Dwiggie.com message boards - A Novel Idea For NON-Jane Austen-based creative writing.https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/list.php?6Fri, 17 Apr 2026 07:37:34 +0100 Phorum 5.2.22 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131759,131759#msg-131759 I've collated and archived these posts but (2 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131759,131759#msg-131759(The ANI equivalent to the Epilogue Abbey index?)
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thanks]]> BTroisi A Novel IdeaTue, 02 Dec 2025 20:08:44 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131691,131691#msg-131691 More Titles ~ 18 (end) (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131691,131691#msg-131691
Chapter Eighteen



It was dangerous out there, Anna Margaret noticed when she set just one foot outside of the restaurant to see if everything was over and spectators were leaving. RTA jumped on her almost immediately. She had no idea if Frederick was going to come from the same direction, but such media ambushes were probably happening to him elsewhere as well.

"Madam Prime Minister, may we ask you a few questions?” And the reporter proceeded without waiting for her reply. “Congratulations on Prince Frederick’s win. He mentioned at the press conference that he has a rowing course. Who exactly is it for? Foreign rowers?"

Anna Margaret hoped that this meant that the press conference was finished. "It's a rowing course and at present we don't have many domestic rowers, so most rowers using it will be foreign, from surrounding countries. In due time, there will be more domestic rowers, but they would have to take up the sport first."

"Prince Frederick said there is only one boat for people to use. Why is that?"

"They cost more than € 10,000 apiece." She generally remembered things she was told and usually that came in handy.

“Will parents have to invest that sort of sum in their child’s sport?”

“No child is forced to take up rowing, so no parents will be forced to buy an expensive boat. If they are serious, however, this sport does require some financial investments, yes.” She had had no idea it was so expensive either, but that was because she had never thought about it.

“That means a large part of the population will be excluded.”

“A large part of our population is also excluded from travelling to the Alps to go skiing. Once a structure is in place, rowing may in fact become more accessible than skiing, albeit in a borrowed boat. The venue can also be used for other sports, so it’s not as if the entrance fee is € 10,000 just to get in.”

“Which other sports?”

“There is water and a path around the course. You can do more sports there. The more facilities you’ll need, the more you’ll pay.”

"What sort of facilities are we to think of?"

"Changing rooms, showers, the water, borrowing a boat, a rowing lesson, the coffee room..." She had spent 300 euros on having that properly set up, after all.

"But access to a lake should be free."

"Access to a lake should be safe – not to mention that this is a private lake. Monitoring access to the course is for safety and ensures some swimmer will not be killed by a rowing boat – they're rowing backwards, as you saw – because it will be known that said swimmer has actually entered the venue and is aware of the rules."

"And someone who's just coming for a walk will pay as well."

She gave that a shrug. "You want to know who's entered your private venue if you are related to the queen. So the entry fee is also a tiny contribution to the costs of the entry system and the fence. And it’s only accessible to people who have registered.” She was happy she had listened well when this had been explained to her, if only because there were always people who wanted to hold the prime minister accountable for what princes did.

“That’s a huge barrier for some.”

Anna Margaret was unconcerned. “Is it? People doing other activities are not forced to do them exactly there. There are advantages to doing them there and you’ll have to pay for that.”

“But this gold medal is an excellent opportunity to make the sport accessible.”

“Accessible means that most people can afford it, because a sport is either inherently cheap, or heavily subsidised by public funds. Accessible does not mean funded by a private person. A private person is under no obligation to make something accessible to everyone.”

“Can the government force the prince to open the course to everyone?”

“No, the government cannot. And what would that solve, if people have no boats?”

“But for other sports?”

“You were talking about the gold medal as an opportunity, therefore you were talking about rowing. Rowing will not be accessible to everyone whilst there are not enough boats for everyone – and there will never be enough boats for everyone, because they are expensive. In your opinion, who should be buying all these boats?”

“The prince?”

“After he spent close to twenty million on the actual course?” She raised her eyebrows. “Surely that, combined with a gold medal, is enough of a contribution to the promotion of rowing?”

“Thank you for your time.”



German reporters found Anna Margaret as well, possibly because she had just been interviewed by a camera crew and she had Alex on her arm. Who else could she be? "Congratulations to you and your son on Frederick’s win."

"Thank you." And Alex was looking at the man as if he understood everything. He held up his teething ring as if it was a medal and then bit it.

"Frederick told ZDF in the mixed zone that contraception is harder than rowing. What is your opinion?"

Contrary to the rest of the family, Anna Margaret was not fluent in German and contrary to the reporter, she had no idea what Frederick had been saying in the mixed zone because she had not been told. "What is harder than rowing? I don’t know that word."

"Contraception. Preventing a pregnancy. It is more difficult than rowing."

"It is. It was." But what on earth had he discussed? This was a really odd jump from accessibility of sports and venues.

"But how?" asked the German.

"Saying rational things after winning gold is also harder than rowing. Same thing." Emotions got in the way. And had the Germans won all other gold medals today or something? They were just as unhinged as a winner might be.

"But you also didn't know how to prevent a surprise baby -- and you're the prime minister."

Were they all-knowing? She gave that notion an apologetic smile. They were not. "I don't know anything outside of my job."

"But we heard you can get into a boat without falling out, so that makes it easier than not getting pregnant.”

“My score would be three out of three times there, I suppose,” Anna Margaret admitted after she decided to simply roll with these strange questions. “But as for not getting pregnant, I got pregnant one time and I did not get pregnant probably four times, so I don’t know what you’d consider better. I might still fall out of that boat the fourth time and then it would be equal. But I see the point. If you absolutely don’t want to get wet, don’t get into a boat. And if you absolutely don't want babies, you shouldn't sleep with each other."

She looked aside and beckoned. "But here's my mother-in-law. She speaks much better German." She pressed Alex into his grandmother’s arms because clearly the Germans were interested in talking about babies and how they came about, so she could make a quick trip to the toilet.



“Congratulations, Your Highness. You must be very proud,” the reporter continued to Frederick’s mother, who looked slightly taken aback by both being handed Alex and having a microphone shoved under her nose.

“Thank you. Yes, we are all very proud.”

“Did you watch all the rounds?”

“I came over for the first round and later I came over again. Driving back and forth all the time was a bit tiring.”

“Your son explained how he trains while having a baby. Do you ever need to babysit while he trains?”

“Rarely. The girls -- my daughter and daughter-in-law -- mostly babysit each other's babies if needed, because of the breastfeeding. But they come by and sometimes we swim while Frederick swims.”

“Frederick said that not getting pregnant was more complicated than not falling out of a boat.”

His mother looked bemused, but only for a second. “I can see what he means.”

“Can the rest of the world? I think we would all find stepping into such a narrow boat far more difficult and daunting than using contraception.”

“That depends on what sort of practice you’ve prioritised,” Frederick’s mother said calmly. “But it’s probably the only area that you can be quite bad in and still have a very cute result.” She looked at Alex. “But don't take it so literally. They would otherwise have got pregnant a month later. They were committed and ready."

The German decided not to press further – or perhaps he understood. “What is Frederick going to do in the next few years? Will he prepare for 2028?”

“I doubt it, but you never know. Exercising is incorporated into his life to such an extent that he may just keep it up.”

“Or will he be training the next generation?”

“That is also possible.”

“Another child for the family double sculls in twenty years?”

Queen Anna raised her eyebrows. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Well, they seem to find it difficult not to get pregnant.”

“Ach, so. But they will not go for a full eight. A four is maximum,” Frederick’s mother predicted.

“Four!”

“And Alex has a cousin, so that helps. But I don’t think they will dictate which sport the children must or must not do.”

“But he makes his wife train and the baby has Strava.”

“What is Strava?” asked Frederick’s mother.



When Frederick appeared, he was followed by two men in their national colours Anna Margaret vaguely recognised as being either NOC or higher Olympic team staff. They had not been here before, as far as she knew, and she had no idea what business they could have. It was all irrelevant now anyway, because she stood up and passed Alex to a cousin.

She hugged Frederick and gave him a long kiss that conveyed ‘and now you’re all ours’. She did not care there were other people in the restaurant watching. Frederick took her into a secluded corner where they stored extra baby chairs. There he simply sat down on the floor, hidden behind a divider with plants in it, and she joined him.

She saw he had been holding back until now, so she only sat there while he truly processed what had happened. She did not know how long it took, but that did not matter. This was necessary. He had taken her here, but he did not speak. She simply held him and ignored people who passed a few metres away to go to the toilets.

“Where’s Alex?” he asked eventually, after he had pressed a kiss on her cheek.

“Shall I get him?” If Frederick went to get it, he would never be able to return. People would claim him and not let him go. She was not sure he was ready. “You stay here.”

The family were waiting as if they had all the patience in the world. Alex had been bouncing around like he always did, but it had activated poop mode and he needed to be changed. “I think he smells,” said Murielle.

“Sorry,” Anna Margaret said, grabbing her bag. “I’ll change him.”

Alex had managed to soil all of his clothes, even if it was just a little bit. “No cuddling just yet,” she warned Frederick. “You’d just squeeze the poop out.”

“Well, I...” He laughed. “OK.”

They took him into the toilet nearby that had a changing table and washed him in the sink. Alex thought he was going swimming and was all excitement. He even peed out of the sink, even though there were other people around.

“Alex!” said his mother. “Do you do this in the pool too?” He was wearing swimwear then and they had not noticed if he did.

Frederick wiped the floor with a few paper towels. He then dried Alex on the changing table with more paper towels, while Anna Margaret rinsed his clothes.

“What does he wear now?” Frederick wondered.

“Just his nappy. I didn’t bring anything else. It’s warm enough.” She wrapped the wet clothes in plastic bags and put them into her bag. “Ready to join everyone?”

“I suppose I must. Are you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she smiled. “And there are people there who want to congratulate you.”

“Maybe you can buy something in the merchandise shop that he can wear.” Frederick had now clipped the teething ring to his own clothes with a pacifier clip. He looked at it. “Because...”

“It looks wonderful. Just like a medal. I wonder if people are going to think you got it at the medal ceremony as well. We’ll see if someone wants to go and check out the baby clothes. Or I could do it myself if I can leave you alone.” She agreed that it was best off clipped to something. Alex tended to drop it a lot and then they would have to keep rinsing it.

He gave her a look as they stepped into the corridor. “I appreciate your personal manager type of concern.”

“I’m just going over to the merchandise to see if they have baby clothes,” Anna Margaret announced to the family. She left Frederick with them. Hopefully other people would allow them some time together before they interrupted with congratulations of their own. The two national team officials were sitting somewhere else, but they were still there. She wondered why. “Coming, Alex?” she asked, as if he had any choice.



She knew they could not leave yet today. Frederick was due for a celebration at the Village later and tomorrow he wanted to watch Rick, who still stood a chance to medal himself. But the morning after that they could definitely leave. She would have preferred tomorrow evening, but she realised they would get home very late and be very tired. And they might miss the train.

She had been a passenger in one of the cars that conveyed the rest of the family, but they were going back tomorrow and she definitely wanted to go back together with Frederick. That left only the train – and she was glad that she, in her previous job, had secured a TGV connection to Paris for their capital.

He had not said anything to her about the closing ceremony. Athletes who wanted to attend and who had already finished, could come back for it, but she did not know if he wanted to. The officials might want him to carry the flag, but she knew he would be able to come up with that himself. There was no need to bother him with that now.

She came back with Alex dressed in a Paris 2024 romper and unclipped his teething ring from Frederick’s shirt without disturbing his conversation.

After the people close to him had spoken to him, fans began to approach when Isabelle and her family had returned to the house. Anna Margaret stayed, because he had said he was coming back with her. The two NOC officials hung around and she wondered what for. They would definitely not be coming to the house with them. It was fine if they wanted to wait here until Frederick was done swimming, but maybe they should return to watch the road race.

When all fans were finished with asking for selfies, the two officials got up and addressed Frederick. “We should go back,” said one.

“Have a good trip,” Frederick replied.

“But...”

“I’m coming back later.”

“Later?”

“I’ll be back in about three hours.”

The official looked uncomfortable. “But what are you going to do?”

“The same as I’ve done after every previous race.”

“But you have obligations now.”

“No, I don’t,” Frederick said coolly. “I’ll be present at the team meeting, but there’s nothing else I need to attend. I’ve done all the ceremonies and necessities here and I’ve spoken to the minister, the prime minister and the queen and half the country.”

“There are interviews and sponsors.”

“I have no business with sponsors, as I’ve already explained, and I don’t do extra interviews outside of the mixed zone and the winners’ press conference.”

“But will you go back alone?”

“I’ve been doing that for days and nobody cared.” He looked at Anna Margaret. “Let’s go.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 19 Sep 2025 12:52:24 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131685,131685#msg-131685 More Titles ~ 17 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131685,131685#msg-131685
Chapter Seventeen



German commentary was more informed than RTA, as usual, both during the race and after. The commentators could hardly keep the emotions out of their voices. “And his father, King Henri, did not want him to row. He secretly rowed in Germany, but he could only row for his own country after his father died. This is a big middle finger towards his father.”

“Look at how he’s sitting. He’s not only recovering from physical exertion,” said the other commentator.

There was a shot of the stands. “And his mother is crying. Was she also against it?”

“No, no, I don’t think so. His mother is German and married into the family, so she had no say in it. This feels a little like a victory for us as well. His mother is German and he is still with a German club, even though he has his own rowing course at home now.”

“Yes, he has had own course constructed – imagine that! The size of one! And he has already spoken to the German rowing federation about it. That was even before he came here. Even if he would not qualify, he would let them use it as a way to say thanks.”

“That’s very generous.”

“It is, it is. He is still the only rower at home, I imagine.”



RTA really only covered the actual race. They did not have any anecdotes to share, or background information, other than that they could read up from the sheet that had been provided to them. Practically anyone could have narrated.

“He did well in the semi-final, but it’s expected that the real winners will show their true strength today. There he is. We don’t see any sponsoring on his shirt. Is that a shirt? What is it called in rowing?”

“He’s wearing sunglasses,” said the other commentator.

“And off they go! Well, we are very curious how this will go.”

“He is still with the field. It looks to be fourth place – no, second.”

“Mind you, they still have 1900 metres to go – no, 1800.”

“It doesn’t look as if they go very fast, does it?”

“Why are some wearing caps when others are not?”

“That must be personal preference. Or maybe the sponsors. Where are they now?”

“1000 metres – there is the sign.”

“That means they are halfway and he is still in third position.”

“No, second.”

“Second? Well, well. The leader seems to fade a bit, but they go back and forth with every stroke, so it’s hard to tell.”

“He seems to be coming alongside the leader now, but number three and four are also approaching.”

“This is still a medal position with 500 metres to go, which is still a big distance. Anything could still happen.”

“Definitely. But he’s passing the leader now. The point of his boat is now ahead.”

“There you can see the finish line. We can, but I don’t think he can, because it’s behind him.”

“It’s also not a line on the water.”

“So how do they know?”

“There is the stadium. People in the stadium can now see them. They are all cheering.”

“And…the point of his boat crosses first. Does that mean he won? Does he know? He looks tired.”

Viewers were not too impressed.



The RTA reporter caught Frederick in the mixed zone. “Your Highness—congratulations! Incredible result. You’ve just won our first Olympic gold. How do you feel?”

Frederick’s face was unreadable. “Tired. It was a race.”

There was an awkward laugh from the reporter. “What were you thinking during the race when you realised you were unexpectedly ahead?”

“That was not unexpected to anyone who’d been here for the previous rounds.”

“Can you take us through those last 500 metres? What was going through your head?”

“Mostly: keep going.”

“What does this mean for you now — will you keep rowing, or go back to being a prince?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“So what happens next — will you now become a professional athlete?”

“My wife is sponsoring me.”

“You didn’t attend sponsor events before. Now that you’ve won, what happens in that regard?”

“Nothing happens in that regard. I’m going swimming again with my son.”

“But is there going to be a celebration in the Village?”

“I think so, later. I have other obligations first.”

“Such as?”

“Medal ceremony. Doping control. Family.”

“Why do you have to go to doping control?”

Frederick gave the reporter an incredulous look. “Sorry, I have to go.”



Meanwhile, German TV went back to the studio for a brief moment while they were waiting for Frederick to reach their own reporter in the mixed zone.

Then they returned to the rowing stadium.

“Frederick, congratulations! You have made history. How does it feel that it all came together today?”

Frederick smiled. “Thank you. I worked very hard for a long time, so I’m happy it worked out.”

“Were there moments when you doubted yourself?”

“Of course. There were things I really didn’t like to do and I did wonder, is it worth it? Or should I just give up? Am I good enough to justify the amount of time I spend on this?”

"What sort of things? Training related?”

"Anything to do with establishing a federation and applying for permits to construct a rowing course, because that involves other people who are going to say yes or no based on who you are. So, first the establishment of a federation was blocked because it wouldn't have enough members—and then my father died, and a week later I was called and told I could do it. Such things, I mean. That was all very discouraging."

"But that moment – when you were told you could go ahead, just a week after your father passed away – how did that feel?"

Frederick looked away for a second. "It was difficult. On the one hand, I was happy. On the other hand, I felt angry and betrayed. As if they’d only said yes because the one voice who would say no was gone. But that it would have been possible much earlier. I think that stung me the most. Having been misled."

"That sounds incredibly difficult. Did that affect how you approached rowing afterwards?"

"I’m not sure. I think I’ve always approached the sport the same way, but it definitely confirmed my belief that many people are untrustworthy. And being a king isn’t that much fun, so I guess I trained more to have at least a bit of positivity.”

"But you abdicated eventually. Did you do that in order to row?”

“No! There were a few things happening at once and I thought...no, this is it. I tried, I can’t keep this up, let’s just stop.”

"And you got stronger after that. Was that because the royal pressure was gone?”

"And I met someone who supported me. Life is more fun if you can share it.”

"And you had a son a few months ago.”

Frederick smiled. “Yes, that was a surprise.”

“A surprise? How?”

“We messed up somewhere. And then we were pregnant.”

“You don’t sound bothered.”

“I was, maybe for one second. But I think we know how getting pregnant works now –“

The German reporter cut in. “You didn’t know?”

“Only theoretically! It’s more complicated than rowing.”

“It is?”

“Well, I always have my stuff together when I get into the boat. Even my wife found rowing easier: she never fell out of a boat when she tried rowing, but she did get pregnant. Contraceptionism is far more difficult.”

"You compare falling out of a boat to getting pregnant.” It sounded more than incredulous.

“Yes, falling out is more difficult, because a boat is an inanimate object that doesn’t take you rowing when you haven’t got your stuff together.”

“But now you’ve got your stuff together?”

"Oh, that depends. Number two might think differently about that, but he or she is welcome if it turns out to be on its way some time.”

"Was it difficult to find the time to train after the baby was born?”

“It seemed at first that it would take far too much of my time to row, but we actually got into a great rhythm. If you think you have to make the most of the time you have, you actually end up training a lot more – and more effectively. Alex is mostly with his mother at work, but if she has a meeting I come over and I take him running or something.”

“Does he sleep through the night?”

“No, not at all, but it doesn’t bother me. And he’s not in the Olympic Village, so I’m very well rested.”

"So you can train and be a father."

"Well, my wife takes him to work because she's breastfeeding, but we check on a daily — hourly — basis what's best for him. She was officially on maternity leave, so there were only a few full days anyway. But we dropped most of the social things because we go to bed early and get up early to train.”

"Your wife as well?”

“She doesn’t train as hard, but I sort of make her train and she also skips the parties, but then people had a lot to say about that. Maybe they will get it now.”

“But you might even be working on baby number two.”

Frederick looked amused. “Don’t say that. People are going to think he’s on his way now.”

“He’s not?”

“My wife just carried on with her things last time, so we’re not going to know until she gets fat. She won’t mind my saying that, by the way.”



They had some time until Frederick would be released from his obligations, so the family hung around in the restaurant. Everyone wanted to wait for Frederick. Anna Margaret wondered if this was going to change anything for him. There were more countrymen here now and until now the number who had approached him had been manageable.

RTA were here again, but she was not interested in them. They were probably in the plaza, so she was not going there yet.

Rick the archer was here – he was sitting nearby and had waved at her, but had obviously not wanted to disturb the family. She did not see any other national athletes, but of course they might not all be wearing the same thing.

The Minister for Sport was also here. She had said hello to him in the VIP lounge. He had the men’s cycling road race to go to later, however, but that was a race that was not decided in the next few hours. He could still stay here and talk to Rick.

Alex wanted to nurse and nap, so she simply sat there, trying to check information on her phone, but not really knowing where to look.



Frederick still had to do the winners’ press conference. Not everyone there was equally well informed.

“Is it true that you used to be a king?”

“Only for half a year.”

“When did you start rowing?”

“When I was twelve.”

“You used to row for Germany. Why was that?”

“We didn’t have a federation yet and I have two passports.”

“Why did you switch?”

“Because it wouldn’t be entirely acceptable to be a prince of one country and to row for another country, if it was possible not to do so.”

“Do the other athletes know you are a prince?”

“I have no idea.”

“Have you had any advantages that others didn’t have?”

“I could buy my own boat.”

“Were you admitted to the tournament because of your background?”

“No, because I won the qualification event.”

“How do you combine your royal duties with rowing? Did you attend other events while in Paris?”

“I don’t have any royal duties. I came here to row, so I only combined that with a little bit of family.”

“Are you staying in a hotel?”

“I’m staying in the Olympic Village.”

“Does your entourage also stay in the Village?”

Frederick looked non-plussed. “My what?”

“Your entourage.”

“My coach is also staying there, yes.”

“Is the French government paying for extra privileges for you?”

“I don’t think they even know I’m here.”

“Will you carry the flag at the closing ceremony? You didn’t attend the opening ceremony.”

“Several of my fellow rowers also didn’t attend. As for the closing ceremony, I’m supposed to leave the Village well before then and I don’t plan to return for it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like going to bed late.”

“Does your country have a special celebration or distinction for winners? Such as a meeting with the king or president or a title?”

“The queen is my sister and the prime minister is my wife, so we’re going to deal with that once I’ve finished here.”

“Are they here?”

“Yes. You’re keeping them waiting.”

“Did you see them during the tournament?”

“Yes, I saw them after every race.”

“Did you know you were going to win?”

“No.”

“Were you surprised?”

“No.”

“Why were you not surprised?”

“I know I was in a good shape, but so are others. I was good at the qualification regatta, but I also shared a hotel room with my family there, so I knew that with more sleep I could probably be even better.”

“It’s rumoured you had your own rowing course constructed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I could.”

“Who is going to train there?”

“Me. My club. Other rowers. Anyone who contacts me and who I approve of.”

“Who financed it?”

“I did.”

“Entirely?”

“Yes, so now you know why I’m not in a five-star hotel.”

“Would you say it is possible for someone with money to create an Olympic champion if there’s no national rowing tradition?”

Frederick looked faintly puzzled and then decided. “No, it’s not possible. I started rowing in England, where they do have a tradition, and I continued in Germany, where they also have a tradition. In both locations there was water, boats, coaches and fellow rowers. A twelve-year old with no access to any of these things will not become a rower. Access is the first priority.”

“Will all children in your country now have access to rowing?”

“I expect some will be interested and they are welcome to try it out. That does not mean all children, because their own parents will be responsible for taking them there and paying the membership – and some parents won’t do that. So I would rather aim at young adults.”

“Why is it not free?”

“Because maintenance costs money as well. “

“Is that fair?”

“Yes, the cleaner doesn’t work for free, or do you want me to clean toilets myself? I can provide one boat for single sculls, but that is all. I can’t afford to buy boats and trailers for everybody. I simply don’t have that kind of money. Now, if venue membership has brought in enough money, I can maybe buy another second-hand training boat to increase opportunities. But until then, they can try out in my one boat and take turns.”

“But you’re a prince.”

“Not a billionaire.”

“So if everyone needs to buy their own boat, the sport is only for rich people?”

“Welcome to rowing. And horse riding. And cycling.”

“People will expect you to do more.”

“Then they will be disappointed, because I cannot.”

“Will you continue on to the next Olympics?”

“I don’t know which other races I might do.”

"How old is your child?" Asked someone.

"Four months and a bit."

"Did he watch the races?"

"He was present. I'm not sure what he was looking at."

"You must have all the best coaches. How large is your team?"

"I have collected information from many coaches over the years but I don't have one exclusively for me, except here and he’s a fellow rower who was willing to do that for me."

“Why not?”

“My training schedule can be unpredictable due to other obligations and it’s impossible to ask someone to be on stand-by all the time. Besides, I’ve been around for so long that I know what works and what doesn’t. I don’t need someone to monitor that very closely. In the past twenty years I’ve tried out training methods and asked people for advice, so I’m not entirely self-coached, but the older you get, the bigger the chance you know just as much as the coach – and not all federation coaches are good for everyone anyway.”

"Do you have a personal physio, nutritionist, personal trainer and masseur and all that?"

"Other teams are bigger and they have team physios and the like. I’m the only one in the team, so it’s useless to have someone only for me – who I may not even need very often. I can find some at home if I need them, but here I’m supposed to be ready and knowing what to do.”

“Do you not use them ever?”

“I have used them, I have asked them questions and I have done my own research. I just don’t need them here. We’re not that far from home, so I could have got someone to drive over if I needed them and if the general team staff didn’t suffice, but I haven’t felt the need. I just had my wife for the post-race extras."

"What did she do?"

"Not saying, but it worked."

“But she was not staying in the Olympic Village. Would a coach have advised against leaving the bubble for family visits?"

"Distractions may not work for everyone. But I'm basically a one-man bubble -- I'm not part of a team with boats in every category. If I want to go swimming with my son after the race and relax with my wife, I can."]]> Lise A Novel IdeaWed, 10 Sep 2025 19:21:30 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131679,131679#msg-131679 More Titles ~ 16 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131679,131679#msg-131679
Chapter Sixteen



The next day Anna Margaret had nothing to do except to catch up with all the news from the day before.

Frederick had won his semifinal – she knew that. He had said something about sponsors and she had said something about sponsors – she knew that too.

Florian, Murielle and Julian had been to the National House again – she knew that, but nothing worth mentioning had happened there.

People had contacted her spokesman about several things – she had put off answering him until today.

Sponsors and the national Olympic committee had reacted to the sponsorship issue – predictably.

Spectators had seen them at the stadium – obviously.

RTA had broadcast the race, but many people had still been watching German TV – Alex was now a hero.

Someone had seen Isabelle at the supermarket – so much for their tricks.

Someone had seen Frederick kiss her goodbye at the stadium – no photos, just applause.

In between reading sessions, she took care of the laundry. It was quiet in the house because at nine, a group of youngsters had assembled at the end of the street to meet the younger residents for a day at Disneyland Paris.

Isabelle had no idea who they all were, but she had let it go. The last thing she wanted was to have to go to a theme park herself to supervise them. She and Philip had taken a taxi in the other direction with her mother to meet more acquaintances, because despite the long trip, it was easier to do that now that to fly over another time. Max was left at home with his aunt.

Anna Margaret had no acquaintances she wanted to meet. Or rather, she had no energy to think of acquaintances who might be in the greater Paris area. Undoubtedly there were some.

She checked Rick’s vlogs, because she had forgotten to do so earlier. The cyclists had not been open to the idea of tattoos. She could not help but think the cyclists had thought themselves more serious athletes than these exotic athletic species. They were friendly, but they clearly could not quite place this unserious vlogging business.

Alex was occasionally bothered by his first tooth and she rubbed the stuff Isabelle had bought on his gums. They had taken a long nap. She had him on the bed with her – safely – and Max in the cot and afterwards she felt refreshed enough to continue working on the laundry pile. In the background the TV showed the Olympics with the sound off.

The towels were easy. They were all the same colour and it would not matter where they ended up, as long as all bathrooms were stocked. She could also recognise her own clothes and some of what the others had been wearing, but what remained was an enormous pile of underclothes again.

She was just studying it when she received a text message saying that the adults would be home in a minute. She appreciated the warning. Being alone in a strange house had been restful, but also a little scary. Someone could easily have climbed over the low fence. And what with them having to walk to and from the stadium every time, anyone who wanted to know where they were staying could have followed them.

Isabelle disappeared into her bedroom with Max almost immediately.

“They asked where you were,” said Philip about their acquaintances. “I didn’t say we don’t generally bring the housekeeper on visits.”

Anna Margaret threw a pair of socks – the only pair that she had been able to match – at his head. “Actually, I read and napped most of the time.”

“Good, good. You shouldn’t be doing too much.”

“My work is done. These are all everybody else’s things.” She gestured at the underclothes.

Philip began to lay out all the men’s underwear on the coffee table, drawing horrified looks from his mother-in-law.

“It looks all the same to me,” said Anna Margaret, seeing him make piles at a surprising speed anyway.

“Because someone has been buying in bulk.” He carried three piles away.

“When did the boys last drink?” asked Isabelle, appearing in the doorway with her shirt unbuttoned. She looked a little desperate.

“I’m sorry. Max had some an hour ago. Alex didn’t want much.” She had not even needed to use some pumped milk for Max.

“I’m bursting! And he doesn’t want any.”

“Take Alex?” Anna Margaret offered.

Isabelle wasted no time picking Alex up from his activity mat. “Please, please, Alex.”



“Well, your absence was noted,” said Philip when he had mopped the kitchen floor. The TV was on Eurosport, but he had also been reading news on his laptop.

Anna Margaret was wondering why he was doing three things at once. No, four – he was also making tea. “My absence where?”

“Your absence from our meeting in Paris. People really make too much of these things. They don’t even know if you knew these people, but it was noted that you were not with us.”

“But what did you tell your friends?”

“Isabelle told them you were staying with us, but that you wanted to have the house to yourself and that Alex was a little unwell. Exactly what it was.”

“Not anymore.” Isabelle came in and rested her hands on the table with a relieved sigh. “I feel as if I’ve gone down two bra sizes in the last ten minutes.”

“Did Alex do that?” Anna Margaret was surprised. He had not seemed very hungry earlier.

“I fed them at the same time. I ordered them to drink, so they did. But I was dying in the taxi – I almost asked Philip to help me.”

“Du bist wirklich eine Drama-Queen,” said her mother, just coming in.

“But now my arms and shoulders hurt from holding them in odd positions at the same time and I might have overreached when I tried to lift the second one, so I need a massage.” She looked at her husband.

“Do that in the middle of the night, thank you,” said Queen Anna.

“If you hear anything, it’s a massage,” said Isabelle, who had finally pried Philip away from his tea with her eyes.

“Where did you leave the babies?” asked her mother.

“In Anna Margaret’s room. I can’t carry two down the stairs at the same time.”

“See?” Queen Anna shot Anna Margaret a knowing look. “Massage! Let’s turn the TV sound up.”



The family they had met with had posted photos on their own Instagram account. Royalty fans had noted that none of the children had been with them, not even Maximilian. The idea that the Prime Minister had been babysitting seven children had begun to circulate not long after.

Evidently Florian had not liked the idea that half the internet believed that he still needed a babysitter, because the family’s Instagram account quickly mentioned that the five older children had been to Disneyland Paris today with other young Olympics fans. It had been posted after they had left there, naturally, so they could not be seen.

The account also added that Maximilian and Alexander had stayed home with their aunt, because Alex was teething. Some people pitied her, some praised her. Anna Margaret was not personally active on social media, so there were no photos of her day that people knew of. If she had taken any pictures, people would have to wait for other people to post them. Given how easily she had shut down RTA the day before with a baby in her arms made people wonder what she did all day – she just had to have been multitasking. Maybe she was on the phone all day, explaining things to people. Maybe she lay by the pool all day. People had no idea.

It was not long until the official account posted a photo of socks with a caption that said that after a long day at Disney their aunt made them pair socks together. If they were seen without socks tomorrow, that means they had been too tired to obey this order.
The account gave an update on Alex’ wellbeing later, showing him sitting on the couch with Max, smiling and both supported by pillows so they would not fall over. They had Disney teething rings in their little hands.



The day of the final came. Anna Margaret was nervous, despite telling herself that any outcome was good. They followed the same routine as two days ago, except that the children were quicker to get ready.

The number of countrymen seemed to be greater today. There were many of them in the queues. Her father, too, had let her know yesterday that they would be driving over to a hotel halfway, to finish the rest of the journey this morning. She had not spotted her parents yet.

The little Frenchman had provided Isabelle with more day passes, now knowing they would not take up space for hours, but that they would be gone almost immediately after their final. Anna Margaret appreciated his flexible solution. They should send the man something, regardless of the outcome of today’s race. “Don’t you do pretty shiny plaques that the little Frenchman can hang up in his hallway or something?” she whispered to Isabelle.

“I’m on it.”

Anna Margaret saw her type things on her phone and then, when they were seated, have a discreet word with their hostess, who was probably happy she could bring them something other than water.

Anna Margaret could not even swallow her water. Alex tried to take her glass and do that for her – a first. He suddenly appeared to know what to do with a glass. Expertly he grabbed it with two hands while she was still holding it and guided it to his mouth. There it did not go entirely as planned, but perhaps he had not really planned it out. Some water was spilled over his blue national team uniform and he giggled. Then he clenched the rim of the glass between his jaws and looked pleased. Anna Margaret lifted it up a bit so he could feel the water in his mouth and something clearly clicked in his brain: so that is what you do with a glass. He drank.



The final began. Anna Margaret had stepped out into the stands, her eyes glued to the big screen on the other side of the course. It was a tight race in the beginning, but one by one rowers started to fall behind. Not too much yet, they could still come back. Frederick was going steady in second place. Her heart was in her throat. Could he hold on to that? What could he see? What could his opponent see?

Was it not too soon to go at 1200m? Philip said it was 1200m, anyway. She could not tell. He was level with the other rower now, but the latter might accelerate any time now. Frederick was seen to be slightly ahead; he had almost unnoticeably crept past. But he had already sped up, it seemed, and the other had not.

“Now,” said Philip. “Watch.”

The creeping past was more noticeable now, to the point that it was no longer creeping. With every stroke he was distancing himself from the others, although there were two who were beginning to advance on the athlete currently in second place.

“But…” said Anna Margaret. Was he going to do it? Should a wife have been certain of this? She glanced around briefly in confusion. His mother was even already crying. This was surreal. She looked back at the screen and then at the course, where the field was rapidly approaching. He was still ahead. Please don’t let him be overtaken!

One came really close in the end, but the outcome was very clear. Anna Margaret felt stupid to be so stunned.]]> Lise A Novel IdeaThu, 04 Sep 2025 13:45:26 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131670,131670#msg-131670 More Titles ~ 15 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131670,131670#msg-131670
Chapter Fifteen



RTA found her again now that she was sitting down with a quiet baby. She heaved an inward sigh of resignation and looked back at them.

“Madam Prime Minister, can we ask for you opinion on the fact that Prince Frederick didn’t attend a sponsor meeting?”

“You’ll have to give me more context.” She had no idea where this came from all of a sudden.

“We heard he was expected at a meeting with the sponsors and he said he didn’t sign the athletes’ agreement, so he didn’t have to go. What’s your opinion?”

She spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb Alex. She knew about the athletes’ agreement, even fi she did not know about the meeting. “It’s very simple. There is a law. This agreement went – in his specific case – against that law. He therefore could not sign it. People then said he could sign it for the other conditions, because these particular unlawful passages were not going play a role anyway as he wasn’t going to win anything, and he said no, make me a new contract if you insist that I sign something. But I think that was too much work, so they settled for accepting an annotated unsigned agreement.”

“And what were those passages about?”

“If you win something, you’re obliged to do things like commercials and appear anywhere the sponsor likes you to appear. Now, the rest of it was mostly about behaving well and social media exposure. I understand they would have liked to have that bit covered as well, but as a package deal that wasn’t possible.” It had been so obvious that they had dealt with it then and there and not thought about it again.

“But the sponsors enable the Olympics.”

“Yes and in return for the exposure via the athletes, they also sponsor the infrastructure, logistics and non-athlete team members, for example. There are individually sponsored athletes who owe them more in return, but an athlete who is not individually sponsored doesn’t owe anything to the general sponsors. They simply benefit from the infrastructure the general sponsors have drawn up as an investment towards the rewards that a successful athlete might bring them. And that is where the line is.”

The reporter blinked at this explanation. “So what is he allowed to do?”

“He can benefit from the infrastructure. He can wear the team outfits. Sponsoring on his race materials is not as tricky as it seems – the sponsors sponsor the entire team and any athlete is part of that larger team. All the clothing, both casual and racing, was of course provided by a particular brand. But that doesn’t mean that all of the athletes – or their coaches and team doctors, for example, who also get to wear these clothes – are being personally sponsored by that brand.”

The reporter said nothing.

“Do you need an explanation on the difference between that and individually promoting a sponsor’s product without remuneration?” Anna Margaret asked.

“No, no, it was very clear. But what happens if he now wins a medal?”

“Thank you for considering that a possibility,” she said drily. “The fact that nobody bothered to look into alternative options because they underestimated the situation is now beginning to weigh heavily on some people, isn’t it? He’s not contractually obliged to appear anywhere if he wins a medal. It’s not his responsibility to protect the interests of the sponsors.”

“But is it the NOC’s fault that this situation occurred?”

“The only thing that seems to have occurred is that the sponsors could not display Frederick to their relations. I’m assuming the larger framework of agreements and plans came into being before he had even qualified. So until recently, there was never any question of Frederick appearing anywhere. Nowhere in their long-term planning had they reckoned with extra exposure of this nature. No one was backing out of a previously made deal here, because there was no previously made deal or plan. So in fact there was no harm done: they didn’t have him and they’re not going to get him. Nothing changes.”

“And what is your role?”

“It seems my role is to explain it to you. I should add perhaps, if that was not already clear, that the sponsors wanted him there for his title only, given how they did not believe he would achieve much as an athlete.”

“But do you guide Prince Frederick in these matters?”

She raised her eyebrows. “He has a brain. He guided me. But really, it's mostly common sense and not that complicated. Just imagine what would happen if he won and was contractually obliged to feature in commercials for something that doesn’t really go well together with royals? Underwear, erotic toys? What would people say then?”

