Tag Archives: #AMREADING

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

TWO EVOCATIVE AND INNOVATIVE DUAL TIMELINE ROMANCES FROM ONE MORE CHAPTER

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Dual timeline romances based around the First and Second World Wars are tremendously popular, but these two new summer releases from One More Chapter break the mould: Deborah Carr’s moved between WW1 and WW2, and Eva Glyn’s is set in the former Yugoslavia, a theatre of war in the 1940s that is barely mentioned in modern fiction.

 

The Beekeeper’s War by Deborah Carr, reviewed by Eva Glyn

An unusual dual timeline in that it is set during the First and Second World Wars, but I enjoyed The Beekeeper’s War all the most because of it.

I have read Deborah Carr books before and she is so skilled at recreating believable and accurate historical settings and characters, without ever beating you over the head with it. The history just flows as the natural backdrop for her story, which is of course how it should be but is nonetheless not easy to achieve.

The novel opens in 1916 when two friends from Jersey, Pru and Jean, are nursing wounded soldiers. Despite herself, Pru begins to fall for a handsome airman Jack who visits Ashbury Manor and is a close friend of the son of the house, Monty, who is a patient there. Jack is still very much on active service and the book opens with a scene of him escaping his German captors a year later, so we know this affair is not going to run smoothly.

In 1940 Pru’s daughter Emma finds herself at Ashbury to stay with her mother’s friends, determined to unlock some secrets from the past. To say more would spoil this story and that I don’t want to do, because it is such an enjoyable read I’d like you to find out for yourself.

 

An Island of Secrets by Eva Glyn, reviewed by Kitty Wilson

I raced through this novel over the course of two days and was thoroughly swept into the story of Guy and Ivka, as well as that of Leo and Andrej. The only drawback being that it ended too quickly and I should have savoured it.

It is written as a dual timeline and is seamlessly woven together as Leo goes in search of answers to outstanding questions her elderly grandfather has about his time in Yugoslavia (as it was) in the Second World War. I found the story of Guy as an SOE operative on the isle of Vis truly compelling and Eva Glyn writes with a sensitivity and insight that comes across on every single page. She truly bought home the scenes where Guy witnessed the horrors of war and I was totally pulled into the story as he battled with the choices he had to make.

From the very start of his first meeting with Ivka I was so invested in their relationship, they seemed like a natural good fit and I couldn’t help but respect the courage both of them showed on a daily basis. In fact, all the characters were written in a way that had you aware of their flaws but thoroughly rooting for their success.

But for me the most outstanding element of this fabulous novel was Eva Glyn’s way of conjuring the isle of Vis in the reader’s mind, she had me there seeing and smelling and feeling the scenery and made me feel that I could truly inhabit her characters’ world.

Overall, I found this novel to expertly crafted and cannot recommend it highly enough, it is a deeply impactful and emotionally powerful read and the story of Guy and Ivka in particular will stay with me for a very long time.

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

PUBLICATION SPECIAL: SUMMER AT THE FRENCH CAFE BY SUE MOORCROFT

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As the saying goes, this is the first Sue Moorcroft book I have read, but it won’t be the last. On the face of it, Summer at the French Café is a happy ever after holiday read, but actually the book is far more.

So, what makes it stand out? The sense of place, certainly, and I love that. As I read I could actually see every place the author described; Parc Lemmel, the bookshop café at the story’s heart, the local villages… and without a single sentence of overblown description. All I needed to know was dropped seamlessly into the narrative in an exceptionally skilful way.

But more than the quality of the writing, I love the fact there is a very serious issue at the heart of the book, one that isn’t squashed or skimmed over in the search for a happy ending, one that is dealt with in a sensitive and realistic manner. That issue is emotional control; how it can be used in relationships, the reasons people accept it, and the dangerous patterns that mean it can echo across generations and years.

I asked Sue Moorcroft why she decided to tackle this insidious form of coercion…

“I’m interested in human behaviour, so when I read about control within relationships, I wanted to write about it. It provided the perfect secret behind central character Noah giving up his life in Dordogne and moving across France to Alsace. I write love stories, so the mystery had to be nuanced rather than a simple jeopardy.

