Category Archives: Sunday Scene

SUNDAY SCENE: SARAH RODI ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM ESCAPING WITH HER SAXON ENEMY

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My story begins on the shores of 9th century England. At the King’s daughter’s wedding, Saxon warrior Ashford Stanton is disturbed to discover he finds a Danish shield maiden attractive…

‘Lord Stanton. Would you care for a drink?’ She held up the jug. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you touch a drop all evening.’ Her narrow nose drew his gaze down and he studied her full, soft lips, which were a pretty petal-pink.
He gave her a brisk smile. ‘Thank you, but no. I am here out of duty, not pleasure.’
Her gaze turned glacial, her face taut, and he knew instantly that she liked his kind as much as he liked hers. Was she just putting on a show for her brother’s guests, as he was for his king? ‘And ale only serves to cloud the judgement, don’t you think?’
‘Well, we can’t have that,’ she mocked. ‘We all know your sound judgement is what’s keeping us all in check.’
His brow furrowed at her blatant disrespect. He was used to being well-regarded by the people of Termarth. ‘You must be referring to my judgement on the Crowe situation—my wisdom in demanding that you show mercy to a man already broken and on his knees…’
‘Crowe killed my father, Lord Stanton. You took the side of my enemy and denied me my revenge.’
He could detect the anger simmering beneath her words, the fire in her personality, and it was igniting an unwanted spark inside him.
Ash inclined his head slightly, as if to acknowledge the weight of her claim. ‘I didn’t know that at the time.’
‘Would your actions have been different had you known?’
‘Probably not. I don’t believe in taking the law into your own hands. What you did was reckless.’

When she was younger, Svea was attacked by Saxon soldiers. Now she has grown into a warrior who has vowed never to let a man take advantage of her again… and she shows Ash she won’t conform.

 

‘We are at my brother’s wedding, and unfortunately I have a duty to be gracious to all his guests.’ She lifted a tankard from a nearby table and poured herself a cup of ale. Raising it up in the air, she made a toast. ‘To the happy couple. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening…’
‘Doubtful. I have no interest in weddings.’
‘We are in agreement about that, at least. Skol!’ she said, before downing the tankard of ale in one go.
Afterwards, she drew her sleeve across her mouth, wiping the tiny beads of moisture away. He stared at her, incredulous. He had never known a beautiful woman try so hard to disguise her allure. It intrigued him. ‘Still, you played and certainly looked the part today,’ he said.
Her face darkened and she gave an unladylike disdainful snort. He wished the words back the moment he’d uttered them, knowing he’d made a mistake.
‘You seem to have a knack of imparting your opinion upon people who don’t want to hear it, Lord Stanton. As I’ve been sweating like a pig on its way to the smokehouse all day, you should save your compliments for the bride.’
When the King is kidnapped, Svea has to join forces with Ash, returning to his fortress [I visited Bamburgh Castle – inspiration for the setting] to raise his army. Ash learns Svea has been mistreated by men, and he believes the same evil flows through him, but it’s hard to keep his distance… I hope you enjoy the chemistry between them on their journey towards happiness.
www.sarahrodi.com

 

SUNDAY SCENE: ANNEMARIE BREAR ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE SOLDIER’S DAUGHTER

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My favourite scene in my next Victorian era release, The Soldier’s Daughter is when Evie and Sophie make the rash decision to sample some wines ordered for the Bellingham summer ball. Two well brought up young ladies from respectable families should never be drunk, but Evie is a little wild and likes to challenge the rules and leads Sophie into situations that they later regret, at least Sophie does!

 

An hour later, deep in the cellar of Dawson’s Wine Merchant’s, Evie and Sophie sat on a wooden bench sipping another sample of white wine. Lanterns spilled out golden light, which banished the dark into the far corners. Although it was cool in the cellar, it wasn’t terribly cold. Workers rolled barrels onto trolleys, which were hoisted up to the warehouse floor above and put on canal barges.

Mr Dawson and his two sons, Bobby and George, strapping young men the same age as Evie and Sophie, were very attentive to them. Glass after glass of different wines arrived and they sipped and discussed the flavours until one wine resembled another.