"But they're not a sponsor."

"Theoretically they could be and using them as an example might make it more clear to people who think being forced to promote products is harmless, because people might think sponsorship would be restricted to something innocent like sportswear. They were also given business gifts – if they accepted them, that is.”

"Who would the legal consequence be for if he did sign?"

"The cabinet."

“The cabinet?”

“Yes. We are responsible for how the royal family live. We are supposed to interfere before something inappropriate occurs. They won’t be jailed or anything, but we might fall.”

“Is that why you told him not to sign?”

She gave him a patient look. “He said he wasn’t going to sign. I read it over and agreed. We didn’t spend any more time talking about it, because it’s self-evident and non-negotiable. I had no other role in this.”

“But you must have advised him.”

“Why should I advise him? Why would I marry a man who can’t think for himself? He told me, he showed me, I agreed. And your asking me about this shows exactly why it was wise of him to inform me about it.”

“Did he tell you he didn’t attend this event?”

“No, but it’s similar to his not telling me he didn’t have lunch at McDonald’s. It’s not an issue.”

“Did he consult his lawyers?”

“Possibly if they had provided a new contract with obscure clauses trying to circumvent the legal possibilities he might have consulted a lawyer, but the one we’re talking about was not complicated enough to require the opinion of a lawyer. It is simply common sense: people in certain positions should not be doing commercial promotions. The same applies to me. If some expensive watch brand offered me a free watch and told me that in return for that gift, I must show the watch every time I see a camera – dramatically pushing my hair backwards or something – people would very rightly call me out for it.”

“So if another contract had not included commercial promotions, he would have signed?”

“If the contract had only contained conditions with which he could comply, yes.”

“And what conditions would those be?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure it was all spelled out, but basically don’t be criminal, violent, aggressive. Don’t do doping. Shake hands with your opponents. Attend team meetings. That sort of thing.”

“But they didn’t draft up a new contract.”

“Which I suppose means they knew he would behave himself.”

“Do you think they should have?”

“It’s not my responsibility to wonder about or interfere in that.”

“But...”

“Look. For the team, it’s only relevant and important that he behaves himself. He will. Apparently they knew he would. Sponsors are not national institutions or organisations that the government might have some influence over.”

“But the NOC might have given him a separate contract.”

“Apparently they thought he would behave himself without a contract. Most people will, in fact. I have, by the way, not seen any sponsor representatives here, have you?”

“I don’t know what they look like.”

“Ah, but they know what I look like. Anything for exposure. I don’t doubt they would seek me out. They’re not here. Therefore, he’s not actually snubbing interested people, because they’re not intrinsically interested in the sport.”

“How do you know they’re not here?”

“They would be very bad at their jobs if they were unrecognisable as such and keeping their distance, when everyone else here who’s from back home is saying hi.”

“Everybody is saying hi?”

Anna Margaret nodded. “And they’ve been doing so since the start of the tournament. So, we know who are here and who are not. It’s just like you lot from RTA didn’t bother to come here initially when you didn’t think there were any chances. Who’s going to mistake there presence for genuine interest if sponsors are here in two days?”

“Thank you for your time,” said the RTA reporter.



“RTA came to ask me about some sponsor meeting,” Anna Margaret said to Frederick when he finally appeared. “Maybe they’re still hanging around?” She looked around to see if they were still waiting for a chance to speak to them both. But maybe they did not recognise Frederick if he was not wearing a tracksuit, but the more formal daytime version of the team’s outfits.

“I don’t know why that was a thing. They asked me about it too in the mixed zone. The thing was, could I go and tell people about rowing at this sponsor event? But all the interested people are here, and not there, so it was just a trick to attract more money. Did you see any sponsors in the lounge?”

“There were only foreigners in the lounge, so no. Well, Isabelle said there were only foreigners. She was being normal because no one understood her. By the way, Alex has a tooth coming through.”

Frederick looked excited.

She looked down at the baby. “He’s a bit out of sorts. Maybe it hurts a little.”

“Shall I take him?”

“But I don’t have to row. I don’t have to rest my arms.”

“I row in two days. And you already have to carry him every day.”

She carefully passed the sleeping Alex to Frederick’s arms. “I’ll just go and put the chair back.”

Isabelle, Philip and Frederick’s mother joined them for the walk back to the accommodation. Since the road was closed to unauthorised motorised vehicles, walking was the only option. Some people who walked faster said hello in passing. Anna Margaret contemplated how nice it was that she had not been exaggerating to RTA.

Frederick and Anna Margaret went for a swim with Alex, who enjoyed it. His extra nap had done him good, or he simply liked swimming too much. The others went for a swim when they were done. Anna Margaret felt this was to give them a little privacy inside the house, but at least Isabelle had not mentioned a conjugal visit again – it was entirely Anna Margaret’s own fault that those words popped into her mind.

“Florian said we didn’t have a social life,” she said in a whisper – which was silly, because the door and the window were closed and everyone else was outside. “But when do people who have a social life have time for this?”

Frederick laughed, just as softly. “Don’t ask me. But don’t tell him, or he’ll think this is all we do. Are you still OK in this madhouse?”

“Your visits helped. But I can’t wait to go home and not have there be five people in every room that I enter. Or fearing that there are people walking by just when we are doing something, or not, and they’ll be thinking we’re doing something, or not.” She liked the others, she really did, but it was such a change from her usual life. Her job was busy and her house was a place of rest. Here, the house was a place of unrest and chaos.

“Mmmm,” he responded. “I promise we’ll go home as soon as we can.”

She walked Frederick back to the stadium afterwards and said goodbye outside the screening area. He kissed Alex and he even went so far as to give her a quick kiss on the mouth. He had not actually done that before out in the open.



When Anna Margaret returned to the house, Isabelle and Philip had picked up some food as well as something for the teething. “How did you do that?” Anna Margaret wondered. “We got dressed, we walked to the stadium and when I got back you were not only out of the pool, but also back from the supermarket? How?”

“Some people can actually get dressed in two minutes and walk at a normal pace,” Isabelle replied. “When we started walking, you weren’t even at the end of the street.”

“We’re not that slow.”

“We’re that fast.”


“But someone will have to go and buy some food,” said Philip. “We only went for the toilet paper and the bin bags.”

“Toilet paper?” The idea of Isabelle buying toilet paper was faintly ludicrous and yet someone would have to buy some. It went surprisingly fast in a house full of people that was yet not big enough to house staff.

“Incognito,” said Isabelle, who was clearly not entirely comfortable with being seen to buy such things herself. “No one will have seen it. My hair was wet. And we spoke English.”

Which probably meant that they had drawn plenty of attention to themselves, but Anna Margaret did not say so. She moved on to the practical consequences. “All right. So is this someone who has to go and buy food me?”

“We could send Aurelie and Charlotte, but I don’t think that would get us a healthy meal.”

Oh, more walking. Anna Margaret resigned herself to it. She had just passed the supermarket! They should have texted her. “Can the girls at least come to help me carry everything?”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 29 Aug 2025 13:25:00 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131664,131664#msg-131664 More Titles ~ 14 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131664,131664#msg-131664
Chapter Fourteen



When they got to the house, it turned out that Frederick’s mother was about to arrive. Anna Margaret had not known, but she supposed it made sense that it was more comfortable not to drive down very early in the morning. And it did not affect her anyway, because Isabelle put her mother in Murielle’s room.

It seemed that every day they tried out something new, because today they had dinner delivered. Anna Margaret, not used to running a large household, had finally collected enough laundry to fill a machine after a few days, and was surprised to find piles the size of Mount Everest in front of and on top of the machines in the laundry room and a full machine already running. She stood for a second blinking, not only at the piles, but also at the fact that she had completely overlooked that other people might have dirty clothes as well and that she had not wondered for a second who might be in charge of washing them.

Would she now drop her laundry on top of the pile or would she come back tomorrow? She went to find Isabelle, although she was not really sure Isabelle would be in charge of the laundry. But then again, nobody else would be a more logical choice. Philip was already taking care of other things.

Still with her arms full of clothes, she found Isabelle in her bedroom, lying on the bed on top of more clothes, presumably clean ones.

“We should have brought a housekeeper,” Isabelle complained. “But at least nobody has to worry about cooking today.”

“Oh, is that why we’re having it delivered. I’m sorry I didn’t even consider what would be happening to everyone’s clothes, or I would have helped.”

“What you’re holding needs to be washed?”

“Yes.”

“Open the door and throw it in. Some sort of fairy will get it done, I’m sure. Then come back and help transfer all this to the coffee table, so everyone can pick out their own socks and underwear, because I have no clue.”

Anna Margaret obeyed. She then grabbed an armful of small items of clothing and took it to the living room. There were feet and glasses on the coffee table.

“Clear the coffee table and make sure it’s clean,” Isabelle ordered Julian and Charlotte. “Now.”

They were not very quick to react, but eventually they did it.

Isabelle dropped her load. “Pick out your own clothes and take them to your room and put them with your clean clothes. Anything not removed from this table tonight will be thrown away.”

“I don’t know what’s mine,” Julian complained.

“Then how am I supposed to know,” his mother retorted. She started sorting types of clothing to help speed up the process.

Anna Margaret thought someone had better set the dinner table. She did take a photo of the laundry closet and sent it to Frederick, but with a do not share addition.



The next morning, they had to get up relatively early to go to the rowing stadium for the semifinals. There was no sleeping in with a baby anyway, so Anna Margaret had already gone for a swim with Alex in his bouncer to watch over her. Isabelle had decided someone needed to play catch-up with the laundry, so she was already up and about untidily hanging up towels to dry on a washing line that nobody had discovered before.

When Anna Margaret dropped her own towel in the laundry closet, it already looked much emptier and the washing machine and dryer were both running. Not all underwear had been collected from the coffee table, but it had not been thrown away. It was now on a chair. The household had seemed under control for a few days, but now it was slowly falling apart. She suppressed a smile.

Queen Anna was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee. Anna Margaret put Alex’ bouncer somewhere safe, because Philip was walking around putting away groceries. “Do you think he’ll win today?” asked Frederick’s mother.

“He said he would.” She hoped he was right. But she trusted that he would not say it if he did not absolutely believe it.

“Then I hope he will. His aunt wanted to come, but I said there was no room and she is more a hotel person, I think.”

“I’m beginning to think I’m more of a hotel person as well,” Isabelle declared, coming in.

Philip hugged her in sympathy.

“Philip, you must watch out, or else you have number seven in nine months,” said Queen Anna. “And then it’s even more work.”

“We know. But number seven is far less likely than Anna Margaret’s number three or four, and then she’ll have to rent her own house, so it will be less work for us, actually.”

“Oh, nice of you,” Anna Margaret grimaced, but she did not take it too seriously. “I wasn’t planning to have one baby per year.”

“Babies don’t care about your planning.”

“A week in this chaos is an excellent contraceptive,” said Queen Anna.

“Chaos? Mama, you have only just arrived. You cannot call this chaos.” Isabelle looked slightly offended. Her face said that she might be complaining, but that she had it all under control.

“There was underwear on the couch.”



They left at eight. Well, a large part of the family did. Two of the children had not yet been ready and were told to run after them. By the time the family was in the queue for the screening area, they had caught up.

“Remember we have an upgrade,” said Isabelle with a critical look at their clothing. “But it does not come with unlimited food and drink. Everything goes through me, except water.”

They tried the day passes the little Frenchman had provided and surprisingly they were accepted at once. The children of course had to explore the space and find what the best seats and spectating spots were. Isabelle allowed them one drink and no snacks. “We’ve just had breakfast,” she said.

All the Germans from two days ago were there again. Isabelle sent her mother their way. Anna Margaret was not really noticing anything. She was wondering if she should step out to watch the race later or if she should stay in and merely hear the result, to avoid the excitement. But Frederick had been confident. She should trust in that. And did it truly matter which place he got? To her it did not, but she did not want to see him disappointed.

When the race started, she went out anyway. Alex had not enjoyed all the cheering the previous time, but now he saw a woman with a huge orange hat with things dangling off it that probably reminded him of his baby mobile. He was too busy trying to catch one of those things to mind any noise.

Frederick increased the tension today. He was not ahead at the halfway point, but then he sped up. By 1500m he had a small lead and then he made sure nobody could surprise him.

The woman in the orange hat jumped – the orange boat had finished second – and Alex seized his chance to grab one of the small bells dangling off her hat. His grip was strong and he pulled the hat right off the woman’s head.

“Alex!” Anna Margaret cried in shock. She had not been paying attention to what he had been doing.



RTA had finally decided to be there. Frederick could not avoid them in the mixed zone.

RTA Sports Reporter:
"Frederick, congratulations! That was a very strong finish—can you walk us through what was going through your mind in the second half of the race?"

“Not much. ‘I can do this’ or something.”

“Were you always planning to make your move in the final 500 meters?"

“It was more like consolidating.”

“We saw your wife and baby in the stands. Does having your family here change the way you approach a race like this?"

“This is a unique race, so I can’t really say.”

"Your semifinal performance has put you through to the A final—what are you focusing on between now and race day?"

“I’ll be doing exactly what I did on my other days off.”

“How do you think you’ll place in the final?”

“There will be two people I beat today and three people I didn’t race today. It’s possible that all of them have been holding back so far and raced strategically, but then, so have I. I’ll place anywhere from sixth to first.”

"From athlete to royal and back—how are you balancing it all here in Paris?"

“I’m not doing anything royal here.”

“There’s been talk about sponsorship agreements. We understand you refused to sign the standard contract and that therefore earlier this week you did not attend meetings with sponsors. Can you clarify why?”

“Yes, it’s in the constitution. It forbids me to do commercial promotions. So I did not sign the contract.”

“What was the reaction to that?”

Frederick smiled, but it was dangerous rather than amused. “I was told it wouldn’t matter if I signed, because I wouldn’t win anything anyway.”

“But meeting interested sponsors...“

“I am always willing to speak to people who are interested in the sport, but they will have to come here. I’m not going to meetings that disrupt my schedule, because I’ve not signed a contract that requires me to. I’m here to row.”

“Thank you and good luck in the final.”

Frederick nodded and moved on. He was stopped a few more times, but he tried to keep it brief.



Anna Margaret and the rest of the family had gone back inside into the lounge when the other boat types were racing. She had sat down to recover from everything. Alex had had to give the orange hat back. The bells were too small for a baby to play with. He had grown hungry anyway.

It turned out that Florian and the oldest children had made acquaintances at the National House the day before that they wanted to meet up with again. “Any girls?” Isabelle asked suspiciously.

“Can we just go?” he asked. “Why do I even have to ask? You were married at my age.”

“And a whole lot more sensible. Don’t you want to say hello to Frederick?”

“OK. We have some time if we want to be there at one o’clock.”

When Alex had finished nursing, they left the lounge. Anna Margaret had not seen the little Frenchman give Isabelle more day passes for the final, but he undoubtedly had. They went to the restaurant and had a drink.

Some fans stopped by to share their predictions for the final. Some were girls and they were specifically looking for Florian, but he had just gone to check out the merchandise. Philip sent them there.

Isabelle looked at him. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“They were about sixteen!”

“Then maybe Julian will like them better. Clearly they want some contacts their own age.”



After fifteen minutes a couple came to their table and then looked shocked. “Er...” said the woman. “I wasn’t expecting that. I – my daughters came to ask us if they could go to the National House with some boys and I needed to see what sort of boys.”

“My boys? Are asking girls –“ Isabelle rose and scanned the crowd. “First step is asking me, second step is asking the girls.” She saw the boys and beckoned them with an imperial gesture.

Florian and Julian approached, looking very innocent.

“Explain,” their mother ordered.

“We met some girls and we thought it would be fun if they also came with us.”

“Those girls looked about sixteen – or have we moved on to different girls already? You’re not going anywhere with girls who are only sixteen.”

“Eighteen.”

Isabelle looked at the woman, who was listening, dumbstruck. The woman only just managed a nod. “Florian, you’re twenty-four,” said Isabelle.

“Julian’s only twenty. And we’re not going to take them there, we’re going to meet them there.”

“Well, all right then.” She looked at the woman. “They’ll behave. If not, security will let me know, and they know that.”

Anna Margaret spoke up. “Flo, she told me she had informants spying on Frederick and me. They’re probably everywhere.”

“Hahaha, no, she didn’t. She knew the two of you didn’t have a social life and didn’t intend to get one. Thanks, Mum,” said Florian and disappeared before his parents could say another word.

“You can always go there and supervise,” Isabelle suggested to the woman. “We won’t be there. I understood there will be a small group of around their age there.”

The couple supposed it was safe enough and took their leave, too tongue-tied to say more.

“Did you have informants or not?” Anna Margaret wondered.

“Did you have a social life or not?”

Anna Margaret focused on her drink. There was no winning this discussion, she feared, and there was no need to. The next person was already waiting to say something about the race. If she answered everyone politely and spoke to them, this counted as a social life, she would think. It was just that normally during the day she had so many of these encounters that at night she only wanted to stay home. Other people might have boring jobs and want the reverse.

“Apparently it was now on RTA too,” said Philip, who had been checking the news.

“How nice that they’ve caught up,” Anna Margaret replied. Alex had had enough and Frederick had not even appeared yet. She hoisted him in the baby carrier, but he did not like it yet. “I’ll just go for a little walk to calm him down and I’ll be back soon.”

Her plan was to walk around a bit in the plaza outside, away from the crowds. RTA were there too. “Now is not a good time,” she told them when they approached her.

“Just a quick reaction?”

“Now is not a good time,” she repeated. Alex was still crying. She walked on and wondered if she should take him out of the carrier to try another feed. She gave him her finger to suckle on and suddenly felt something hard in his mouth. He was teething and she had not even noticed until now. No wonder he was feeling a little out of sorts. She sat down on the foot of a large lamppost and took him out of the carrier, speaking soft words of comfort to him. She let him latch on to see if that was going to make it better for him.

It was. But now she was stuck here. She could text Frederick to say she was under one of the lampposts – if she could reach her phone, that was.

Suddenly the woman with the orange bell hat brought her a chair. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you. He’s teething.”

“Alex is now my little friend,” said the woman and walked away again after helping her up as if it was nothing.]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 22 Aug 2025 09:12:39 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131661,131661#msg-131661 More Titles ~ 12 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131661,131661#msg-131661
Chapter Twelve



Anna Margaret and Isabelle had waited patiently until everyone had finished chatting to Frederick – or maybe he had politely asked them to come back the day after tomorrow – and then they had walked to the house.

He had swum for a bit with Alex and then had a little time alone with his wife. Anna Margaret did not care if anyone was going to say anything about that.

“Seeing you in swimwear after a day apart usually works,” she murmured. “And playing with Alex, of course.”

“Swimwear, yes.”

“Speaking of that, I heard that you post pictures of me on your Strava.” She raised herself up a bit to look at him.

“Only if we’ve worked out together, but not a whole lot. And there was only one in swimwear and you were hardly visible in it, because you were in the water.”

“I saw that one. It made Isabelle nervous about Philip’s Strava.”

“Oh, was that what all the fuss was about? Philip’s Strava?” Frederick sounded amused.

“I saw he has one. He has so far refused to let me follow him.”

“And you know what that means.”

“No.”

“That there’s absolutely nothing to see on it.”

That was not such a surprise after all. “Does Isabelle know?”

“Very likely. Hi Alex,” he said when he saw Alex watching them from his travel cot. “You’ve rolled over. Can you roll back yet?”

“I don’t think he can. He’s going to whimper in a minute when he’s bored.”

“I’ve got to get dressed and go to the bus,” Frederick said, kissing her. “Tomorrow I’m going to watch Rick’s match. I don’t know if I’ll have time to come to the stadium. It’s all so far apart.”

“You should support each other,” she agreed. “The media are placing all bets on the cycling, aren’t they?”

“No medal there yet, although Thomas himself was satisfied with his result. It was just the media who had expected more. Nobody expects anything from me.”

”Your followers seem to.”

“Now. It was nice how they have followed me and came here to see the results,” Frederick nodded.



“The children want to go to the National House tomorrow,” said Isabelle when Florian and Julian had offered to walk Frederick to the stadium. They might or might not stop by the supermarket to buy some illicit ice cream now that they had mastered how supermarkets worked, but their mother had decided to turn a blind eye. “I told them it was going to be boring, but they read something about a DJ and a pool disco.”

“What does that have to do with the Olympics?” Anna Margaret wondered. Or with their country at all?

“Nothing. But it’s clever, I suppose. You drop the kids in the pool disco and you can immerse yourself in our cultural and economical achievements. I don’t know what they’ll do if anyone really wins something. I think Fan Central is actually a pub across the street from it. Or so the kids say. They want to go to both. Are we going?”

“Can we only go if we both go?”

“Well, it does help.”

“Pool disco?”

“Maybe not. I’ll ask around to see if we really need tickets or if we could be considered the main attraction.”

“Tell them you’ll bring your swimsuit. But your talent to get into places for free is amazing.”

Isabelle looked modest. “I sacrifice a lot for it. I don’t want to have to pay to be an attraction.”



Someone had swiftly taken action after Isabelle’s inquiries and an announcement appeared on social media.
Announcement from the National House
We are pleased to share that on Wednesday, the National House will be welcoming high-level visitors in the early afternoon as part of our Olympic celebrations and cultural showcase.
Due to the special nature of this event, entry will be limited to a maximum of 200 visitors to ensure a smooth and enjoyable experience for all. We recommend arriving early, as access will be granted on a first-come, first-served basis.
Doors open at 13:00

She told the children that she would not stay for longer than two hours, however. It took more than an hour to get there. Anna Margaret wondered what Isabelle would think of having to take public transport. Finding out where and how far driving their own car was allowed was too much work, she would say. And then there would still be some extra distance to be covered, so they might as well get on a train from the start. Well, that was her idea anyway.

She would not mind going there for only two hours. With the distances here she could really only visit one location with Alex, unless she wanted to make things very uncomfortable for them. That he was an easy baby did not mean that she did not get tired carrying him all the time.

She texted Frederick where they were going and told him not to try and fit that in. Yes coach, he texted back.



Florian and Julian returned with ice cream. Isabelle eyed them warily. “Think about your sixpacks. You don’t know which eligible Parisiennes you’ll meet tomorrow at the pool disco.”

“Well, the last one you forced me to meet two days ago wasn’t all that impressive,” Florian commented. “And I thought you were all about character and personality.”

“Queens are all about looks.” And Florian’s wife would presumably once become queen.

“Then you should come running with us tomorrow, Mum.”


@RickDrawsGold
Roommate is coming to watch tomorrow. He says other people will now come too. For me or for him? #NoPressure #Frederick #OlympicArchery

@diplomatictea
I was there when he said he was going. Turned out a lot of bystanders didn’t have plans yet, so they’re all going to check you out. #Frederick #OlympicArchery

@eyewitnessrow
Frederick said "I’m watching Rick" and suddenly half the rowing crowd switched to archery. Never seen a fan migration this fast. #RoyalEffect #Frederick #OlympicArchery

@Fr3d3r1ck
But I heard my sister will go to the pool disco with DJ Tricky. Choices, choices. #NotGoingToTagMyself #OlympicArchery #NationalHouse

@diplomatictea
Is that you? #Frederick

@Fr3d3r1ck
replying to @diplomatictea
Usually. #DontTell #WasNotAllowedToHaveAccounts

@Fr3d3r1ck
Here’s a photo. #NotGoingToTagMyself
[Image of Frederick in swimwear, sitting at the edge of a pool with baby Alex on his knees]

@CheckingDep
Alex? Check. Same pool as Strava? Check. No tattoos? Check. #Frederick #Alex

@PoolsideFanGirl
OMG so cute!!!!!!!!!!! #Frederick #Alex #CutenessOverload

@Fr3d3r1ck
Replying to @PoolsideFanGirl
Thank you. We train really hard for that look. #TeamEffort

@TheFlorian
Replying to @Fr3d3r1ck
Think I should borrow Max tomorrow to imitate that pose? #ChickMagnet


The next morning, Isabelle had to go for a run with Florian and Julian. Anna Margaret went for a swim while she left Alex in his travel cot with Max, and Murielle to keep an eye on them. There were other people in the house, so should one start crying, someone would undoubtedly help out.

After swimming Anna Margaret got dressed and checked the kitchen. The adults had tried to enforce times for breakfast, but that had gone well for exactly one day. Several people were up, but not ready, and two were even still in bed.

Then Charlotte got out of bed and in her pyjamas, hung over her father. “Dad, can I go to the supermarket?”

“What do you want to do in the supermarket?”

“I just want to shop.”

He found that funny. “In the supermarket?”

“No,” she admitted. “I want a bikini. I don’t want to go in that old-people swimsuit if we go to the disco.”

“Did you see any bikinis at the supermarket?”

“I wasn’t looking.”

“That we agreed to allow you to go to a pool disco doesn’t mean we’ll allow you to wear a bikini,” said Philip. “What has got into you, children? Florian wants to borrow Max so he can be a chick magnet as well. I blame Frederick.”

“Why? Is he now a chick magnet?” asked Anna Margaret.

“Florian thinks so. Check X.”

“I’m not on it.”

“But you know how to check it, because you’ve recently found that that lots of things happen on social media behind our backs. I’ve just caught up on some of it. But Charlotte, no. No bikini. There’s nothing wrong with your swimsuit.”

“I like your swimsuit,” said Anna Margaret.

“But you’re old.”

“Exactly. So she can wear one if she wants, because she’s an adult. I bet her father also didn’t want her to be going around in a bikini on social media when she was fourteen,” said Philip. “So do the parents of all other fourteen-year-olds a favour and wear your swimsuit.”

Anna Margaret had gone to X and entered search terms.

“I suppose she can also use a phone at the table because she’s an adult,” Charlotte grumbled.

“Exactly. And she’s not my daughter.”

Anna Margaret found the photo Frederick had posted to prove his identity. She had taken it – but for Alex’ Strava and not for X. But Philip was right: lots of things happened on social media behind her back and Frederick was not her son, so he could do as he liked with pictures of himself. The reactions were interesting, though. She could see why Florian also wanted to be a chick magnet, if he had even been serious about that.


@FlorianFanAccount
Florian better BRING IT if he wants to compete with that. I want matching poses, matching babies, and matching hashtags. #Frederick #Florian #ChickMagnetChallenge

@FanZoneOverload
Frederick: married
Florian: chick magnet on the loose, and reportedly available?? Watch out National House, he’s coming. #OlympicFlirt #Florian #SingleAndServing

@DramaDiveDaily
Okay but we still haven’t seen Frederick with his wife tho… just saying. #WhereIsShe #Frederick

@Fr3d3r1ck
Replying to @DramaDiveDaily
Alex can't take photos yet

@Fr3d3r1ck
@diplomatictea @stadiumguy @eyewitnessrow not posing, but will treat the best sneakily shot proof to a bottle of water

@TheFlorian
Replying to @Fr3d3r1ck
Got you covered, uncle. I may not have a baby, but I do have eyes. Check your DMs. #Confirmed #SheExists #Sneaky


“I see your problem,” Anna Margaret said to Philip after seeing some of these exchanges. “Does Florian also see the problem?”

“Florian might not fully realise what he started.”

And Florian was running. She could not ask him what sort of photo he had sent to Frederick. Frederick had not yet posted it, which could mean all sorts of things. Either it was completely unsuitable – had they ever behaved in that manner? – or he wanted her approval first.

“Did you find the chick magnet thread?” Philip asked.

“I think I did, unless there are several. I’ll need to text Frederick.” She proceeded to do so. It took a while to get an answer, which very nicely included the photo in question. But it was another photo in swimwear, of course. Luckily Florian’s accompanying message could be read. He did appear to have some common sense and she was glad to see it. She passed her phone to Philip to let him know.

“Well,” he commented, but he did sound a bit pleasantly surprised. “And he didn’t ask you if he could post that?”

“Not yet.”

He handed her phone back. “That’s decent. Not that the photo isn’t.”

She studied it again. They were only entering the pool via the steps with Frederick carrying Alex and saying something to her that she laughed at. “I don’t look fat, so it’s OK. Don’t I look good in a swimsuit, Charlotte? Bikinis are overrated.”

“Meh,” said Charlotte. “But you were going swimming, so of course you didn’t wear a bikini.”

“At a disco you might also be a bit more active, so a bikini there might not be the best choice either.” Anna Margaret texted Frederick back and asked him to keep it factual.


@Fr3d3r1ck
Replying to @DramaDiveDaily
[photo] With my wife’s permission

@eyewitnessrow
You. Can’t. Fake. That. @TheFlorian wins.

@SatdiumGuy
Florian better be careful. Borrowing a baby won’t get you this. #NiceTryTho

@Fr3d3r1ck
Hope that ends the stupidity now.


Florian came home a few seconds later. He had already been informed. Apparently he could run and be active on the socials at the same time. “Yes, at Mum’s pace...” he said. “But I threw it on Insta as well, so no media outlet can claim they found it first.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my pace,” said Isabelle, who looked a little more overheated than her sons.

“I hope you can still walk to the station later,” Philip said in concern.

“I need a swim to cool off,” she decided.

Philip gave his eldest son a look of warning, but Florian pretended not know what he meant. “When she comes out or when she gets in?” he asked his father.

“Neither!”

“Get your trunks on then and I’ll catch you both.”

“Don’t let those favourable reactions on social media go to your head.”

“Carry Florian in,” Anna Margaret suggested.

“Now that...” Philip said with a contemplative look at his son.

“...would kill your back,” Florian shot back.

“I’ll take a snap,” Anna Margaret offered.

“You’re on Snap?” Charlotte heard something of interest.

“Just a minute.” Philip disappeared.

“He’s not serious, is he?” Florian asked Anna Margaret. His idea of being a chick magnet did not involve being carried.

“Better change, or you’ll be going in with your clothes on.” Anna Margaret sipped the last bits of her coffee and went outside to take up a good position.]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 22 Aug 2025 08:55:22 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131659,131659#msg-131659 More Titles ~13 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131659,131659#msg-131659
Chapter Thirteen



Isabelle amazingly agreed to be photographed getting into the pool. Anna Margaret did not know how persuasive Philip had been. Florian was carried, even though he had continued to believe until the very end that his father could not do that. He had nevertheless been curious enough to play along.

Anna Margaret had to get the photo right in one go, because Philip had said he would do it only once. Isabelle would rather have had several tries to see which was the most flattering. She had to show the photo after taking it and because Florian’s legs were obscuring pertinent parts of her body, Isabelle gave her permission.

“I still think some people prefer to see us dressed,” she said.

“I’m going to put this on my Strava as a weightlifting session,” said Philip.

“Do whatever you like there, but I thought this was going up on our official Instagram.”

“Which doesn’t come with the disclaimer that we never undress,” Florian remarked. “And those eighty-year-olds who disapprove don’t do Insta. I think it might go on X.”

Anna Margaret sent the photo to Frederick. He replied that he would only post it on his own account, not as a reply to Rick’s thread.

@Fr3d3r1ck
[photo] Because his parents think Florian is still a little baby #ChickMagnetInTraining

@Fr3d3r1ck
Meanwhile @RickDrawsGold is ahead in today's archery round. #Archery

@Fr3d3r1ck
And @RickDrawsGold is through to the next round. On behalf of the spectators in the stadium here, I thank you for your attention. Was this on TV at home? #Archery


Anna Margaret and the others had taken two taxi vans into Paris. Isabelle had not been too comfortable about the train and their company would have to take 4 taxis to fit everyone in, so that idea had not been considered until someone had wondered if they did not have large taxis. They did.

To be honest she was relieved she would not have to be lugging Alex around in a car seat in case they would choose to take a taxi back. The chances of that would have been huge if Isabelle had had to go down by train. There was a royal carriage back home, but that was worlds away from sharing a public carriage with locals and fellow Olympic tourists. Someone who was not used to it, might find it a little intimidating.



Meanwhile the reactions were still coming in on Instagram, about Frederick’s photo and words. Most people liked it, but others were more critical. There were some reactions that said they should have been dressed. The official account was on the case, but could of course not yet be very sharp.

@RoyalHouseOfficial
Her Majesty Queen Isabelle and her family are currently staying near Paris. Their accommodation includes a swimming pool which the family members use freely, wearing attire appropriate for swimming. Much has been asked of the younger members this past year. These moments provide a perfect opportunity to emphasise the importance of loving and supportive family as a foundation of the institution.
@RoyalHouseOfficial
In response to recent media speculation regarding the family bonds of Her Majesty Queen Isabelle and her household, the family believes that a photograph can express their closeness more clearly than words.

Critics voiced long-winded complaints about tradition and the image of the monarchy. Supporters saw no harm in two privately posted pictures, as opposed to intrusive shots by paparazzi – preferably unflattering.

Florian fuelled the flames with relish by adding his parents’ pool picture to Instagram, with the caption: Unfortunately there were no other photos in our collection that address so many misconceptions at once as the previous one.
Here’s another one that addresses some misconceptions: we don’t swim with our clothes on, we have fun, we don’t wait for the next official occasion stored on a shelf and switched off like a robot.
Yes, so this one was staged, but not for you. We can still use it for you, though.

There were negative reactions to the new post as well, notably from the same accounts that had disapproved of the first photo and learnt nothing from the reactions.

Anna Margaret was fortunate to be sitting in the same taxi van as Florian for an hour, so she was informed of all these posts that she would otherwise have missed. There was a text from her spokesman saying he had received questions about it, to which she had replied that there was nothing wrong with people entering swimming pools with their own spouses. She would not be provoked by attempts to sow discord within the family.

“They literally analyse our holiday swimwear every year,” said Florian. “But when we post our own photo, they act all surprised that we wear it.”

“Maybe it was the carrying.”

“Tossing me in would have been more dignified, yeah. Or am I now in trouble?”

“No.” She composed a longer message to her spokesman.
1. Not officially attending olympics > doesn’t care for country.
2. Officially attending olympics > doesn’t care for husband.
3. Leaving baby at home > bad mother.
4. Taking baby along > bad minister.
5. Staying with family > bathing in luxury.
6. Not staying with family > they hate her.
7. Florian at pre-olympic dinner > he’s such a good heir.
8. Florian in swimming pool > he’s the worst heir we ever had.
She paused to show it to him.

He snickered. “That’s about right, yes. I was getting glowing reviews last week for representing the country. I was so wonderful and mature. Mature especially.”

She sent the message to her spokesman. Let him make something nice of that when more questions came in. He would undoubtedly also be getting sillier questions that he was not even telling her about.

She wondered about the National House. Would it be rather informal, or would the news of their visit have caused those in charge to summon up other dignitaries as well?



They were welcomed by two official-looking people in the street outside the house when the taxis pulled up. Unfortunately for the greeters the taxis still needed to be paid and undercarriages for the car seats and the travel cot unloaded from the back. There was no swift and graceful exit. Anna Margaret disliked that she could now imagine the headline in her head: why did they have to take those babies? But the baskets in the undercarriages contained the bigger children’s swimwear and towels, so the babies were definitely useful for something.

Everyone was politely greeted and welcomed inside, some ten minutes after the doors had officially opened. This meant there was no longer a queue, if there had been one at all, and the street was rather quiet. Diagonally across there was a pub decked out in the blue and gold for the week and someone appeared to cheer from there. But that was all.

Inside, apart from some Parisian dignitaries and representatives from their national embassy, was the first national media crew she had seen at these Olympics. The children, led by Florian, first made sure they politely secured themselves something to drink after more than an hour in a taxi before they casually asked National House staff about the pool. Anna Margaret could not see any other youngsters around yet. Maybe they were already outside.

She was by now a pro in setting up the travel cot and laid Alex and Max in it, while Isabelle was still being talked to.

First they were given a small tour. It was only a small space, one side meant for networking and chatting with high tables, and one side intended for watching the screens and lounging. Littered through the space were small stands with information about things like castles, cheeses and business opportunities.

Anna Margaret declined a glass of wine. She saw all children, who had all finished their first drink already, being offered wine and all declining. That was good; not so good on the part of the staff here, but she noticed that Isabelle nudged Philip onto the case. He made a whispered comment to the people behind the wine stall and they looked suitably apologetic.

The children, after a rapid and polite look around, disappeared in the direction of the terrace doors. The pool was outside. They came back in when they realised they needed swimwear. Apparently there was nothing to stop them from going in.

Anna Margaret saw the Minister for Sport arrive and she walked up to him for a chat.

After she had chatted to people for close to half an hour and once turned Alex back onto his back because sometimes he was just like a helpless turtle, she got to sit down to feed him. There she could also watch the sports that were on. Some people only stayed here. Presumably they had children in the pool and were already more than informed about bottled spring water and educational opportunities.

The National House had, perhaps after the first day or perhaps even before they opened, realised that pool goers sometimes came into the main hall. They provided long blue robes with the national flag on them for those who wished to step inside for a second.

“Are you going into the pool?” she teased the Sport Minister, who had joined her on the comfortable couches when she was nursing. He had had seen that all before back at home, so he knew she could chat and nurse at the same time. “Maybe you get to keep the robe so you can wear it when you go to the next sport.”

He studied his neat shirt and trousers. “I think I’m fine. But I saw you went swimming.”

“Of course. There’s a pool at the house.”

“And you actually agreed to have your photo posted.”

“Ahh,” she sighed. “I still have a subscription at our local pool. Half the town already knows what I look like. I’m not suddenly against being seen in swimwear because I’m married. I went there pregnant and all and nobody cared, but now that I have a child and a husband, people are like that is so shocking! Or brave. Or scandalous.”

He laughed. “And Alex needs to refuel again. No wonder, if he trains so much.”

“Don’t tell me you follow that account as well.” She gave him a playful frown when she thought of everybody knowing about that account except her.

“I do now. I am the Minister for Sport, what can I say? I have been vetted to follow it, but Frederick knows me.”

“Are you skipping the rowing, by the way?”

“Not at all, but I have it from your esteemed husband himself that he will probably be in the A/B finals and that I should give some other people attention on the days before.” He raised his eyebrows as if to check if that information was correct. “If he’s going to be in the C/D finals, I’m going to have a scheduling problem.”