I remembered someone who, when she lost her husband, refurnished and redecorated her home. I’d never come across that reaction to widowhood. She explained, ‘He liked to be the one to choose. But now I can.’ To me, this put their relationship in a whole new light. When we’d invited her out and she’d said, ‘I’ll have to check,’ had she meant with her diary? Or with her husband? When we’d picked her up, he escorted her to the car and looked inside to say, ‘Good evening’. How old-fashioned and courtly, I’d thought. But was he checking she was going out with who she’d said she was? If so, did this behaviour make her feel cherished?

Or did she resent it and feel controlled?

She also once mentioned that she’d married young and that her (by then deceased) dad had been a similar man to her husband…

I’ll never know if I jumped to conclusions, but my suspicions informed the background I gave Noah’s ex, Florine. When Florine’s controlling father died, she felt adrift. Attentive Yohan came along, telling her what she looked best in what he liked so that she could like it too, and she felt secure again. But leaving Noah for Yohan pitched her into a very different relationship.

The interesting thing about control, and which provided the nuances I was after, is that it doesn’t have to involve a traditional bully. Yohan doesn’t hit Florine or her daughter Clémence – he loves them. In fact, he almost suffocates them with his love, wanting constant knowledge of where they are or to have them with him, using his anxieties over them to cut them off from others, so he can bask in their undivided attention. His behaviour stems from his own insecurity and immaturity. Mix in a little self-importance and selfishness, and you have a controlling man. Yohan isn’t a main character, which means that Summer at the French Café is not his story – but the plot around Noah won’t work without him.”

 

Jane Cable

 

 

 

 

 

SUNDAY SCENE: LEONIE MACK ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM WE’LL ALWAYS HAVE VENICE

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My latest book, We’ll Always Have Venice, is my second romantic comedy set in Venice and is a summer love story, following the winter adventure of A Match Made in Venice. Whereas the first book explored Murano and the ancient art of glassmaking, as well as the old city itself, the second book features the idyllic lagoon and the further islands, including Burano.

The main character, Norah, is a marine microbiologist exploring the lagoon to collect samples every weekend with her guide, rower and oarmaker Gianluca. Every weekend is an adventure, taking refuge in an island monastery during a storm, picnicking with flamingos and dodging cruise ships.

One of my favourite scenes is where they accidentally disturb some fishing nets and bump into the fisherman and his son. But they’re not catching fish. The nets contain a local delicacy only available in May. And with true Burano hospitality, they end up pleasantly tipsy on Prosecco with stomachs full of delicately fried crab.

 

Gianluca squinted at the net. ‘Moeche,’ he said, a grin breaking out. He dropped her hand and strode over to the fishermen. He beckoned to Norah with quick fingers. ‘It’s crabs. Look!’

At the word ‘crabs’, she shrank back. Crustaceans were her least favourite form of marine life, coming in after gelatinous zooplankton and ectoparasitic flukes. She shook her head fiercely at Gianluca.

‘These aren’t just any crabs,’ said Gianluca with enthusiasm.

‘These,’ explained the fisherman grandly, ‘are nude crabs. Or they will be in some days, I hope.’

‘Did he say “nude crabs”?’ Reluctantly curious, she approached and inspected the specimen in the palm of the older man’s hand. ‘That’s carcinus aestuarii, the common green crab. And it’s about to moult. Natural behaviour for this species in spring, I believe.’

‘But have you ever eaten it, fried lightly in oil?’ Gianluca said, his face lit up. He turned to the older man and spoke in rapid dialect. A moment later, they were shaking hands and clapping each other on the shoulder like long-lost friends.

Norah watched with a smile tugging on one side of her mouth. Her brain filled in the blanks of the conversation:

‘For your nòna, I will give you a good price – and because you can speak my dialect!’

‘I have always wanted to meet a nude crab fisherman!’