‘I like this one better than the last,’ Evie said, feeling a little light-headed.

‘They all taste the same now.’ Sophie hiccupped. ‘Even the red and white taste the same.’ She giggled.

‘They do not! One is red and one is white!’ Evie suddenly found it hilarious.

Sophie laughed and held up her empty glass. ‘May I have a sam… sample of that one again?’ She pointed to a heavy red wine from Burgundy.

Mr Dawson Senior shook his head anxiously. ‘I do believe you have had your limit, Miss Bellingham. I fear you may have sampled too many. Your mother will be expecting you home.’

Sophie stood and swayed. ‘We have outstayed our welcome, Evie…’ She swayed again, her eyes closing.

‘Steady now, miss.’ George, a large, burly young man with a pleasant face, hurried to hold her upright.

‘You are terri… terribly big…’ Sophie leaned close to stare up at him. ‘Such arms…’

Evie stood, her focus wavering slightly. The steep staircase they’d come down would be impossible to get back up without help. The trolley was winched back down and workers, giving the two ladies a laughing glance, rushed to wheel more wine barrels onto it.

‘I want to go on that!’ Evie pointed to the trolley.

‘Oh no, Miss Davenport.’ Mr Dawson held up his hands in protest and seemed ready to pass out at the idea.

‘Those steps are dangerous!’ Sophie declared. ‘I nearly broke my neck coming down.’

‘Ladies, we will help you up the stairs.’

‘No. We shall ascend on that.’ Determined to climb on the trolley, Evie knocked away Mr Dawson’s hand that he held out to stop her. She realised she still held her glass of wine and gulped it down in one go before passing the empty glass to an amused Bobby Dawson.

‘Move the barrels, men,’ Bobby instructed.

Laughing, the men removed the barrels from the trolley. ‘Isn’t this a sight?’ one of them yelled.

Bobby gave assistance to Evie to step onto the trolley. ‘Hold on to the side, Miss Davenport.’

‘Sophie, hurry up,’ Evie encouraged.

‘Gracious me.’ Sophie stepped on board, giggling. She missed the side of the trolley and nearly fell to her knees, which made her laugh even more.

Bobby helped Sophie upright. ‘This is a first. Women on our trolley.’

‘Good God!’ Mr Dawson rubbed his eyes. ‘We’ll never have another Bellingham order again once this is known around the district.’

 

The Soldier’s Daughter is released 8th September 2022.

For more information, please visit AnneMarie Brear’s website. www.annemariebrear.com

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: MARIE LAVAL ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM QUEEN OF THE DESERT

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I have for a long time been fascinated by the history, cultures and landscapes of North Africa. It’s a part of the world I have always dreamt of visiting, especially the Sahara desert, the Ahagaar and the Tassili N’Ajjer National Parks. Sadly I’ve never had the chance to travel there, so whilst researching the background to my historical romance QUEEN OF THE DESERT, I tried to get a ‘feel’ for this incredible place and its people, the Tuaregs in particular, also sometimes called “Kel Tamasheq” (those who speak Tamashek) or ‘The People of the Veil’ because of the indigo veil men wear from around the age of fifteen.

I read Tuareg poems and folk tales and watched documentaries, but what gave me the greatest joy was the music I discovered. Music really brings people and heart together… I listened to so many incredible artists – Bombino, Tinariwen or Tarwa N-Tiniri to name but a few – and also to more traditional music featuring the imzad.

The imzad is a traditional string instrument played only by Tuareg women, who according to folk tales invented the imzad to distract men from their constant fighting. Here is a link to a documentary about the importance of the imzad for Tuareg culture. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_0EdwuC9og

As they travel across the Sahara, the main characters from QUEEN OF THE DESERT, Lucas Saintclair and Harriet Montague spend a few days with a Tuareg caravan.

