Category Archives: Sunday Scene

SUNDAY SCENE: RACHEL BRIMBLE ON THE SETTING FOR HER LADIES OF CARSON STREET TRILOGY

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There are two reasons I have set all my historical romances in the wonderful city of Bath, England – one) I live just a short 30 minute drive away and 2) it is filled with the most beautiful Roman, Georgian and Victorian architecture, the most amazing side streets as well as a plethora of grand (and not so grand) buildings that I pretty much use as my imagination dictates.

As Bath is obviously a real place, you might be wondering how I can use some of its buildings however I see fit. The explanation is simple – I don’t tell readers which buildings are imaginary! Thankfully, unless I use famous Bath buildings like the Abbey, the Pump Room or Royal Crescent, my audience seem to be happy to follow my lead.

For my latest series, the Ladies of Carson Street, I once again return to Bath.

However, rather than spending time enjoying high tea in the Pump Room or dancing in the Assembly Rooms, you will find the heroines of the trilogy, Louisa, Nancy and Octavia, either living and working from their house on Carson Street, frequenting the backstreet taverns or watching an act at the Theatre Royal.

In book 1, A Widow’s Vow, Louisa and Nancy arrive in Bath from Bristol to start anew after Louisa is unexpected widowed and left with nothing more than the keys to a Bath property she had no idea existed…

They walked along the sweeping curved wall surrounding the gushing waters of the River Avon and a beautifully landscaped area known as, according to Louisa’s map, the Parade Gardens. The barren trees were interspersed with evergreens, the soil beds empty of flowers in winter but imaginings of how the gardens might look in the summer months gave Louisa a flicker of optimism.

Continuing to walk along the cobbled street, she and Nancy neared the row of terrace houses.

‘Carson Street.’ Nancy pointed to a sign bolted to one of the corner houses adjacent to a busy thoroughfare filled with carriages, horses and pedestrians. ‘This is it.’

Locating the right house wasn’t difficult as Louisa had memorised the deeds so often and so intensely, the pencilled sketch of Anthony’s property was clearly drawn in her mind. ‘Anthony’s house is—’

‘Ahem, your house.’ Nancy grinned.

‘My house is about halfway along the street.’ Louisa inhaled a shaky breath. ‘Come on. I want this over with.’

She marched ahead of Nancy, pulling a brass front door key from her purse. Purposefully, Louisa drew forth her anger at Anthony’s lies, betrayal and cowardice. Lord knew, she would have to take strength from somewhere if she was ever to believe such a property was now hers to do with as she would. Lifting her chin, she shrouded herself in an invisible layer of protection against whatever further hurts were to come in her uncertain future.

But once she was standing outside the residence, her bravado floundered.

The house was beautiful. Built in a butter-coloured stone, its sash windows were flanked with velvet drapery, the front door painted a dark grass-green, complete with brass knocker and a stone ornament decorating its step. The longer Louisa stared, the more strongly inevitability enveloped her. She had survived this long and she would continue to survive, come what may.

 

This extract perfectly introduces you to the tone of the series and to two of the main three characters in the trilogy. Gritty, sometimes tough, sometimes hilarious, the Ladies of Carson Street are an unforgettable trio!

 

Rachel’s Website: https://rachelbrimble.com/

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: DEBORAH CARR ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE BEEKEEPER’S WAR

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I’ve always dreamt of owning a folly and specifically to have one as my writing space. I’ve also always loved the thought of having a walled garden where I could grow vegetables, fruit trees and flowers. I don’t have either of these and doubt that I ever will but there was nothing stopping me putting both of them in a book. It had to be the right book though and when I was writing my latest historical novel, The Beekeeper’s War I knew this was that book.

The Beekeeper’s War is set during the First and Second World Wars when Pru Le Cuirot, a young Jersey girl and her friend go to work as nurses in a beautiful manor house in Dorset being used as a hospital for recuperating injured soldiers. Later in the book Pru’s daughter Emma goes to stay at the manor and discovers an unfriendly beekeeper tending to his beehives in a beautiful walled garden. When Emma arrived she was told to enjoy the grounds but stay away from the folly, which is why she went looking for someone to speak to and ask where the folly is so she that could avoid it.