‘Lucky for you the crabs are nude and not the fisherman – bahahaha.’

They followed Emiliano and Daniele back to the island of Mazzorbo, where they sorted the crabs into submerged baskets according to the imminence of their moulting and retrieved the jelly-like specimens that had already shed their shells and were crawling around nude.

Norah’s stomach rumbled as Gianluca rowed up to Burano. Earlier that day, they’d stopped for lunch at an osteria on the eastern side of the island, but she hadn’t seen the main canal. The fondamenta was bustling with tourists visiting the lace ateliers or stopping at market stalls, and locals wandering to their favourite spots for their evening aperitivo. The brightly coloured houses – sky blue, hot pink and lime green – were a shock after the graduating greens, blues and browns of the lagoon. Flapping laundry hung from ropes under the upper windows. The buildings were only two or three storeys high, making the island feel like a village in comparison to its grand old sister to the south.

SUNDAY SCENE: KATE RYDER ON HER FAVOURITE SCENE FROM BENEATH CORNISH SKIES

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I’m thrilled that Beneath Cornish Skies was shortlisted for the RNA Romantic Novel Awards 2022 in the Fantasy Romantic Novel category. By now, the winner will have been announced! It’s too hard to choose a favourite scene so I’ve chosen an extract from the prologue:

To outsiders, Cassandra Shaw’s life looks perfect but her reality is very different to people’s perceptions. Insecure and suspicious of her good-looking, charismatic, businessman boyfriend, this is a recurring dream she has.

Before me lay a thick, impenetrable forest stretching as far as the eye could see. It was dark and foreboding and I shivered with apprehension. In the distance, a firefly darted towards me through the trees and as the pinprick of light grew closer, it hovered at the edge of the woodland… beckoning. I knew I had no choice but to enter and though fearful of the unknown, I took a tentative step. Pushing aside the undergrowth, I followed the beacon of light and drifted through the foliage like a spirit, twisting and turning through the trees. As I glanced up at the dense canopy that inhibited any natural light, I found my body rising through the branches, without control over speed, until high above the forest I gazed down upon a wild, rugged landscape shrouded in darkness.

Photo credit: Nigel Kivell

     On the wind I detected a scent of the ocean and raising my eyes to the heavens, I watched dark cirrus clouds scudding across the night sky to reveal a wash of twinkling stars and planets. A halo of light surrounded the moon, its inner edge tinged red; the outer an altogether bluer hue. Gazing earthwards again, I noticed the thick tree canopy stretched for miles – like a spill of ink across the landscape. All at once I was descending and as I plunged through the roof of the forest I closed my eyes, bracing myself against the scratch and claw of twig and branch. But, unscathed, I floated gracefully to the forest floor.

It’s a landscape Cass doesn’t recognise and as the dream continues, she follows the firefly through the forest until reaching a gypsy encampment.

And then, through the flickering firelight, I saw you sitting on a log on the far side of the camp, deep in conversation with the man beside you. No one had noticed me and, moving closer, I took the opportunity to gaze at your face in wonder. You were not like the others; you shared none of their darkness. Prone to curls, your dark blond hair framed a genuine, open face that was teasingly familiar, and yet not. As your lips formed silent words I studied you: the slant of your brow; the sharp angle of your cheekbones; the shape of your nose; the tight line of your jaw. And I noticed the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed. Suddenly you smiled and I gasped, as intense, stirring sensations took hold deep in my belly.

     From out of the corner of my eye I saw a man approaching. He requested a dance but, impatiently, I brushed him away, and when I turned back you were looking directly at me. Your gaze asked a question, and for a heartbeat I stopped breathing. I no longer had the ability to drift and cautiously, as if in experiment, I placed one foot in front of the other and stepped uncertainly towards the fire. But the heat was too fierce and I glanced at you in confusion. Had I misunderstood?

      In a voice soft and tender, you encouraged me. ‘You can do it. Follow the path.’

 

Connect with Kate: https://www.facebook.com/kateryder.author