A strange landscape appeared in the distance, so strange she thought she was seeing another mirage, but they were only rock formations that the wind and the sand had eroded and moulded into weird, nightmarish shapes. Tents were pitched around them. Two dozen blue tents at least. Then she saw white mehari camels and the tall silhouette of a man outlined against the sunset. He resembled a spectre, still and gaunt, his face covered with a cheche and his long tunic floating around him.

Every evening, Lucas and Harriet listen to poems and stories.

Like every evening, they sat under a dark velvet sky studded with stars in front of the chief’s tent. Tonight was their last night with the caravan before reaching In Salah.

Lucas said a few words to the chief, who searched his leather bag and produced a smooth green stone shaped like an egg. Each stone in the story telling bag was unique, and prompted a different story by the chief. Tonight was no exception.

‘Tin Hinan,’ he announced.

‘An emerald,’ Lucas finished, his eyes shining. He stared at the sparkly green pebble the chief held in his hand as he started talking in his low, chanting voice.

‘Tin Hinan came from the Western lands beyond the great desert,’ Lucas translated. ‘She followed the stars and the ancient roads to Abalessa, the blessed.’

And after the stories there is music with women playing the imzad…

One of the women musicians picked up her imzad and started drawing long, intricate and soulful sounds. Her heart heavy, Harriet locked her fingers together and blinked the tears away. How she would miss the Tuareg caravan – setting off at sunrise in the transparent, purple dawn, camping out in sheltered gorges and lost valleys, and listening to Lucas’ voice as he translated the chief’s stories in the evenings. Most of all, she would miss the passion, the heat of Lucas’ arms every night. They had become as essential as air, water and fire.

 

I hope you enjoyed your imaginary journey to the Sahara desert. Thank you for travelling with me today…

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: NICOLA PRYCE ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE CORNISH CAPTIVE

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I’m delighted to share my favourite scene from The Cornish Captive. Set in a busy harbour on the south coast of Cornwall in 1800, Madelaine Pelligrew, a French aristocrat by birth, is walking on the beach for the first time in fourteen years. Recently released from false imprisonment she had almost given up hope of freedom. As she walks, revelling in the feel of the sand beneath her feet and the wind in her hair, she sees a seagull trapped in the rocks.

The struggling seagull triggers a need in her to free it. Equating the bird’s desperate attempts to free itself with her own plight, she ventures beyond the shingle. At once, her foot sinks into sand, her shoe becomes trapped, and her panic rises. A French frigate captain is also walking on the beach: a prisoner on parole, he has previously helped Madelaine find accommodation and he wades out to assist her.

        ‘The water was deeper than I thought, up to his thighs, but he kept striding out and I held my breath. He reached the seagull and held it up. It lay still in his hands, not the slightest movement and I covered my face, unable to stop my violent sobs. ‘Oh no … no…’

        The need to free it had been so powerful. I could feel myself shaking, a growing sense of agitation. My heart was thumping, pounding with sudden irregularity and I fought to breathe. Everywhere was too vast, the seagulls too loud, the sky too high. He stood smiling across at me, holding up the dead bird. ‘A piece of white drift wood, that’s all. But I must admit it looked very like a seagull struggling against the rock.’

Madelaine is very vulnerable at this stage and Piere de la Croix has already shown her great kindness by leaving a bowl of fruit for her at the inn. Yet she shies away from him, hiding behind her false name.

          ‘Please don’t think me ungrateful. My brother-in-law doesn’t take kindly to your interference. We must never meet like this again.’

         ‘As you wish.’ His voice held sadness, a stiffness in his manner as he pointed me up the beach.

         ‘That includes oranges, Captain de la Croix.’

         He reached for his jacket. ‘Once a ship’s captain, always a ship’s captain – always vigilant for the signs of scurvy. You will get better, Mrs Barnard, and quickly, too. Just eat as many oranges as you can and drink the juice of lemons and limes.’ 

           His hair was ruffled, dark lashes framed his eyes. He held up his hand to shield them against the sun. I did not want to see the kindness in his eyes, nor hear his consideration for my welfare. He was lying. All men were liars. He was a Republican spy: his only intention to trap my brother.