Not wishing to go where she shouldn’t, Emma decided to ask someone so that she could avoid the folly. She spotted a walled area to her right with a painted wooden door, so she doubled back on herself and went to look inside. It was slightly open so she entered, relieved to see someone working at the far corner. It was a beekeeper. He would know where the folly was, surely.

‘Hello?’ Emma called. He didn’t seem to hear her as he stood pointing a metal container with smoke coming out of it at one of the hives. She walked closer to him and called out to him once again. ‘Excuse me?’

The next thing she knew, she was being pushed roughly from behind. Emma shrieked as she fell forward, landing hard on the stone pathway. She gritted her teeth as pain shot through her right knee, and, sitting up, she turned to see who had attacked her.

‘Buddy!’ the man bellowed. ‘Get down, now!’

Emma saw a large bouncy dog that looked like a cross between a Labrador and something else.

The man tapped his thigh and the dog loped over to him. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, hurrying over to her.

Emma raised her hand. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted, not sure that she was, and rubbed her sore knee. She got to her feet.

The man stared at her. At least she presumed he was staring at her. It was a little difficult to see though the beekeeper’s hat with the black mesh obscuring his face.

‘Did you want something?’ He didn’t seem all that friendly all of a sudden, which was odd, seeing as it was his dog that had pushed her over. Maybe he was simply surprised to see a stranger in the garden.

‘Um, I was wondering if you could help me.’

‘Should you be in here?’

‘Yes.’ She realised that entering the walled garden hadn’t been the clever idea she had imagined it to be.

‘Really?’

She wasn’t sure what business it was of his but, wanting his help locating the folly, decided to appeal to his friendlier side. If indeed he possessed one.

 

The Beekeeper’s War is out on July 21st. Find out more about my books at deborahcarr.org.

SUNDAY SCENE: KATE G SMITH ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE LOVE NOTE

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I grew up in Norfolk, so setting The Love Note here felt natural to me. It’s a beautiful county with rural villages and easy access to the vast stretches of glorious coastline.

Based in a fictional Norfolk village, The Love Note follows my main character, Maggie, as she sets about sorting the family home after her mother’s death. There, Maggie finds her mother’s wedding dress—which she’d been told was missing—and hidden inside are love letters written in French.

Maggie enlists the help of Nick, an old school crush, to help her decipher the letters and hopefully find her missing father. And one of my favourite scenes is where Nick asks for a favour in return.

He picks Maggie up in a battered old Volvo

‘So,’ I say, clicking my belt on, ‘where are we heading and what’s the big secret?’

Nick laughs and throws his arm over my seat to reverse back out onto the quiet country lane.

‘No secret,’ he says, his tongue between his teeth as he concentrates, ‘If there’s one thing you need to know about me, Maggie, it’s that I’m not a massive social communicator. No social media, very few texts.’

Nick winds down his window and I do the same. It’s the first week of September and the air is thick with the dust left behind from the combine harvesters. It whips through the car, sending my hair flapping all over the place.

As they drive on, Nick explains to Maggie that it’s his mum’s birthday, he needs help with the preparations, and they’re off to check out the venue.

He shifts gears and indicates to turn into an even smaller country lane where the grass verges seep onto the road and attack from both sides with long spindly fingers of soft wild wheat.

We park in front of an old barn with traditional Norfolk flint and red bricks which are somehow managing to hold themselves up despite their jaunty angle. A modern addition of floor-to-ceiling windows down one side give a view of the rustic interior.

When they head inside, Maggie gets carried away with ideas.

‘I can just imagine it lit up with a million fairy lights along the back wall, reflected in the window; tables with freshly picked wildflower bunches and candles in jars. I can picture your mum in a flower headdress like a giant daisy chain or a . . .’

