the house.’

‘Of course.’ She thought of his children, cosy in their beds. ‘But doesn’t working too many hours late at night just make you more tired?’

‘Yeah.’ She saw the gleam of his smile. ‘But I’ve got two excellent alarm clocks who like crashing on my head first thing, so there’s not much danger of me sleeping in.’

A gorgeous new image jumped into Ella’s mind, one featuring Max being woken with cuddles and love every morning by Lily and Arlo tumbling over him. ‘You’re not still working?’

‘Just finished. I let Prim out last thing before I head up.’ Max stamped his feet, blew out a breath. ‘It’s freezing. You don’t fancy a hot drink, do you?’

Not wise, Ella, she told herself. Not wise at all. But exactly what she wanted and quite possibly just what she needed. ‘I’d love one. Maybe not coffee though.’

‘No problem. I do a mean hot chocolate, and I could throw in a shot of brandy to warm us up.’

‘Perfect.’ It was, and Prim seemed delighted to be escorting Ella safely into the cottage instead of seeing her back to the silent house.

 

I loved writing this scene as it marks a change in Ella and Max’s relationship as they begin to understand one another and the circumstances which have led them to Halesmere House in search of new beginnings.

 

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SUNDAY SCENE: COLETTE DARTFORD ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE MORTIFICATION OF GRACE WHEELER

At the heart of my novels are relationships at a point of turmoil or crisis, because that is when they are most interesting. In Learning To Speak American, Duncan and Lola Drummond try to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary in sun-drenched California, while still grieving the loss of their daughter two years earlier. In An Unsuitable Marriage, Geoffrey Parry loses his business, his family home and his dignity. He is forced to move in with his elderly mother, testing their relationship, while his wife Olivia, takes a position at houseparent at their son’s prep school, testing their relationship too. In my third novel, The Mortification of Grace Wheeler, Grace is faced with a lonely empty nest when her only child, Josh, goes to university. For eighteen years they have been a family – Cal, Grace and Josh – but now Grace and Cal are a couple again, and she can’t see how that will work. The story begins the day before Josh – a keen fisherman – leaves home. Grace has taken him to one of his favourite fishing spots and watches wistfully from the grassy bank.

In many ways it was a perfect day. Late summer sun, buttery and low, showered gold dust on the river as it rippled over shallow rocks. A riot of insects flitted over the deeper water, tempting unsuspecting fish to the surface. Josh stood knee-deep in his waders and cast out with a long swish of his rod.

Grace sat on the riverbank, a tartan blanket spread out beneath her. The book her mother, Ruth, had given her lay face down on the picnic hamper – The Empty Nest: A Survival Guide. Ruth meant well, but even the title troubled Grace. It foreshadowed the vacuum Josh’s absence would create, and the spotlight it would shine on her marriage. From tomorrow, Grace’s own nest would be empty, and reading about it wasn’t how she wanted to spend this last day with her son.

Grace misses Josh terribly and is upset that Cal doesn’t. For him it’s a case of ‘job done’, an attitude that only highlights the distance between them. When she is advised to take up a hobby, Cal suggests she join his golf club, but she wants to spend less time with him, not more. Instead, she has fly-fishing lessons as a surprise for Josh when he comes home. Her instructor is a chilled and charming millennial, a complete contrast to Cal, more than twenty years her senior and unrepentantly set in his ways. Despite having always been true to her marriage vows, Grace finds herself drawn into a brief affair that has devastating consequences not just for her, but her entire family.

Rivers and lakes are the setting for some of the book’s more poignant scenes. As the story began by a riverbank, I wanted it to finish there too. ‘Bookend all the bad stuff’ is how Grace put it. I can’t say any more about what happens between these two excerpts, or how this particular day’s fishing will end.

Josh strode out into the gin-clear water and made his first cast. Grace watched from the bank and remembered the empty-nest book Ruth had given her. She had dumped it into the recycling, unread. No great loss, she told herself. Nothing could have prepared her for the trauma of her empty nest. Even now, she could hardly believe everything that had happened.

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: CAROL THOMAS ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM A SUMMER OF SECOND CHANCES

Ava Flynn, the heroine of my novel, A Summer of Second Chances, feels the clothes donated to the charity shop she manages have seen more life than her. Yet maximum dedication is what it takes to keep her late mother’s beloved wildlife charity, All Critters Great and Small, running.

But when Ava’s first love, Henry Bramlington, returns to the village, life suddenly becomes a little too eventful. As the heir to Dappleburry House and estate, Henry, has the power to make or break the village he left behind – All Critters Great and Small included.

In the scene I am sharing, Ava is running with her spaniel, Myrtle, in the grounds of Dapplebury House. Unaware that Henry has returned, but well aware she is trespassing (especially as she was banned from the estate many years ago), Ava is releasing the tension she has felt building inside as she encounters Henry for the first time in over a decade.