          Above us, soldiers in scarlet jackets watched from the fort. One was holding a telescope to his eye and Pierre smiled. ‘Do they think I’m about to steal a rowing boat?’ His laugh sounded hollow, a sadness in his shrug. ‘I’m allowed this far … yet they don’t like me being so near their fortifications.’

Later, Captain Pierre de la Croix carves a seagull out of the driftwood and it becomes Madelaine’s symbol of escape. The beach, too, features several more times: indeed this scene foreshadows a turning point in the story which is why I have chosen to share it with you.

 

http://nicolapryce.co.uk/

SUNDAY SCENE: LYNNE SHELBY ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM ROME FOR THE SUMMER

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Kate Harper, the heroine of my new book, Rome For the Summer, has always loved the painting that has hung in her parents’ dining room for years, never suspecting that it is worth a fortune – until her art dealer boyfriend cheats her family out of the proceeds of the painting’s sale, leaving her devastated.

Kate discovers that, two hundred years ago, the girl in the painting, Charlotte Browne, ran off to Rome with the artist who painted her portrait. He abandoned her, but her eventual fate is unknown. Hoping to uncover the mystery of what happened to Charlotte, Kate seizes the chance of a summer job in Rome, where she strikes up a friendship with artist Jamie Taylor . . .

One of my favourite scenes in the book, takes place on Kate’s first day in the city, when Jamie takes her to see the Trevi Fountain, leading her through ‘a maze of streets’ narrow enough for her ‘to wonder how the cars parked along their length could possibly have driven down them.’ Passing apartments with flowers tumbling from their tiny balconies, restaurants with tables outside on the pavement, fruit stalls, ‘and street vendors selling anything from red roses to dubious leather handbags,’ they round a corner into bright sunlight and Kate hears the sound of rushing water . . .

‘Oh – there it is!’ I exclaimed. There in front of me was the famous Trevi Fountain, its white marble statues glowing in the late afternoon sun, water splashing down into a turquoise pool, the steps surrounding it packed with tourists, most of them holding up camera phones. It was a scene familiar to me from every movie set in Rome that I’d ever watched, and yet it took my breath away.

Writing this scene through the eyes of a character who has never visited Rome before bought back memories of my first visit to the city – my reaction on seeing sites like the Trevi Fountain, the Colosseum or the view from the Palatine Hill for the first time, was very similar to Kate’s!

The scene is also the first time Jamie, who spotted Kate sketching on the Spanish Steps earlier in the day, offers to help her improve her painting and drawing technique.

I looked again at the fountain with its statues of a man and two galloping horses set against a backdrop of a palace façade, and knew that I didn’t have the skill to capture it on paper.
‘I could never draw something like that,’ I said.
Jamie raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t know that.’
‘Believe me, I do,’ I said. ‘I’m no good at drawing people or horses, even if they’re made of marble.’
‘I could help you draw them,’ he said, ‘if you’d like me too.’ He smiled encouragingly, and somehow, even although I felt sure he would be wasting his time, I found myself nodding my head.

Kate’s drawing of the fountain turns out a lot better than she expected, Jamie’s encouragement helping her find the confidence that she lacks to believe that she can actually draw, foreshadowing the way her summer in Rome will lead to her finding the confidence to pursue her dreams and ambitions in other areas of her life as well.

I very much enjoyed writing this scene and giving my heroine a great first day in the Eternal City. As Jamie says to her, at the end of the chapter, as they share a bottle of wine and a pizza at a pavement café: ‘Benvenuti a Roma, Kate.’

 

www.lynneshelby.com

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: KILEY DUNBAR ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM SUMMER AT THE HIGHLAND CORAL BEACH

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I call my third novel, Summer at the Highland Coral Beach, ‘the book of my heart’ as it was deeply emotional to write.

The story follows Bea six months after the miscarriage of her longed-for baby. She’s approaching her fortieth birthday, her marriage has ended, and she’s spiralling. Bea books a spur-of-the-moment crafting holiday in the highlands at the eccentric Princess and the Pea Inn (complete with towering fairy-tale bed). Here, Bea has time to wild swim off the coral beach, make beautiful things, and process her grief a little, helped by willow weaving tutor, Atholl.