“I’m going with what he says.”

“I’m trying to combine the athletes’ own predictions with the chef de mission’s – he gives me schedules. But today I went to the archery and I was told beforehand that it was a big achievement that he had even got that far and then he just went through to the next round.”

“Now you’ll have to go again.”

“I can’t actually watch someone twice if there’s another that I haven’t seen at all yet,” he said regretfully. “So I’ll have to look at the planning.”

“True, I suppose.”

“Are you going to see something else?”

“As much as I’d like to, I think not. We’re an hour away at the very least and I have too much to take with me. They advise not to take children under four and as I’ve found, that is pretty sound advice. Carrying a baby and a bag up some stadium stairs and into the middle of a row is not something I’d like to do again. Imagine needing to go to the toilet or needing to change a nappy mid-competition? I underestimated that a bit.”

“What did you do yesterday? I read that you were seen in the VIP stands.”

“Yesterday was special. This Frenchman came up to us and we thought he was going to say something about the babies, but apparently he’d been told who we were and he offered us an upgrade to the lounge. Isabelle said no at first because we already had a plan, but the man insisted, so we went to the VIP lounge for a few minutes and then we went back out again. We got a private hostess and they kept wanting to give us champagne, but why would we bring babies if we weren’t breastfeeding? So that means no champagne. It was quieter there. Maybe we should have got tickets for that in the first place. But then, it’s ridiculous to pay for babies and children there, so I think maybe that’s why we didn’t. I wasn’t in control of the booking.”

“Did the children come here?” He had arrived when they had already gone outside and he had not seen them.

“That’s our sole reason for being here: they wanted to go to the pool disco,” Anna Margaret said with a smile. “They were not given unlimited time, so they went straight out not to waste any.”

“Have you been there yet?”

“No. Shall we take a look?”

“When you’re done,” he said with a look at Alex.

“I can still walk doing that. He’s getting a bit heavier, but I can still do it.” She got to her feet without needing assistance.



One of the security officers was sipping a drink at the bar, but everyone else was either in the water or on a lounger while DJ Tricky was playing music at an acceptable volume. Nobody was actually dancing, but a group was playing volleyball in the water. Two girls in bikinis were watching from sun loungers, but Anna Margaret hoped they were not looking for attention from Florian; they would not really fit into the family.

“Still quiet out here,” said the minister.

Isabelle came to have a quick look. “That looks all right.”

“Are you going in?” Anna Margaret wondered.

“And change in a tent?” She had looked around even better and seen the changing area. Other adults had come out now too. Perhaps she was saying it to make sure they would quickly return inside because there was nothing to see here, certainly not the queen changing into a swimsuit.

“But you’ll get a robe.”

“Oh, now...” She returned inside.

Anna Margaret followed. It had become a little busier inside. Alex was still nursing, but he suddenly let go and tried to turn around. “Alex...” she chided, looking for a seat to get the different layers of clothing back into place. “Give me some warning, will you?”

Alex looked as if he did not care. He was ready for action and looked around attentively. She hoped he had not seen the swimming pool, because that would mean he wanted to get in.



Fifteen minutes before the taxis were due to pick them up again, the children were warned to get out of the pool. They knew the deal, so there were no protests. Anna Margaret folded up the travel cot and placed Alex and Max back in their car seats.

RTA had been shooting a piece about the atmosphere in the National House, but they had not dared to approach any well-known people. They had filmed from a distance, so viewers would not overhear what those filmed were saying. There were brief shots of the youngsters in the pool and of the babies in the travel cot, while the voice of the manager explained what the National House was for.

We were honoured to welcome Her Majesty Queen Isabelle, the Prime Minister Ms Anna Margaret Rendinger, and members of the royal family to our National House during #Paris2024.
During their visit, they spoke with other guests and engaged with the exhibits and experiences on offer. We are pleased they left with a positive impression of the National House and its purpose.
The National House is a place to discover more about our country, to come together, and to celebrate—through culture, conversation, and sport. ]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 22 Aug 2025 08:50:33 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131651,131651#msg-131651 More Titles ~ 13 (3 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131651,131651#msg-131651
Chapter Thirteen



Isabelle amazingly agreed to be photographed getting into the pool. Anna Margaret did not know how persuasive Philip had been. Florian was carried, even though he had continued to believe until the very end that his father could not do that. He had nevertheless been curious enough to play along.

Anna Margaret had to get the photo right in one go, because Philip had said he would do it only once. Isabelle would rather have had several tries to see which was the most flattering. She had to show the photo after taking it and because Florian’s legs were obscuring pertinent parts of her body, Isabelle gave her permission.

“I still think some people prefer to see us dressed,” she said.

“I’m going to put this on my Strava as a weightlifting session,” said Philip.

“Do whatever you like there, but I thought this was going up on our official Instagram.”

“Which doesn’t come with the disclaimer that we never undress,” Florian remarked. “And those eighty-year-olds who disapprove don’t do Insta. I think it might go on X.”

Anna Margaret sent the photo to Frederick. He replied that he would only post it on his own account, not as a reply to Rick’s thread.

@Fr3d3r1ck
]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 22 Aug 2025 08:57:33 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131642,131642#msg-131642 More Titles ~ 11 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131642,131642#msg-131642
Chapter Eleven



Anna Margaret and Isabelle were guided towards the exclusive lounge, where they were given day passes. They were also offered champagne and wine, and given a personal hostess.

“Water, please, we are breastfeeding,” said Isabelle. She checked her phone. Five more minutes. The space was surprisingly empty. “How nice, you don’t even have to go out when it’s raining,” she said as she looked at the large screen.

“Would you be allowed to cheer inside?” Anna Margaret wondered.

“Someone was already giving the babies an evil look. I can’t imagine what he’d do if people actually came to do what they’re supposed to do at a race, like cheer.”

“That side of the room is more lively.”

“The non-champagne side.”

Philip texted that the race was about to begin, so they stepped out into the special stands. There were spectators there who did know what was actually going on and who had come for the better seats and not the champagne, rather than the reverse. A German couple greeted them respectfully, as if they knew who they were.

German fans probably did, Anna Margaret thought. They had not been able to watch German TV in France, but she had read about the coverage.

Isabelle spoke German like a native and the couple told her they were from the same Bundesland as her mother. Anna Margaret looked at the water as the others talked about cousins who might be acquainted with neighbours of other cousins.

As long as Frederick did not directly beat the German in the field, the German man was prepared to root for him – and apparently he would have to finish among the first three not to race the German in the next round. More Germans had assembled around them, making appreciative noises as the race unfolded on the big screen, but still out of sight on the actual water.

Frederick looked relaxed. He had only a small lead, but for the last five hundred metres he changed up a gear, and although number two also moved further away from number three, number one was impossible to catch.

Anna Margaret was proud. Alex started to cry at the noise that erupted when a rower with an enormous contingent of fans just managed to sneak into a photo finish with number three. She patted his back and kissed him, as she tried to see if Frederick was looking their way. He did not know where they were, of course, and waving would be totally pointless.

But this result meant that he was racing again the day after tomorrow. She hoped she had got that right. Alex had just begun to calm down when the result of the photo finish was shown on the screen and the crowd went wild again. Poor little boy. “I’m going inside with him,” she said to Isabelle.



Anna Margaret and Isabelle left the VIP lounge when Philip had texted that all of the quarterfinals had been. He had apparently been looking at how the rest had been doing.

The Frenchman, probably notified by their personal hostess, had appeared promptly when they left the lounge. “Was it not to your satisfaction?”

“It was excellent and I thank you for the hospitality, but my other children are coming down from the public stands now and we want to speak to my brother later.”

“They are all welcome in here.”

“They are children; they would rather go to the beach,” she apologised.

“When is your brother’s next race?”

“The day after tomorrow. We are going to buy tickets when we get to our accommodation.”

“Mais non! Normal tickets?”

“Yes. I am not going to buy VIP tickets for two babies. I’m sorry. Then I’d rather pay for a ticket for someone who can’t afford it at all.”

“I will give you day passes for the semifinals. How many is that?”

“Nine and two babies.”

“Ah, eleven. Just a minute.”

Isabelle gave Anna Margaret a look that said: see, babies pay full price.



They met up in the restaurant where the children wanted a drink. “Of course,” Isabelle muttered. “Imagine if we’d let them come to the VIP lounge. That’s just not good for them.”

“How was it in there?” Philip wondered.

“Much quieter. Germans came to talk to me.”

“Of course. They know their stuff.”

“Are you on Strava?” she suddenly remembered.

Anna Margaret held her breath.

“Why?”

“Before we went there, we met a young man who follows Frederick on Strava – and Alex too! And Frederick posted a photo of Anna Margaret in swimwear, so I’d really like to know: a) if you have Strava, and b) if you post photos of me on it, and c) if they are in swimwear.”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“Philip! Really!”

“Darling, if I post too many photos of you in swimwear on Strava, too many people will want to follow me.”

“Philip. What does that mean?”

“That means that you look really nice in swimwear. Why are you fishing for compliments?”

The children returned with the drinks. Alex was snuggling as if he wanted a feed as well, which meant that Anna Margaret was stuck here for another forty-five minutes or so until he woke up again. But it might take that long for Frederick to appear, so that was no problem.



Alex had indeed fallen asleep. Anna Margaret needed to go to the toilet, but was stuck with the baby, and the older children wanted to go to the house for lunch. Anna Margaret had a feeling that Philip was telling them to stay so he could have longer to think of an answer to the Strava question. He was usually more lenient than this.

In the meantime she had made an account for herself. She found the option of finding Facebook friends on Strava – she only had family as friends, so that should make it easy enough to see. She looked smug when she saw nearly all of them, except Isabelle, Aurelie and Charlotte. She sent requests to follow Frederick, Alex and Philip.

“That was quick,” he commented a few minutes later.

“You didn’t accept it, though,” she noted.

“Not yet.”

“Is there so much to remove?”

“Or add.”

“But it’s me,” said Anna Margaret.

“And you two are in cahoots.”

“I’ll wait until Frederick gets here.”

Isabelle had been managing her older children. “What are you on about?”

“Philip is on Strava and I sent him a request to follow him, but he refuses to click on it.”

“Means I also refuse to click on remove this request,” he pointed out.

“I’ll ask Frederick. We’re married. He’ll show me.”

“I’ve been married to this man for almost twenty-five years and he still won’t show me,” Isabelle cut in. “Aren’t you expecting a bit too much?”

“I can’t help that you still don’t know after twenty-five years,” Anna Margaret shot back.


Frederick appeared a while later, his hair still wet from showering. First they congratulated him on his race, which he waved off as not that spectacular. He got himself a chair and set it next to his wife’s. Alex was still sleeping, or else Anna Margaret would have looked for a quiet place to greet him. Now she had to make do with him putting an arm around her and whispering in her ear. It was enough for her.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” said Isabelle. “Anna Margaret and I got upgraded to the VIP lounge for free.”

“Why?”

“Someone recognised us and reported it to the management, I suppose.”

“Won’t everybody recognise you by now?”

“Someone who follows you on Strava did.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Oh, nice,” Isabelle repeated and looked at Anna Margaret, who was supposed to jump in with a question. But there was no response there. She continued herself. “It seems you post pictures.”

“Yes.”

“Of your wife in swimwear.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not even embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed about my wife in swimwear, no.” He moved his hand so that only Anna Margaret noticed.



“Why!” Frederick called out suddenly. “Why do 47 people suddenly want to follow me on Strava?”

“You only have to accept one,” Anna Margaret pointed out.

He scrolled through the names. “Done.”

“Thank you. See, that’s what nice husbands do.” She gave Philip a smug look.

“I’m only your brother-in-law,” he responded. “And my wife hasn’t requested to follow me on Strava.”

“Did I miss something?” asked Frederick.

Anna Margaret gently transferred the sleeping Alex to his arms, because she now really needed to use the toilet. She would leave it to them to sort it out. The people at the next table were looking at her too curiously, she noticed. They were probably surrounded by countrymen again. Which was not odd, given that they only had one boat to watch in the entire session and they would be free to eat, drink or stalk well-known people afterwards.



Anna Margaret saw that Isabelle was also taking a break when she came out of the stall to wash her hands.

“He’ll be coming back with us, won’t he? He’s free tomorrow,” said Isabelle.

“Have you asked him just now?”

“I thought you might have agreed on something.”

“Not yet.”

“The children are already going with Philip. We can’t split up in six groups, or we’ll be told off for not taking our security seriously. You need to do something about that.”

The toilet was perhaps not the best place for that, Anna Margaret thought. “I’ll look into it next week.” It was not much of a promise – she would be up against people who had completely different ideas. “Would be better if you came along, though, to clarify your viewpoints.”

Isabelle quite liked blowing people over with her viewpoints.

They returned together to find Frederick holding two babies and all the chairs taken up by other people talking to him. They stood waiting while people were asking Frederick about his training regime. Someone offered them a seat, but they declined.

“Oh, there’s that little Frenchman again,” Isabelle said in a not so low voice. “Are we doing something strange again? Tomorrow I’m going to wear a hat.”

“I think he’s got spies. A hat won’t fool him.”

“Everything all right?” asked the Frenchman with a little bow. “Would you like me to get your a chair?”

“We are absolutely fine,” Isabelle assured him.

“Oh, that is the prince.” He gave another little bow. “Is he also fine?”

“Very fine,” said Anna Margaret.

The Frenchman clearly did not understand how they could all be fine in this situation. “Do you not have security?” he asked in a low voice.

“Outside the gate,” Isabelle answered. “Because I’m sure your organisation has it all perfectly under control in here.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Thank you.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaMon, 04 Aug 2025 14:09:12 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131628,131628#msg-131628 More Titles ~ 10 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131628,131628#msg-131628
Chapter Ten



The family had gone to a beach on a lake, but no one who knew about them had discovered that place yet. When they came back, Anna Margaret had Florian take photos of Alex in his new outfit for their Instagram account.

Florian was pretty thrilled with the assignment. He had attended a high-profile dinner as a crown prince a few days ago, but he had moved into the family villa as soon as the others had arrived. At his age he still preferred to be with his family and to do informal things.

That evening Isabelle had decided they would go out to dinner, to prevent more supermarket antics.

Anna Margaret was glad that at home she never had to inform any security of where she was going, only Frederick did. She felt she would very quickly grow tired of doing that every day. It felt as if she would no longer be in control of her own movements. There was always someone who could advise against it – and to be honest, there was so very little a security officer could actually do. They must have a miserable job, always looking out for threats that were not there.

But she gathered it was more relaxed here than at home. Until everybody knew where they were. It would be easy to follow them home from the rowing stadium, of course. It was unclear to her what one or two officers could do to prevent anything on such a walk.

Their being lodged in the garden house with a fairly good view of the pool was not exactly comforting either. “You mentioned transgressions by the pool,” she said to Isabelle. “But when do you ever get to transgress by the pool anyway, when it’s in full view of the garden house?”

“Not that pool,” Isabelle agreed. “But the hot tub is all right.”

“Do you actually transgress in the hot tub?”

“Not today.”

“How can you have six children when there’s always someone keeping an eye on you?”

“They mostly came into being before there were people keeping an eye on me. But I do draw a line somewhere. They are not always keeping an eye on me. Children are far worse, because they don’t understand the concept of privacy. You’d better get number two underway before number one starts walking and opening doors.”

“Number two...” She did not even know if that was the plan yet.

“You don’t have to go up to number six,” Isabelle reassured her. “I didn’t even plan to myself. But I think you’ll be able to handle three to five. You showed that you could.”

“Except that they always say that children don’t listen to their own parents.”

“There’s that. But anyway, can’t the prime minister push the idea of less security?”

“Citing the hot tub?”

“Not necessarily. But just the general logistics of it. It’s difficult enough to find houses or restaurants large enough to accommodate a family of seven – or eight – adults, but you always have to take into account several other people, or else they’ll shoot it down as unprotectable. Which half of the time is just someone justifying his own importance and not an actual fact.”

She would agree.

“And the hot tub,” Isabelle continued, “is not the best example. Queens don’t get up to naughty things. They get that all over with while they’re still princesses. Which is why people didn’t understand where Max came from. I got the impression some people genuinely didn’t understand. People who were not my children. Adult people with knowledge of biology.”

“Well, I have to say that before I knew a queen I didn’t think they’d be into that either. But then, I wasn’t into it myself.”

“Actually...” Isabelle said reflectively. “I have less of a need of it when we’ve already had enough private time. But a baby needs only one moment, so that isn’t really an indication of anything.”

“Did it bother you that people were discussing it?”

“For a while it did. But now...I think I’m more relaxed about it. I was brought up to think these things don’t happen, but they do. I was already not living according to those ideas, but they were still there somehow. Which does not mean,” she said in another tone, “that I approve of Florian trying these things out. Which he can’t now, anyway, because he’s always being watched. Fifteen minutes in a supermarket while security is outside is not long enough.”

“Not usually, no.”

“The social and financial costs of this are...disproportionate at times.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” But she doubted it was a lot.

“It’s for the children, mostly.”



The next day was more or less spent in the same way. The children slept in and then went to an aquapark. Anna Margaret read documents and went for a walk with Isabelle and the little boys to see some goats and sheep, which took them longer than expected.

“They’ll say we could have gone into Paris,” said Anna Margaret.

“We could have,” Isabelle agreed. “But we chose not to. We also need to work on our figures, or else they’ll call us fat.”

“Was Philip allowed to go out in the meantime?” asked Anna Margaret as they neared the supermarket. As far as she knew everyone else was keeping the protection officers occupied.

“I’m sure they would rather he didn’t, but someone needs to do the shopping and they can’t expect us always to go out as a group. We’re already having trouble coordinating who takes the house keys.”

“Did we take a key?”

“No, we didn’t, otherwise Philip could not go out.”

“Should we call him to see if we need to buy anything?”

“I can track his phone and he can track mine.”

Anna Margaret had never heard of this option. “Seriously?”

“Only for this trip.”

“But that means...”

“He’s already back.”

“Are you also tracking the children?”

“Yes.”

“Are they tracking you?”

“Could be. I had to give them that option, but I don’t think they find that as exciting. It’s not actually specific down to room-level.”

They had now passed the rowing stadium grounds and were entering the other part of the town. They were not the only ones walking there. Rowing fans were returning to their hotels or other accommodations, but since Frederick had not raced today, they were primarily fans from other countries.

“Are the children back from the aquapark yet?”

Isabelle checked her phone. “They’re on their way.”



On the day of the quarterfinal, they all headed towards the rowing stadium again. Anna Margaret had not had a comfortable trek to a seat halfway up the stands on the first day with a baby, so when they got there she said she would stay in the restaurant. Isabelle decided to join her.

“It was so high and so scary and so crowded. I just can’t do it today,” Anna Margaret said. “I felt I had to do it the other day, but I really wasn’t comfortable.”

“We’ll go when they text us that the race has started and then we can still see the finish without having to climb up to a seat.”

“Oh, that sounds so much better,” Anna Margaret said in relief. “I don’t want to let him down, even though he won’t see us anyway. But suppose something vital happens and I didn’t see it?”

“I have to say I understood why taking babies was not recommended. Thankfully neither of them decided to poop during the heats, but we’d probably not be as lucky today.”

A passing man, wearing blue and gold, hesitantly stopped by their table. He addressed Anna Margaret and then looked at Alex. “Excuse me. Is that Alex? I saw the outfit on Instagram and I know Alex from Strava, but...” He was evidently confused because Isabelle was holding him – the wrong mother.

“Alex, are you on Strava?” Anna Margaret exclaimed. Alex heard his mother’s voice and smiled widely.

“First he was only in photos and now he’s got his own account,” the man explained. “I’m sorry. You didn’t know?”

Anna Margaret looked at Isabelle helplessly. “What? His own account?”

“What is Strava?” Isabelle wondered.

“Sit down,” Anna Margaret ordered the man. “Show me. Which sports does he do?”

“Swimming, boxing and weights.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, but not in a bad way. “And grown-up people follow this account?”

“Er, yes,” the man admitted. He was scrolling on his phone and then showed it to Anna Margaret.

Isabelle leant in for a look as well. They both laughed.

“Wait...” Anna Margaret squinted. “That is an unauthorised picture of me in swimwear from yesterday.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Isabelle. “Frederick won’t post ugly photos of you. But I’d like to know what happens if I inadvertently do workouts with Alex. We need to get our own accounts to monitor this. Is my husband on this?” she asked the man.

“I don’t know, Madam.”

“We swim. I didn’t think he logged it, but apparently you never know with men.”

“We run...” Anna Margaret gave the man a doubtful look.

“Yes, I know.”

“Photos?”

“Sometimes.”

“Oh, that’s it. We’re getting our own account. Later. We’re now here for the race. Thank you for informing us. How did you start following him?”

“We spoke about nutrition on Twitter once and then started following each other on Strava. I didn’t know who it was, though, until I saw on the maps where he ran.”

“Oh, that app,” said Isabelle. “Caused a huge row. All the objectors have since then been fired, so it’s supposed to be common sense regulating it now. But if we are not involved, maybe it isn’t.”

Anna Margaret tried to smile politely, but she was reminded of the meetings she had insisted on attending a year ago. They had not really wanted her to attend the revisions and evaluations of the personal security of ‘first-category persons’ and they had certainly not liked her insisting that no expansion of the measures was necessary. They had probably not liked apps either.

An official-looking man in a suit with earpieces hurried nearer and was clearly intent on speaking to them. Frederick’s Strava follower looked worried. “Oh, I’m not allowed to talk to you?”

Isabelle gave the man with the earpieces a look and then shrugged. “No, we don’t know that man. It’s a Frenchman. He probably doesn’t like babies.”

The Frenchman obsequiously spoke to the ladies in French, asking if they were indeed the queen and the prime minister. Isabelle confirmed it. She asked to see his credentials and then remarked that anyone could make an accreditation like that.

Anna Margaret inwardly died at the lack of logic in that move, considering how she had been perfectly fine with confirming her own identity verbally, but the Frenchman kept on trying to prove his identity.

“I do not generally speak to strange men,” said Isabelle.

Frederick’s Strava follower still feared the man had come to remove him because he had dared to speak to a queen and he still looked alarmed.

The Frenchman wished to know why they had normal tickets.

“Because we want to see one race and we have babies,” said Isabelle.

“I can offer you an upgrade to the exclusive lounge,” said the Frenchman.

“No, thank you. We have several children with us.”

“No problem! Children can come.”

Isabelle smiled politely. “I don’t think that’s worth the money for seven minutes, but I appreciate the offer.”

“But for free? We cannot allow you to sit here!”

“Why not?”

“You are a guest in the country! We must give you the welcome you deserve.” He looked as if the whole nation would be affronted if she kept saying no.


“Oh well. Let me text my husband to see if he’ll give me permission to go with you.” Isabelle started to text.

“What if he says no?” Anna Margaret asked in their own language.

“Do you really think I’m asking for permission?” She kept looking at her phone until she had an answer. Then she looked back at the Frenchman and spoke in French. “He approves.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaMon, 28 Jul 2025 19:32:21 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131615,131615#msg-131615 More Titles ~ 9 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131615,131615#msg-131615
Chapter Nine



The next day Anna Margaret worked. She had brought things to read and she replied to emails. Frederick texted her that Rick had a little something for Alex and asked if she could meet him while he trained.

She agreed to meet Rick in a café in town and he gave her a package. It contained the mascot and a small Olympic outfit.

“My wife made that,” Rick said proudly. “Now can we do a vlog with you?” After he had done a vlog with Frederick, he had done a few with other athletes. He was seizing every opportunity he could get. “People want to know.”

“Alex should wear this right now,” she said. “Wait.” Alex deserved to be shown and Rick’s wife deserved to have her creations shown. And Rick, while his questions were sometimes impertinent, was someone she believed she could handle.

When they were ready, Rick began. "I'm here in a café in Vaires with our prime minister Ms Rendinger and we're going to chat. How are you experiencing the Olympics so far?"

"I've not yet been out of Vaires and it’s an hour from the centre, so I don’t know what it feels like in other places. But this mini uniform Alex is wearing –“ She held Alex up. “Rick’s wife made it for him. That’s so nice. And so skilled.”

“My wife is making some for everyone’s small children until she runs out of fabric.”

“But she’s really good at it. Is she a seamstress?”

“No, we’re parttime farmers with a B&B,” Rick said with a snort. “She practised on the little B&B curtains, though.”

“But did she take a sewing machine to Paris?”

“She did. Didn’t you?”

“I don’t have one.”

"Have you seen Frederick yet?"

"Yes."

“Today?”

“You know I didn’t, because you probably came with him. I was working today, except for this little break. Yesterday.”

"How was that?"

"Good."

"Did you also meet in a café, or in private?"

"In public and in private."

"Coaches don't recommend that, usually," Rick shot back.

Anna Margaret blushed and said nothing.

"But if there's no race the day after, it might be OK," said Rick.

"I'm one of his coaches."

"Now that we share an apartment in the village, I am too. He and I have an agreement about winning medals. I don't know if I'd recommend physically draining activities."

She had regained her composure somewhat. "Cooling down."

"Is that how you call it?"

"Yes. How do you cool down in archery, Rick?"

"Not like that!"

"But I haven't said how."

"Meeting your so-called coach in private...yeah, right. Are you in a hotel?"

"No, I'm in a house with 8 in-laws."

"You mean the queen. That's great. She can watch Alex while you and Frederick analyse his race."

“I don’t do race analysis.”

“Do you understand rowing?”

“Well, it’s very simple. You need to be the fastest getting to the other side,” Anna Margaret remarked.

“But the format. Why so many races?”

“I think because conditions may vary from heat to heat, so it may not be fair to be only ranked on time.”

“But that’s a lot of races.”

“That needs a lot of training,” she agreed.

“On TV you didn’t want to say if you were actually going.”

“You have far too much time on your hands if you can watch TV.”

“Well, my wife is sewing baby outfits. She doesn’t have time to meet up.”

Anna Margaret laughed in sympathy. “Aww...”

“So, you didn’t want to say if you were actually going.”

“I said Frederick would see us, which means I was going. I merely couldn’t say where or when. That all depends on the weather and the baby, which I thought was so logical that I wouldn’t have to spell it out. It’s all outdoors. I’ve never tried to sit in public stands with a baby in the pouring rain or blazing sun before, so I really could not say if that was something I could try to do. I also didn’t know, for example, if there was a place to shelter. But people always demand certainties.”

“Maybe they think you would leave the baby somewhere else.”

“I think they think a baby is a thing. But look at him.” She looked down at Alex. “He wants to be there.”

“Do you, Alex?” asked Rick.

Alex turned his head and looked at him instead of the camera.

“No, Alex. Camera. There.” He tapped it.

Alex stretched out a small hand.

“You should use full sentences with him,” said Anna Margaret. “It’s better for his language development.”

“Maybe you don’t want that to go too fast, because I see Alex will be vlogging in no time. Best watch out,” Rick warned. “By the way, did you check Frederick for tattoos yesterday?”

“He went swimming with Alex, so that was easy.”

“In swimwear?”

Anna Margaret looked at him, trying to decide what he was after. “What other options are there?”

“There was no swimwear on our laundry line in the apartment. Did he pack swimwear then?”

“No, I packed his swimwear and it’s on our laundry line. But, er, do you have a tattoo?”

“No.”

“Would your wife object?”

“I don’t know.”

“You took more than 35 hours and you didn’t even get this checked?” She looked astonished. “Suppose you get home and you shower together and she finds a tattoo on you?”

“First, I never said I took more than 35 hours,” Rick defended himself.

“You implied it.”

“Implications are now truths? OK, Mrs Cooling Down Coach.”

Anna Margaret wisely decided not to go there. “So what will happen if you decide to get a tattoo?”

“I’d have to ask her about it first before I decided,” Rick admitted. “Because I have no idea. I don’t believe for a second that you discussed this either. You probably just looked really well when he took something off.”

“It’s a way.”

“Would it have been a dealbreaker if you’d found out after 37 hours that he had a tattoo under his speedos?” Rick looked as if he was thrilled to gain back control. “Or doesn’t one do speedo checks on a king?”

“Ideally, one doesn’t have to.”

“Because he can undress himself? Or so he said.”

“Ideally, by the time he undresses himself, you will have talked enough not to be surprised.” Anna Margaret explained. “There is a difference between a man hiding a tattoo and saying he has a hidden tattoo. When it comes to dealbreakers.”

“That’s true, I guess. So, in those 35 or whatever hours, a man should say, ‘listen, I have a hidden tattoo, so don’t be surprised if you find it after 38 hours?’”

Anna Margaret opened her mouth and waited until she spoke. “Ideally.”

“But how would he know it was a thing?”

“If you hide something, it’s a thing for you, so it’s not unreasonable to think it might also be a thing for someone else. Hiding is a thing.” She paused. “So you shouldn’t get an Olympic tattoo and then wait until your wife finds out. If you want one, you ask her where she wants to see it.”

“But your man didn’t know you were going to be his wife.”

“No, so it was very smart of him never to get a tattoo before he met me,” Anna Margaret said dryly. “And he did not get one since then either.”

“OK, so he did not resign and then you sat him down with your list to cross off any dealbreakers?”

“That sounds like work,” she said in amusement. “But no, a relationship is not a political negotiation. That’s between different parties. With a relationship you’re in the same party.”

“And how did you know?”

“Well, I saw the general framework of how he approaches life. Someone who’s fed up with pretending swings in the other direction. But he’s still attached to the framework, so there’s always a constraint in how far he can go.”

“It’s all very deep,” Rick said to the camera. “I’m too shallow for all these people talking physics.”

“My physics are flawed.” She pulled a pacifier cord from her pocket and held it up. The pacifier dangled off it. “This is a person’s default state. OK, now pull it towards one side,” she instructed, because she was holding Alex in place with her other hand.

Rick obeyed.

“That is the state under pressure to be restrained. See what happens if you release it.” The pacifier swung to the other side and back. “My physics are flawed because it stays more on the unrestrained side until it slowly falls back to the default state.”

“Good lord,” said Rick.”

“It’s still attached, so it doesn’t actually fly to the next table when the pressure is off. And if the observer is also on the restrained side, she will see the outswing for what it is.”

“I think you’re saying taking the speedos off would have been further than this thing could swing, but I’m not sure. But you could have done like Alex,” he said, when Alex seized that fun thing that was being dangled especially for him. “And just interfered in how far it could go.”

“I have the same amplitude. No need. You want the bare facts, but they simply don’t become very bare,” she said in amusement and took a second to attach the clip of the cord to Alex’ shirt.

“Do you always get it right immediately?”

“Oh, no. It was 35 hours, wasn’t it? I thought the ‘I’m going to resign’ was happening on this side –“ Her hand followed the trajectory the pacifier had taken earlier. “So I was like, ‘we’ll see when you calm down’, but the decision had in fact already been made on the other side, so it was not going to change.”

Rick was too bemused to press on. “And how is your rowing?”

“My rowing has also significantly improved since I have a husband and child,” she said, referring to the vlog with Frederick.

“He mentioned his wife multiple times.”

“I noticed the counter.” She sipped her water.

“How was your rowing before?”

“I’d never done it before.”

“But you have now? How did you do?”

“I didn’t fall out of the boat. But I haven’t tried to get to the other side yet. I was mostly practising going straight.”

“I expect he forced you into a boat during those 35 hours,” said Rick.

“He forced me to go running at zero hour minus three.”

“That’s very bad for the timeline,” said Rick.

“Why?”

“People will say you forced him to resign after he forced you to go running.”

“Oh, like that. No. I wouldn’t wait three hours to do that. If I were so inclined, it would be no running and immediate resignation. Come on, I wouldn’t wait three hours for payback.”

“But you did go running?”

“Yes, I went running. The expectation that I would not, forced me to.”

“Other people call that flirting.”

“Fine,” Anna Margaret said with a shrug. “It probably was. I was concentrating on completing the run.”

“Was there any cooling down?”

“What?” she cried, but with a laugh. “You won’t give up, will you? There were two bodyguards. I was dead. And it was not in the framework.”

Rick tilted his head as if to say that made sense. “I appreciate you sitting down with me to show us the perspective of an athlete’s wife. It’s not easy for the partners and family, because they’re not allowed in the Village and sometimes they’re relatively far away, like you.”

“Yes, I have to wait until he comes out here, really. Theoretically I could travel into Paris, but I would need to take Alex, because we are breastfeeding every two to three hours. More like two, usually. You can’t take a car into Paris, so it would have to be the train. And if I take the train, it’s only me and Alex. In theory, I could. In practice, I won’t.”

“And if you’d taken a hotel in Paris?”

“I still wouldn’t be next to the Olympic Village or the rowing course. Besides, if I’d come by train, just imagine what I’d have to drag along. The pram, the bouncer, the travel cot, and ideally a suitcase full of my gala dinner outfits, because people think I have to officially represent on a private holiday as well. But I left the dresses at home.”

Rick laughed. “I’m with you on the baby stuff. Some people just don’t realise. You forgot the car seat in case you need to take a taxi. The inflatable baby bath.”

“What? Inflatable baby bath? We’ve been using a laundry basket. But your wife must have come by car as well, because she took a sewing machine.”

“Which means she also has to travel quite a bit on public transport if she wants to come and watch.”

“I’m here on a private visit, not to work or represent, so I will avoid that if I can.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaTue, 22 Jul 2025 12:35:34 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131601,131601#msg-131601 More Titles ~ 8 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131601,131601#msg-131601
Chapter Eight



Anna Margaret walked back. This time when she passed the supermarket, she actually had her hands free. This morning she had been carrying Alex in his carrier, but now she was pushing the pram and could stop to buy some food.

Someone had been out to buy something yesterday or Isabelle had brought everything from home, because they had had something to eat, but now she considered buying some of the extras such as fruit. If they needed anything else, she would see that later. Nobody had communicated anything about food so far. She had been flexible like this until she had moved in with Frederick, who was a lot more organised, but now she could do both: plan and wait.

She ran into three of the children in the supermarket. They greeted her enthusiastically and looked quite excited; normally they did not get to do these things. When she looked into their trolley, she found she had to give them a little shopping lesson. The fridge in the villa was normal, meaning not big enough to store three days’ worth of food for so many people.

“All right, who is doing the cooking tonight, what are we eating and who threw these things in the trolley?”

It turned out that Florian had the money, Murielle had a sort of menu and Julian was just throwing random things in.

“This is not working,” Anna Margaret decided. “Get only things that we really need. Have you seen the fridge in the house? Yes, you have seen the fridge. You have taken things from it because boys your age eat all day. Do you realise that it’s the only fridge? So let’s make this part of the trolley for things that we could prepare right away and that don’t need to be stored in the fridge. And this part is for everything that needs to be stored cold for tomorrow morning and later. Put these back,” she said as she handed Julian three ice cream containers.

She looked at the meat. It was a lot. “Does the house have a barbecue?”

Murielle looked clueless. “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t it?”

“You chose barbecue meat.”

“I thought that would be fun.”

“Yes, well.” She looked at the pile of packages. “Phone your father and ask if there’s a barbecue at the house.”

“How would he know?”

“He rented it and he’s the only normal person in this family, so if anyone knows, it’s him.” She sorted through the rest of the items. Biscuits. If the children carried them themselves, she would leave it to Philip and Isabelle to say something about those. “Move aside, we’re blocking the aisle,” she said automatically when other shoppers appeared in her peripheral vision.

She had parked Alex so they could pass, but of course they wanted something from right behind him. She excused herself in French and moved the pram. “Murielle, are you phoning your father yet?”

“Dad, is there a barbecue at the house?” Mariel asked over the phone. “We wanted to barbecue, but someone said the house might not have one. Wouldn’t that be strange? If there’s no barbecue we’re going to have to put all the meat back. Who? Oh, Anna Margaret.” She listened for a while. “He’s going to have a look,” she said to Anna Margaret.

The boys were getting impatient. They did not like to stand around for so long.

“Fruit?” Anna Margaret suggested to them. “Always good.”

Alex sensed their impatience. He too did not like it when nothing was happening. Not in the least because he could not really see anything but bright supermarket lights above him.

“Dad says maybe to add a disposable. What’s that?” Murielle reported.

Anna Margaret lifted Alex out of the pram when he began to make dissatisfied noises. “I’ll walk around for a disposable. Why don’t you get some salads or something?”

“Oh yes, Dad said he would send Aurelie and Charlotte over?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned. “Why?”

“Because they really wanted to come and Mum wouldn’t let them go unsupervised, but now that you’re here, it’s fine. Apparently.” Murielle walked down the aisle with the trolley.

It was a pity that she could not use her phone because she was pushing the pram with one hand and holding Alex with the other, but she would really have liked to phone Philip to ask why on earth he thought she did not already have her hands full. And why people at home still thought she had time to meet all kinds of important foreigners.

Anna Margaret found the disposable barbecues before anyone returned to her with fruits or salads. She headed for the fruits and vegetables section and found that fridge management was again necessary.

To do Murielle credit, she had got ingredients for a self-made salad and not a pre-made one, but by the looks of it, it was enough for two days at least. It might work in the fridge if they ate all the meat right away, but the boys had got strawberries and grapes and berries and a watermelon, so all of that together might not.

And then two more of these agents of chaos were coming over. They would be here in less than ten minutes. “Some bread?” she suggested as she removed one container with grapes from the trolley to trade them for apples.



The youngest two, fourteen and seventeen, were bouncing around in excitement. Anna Margaret had not been able to wrap up the shopping before they got here. Somehow she had thought that cruel. She was happy to see Philip was accompanying his daughters, though.

Philip did not seem surprised at the insane amount of food that was already in the trolley. He looked as if it was normal – which it might be for a family of seven.

“Alex is going to learn this a lot younger,” she said to him. “Why did you bring them as well?” She looked at the two youngest girls.

“We trust you.”

“You’re going to let me handle it and you’ll just follow us around?”

“We trust you.”

“Can I give you orders?”

“Yes.”







After they had bought enough for dinner and returned to the villa, they relaxed in the living room. In true young adult style the children dropped the shopping bags off in the kitchen and lay on the couch to catch up with social media. They showed it to Anna Margaret, who thought she had done enough as well.