I stop talking because in all my excitement of picturing the barn how I would love to see it, I realise I have no idea if Nick’s mum even likes flowers or if she gets bouts of hay fever that would mean she’d look like she was crying through her whole party if I cover the place in floral displays. Nick is staring at me, his face giving nothing away.

‘Sorry,’ I say, digging the toe of my ballet flat into a worn dip in the brick.

‘No, no that’s perfect. That’s exactly why you’re here.’ He is still watching me, and for a beat I watch him back.

He reaches into his pockets and hands me a small bag of pistachios.

He remembers.

I take them and thank him warily, remembering how I used to always have a bag of these with me at school to pick on throughout the day.

 

I love this scene, not only because I can lose myself in the Norfolk countryside, but also for the glimpse into the blossoming friendship between Nick and Maggie.

 

Find me in my Facebook group for writers https://www.facebook.com/groups/writingittoday

SUNDAY SCENE: LYNDA EDWARDS ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM FRIENDSHIP ESTATE

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My latest book, Friendship Estate, is set on the island of Jamaica, where I was born and raised.  In the late 1700s and early 1800s, the Caribbean Islands were at a crossroads.  The abolition of slavery was on the horizon.  In the colonies, the white and black races had been mixing for generations.  They had formed a new society with a culture born of oppression, harboring a deep desire to mix freely while charting a new course for themselves.  In Friendship Estate, we witness the intricate romances and elegant customs of a bygone age while meeting a captivating array of characters.

The story is very personal because eight generations of my family are buried on the island.  The story is based on one of many passed down through the generations.  But this one has always intrigued me, causing my imagination to take flight.

I loved writing this scene because I saw the scene unfolding in my mind’s eye.  I envisioned Sabine’s anger and felt her pain as she looked out at the beautiful scene unfolding in front of her, marred by the hatred she felt.  Sabine’s father is dying.  She is hurting and comes across her nemesis Brixton as he is swimming in the sea.

Sabine Holborn stood alone on the hill overlooking the white sand below her.  She watched as the sea turned from turquoise to dark blue.  The wind picked up the waves and crashed them against the shore, matching the anguish in her heart.  Her father was dying.  It was no longer if but when, and the unshed tears made the scene in front of her shimmer.  The loud sobs that racked her body had subsided as she rode to her favorite spot overlooking the endless expanse of the Caribbean Sea.  She loved Mount Sion, but it belonged to that hateful Brixton Dunbarton.

She had known Brixton Dunbarton all her life.  A few years older than she was, she watched as he flirted his way through all the eligible girls on the island.  All except her.  She had listened as her friends prattled on about how handsome he was, his blond hair kissed by the sun, they romanticized.  He was lean with long legs, hardened by years of riding and working his estate.  No one seemed to care that his clothes were last year’s fashions, slightly frayed and worn, or that his shoes were scuffed, and his dress stockings all had runs in them.  He was so beautiful; everyone overlooked his financial shortcomings.  As they grew older, a few girls had whispered of their romantic escapades with him.  He was always polite but never flirted with her and had proposed no romantic assignations.  It hadn’t taken long for her friends to notice.  They did not comment to her face, but she knew her standing with some of them had fallen, all because Brixton Dunbarton did not think she was important enough to flirt with her.  She hated him for it.

She watched as Brixton frolicked in the waves, not a care in the world.  He swam and splashed around, secure in his place in this world.  She did not have that luxury now, and it shook her natural confidence to its core.  She watched Brixton, and her resentment grew.  Why was his hateful father still enjoying his life while hers clung to his? 

Lynda Edwards is a Jamaican writer. To date, she has written two novels, Redemption Songs and her latest release, Friendship Estate.