Having grown used to keeping her grief to herself (so often grieving parents find they have no outlet for their sadness), the words spill from her during a panic attack witnessed by Atholl. He strikes upon a way of helping Bea begin to say goodbye.

I love this scene because it depicts things not all that often discussed in ‘light’, cosy romances.

He produced a parcel from under his arm and unwrapped the brown paper that protected it. ‘I thought maybe, if you want, you could make use of this wee thing?’

He handed her the intricately weaved hollow bassinette shaped curiously like a Russian doll or an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus with a round hole where the face would be.

‘I made it myself of the spring’s youngest willow back in March.’
‘It’s lovely. What is it?’ Bea asked.
‘It was for a talk Seth was giving about old Highland customs. It’s a swaddling basket. You’d wrap the baby in cloths and bands, tucking them up tight so they could sleep, and then they’d be placed inside the basket and worn over the parent’s back while they worked in the fields or at the fishes.’
‘It’s beautiful. It’s tiny, though. Too small for a newborn.’
‘It was only a model, to show what the real thing would be like.’

Beatrice turned it over in her hands, her eyes misting, and she looked up at him, hesitatingly, still unsure of what he intended her to do.

‘There’s another Highland custom, an ancient one, going back to the earliest folk on the land,’ he said softly. ‘When a loved one passed, they would swaddle them too like a bairn, placing them in the water, letting the tides carry them home.’

Beatrice took his meaning and she bobbed her head as the silent tears came again.

‘Do you want to do it now? There’s a braw moon lighting the harbour.’
‘All right.’

Those were the last words they said to each other that night as Beatrice, the mother of a loved son, threaded the Highland posy of forget-me-nots, heather and white campion into the loose basket work, weaving each flower in amongst the shoots from the sappy willows as Atholl watched on.

When her work was done she left the inn, crossing the dark road and leaning over the sea wall. Atholl stayed by the inn porch, close enough to see her kiss the little bundle before lowering the empty bassinette onto the surface of the gentle waters.

Neither could tell how long it took for the horizon to claim the floating focus of so much of her grief but by sunrise it was gone and Beatrice was asleep soundly in her bed.

 

Despite the sadness, there’s love and laughter in store for Bea and Atholl. I’ve received many messages from parents saying how Bea’s story helped them. I hope it continues to offer a wee bit of brightness to yet more readers when Summer at the Highland Coral Beach comes out on paperback this July.

One in four pregnancies end in miscarriage, the miscarriage association is there to help: https://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: NANCY PEACH ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM LOVE LIFE

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My debut novel Love Life is set in and around a hospice (admittedly an unusual choice for a romantic comedy) but one of my favourite moments in the book is when the heroine, Tess Carter (a palliative care doctor) visits the home of her patient, Mary Russel. Tess has a complicated relationship with the Russel family. Mary’s son Edward is in denial about his mother’s terminal illness and remains conflicted about the hospice and everything it stands for, including Tess. On this occasion she is visiting the house to return a scarf to Edward but is not sure what to expect. She knows that the Russel family are wealthy, but the family home is a bit more substantial than she’d anticipated.

‘Tess was entirely unprepared for the view of the Russell residence, which was indeed just up the hill from the vet’s practice. As she cornered round the leafy lane that circumnavigated the estate she caught a glimpse of the main house, a Georgian manor in mellow stone nestled amongst smaller outbuildings, including a carriage house and stable block. She pulled to a stop on the gravel drive, half expecting a butler from a Merchant Ivory production to emerge from the main portico and open her passenger door. She sat for a moment in the car just gazing in awe at her surroundings; the lawn rolling down away from the house towards a thicket of trees, the neatly trimmed box hedges that bordered the drive, the sash windows reflecting the early sunlight and lending a cheerful openness to the façade.’

The novel is set in Bristol and has a Pride and Prejudice theme, featuring a Jane Austen character as one of Tess’s internal narrators, and a hero with hints of Mr Darcy. I love the architecture of this period and the Russel house combines elements of Georgian splendour with the warmth of a family home, complete with canine companions.