@Watcher88
So I’m watching German TV and they’re actually saying Frederick is GOOD? Amazing how ZDF knows everything about him and RTA doesn’t?

@YeahYeah
Our media: “We couldn’t change the schedule.”
German TV: Knows the baby’s name, where he was born, and what Frederick’s split time was at 1000m.
What exactly are we paying our license fees for??

@ZDFFanatic
The way German commentators talked about Frederick—so much knowledge and genuine respect. Meanwhile our own channels pretended rowing didn’t exist today. #WakeUpRTA

@TabloidReader
I feel like our tabloids should write an article on how their marriage failed because she was not in the boat with him.

They had a giggle over the last one.

“Shouldn’t someone unpack the shopping, though?” she tried. “Or set up the barbecue?”

“This is more fun. And I’ve got to do Instagram,” Florian realised. “I’ve got some photos of today.”

“Someone saw us at the supermarket,” said Julian. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad? Why are people reporting on us now? They don’t do that at home, do they? Because I never noticed.”

“Are you ever in a supermarket?” asked Anna Margaret. “People comment on things they’re not expecting. Or maybe they’re trying to prove that I am indeed married to Frederick. If I wasn’t married, I wouldn’t be shopping with you.”

But she was wondering how this would affect the coming days. Would there be people trying to spot them in the supermarket next time? Or even the next time at the rowing stadium? She would not mind other tourists and spectators, but the media would be intrusive.

She had watched Florian retreat to his bedroom, Murielle take up his spot on the couch immediately and Julian still engrossed in checking social media. She checked the news herself. There was a brief article on Frederick winning his heat, but it was nothing more than the bare facts. No praise, no predictions, only a mention of the quarter finals in two days. Not even that the race could be watched and at what time. She raised her eyebrows and grimaced.

The spokesmen had been busy, she also noticed, but their words had not trickled down the journalistic hierarchy yet.

Statement from the Office of the Prime Minister
In response to recent inquiries:
The Prime Minister did not and does not have authority to determine or influence the editorial decisions of national broadcasters, including event coverage schedules. Decisions regarding Olympic programming rest solely with the broadcasters.
The Prime Minister attended the rowing event as a private individual. She purchased her own ticket and was seated among the general public. As previously stated, this is a personal trip, and no official duties are being carried out during her time in Paris.
We kindly remind all media outlets to distinguish between official responsibilities and private family time.

Statement from the Minister for Sport
I have spoken with RTA regarding the absence of rowing coverage during the Olympic heats. They have assured me that this decision was based on long-established broadcast plans focused on disciplines with traditionally higher domestic viewership. However, I have made it clear that the public has a strong interest in seeing all of our athletes represented, especially when they are competing—and winning—on the world stage.
I’ve asked them to explore how they can be more flexible in the coming days. Our Olympic competitors deserve recognition, and I encourage RTA to reflect that in their upcoming coverage.
Finally, I want to add that both the Prime Minister and I are part of the official Olympic group chat used to share updates on competitions that we cannot personally attend. This direct line of communication helps us stay informed in real-time, although this communication is not visible to the media and was not used in previous Games.

Then she got up to see if anyone was seeing to dinner. Philip was in the kitchen. He could not fit everything into the fridge. “I told them so,” she said. “Who’s in charge of dinner?” Yesterday dinner had suddenly been ready after she had been nursing Alex and unpacking. She could not recall any chaos surrounding it, but of course the children had all been away then.

“Murielle?” he called.

She appeared with a sigh.

“You wanted to cook.”

“I don’t know how barbecues work.”

“You can make a salad,” said Anna Margaret, marvelling at the idea that someone who had no clue how barbecues worked could have come up with the plan to use them for dinner. “Your father will do the barbecue. Where’s your mother?”

“Napping.”

“I’d like to nap too.”

“Go,” said Philip. “We’ll call you.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaWed, 16 Jul 2025 18:17:34 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131588,131588#msg-131588 More Titles ~ 7 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131588,131588#msg-131588
Chapter Seven



The opening ceremony was that evening. The Chef de Mission had released the names of the flag bearers a few hours in advance and Frederick was not one of them, but his family had all known that.

People at home were surprised that he was not holding the flag. The commentators had explained that he was competing tomorrow and that it was team policy that anyone who was competing the next day, was free to stay in the village. Not everyone on social media agreed with that. Some things, they argued, were more important than your own goals. He, as a prince, had a duty to his country. He should have been there to represent them.

“But maybe he had not liked that the boat used for their country was not a luxurious yacht,” said one of the commentators as a joke.

“What kind of comment is that?” Isabelle asked, insulted.

Anna Margaret noticed only the public’s comments that were included in the live blog, which she had to follow in order to know which landmarks were shown on television. Given that they had to watch French TV, she liked to read a confirmation that she had understood it correctly.

They watched for a while until they got tired. Anna Margaret went to bed, Isabelle did too, but Philip had to stay up until the children and their escorts would come home.

The official Instagram account posted a picture that showed someone had been present at the opening ceremony, but it did not specify who. The mysterious family members had seen their country’s boat and had managed to capture it with all occupants waving in their direction. And clearly they had not been anywhere near the front rows, but among the non-paying spectators, which was seen as remarkable.



Today was the first race day: the heats. Anna Margaret was only a little nervous. Frederick had said he was in a favourable heat. He would very likely not have any problems winning it. She trusted his judgement.

She had got a ticket and would see how it worked in the stands. Frederick would not see her, among thousands of other spectators who were waving and cheering. The entire royal family showed up. Even the two babies had tickets of their own.

Anna Margaret was surprised to see Frederick’s mother, but even more surprised that her own parents had made the trip.

No cameras followed them anywhere. It remained to be seen whether any national media had bothered to secure themselves a place inside the stadium, but if they were outside, they were definitely discreet. And if any cameras focused on them in the crowd, they would be blissfully unaware of it.

They had to queue for security to get into the stadium and they did so with everyone else. Anna Margaret was glad Isabelle was behaving herself and not drawing attention to them by saying outrageous things.

They were probably being recognised anyway, because Charlotte was standing right behind a man with a blue and gold scarf when she announced that her battery was dead. “Mama! Can I put my phone in your bag? The battery is dead.”

“Does it get heavier when it’s dead?” Isabelle replied politely from two rows over.

“No, but I don’t want to carry it.”

“I wish you’d say that when it was fully charged.”

“Dad?”

"Yes?" asked Philip.

“Will you hold my phone?"

"How will you get in? Your ticket is on your phone."

Charlotte was crestfallen. "Do you mean I have to stay out here on my own?"

“Unless you run back to the house to get a power bank.”

Now that, Anna Margaret knew, was never going to happen, but perhaps Philip only wanted to scare his daughter. Either he could help her out or he would go back with her. Isabelle did not look particularly concerned about anything, so she should not be worried either.

"Dad! It's your job to carry a power bank."

"I have the nappies."

"Power banks are like nappies for teens. I really need one.”

“And you think it will mysteriously materialise in my pocket because you need one?”

“Yes. You know us. And you don’t want me to stay out here all alone. I’m too young.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, but stayed out of it. Perhaps she even admired Charlotte’s logic.

“I’m going to ask strangers for a power bank,” Charlotte announced.

“Good luck,” said Philip.

“I just know you have one!”

Another teenage girl stepped over to give her one. They conversed quietly and no doubt commiserated about unhelpful parents. Charlotte got through ticket control and returned the power bank. "Mum, I can't believe you would have left me out there!"

"You're no longer the baby."

"I am!"

Isabelle hugged her with Max in her arms. "Don't forget to charge your phone again," she whispered.

"Were you going to leave me?"

"No."

",Would you have stayed with me?"

"Yes."

"Would you have said I was the daughter of the queen?"

"No. We're in France. They don’t care."

"The niece of the prime minister?"

"Just charge the phone next time."



Anna Margaret could not hear if people cheered for Frederick specifically, but they might have. Most of her attention had been on little Alex, protecting him from the noise and the bustle. A couple had kindly swapped their aisle seats with her middle-of-the-row seats when they had seen her hesitate.

When the men’s single sculls were over, they got down from the stands and met up outside. “Thank you for coming,” she said to her parents. She had to give it to them; they knew when to show up and she was grateful.

Their country having only one boat across all the events meant that most people who had specifically come to see Frederick were now slowly coming out. She could see some stare at them, but the presence of so many well-known people probably put them off coming closer. Maybe they thought security would stop them if they came near, but inside the perimeter they did not have any.

One or two people took a photo with their phones, but from a safe distance.

Some of the family returned to the house because they were going to be visiting friends, her parents drove home, but Anna Margaret, Alex and Frederick’s mother sat down for a drink until he had finished cooling down and changing.

“I wish his father could have seen this. But then, if he was alive this wouldn’t have happened,” said Queen Anna a little sadly. “I’m very glad for Frederick that it all came to happen anyway.”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing now?”

“We are going swimming with Alex.”

“Oh, very good. Some time off together. I’m going to be driving home after I’ve said hi to Frederick. The next race is...”

“Tuesday, quarterfinals. Then hopefully on Thursday the semifinals and Saturday the finals. If he doesn’t come third somewhere, he’s up the day after, but otherwise there’s always a rest day in between.”

Frederick appeared at last. “Sorry,” he said. “The mixed zone. I had to answer a few questions, but I said I had a playdate with my son.”

“Don’t tell me RTA were there,” Anna Margaret said with a raised eyebrow. She had read nothing about it and although she had tried not to look it up specifically, she had scanned the headlines in the sports sections of news outlets. Nothing had given her the impression that any medium was particularly interested in rowing. She had also not seen any cameras out here.

“No, it was German TV. They complimented me on my perfect German,” he said with a laugh at his mother. “Thank you.”



Interested people had to watch foreign TV channels for any coverage of the rowing. Their own TV claimed that their planning had been made long ago and could not be changed to include rowing at the last minute, but they would broadcast a clip later. They were going to be at the swimming, because that was watched by more people.

Those who watched German TV not only saw Frederick race, but they also heard the well-informed German commentary. The commentators knew him, they had heard of him before, they had done their research, and the viewers heard things that contradicted what their own media had claimed.

After the race they also saw Frederick move through the mixed zone and politely answering questions. To the question what he was going to do now, he replied that he had a playdate with his son.

“Is your son here?”

“Yes, he’s here. He’s 4 months old and the rowing means nothing to him, but swimming with me does.”

“Were there any other members of your family here?”

“All of them.”

“We didn’t see them in the VIP stands.” ZDF had done their research properly and had already mentioned which family he belonged to and indeed that they had not been able to spot any relatives, but that surely they would be there.

“They had regular tickets.”

“Ah, no wonder they were hard to see. Are you surprised that there are no media from your country here?”

Frederick looked indifferent. “Their loss. It doesn’t affect me.”

“What do you predict for the next round?”

“Well, everyone who’s won their heat is pretty good, so I expect that to continue in the next round.”

“That includes you.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Do you expect more media attention in the next round?”

“To be honest, I don’t care. It doesn’t affect my performance. But now I have to go to my son before it’s his naptime.”



After they said goodbye to his mother, Anna Margaret and Frederick walked to the house. The rest of the family had already changed and left to visit friends of Isabelle’s. It was possible that the oldest children had not gone along, but they had been ordered out of the house anyway. It was quiet.

They changed into their swimwear. Thankfully Alex was still wide awake. He usually was. Anna Margaret swam laps in the small pool while Frederick played with Alex. After half an hour the little boy grew tired and a little colder, so they all got out and had a warm shower. Alex fell asleep after nursing and his parents had about half an hour to themselves.

Alex decided to sleep long by his standards: he opened his eyes after thirty-six minutes. Frederick had just got his shoes on to walk back to the rowing stadium where he could catch the bus back to the Olympic village. They made themselves a quick lunch before they set out. He would get hungry if he had to wait until he could make it to the food hall.

“Will the others be back for dinner?” he asked as they accompanied him as far as they were allowed to.

“I think so. They didn’t say they wouldn’t.” It was still early, because Frederick’s races were fairly early in the day each time. They would have plenty of time to visit their friends, even with it being an hour by car away. “I’m sure they would have told me otherwise. But we’ve just passed a supermarket, so I won’t die if they happen to be eating elsewhere.”

“But it wouldn’t be very considerate.”

“So they’ll be back in time,” she smiled. “You’re not going to worry about me.”



When she checked her phone after dropping Frederick off, Anna Margaret saw she had a message from her spokesman. Why had she not ordered RTA to show the rowing? She phoned him, because that was easier than typing on her phone as she walked. “That’s a nice question you got there,” she commented.

“Wasn’t it just!”

“I cannot order them to show what I should like to see.”

“Suppose you did! Then we’d get the question why you could.”

“And you know that.” He could have answered this himself, she was sure. “And to head off further questions you might receive: I was there, the tickets are less than 100 euros, which I paid for myself, they are still available for the next round if you hurry...”

Well, they had been directly after Frederick’s heat, when Philip had ordered everyone to buy the next ticket. To nobody’s surprise he had indeed been carrying a power bank, so even Charlotte’s ticket had been purchased.

“Who were at the opening ceremony?” asked Franky. “Someone was.”

“Isabelle’s children went there. You know, this is not really a private trip if you keep sending me questions,” she joked. “But did they wonder if I was there?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I watched a bit on TV.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaWed, 09 Jul 2025 08:25:23 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131578,131578#msg-131578 More Titled ~ 6 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131578,131578#msg-131578
Chapter Six



On her last afternoon in the office, there were more curious questions that her spokesman needed input on. They scheduled another coffee session before she would go home to pack for Paris. For herself it was mostly clothes, but Alex needed a lot more.

“Today we get to the interesting parts,” said Franky. “There were more that you’ve already given answers to earlier, so won’t repeat those. One. Was that really Prince Frederick in the vlog from the Olympic village?” There was laughter all around, although some people had not seen the vlog and were quickly updated by the person sitting next to them.

“Oh, man,” was all she said.

“Two. Why was Prince Frederick staying in the Olympic village and not a more luxurious hotel?”

“He’s there for the full experience.”

“Three to eight. That’s all about his casual appearance and was this allowed?”

“I’m glad you printed them out for me!” Anna Margaret – like the rest of the room – studied the list. “These people have very funny ideas. I don’t know what to say.”

“Nine and ten. Was it deliberate, to change his public image?”

“We don’t poll the public.”

“Eleven. How does the Prime Minister feel about Frederick’s casual and humorous interaction on the vlog?”

“I’m glad he’s enjoying himself there.” And she was glad they were all enjoying themselves here. She was sure her office did not get such ridiculous questions about work stuff. Either that or Franky binned them right away. He seemed to like this nonsense, though.

“Twelve and thirteen. What does the Prime Minister think about Prince Frederick joking about tattoos and the Olympic mascot? Did he really say he won’t get a tattoo because his wife objects? Is she that controlling?”

“Yes, she is that controlling,” Anna Margaret said dryly.

“Fourteen. Can Prince Frederick row faster if he grows a beard, or does facial hair slow him down?”

“Tattoos, no. Beards, no. Thank you.”

“The Prime Minister wouldn’t want Prince Frederick to significantly alter his appearance,” said Franky as he penned that down.

“Exactly.”

“I’m not expecting the volume of questions to decrease when you go to Paris,” said Franky. “I’ll communicate that you’re away. We can reach you, yes?”

“Of course. But you don’t have to, you know? Or do you now have contacts who expect you to continue to answer them?”

“I get your answers and then we decide whether they get your answers.”

In short, half of this was for his own amusement. All right, she did not mind.



“I have to say,” Anna Margaret said to a political reporter outside the building when she left. She had not seen them until now. They were not here every day, or she missed seeing them on her half days. “Politics never speaks to Entertainment, or what? I know how you all know my husband comes here, but I never understood how they didn’t all know – if you work for the same outlet.” But now she had read that they even admitted to having seen him. Either their Entertainment sections would know – and she did not rule out that they deliberately wrote something else – or there would have been some serious meetings about internal communication.

“Your private life is not one of our topics. And they’re on a different floor.”

“Makes some sense,” she agreed. But not much. She could see how Politics did not want to stoop to gossip levels. “I can see how it’s easier for Entertainment to write something without leaving the building, but now everyone knows the information can be found right there in the same building...”

“But you might not be as communicative about our topics if we dished the dirt on other topics,” sad the reporter.

“There is no dirt. But thank you.”

“When does your maternity leave end?”

“I’ll resume all my tasks completely after the summer recess.” It was interesting how with working half days she had really only missed going on trips. Everything else could be caught up with in the remaining weeks. “I won’t be here next week, by the way.”




Her spokesman had emailed her a few questions that had come in while she was driving to Paris. She saw them when she checked her mail there. It was all more of the same – what would she be doing, where would she be seen, who was paying for the trip, where would she be staying?

She had sent him a quick reply, although she was not sure he really needed that information to be able to craft up a nice statement. They were never going to give details about where she was staying, for one. She supposed he mostly emailed her to let her know what people were wondering about.


Statement from the Office of the Prime Minister:
In response to questions received: the Prime Minister has accompanied the Royal Family to Paris in a private capacity. She will not be undertaking any official duties or appearances during this visit, nor is she attending Olympic-related events in any formal role. As this is a personal trip, her schedule remains flexible, and her presence is guided primarily by family commitments, including the care of her son. Further details will not be disclosed.



The pubic seemed to get it. The media, less so. Although most grudgingly seemed to accept that there was no scandal or failed marriage, they still did not quite grasp what everyone was doing in Paris and where they would go. The concept of a private visit was really difficult. Or perhaps it was the combination of a private visit and a public event.

They simply did not know if there was anything to cover. The Olympics, yes, but most were still cautious and reserved about Prince Frederick’s participation. It seemed they did not want to give it too much positive attention, in case nothing about it was going to be positive. Giving it too much negative attention, they were finding, was not being appreciated either. The major media players had settled for neutrality.

But they did not quite know how to fit the Prime Minister’s trip to Paris into that neutral perspective. Was she seriously going to watch? Was it a reaction to the doubts that still lingered? Did she feel compelled to attend?



Official Statement from the Royal Family
The Royal Family has travelled to Paris to support Prince Frederick during the Olympic Games. This visit is undertaken in a personal capacity and no official appearances or formal engagements are planned during their stay. Crown Prince Florian already travelled to Paris earlier to represent our country at a formal dinner, which Her Majesty Queen Isabelle was unable to attend because of the care for Prince Maximilian. Prince Florian is expected to join his parents for the rest of his stay.
The family’s schedule remains flexible and is primarily dependent on Prince Frederick’s as yet unpredictable competition schedule and the needs of the two babies in the family.
They wish all of our athletes the best of luck.


And then Anna Margaret got more questions from her spokesman. “Nooooo!” she cried. Franky must be thinking she had nothing to do here if she could send very short emails, but there were still clothes to unpack and a house to explore. And meanwhile Alex was lying on her bed trying to nibble at his toes.

Does the Prime Minister get a free trip with VIP access, luxury stay and staff, but no duties? How much is this costing the taxpayer?

She sent Franky a quick email. Don't answer. They're not going to believe it anyway. They may find out tomorrow.

What do you mean?

We’re not in a hotel....We’ve bought tickets for tomorrow’s race online...I’ve already heard two children fight over the upstairs bathroom....Someone ran into the house dripping wet because she forgot to take a towel to the pool...This house was already in chaos half an hour after arriving. This is not what people think. Even if I were to make a video (I won’t!) they would say it was staged. There’s no point in correcting people’s assumptions with an official statement.

Isabelle came to see why she was sighing and read the exchange. “I’ve got this,” she said.

“How?”

“You’ll see.”

“How?”

“Just live. I’m very glad you didn’t write it was me who forgot her towel.”

“They would think you’d have your personal pool boy to dry you off.”

“To hand me my towel,” Isabelle corrected. “Personal pool boys drying you off are rather scandalous. Tell him I’ve got it under control.”

Isabelle says she’s got it under control.

“This chaos?” Anna Margaret wondered.

“This is not chaos. This is standard with six children. By the way, my father went to Rio in an official capacity and he was criticised for it as well, because he visited too many events and stayed away too long. You can’t win either way. For women it’s even worse, because we would be expected to bring a different outfit for every appearance, even if they were just one hour apart, and they would expect us to pay about a million in wages for hairdressers, drivers, stylists, luggage bearers, you name it, for just one week.”



Anna Margaret had gone to the rowing course because it was the last training day, assuming that there would be fewer people there than on competition days. The opening ceremony was that same evening as well, so people might already be heading into town. The children had received permission to go into Paris and Isabelle and Philip had gone for a walk with Maximilian to explore the surroundings.

Even though nothing was happening yet at the rowing stadium, you could still have a drink there and look around in the plaza. There were enough people doing the same not to feel out of place. She had wandered around, had a drink, and wandered some more. In the meantime athletes, officials and volunteers had come and gone on buses. She knew Frederick was somewhere, because he had texted her that he was. Of course he could not text her from the boat, so she decided to sit down somewhere to wait for him, being the cool and collected and not at all desperate wife that she was. But she was a little fidgety now that he was nearby.

Someone called to her from a surprisingly nearly full terrace. “Anna Margaret, I only ever see you alone. You must not really be married to my brother.”

Anna Margaret saw Isabelle. “I can’t believe you would shout something like that across a full terrace.” She was almost horrified – not only at what was being said, but also at who was saying it. Either Isabelle was thinking no one knew her here, or she did not care. And she was supposed to be on a walk, not be here.

Isabelle waved that away. “Nobody understands us here.”

“Oh, you think? We’ll be reading all about it tomorrow. I saw licence plates.” Those people would not all be around, but they might be. Why else would they already be in town? There was nothing else to do in this small town. Which might explain why Isabelle had already given up exploring it, she realised.

“Well, if you don’t want to read again that you’re not married, you should give him a public kiss when he gets here.”

“Yeah. Really.” Anna Margaret tried to see how she could navigate the pram past other tables. It was difficult. She had indeed wondered what to do when she saw Frederick and there were people around who might know them. After that interview and all the fuss especially. Would a real kiss solve anything if some people were convinced their marriage was fake? They would simply think it an act. “How does your brain work?”

Isabelle shrugged. “Or you could go home right now and avoid a kiss and I’ll tell him you can have the house all to yourselves tomorrow afternoon if you want a conjugal visit?”

Anna Margaret had no idea what to reply. At first she simply stood there. Then she shook her head. ”Queens don’t say such things.”

“Sisters-in-law do. We’ll look the other way and Alex has seen it all before, I presume. But it might all be easier if you came to sit at our table, rather than stay there and make the spectacle of yourself that you don’t want to make.”

“You’re evil. Can I move out of our accommodation and get a hotel?” But there was a smile.

“Not a chance,” Isabelle said cheerfully. She stood up and got Anna Margaret an empty chair from another table.

There was a slight moment of interaction with the people at that other table that gave Anna Margaret pause. She was sure they had let on that they had understood everything.

Frederick arrived not long afterwards. He had been texted where they were. Anna Margaret had not added anything about a specific greeting method, nor about the fact that probably half the terrace knew who they were. She had simply sat there, half resigned, half panicked. There was no way she could wait until tomorrow. She needed to see him today.

He stood exactly where she had stood and gestured at the side of the building while looking at Anna Margaret. She was not the only one who understood. Isabelle half rose from her chair. “Frederick! You can’t!” she cried, her tone a mixture of resignation and amusement.

Anna Margaret rose before Isabelle could stop her, dropped Alex in Philip’s lap and made her way out of the terrace. It was easier to navigate the chairs and tables without a pram and she quickly walked to the side of the building where Frederick and she would be out of sight. She had no idea about the happy smirk on her face.

They returned looking rather stoic to hide the happiness they felt.

Frederick greeted his sister with a kiss and Philip with a handshake and then he took Alex from Philip. Isabelle procured another chair from somewhere and lingered just a little too long at that table as well. Anna Margaret could see some communication going on there, but she was really too preoccupied watching the two men in her life. Alex was thrilled to see his father. He smiled and kicked his legs. She envied how he did not have to worry about anything, but how he could simply show his joy, whereas his parents were so uptight that they had to step out of sight to hug.

Isabelle looked very pleased with herself. She ordered more water for everyone and lifted her own son up to nurse him. Anna Margaret wondered if it was time for Alex as well. She might as well try now that she was sitting down.

“How did it go today?” Philip asked Frederick. It was the first he had spoken, as far as Anna Margaret knew. He might have said things to his wife under his breath.

“Felt good.”

“Are you going to watch the opening ceremony?”

“Maybe a bit on television.”

“They haven’t released the names of the flag bearers yet.”

“I think they already needed to submit them. I said no. Are you going to watch?”

“The children went into town to watch. They’ll be somewhere along the route.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Anna Margaret wondered. She looked down at Alex’ contented face. Hopefully it would be at least twenty years before he wanted to go into Paris on his own.

“A bit,” he admitted. “But they’re together and they really wanted to go.”

Frederick had placed his hand on her leg at some point. He had only removed it briefly to refill her glass with water.

Alex was never a long drinker. He was never a long sleeper either – he was generally only out for half an hour after nursing and then he was back to wanting to be in on everything.

Philip whispered something in Isabelle’s ear, which made her laugh. “Oh, yes. Frederick, we’ll be out tomorrow afternoon after your race. You can come over for a swim.”

“Why can’t I swim while you’re there?”

“Because your wife didn’t like the term conjugal visit.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

Isabelle and Philip had loaded Max into his pram and got up. Isabelle leant down to give Anna Margaret a hug. “Enjoy a few more minutes of private conversation. Just don’t talk about me; half the terrace can understand you.”

Anna Margaret’s mouth fell open. “And yet you...”

Isabelle squeezed her a little tighter. “All for a good cause.”

Anna Margaret had not been paying attention to her surroundings, so she was extremely surprised when a family of four said “good luck” when they passed their table a little later.

“Thank you,” said Frederick. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Sorry about his sister’s behaviour,” said Anna Margaret, who could still cringe. “We actually get along fine.”

“What did she do?” asked Frederick.

“She was having private fun by pretending not to know there were people who understood what she was saying, but I bet she knew exactly whom to ask for empty chairs – and not in French or English.”

The woman of the family confirmed that.

Frederick rubbed Anna Margaret’s arm in sympathy.

They were not the only countrymen. Three more small groups did the same, presumably after they had seen the first ones. Anna Margaret was touched. And she felt vindicated. Ordinary people knew, just like she had said. She squeezed Frederick’s knee. He had not needed people to be behind him, other than his relatives, but it was nice all the same. He smiled back at her.



@accidentalfan89
She was right. Ordinary people will see us, she had said, and ordinary people were seeing them.
The family just did their own thing. They ordered water, nursed their babies and chatted. Maybe they were unaware of the number of familiar licence plates in the car park, but there were a couple of countrymen and women around, quietly and hesitantly showing our support without wearing national colours, as if we first wanted to see what this was all about before we made a commitment.
Just ordinary people allowing them to do their own thing.
And by doing so we got all the answers.
Tomorrow we’ll show up in blue and gold.
#Frederick #Rowing #NoMediaNeeded
]]> Lise A Novel IdeaThu, 03 Jul 2025 08:26:27 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131568,131568#msg-131568 More Titles ~ 5 (1 reply)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131568,131568#msg-131568
Chapter Five



The assembling of the furniture had been taken care of in three hours and had cost her 300 euros. Everyone had contributed in his or her own way, after all, even the girl who had mostly spent her time entertaining Alex and then arranging the tables and chairs in a welcoming way.

Anna Margaret had taken pictures for Frederick and sent them.

Where did you get all those people from? he texted.

People from the office. I paid them.

Of course. Thank them from me.



The Royal Family’s Instagram posted a video that quickly went viral. The Queen was sitting in the gardens, presumably at the Palace. A building could be seen in the distance between the blossoming flowers behind the Queen. She was wearing jumpsuit or perhaps a trouser suit in the same colour as the flowers. It was unclear whom she was facing – that person remained out of sight.

“There was some uproar about that ‘test’ that I subjected family members to, so let me explain,” said Queen Isabelle into the camera. “We noticed that people didn’t really understand it.

“At the time, it was not my brother who told me he was going to abdicate; it was the Prime Minister. Obviously, I had to speak to her about that.

"I asked her if and why she had forced him to abdicate," said Queen Isabelle, "but I found she hadn't and that she defended his choice and also that something had happened between them. I didn't know what it was -- friendship, attraction, understanding -- but I needed to know.

“If my brother was abdicating, I was going to be the queen and both as a sister and a queen I needed to know what was going on there. I needed to know that, if there was something going on there, it was going to end well. Anything they decided, whoever took the lead, was going to have a serious impact on my life and that of my children, so it was vital for me to get to the bottom of it.

“If she had forced him for the wrong reasons. If he came to regret his decision. If continuing would have made him less unhappy than seeing my family fall apart, but she had persuaded him he was worthless at it. If she had seen it as a way to further her own goals. Things like that could have made it go wrong.

"You have to be certain. My father, King Henri, during whose reign she was appointed Prime Minister, was never very complimentary about the Prime Minister, because she never responded favourably to compliments. So I didn't really have a good idea about her beforehand, other than that, and that my brother had said she had given him a hard time over his wish to resign and he knew I would too, so he preferred to let us give each other a hard time. I’m not sure why he thought that,” Isabelle said angelically politely.

“But I found, when I was speaking to her -- and I wasn't being very gentle, I have to say -- that she could hold her own but that she was actually a nice girl and younger emotionally than I had expected. I mean, she came across as sincere and romantically innocent.

“That was all very well in private, but could she hold her own in company? Because he hadn't abdicated yet. So I added some extra invites to a barbecue that I was already hosting in my brother's name -- because I was already doing things in his name anyway -- to see how they would hold up if our entire family were there, as well as her parents and colleagues. Yes, maybe that was cruel. But if, for example, you can't even speak to your crush without stammering or you sit in his lap, you need a serious lecture. And it was possible that there was no crush at all. So we needed to see what this was all about as soon as possible."

The Queen smiled. "I saw my brother make his usual disinterested appearance -- in a tracksuit. This was one of the most cruel parts, because I know he's less comfortable in a suit, but I told him to change... and who was coming. And oh my, did he look alarmed! But he changed and then he was doubly uncomfortable, but that is what we need to deal with many times in our lives. I could not help her father going to talk to him, but so much the better: let's pile on the discomfort.

"I did not do this for fun, but I did feel inspired. And then the Prime Minister arrived, late and underdressed. Well, she clearly came straight from work and her mother thought she was underdressed, but it told me a lot.

“She knew I was going to test her and she came as herself, not as a dressed-up version eager to impress. Then she joined Frederick and her father and it was brilliant. Her father was clueless, Frederick was all tensed up and willing to die, and she was not having it. That's when I knew." She folded her hands.

"I knew then that she knew he could behave differently -- and that she was not going anywhere until he did.

"And he did. I still didn't know if they were an item, but I could see they were going to be if they weren't already and that they should be.

“I have to add that my brother does not have any official royal duties anymore and as such he is not required to be visible. His wife is, but he is not. The reason I may appear at a dinner and she may not, while we both have babies of the same age, is that she has a full working day, whereas I could rest all day in preparation. And either someone nurses two babies who want cluster feeds, or the other has to step out of an official dinner or interview. The babies’ fathers can’t breastfeed."

She smiled. “Thank you for taking the time to listen.”




In the morning it was raining. Usually Frederick and she would then choose to exercise indoors, so she did some work on the ergometer until Alex woke up. She checked on him after every interval. Then she fed him, set him in the bouncer and rowed some more.

Because she had a meeting out of town in the morning, a car was going to pick her up. It was, she had decided, something she could take Alex to, so Alex and all his necessities were loaded into the car.

Her spokesman rang when they were on their way. “I’ve got some more questions.”

“About where I am?”

“No, but that is going out as well. Funnily I think we’ll hardly get any questions on that. This is about the Royal Family’s Instagram?”

“What did they do now?”

“They posted a speech – or monologue or interview without interviewer – on it.”

“Really?”

“You didn’t see it this morning?”

“I was on the rowing machine,” Anna Margaret defended herself. “As well as showering, eating, doing laundry and doing all that for a baby. Oh yes, and making myself presentable because I have to go somewhere. I can’t check everyone’s Instagram. Not that I ever do when I do have time.”

“I can’t say I did until I saw we got questions on it. Anyway, want me to fill you in or do you want to watch it and call me back?”

“Fill me in. If it’s not clear I can always watch it anyway.”

“The Queen explained the test.”

“The one that Philip was talking about?”

“Yes, that one.”

“I don’t expect she lied, so let’s all start from the radical assumption that it was the truth,” Anna Margaret said with a touch of sarcasm. “Are any of the questions relevant to a prime minister’s functioning?”

Franky considered it. “Hmm. Maybe. Some are disguised as concern, but they’re basically just nosy. Basically, I think your reaction could be something like: the Prime Minister and Her Majesty Queen Isabelle sometimes cooperate and confer in order to carry out their duties in the best possible way. Which is of course the gist of what she said as well. But the barbecue and the implication that you have nursed her child throw everyone off the scent.”

“Skip the barbecue. That was last year. The breastfeeding is still ongoing and relevant.”

“Will do. And question from the office: will you have more chores at the rowing centre in the future?”

“Did I pay too much?” she laughed.

“They didn’t say that.”

“I’ll know who to ask if we need more help then. Thanks.” She returned her attention to the information about the people she was about to meet.


]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 27 Jun 2025 17:13:35 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131564,131564#msg-131564 More Titles ~ 4 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131564,131564#msg-131564
Chapter Four



Frederick had texted Anna Margaret last night that he had arrived safely. They had not phoned because he knew she was busy and when she was done, she thought he might be in bed.

This morning the texting had resumed. She received photos of the room, the apartment, the village, his breakfast and the bus ride to the rowing course. Then it had gone quiet, because presumably he was on the water.

She had not wanted to bother him with the outcome of the interview and she did not know if he had seen anything about it anywhere. This morning he had not referred to it anyway.

But they would soon travel there themselves. Philip had rented a house for the entire family. She was expected to come as well. They would be there the day before the competition started. Some of them would be in the stands. She had not decided if she was going to do that herself. That depended on the weather. She was not going to sit in the rain with a baby in her lap.

Frederick did a video call with her in the afternoon. “I’m travelling back to the village,” he said and briefly showed the inside of the bus. “Are you ready to hold a meeting at the rowing course?”

“No, that was just for fun. I didn’t put the tables together.”

“That might take a while anyway.”

“How...” She did not know how to phrase it yet. “I mean, should I find someone to do that?”

“Do you know someone who could?”

“I could ask.”

“OK.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

Frederick hesitated for a second. “Not in this case. I think I’ve done most of what I felt I needed to do anyway. If you do something now, it doesn’t mean that I couldn’t. But keep receipts if you buy anything.”

“How are things over there?” she asked, thinking she would not have enough time to buy anything anyway, considering that she was leaving for Paris herself soon. But it was nice to know she could help.

“The Olympic app group had a good time with that station photo. I’m now being circled in every photo just in case. Like in the photos of people who eventually spotted me.”

“Every photo?” She had been added to an app group on the information day to be kept up to date with the athletes’ results, but not much had been happening there yet. It was definitely another group than what he was talking about.

“Oh, whenever someone takes one and shares it. I’m even being circled when I’m not in it.”

“Oh.” She did not know how to interpret that, but he seemed to find it funny. “Are you having a good time then?”

“It’s all good so far. When are you coming over?”

“We’re leaving on Friday, but we’ll watch the opening ceremony from the house. You’re still not going?” Frederick had said that before and he had also let the team leaders know. The media had at some point started wondering who was going to carry the flag, now that he had come onto the scene. Would he replace the athlete they had all thought the most likely choice before? Frederick said he had made it clear that he was not going, because his first race was the morning after, but not everyone seemed to have got that message yet because the team leaders remained vague.

“Definitely not. It was even team policy until they realised it might ‘put us on the map’ if I did it.”

“You already put us on the map last year,” Anna Margaret commented. As much as a very small pond could be put on a map. She doubted that his abdication had been front page news anywhere.

“My roommate and I are both staying in the apartment. Team policy. Maybe they’ll wait until morning to say so.”

“Don’t be swayed.” She was all for making it through to the quarter finals right away. He would have to be among the first three in his heat. In the quarter finals he would again have to be among the first three finishers to move to the best semi finals. Finally, he would have to finish among the first three there to move to the A final.

Not finishing among the first three somewhere made things a little less predictable with regard to his final ranking, so they had simply agreed that doing that was not an option. Jeopardising this smooth progression by attending the opening ceremony was therefore also not an option.

“I won’t. Rick and I are serious people.”

She had met Rick on the information day, along with all the other athletes. He was also not very young and also competing in a somewhat exotic sport – archery. Frederick and he had some things in common, but their family backgrounds could not be more different. She did not know if he had struck her as particularly serious, but he had certainly not been particularly impressed by anyone’s status.

“You should check his vlog tomorrow,” said Frederick.

“Why tomorrow?”

“Because he’s still editing it. He’s got his ranking rounds.”

“Are you going to be in it?” She could hardly believe it, but maybe he meant he could be seen in the background, sitting on something he should not be sitting on.

“We’re in the same apartment, so yes.”

“More media to follow! I also had to look at your family’s Instagram.”

Apparently he followed that as well. “Oh yes, is Alex all right?”

“Yes, he was very good. He didn’t cry.”

“The previous time he only looked surprised and then really angry with the doctor,” Frederick said with a laugh. “Where is he now?”

Anna Margaret took the phone to Alex and let him look at the screen while Frederick spoke to him.



Isabelle had been asked at an event if she always did the vaccinations together with her sister-in-law. There was a brief video in a news article. “It was only the third vaccination round and I did one of them with my brother,” she had answered.

This had been met with amazement. “Your brother?”

“He’s the father of my nephew. I think it’s important for both parents to know how it works.”

“But wouldn’t a mother always want to be there?”

“We trust the fathers. We sent them together the second time, but my brother had a train to catch this time.”

“Oh, yes. Are you going to watch your brother competing in Paris?”