 

The trees went by in a blur. The sensation was freeing. Ava was running too fast for rational thought. Too fast to think about all that she would like to say to her mum; too fast to think about the weight of burden she felt at keeping All Critters Great and Small afloat; too fast to think about the never-ending mountain of donations at the shop, and – Oh God! – too fast to do anything to avoid the man stepping out from the line of trees just feet ahead of her.

With the deft agility that came from being half a metre from the ground, and in possession of four paws, Myrtle darted out of the way, while Ava braced herself for impact. Seeing the alarm in the man’s green eyes as if she were registering the situation in slow motion, Ava slammed into him, knocking him to the ground as the breath left them both.

Shocked at the abrupt stop as much as the fall, cushioned only by the fact she had landed on top of the man, it took Ava a moment to regain her faculties. Embarrassment taking over, she cursed and began scrabbling up from the horribly awkward situation. Myrtle ran around the unexpected scene in a frenzy of excitement as Ava and the man disentangled their bodies.

Ava stood. ‘Are you crazy? What are you thinking just stepping out like that?’

Slowly getting to his feet, the man laughed, the unexpected response doing nothing to ease Ava’s anger.

‘Seriously?’ She felt the beads of sweat on her temples prickle.

‘I’m sorry—’ The man, still doubled over with his hands on his hips, sounded winded. ‘I heard a scream … and came to see if everything was all right. I had no idea you were about to come … like a banshee, hurtling along from nowhere, on what is …’

‘Private property, I know,’ Ava retorted, flailing her arms in the direction of the woods.

She inhaled in readiness to continue, but as the man stood to his full height, flicking his fringe from his eyes, and offering the hint of a smile, no words came. Instead, Ava stood transfixed – recognition slowly dawning upon her.

 

I greatly enjoyed writing all of the scenes between Henry and Ava. While this marks a new beginning for them, all does not run smoothly, especially as Henry inadvertently leaves a donation at the shop that reveals secrets with far reaching consequences for them both.

SUNDAY SCENE: LYNN JOHNSON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE POTTERIES GIRLS ON THE HOME FRONT

Would you have been ready to leave home to become a live-in servant in a posh country house – when you were twelve? That’s what happens to Potteries Girl, Betty Dean. She knows her life will be very different, but is she ready for the loneliness of being in two worlds and not being settled in either? In the following extract, Betty is about to leave home and all her sister, Mary-Ellen is worried about is taking over the housework.

 

‘I’m glad I’m going.’ Betty jumped to her feet. ‘You’ll all have to do some things for yerselves and about time too. I’ll come back to see yer on me day off each month, like I said.’ She glared at Mary-Ellen. ‘But I’ll not be coming back to do the washing, ironing, cooking or anything else, I’ll tell yer that for nowt.’

There was silence round the table. The faces looking up at her brought home the enormity of what was happening. Betty had to take a stand right from the outset.

Her annoyance soon fizzled out. It was beginning to hit her – from this point onwards, she wouldn’t know what her brothers and sisters were up to, whether someone was ill, happy, or sad. All she would have would be letters, if they could be bothered to send them. They would live in different worlds, with different things to talk about, and she would be a train ride away. She would come to know less and less about her own family, be the odd one out, living alone. She had wanted space to be herself in their crowded home, but it came with a heavy cost. When she put it like that, it sounded lonelier than she had ever imagined.

It would be up to her to make sure she didn’t lose touch. She would insist everyone, even little Tommy, with a bit of help, write her a letter each month. That way she could begin to bear it, she hoped.

 

It’s only when you are parted from the family and friends that you realise how much you have taken them for granted over the years – a hard lesson to learn at so young an age. And it’s difficult to think about others when you are hurting too.

 

 

That night, she lay in bed, curled up with Mary-Ellen and Lily, eyes wide open, unable to sleep.

‘Betty?’

The hiss of a voice came from the doorway. A young voice. Tommy.

Betty sat up, careful not to bump against Mary-Ellen ‘Are you all right, Tommy?’

He let himself into the room. ‘I conner sleep knowing as you’ll be gone soon. Conner get it out of me mind.’

‘I won’t be far away. And I’ll come back regular. I promise.’

‘Why d’yer have to go?’

‘We need the money and now we’re all growing up, there’s no room for all of us here.’

‘I’m going ter miss yer.’

Betty put her arms around him. ‘And I’ll miss you so much. You know I will.’

‘Can I stay in here? Just for tonight.’

‘There’s no room, Tommy,’ muttered Lily.

‘Course there is, just for tonight, said Betty, on the verge of tears.

‘Yes, but you’ll have ter get up early.’

‘Dunner care.’

As he huddled against her, Betty put her arms around her brother and sisters. Would this be the way of it all from now on? Always saying goodbye. She had to be strong. To think for herself. To be herself.

 

Staying in touch – is at the heart of Betty’s story.

 

Website: www.lynnjohnsonauthor.com