Find out more about Lynda and her other books at www.lyndaredwards.com

SUNDAY SCENE: DANIELLE OWEN-JONES ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM STONE BROKE HEIRESS

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It was as I walked along the tree-lined Princes Boulevard, a leafy avenue in the heart of Toxteth, while the warm sunshine dappled the emerald leaves, that I admitted defeat – I was seeing the area with new, sober eyes and I was ashamed of how fast I was to judge it at first.

The boulevard was a hive of activity on such a beautiful day. Cyclists pulled over from the designated cycle lanes and gulped from fluorescent sports bottles. Visitors stopped to marvel at the art installations and read the plaques that revealed the history of the area. I stood alongside the groups and pored over the amazing heritage. Each plaque explored a different topic – the religious buildings reflecting its multi-faith community, its once thriving nightlife, the history of activism and the legacy of Liverpool’s role as a major port city.

Through my ignorance, all I’d associated Toxteth with was the riots, but here it was, resplendent in its regeneration and the proud community basking in its glory.

An installation at one end of the boulevard – just before the inviting, gold adorned gates of leafy Princes Park – was especially eye-catching, with striking golden text and gilded patterns inscribed in the stone stating: ‘Our Home, Our Life, Our Future’. Would it be my home, my life and my future too?

The freshly laid, pastel grey pavement was decorated with the occasional mosaic showcasing inspirational quotes. I stood above the one featuring words once spoken by Nelson Mandela: ‘The greatest glory in living is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.’

I had my answer; Toxteth had given it to me. I turned and headed back to my flat – back home.

My debut novel, Stone Broke Heiress, was originally set in London. It was my agent’s brilliant idea during pre-submission edits to change the location to Liverpool, Toxteth specifically. It sounds like a total cliché, but that really was a lightbulb moment. The new, Northern setting that I knew so well transformed the book in every way. From a pitch perspective, it gave the book an interesting angle for publishers when Clare took it out on sub (it was picked up by Bookouture in a two-book deal). But the setting also affected every aspect of the book and the more I wrote about the city I loved, the more the ideas flowed and the story grew stronger.

There was something else important to consider too. Unfortunately, the first thought that springs to a lot of minds when people hear ‘Toxteth’ is the 1981 riots. When I was researching the area for my book, I knew I had to include a reference to the riots forty years ago, together with the challenging years the area experienced afterwards. However, Toxteth has undergone an exciting period of transformation over recent years and I made a conscious effort to highlight the positive changes when writing those scenes.

A significant development in the area is the £4million, newly renovated Princes Boulevard – a leafy, tree-lined avenue that runs through the centre of Toxteth. The history of the area, both good and bad, is told through installations and information plaques dotted along the stunning boulevard. This example of regeneration is a vital part of Toxteth – combining both its history and its future. That’s why I chose the boulevard as the backdrop to a key scene in my book, when the protagonist, Bella, sees the area through new eyes and regrets how fast she was to judge it based on first impressions.

 

www.danielleowenjones.com

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: CATHERINE KULLMANN ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM PERCEPTION & ILLUSION

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Burlington House, London, 1 July 1814

 We are guests at that famous masquerade given by the members of Watier’s club to the cream of the English nobility and demi-monde in honour of peace between Great Britain and France.

This is a favourite scene of mine for two reasons. First, it is a pivotal scene in my Perception & Illusion. Lallie’s and Hugo’s marriage is in difficulties. Here, they dance together, although he does not know who she is.

 

Lallie hastily inspected the surrounding gentlemen. There was Luke Fitzmaurice, dressed as Hamlet with a skull-mask on a stick—poor Yorick, she assumed. He would be a good choice, but before she could gather her courage and beckon him to her, a sister Muse called imperiously, “Prince Hamlet,” and he immediately obeyed the summons.

Others had also chosen their partners and, panicking a little, Lallie sought Hugo’s eye. She did not know whether to be pleased or annoyed when a coquettish glance paired with a seductive curve of her finger brought him to her side.

“Clio,” he bowed. “I am honoured.”