“Yes, of course we are going to watch him. What a funny question. But with a baby it’s difficult to predict our precise schedule.”

“Do you mean the Prime Minister’s baby?”

Isabelle gave the man a death stare. “You missed that I had a baby as well? Really?” And she was moved on by officials so nothing more could be said.



Even Philip was pulled onto the case. He was asked if he had witnessed any of those 35 hours, because that was evidently more interesting than his opinion on this new museum that was being opened. He was reported to have said that obviously they were not 35 consecutive hours and that live spectating had only started in the 36th hour, after his wife had interrogated the Prime Minister about the abdication and had found her ‘suspiciously understanding’. His wife had then subjected them both to a test, which they had passed.

When asked what that meant, the prince said that their family and acquaintances who had no clue, still had no clue after seeing them. And Prince Philip and his wife? They had seen that “she had a good influence on him” in subtle ways and that “YOLO has never been part of their vocabulary”.



The next morning at work, Anna Margaret had read the articles – even if you read only serious media, such things did not go unnoticed if the serious media included them and George was still sticking sticky notes on them.

She thought Philip had been surprisingly open, or perhaps he had not foreseen that his words would end up in an article. She was happy he had left out the hotel, the vomiting and the overnight stay at the Palace.

She phoned him. “Why is everyone now running with those random 35 hours?”

“Do you mean you didn’t time them with a stopwatch?” he asked.

“Oh, please. You have no idea how many questions we got about this matter.”

“We got them too, but our spokesman usually declines to comment.”

“And you didn’t. But didn’t you know they would publish this?”

“I might have suspected.”

She suspected that he might have suspected, yes. “I’m glad you left out that I vomited and he put me in his bed.”

“Oh, did he? He never said.”

“Oh, crap. This will now drag on for days.” She was beginning to think it might have been wiser to stick to silence, instead of doing that interview. “But don’t mention the details if they ask you anything again. And what is YOLO?”

Philip only laughed.

“And that other event I read about...” she said. “Well, actually there was also a video clip...”

“Oh yes that,” he said with a dangerous undertone. “Isabelle couldn‘t have been more annoyed and now she’s unleashed.”

“Unleashed? Is that a good or a bad thing?” She could understand the annoyance – it had been a particularly stupid moment – but she did not know how it was going to work out.

“Nothing you need to worry about professionally, I think. Not you. Some of the media, however, may not like it.”



She had asked around on her floor. “Do any of you have older children who are good at putting new furniture together and who’d like to earn some money?” She thought they might have more experience doing such things than her nephews and nieces. She could not see them ever assembling closets.

“I have some,” said her political advisor. “What do you need to get done?”

“At least ten things at the rowing centre. All the tables they delivered yesterday and then some things that were delivered earlier.”

“When do you need it to be done?”

“Either this afternoon or in a week and a half or so.”

“This afternoon?”

“I know it’s short notice, but I’m busy tomorrow morning and tomorrow afternoon I need to pack my bag for Paris.” Of course it could wait, but she was thinking about it now.

“And it would be at that rowing course?”

“Yes. I’d go there to let them in, if it’s going to be this afternoon. There are chairs and there is coffee, but not a lot else. If people can only come when Frederick is back, I won’t be there, but he will. Same when it’s too much for one afternoon.”

“But is there a building then?”

“Yes, with electricity, running water and Wi-Fi.” That was all working. First things first.

“I’m just trying to get a picture of it,” her political advisor apologised. “I’d never thought about it in that much detail. Why don’t you send around a note? You might end up with a few volunteers.”

“Good idea!”



“By the way, there’s a journalist outside asking everyone if we’ve ever seen your husband here,” said one of the policy advisors.

“If he or she asks the wrong people, there’s going to be another article about how he’s never seen,” Anna Margaret said with a sigh.

“Actually I asked what most people had said so far – and they said they had seen him. So she can’t now write that he’s never been here. She also wanted to know how he behaved.”

“Oh. How does he behave?”

“I don’t know,” the policy advisor said with a shrug. “Normal?”




Her note, not shared with a very large group of people, had yielded at least ten children over fifteen who were not on holiday or working summer jobs this afternoon. It remained to be seen how many of them were actually useful.

She decided quickly: she would be working from there this afternoon, instead of going home. Anyone who had helpful children could also stay there or come and pick them up again at five o’clock.

She quickly walked home for lunch and loaded Alex’ things and a toolbox into her car, got something to drink at the supermarket and took care that she had some cash in smaller banknotes.

Interestingly, none of the staff she had shared the note with had left it to their spouse to take the children there. They were all too curious themselves – and with the boss approving of it, they had not seen any harm in leaving the office. There were enough others who had stayed behind to hold the fort.

Most of them wanted a tour, so after observing the youngsters getting to work, she took whoever wanted to through the building and outside. But not around the course. It was close to 5 kilometres and not accessible yet everywhere.

Someone asked what sports could be done there. “Well, rowing and maybe other water sports if they ask. There’s also been interest from – gosh, I forgot what it’s called, but they were going to use the path around it because there’s no car traffic. It’s supposed to be used, yes, but not supposed to be claimed.”

“Why the fence?”

“That’s mainly to restrict access to the waterside for safety. You don’t want to row over someone’s dog or child who went swimming. The idea is that all people who come here for an activity are registered and that they only have access during a specific time slot, so that people coming to row and people coming to swim cannot be on the course at the same time, for example.”

“He’s thought about this.”

“He has,” she agreed.

“Can you swim here?” asked someone else.

“I’m going to when all the workmen are done,” Anna Margaret said. “It looks very inviting. But not when there are any boats, unless we’ve agreed to stick to different sides. I’m sure there are going to be many possibilities eventually.”

“Do we have any other rowers?”

“Other than in Frederick’s family? Not yet. So if anyone is interested, stop by in a week or two.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 20 Jun 2025 07:46:59 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131557,131557#msg-131557 More Titles ~ 3 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131557,131557#msg-131557
Chapter Three



Anna Margaret briefly read over the list and then carried it into the coffee room with Alex in his bouncer. He was not going to get coffee, or even milk, only company and people to watch.

There were more people than usual interested in the list of questions. The room was packed. Even the ones whose specialty lay in other fields were now suddenly thirsty and eager for a break. “I’m glad I have such an enormous thinktank to consult when we get to the last question,” she commented, glancing at the assembled staff members. “Haven’t you given them a printout, Franky?”

“Ah, good idea,” said Franky. He ran off with his sheet while people got themselves a cup of coffee or tea and a seat.

Franky returned, handed out a few sheets so people could read along and opened his notebook. His assistant had a laptop. “First question. Is it really true that the Prime Minister’s and Prince Frederick’s relationship began after only 35 hours of knowing each other?”

All eyes were on her now. And these people all knew many answers, she expected, because she worked with them and they saw Frederick a lot. They would simply be interested in how she handled such questions. That would be a lot more interesting to them than the actual answer. But if they were also sympathetic at stupid questions, she would not mind their interest much.

“Can you collate all answers to similar questions into something unrevealing and unspecific?” Anna Margaret asked. “Because I’m pretty sure I already went over this point in the interview. I already said I did know him, but not personally.”

“That’s our job. Question two. Skip?”

“Skip,” she agreed. “Three as well. That’s all more of the same.”

“Question four. Does the Prime Minister think the rapid start of their relationship affected their public image?”

“Yes.”

“Five. How did the Prime Minister handle the intense media scrutiny that followed the announcement of the 35-hour courtship?”

“Coffee,” she said and there was laughter. “But I’m sure you could describe this meeting more respectfully. I’ve not actually noticed any intense media scrutiny. Nobody bothered me on my way to work or anything.”

“Six. Did the couple face scepticism or pressure from political or royal circles due to the speed of their relationship?”

“Skip. The time to ask that was a year ago.”

“Seven. Was the relationship actually planned or spontaneous?”

“How do you plan something like that?”

“Eight. Are there any details about how those first 35 hours were spent?”

“Officially, no. Unofficially, yes. And 35 was a random number. I don’t know what sort of details they’re after anyway. A timeline?”

“Probably placing a kiss at 32 hours and 17 minutes,” someone suggested.

“You were there?” she cried, feigning horror. They laughed again.

“Nine. Does the Prime Minister regret revealing the 35-hour detail in the interview?”

“Yes and no. Yes, because people are now taking this literally. No, because it was meant to indicate that we hadn’t had a secret relationship for months. But I don’t think you need to go into detail on this one.”

“I’m taking ten and eleven at the same time,” said Franky. “Because it’s really more of the same. Can you confirm if the 35 hours includes all the time on Zoom calls or just in-person meetings? Was the 35 hours counting sleep? Because how else could they get to know each other so fast?”

“How am I supposed to interpret that? Is someone really wondering if we stayed awake for exactly 35 hours?”

“Skip,” said Franky. “I thought it was just me. I don’t think we want to try and decipher that. Twelve. Are you saying the Prime Minister decided to marry Frederick after only 35 hours? Isn’t that irresponsible?”

“No, that’s not what she was saying.”

“Thirteen and fifteen. I should have put them together. Sorry about that. If their relationship was built so fast, how do we know it’s real and not a PR stunt? Is 35 hours a new political strategy—rush marriage to secure alliances?”

“I don’t play such games. Besides, we’ve been married for...I forgot how many months. If it was a PR stunt you’re a bit late to the party. And the wedding was private. Why do they let interns write their questions for them?”

“Fourteen. Was the 35 hours before or after Frederick abdicated? Could it be a timeline mix-up?”

“It’s so easy to mix up days if you’re counting hours, I agree.”

“And now we’ve got the top question of the day,” Franky announced.

“You left something off the list?” Anna Margaret asked suspiciously. “Is this why everyone is here?” She looked around and saw some snickering.

Franky grinned. “I’m going to display it onto the wall with the projector. The question is: is the following a realistic depiction of how it happened? And they added this conversation on X:”

@LogicLover87:
Anyone else wondering how SHE got to a relationship in 35 hours? Don't get me wrong, I love her way of talking, but a RELATIONSHIP?

@LogicLover87:
Considering that he always came across and stiff and unemotional and for months they had NO personal conversation, I don't think he talks. He only gives off silent non-creepy vibes. The PM’s bar for passion is really low.

@RoboRomance
King: I want to abdicate
PM: is that logical?
King: yes, we're going to be in a relationship
PM: is that logical?
King: yes, we're 37.
PM: you're so logical.
King: I hope you don’t want passion.
PM: I only want logic.
PM: Oops, baby.

@RoboRomance
Prince: We’re at the station.
PM: You need platform 5.
Prince: Do we say goodbye?
PM: If you want.
Prince: Goodbye.
PM: Goodbye.
Prince: Do we kiss?
PM: At the busiest place in town? Hell, no.
Prince: goes to sit on suitcase unnoticed.
PM: goes to somewhere else unnoticed.


The room died. And then they all looked at Anna Margaret, not quite sure how she was taking it.

She took it well. Except for nearly choking on her coffee, of which she had only started to take a sip to delay a possible reaction. That had been a bad idea. It was even worse than she had expected.

“But how do we react to it?” said Franky. “Or don’t we?”

“We never react to something like that. You just –“ She gestured around the room. He had done this on purpose.

“Sorry.”

“I’d never say ‘hell, no’. And, you know, there’s an information booth you can go behind at the bus station. But other than that, can we track their IP address? I’m fairly sure that’s the secret account of someone who knows me.”

“Are you saying this is how it happened?” Franky was a bit incredulous, as if he had suspected, but not trusted that it was near the truth

She fanned herself with her hands. “It’s almost right,” she choked out.

“The Prime Minister thought it a very amusing depiction of events,” said Franky out loud, as he penned something down.

“How is it not creepy to be told you’re going to be in a relationship?’ asked one of the younger female staff members.

“Because there’s a few hours between every -- fictional -- line. And Franky, don’t,” said Anna Margaret, just in case he was going to add that. It would only make people ask what happened during those hours. “The train station was the least accurate, but I can see how it follows from the first segment if you disregard any personal development in between. There was even personal development between the lines of the first segment,” she said for the benefit of the girl who still did not look convinced. “Trust me, it was not creepy.”


Official Comment from the Prime Minister’s Office: The Prime Minister and her office found the depiction highly amusing. They appreciated the effort at minimalist romantic fiction. Also, the Prime Minister appreciates people having actually looked at that station photo.



Anna Margaret was glad there was some actual work to do, too. Catching up on reading could become a little monotonous if it was all there was to do. But today she could go over the planning of the first visit abroad since having Alex and she thought that a little exciting. Louis, the Vice Prime Minister, had handled all necessary visits abroad in the meantime, but in September she wanted to take care of those herself again.

Alex would still need to come, she expected, which meant that Frederick would have to come too. It was best to plan for that in advance, rather than having to add them as extras a few days before. It was difficult to predict if Alex was still going to be nursing in almost two months. She had asked him, but he had laughed at the question. Ever since he had discovered laughing, he would do it a lot.

The man in charge of arranging the logistics of the visit sneezed – Alex laughed uncontrollably in his bouncer.

It was going to be increasingly impossible to have him attend meetings if he interfered in this manner, she realised, but it was also going to be increasingly possible to leave him with someone else. And so it would all sort itself out.



In the afternoon she had to be at their own rowing course. Some furniture was going to be delivered and Frederick had known he would not be there. She knew where it would have to be taken – into a room on the first floor – but not who was going to assemble it. Frederick had said he would look into that later. He had apparently done one desk downstairs himself and said it had not been too difficult, but given that everything else was still in cardboard it had probably taken too much time.

She had come an hour before the delivery time and taken a good look around. The last time she had been here was three weeks ago and things had started to take more shape since then.

Outside, workmen were still busy with finishing touches like the paths around the course, but while they were on a summer break others were putting up a fence all around it. Frederick wanted a fence for safety and because it was private property. Installing it would take a long time, however. On one side it stretched for a few hundred metres, but she could not see how far.

Inside the main building, only the necessary things were finished. The toilet had toilet paper and there was a functioning coffee machine. And a desk and a desk chair, in which she sat down. She had a special keyring that opened all doors, but she left the front door open as she waited for the delivery and wondered who she could get to assemble the furniture.

There was a risk in letting her handle this delivery, she knew and she hoped Frederick did as well. But he had asked her to do it and not someone else, so he would know she would think ahead. She did not want to bother him with these things while he had to prepare himself for his races, so she doubted – and sat exploring possibilities anyway. Students in need of money?

When the delivery came, it was indeed more boxes. The two men who delivered them carried them upstairs into the large space that overlooked the water on one side. As she had expected, they were not here to put everything together. They simply piled everything up and left again.

But at least the chairs were ready to use. Anna Margaret placed them in circles or in a row by the windows so the room looked inhabited. It was silly, because she had no idea who would come here before everything was ready. She took a photo and sent it to Frederick.]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 13 Jun 2025 15:48:01 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131541,131541#msg-131541 More Titles ~ 2 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131541,131541#msg-131541
Chapter Two



“I tried to explain, but it was hard,” Anna Margaret said when she went to pick up Alex after she left the TV studio. She had an inexplicable urge to defend herself before anyone even said anything. Philip and Isabelle might not have watched, but they knew where she had been and why.

“We saw,” Philip said drily.

It was a little worrisome that Isabelle was studiously lifting Alex up from his cot. Anna Margaret watched her more than she watched Alex – he would be fine. He was always fine here, in his second home. But Isabelle was evidently working on a response.

“Well, you’re repressed by nature and nurture,” Isabelle finally said.

“Repressed?”

“Ruled by reason, not emotion. You have never let yourself go, except for that one time you got pregnant.”

Anna Margaret’s mouth opened and closed again. She was even too stunned to reach for Alex. “You don’t even have to let yourself go to get pregnant.”

“Which is all good,” Isabelle continued, “but the media cannot expect soppy declarations of love or transgressions by the pool.”

Anna Margaret had to admit that Isabelle was right about those expectations. Such things were not likely to happen. “But I don’t think transgressions by the pool are something to strive for.” That mild transgression next to the information booth at the bus station was about the wildest she would get and she was content with that.

“Your scale ends way before the transgressions,” Isabelle nodded. “When I discovered that, I knew it was all right.”

“And your scale? Or a normal scale?” She felt like a little girl.

“Never mind my scale. Only Frederick’s scale is important to you.”

“And when did you discover this?” If she did not know Isabelle did not drink, she might have thought her intoxicated.

“When you were just getting to know each other. We had informants.” She gave Philip a sideways glance.

Anna Margaret held up her hands to signify she did not want to be told about those informants – who they were or what they had said.

“I saw Frederick in the photo,” Isabelle said.

Anna Margaret took Alex, who smiled at her. “Should I have pointed him out?” She could not imagine no one had recognised him. He had been right there. People did not deserve to have him pointed out if they were blind. But yes, their not seeing him was similar to expecting someone to arrive in a sleek black limo and then not seeing him get off a bus. Expectations mattered.

“No. Let them think about what you said. It was the absolute truth. When they get it, they will see him.”

That was a relief. “But I still wasn’t there.” Some people would not rest until she had explained where she had been and when. “I wasn’t seen. I wasn’t married enough to say goodbye.”

“I had our Insta office remedy that.”

Anna Margaret did not use Instagram herself. The Prime Minister also did not have a whole office devoted to the Prime Minister’s official social media accounts. Someone occasionally did something with them, but she doubted that it was a fulltime job. It was all a bit vague to her. “How?”

“I took a photo this afternoon. It was only for our personal archives, but I decided to make use of it.”

“What did you take a photo of?”

“You were holding two vaccinated little boys. There’s a clock in the background.”

“How the **** did you orchestrate that?” Anna Margaret could not help herself. The clock probably indicated the exact time the train took off or something, proving that she could not be at the station because she had to be somewhere else.

“It was pure luck,” Isabelle said modestly.

“But then they will speculate why you weren’t there to hold your own baby.” It would never end.

“Because not in front of the camera means not there.”

“Exactly.”



Philip walked Alex and Anna Margaret to her car, because she had several things to carry. When his wife was not present, he had more opportunities to speak. “She laughed herself silly at the entire thing,” he said.

“I don’t know if it was meant to be funny. Actually, I’m sure it was not.”

“And those 35 hours...”

“I counted a night of sleep, because it would otherwise be even less. But at least it was a night spent in the same room.”

“If you can survive that...” Philip agreed. “Someone lost it at the creepy vibes, though.”

“No creepy vibes,” she corrected. “We even sat in the jacuzzi – in swimwear – and I knew he wouldn’t do anything.” She still felt the need to defend herself – why, really? They were family; they were nice.

“That must have been a fancy hotel room.”

“It cost a lot. I didn’t claim it as expenses, though. Anyone can request an overview of my expenses. I don’t know if they ever do.”

“If they can, they will,” was Philip’s opinion. “But if you pay for your own secrets, no one will contact the media about your boring expenses.”

“It was not a secret. It was classified security information at the time. I suppose now it isn’t anymore, but everyone has forgotten about it. They’re already writing enough about me without me dragging that up for no reason other than to justify why we got together.” Of course, should that period ever come under discussion for other reasons, she would have to say something about it, but not unprompted.

“Some of the media think we need them,” Philip said. “That we wouldn’t exist without them. But if we were really going to employ our social media channels to the max they would feel it. Isabelle is letting Florian explore this a bit. He’s our ‘Insta office’.”

They reached her car and she clicked it open. “It’s the same with sport, isn’t it? Some sports journalists think they have more relevance than athletes.” Anna Margaret had not really paid much attention until recently, but now she was personally invested and it bothered her.

“There are some serious egos there, yes.”

“And just because the big egos never paid attention to sports outside of the top three, anything outside of the top three is not a real sport and its athletes are not real athletes.”

“More or less,” he agreed. “They totally missed developments in this one sport and it can’t be their fault, because they know everything about sport. Therefore, rowing is not a sport.”

“And Frederick is not an athlete.”

“Doubly no. Do you want Alex in the front seat?” Philip had been carrying the car seat.

“Yes, please.” It was only a short drive, but she liked seeing him. “The egos are big fish in a small pond and they don’t even know how small it is.”

“Cross the border and they don’t even know our pond exists,” Philip nodded, strapping the car seat in while she tossed her bags onto the back seat. “Let alone who is who in it.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighed. “A lot of people overestimate our influence on the world stage.” She was always expected to tell leaders of much bigger countries what to do.

“Do you mean you couldn’t have got him a wildcard if you’d tried?”

“Don’t you start as well! But thanks.”

“Good night!” He waved and went back inside.



“I watched it, Anna Margaret,” said her father. He had evidently been lying in wait to see when she would get home, because the phone rang the minute she got in. He had still only got the number of her landline, or he would have phoned her the minute the next TV programme had come on.

“Thanks.” It was undoubtedly frustrating to him to have to wait so long, so she told herself to listen politely. She would much rather phone Frederick, but by now he might already be in bed. And she realised she should not thank her father before knowing what he was going to say. He did usually have improvements to offer, after all.

“Where was Alexander?”

“He was with his aunt.” She set the phone on speaker and began to unclip the straps of the car seat.

“You could bring him here some time, too.”

“You can’t breastfeed him.” And letting Isabelle handle one feed meant that she was bursting, when she leant forwards especially, but she sensed he would find all this too much information. He had always seemed uncomfortable with breastfeeding if they were visiting him. He had always needed to do something else at such a moment. It had never stopped her, however. Frederick had assured her there was nothing to see.

“Yes, well, breastfeeding. I don’t think you should have mentioned that on TV. It makes it look as if you don’t have your priorities straight. Isn’t it time to stop anyway?”

“No, we’re not going to stop. He doesn’t take the bottle.” Well, last time she had tried was two months ago, but his refusal still suited her fine. And it was all up to Alex anyway, not to outsiders.

“He will, if you don’t give him a choice.”

That sounded horrific to her. Starve her son for...priorities? That was never going to happen. She gave her son a kiss. “I certainly hope that’s not how I was brought up, because that’s cruel.”

“I don’t know. That was not my business. I’m just saying –“

“Dad. Don’t interfere. You know nothing about it.” She looked around to see if there was anything else she needed to take upstairs. It was late; she would rather not waste time going back for something she had forgotten.

“I know how it looks when you talk about breastfeeding.”

“You know how it looked thirty or forty years ago.” She trusted they had progressed at least a little bit by now.

“This hasn’t changed.”

“It’s a reality. Whoever cramps up hearing about it, should get used to it. Babies are humans. They need to be fed. The government advises breastfeeding. It does not exclude women with jobs from that advice. In fact, the law says employers must facilitate it. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m facilitating it for myself. No one else will do that for me, because I have no boss. Men who have problems with that ought to be ashamed of themselves because they clearly didn’t do their share when they were fathers with small children.”

Her father was at least never offended by rants. “I still think –“

“Dad. Women are not men. Babies are not dolls. Trust me, if I’d been sitting across from a man with such antiquated ideas earlier in the studio, I would have said the same.”

“Men with antiquated ideas are also a reality.”

“Unfortunately. So, they need to be informed and they need to be made aware that in real life, women who have had babies need to feed those babies. OK, Dad. You get the message. I need to go put Alex in bed now.” She had the landline on speaker, but she did not want to carry it all around the house. She would forget where she left it.

“There will be reactions.”

“I always get reactions. Good night!”



Reactions on social media were mixed. Some people understood her and were amused at how she had handled it. Some people did not understand her at all and were miffed at the lack of clear, spoon-fed answers.

Thankfully Anna Margaret was, for the moment, blissfully unaware of everything. Although she had done the interview to change some of the reactions, or to set people straight, she did not want to look anything up right now. It was time for sleep.



Anna Margaret tried to stick to the usual routines she followed with Frederick, but it was difficult when she had got home relatively late and there was no one to share the load with in the morning. She was not as experienced in running behind the stroller as he was and she did not run as long.

Then it was a shower, changing Alex into his day clothes as well, and breakfast, with no one having prepared any of the steps for her. But she did not complain. Least of all to him, of course. She was not going to disturb him with that while he had more important things on his mind. Later, when he was back, she might say she had missed him and how much easier it was if he was there, but for the time being she would have to deal with everything herself. And she could do it. It only took more time.



Most news sites ran an article on the interview, but one of them asked for anyone who had experience seeing the Prime Minister and her husband in the wild to share their stories or photos.

It was an interesting walk to work that morning after reading that, but Anna Margaret supposed nobody would be photographing her now, with no husband in sight. Seeing her might only remind people that they saw her now and then, but nothing else.

At eleven an article had been published that quoted two people who had been on the same bus. Julie, 27, had seen them, all three of them, because they had sat in backwards facing seats. She furthermore wondered why anyone would take a picture, now, because everyone would have seen them in the weeks and months before. Mo, 16, had seen them saying goodbye. He had known, because there was a photo of the previous Minister for Transport in his social studies book.

Columns and the like were what she always skipped during her first reading of the newspaper. She read the paper version at work, along with paper versions of some international publications. Now her assistant George had stuck sticky notes on every article that dealt with her. He never did that.

“Don’t make this a habit, George,” she said.

He gave her a look that said, well, don’t make it a habit to make people write about you. He was right, of course. But she was certain it would soon blow over. They could not persist in writing fiction forever.

Someone had even written a column about her and called her his secret crush. She sighed. Obviously the writer had never understood how she could be with Frederick, whom he described as bland, untalented and stiff. However, while he still did not understand the 35 hours, he had begun to wonder if there might be more to Frederick, given how he apparently supported his wife quietly by doing his share.

It was all very well that the writer seemed to be a fan, but even he had not done his research. She sighed. It was really not an impossible task to employ Google to discover the simplest of things, namely the Olympic qualification procedure.

She asked her communications staff to check Instagram. Of course someone had wondered why she had been holding two babies, but Isabelle had apparently been snapping away prolifically without her noticing it. There was another photo of a woman’s hand on a smiling baby’s belly and that woman clearly wore a wedding ring.

“And we all know, the Prime Minister doesn’t wear a wedding ring,” Anna Margaret said sarcastically. That would be seen as proof that their marriage was over. They had never had rings, though.

The staff member went back to the first photo in which her hands were visible. “No, it seems she doesn’t.”

“Why are we even checking this?” she sighed. This was such a waste of serious work time. There was a proposal for a work visit in September to look over.

“It’s very interesting, though. Some people just found out that the Queen changes her own baby’s nappies. Or at least they think that’s what it looks like.”

“Yeah. Back to work.”

Her spokesman rubbed his hands in anticipation. “There’ll be a list of questions we’ve received about your interview on your desk in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, no. It’s going to take you fifteen minutes to compile?” That sounded ominous.

“I’ve already been working on it for an hour, actually.”

That was even worse. She could imagine what some of those questions would be. “Looking forward to it. Is it a coffee moment?”

“Some are suitable for that, yes.”

“OK, make it a coffee moment.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 06 Jun 2025 06:30:37 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131535,131535#msg-131535 More Titles ~ 1 (no replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131535,131535#msg-131535This follows the story that is still on the board, but I had to update the date in this to 2024 :-) I have all these WIPs hanging around and this one is mostly finished now, though I keep thinking of more to fill it in with




Chapter One



It was tiresome. Just when she thought the stupidity over one thing ended, another topic surfaced. However, Anna Margaret had finally agreed to do an interview with a more personal angle. She had told herself that was only because it was tiresome and because she now had the time.

Of course she was going to work throughout the summer to catch up, because her maternity leave was going to be over afterwards, but the summer recess allowed her to spend some time on irrelevant things like an interview. And perhaps this reluctance to speak was going to harm her at some point. It was difficult to predict. She had decided to follow her instincts and not her advisors. Women in high places should not speak about their family life too much – even her father had always said as much – because it made them look soft and weak. Yet if she never wanted to speak about it, it made her look too cold.

“Today a large part of our Olympic team said goodbye as they departed for the Games.” A photo of people saying goodbye at the central train station was shown. “By train this time, because it’s so close, and of course it’s more environmentally friendly than flying. But your spokesman said you are not going to the Olympics, Ms Rendinger,” Marion began. “Yet you are the Prime Minister.”

Her office had been nagged about that, indeed. It was only after Frederick’s participation had become known that anyone had cared to wonder if she was going. A month ago nobody had thought about it at all. “I’m not going in an official capacity, no. The Minister for Sport will be representing our country, as has always been customary.”

“But you are going as a private person?”

“Maybe.” Well, she was here and at some point she might reveal something, but she found it more difficult than she had expected to come out with details about her private life when she had always tried really hard to impress upon everybody that her private life was irrelevant to how she was doing her job.

Yes, she was going as a private person, but they would want more details about her visit as a private person than if she were going as a head of government. And she could not yet give them those details.

“Your husband and you are not often seen together, so people were wondering if you were going there to support him,” said Marion.

Anna Margaret raised her eyebrows. It was happening early on in the interview. She would have expected a little more build-up. “We’re not often seen together?” In her perception they were seen every day by dozens of people. They were all over town. They ran. They walked.

But yes, she had been shown tabloid articles that suggested they must have split up because they were never seen in each other’s company. She knew where this rumour was coming from.

“May I remind you, that in the beginning of our relationship people were worried that they would see too much of us and that it would influence my job, and now people are worried that they see too little of us? And that certain outlets have been speculating on whether we were even still together?” Anna Margaret asked.

“Yes, but is this an unrealistic question? During every state visit, you’ve been receiving the foreign visitors alone, for example. Prince Frederick only attended dinners at the Palace when you did not attend. You never attended events at the same time.”

“Yes, that.” It was clever, she supposed, to bring up something vaguely professional and not something like social occasions like parties. They would think it might make her more inclined to answer. But there had been only a few state visits in the past few months. How could they think that meant anything? “And you think it strange that we did not always attend together?”

“People have questions.”

“People should think.”

“What should they be thinking?”

“They should think: am I really supposed to believe this nonsense I’m reading?”

“But was it nonsense? You weren’t ever together at the same events, were you?”

“Yes, we were.” She could name dozens of occasions where they had been together, from going shopping to their baby’s first swim. But such ordinary happenings were paradoxically enough never a measure of being together and such ordinary happenings had always gone undisturbed. She was loath to change that, so she did not want to name one particular occasion as an example.

“Even at official events,” she said. “Not everyone may have seen that, though. But let’s look at it logically. When half of these occasions occurred, I was pregnant. The other half occurred when I’d just had a baby. Some happened within my maternity leave and theoretically I would not have needed to attend at all. What could then possibly be a logical explanation for our not attending these events at the same time?”

“I don’t know?” said Marion.

“Oh, come on. It’s not that complicated or mysterious. When I was pregnant, we divided them up. I did the obligatory daytime events. Dinners are in the evening; my husband went to the ones hosted by his sister when I did not. The planning was always coordinated with his sister. The reason for my not attending was also given in more than one case. Due to fatigue, or something like that.”

Marion looked as if this was completely unexpected.

“There was always one of us there,” Anna Margaret went on. “And after we had a baby – nobody ever wondered where is the baby? It was all where is the husband? I mean, the media did not question my having a full-day programme without a newborn baby in sight, but they did question a two-hour dinner without a husband.”

“But it would be very unusual to have a baby present, so nobody will have wondered why he wasn’t there.”

Anna Margaret wanted to scream, but she had to remain cool and composed. “Which is odd. Politicians are humans. Their children are little humans who need to be fed, whatever else is going on. My son was usually there, behind the scenes. With his father, because that is his other primary caregiver, but his father can’t breastfeed him.”

“Are you saying Prince Frederick was present at all these occasions?”

She did not understand why this was such a dramatic revelation. “Well, he may have gone out for a bit here and there and not sat right behind the door at all times, but yes. This is so logical to me that I cannot understand why reporters would jump to such stupid conclusions. They knew I had a baby. But they could not make the connection between not seeing a baby and not seeing a husband. If I’d been a male prime minister and my wife had just had a baby, there would be nobody wondering where my wife was. They would immediately assume: with the baby.”

“People might have assumed you had a professional caregiver.”

“Why would I hire someone if I’ve already got the best I could get?” Anna Margaret reasoned. “Do people also expect male prime ministers to hire professional caregivers so they can take their wives to dinners? Why do they expect it from a woman? I’m very fortunate to have a husband who can adapt his schedule to mine most of the time so we can take care of our child together.”

“So that must mean you’re not going to the Olympics, because he will be too busy to share the care for the baby.”

That was again a very odd conclusion. “He will be busy, so I’m going to adapt my schedule to his. That should clear up any confusion.” But as she spoke, she wondered if it did. Some people were not that clever – and they had antiquated notions.

“But does that mean you are going?”

“We’ll find the best compromise for the three of us at any given moment.” She could not yet say where or when she would be there. They would not accept any deviations from any schedule she gave them, so she had best not give them that.

Marion looked confused. She clearly hoped to hear a yes or no.

“You may not see us, but he will see us. And ordinary people will see us, as they already do every week.”

“They do?”

“They simply don’t report on it. I see a lot of people, so they must see me too.”



“And how do you rate Prince Frederick’s chances?”

That, again, was a tricky subject. The prominent sports journalists in their country were convinced that his participation was a joke. They could not even be bothered to look up the qualification criteria or who had won the qualification regatta that gave access to the last few spots in the Olympic tournament. One had even suggested that she, of all people, had procured a wildcard for him.

It was a fine line between setting them right and sheltering Frederick from a sudden increase in interview requests. He had said he liked being able to prepare in peace and he had shrugged off the stupid comments in the media.

Anna Margaret folded her hands so she would not gesticulate in indignation if Marion was going to bring up the wildcard. “Don’t underestimate him.”

“Do you think he will do well?”

“Do you think he won’t?”

“Well, I’ve not really done my research.”

“Few people have done their research,” she sighed.

“But he’s not giving interviews.”

“He is not giving interviews to media who submit unintelligent questions,” Anna Margaret said with a shrug. “But it’s a bit late for intelligent questions now, because the team left today.”

“He was not at the station with the rest of the team.”

“Yes, he was.” She had dropped him off herself. Early, because she had had somewhere else to go.

“But nobody saw him.”

“He was there. He was even in that photo you showed earlier.” That was the most ridiculous part of all. He was clearly in the photo that accompanied an article that said he was not here.

The photo was shown again a few seconds later. “Where?”

“That’s a nice puzzle for everyone to figure out,” Anna Margaret decided. “But people should probably think a bit about the discrepancy between what they expect to see and what they actually see.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said.”

Marion was at least clever enough to know she was not going to get a better answer. “But again you weren’t there. He wasn’t seen. You weren’t seen. So what else are people supposed to think than that neither of you were there?”

“There being in front of the camera. No, I wasn’t there. It’s a very limited reality to think there means only what is in front of the camera at the moment the photo is being taken. It’s a very limited reality to think that everyone who’s not together in that particular snapshot there is not together at all. Yet the media keep insisting that their limited reality is the true and only reality. Ordinary people know better.”

“Which ordinary people? You’ve mentioned them before.”

“A lot of people who were on the same bus to the station, I suppose.”

“You took the bus?”

“We took the bus.”

“Why take the bus?”

“Because we had to go to the station.” Did she really have to explain they lived within walking distance, but that with a suitcase it was more comfortable to take the bus departing from the bus stop some fifty metres from their house rather than loudly drag said suitcase over the cobblestones of the streets around the station?

“And by ordinary people, you mean…”

“The bus driver definitely knew us. I’ve been taking the bus for years and they have only so many bus drivers. Why should she start taking photos now?”

“You have always refused to share your private life, so people wouldn’t think you’d take a bus to sit where everyone can see you.”

“The problem is,” Anna Margaret said carefully, “that some people – not all – have very clearly defined ideas on what my private life should look like. And then, when reality does not conform to their expectations, they get confused. Let’s take you, for example. You got confused when it turned out we took the bus. Presumably because you expected us to go by car. And that is just one example. People don’t base their assumptions on our personal situation.”

“Can you explain what you mean?”

“I think that a lot of people are basing their expectations and assumptions on what we are and not on who we are. Or in the case of the bus, not on where we are. They forget to think. Not everyone is like that. A lot of people will understand what is logical or practical for us in a particular situation, but there are still too many people who don’t consider us when they make assumptions.”

“I don’t think that makes it any clearer.”

Anna Margaret sighed. “I can’t make it any clearer. Nobody goes to the station by car. I can’t dissect every example, so let me stick with this one. If you’ve got three people, luggage, you live near a bus stop, and you’ve all got somewhere to go on another mode of transportation when you reach the station, you do not go by car. And if you have another appointment, you do not hang around just so someone with a camera can see you together.”

“Some people will see this as a deliberate way to avoid being seen together.”

Anna Margaret’s face clearly betrayed what she thought of that. “We waited for the bus together. We were seen together on the bus. We got off in the busiest place in town. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense.”

“But presumably this was a habit you cultivated before he abdicated?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Before he abdicated you will have wanted to avoid being seen.”

“We were not in a relationship before he told me he wanted to abdicate. I don’t think that in those few weeks afterwards we ever visited each other in disguise. People saw me; they simply didn’t know where I was going.”

“You visited each other?”

“I thought the general consensus was that there’s no relationship if you’re not in each other’s company. So in order to build a relationship, you must see each other. We played boardgames with my neighbours once. He wasn’t wearing a mask then, even though the abdication ceremony had not been yet.”

“And before he abdicated, you didn’t have a relationship with him.”

Anna Margaret shook her head. “I simply hadn’t had any personal conversations with him until the events surrounding his decision.”

“No persona conversations? But you did know him?”

“Well, I met the King every week to have him sign documents. Those are not personal conversations. Basically I knew him by sight and I knew he didn’t have creepy vibes, but that’s about it.”

“But then he said he wanted to resign and you were in a relationship almost immediately? And playing boardgames with neighbours?” Marion clearly could not grasp it all.

“It didn’t feel that fast to me. It was probably after 35 hours of interaction, all added up. And we were 37, not 17, nor did we have a history of failed relationships. And the boardgames were in the period after those 35 hours.”

“35 hours!” Marion exclaimed.

Anna Margaret shrugged. “When you’re in the public eye, you don’t have the luxury of using 35 weeks to find things out, but you have to do more talking. Imagine the uproar if we had still been busy figuring it out. As long as this worked for us, I don’t see why other people should worry about it.”