‘She made her way round to the back of the house, where she found a weathered rear door with iron boot scrapers at either side. She knocked hard against the door panel and found that it was ajar. With some trepidation she nudged it open and called out “Hello?” Almost immediately there was a cacophony of noise from within the house, barking and the scrabbling of claws across tiles, and she was nearly knocked off her feet by a pack of dogs hurtling into her, tails wagging. The first three dogs were rangy setters, their knobbly heads knocking into her thighs as she fussed over them. A few moments later an elderly cocker spaniel with cloudy eyes shuffled into view and the setters backed off to allow the senior member of the party to greet the visitor.

“Hello?” Edward’s familiar voice shouted through from the next room, “I’m just in here, come through.”

Tess made her way into the kitchen accompanied by the enthusiastic canines and discovered Edward, clad in damp running gear holding his ankle behind him with one hand to stretch out his quads whilst supporting himself on the back of a chair with his other hand. He looked up at her in surprise.

“Dr Carter! How nice.” He was smiling, although she couldn’t tell if it was genuine pleasure at seeing her or more of a grimace as his muscles relaxed into the stretch. He released his right ankle and repeated the move with the left whilst trying to fend off the dogs who were all trying to get involved in the warm down. Tess was mortified.’

 

www.nancy-peach.com

SUNDAY SCENE: AUDREY HARRISON ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE SPINSTER’S CAPTAIN

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I have been writing and publishing Regency romances since 2011, being fortunate enough to be a finalist in the Amazon Kindle Storyteller competition and the Romantic Novelists Association Award. I never thought I would write anything other than my regencies, but there was a story in my husband’s family history which has niggled in the background as I wrote in my genre. I had resisted it as it was set in the Victorian era and although close to the Regency, there were still differences which could be stumbling blocks for me.

The story was that In 1846, a spinster travelled to America from Scotland to be a housekeeper for her brother. Domestic staff were hard to come by, so what was more perfect than a spinster sister? Unfortunately for the brother in America, there was also a handsome captain on the ship which was to bring his sister to him.

Researching the story was fascinating, when I (finally) gave in to family requests to write it. Most of the action had to take part onboard ship and so I started down the rabbit hole which was seafaring life.

We consider history as a different world, the language, manners, and rules, but throw in life on the water and there is even more to contend with! In my view sailors were so brave stepping aboard ship, let alone spending their lives onboard. Even within the family history, there is more than one shipwreck. It was a harsh life, but one which could reap rewards, as in the case of our captain.

I do love research, it is the part that I have to contain myself, only so much factual detail can be put into a romance before it becomes a non-fiction book! It doesn’t matter that readers don’t know the hours of research which can go into one sentence.

My resources were hundreds of books I own, and visits to various Maritime Museums all give me the buzz to create the little snapshots of life onboard ship as in this extract:

The call “Who’s for the shore?” had rung out across the ship and through the levels below deck. There had been a final scurry of activity before Robert was approached by David as he stood at the helm.
“We’re ready, Capt’n.”
“Without a moment to spare,” Robert responded.
“Perfect timing then.”
“I was beginning to think we would be stuck in port another day.”
“Oh ye of little faith. As if I would be so tardy.”
“In that case, all hands to weigh anchor and make sail,” Robert instructed.
“Aye, aye, Capt’n.”

The story turned into a trilogy, using two of the other siblings of the spinster. In a family of eleven, they were at the forefront of moving because of the real changes caused by the industrial revolution and it was fascinating enough to keep my research flowing.

The final in the trilogy is set in America, when land was being developed and for the first time men could own the land they worked on, rather than be tenants. So, although I was hesitant to start these stories, I loved writing them.

I have now returned to my regencies, I love taking a snippet of history, whether the Foundling Hospital, the Napoleonic Wars or how they dealt with injuries and disabilities and weaving a romance around that. Always being one who has hovered on the edge of society because of shyness and chronic illness, I will always fight for the underdog to get their happy ever after. It just has to be set in the time in history that I love.

 

www.audreyharrison.co.uk