It was different dancing with him when she didn’t have to conceal her reactions. The Grecian gown permitted only the lightest of stays and she shivered when his hands clasped her waist and she had to mirror the position for the jetées of the valse sauteuse. She felt his every movement beneath her fingers and had to resist the temptation to pull him closer to her. To her relief the music slowed and they could move again into more open attitudes, revolving about one another in seductive harmony.

Who was she? Although the fast waltz did not permit much conversation, her voice was tantalisingly familiar but Hugo could not match it to any woman of that height. She danced very lightly and followed his lead so exquisitely that he conjectured she had come from the ballet. If only he could waltz like this with Lallie. Then he felt guilty for thinking of his wife with another woman in his arms. He didn’t know what impulse had made him obey the unspoken invitation. Perhaps it was because the Muses’ entrance had provided a welcome distraction from his cheerless thoughts. He was sick of London, sick and tired of the Season, but dreading the return to Tamm. How would he and Lallie fare once back in its cold halls? If it were not for that cursed duel, he might have had some hope, but she still held herself aloof. He had never thought he would miss that little sigh of hers.

“Ah, Clio,” he said as they took a turn about the room afterwards, “how fortunate we would be if you only recorded our victories, but sadly our defeats and lack of judgement must also be noted in your scrolls.”

“If I were to remember only his victories, man would look continuously to the past, seeking to repeat it. But he may learn from his mistakes, sir, and perhaps even earn forgiveness or, at least, a second chance.”

“To err is human?” he asked seriously.

“Indeed, sir and are we not all called upon to forgive? But see, my sister comes for me.” As she spoke, another Muse took her hand and pulled her from him to disappear into the crowd.

“The carriage is outside if you still wish to leave early,” Thalia whispered.

“I do. And you?”

“I think I’ll stay awhile.”

 

This brief exchange between Lallie and Thalia is the other reason I love this scene. I simply had to know what happened when Thalia returned to the party. This led to The Murmur of Masks. Although written after Perception & Illusion, it was published first as my debut novel.

 

www.catherinekullmann.com

SUNDAY SCENE: VICTORIA SPRINGFIELD ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM THE ITALIAN HOLIDAY

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Choosing a favourite scene from my debut novel The Italian Holiday was rather like choosing a favourite pasta sauce or flavour of Italian gelati – impossible not to keep changing my mind!  My unlucky-in-love heroine, Bluebell has always wanted to visit Italy but taking her granny’s place on Loving and Knitting magazine’s trip isn’t quite what she had in mind.  When she realises she has picked up the wrong suitcase at Naples airport, Bluebell is horrified – until she discovers the colourful, confidence boosting dresses inside fit like a glove.

Bluebell and her unlikely new pals stay at the fictional Hotel Sea Breeze in Minori, a charming seaside town just along the coast from Amalfi.  I first visited Minori in 2015, and my then-boyfriend and I loved it so much we ‘eloped’ there to get married two years later.  Exploring the area whilst on honeymoon, I knew that it would make the perfect setting for a story of unusual friendships, finding love when you least expect it – and how the right dress can change your life.

My protagonists explore the gardens in Ravello, take a boat trip to Positano and visit unforgettable Capri but I have chosen a day trip to Sorrento, in the first part of the book, as my favourite scene.  The women are up early ‘despite their late night dancing on the seafront’ and assemble ‘by the reception desk, chatting away, clutching a mixture of sun hats and cardigans just in case the fine June day turned out to be too hot or too cold.’  Bluebell and her new friend, 72-year-old Miriam, holidaying abroad for the first time since her husband’s death, swap stories at the back of the coach whilst little Evie is busy with her ‘top-secret knitting project.’

When the guide they are due to meet in Sorrento is taken ill, down-to-earth Brenda comes to the rescue and leads the others on her own tour, exploring the via San Cesareo where ‘boxes of soft peaches and oversized knobbly lemons were piled up beneath canopies hung with waxy red chillies…Italian mothers bargained with stall holders and remonstrated with recalcitrant children.  Overhead, strings of colourful flags criss-crossed the narrow street.’  Down in the marina, they feast on ‘bruschette fragrant with oil and garlic, topped by the brightest chopped tomatoes with shredded basil…peppers and aubergines cooked until they were soft and velvety.’