“But you also got pregnant very quickly, so naturally people wondered which of the three things came first: pregnancy, relationship, or abdication.”

“Naturally?” Anna Margaret blinked a few times as she tried out other orders in her mind. “Naturally there is only one possible order for me. It was announcing the abdication, then a relationship, then – not at the same moment, do I even need to explain that – a pregnancy.”

“But people who suspect the order was different, will naturally also suspect not seeing you together.”

“Explain that to me, please.”

“Well, it’s possible that your relationship started much earlier.”

“While I stress again that it didn’t, how is not seeing us together related to that? How would it be more logical not to see us if there were many more moments that someone could have seen us?”

Marion had no answer.

“And now I’m interested in how someone could entertain the ridiculous notion that a pregnancy came first, or that it factored in any plans. If you look at our son’s birthdate – and I know people do these things – and you subtract 40 weeks, or even 42, you’ll find that there is no way he was even conceived on or before the day Frederick handed in his resignation, and on the day that we announced our relationship, it was too soon to know about a pregnancy.” She paused. “Pregnancy can only have come third.

“Also, when we announced our relationship, we could not have known about a pregnancy, so we could not have fabricated a starting date for our relationship in order to make the time between relationship and conception more acceptable to the general public. Is everyone still following me?”

“Yes.” Marion had nearly given up.

Anna Margaret was not done yet, however. “And we did not fabricate a starting date in order to make the decision to abdicate come first, because we would undoubtedly have been seen by more people than just my neighbours and there would not have been any abdication or coronation excuses to visit the Palace so much, would there? Any visits would have been noted as unusual. So, it all happened when we said it did. And we're still married, just taking the bus and not the limo. I’m sorry. I can’t make it any more exciting than that.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaFri, 30 May 2025 16:47:36 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131466,131466#msg-131466 Skjaldmóðir - Grendel's mother's POV (1 reply)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,131466,131466#msg-131466
It was prompted by his linguist interests, where a new thought in the linguist world is that the PROPER translation of the word referencing Grendel's mother was "noble woman" rather than "witch," and his knowledge of Norse culture. Combined with my long held interpretation of Grendel's description and behavior, and knowing how people treat those who are ... different ... this is the result.

Skjaldmóðir by Michael Z. Williamson and Jessica Schlenker

A second version will be posted to Baen's site next month, where we worked backwards from THIS version towards the words which would have been in use at the time of the first telling.]]> JessicaS A Novel IdeaWed, 12 Feb 2025 07:30:59 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,130930,130930#msg-130930 Story: Of Fortune and Female Friendship (5 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,130930,130930#msg-130930[iSome twenty years after the events of Pride and Prejudice, some of its most significant characters meet for a celebration. The current fortunes of some of them correspond to their (and our) picture of how their lives would proceed – but the paths others have trod now reveal themselves to have been much less predictable ...


IT is a truth rarely refuted that great good fortune can transmute an unexceptional visage into, if not perhaps radiant beauty, certainly a most attractive and engaging countenance.


Such, in latter years, and although she was herself quite unaware of the fact, had undoubtably been the case for Lady Lushford, of Pomeroy House, East Cheshire who, shortly after six o’clock on that particular May morning, had slipped quietly out into the rose garden to sit for a few minutes on her preferred bench. She wanted a little time by herself to breathe the warming air, as it slowly took on the scent of the flowers, and to contemplate the day to come, and all the promise it held for the future of her only daughter, her dearest Olivia.


Never, even as a young child unburdened with experience of the ways of the world, had Lady Lushford so much as dared to dream that she might herself one day live in so beautiful a home, privileged to be the wife of such an attentive, distinguished, and wealthy man! Her own father was of course a gentleman, but one with a considerably more modest income – and substantially more offspring – than his distinguished son-in-law. And while it would be unjust to suggest that Lady Lushford’s journey to this, her present and more than satisfactory setting, had been characterised by trial and affliction, she had not been a complete stranger to despondency or disappointment. Now, however, as a light breeze riffled through the pale pink Eglantyne roses, their perfume reaching her in delicious gusts, she reflected that any sacrifices she had been required to make on her way to this place, to this time, had repaid themselves a hundredfold. Looking at, though hardly seeing, the dizzy fluttering of a trio of painted lady butterflies above a topiary sphere, she recalled to mind the series of events that had brought her, all unexpected, to the current moment of such felicity …


Seventeen years previously, the sudden and unexpected death, scarcely three years into their marriage, of Lady Lushford’s first husband, the father of her twins, had shocked and saddened his bewildered family, and transformed a quiet and uneventful existence into one of confusion and apprehension. The widow of the incumbent of a rural living has no claim upon the tied house her good taste may have – and in this case, undeniably had – fashioned into a pleasant and welcoming home. And while the vagaries of the laws of succession meant that her son William, at least, could aspire to a comfortable future, there was no such assurance for Olivia. Facing an uncertain future, the bereaved family had moved in with the children’s maternal grand-parents.

Then, one overcast November morning some two years later, Olivia (William, having a slight cold, had remained at home) had been delighting in the bustle of the small town’s main thoroughfare while her mother, with an eye to the threatening rain, shepherded her towards the draper’s that was to be their last call. As they approached the entrance of that popular establishment, they were hailed by a neighbour newly returned to the area; his kind enquiries regarding the health of the family were both detailed and prolonged. Five and a half year-old Olivia began to fidget, turning this way and that, looking up and down the street. Thus engaged, she was the first to behold an ill-trained mount, possibly startled by a passing carriage, wrench itself free from a tethering post.


The adult persons around her became aware of the commotion seconds later, but only Olivia had noticed a nanny and her diminutive charge crossing the street, oblivious to the fast-approaching danger. To tug her hand out of her mother’s was the work of a second. With the swiftness of mind and speedy reactions that were, then and now, characteristic of her, she sped forward, seizing the child’s tiny hand and simultaneously pushing the woman out of the way of the advancing horse. The animal, its eyes rolling, thundered past inches away, and only then did Olivia become aware of cries, shouting, her mother bending white and trembling over her, and a tall gentleman in a top hat gently assisting her to stand.


“That, little mistress, was one of the bravest things I have ever witnessed,” he said solemnly to Olivia, squatting down to address her whilst holding the rescued, unscathed infant tight to his chest, and then urging “Look to the lady, Sir!” as her mother swayed in shock and relief. The draper hastily produced a chair; his wife hurried out to proffer some smelling salts. The nanny was dusted down and assisted back across the street to re-join her distressed charge, whose initial tears had slowed to a trickle and who was now, if truth be told, not at all unwilling to remain the focus of attention.


“There, now, Edward,” said his father – for it was he – as he carefully lowered his son into the arms of his nanny, “Miss Jackson has my permission to go to the confectioner’s to purchase three peppermint sticks. One will be for her, because of the upset she has had. One will be for you, for the same reason. But tell me, Edward – to whom should the third one go?”


The child had extended a plump arm, pointing at Olivia, and lisped: “S’for she, papa!” Upon which Olivia had introduced herself and her mamma, into whose cheeks colour was slowly returning, and the gentleman had bowed low and introduced himself: “Francis Lushford, ma’am.”

If Olivia and her brave gesture had made such a positive an impression on the grateful parent, who had never felt the weight of his widowerhood as acutely as when sweeping his trembling boy into his arms, the sight of the gentle mother of the young heroine – those fine grey eyes, that sweet smile – awoke in him sentiments he had never thought to feel again. By evening he had decided that he might very well prolong this visit to his old school friend in a neighbouring village, and delay his return home to Cheshire …


His courtship had been everything that was most proper, considerate and sincere. It had been much facilitated by his and his son’s unfeigned affection for the young widow’s children, and their reciprocal fondness for him and for Edward. For his part, this latter, having no recollection of the mother who had died giving him birth, was elated at the thought of having a mamma, as well as two permanent playmates.


Thus, a twelve-month almost to the day had seen Sir Francis and the new Lady Lushford step out of her parents’ local parish church as man and wife, share a wedding breakfast with their children and the bride’s family, and then set out in the early afternoon for Pomeroy House, the groom’s Cheshire estate.

Fortune seemed determined to smile on the newly-weds, who each brought to this second union, of which neither had neither had dared dream, the wisdom of maturity and a generosity of spirit, complementary qualities which ensured their life together was a gratifying source of pleasure and satisfaction to them both. Furthermore, they had not long been established in Pomeroy House when a letter from Lady Lushford’s oldest and best-loved friend reminded them that she and her husband and family – (young Thomas and Isabella were of an age with William, Olivia and Edward) – were now “spending most of the year” on their estate in the neighbouring county. Thanks to the financial backing of “several local interested parties.” she wrote, the relevant roads were now increasingly built from stones, and “well-maintained to facilitate drainage;” the distance between the two friends could thus “quite easily” be covered “in some seven hours”. It was indeed a joyous day when Sir Francis, Lady Lushford and their children made their first trip through the pretty countryside separating the two households.

And to think, Lady Lushford recalled, that as a result of that first delightful visit, and the following countless times that one family had travelled to the home of the other, today would see Olivia wed Thomas at the local parish church! It would be almost four years before her brother William could be ordained, hold a living and administer sacraments, so the local vicar would be officiating. But Isabella, Thomas’s sister, was Olivia’s natural choice as attendant to the bride, and Edward was Thomas’s best man, and extremely proud to be so…
Lady Lushford’s moment of reverie had perhaps lasted somewhat longer than intended; she became all at once aware of the sound of voices and general bustling. She gathered her skirts about her preparatory to rising, but the space next to her was suddenly filled by a swirl of fine linen and a modest froth of exquisite lace as the mother of the groom plumped herself down next to her, kissing her cheek and grasping her hands, in a display of the affection each woman had always felt for the other.

“So, wicked one!” exclaimed the new arrival in the garden, in mock indignation, “ you are hiding down here to let your beleaguered husband and that poor housekeeper cope with my future daughter-in-law’s last whims and caprices as a single woman! Shame on you!”

“Olivia,” responded the fond mother, smiling, “has displayed no identifiable caprice worth mentioning in all her twenty years. Whims are equally foreign to her. As you, and as Thomas, more to the point, both know very well. Indeed,” she continued, “I have never met a bride and groom who knew each other as thoroughly before their marriage as Olivia and Thomas do, and who complement each other so well. They might as well have been engaged at age seven.”

Her teasing friend laughed, and stood up again. “And this,” she protested, pulling Lady Lushford to her feet, “ from one who declared to me, some twenty years ago, that Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance!” (this last said in a very fair imitation of the original commentator).

Lady Lushford acknowledged the observation with a slight nod. “Twenty years ago, Eliza, I was a Miss Lucas, you were a Miss Bennett, and we neither of us had the slightest understanding of the married state.” She straightened her skirt, thereby both ascertaining it was presentable and simultaneously hiding a certain confusion and her pinkening cheeks.

“Ah, she has the grace to blush!” her companion informed the circling butterflies, blithely.
“I should imagine most of our pronouncements were naïve in the extreme,” continued Lady Lushford, aplomb recovered. “I seem to recall you reproaching with – let me see: arrogance, conceit, oh, and selfish disdain – the very gentleman I behold over yonder consulting his watch, and who is, unless my sight is playing tricks on me, your charming husband, and my daughter’s future father-in-law? We are just coming, Fitzwilliam, ” she called out, to reassure the object of their discussion.

It was Elizabeth’s turn to colour up. She did so, fleetingly, before reaching out for her friend’s arm. “You are right, as so often, Charlotte. But enough of this reminiscing. The future is our concern at present. ” She drew the arm through her own. “Come, Lady Lushford: let us go and get our precious children married!”

“Indeed, let us, Mrs Darcy!” agreed her old friend happily, and arm in arm, they made their way back up to the house.]]> Sara Knapp A Novel IdeaMon, 12 Feb 2024 23:35:57 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128056,128056#msg-128056 Playing Around in Derbyshire - 13 14 (3 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128056,128056#msg-128056Chapter 13


Wednesday morning dawned to sullen grey skies and weather more typical of an English June than the pleasant summer days they'd enjoyed so far that week.

Jess stirred soggy cornflakes around her bowl as she described the delicious menu available at the Green Man. When Sebastian didn't make an appearance for his usual coffee and toast, Caroline slipped into his chair and leaned towards Jess. "My dear, what on earth have you done to poor Mr. Darcy?"

"Not a thing. He was fine when I last saw him. Perhaps he overslept?"

Miss Bingley's smile twisted slightly as Mr. Flint pushed his chair away from the table and rose with a stately grace, saying, "I'll check on him."

She was grateful Trevor had offered. After her late-night conversation with Sebastian, she wasn't sure it was a good idea to put temptation in his way by knocking on his bedroom door.

When she arrived in wardrobe, Jessica was relieved that the day's dress was long sleeved. There was a damp chill in the air as the cold cotton and muslin brushed against her skin, although the two petticoats beneath her skirts would soon warm her up. Three months ago her favourite daydream had been the one where she'd woken up in the early 19th century, surrounded by the same world Jane Austen wrote about in her novels. Now she was finally getting to experience a tiny bit of that dream. The delicate dresses with their high waists were comfortable enough, but she was increasingly glad to slide back into her jeans at the end of the day.

Those taking part in the first two scenes moved through the house to the backstage corridor just before the hall officially opened to visitors. Jessica sat on one of the hard chairs, next to Mrs Gardiner, while Mr. Gardiner stood in front of his favourite seascape, pondering the stationary waves. He held his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels as they waited for the signal from Mandy that they should enter the breakfast room to begin.

On Sunday there had been a queue waiting for the house to open, so they'd had a decent sized audience for their first scene. Ten minutes before they were due to speak their opening lines, Mandy came to let them know that not one car had entered the Exley Hall's visitor car park.

Jess had seen plenty of empty theatre seats due to unexpected bad weather. One weekend a few winters ago a big blizzard had caused havoc on the roads just before Christmas, and many of the audience had decided to stay at home rather than risk an accident. But the difference between theatres and stately homes was that people pre-booked tickets for plays and pantomimes, sometimes months in advance, and made every effort to attend.

Visiting a stately home in the middle of the countryside was more of a spontaneous decision, which could be easily swayed by the presence of dark clouds on the horizon, or a less than promising weather report. Part of Exley Hall's charm was its extensive grounds and the miles of woodland walks that crossed the estate. Why would anyone choose to pay the substantial entrance fee on such a dreary day, when at least half their visit would leave them decidedly damp?

Mandy raked a flustered hand through her hair. "I never imagined there would be no visitors in June. What should we do?"

"It's still early yet," Mrs Reynolds said. "They could turn up for the second or third scene."

Mrs Gardiner sniffed. "Why should they when they could put it off by twenty-four hours and enjoy the Regency fair at no extra charge?"

Gerald rolled his eyes. "Do you realise this house has been standing for a long time. There's more history here than just the one short time period. One of the early 20th century occupants left a beautiful collection of antique fishing flies." He turned back to Mandy. "Do you want us to start as usual and play to an empty room?"

"No...no. We'll pick up the schedule as soon as we have an audience, so you'll need to stay ready. In the meantime, we'll wait down in the basement where it's warmer. At least you'll be comfortable there." She headed towards the main entrance hall to chat with Mr. Flint, who had no choice but to hold his place as he waited to greet the first visitors of the day.

They made their way downstairs, where Bingley, Jane and Caroline were already in costume. Mr. Gardiner pulled a pack of cards out of his coat pocket. "Anyone up for a game while we wait?"

Mrs Gardiner showed an interest, but only because she didn't have her Sudoku handy. Mrs Reynolds took her usual seat at the card table while Emily went to wardrobe to change out of her maid's dress and into something more appropriate for Georgiana Darcy.

Caroline wandered across the room towards Jessica, looking very pleased with herself. "Miss Eliza Bennet, may I persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room?"

"No."

One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows rose slightly. She sank gracefully into the armchair next to Jess. "Did someone fall out the wrong side of the bed this morning? Or the wrong bed even?"

"I slept in my own room last night."

"Oh dear. Is that why you're grumpy? Or did Sebastian keep you awake past your bedtime?"

A cloud of silence enveloped the card table. There was nothing more inquisitive than a group of actors, and Jess felt their attention firmly focused between her shoulder blades. "I can't for the life of me imagine how that's any of your business."

Although she could have hardly phrased it any plainer, her rebuff slid past Caroline like water off the proverbial duck's back. Instead, Ruth's expression changed to one of innocent enquiry. "Speaking of...where is Sebastian this morning?"

"I have no idea. I'm not his keeper."

Miss Bingley's smile grew wider. "Well, if you want my advice—"

Jessica held up her hand. "I don't."

With a shrug of her elegant shoulders, Caroline retreated. When she reached the others, clustered around the table, Jessica heard the murmur of exchanged whispers, but she refused to turn around, instead concentrating on the television.

Eventually, Darcy arrived from wardrobe, looking unusually flustered as he fastened the last of his waistcoat buttons. "Sorry I'm late. I think I picked up a bit of a bug." His mouth twisted as he rubbed his stomach. "It might have been those prawns I had last night. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, but I didn't have any shellfish. Was it bad?"

"Not bad enough to wake me up, but I knew about it when I reached the bathroom." He looked around the room. "What's going on? Why are you all down here? Shouldn't you be on the second scene by now?"

Jess pointed to the high windows, reflecting a sliver of dark grey sky. "Have you not noticed the weather?"

"Can't say I have. I had other things to occupy my attention."

"Mandy will give us a shout when anyone arrives, but for the moment we're missing an integral part of the performance, our audience, and it doesn't look like the weather will let up anytime soon."

He joined her in front of the TV, and they spent some time laughing at some people's taste in decorating. After a while, Sebastian began to shift in his chair, twirling the watch chain around his finger. "This is boring. Have you seen any of the upstairs rooms?"

Although they'd played their scenes in most of the ground floor salons, Jess had never followed the tour of the first floor. "Not yet, but surely Mandy would rather we stay here and not go wandering off."

"You'll never know if you don't ask." He left the servant's hall, presumably to look for Mandy, and came back five minutes later. "The poor girl's standing at the breakfast room window with a pair of binoculars, on the watch for the greater spotted tourist. We're allowed to look around upstairs though, if you'd like to. She'll send someone to find us if we're needed."

Jess accepted his invitation, and they made their way upstairs. "I can't imagine anything better than being shown around by the Master of the house."

"I'd like to think I could do it as well as, if not better than, Mrs Reynolds."

The first floor rooms were mostly bedrooms, but nothing like any bedroom Jess had seen before. They were cavernous spaces, decorated in gaudy colours. The beds were either massive wooden monstrosities, with posts carved out of whole tree-trunks, or gravity-defying canopies of gilded wood. Emerald and ruby brocade drapes decorated with gold thread were protected from light damage by the liberal use of semi-opaque blinds. It made the rooms seem dull, particularly when the weather was grey outside, but Jessica understood the importance of protecting the rich dyes from fading.

During their exploration, Sebastian proved himself a master of improvisation as he created a history for each room based upon his wholly imaginary Darcy family. He described one bedroom as the favourite of Amelia Darcy, Fitzwilliam's great-grandmother and former London courtesan. Another belonged to his Great Aunt Clarissa Darcy, who had the misfortune to lose four husbands to various forms of death or disease, and was later known as the Black Widow. His enthusiastic story-telling, while staying perfectly in character as Mr. Darcy, kept Jess amused for a good twenty minutes as they followed the marked tour.

At the end of a wood-panelled corridor, they arrived in a room that had already been described to her. The large bed, draped in blue and gold, was far taller than she had imagined, its canopy standing at least ten feet off the floor. The oriental ebony cabinets, chased with brass inlaid scenes, didn't look at all English. The wallpaper showed little Chinese figures on arched bridges, or colourful birds with long tail feathers, while a display cabinet held examples of blue and white porcelain showing temples and fishermen.

She saw Sebastian's reflection in the glass of the cabinet, just before he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Now, if this really was Pemberley you would be trespassing in my domain, for this is the master's chamber." His lips moved along the edge of her ear, causing the tiny hairs on her skin to rise. "Were you to be caught in here, alone with me, Miss Bennet, your reputation would be thoroughly..."—he turned her around within his arms until she faced him—"ruined."

As he lowered his mouth towards hers, Jess pressed a palm to his chest, pushing him back. She felt the raised embroidery stitches of his waistcoat beneath her skin, along with the determined beat of his heart. "Not while we're working."

Sebastian held himself still, turning his head left and right as he looked around the room. "I see no audience."

"If I'm in costume then I'm working." She wriggled from within the circle of his arms and moved away from the cabinet. "Besides, Miss Bennet would never have entered Mr. Darcy's bedchamber. At least not until after the end of the book, when they were married."

He smiled. "Are you so sure about that? You're here now aren't you?"

"Yes, but I'm not—"

"Darcy knew just what he wanted out of life and set out to achieve it. That's why he was so confident of his proposal in Kent."

"He was confident because he was proud, and couldn't imagine anyone ever refusing him, particularly a country gentleman's daughter. You must see that her rejection of him seriously undermined his confidence."

Sebastian took her hand. "I'm glad we're not doing that particular scene this week. Not that it wouldn't have been fun trying to convince you to change your mind."

"I doubt Mr. Darcy would have been able to say anything to Elizabeth that would have made her accept him. Remember, at that point, he was the last man in the world she would ever marry."

Leaning closer, he dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'll bet he could have convinced her if he'd really tried. He just needed to turn on the charm. Don't forget that he was, first and foremost, a man, and a rich one at that. He was also used to getting his own way."

Jess was surprised by his theory. Didn't Sebastian understand his character at all? "Mr. Darcy was an honourable man. That's what made all the difference. That's why he is so well loved in the twenty-first century. It's a trait that's not found so often these days."

"Yes, he was honourable in many respects. He didn't lie or cheat, and he treated his tenants and servants fairly. But we're talking about his reaction to Elizabeth. The love of his life; the woman he'd been waiting months for. She arrives at his house, totally out of the blue. Even as they were sat in the parlour, making polite conversation or playing the piano, do you really think he wasn't imagining her in his room? In his bed?"

"He would never think such a thing. Mr. Darcy was a gentleman!"

Sebastian laughed. "He was also a human being, and not a robot. Have you never thought what else might have happened during those long walks to Oakham Mount and back? Don't forget, they lost Bingley and Jane, and only just returned in time for dinner. They were alone and unchaperoned all that time. What do you think they were doing? Do you really think they had that much to talk about?"

"Things were different in Jane Austen's time. Men weren't like that. You're looking at this through modern eyes."

"And you're being naïve. We're not talking about the Victorian age, with their laced-up propriety. Those Georgians were uninhibited, even by today's standards. It wasn't always the perfect, beautiful world portrayed in your period dramas."

At that moment Emily came to remind them it was time for lunch. Jess wasn't disappointed when they headed back down to the basement to rejoin the others.

The image Sebastian had painted of Mr. Darcy and his Elizabeth was too close to gritty reality, and many miles from the idyllic relationship she'd always imagined.



~<>~@~<>~




Chapter 14



As they lounged around the green room after lunch, Jess sensed a general lack of energy among their small group. Bubbles of conversation and laughter had accompanied previous mealtimes, but now the grey skies outside left everyone subdued, the silence broken only by occasional stilted questions and even briefer answers.

She wasn't sure what to say to Sebastian. She still couldn't bring herself to agree with his interpretation of Darcy and Elizabeth's relationship. Even if he'd never labelled Mr. Darcy as a gentleman, he'd still been playing the character exactly as she'd always imagined him.

Well, except for the kiss at the end of the final scene. She'd never pictured anything like that kiss when Elizabeth accepted his proposal.

Her gaze drifted back to Sebastian. With head bowed and shoulders hunched, his posture was the opposite of the way he held himself while playing the proud Mr. Darcy. Had the real Mr. Darcy picked up a bug from questionable mussels, he would've been hunched over and miserable as well. He must have been feeling awful all day. Maybe that was why his thoughts about Darcy and Elizabeth's relationship had sounded so cynical.

She moved closer, resting her hand on top of his. "How are you doing?"

"Okay now. I didn't have much of an appetite earlier, but my stomach seems to be calming down." He shared a tired smile as he sandwiched her smaller hand between his. "Just having you here makes me feel ten times better."

That smile made her melt a little inside. Despite the grey, dreary skies, nothing could dampen her feelings for him.

Mandy arrived in the doorway wearing a smile of her own, this time one of relief. "The weather forecast is much improved for this afternoon, and we have some visitors who've bought timed tickets to view the house. Can you be ready to start the afternoon session in ten minutes?"

Her question electrified the group, re-energising them where before there had been only lethargy. Finally, they would get to do the work they came here for; to entertain, and maybe educate those visitors who had not yet been captured by the charms of Miss Austen's works.

They made their way to the card room, located behind the entrance hall, and facing the garden at the back of the house. The wood panelled room was neither so highly decorated nor as comfortably furnished as some of the other parlours within Exley Hall. They'd moved the tables covered in green baize cloth to one side, providing a suitable space for Elizabeth and Aunt Gardiner to visit Georgiana and Miss Bingley at Pemberley.

A motley collection of colourful raincoats and umbrellas watched the scene unfold from behind the red rope as they observed the subtle nuances of early nineteenth-century society. Caroline Bingley's comments to Elizabeth that afternoon seemed particularly sharp and unfriendly. No doubt the gloomy weather had left them all feeling low, but Jess wasn't sorry to slip out of the card room when her part in the scene was complete.

She listened on the other side of the door as Ruth Swale continued to dwell on Miss Bennet's deficiencies for Mr. Darcy's benefit. Jess knew the criticisms were directed from one character to another, but Caroline's acidic comments seemed more personal than mere dialogue on a page. Apart from refusing to rise to Ruth's snide remarks about Sebastian that morning, Jess couldn't imagine what else she'd done to annoy her.

As the afternoon session progressed, the weather brightened and the waterproof coats were less prevalent among the audience. The penultimate scene would start in ten minutes, and Mrs Reynolds arrived outside the library door, fresh from wardrobe and ready to go.

Whenever Mrs Green stepped into the costume of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, she transformed her personality to match. Where Mrs Reynolds was a mixture of quiet confidence and the natural deference of a housekeeper, Lady Catherine exuded a brusque self-assurance and determined poise.

Jess wasn't ashamed to admit she was slightly in awe of Mrs Green in her guise as Mr. Darcy's aunt.

The clothes also helped. Mrs Reynolds wore a simple, practical dress of plain grey. Lady Catherine's iridescent purple coat dress was decorated with black braided frogging, like an old-fashioned army jacket, and her high hat included an even taller feather. It allowed her to loom over Miss Elizabeth Bennet as they performed.

"You will be censured, slighted, and despised by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace and your name will never even be mentioned by any of us!" Lady Catherine spat across the room, her anger in full flow.

"These are heavy misfortunes indeed," Elizabeth responded with an unruffled calm, "but the wife of Mr. Darcy must have such extraordinary sources of happiness attached to her situation that she could have no cause to repine."

Mrs Green's pinched expression reflected her character's cantankerous mood. "Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you last spring? Is nothing due to me on that score? I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose, and I will not be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person's whims, and I am not in the habit of brooking disappointment."

Jessica tried not to smile, but it was hard when she enjoyed putting the older character in her place. "That will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable, but it will have no effect on me."

Mrs Green circled Jess, her clawed hand extended to emphasise her anger, as though she wanted to throttle the young woman standing in front of her. "My daughter and my nephew were formed for each other. They are descended, on the maternal side, from the same noble line; and, on the father's, from respectable, honourable, and ancient families. Their fortune on both sides is splendid. They are destined for each other by the voice of every member of their respective houses; and what is to divide them? The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connections, or fortune? Is this to be endured? If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up."

Lady Catherine's words triggered something in Jess's memory. Did Ruth think she was unworthy of Sebastian's attention? Or did she just want him for herself? "In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman, and I am a gentleman's daughter; so far we are equal."

"True. You are a gentleman's daughter. But who was your mother? Who are your uncles and aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition."

No one at Exley Hall was aware of Jess's family connections, although if she'd mentioned her uncle and aunt, Jess felt sure that at least one of the older cast members would know them. British theatre was home to a small, somewhat insular community, after all. "Whatever my connections may be, if your nephew does not object to them, they can be nothing to you."

Lady Catherine stood tall, her purple feather quivering with indignation as she stabbed a demanding finger towards Miss Bennet. "Tell me once and for all, are you engaged to him?''

Jess paused, the beat hinting at Elizabeth's deliberation before she sighed, allowing her shoulders to relax. "I am not."

Although Mrs Green didn't smile, she exuded a dry satisfaction and even a small amount of relief. "And will you promise me never to enter into such an engagement?"

She drew in a breath and raised a determined chin to look Lady Catherine straight in the eye. "I will make no promise of the kind."

"Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished! I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. Do not deceive yourself into a belief that I will retreat. I shall not go away till you have given me the assurance I require."

Elizabeth smiled, relishing the opportunity to deny the older woman what she most wanted. "And I certainly shall never give it. I am not to be intimidated into anything so wholly unreasonable. Your ladyship wants Mr. Darcy to marry your daughter, but would my giving you the wished-for promise make their marriage at all more probable? Supposing him to be attached to me, would my refusing to accept his hand make him wish to bestow it on his cousin?

"Allow me to say, Lady Catherine, that the arguments with which you have supported this extraordinary application have been as frivolous as the application was ill-judged. You have widely mistaken my character if you think I can be worked on by such persuasions as these. How far your nephew might approve of your interference in his affairs, I cannot tell, but you have certainly no right to concern yourself in mine. I must beg, therefore, to be importuned no farther on the subject."

As the scene ended, the audience clapped and whistled as Lady Catherine took a well-deserved bow. Jess left the library in a determined mood. She refused to be intimidated by some stuck-up, jealous hag who thought she wasn't good enough for Sebastian.

Ruth Swale might want Sebastian for herself, but wanting something and getting it were two very different things. Sebastian had his own mind after all, and he'd already made clear where his preference lay.


~~~~~



After changing out of her costume at the end of the day, Jess met Sebastian in the hallway, still attired as Mr. Darcy. His formal tailcoat and frilly white shirt made an odd contrast to her t-shirt and jeans but didn't bother him one bit.

"Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you'd gone." His hand slid around her waist to pull her close. "We're not working now, are we?"

Jess studied one of the large gold buttons on his coat. Technically they were done for the day. "No, not at the moment, although you really ought to get changed first."

"I don't always do what I ought," he said, his voice almost a whisper as he raised her chin, the better to look at her. Sebastian leaned closer until his forehead touched hers. "So beautiful," he murmured, as though half to himself.

Jess smiled. She'd been smiling a lot since her arrival in Derbyshire. It was very easy to be happy when Sebastian was around. He had the knack of making her feel like she was the only woman in the world.

He traced the curl of her ear with his finger, his hand sliding to her cheek as he captured her lips. Sebastian's kiss was gentle; nothing like the stage kiss they performed at the end of the final scene. It made her feel special.

Sebastian pulled back, but not far. He hovered above her as he gazed into her eyes. Then he smiled, a genuine warm smile that lit up his dark brown eyes. "What would you like to do tonight?"

"After the weather we've had today, a walk in the garden is off the cards."

He laughed. "Yes, you're probably right."

"You go and get changed, and I'll meet you in the green room. There's bound to be something interesting on T.V."

He dropped a quick kiss against the corner of her mouth. "And if there isn't, I'm sure we can find something else to occupy our time." He bowed, his innate Darcy-ness never far beneath the surface while he was in costume. "Your servant, Miss Bennet."

Jess curtsied, a movement that felt strangely out of place while wearing jeans. "I'll be waiting," she reminded him.

She continued down the corridor, her footsteps echoing on the tiled floor. When she arrived at the servant's hall the large room was empty. Sinking into one of the armchairs, Jessica tucked her feet underneath her. Laura's battered copy of Pride and Prejudice lay open on the small table. She lifted it up, careful not to lose the page as she checked which chapter Laura had read up to.

It was earlier in the book, as Elizabeth was reading Mr. Darcy's letter in Kent. The letter was one of Jess's favourite chapters, marking the point where Elizabeth Bennet learned for the first time that Wickham's description of the Darcys hadn't been entirely honest. Engrossed in the words on the page, Jessica didn't realise that Caroline had arrived until her shadow fell over the book.

"A great reader as well, Eliza? I think you're more like your character than you think."

"There must always be some similarities," Jess said, without enthusiasm.

Caroline dropped into the chair next to her and leaned closer, lowering her voice. "If you enjoy stories, I could tell you one that would make your toes curl."

Jess sighed, pitying such an obvious and clumsy effort at manipulation. "I'm a little old to be frightened by horror stories, don't you think?"

They sat for a moment in silence, as Caroline glanced around the room. "It's all very strange, seeing you with Sebastian. You aren't his usual type at all."

Jess wondered what his usual type of woman was, but she would rather eat her socks than show even the slightest spark of interest in what Miss Bingley had to say. "Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think you do."

Ruth frowned. "I know him better than most. Aren't you even a little bit curious?"

"What about?"

"What sort of female normally catches Sebastian's eye."

"Why should I care? The women in his past are nothing to do with me."

She flicked her perfectly manicured fingernails, "I'm only trying to help. I'm sure you could find someone more your equal. A man you might have more in common with."

Her false solicitude did nothing to hide the jealousy that oozed beneath the surface. Caroline wanted her out of the way, and her reason was obvious. "So you can claim Sebastian for yourself?"

Ruth laughed, a bitter crack of noise in an otherwise silent space. "I was there before you, my dear. Sebastian and I are old friends."

If her revelation was intended to upset Jess, it didn't work. Caroline had draped herself all over him on their first day at Exley Hall, in some desperate attempt to reclaim a prior relationship. Jess also remembered his conversation at the beginning of the week about the women forcing their attention on him.

If he'd been talking about Ruth Swale that would explain a lot.



~<>~@~<>~


DNA:

When I started posting here I only did so because I felt I was in a position to post regularly, while finishing off and editing the last few chapters at the very end of the story. I'd specifically waited until I had the free time to devote to completing this long-term project.

However, in the last few weeks we've taken a young person into our home who needed help and we're in the process of fostering them through their last year of school. It was quite unexpected and unplanned. It's been years since I had to worry about packed lunches, homework supervision and the "school run", and this is taking up a considerable portion of my day - including the hours that I previously spent writing.

I believe every young person deserves the chance of an education, and if I can help one bright teenager to achieve their goals over the next nine months then I see that as a worthwhile investment of time. I'm determined to finish this story, but it may now take me a little longer than I anticipated, and my posting schedule might not be as frequent as I would like. I promise I'll post when I can. :)

H.]]> Heather F A Novel IdeaThu, 26 Aug 2021 09:55:14 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128039,128039#msg-128039 Playing Around in Derbyshire - 11 12 (4 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128039,128039#msg-128039Chapter 11



Jess shied away from his kiss, twisting her head to break the cringing contact with his lips. Before her brain could register the soft thud of footsteps on grass, his confining hands were torn away as suddenly as they'd appeared. She opened her eyes and looked around.

The counterfeit Fitzwilliam Darcy—leather patches and all—was now sprawled in the grass, quaking before the terrifying form of an angry Mr. Bingley.

They say that clothes maketh the man, and it was quite remarkable how the formal Regency costume—particularly his boots, Jessica thought—could turn a teddy-bear like Gareth, into a man who looked like he could happily commit murder.

Bingley held the tip of his cane up to the man's throat like a rapier, his soft green eyes now blazing with furious fire. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"

The man's eyes grew wide, as his jaw flexed. "I...I..."

Although never once stepping out of his Regency mindset, Gareth was playing Bingley in a way Miss Austen had never shown in her book; as the true Master of Netherfield. "You, sir, are no gentleman, to be man-handling a lady in that disgusting fashion."

"But...I..."

"There are no words that would excuse such boorish behaviour. Apologise to Miss Bennet. Now."

"Yes, yes, of course." The parody of Mr. Darcy scrambled to his knees before turning in abject misery to abase himself in front of Jessica. "I am dreadfully sorry, Miss Bennet. I do not know what came over me."

"No harm has been done," she said in a calming tone, as much for Bingley's benefit as the man he now threatened.

"You are too generous," the fruitcake grovelled, as he stood, brushing at the soil and dust now clinging to his trousers. Jess thought it the least he deserved.

Gareth, however, was not so easily appeased. Although he'd withdrawn his cane, he still held the thin rod in an aggressive grip. "Now you've done that, I would recommend you leave my sight, quickly." His words were quiet, but no one hearing them could ignore his determination as the tip of his cane flicked towards the path. "And if I set eyes on you again I guarantee that we will be meeting tomorrow morning. Early tomorrow morning."

Straightening his thick glasses, the man who called himself Fitzwilliam Darcy made a jerky bow before scooting away between the shrubs.

Jess wanted to laugh―more from relief than seeing any humour in the situation―but one glance at Gareth's face was enough to douse her smile. "Thank you for coming to my assistance, Mr. Bingley."

He offered a bow. "You are more than welcome, Miss Bennet." He paused then, looking around to make sure there were no guests in sight before his shoulders sagged. "Seriously though, Jessica, did he hurt you?"

She rubbed her arms under the velvet spencer jacket. They were a little sore where the psycho fan had clamped his fingers, but she didn't want to make a fuss. "No, not really. A few bruises, maybe, but nothing serious. I never imagined he would grab me like that." Jess lifted a shaking hand, to brush back the wisps of hair that had fallen from beneath her bonnet.

"You've had a shock." Gareth's voice was almost back to its calm self, as he took her hand, resting it on his arm as though they were going for a stroll. "Let's find Mandy. She needs to know what just happened, and I don't like to think of you being on your own out here when there are people like that about."

"I'm okay, honestly. I'm amazed I managed to stay in character."

"It might have been better if you'd dropped the Regency act and told him to sod off."

"Yes, I should have, but he took me by surprise. One minute we were talking about Elizabeth's relationship with Mr. Darcy, and the next he'd...he..." She took a calming breath as the memory made her heart race. "I don't think the man was quite sane. He'd changed his name to Fitzwilliam Darcy, you know."

Gareth snorted. "If only it were so easy." He frowned, searching the gardens again. "Talking of the devil, where is Sebastian? Why is he not with you?"

"I don't know. He wasn't at lunch. I came out to see if I could find him, but I met the scary guy instead."

They walked a few moments longer in silence before Jessica's curiosity got the better of her. "What did you mean when you spoke about meeting him in the morning?"

A brief smile curled the corners of his mouth. "Ah...well, as many of the fans are enamoured of all things Georgian, I was telling him that I would be prepared to challenge him to a duel for your honour. I thought it was a threat he might understand."

"You'd do that for me?"

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the path. "Why not? We're friends, aren't we? I don't like to see any man taking advantage of a friend. I've had some training with a pistol."

"Firing blanks, I presume?"

"Yeah, of course. They didn't let me near live ammunition, but I know the basics. I've done some sword work too. Enough to put on a decent show anyway."

Jessica nodded, but she had stopped listening to him; her imagination drifting to a vision of Mr. Darcy, in shirtsleeves and breeches, bringing his sword up to salute an opponent. She wondered whether Sebastian could fence. If he'd been at the RSC, even as an understudy, the chances were good that he knew the basics too.

Gareth cleared his throat. "Jess, while we're alone, there's something I—"

Jessica waved as she spotted the real Darcy striding across the lawn to meet them. Bingley sighed, then rested his hands on top of his cane as he waited for Sebastian.

"Miss Bennet." He bowed before nodding towards Bingley. "What is he doing here?"

Jess grabbed Darcy's arm. "He saved me from a psycho fan."

Sebastian dropped out of character instantly, his eyes darkening as his gloved fingers curled into a fist. "You can't be serious."

"Does she look like she's joking? Jess was terrified."

Ignoring Bingley, he swung around to check on Jessica. "My God! Are you alright?"

"She might not have been. The lunatic had already grabbed her when I arrived." Gareth stabbed his cane into the turf. "Where the hell were you?"

"Oh, don't ask! Mandy sewed me up good and proper with Mrs Rivers-Whatever. I would have wangled my way out of the old bag's invitation if she hadn't poked her nose in."

Jess looked up. "What invitation? Is that why you didn't come in for lunch?"

"Yes. I was forced to drink tea and eat cucumber sandwiches in her private kitchen. In return, she wittered on about how she's always thought the character of Darcy was wonderful, and how I'm just perfect for the role, while I pretended to give a damn."

"Well, that shouldn't have caused you any problems," Bingley said. "It's not like you can't act the part when necessary."

Darcy threw him a sharp glance. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be? Doesn't your angel Jane need some of your attention too? Practice does make perfect, after all. I've got things covered here now, thanks. We won't keep you."

Bingley held his position for a few seconds. The scene reminded Jess of two tomcats having a staring contest, and she was surprised when Darcy turned away first. She smiled at Gareth, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between the two men. "I know I'm repeating myself, but thank you. I really am very grateful that you found me when you did."

"Any time, Jessica. I suppose you're in safe enough hands for now, so I'll see you later." Bingley swung his cane, lashing out at an ornamental grass as he strode away.

Darcy yanked the cuffs of his shirt down. "I thought he'd never leave."

"Why are you so angry with Gareth?"

He waved a deprecating hand. "Oh, it's old news. Jones and I studied together for a time. Let's just say we didn't always see eye to eye."

"He seems so easy going. I can't imagine why you two wouldn't be friends."

Sebastian shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe I'm too much competition for him. He isn't quite as angelic as he makes out, you know." He scooped up her gloved hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her fingers. "Let's not talk about him. I'm far more interested to hear how you managed to attract such enthusiastic yet unwanted attention."

"Well, it was all your fault, really."

"How was it my fault when I wasn't even here?"

She described how lonely she'd felt when he hadn't turned up for lunch. "After checking all the usual places I was heading towards that old gazebo we saw last night, thinking you might have escaped there. That's when the lunatic waylaid me."

"Ah, I see. Mea culpa! If it helps any, I would have much rather been eating lunch with you. Alas, I too was ensnared by a crazy fan of my very own. It must be something in this Derbyshire air that turns everyone into book-obsessed zombies.


~~~~~~



"Mr. Darcy. My sentiments on this occasion are so...so very different from your previous declaration that I imagine you must think me quite fickle. My feelings have altered, to such a startling degree, that it is almost impossible for me to sufficiently express my gratitude of your happy assurances."

As Darcy's arms wrapped around her, and his lips found hers, Jess felt as though she was floating in a sea of happiness. No stage kiss had ever felt like the kisses she shared with Sebastian.

As their final scene ended, applause erupted from the crowd as phones and cameras bloomed like poppy heads over the audience, blinding Jess momentarily with the flashlights. "You do realise that this could be all over the internet by teatime," Darcy whispered.

"I noticed one woman filming the kiss. Do you think we'll end up on YouTube?" Jessica giggled at the thought of her big break coming from such an unlikely source.

He graciously accepted the standing ovation their performance had won. "How did you see her?"

"Over your shoulder."

He was smiling at the audience as he hissed through his teeth: "Damn. If you had enough wits about you to do that, I must be losing my touch."

"Don't worry, there's no risk of that happening."

They left the stage and headed back towards the house, making their way down the basement stairs. It was time to shed the cocoons of their characters and become themselves once more. Having deposited her gown, spencer and bonnet with wardrobe, she took the stairs two at a time to reach her bedroom. She didn't want to be late for her date.

In the corridor she found Jane leaning against the wall, chatting to Bingley, who stood in the doorway of his room. They stopped talking as soon as they heard her coming, which rankled slightly. It wasn't as though she cared what they were talking about. "Sorry to interrupt your tête à tête. Darcy's taking me to Lambley tonight for dinner. I need to get ready."

Gareth frowned. "You mean Sebastian."

"Of course."

"You and he seem to be growing close," Jane said.

Blushing, Jess agreed. "When he first came into the green room I never dreamed he would be interested in me. It just shows how your perceptions of people can be all wrong, doesn't it?"

"Don't be so quick to put yourself down," Gareth said. "Sometimes trusting your first instincts isn't a bad thing."

"Just because you and Sebastian don't get on, it doesn't give you the right to question his motives."

Jane excused herself, returning to her room and closing the door. Jessica began to do the same, but Bingley's hand on her arm made her pause. "Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

She shook her head. "I don't even have a minute. We have a table booked for seven, and I don't have a clue what I'm going to wear yet."

Gareth stood on the threshold of her bedroom, leaning against the door frame. "Jessica, please, it's important."

She had no idea what the real issue was between Bingley and Darcy, but she didn't want to get involved with any of it. "I'm sorry. I really don't have time to talk now."

"Maybe we can catch up tomorrow then."

Jessica's thoughts had already galloped ahead as she reviewed the small selection of clothes hanging on the hooks, and she barely caught what he'd said. "Yeah, I'll see you in the morning."



~<>~@~<>~





Chapter 12


A little after half past six, Jess met Sebastian at the bottom of the main staircase. He offered her a gentlemanly bow before taking her hand and escorting her to the Exley Hall staff car park. "Your carriage awaits, my lady."

Sebastian's 'carriage' was an old two-seat sports car, which he laughingly described as white with a hint of rust. Jess didn't know a lot about cars but knew enough to recognise the Alfa Romeo badge on the front. It was almost old enough to be called a classic, but Jess thought the vehicle suited its owner as they bowled along the narrow lanes towards Lambley. The Alfa was sporty enough to turn heads, yet she felt safe and comfortable as they sped between the hedgerows

It took less than ten minutes to reach the Green Man, a traditional country pub built from weathered grey stone, with a dark slate roof and small, square windows. When he escorted her into the bar he had to duck beneath a low beam before steering her to a small table in a cosy nook. Once they'd dealt with the business of ordering their food, Sebastian sat back in his chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles. "Well, here we are."

Jess knew exactly what he meant. A romantic meal for two, while tucked in an intimate corner of a nice restaurant, was a different experience for both of them. It felt nothing like two work colleagues eating together. Yet they'd spent so much time swapping stories, either in the green room or while walking around the gardens, that Jess wasn't sure what else they would find to talk about.

"This reminds me of an old pub we used to visit when I worked in Stratford," he said. "Have you ever been there?"

"No, I've I never had the chance, but I'd love to see it."

"The theatre is incredible. Right by the river...a beautiful location. If we'd been working there this week I would have taken you for a walk along the riverside. It's almost as serene as the Exley Hall gardens, or it would be if there weren't quite so many tourists. They have ghost walks as well, although I don't think it would be quite the same in daylight. You need a dark autumn evening to really appreciate the spooky atmosphere." He reached over to take her hand in his. "Although that's not to say we won't get the chance to see it later in the year."

Was he really talking about them being together in three or four months? Or longer? Jess hadn't allowed herself the luxury of thinking too far ahead. She was happy to live in the here and now and see where life took them. As they ate, Sebastian offered anecdotes about the older, more experienced actors he'd worked with at the Royal Shakespeare Company, and how seriously they'd taken their work.

"Not that I wouldn't have been serious if I'd been on stage with them. It's hard to be an understudy and watch everyone else perform, night after night. I thought they might give me one or two matinees, but someone enjoyed their job too much to take a day off, and they were never ill. It reminded me of being back in stage school, where certain kids always ended up drawing the short straw."

"You mean the back half of a pantomime cow?"

He laughed. "Yeah, that's the one. I enjoyed my time there, don't get me wrong, but there's always somebody there who seems to get out more than they put in." He sighed. "Gareth Jones was one of those people."

"I had no idea that you two knew each other until you mentioned it this afternoon."

"You could say we have a mutual antipathy. I try to pretend he doesn't exist, and he does the same with me. Jones and I were studying at the same time, although we never socialised and rarely shared classes together."

"Gareth has always seemed so friendly. Why don't you like him?"

He dropped his fork onto his plate. "We're very different people. I worked really hard to earn my place, and a lot of equally hard working people weren't so lucky. So you could say I have a problem with anyone who can walk into a spot on a very popular performing arts course just because he knows the right people."

"Gareth did that?"

"Yeah. I'm not even sure he went through the full audition process. They just opened the doors for him and he sauntered right in, while better guys were overlooked. Acceptance should be based on talent, rather than who you know. One of the directors of the school was his godfather, or so I heard."

Jessica thought back to her own studies. Her personal circumstances were well known and there was no doubt her family connections had helped. She'd been thankful for it at the time. "I can imagine that would be irritating."

"That's not the worst of it. Our saintly Mr. Bingley used to act like some arbiter of morality, holding himself as a perfect example of manners and honesty, and criticising anyone he thought didn't come up to his exalted standards. Then he almost gets himself thrown out, all over some girl who ended up pregnant."

"You're not serious."

Sebastian sighed. "I swear I'm not making this up. Favours were called in, promises made, and he clung onto his place by the skin of his teeth. Anyone else would have been kicked off the course. That sort of favouritism sticks in my throat."

"Well, I can see why you didn't get on with him then, but Gareth seems nice enough now. Maybe he's changed? People often do, as they get older."

He reached out, taking her hand in his. "I neither know nor care. My attention has been more agreeably entertained since I arrived in Derbyshire."

Accepting the hint, she turned the conversation to other things while they lingered over dessert and coffee. At the end of the meal, Sebastian insisted on paying for the whole thing, even though Jess was more than willing to split the bill.

As they left the pub, wishing the regulars a friendly "good night" on their way out of the door, his grip on her hand remained firm. The sun had almost set, and the crescent outline of a translucent moon hung in the lilac sky. The last rays of light from below the horizon limned the undersides of the grey clouds building from the west; the kind of dramatic background more suited to a Shakespearean drama than a comfortable romance.

Jess stopped by the car, looking out across the undulating countryside. A few sheep were cropping grass on the other side of an old stone wall. She moved closer to watch them, their dark eyes meeting hers with only the mildest of interest. "You would think I'd be bored of this rural idyll by now, but I still can't get over how quiet and beautiful it all is."

Sebastian stood behind her, his arms snaking around her waist as he whispered in her ear. "Why, Miss Bennet, you have stolen the words from my mouth. I was thinking inside that I have rarely encountered such beauty." His fingers trailed through her hair, which she'd worn loose for her date. He brushed it back, away from her face, and then ran a finger down her exposed cheek. "I very much enjoyed being with you tonight."

"Me too. It was a lovely meal. Thank you for inviting me."

He turned her around until he had her full attention. Although his eyes were in shadow, she could still sense him staring down at her. Bending slightly, he kissed the tip of her nose. "It was entirely"—he kissed her again—"my"—and again—"pleasure." With that, he bent lower, capturing her mouth in a way that stirred her senses. When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily.

"I've been wanting to kiss you all evening," he said. "You probably didn't realise, but when you were eating your pudding, there was a little smudge of ice cream clinging to your mouth, just here." He kissed her again, concentrating on the bottom edge of her lower lip.

When he reluctantly released her, Jess smiled up at him. "We really ought to be getting back. We—" She covered her mouth as a yawn overwhelmed her words.

"Because some of us have an early start in the morning?" He grinned. "Come on, then."

The ride home was almost silent, but filled with ponderous looks on both sides, neither wanting to say anything that might spoil the mood. When his hand wasn't needed to change gears, it was more often on her thigh than the steering wheel, his thumb unconsciously stroking back and forth. By the time they arrived at the Hall, it was almost full dark. He parked the car, then leaned over to steal a final lingering kiss before they went inside, through the basement.

As they paused outside the green room, they could hear Trevor and Mr. Gardiner laughing. "Did you want to stay downstairs with the others for a bit?" Sebastian asked.

She wasn't really in the mood to socialise with anyone else, not after having Sebastian to herself all evening. Besides, it was getting late. "No, I'm fine." She checked her watch. "I think I'll turn in if that's okay."

"No problem." They climbed the stairs, hand in hand, until they reached the top floor. He paused, leaning against the door to his room. "I can't tempt you with a glass of something before bedtime?" He pulled her closer, his lips skating down her cheek until he reached a spot just beneath her ear.

Jess sighed. "I really shouldn't."

"Just for a few minutes," he whispered against her neck. "One drink. I promise I'll have you back home before curfew."

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Maybe another time."

Sebastian straightened, although he returned her smile with a sheepish grin of his own. "You can't blame me for wanting to spend every minute I can with you. Especially when you're so enticing."

As he escorted her down the narrow hallway, Jessica was very aware of the lateness of the hour, and knew that some of the group would already be in bed. The last thing she wanted was to wake anyone up, or advertise what time they'd come back. She stopped outside her own door and smiled up at him. "I had a good time tonight."

He trailed a fingertip across the slender arch of her eyebrow and down the side of her face. "So did I." The kiss that followed was a gentle caress rather than a full-on seduction. "I only wish—"

The door behind them opened, and a sleepy Gareth checked his step as he saw them standing there. "Don't mind me. Just carry on with whatever you were doing. I didn't see a thing."

As he walked away towards the bathroom, Jess felt a twinge of guilt, then stopped herself. Why should she feel bad? It wasn't as though either of them were doing anything wrong. They were both adults after all, and it shouldn't matter what anyone else thought.

But it did matter to Jessica. She'd met Darcy—Sebastian, she reminded herself—less than a week earlier. She wasn't the sort of person who fell into bed with every handsome man she met.

Sebastian sighed as he watched Gareth's retreating back. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, before tilting her chin up, pressing his lips softly to hers. "I'd better say goodnight now, before he comes back, otherwise I'll be in for a lecture." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

His second kiss was bolder, hinting at a tightly reined passion, until the sound of a flushing toilet echoed down the spartan hallway, breaking the spell between them. Sebastian stepped away and wished her a good night.

Jess whispered, "Good night," before watching him walk back down the corridor to his own room. She was still leaning against her door frame when Gareth returned.

"You okay?" It was hard to tell whether his frown grew from disapproval or concern.

Considering he had no right to feel either emotion, Jessica's reply came out sharper than she intended. "Of course. There's no reason why I shouldn't be."

His weary sigh seemed amplified in the now empty corridor. "Good night, Jessica. Sleep well."

She turned her back on him, closing the door behind her, before sinking onto the bed in her dark bedroom. The bulb was still lit outside, but the thin sliver of golden light that shone through the gap under her door was broken. She heard a scrape of a shoe on the wooden floor; then another, and she knew that Gareth was still standing outside, right in front of her door. The mercurial band of light shifted as he paced up and down outside.

Gareth Jones was acting like a mother bear, shielding a feeble cub, but she had no idea why he should feel so protective of her. Her relationship with Sebastian was no concern of his, regardless of what had happened between them in the past.

A minute later she heard a door open and close, and the presence was gone.



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]]> Heather F A Novel IdeaMon, 24 Sep 2018 17:30:45 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128016,128016#msg-128016 Playing Around in Derbyshire - 9 10 (5 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128016,128016#msg-128016Chapter 9



Her first sight of the serious Austen fans came when they took their places on stage for the opening scene. She spotted a handful of bobbing bonnets, and a few of the ladies wore their hair up, with prominent ringlets and braids. However, most of the attendees looked quite ordinary, like anyone you might meet at the shops. Every chair was taken, and a few officials stood at the back, but the audience watched their first performance in respectful silence and rewarded them with generous applause at the end.

Although she assumed things wouldn't be as bad as Darcy predicted, she soon realised her mistake. The house and grounds fell silent while the various talks and lectures were in progress, but during the brief morning break and at lunchtime the garden filled with visitors wandering around in the sunshine and, like homing pigeons returning to their loft, it didn't take them long to find Mr. Darcy.

At first, the women, sometimes accompanied by a lone male, were polite, with just one or two asking for photographs with their favourite Austen hero. Sebastian would smile as they clung on his arm, and answered their questions with a Darcy-like patience. It was amazing, really, how the presence of a character from a book could cause so many sensible looking women to melt into a puddle on the lawn.

In a way, Jess felt a little relieved that her curious fascination with Mr. Darcy was not some strange manifestation of a previously unknown personality disorder. Or if it was, at least she wasn't the only woman suffering from it.

It wasn't long before a larger group descended on them; twenty females of various ages, many dressed in Regency finery, and all jostling to get within touching distance of a real-life Mr. Darcy. Within a minute Jess found herself on the periphery of the group, while a circle of women, two or three deep in places, surrounded Sebastian as he was fawned over and giggled at.

During his ordeal, Darcy strove to remain the perfect gentleman, even when Jessica could see it was costing him some effort to keep the scowl from his face, or impatience from his voice. After suffering alone for a couple of minutes, he looked directly towards her and raised his eyebrows. His message was clear: when would she provide the promised rescue?

Taking a deep breath, Jess projected her voice into the crowd. "Excuse me please, Ladies." With judicious use of elbow and hip, she pushed through the small gap that opened in front of her. As soon as she reached Darcy's side, he grabbed her hand, locking her arm within his as though he was in mortal danger, and Jess his only chance for survival. She tried to ignore the warm glow of satisfaction at being chosen to be his life-preserver in front of all those other women.

He then offered her up like a sacrifice to appease the angry gods. "May I have the honour of presenting Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

A mumbled chorus of greetings followed his introduction, but not even the most optimistic person would describe them as welcoming. It was clear that Elizabeth's presence seriously impinged on some of their deepest fantasies, but Jessica refused to be daunted. She would stay by his side and be his shield for as long as he needed her.

"Mr. Darcy, may I take a photograph please?" one woman said with a French lilt as she wormed her way to the front. "My friends at 'ome, they will never believe I 'ave met you."

Her question prompted other requests, and the photographs continued for a good five minutes. Cameras and phones were passed around—and even over—Jessica's head as everyone offered to take pictures of everyone else standing next to Mr. Darcy. A brassy blonde with an hour-glass figure and a broad New York drawl tried to wriggle between Darcy and Elizabeth so she could capture her 'best side'. By this time Darcy decided he'd had enough, his store of patience exhausted as he made his apologies and escorted Miss Bennet back to the house.

Avoiding the busy main entrance, they returned to the basement via the garden stairs. Leaning his head back on the outer door, she heard him sigh. "Well, we survived that scrum pretty well, I thought. Thanks for saving me."

"You're welcome." He looked so appealing at that moment, his clothes slightly dishevelled from the feminine fingers that had plucked at his coat. Jessica wasn't sure whether he was aware that two of his waistcoat buttons were now undone, while his neck cloth was definitely skewed, allowing her a tantalising glimpse of his chest through the gap in his shirt. She felt herself colour, and turned away, her gaze drifting down the corridor.

Once she calmed down, she turned back to face Darcy and found him standing much closer. "What did I tell you?" He held out his hand. Four scraps of paper lay in the palm of his glove.

"What are they?"

He shrugged. "Telephone numbers, e-mail addresses. Do you think they come prepared with a stock, or write them on the spur of the moment?"

"They want to spend a little personal time with their literary hero." Jess couldn't blame them. She'd come to Exley Hall with very similar thoughts.

"I have a horrible feeling that's not all they wanted." Darcy moved towards a long, thin mirror on a nearby wall. He held the tails of his coat to one side, uncovering one buckskin covered cheek. The reflection revealed the damning imprint of a perfect pink pout. "Those nice ladies in wardrobe will have my head for this."

Jessica giggled. She couldn't help herself. Putting her hands up to her face, the giggle turned into a laugh that she struggled to rein in.

Darcy twisted his lips, trying his best to maintain a straight face. "Well, I'm pleased I was able to offer you some entertainment."

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm laughing. The sight of the lipstick, just there. Did you feel it?"

"Of course I felt something, but they were all standing so close, and I hoped it was wandering fingers. I had no idea anyone would go that far. It could have been worse, I suppose. At least the mess is covered by the coat." He peeled off his gloves and dropped them into his upturned hat. "Not that I have anything against those sort of kisses, per se, but there's a time and a place, and I prefer to be introduced first."

They moved into the green room, to take advantage of a quick lunch. Shortly after Darcy pushed his empty plate away, he slipped out of the room, unnoticed by most of their colleagues. When he returned sometime later, he was wearing his second outfit.

"Costume change, Darcy?" Mr. Flint called out with a knowing grin.

"Wardrobe malfunction."

Mr. Gardiner shook his head. "Those fans, eh?"

Darcy nodded. "Indeed. Delightful people."

"And I'd put a fiver on that not being the only costume change you have to make this week."

At the end of the day, the time came for Darcy and Elizabeth to act out their final confrontation. Jessica knew what was coming, and she tried to prepare herself for it, but even before Darcy had begged her not to trifle with him she could feel something different between them...an energy that hadn't been there before.

As he whispered "Elizabeth", and bent his head towards her she heard gasps from the crowd, and then everything disappeared except for the soft caress of his lips against hers, and his strong arms wrapped about her shoulders and waist. Melting against him, time slowed to a crawl as she relished the feeling of being held in his gentle embrace. He released her mouth, accompanied by applause and whistles echoing around the tent. To Jessica, floundering in the depths of Sebastian's gaze, they might have been five miles away.

It took a cough from the MC to bring them back to their senses. A first aider was forced to revive one of the older members of the audience who had swooned. The elevated hum of excited conversation followed them from the tent. Their interpretation of a most beloved scene was the only topic under discussion.

Jessica was grateful when the day was over so she could change back into her jeans and t-shirt, and gain a modicum of control over herself. Darcy had already made it clear he appreciated her as a friend. It would be very wrong for her to want more. That kiss had grown to be something that tantalised her senses. It felt less like a stage kiss, and more personal somehow. Surely he wasn't that good an actor, was he?

Dinner that night was a noisy affair, as everyone around the table had horror stories to tell about their encounters with the conference visitors. Trevor complained that if anyone else told him that Mr. Flint was not a character from Pride and Prejudice, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. "I can't help it, can I? The job was there and I took it. I don't need telling that Jane Austen didn't know Mr. Flint from Adam!"

"And I'll bet you a tenner that you hear exactly the same tomorrow," Mr Gardiner said.

"Nah. I don't bet on certainties."

Everyone turned curious eyes down the table when Jane started laughing. Succumbing to their enquiries Bingley, eyes downcast and face crimson with embarrassment, held up a neatly folded paper that had been pressed into his hand by a fan. He was encouraged to open it, and when he did he found a telephone number and details of a room at a local hotel in a small, neat hand. Mrs Gardiner asked Darcy how many he had received.

"I think the final tally was seven."

Jessica gasped. "You were given another three this afternoon? How did you manage that? I've been with you all the time and I didn't see a thing."

"Ah, the power of Darcy." Mr. Gardiner intoned in a deep voice. "There are only a handful of roles that can command such fan devotion, isn't that right, Sebastian?"

He sat back in his chair. "Yes, Darcy is a dream role for any actor, as long as he's willing to accept the minor inconveniences that go with it."

"Is that why you took this part?" When everyone's attention turned towards Georgiana, she blushed. "Well, this is a step down from what you have been doing, isn't it?"

"You could say the same about any one of us. I can't answer for anyone else, but I took this job because it's been a dream of mine to play the part of Darcy for years, and you never know when another chance might be presented to you. It's all about making the most of the opportunities you are given."

Jess was glad that she'd taken the chance to play Elizabeth Bennet. How, otherwise, would she have ever met Sebastian, her very own Mr. Darcy?


~~~~~




Later that evening they strolled across the lawn, allowing their feet to take them where they would. Darcy headed for the path that wound alongside the stream. Jessica was content to follow, breathing in the musty smell of rotting leaves along the damp water's edge when she stopped to inspect the wildflowers.

Once they were well within the protection of the green canopy, he stopped and looked up. "Isn't this a magical place? So serene and placid. I can't believe we've been so fortunate, landing in such a paradise. We could have spent a week in a grotty theatre, where everything is held together with string and a prayer."

Laughing, Jessica said, "You've obviously not seen the chest of drawers in my room."

"No, you're right. I've not."

Yet. The implication hung between them, like a spiders web, drawing them together. Jessica sucked in another deep breath, and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, that thread had pulled him closer.

"Elizabeth ..." That single word was filled with longing as he caressed the soft skin of her cheek. Tracing a line under her chin with his finger, he tipped her face to meet his, brushing his lips slowly across hers. As he pulled away he searched her eyes. "I'd say I'm sorry, but as you know, disguise of every sort is my abhorrence."

Despite being surprised by the kiss, she grinned when she heard the familiar words from the book. She could feel the blush heating her face, but this time she wouldn't hide it. "Your apologies aren't necessary."

"Good to know, because I won't apologise for this either." His hands rose to cradle her face, as though he wanted to be certain she couldn't escape from him; cold fingers melted against the heat of her skin. She closed her eyes, breathing in the summer scents of the garden, now mixed with the aroma of after dinner coffee. His mouth, familiar and yet different, sought hers, the softness moulding itself against her lips. When he broke away, he rested his cheek against her hair. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I wouldn't normally behave this way. I..."

Whatever mania he was suffering from, Jessica knew she'd caught it too. She lifted her head, searching for him as her hand wrapped around the nape of his neck. As she pulled his face closer, his lips slid over hers, the merest glance of skin against skin, but it sent her senses soaring. She leaned into him, her other hand seeking support from his shoulder as his hands slid down to rest on her hips, drawing her closer until his strength was the only thing keeping her upright. The idea that he found her attractive—that his feelings for her were no mere performance, to be replicated on demand—spun her completely off-balance.

Eventually, he tore himself away from her, his breathing ragged. Released from his enthralment, Jessica laid her head against his chest and sighed as he combed gentle fingers through her hair. As they stood together under the dappled shade, neither spoke nor made any move to part; the rustle of the wind in the trees a whispering accompaniment to the rhythm of their beating hearts.



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Chapter 10


Twilight bathed the gardens as they walked in silence along the path that lead back to the house. Few words were exchanged. Both were comfortable with the silence. It was enough to be in each other's company, revelling in the touch of a hand, or the brush of a fingertip.

As they reached the outer door Jessica paused and turned to Sebastian, looking up into his eyes. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For the walk, and the company. For being you."

"There's really no need to thank me. You're the one who makes it so easy for me to be myself. I feel like I can deal with anything when you're with me."

"Even the crazy fans?"

"Especially them. They aren't half as scary when you're by my side." As Jess reached for the door handle, Sebastian covered her hand with his. "I was thinking. Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

She laughed. "Don't we eat together every evening?"

He shook his head. "No, no...I meant just the two of us, on our own. There's a pub called the Green Man about ten minutes away, down the Lambley road. There are some good reviews on the Internet, and it's meant to have a pretty decent menu. I would be honoured if you would be my guest. Please?"

"Yes, I would love to. Thank you."

As they entered the basement and walked into the green room, Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Flint, Mrs Reynolds and Georgiana were clustered around the small square table, intent on the cards splayed in their hands. At the other end of the room, Mrs Gardiner, Bingley and Jane sat enthralled by a wildlife documentary. Of Caroline, there was no sign.

"My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?" Mrs Gardiner quoted, her tongue planted firmly in her cheek.

Jessica looked around and found seven pairs of curious eyes waiting for an answer. "We walked down by the stream, and went a little further than we realised."

Trevor choked on a rich tea biscuit and needed a thump between his shoulder blades from Mrs Reynolds before he could breathe properly again.

Darcy laughed. "Now, now, Lizzy! You're giving everyone the wrong idea."

Only when she replayed her reply in her head did Jessica realise the possibilities of what she'd said. Blushing, she laughed. "I didn't mean it like that. We were just walking."

Mrs Reynolds fanned herself with her hand of cards. "That's not what they called it when I was younger."

"Me neither," Mrs Gardiner agreed, as Jess and Sebastian settled in front of the television.



~~~~~




"It is a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing you," Mr. Bingley said, addressing Elizabeth. "It must be above eight months at least. Indeed, I believe we have not met since the twenty-sixth of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield."

Jess shivered on the marquee stage as a draught of cool air swirled around her ankles. She tried to ignore the goosebumps, and instead fixed a smile on her face. "I think you must be right."

"I don't think I can remember a happier time than those short months I spent in Hertfordshire, is that not so, Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy stepped forward, speaking to Mrs Gardiner. "Miss Darcy and I would be greatly honoured if you would join us for dinner before you leave the country."

Georgiana, projecting an air of shy embarrassment, concurred. "Yes, if you please. We would be very happy if you could call upon us at Pemberley. Would tomorrow evening be convenient?"

Mr. Gardiner seemed perfectly willing for his wife to accept the invitation. Jess said nothing, instead turning her head and attempting to appear suitably embarrassed. Conjuring the memory of Sebastian's kiss in the garden the previous night was all it took to bring the heat back to her cheeks.

"Thank you," Mrs Gardiner said. "We shall be delighted."

"An excellent notion!" Bingley agreed, "That will allow us an opportunity to talk about your family."

"And shall we hear you play?" Georgiana asked of Elizabeth.

"If you insist upon it then yes, you shall."

The audience clapped and cheered as they concluded the last scene of the morning. Jess smiled as she stood on the stage, looking out at the sea of faces. Many more seemed to be wearing costumes for the second day of the conference, and various feathered bonnets and turbans nodded like feeding birds as they too showed their appreciation.

Even before the previous scene had begun, Darcy had revealed three telephone numbers and one email address scrawled on the now familiar scraps of paper. One loud Scottish woman had even threatened to throw a bottle of water over him just so she could have a photograph standing next to Darcy in a clinging wet shirt. As much as Jessica might have liked to see that herself, she wasn't surprised when Sebastian had refused to humour her request.

As the applause died down, they left the stage, with Darcy leading the way. He managed to make it out of the marquee, along with Georgiana, before the rest of them were ambushed by a large group of fans, eager to question the actors who were portraying their favourite characters. While Jess was quite happy to remain in character, she struggled to provide them with the answers they desired.

A portly lady with greying hair, wearing a fanciful bonnet of feathers and bows, seemed less than impressed by Jessica's costume. "Miss Bennet. Why do you not carry a reticule?"

"My reticule? I left it with my other belongings at the Inn at Lambton." Whatever a reticule might be. It sounded like a Georgian instrument of torture, but Jessica assumed that as she was supposed to carry it, it was either an item of clothing or some kind of accessory. Perhaps an early form of pepper spray, to dissuade those dashing Regency bucks from making free with a young maid's virtue.

A fresh-faced young female with a high ponytail and round glasses held up her hand. "Mr. Bingley, would you marry me?"

Gareth's cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. "I am afraid you have the advantage of me, Miss...?"

"Taylor," she whispered, as though she hadn't expected him to say anything more than no.

"Well, Miss Taylor, I feel it is incumbent on me to reveal that my heart is quite devoted to another. It would, therefore, be impossible for me to accept your very generous offer." Gareth's gentle tone and heartfelt speech made the ladies in the group sigh audibly. Miss Taylor, in particular, seemed grateful for his thoughtful response as they all agreed Jane Bennet was very fortunate in her admirer.

After that, Mr. Gardiner answered a question about his carriage, before the group put Mrs Reynolds under interrogation. She did best of all, responding with a calm assurance and enough detail to prove herself informed about Regency housekeeping procedures. Scenting the presence of genuine knowledge, two or three of the fans shot their hands into the air, keen to learn more about the secrets of the still-room.

Looking for signs of Darcy, Jessica caught sight of what appeared to be the shoulder and sleeve of his blue coat outside the marquee. He was standing on the lawn, answering questions of his own. The breeze caught the flapping canvas door, which moved enough to reveal his inquisitor as a tall, blonde female she recognised.

Jessica couldn't help but wonder exactly what Mrs Rivers-Smithe was offering Mr. Darcy this time. Would that woman never leave him alone?

Once they'd escaped the unplanned question and answer session, she joined Mr. and Mrs Gardiner and Georgiana in the green room for lunch. Jessica propped her chin on her palm as she toyed with her salad, while the chair next to hers remained empty. Darcy's break should have matched hers. The last time she'd seen him was outside the marquee with Mrs Rivers-Smithe. Was the owner of Exley Hall still questioning him?

She washed down the last of her chicken with some apple juice and took the stairs to the main floor of the house. Although Jess passed one or two groups of visitors, no one bothered her as she headed towards the ballroom, which, in about an hour's time, would be the location of their first scene after lunch.

Just outside the ballroom was a sign, standing on a tripod, listing the talks that would be held there that afternoon. 'Economics in Regency England' sounded a bit dull to Jess, although the final lecture promised to be more lively. She had no doubt that 'Sexual symbolism in Jane Austen's works' would be a fascinating and popular topic.

She was almost tempted to sneak in the back and listen herself.

At the end of the corridor, a partially glazed door lead out to the garden. It was also the best place to view the lawn in front of the marquee, where she had last seen Darcy. Although many of the conference attendees were milling around there was no sign of Sebastian.

Returning to the basement, she checked the green room again, finding it empty. Jess was now so used to spending her lunchtimes chatting with Darcy, it seemed odd for him not to be around. Then she remembered that during their long walk the previous evening they'd found a small gazebo, hidden away behind an overgrown rhododendron. At the time Sebastian suggested it as a great place they could hide from the visitors. Could he have escaped there, hoping she would remember?

Jess left the house, her eyes scanning the milling visitors for a sight of Darcy. She was halfway down a lonely stretch of path that headed into the garden when a sharp, reedy voice called out to her.

"Miss Bennet? I wonder if I might be allowed to share a few words with you." The man who had appeared on the path behind her was tall and thin, with a pointed jaw and long, rat-like nose. His tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows gave the impression of a nerdy college lecturer, while his square, thick-rimmed spectacles suggested librarian.

Unfortunately his eyes, she had come to recognise, were pure rabid fan.

Jessica looked around, hoping to see someone else—a group of women, or one of her cast mates—nearby, but at that moment there was not a soul in sight. Not wishing to offend the man, she accepted his company while resolutely turning back towards the house. Although he hadn't yet said or done anything to concern her, she had seen enough over the last two days to feel wary about being alone with any of the Austen fans, whether male or female. As long as she kept him moving towards the Hall there was always the chance that she would meet someone else, and there was safety in company.

"I have been walking here for some time in the hope of meeting you, Miss Bennet." He grinned, pleased that he'd been able to use the line he must have been practising for hours. "My friend and I were having a discussion this morning, and I think you could shed some light on the correct answer to the conundrum we face."

"Your friend?" As far as she could see they were still alone. Perhaps his friend was of the invisible variety.

He waved a limp, dismissive hand in the general direction of the Hall. "Yes, Nigel. He's in the refreshment tent at the moment. He prefers to be called Edward, after Edward Ferrars you know, but that persona really does not suit him very well."

"And you are?"

He stopped on the path, a delicate, slightly effeminate hand raised to his chest. "Oh! I am so sorry. Of course, we have not been properly introduced. I...am...Fitzwilliam Darcy." He bowed with all the grace and elegance a skinny, lecturer-type could hope to aspire to.

Although she tried valiantly to hide the scepticism in her voice, Jessica's eyebrows rose of their own accord, like puppets on a string. "Really?"

His returning smile was slightly condescending. "I appreciate you have no reason to believe me, but it's true. I changed my name by deed poll." He reached into his inside pocket and drew out a folded document. "Look, I can prove it."

"It is not necessary. Your word as a gentleman is more than sufficient." Did he honestly believe that changing his name would turn him some sort of romantic hero? Hoping to divert his attention, she resumed her stroll along the path. "And what is this conundrum you speak of? How may I assist you?"

He stuffed the paper haphazardly back into his pocket, jogging to keep up with her. "Our disagreement revolves around your feelings for Mr. Darcy—the one in the book that is. What exactly made you fall in love with him?"

Jessica smiled, grateful that she knew the source material so well. "Why, it has been coming on so gradually that I hardly know when it began."

"Yes...yes." He waved an impatient hand, brushing away her empty platitudes. "But which of Mr. Darcy's attributes first attracted you? Was it his tall, noble mien and impressive intelligence? Or perhaps his masculine physique?"

It seemed to Jessica that he was more than a little interested in her reply. He had drawn himself up to his full height, his chest puffed out, and she realised that no matter what answer she gave him he would assume it referred to him. She was looking down, pondering how best to respond without giving him any encouragement, when he grabbed her upper arms; the delicate fingers applying more pressure than she thought possible. "Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! You are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld!"