The women, near strangers until now, begin to gel and the reader gets a hint of the adventures that lie ahead.  Spotting a wedding in the cloisters where the glamorous outfits are a far cry from ‘the sturdy pastel two-pieces worn at a typical English wedding for fear of upstaging the bride,’ Bluebell wonders if she is quite as cynical about love as she likes to think she is.  Meanwhile Miriam gets a ‘faraway look in her eyes’ perhaps thinking of handsome Tommaso who runs Minori’s Trattoria di Napoli where the women ate the previous night.

After their busy day in Sorrento, the ladies are looking forward to an early night except for Bluebell who has a date with ‘tight-trousered’ hotel waiter Andrea.  Bluebell plans to wear a special outfit from the mystery suitcase: ‘the prettiest dress of them all.’  Later that evening, the ‘orange, full-skirted number covered in big white poppies’ will attract the attention of an intriguing young man, sending Bluebell and Miriam on the trail of the mysterious girl in the poppy-print dress.

 

The Italian Holiday and A Farmhouse in Tuscany are published by Orion Dash.  Victoria’s new book, set in Lucca, The Italian Fiancé is out August 2022.

Twitter: @VictoriaSWrites

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: MISA BUCKLEY ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM ARCHANGEL

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I love writing romance. Throwing two people who are often poles apart and watching the sparks fly. In my novella ARCHANGEL, my leads are as different as you can get. Gabriel is an ex-criminal who used to deliver questionable packages, while Abigail is a sculptor selling her art in a L.A. shop. Gabe is practical, level-headed man who doesn’t believe in much. Abigail is a medium and believes in heaven and hell, and all that entails.

So how do two such opposing people even meet? Well, ARCHANGEL is a paranormal romance. The antagonist has sold his soul to the devil for power, sealing the deal with a series of grisly murders – that Abigail “sees” happen. Gabriel is the guy sent to protect her… though it ends up being a lot more.

In the following scene, Gabe has taken Abigail for dinner, then a stroll around the hotel they’re staying at. At the pool side, they’ve gotten talking about his sketchy past, and Abigail decides to move things along. Not only is this their first kiss, but here we see her absolute belief that Gabe can be a better man.

 

“I trust you, Gabriel,” she said, her voice soft but earnest. “I know you think I’ve every reason not to, and perhaps you’re right. But I didn’t ask for good. I didn’t ask for perfect. I asked for someone to protect me, and you have. You will.”

“You need more than that.”

“You are more than that. You just don’t give yourself enough credit.”

I told hold of her wrists and pulled her hands from my face. “With good reason. You’ve no idea what’s going on in my head.”

Her laugh shocked me. It bounced off the tiled walls of the pool room, rich and pure. Still laughing, she tugged her wrists free and then wrapped her arms around my neck. Her floral scent filled my senses. Her body against mine shut my brain down.

“It’s probably similar to what I’m thinking,” she murmured, then her lips were on mine, firm yet sweet.

 The temptation to taste her overwhelmed me, and I gave in with very little resistance, if any. Her lips were fruity from the wine we’d drunk. I licked them and they parted, giving me access to her mouth. I slid my tongue in and her groan vibrated against my teeth, sending shocks of desires though my bones.

 My determination to keep things professional evaporated like dew in the desert. I carded the fingers of my right hand into the thick silk of her hair. My left hand found her hip. I pulled her close, and she moulded against me, her arms tightening.

 Warning bells rang. I told them to go to hell. For once I just wanted to lose myself in someone who wasn’t being paid to make me feel good. In someone who believed in me, even when I couldn’t.

 

What I really love about this scene is Gabe’s shift from cynical disbeliever, opening up – even if it’s just a little – to someone else and the possibility of being loved. I think most people deserve that in their lives.