She tried to pull away, but his hold was surprisingly firm. "This is not the sort of behaviour I would expect from a gentleman. Please, let me go."

"No...no. Not until you swear you will be mine."

The wild look in his eyes sparked a stab of panic in the pit of Jessica's stomach. If she'd been wearing her jeans and t-shirt she wouldn't have thought twice about dealing with such a shockingly poor imitation of Darcy. Dressed as Elizabeth Bennet, and determined not to drop character unless absolutely necessary, Jess resorted to fighting him with Austen's own words. "Sir, I am sensible of the honour of your proposal, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than decline."

Behind the thick-rimmed glasses, she saw a glint of appreciation for her riposte. "Oh, my dear. I am quite aware that it is acceptable practice for young ladies to reject the addresses of the man whom they secretly mean to accept."

What self-respecting Darcy would use Mr. Collins' words as justification? "I am not one of those young ladies, and I am perfectly serious in my refusal."

His grip tightened as he pulled her closer, a grotesque sneer twisting his face. "You are the most terrible tease, Miss Bennet, but once you get to know me you will see how well matched we truly are."

Only then did Jess realise how appallingly she had misjudged the situation. Words alone would not satisfy such a crazed lunatic as this. Before she had time to react, or even turn her face away, his damp, mobile lips made contact with the corner of her mouth.



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]]> Heather F A Novel IdeaSun, 28 Oct 2018 11:17:22 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128003,128003#msg-128003 Playing Around in Derbyshire - 7 8 (3 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,128003,128003#msg-128003Chapter 7


Their first three scenes in front of the public worked out better than Jess expected. The beautiful rooms of Exley Hall provided the perfect backdrop, giving their small, transitory audience the sense that they were seeing conversations from the past unfold before them.

While everything ran smoothly on stage, behind the doors, where the remaining cast waited in silence, the atmosphere was strung as taut as a violin string. In the short break between scenes, Sebastian's mood had changed. No longer was he the charming gentleman who entertained them with jokes during rehearsal. Now, he sat alone, quiet and brooding as he stared at the floor. Not knowing him well she couldn't tell if it was part of his process of becoming Darcy, or whether something else was bothering him.

Being most in demand, as Elizabeth, Jessica didn't get the opportunity to ask until later. The green room was half empty, as most of their group had already finished eating. Mr. Gardiner and Trevor sat in the chairs, viewing the lunchtime news. Mrs Gardiner's attention was fixed on her puzzle book by the window. Everyone else had disappeared, leaving Darcy and Jess alone at the table. After watching him push a lone pea around his plate for almost a minute, she said, "Is everything alright?"

He sat back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hand. "Sorry. I'm probably not the best company right now."

"If you need someone to cheer you up, I suspect Mrs Rivers-Smithe would be willing to help."

Silverware clattered as he pushed his plate away. "Why does everybody think—?" He bit off the rest of the sentence, his lips compressed in a hard line. After a moment, he sucked in a breath, releasing it slowly. "I'm sorry. Women like that...they believe they only have to snap their fingers, and we'll run to them like lemmings off a cliff. It's hardly a flattering assumption."

"Do older women make those sort of offers often?"

"It happens, and it's not always the cougars, either. People seem to have this idea that every man has only one thing on their mind. To them, I'm no better than a sex-starved gigolo, and they're desperate for anyone who will fill the gaping chasm in their lonely existence. What I want, or don't want, doesn't seem to matter."

"It must be awkward, particularly when you're working. I have a similar problem when I'm doing a few extra hours at the pub. The drunks are lining up to walk me home."

"And how do you say no without offending your regular customers?"

"I don't worry about that. I have to repeat myself five or six times, and talk really slow, but they usually get the message. They're harmless, really. But surely you don't have a problem making your feelings clear."

Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "I realise I might give people the impression that I'm oh-so-confident, and I do try to be, but when something like that happens, I never know what to say, or how to say no without upsetting the woman, or causing a scene."

His revelation surprised her, but she tried not to show it. "I think it says a lot about you as a person that you worry about someone else's feelings, especially when they don't consider yours."

"Experience has taught me that the best reaction is to say nothing, as a refusal often offends, and I would hate to offend the sort of person who owns a house like this." His attention returned to his plate, lost in thought as he studied the remnants of pie crust. After a moment's reflection, he looked up, meeting her eyes. "It's frustrating that I couldn't just be honest, and say what I really thought. I also have to think about our little project. Mandy doesn't deserve the hassle, so I didn't dare annoy our hostess."

Jessica wondered if he was speaking from previous experience, but Caroline chose that moment to return from wherever she'd been hiding. As she took the chair next to Darcy the bubble surrounding them burst and there was no further opportunity for private conversation. At least Sebastian seemed to be almost back to his assured self, and Jess was the only one who noticed the quiet moments when his gaze would drop to the patterned hall runner. In front of the audience, he was as confident as ever. The afternoon flew by, and she didn't have another chance to talk to him alone until the last guest was ushered from the park and the gates finally closed.

As they were queueing to change out of their costumes, she suggested they should all go out for an evening's stroll following dinner. Darcy agreed straight away, and so did Georgiana, until Mr. Gardiner reminded the young woman that she'd already committed to another evening of whist. The game was growing serious, and they were now using buttons to raise the stakes, having borrowed a stash from Mrs Reynold's knitting bag.

Georgiana's shoulders fell, and Jess patted her hand. "You can walk with us tomorrow, if you like. I'm sure we won't manage to cover the whole garden in one evening. The park is really big."

Darcy seemed back to normal during dinner, and she was pleased that their conversation after lunch might have played a part. After helping to clear the table, Jess headed for the garden stairs; amazed anew at the beauty waiting for them outside their stuffy basement lair.

The summer evening was warm and pleasant as they wandered between the chestnut trees and across the rising expanse of grass, heading towards a copse that rose up behind the hall. Their walk was, for the most part, silent. She sensed he was struggling with something, and hoped that he would open up to her again.

As they reached the tree line, Darcy sat in the rough grass, stretching his long, denim-clad legs out in front of him. Jessica dropped down by his side and they gazed across the valley and the leaded roof of Exley Hall below. Just at the point when Jess felt that a little conversation was required, Darcy cleared his throat. "I haven't been entirely honest with you."

"What do you mean?" A breeze ruffled the long grasses, there and gone in a moment. In the branches above their heads, a bird began to sing. It distracted Sebastian from his confession, as he looked up to discover the source of the noise.

He turned back to Jess, giving her his full attention. "The truth is, ever since I arrived at Exley Hall I've been playing a part. My part. I've been playing myself."

"I get that. Don't we all give a performance of ourselves when we meet new people for the first time?"

"I'm not sure if anyone else does, but I have to. It's the only way I can be comfortable. Normally, I don't think twice about it, but since meeting you it felt...deceitful. You're one of the few people I've met where I've really wanted to be me."

Jess smiled as she leaned on one arm, her body angled towards him. "Now you are making me curious. What's the real you like?"

He looked out into the distance. "Well, to start with, he's not as confident as that other me. The real me would never have dared to suggest that kiss at the end of the proposal scene. The other me is a bit of a show-off. He likes to be in control. Life is so much easier if I pretend to be him, instead of being myself. He's the good looking one; the man everyone likes."

"You can't act yourself handsome, you know. You really have to be born with it." And he had been. The strong jaw, high cheekbones, and sultry brown eyes were a genetic gift he could not deny.

"I disagree. There's definitely an element of acting needed for me to pretend I believe in myself. In my head I'm still the gangly, spotty youth, with legs like pipe cleaners; the one who hit puberty before everyone else, and towered over my classmates in photos. You can't begin to imagine how embarrassing it is to answer the school register with a voice like a twenty-five year old."

"And is that why you're so uncomfortable telling Mrs Rivers-Smithe where to stick her very intimate dinner for two? Do you still feel more like that boy than the man you've become?"

"Probably...yes."

How could he not know how great he looked? Even in stonewashed jeans and a vintage Queen t-shirt, with the breeze ruffling those dark chocolate curls of his, he might have been participating in an arty shoot for the front cover of Empire, or a spread in the Times Sunday supplement. "You shouldn't do yourself down, you know. I think—" Before she could tell him exactly what she thought, her phone rang. It was Bea. "Do you mind? It's my housemate. I hope she's not ringing to say she set the place on fire."

He laughed. "Go on. I don't mind."

Jess scrambled to her feet, putting a little distance between herself and Sebastian. "What's up?"

Beatrice's voice took on a defensive tone. "Does anything have to be wrong? Can't I just ring to say hello?"

"You can, but you don't usually ring me while I'm working away. The house is okay, right?"

"Of course! Everything's fine. I was just curious to find out what happened with your Mr. Darcy? I mean, did he make the scale?"

Jess shuffled around so she was facing away from Sebastian. She didn't want him to see her blushing, as she knew she must be. "Yes, the job is great. The house is amazing and we're all having a lot of fun."

"He's there with you. He can hear your conversation, can't he?"

"Yes, that's true," Jess said, trying to make her answers sound as innocent as possible for anyone who might be lying back in the grass behind her, listening.

"So, tell me, is he hot? I'm sure he is."

"I agree. This time of year is far too warm to put the heating on."

Bea squealed down the phone. "That's a yes then. And single?"

Jess looked over her shoulder towards Darcy. She gave him a wave, acknowledging that she hadn't forgotten him. "I don't know."

"What does he look like? Can't you take a picture when he's not looking? You wouldn't make me wait all week, would you?"

Feeling ridiculously proud of her improvisation skills, Jess said, "Oh yes, I remember. I have a copy of that on my phone. Let me send it over. Hang on." She scrolled through the menu until she found the picture of the two of them. After attaching it to a message she pressed send. "There you go. That should be enough proof we paid the bill."

There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by a low whistle. "Oh boy. You fell on your feet, didn't you? Now that's what I call a Darcy!"

"Is that everything you need?"

"Hmm, he looks quite tall. How tall is he?"

Jess closed her eyes, wishing that she'd ended the call sooner. "I'm not sure how big it is. Maybe a hundred and eighty centimetres? You'll have to measure it."

"Ask him!" Bea begged.

She covered the front of the phone with her hand, as she walked back to where Sebastian was still propped on his elbows in the grass, enjoying the evening sun. "How tall are you?"

He smiled. "Who wants to know?"

The cogs in her brain worked overtime as she came up with another excuse. "We need a new cloth for the table, but I can't remember how long it is. If you can just lie down flat for a second, I'll be able to visualise whether it's longer or shorter than you."

"Fair enough." He lay back in the grass, straightening his legs, his hands clasped behind his head. "Does that help?"

"Yeah, that's about the same size as the table. So how tall are you?"

He smiled, probably feeling a little ridiculous at being compared to a table. "I'm six foot three. That's about one metre ninety."

She uncovered the phone. "Did you hear that? My friend here is one metre ninety, and he's about the same length as the table."

"Yes, I heard," Bea said, chuckling. "He sounds as good as he looks. You will keep me updated, won't you?"

"Yes, that's no problem. I'll speak to you soon, okay? Bye!" Jess disconnected the call before Bea could ask her anything else. She dropped onto the grass, disturbing a butterfly that had been resting on a leaf. "Sorry. She's a lovely girl, but not entirely practical about household things. Where were we?"

"I don't know, but it couldn't have been too important." He looked out over the valley. "It's nice to be able to just sit here, and not feel compelled to talk. It's very relaxing." Lying back again, he stared at the white clouds scudding overhead. "Being here with you is comfortable, especially now I can be myself." He glanced towards Jessica. "I hope I haven't made things awkward by telling you the truth and revealing my secret."

"No, no. Not at all." She smiled as she settled herself more comfortably beside him. How like him to be concerned about her feelings.

"It's a long while since I haven't had to worry about playing up to people's perceptions of me. Do you know what I mean?"

Jessica wasn't entirely sure she did know, but she was willing to sit and listen.

He waved a hand depreciatingly in front of his own face. "This 'handsome countenance' is more of a curse than a blessing." His wearied sigh seemed to mirror his mood. "I'd probably be taken more seriously as an actor if I looked less like a brainless male model. People—women in particular—imagine me to be a sex-starved pretty boy, which is hardly conducive to earning the serious roles I'd really like to play. It's all about first impressions, isn't it?"

"I think, if you took a risk and showed them the Sebastian you've shown me, rather than the one you pretend to be, then they'll realise there's more to you than your stunning good looks, and striking similarity to Mr. Darcy."

He lifted himself onto his elbow, his eyes innocently wide. "You think I'm good looking?"

Jess raised her brows. "You're not really that dim, are you?"

"Nah, I'm just messing with you, but it's nice to be able to do that. I don't think I would be able to sit with anyone else like this and feel so easy. Another woman, sitting in your place, would usually expect certain behaviour from me. They might assume that I wanted to kiss them, or go further than that. Sometimes I wonder if it would be easier to give them what they want, rather than say no and risk making things...difficult." Lying back in the soft grass again he closed his eyes. "You don't know how good it feels to be able to relax and be myself for once."

Recalling her first thoughts when Darcy entered the green room on Thursday evening caused Jessica a moment's guilt. She'd mentally labelled him drop dead gorgeous, and he still was, but she knew him better now. Under that pretty wrapping paper was a thoughtful brain and now, it seemed, a sensitive side too.

If anything, it only made him more appealing.



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Chapter 8



The insistent buzz of her alarm clock startled Jess awake on Monday morning. Her eyelids felt leaden as she swung a clumsy arm out from under the duvet to fumble for the button. Why did she feel so tired? Perhaps the country air and unaccustomed exercise could knock a city girl like her for six.

But no, she remembered now. She'd spent hours, tossing and squirming, as she tried to fall asleep. Her brain felt as though she'd had a late night shot of caffeine. It wouldn't switch off. Images and snatches of conversation played in her head, over and over, as she'd sifted through each memory of her evening with Sebastian. How he spoke, how he laughed, and his admission about lacking confidence. The way he stared into her eyes as he spoke to her. His smile.

She couldn't describe their evening walk as romantic. Just two co-workers, surrounded by nature, chatting about nothing in particular, while looking out over some beautiful English countryside. He'd never hinted that he considered her more than a friend. Even so, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Sebastian Fox.

Jess picked up her things and slouched into the corridor. She passed Jane's room, heading for the second bathroom; the one furthest away from the staircase that tended to be least used. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to wait too long. Turning the corner she spotted a lone figure waiting in the semi-darkness.

Bingley leaned against the wall, an eerie blue glow illuminating his face like Banquo's ghost. Hearing her footsteps on the wooden floorboards he looked up, smiling as he dropped the phone in his pocket. "Morning, Jess. How you doing?"

"I'm good. You?"

He nodded towards the bathroom door. "Just waiting for Laura. Did you enjoy your walk last night?"

Jess couldn't hold back a grin. Now her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Bingley's hair stuck out at all angles, while the golden stubble on his chin made him look like a teddy bear. "Yeah, it was great. I haven't spent a lot of time in the countryside, so being able to look out across the valley was a real eye-opener for me. It's all so very beautiful."

His sigh sounded loud in the silent semi-darkness. "I know."

The bolt drew back with a loud thunk, making them both jump, and the bathroom door opened, flooding light into the corridor. Laura, wearing a floral t-shirt and shorts, was fresh-faced, wide awake and ready to face the day. "Hi, Jess. Sleep well?"

"Yeah, great thanks." She wasn't about to admit to her sleepless night. Particularly not when Sebastian was the cause.

Their ever-cheerful Jane Bennet smiled as she nodded to Bingley. "I'll see you both at breakfast then."

As Laura left, Jess settled her shoulders against the wall, hoping she wouldn't have to wait too long. But then Gareth held the door open, offering Jess a Bingley-like bow. "Ladies first."

"I couldn't. You were here before me. I don't mind waiting my turn."

"You're playing the main character, Jess, and you're in almost every scene, so you need to be ready on time. My first scene isn't until just before lunch, so it doesn't matter if I'm a few minutes late for breakfast."

Although his argument made sense, it didn't change the fact that she was grateful. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

Once in the bathroom, Jess stood in front of the basin as she studied her reflection in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, flattening down the worst bits. Bingley's bed-head might have amused her, but hers was no better. She would have to tame the tangles before she showed herself in front of the others.

Particularly Darcy.


~~~~~



By the time Jessica arrived downstairs for breakfast, the room was already busy as the others fortified themselves for another day of performances.

Mrs Reynolds and Georgiana sat together in the corner, the two having formed an unlikely friendship when the young woman expressed an interest in learning to knit. Since her first hesitant enquiry, Mrs Reynolds had lent her a pair of needles and some pink fluffy wool, and now her meticulous stitches were earning her mentor's approbation, row by row.

While Trevor laughed at something on the television, Mr. Gardiner sat in moody silence, hunched over his eggs and bacon, and occasionally throwing dark looks towards Mrs Gardiner. Jess carried her cereal to the other end of the table and took her usual seat next to Jane. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "What's up with those two?"

"Gerald wanted to play a few hands of whist with his breakfast, but Alison put her foot down. She says he's obsessed with the game and thinks gambling isn't an appropriate activity for the breakfast table. On top of that, she also threatened to complain to Mandy if he even took the cards out of his pocket. Where's Gareth?"

"I think he'll be down soon. He let me use the bathroom first, which was kind of him."

Jane smiled as she pushed her empty bowl away. "Gareth would. He's nice like that. Actually I—"

"Good morning, ladies." Darcy's voice, coming from behind her, made Jess jump.

She turned in her chair, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Aren't you a little late?"

He slid into the seat next to hers. "For your information, Miss Bennet, I had an early breakfast this morning. Then, when you weren't here to keep me company, I went for a quick nosey around on the main floor to see what preparations they were making for the convention."

They'd already seen the specialist company erecting two white marquee tents on the lawn on Saturday afternoon, while their group were running through the dress rehearsals. Inside the largest marquee, a raised stage stood at one end, faced by rows and rows of chairs, laid out with military precision. The smaller one would provide catering facilities for the visitors.

"As well as the big top, I found out they're also using the ballroom for talks, so the attendees can enjoy their fascinating lectures or presentations in two different places at the same time. I don't know when they'll have time to watch us." He turned towards the door, where Mandy was struggling with the stand for her flip-chart. "Looks like we're going to find out now."

Mr. Bingley, entering the room behind Mandy, swept the easel out of her arms, and unfolded it ready for her to hang the pages.

"Thank you, Gareth, and good morning, everyone. While you're all together I'd like to run through the events of today and tomorrow." The general buzz of conversation faded as the cast gave her at least some of their attention. "Schedule constraints mean we won't have time to do every scene today. We thought the organisers would know which scenes their guests would most wish to see, so here's the running order for today and tomorrow."

Jessica ran down the list, to see what had been cut. From the first half they'd cut the opening scene at the Lambton Inn, and Darcy's arrival at Pemberley, while in the afternoon Bingley's proposal was also missing. The last one made sense to Jess, as it wasn't shown in the book, and they were Jane Austen fans after all.

Mandy turned the page, revealing the timetable of the various presentations. She explained how they would show their scenes at the beginning and end of each talk, while the attendees were a captive audience. They'd staggered the timings, allowing their group to move from the marquee to the ballroom and back, so every conference guest should see at least half of the performances.

"Note the altered lunchtimes. That allows half of you to spend time mingling with the visitors, for photo opportunities. If you can stay in character, even better. They'll love that."

A grumbling noise from the other end of the table suggested that Mr. Gardiner wasn't overly enthused about the idea of being a prop in someone else's snap, but Mandy chose to ignore it. "That's great. If everyone can make their way to wardrobe, we'll start at 9.30, so let's meet in our usual spot at nine."

With hair and make-up done, Jess smoothed the front of her long-sleeved dress and hoped the weather would stay warm. Even a slight cooling breeze would run straight through the thin muslin, particularly out in the marquee. She walked through the corridor, heading for the stairs that led up to the main floor of the house. At the top, she found Darcy waiting for her.

"Have you seen what they've done to the ballroom?" He curled a beckoning finger. "Come and look."

"Shouldn't we be meeting Mandy?"

"We have fifteen minutes yet. Plenty of time for a quick peek."

Herringbone parquet ran the length of the long, narrow hallway, until they arrived at a carpeted section outside the open doors of the ballroom. Inside, more chairs faced a projector and screen. Ever curious, she poked her head in and looked around, but there was nothing much to see. Apart from the chairs, a shallow stage-like platform with a lectern, a screen and one table for the projector, the room was empty. "So all the visitors here today will be Jane Austen fans?"

Darcy nodded. "And you know what that means, don't you?"

"Not a clue. Do they all wear dresses and bonnets?"

"No idea about the bonnets, but..." He put a brotherly arm around her shoulder and steered her back down the hallway as he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "Sometime today, we will end up surrounded by a large gaggle of women of a certain age, who would like nothing better than to scratch your eyes out and dump me in the lake."

"Why the lake?"

"To see Darcy in a wet shirt, of course! Or maybe to see Darcy taking his wet shirt off. I wouldn't put anything past those fans." He spoke with such feeling that Jessica had to laugh.

"It's no laughing manner, Miss Bennet!" he said in his most serious, Darcy-like tone. "I'm beginning to suspect you do not care for my welfare at all. I thought we were friends. Do you not feel the smallest bit sorry for the pain I will have to endure over the next two days?"

Jessica turned to give him an answer, but the words died in her throat as she found him staring at her with such intensity that her heart fluttered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Knowing how easily she blushed, Jess turned away. The last thing she wanted was for him to think her no better than any other woman he met.

"Playing the role of Darcy for the general public is one thing, but I've heard the serious fans are a different breed altogether. I wasn't joking about the lake. I'll bet you ten pounds that, by the end of today, at least five of them will have asked me to get soaking wet for their edification. Then there'll be the innumerable photographs and the fondling―"

"The what?"

He stopped walking and shook his head, laughing. "I think that's one of the things I most like about you. You seem blissfully unaware of the more sordid side to our profession, which just proves you're not like the rest of them. You have to picture the scene." He held his large hands spread out in front of him, like a photographer framing a shot. "Imagine for a moment that you are me, and I am a rabid fan. Can you do that?"

"It's a stretch, but I think I can manage."

"Okay. Stand there and be me." As she stood on tip-toe, trying to make herself as tall as possible, he hunched his shoulders to appear smaller and plastered an adoring grin to his face. "Oh, Mr. Darcy," he cried in a rasping cackle, more suited to one of Shakespeare's witches. "Can we have a picture please?" He moved close to Jessica, moulding his body to her side, while one hand wrapped tightly around her waist. The other arm he held out straight, as though he was holding a phone. "Cheese!" he croaked, getting into the spirit of the character as his hand slipped down to stroke her bottom.

She jumped away from him, as though she had been burned. "You must be joking! They wouldn't do that to you."

He held out his hands, the picture of an innocent man. "Don't be so sure. I wish I was wrong, but I'm not. It must be those tight breeches that get them going." Then his smile faltered. "I doubt that's the worst thing I'll have to worry about either."

Jessica spluttered. "I can't imagine anything worse than that!"

Darcy's bleak expression put her in mind of a fox surrounded by baying dogs. "Remember those situations? The propositions?" She nodded. "Well, it wouldn't surprise me if it's ten times worse today and tomorrow. If I don't get to the end of the convention with a handful of telephone numbers pressed into my hand on bits of torn envelope or program, then you can call me a liar. "

Jessica hoped to see a teasing smile on his face, but he was deadly serious. "I'm sorry. That must be awful for you. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Are you strong enough to stand against a combined mass of overenthusiastic superfans? Can you withstand the daggers that will surely be thrown every time someone looks at you? If you think you're tough enough then I could use your body." He grinned, before grabbing her hand and holding it to his chest. "Be my shield. Help me fight them off. With you by my side, some of them might think twice before trying anything."

There was the other Sebastian coming to the fore. The part he played to make himself appear confident and in control. She didn't have to consider her answer for very long. "Of course I will, but you might have to save me too. If they're as bad as you say they are, there's a strong chance I might be hit over the head with a parasol and dumped in the lake myself."

He squeezed the hand he still held in his own. "Don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

The promise, so earnestly given, was reassuring. Whatever happened, she knew he would look after her.



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]]> Heather F A Novel IdeaTue, 23 Oct 2018 19:51:49 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127982,127982#msg-127982 Playing Around in Derbyshire - 5 6 (1 reply)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127982,127982#msg-127982Chapter five


Jessica checked her reflection in the large hallway mirror. After spending half an hour with the hairdresser she felt more like Elizabeth Bennet than ever. They'd pinned her hair up properly at the back, and created ringlets that fell on either side of her face. She shook her head, smiling as the curls danced.

Dew coated the grass as she left the house, but overhead the sky was blue, with only the occasional fluffy white cloud to break up the monotony. Bees buzzed lazily as they danced between the stalks of purple and lilac bell-shaped flowers.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning.

The cast assembled on the lawn outside wardrobe for publicity photographs. Jane wore pale blue, with blue ribbons crossing over the bodice. Georgiana's white gown, trimmed with thin bands of pale green velvet, only aided the impression of youthful innocence. A sombre black coat, breeches, white stockings and shiny black shoes transformed Trevor into a serious looking butler, while Mrs Reynolds appeared even more austere in plain grey with an old lace scarf around her neck and shoulders, and a frilly white cap covering her grey hair.

Mr. Gardiner seemed to be struggling with his waistcoat, pulling it down over his protruding belly. "I bet that damned woman made this short on purpose."

"Oh do stop moaning, Gerald." Mrs Gardiner looked neat in her caramel and cream striped walking dress with light shawl and high crowned bonnet. "Perhaps if you didn't go back for seconds at dinner your costume might be a little more comfortable."

"That's just the sort of sympathy I'd expect from you," he grumbled before wandering off.

Darcy and Bingley arrived a few minutes later, and Jess wasn't the only one admiring the view. Mr. Bingley's chocolate brown coat and pale breeches were half hidden by a light grey driving coat that brushed the ankles of his leather boots as he walked. Gareth carried a tall hat and brown leather gloves in one hand and a cane in the other. He'd swapped his glasses for contact lenses, while the hairdresser had brushed his sandy blonde hair forward onto his face, in the style of a proper Regency gent. Jessica thought the period clothes suited him very well, and now he'd removed those ugly metal rims he didn't look half bad.

Yet Mr. Bingley couldn't hold her interest when Darcy was right in front of her, in the dark blue morning coat she'd seen the previous day. He wasn't wearing a long overcoat, so she could better admire how snugly his breeches seemed to mould themselves around his thighs. Sliding her gaze upwards, she met his eyes. He smiled and she felt herself blush again.

Sebastian offered a gentlemanly bow. "Did Miss Bennet sleep well?"

Before she could answer, Caroline stepped between them, brushing imaginary fluff from the front of his coat. "You are very smart this morning." She looked him up and down, although to Jess it seemed more down than up. "I knew you'd look fantastic in those breeches."

Sebastian nodded his thanks as he offered a polite response, before adding. "Nice dress, by the way."

Caroline's dark apricot gown was rather more embellished than the others, with a low, wide neckline, and a short embroidered train. The sort of thing the ladies of Jane Austen's time would have worn in the evening, rather than on a damp lawn just after breakfast. She shared a simpering smile and a wobbly curtsy. "Why, thank you, kind sir."

The press photographer shouted to attract everyone's attention, as Mandy shuffled the cast into their correct positions. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy stood in the middle of the group, with Jane and Mr. Bingley on one side and Mr. and Mrs Gardiner on the other. Jess thought they probably looked like a wedding party, with herself and Sebastian playing the part of the bride and groom. Everyone else clustered around them, and Jess smiled for the camera until her cheeks ached.

"Now if we can have Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet on their own?" The photographer adjusted their positions and returned behind the lens before bringing in Jane and Bingley for a small group shot. After a few more pictures, either in a group or pairs, he finally seemed satisfied and they were allowed to return to the house for their final dress rehearsal.

The previous evening Mandy had given them a tour of the ground floor, where they would be presenting their scenes. Every room was a generous size, although some were more cluttered with furniture than others. In the third scene they took advantage of two separate doors, so Sebastian could enter from the opposite side.

"Miss Bennet!" He froze in place, as though in shock.

Not to be outdone, Jess gasped, her eyes wide. "Mr. Darcy!"

"I—" Sebastian paused again, seemingly at a loss for words.

"We did not expect to see you, sir. We were told the family were away from home, or we should never have presumed to disturb your peace."

"I returned unexpectedly. H...have you been in Derbyshire long?"

Elizabeth looked away, uncomfortably embarrassed. "Two days, sir."

"And are your family well?"

"Yes, they are very well."

"Where are you staying?"

"At the Lambton Inn. Do you know it?"

"Yes, of course." After another moment of silence, Mr. Darcy made his excuses and slipped out of the room, leaving Elizabeth to continue the scene with her aunt and uncle.

Mrs Gardiner moved closer. "Was that the master of the house? So handsome, and so like his portrait! He has an admirable figure. It was very kind of him to notice you."

"Oh, Aunt," Elizabeth sobbed, "we must leave at once!"

Mr. Gardiner stepped forward. "But why? Was Mr. Darcy unhappy with our presence?"

"No, not at all, but..." Jess allowed the sentence to trail off as she crossed to the side of the room as, from this point, Elizabeth would be revealing her thoughts directly to the audience, like a Shakespearean soliloquy. "How strange my arrival here must be to him! Why did I agree to come? Or, why did he come home earlier than expected?" Jess paused for a beat, her gloved hands clasping and unclasping. "And his behaviour, so strikingly altered. That he should even wish to speak to me...and speak with such civility, to enquire after my family! Never in my life have I seen his manners so little dignified. What does it mean?"

Mr. Gardiner interrupted her performance. "Shouldn't Darcy be wearing fewer clothes in this scene?

"Oh, yes! A wet shirt," Mrs Gardiner agreed, smiling. "I'd like to see that."

Jess shook her head. "The BBC miniseries had him meeting Elizabeth in a wet shirt, but in the book, he's coming from the stables." It seemed to Jess that more than one Gardiner was disappointed by her news.

After meeting Mr. Darcy again in the dining room, they were appropriately astonished by his reappearance. After declining his offer of refreshment, and once he had asked permission to introduce his sister, it was time for them to break for lunch.

The group returned downstairs to the servant's hall, their costumes covered with strategically placed napkins to keep them clean. No one doubted the icy reception they'd receive in wardrobe if any of the clothing was returned covered in grease stains.

Even Darcy did not trust his luck to that extent.

Dress rehearsals continued after lunch; the cast moving through the house until they reached the card room, where Elizabeth and her aunt would pay a formal visit to Miss Darcy at Pemberley. The first lines were somewhat stilted, reflecting the young girl's lack of experience in Society. Of course, Miss Bingley had no trouble conversing with their guests, particularly once Mr. Darcy made his appearance.

Ruth Swale played her part so well, her impression of Caroline Bingley so exact, that Jessica found very little to like.

"Pray, Miss Eliza, are not the Militia removed from Meryton?" Miss Bingley's expression was both disingenuous and saccharine as she paused for a response.

Jessica straightened her back, and raised her chin, irritated on Elizabeth's behalf. "Yes, they are now gone to Brighton."

Caroline's feigned solicitousness was honey-sweet. "Oh dear! That must be a great loss to your family."

As Georgiana shuffled uncomfortably in her chair, Jessica allowed her gaze to drift to Darcy and, for a brief moment, their eyes met. He smiled, and she wondered what he was thinking. Once Elizabeth and Aunt Gardiner left the room, Jess lingered outside the door, listening to the remainder of the scene.

"How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy," she declaimed with enthusiasm. "I never in my life saw anyone so much altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse!

"She is somewhat tanned, but that is no miraculous consequence, given they have been travelling in the summer," he replied.

Jess knew from the script's directions that Caroline would move herself centre stage at this point. "For my own part, I confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin, her complexion has no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character; there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which I have sometimes heard called fine, I never could perceive anything extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion which is intolerable." There was a beat before she continued. "I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, and how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty. I particularly recollect your saying, one night after they had been dining at Netherfield, She a beauty! I should as soon call her mother a wit. But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time."

"Yes," replied Darcy, in a voice laced with impatience, "but that was only when I first knew her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."

Darcy's words made Jess smile, but not as much as when Sebastian followed Caroline out into the hallway at the end of the scene. "Ah, and here she is," he said as he took her hand in his. "The most handsome woman of my acquaintance."

They quickly ran through the remaining scenes. Mrs Reynolds reappeared after her costume change for the scene entitled 'Lady Catherine's visit' and entered into the spirit of the part with gusto. The rest of the cast took the part of the audience behind the red rope and applauded their confrontation.

Darcy's second proposal went very much as it had the previous day. When he kissed her again, she found that she needed to grab his lapels in case her legs decided to abandon the fight to stay upright. She still wasn't sure that his response to her positive answer was quite what the fans would be expecting; and―more to the point―it left her own emotions in jumbled confusion.

When the kiss ended, Darcy held her in his arms for a few seconds longer than necessary, looking down into her eyes. Did he realise how much it affected her? She was an actor. She should be able to kiss another cast member whenever the script called for it without suffering such a strong reaction. Jessica promised herself to be more professional when it came to the real performance, and not allow her own feelings to ruin the moment. She had to remain detached.

As everyone left the last room, to return their costumes and change for dinner, she held back from the group, preferring to walk alone and give herself time to review her performance. As Jessica entered the hall she found Mr. Bingley waiting for her. Gareth was a nice guy. As tired as Jess was, she didn't have the heart to rebuff him. It would be like kicking a puppy.

"I thought your scene with Lady Catherine was particularly effective," he said. "I liked the way you paused in the middle, just for a second or two. You should make a point of keeping that in."

"Thank you. I think I should too. You and Jane work really well together. I enjoyed Bingley's proposal very much. We don't usually get to see that scene, as Jane Austen skipped over it in the book."

Gareth smiled. "Yes, it's a lot of fun. I've never proposed to anyone before, so the nervousness isn't entirely an act, but Laura is fantastic to work with. She's been a real help."

"It's lucky you two get on so well."

There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "You know, it's a pity Charles Bingley was such a complete ass."

Jess paused at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. "What makes you say that?"

He looked down at the hall runner, hands thrust into his pockets. "It's obvious really. He fell in love with the wrong sister. I've often thought Bingley needed someone more confident as his wife. Someone who would help to steer the family through life, rather than follow him blindly. Jane was too meek for him."

Jessica was surprised he knew the book so well, although she couldn't bring herself to agree with his interpretation of it. "I honestly thought Jane and Bingley made the perfect couple, so I never imagined him with anyone else."

"Sometimes couples can be too perfect. He is too easily led, and Jane too complying. I've no doubt Jane and Bingley would get along fine but, like Mr. Bennet says, nothing would ever be decided between them. Each one would be forever deferring decisions to the other." He looked up then, to see Jessica's reaction.

"I haven't thought of it like that before," Jess said as she made her way down the stairs. "Don't you think Elizabeth would soon become bored with Bingley? I mean...well, I don't think she'd necessarily want a husband who was quite so persuadable. Mr. Bennet also tells Elizabeth that she needs to be able to respect her partner. Do you really think she could respect easy-going Mr. Bingley?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "If he loved her, and she loved him, he would grow to become the kind of husband she needed. The challenge might have been good for him."

Jessica smiled as she nudged his elbow. "Well, look on the bright side. If Jane Austen had thought that way, then you might have ended up proposing to me, rather than Laura. Scary thought, eh?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and that would have been such hard work."

Jessica punched him playfully on the shoulder. "It could have been. You have no idea what a diva I can be when I'm in a bad mood."

He held the door open for her, allowing her to walk past him. "I don't think you could ever be a diva, but if you want to pretend I won't tell the others."

"Won't tell us what?" Jane asked as they joined the back of the queue waiting for wardrobe.

Bingley gave another half-hearted shrug before wandering off to talk to Gerald.

Jane cast a curious look at Jessica. "What was all that about?"

"We were only talking about the Bingley from the book." She could see that Jane was still unsure. "I swear I'm not after your Mr. Bingley."

"He's not my Mr. Bingley," Laura quoted, a half smile on her lips.

"No? Well, if he isn't yet then he soon will be if you continue to spend so much time together."



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Chapter six



Mr. Gardiner pushed his chair back from the table, patting his stomach. "Whatever I might say about them saving money on the production, at least they don't scrimp on the food. I could get used to this life."

Mrs Gardiner glanced at the empty serving dishes piled up at their end of the table, her pointed nose wrinkling with disapproval. "You're like a pig at a trough. I've never known anyone who eats so much."

"I'm only taking advantage of the bounty they put in front of me. It would be a shame to waste it." He lifted a pack of playing cards out of his pocket and glanced around the table. "I've heard card games were really popular during Jane Austen's time, and even the posh ladies played. Can I tempt any of you to join me in a hand or two of whist? If Mandy objects we'll call it historical research."

"Some of us have better things to do," Caroline said as she excused herself and left the room. Mrs Gardiner shook her head, removing instead to a comfy chair in a quiet corner where she curled up for the evening with a well-worn book of sudoku puzzles.

Mrs Reynolds had brought her knitting but laid the bag to one side. "I'll have a go, although you'll have to remind me of the rules. I haven't played whist in years."

Mr. Flint helped to clear the table, while Georgiana expressed an interest, although she admitted she was a complete novice when it came to games.

"I'm a bit rusty myself," Mr. Gardiner admitted, "so we can all learn together."

Everyone else moved away from the table, settling into the comfy chairs in front of a small television. Sebastian flicked through the channels with an air of restlessness. "So this is what a Saturday evening looks like in the middle of nowhere. How did people cope, living so many miles from civilisation?"

"I think they used to entertain themselves." Jess nodded towards the table, where Mr. Gardiner had just taken the first trick. "They played games, read books, and strolled in the garden."

"I think it's beautiful here," Jane said. "I'd love to live in a place like this. The closest I get to the countryside is walking my dogs on the heath, and I have to catch the tube to get there."

Gareth yawned, stretching his legs in front of him. "I grew up in the countryside. You get used to the quiet and soon learn how to entertain yourself."

Sebastian turned to Jane. "Don't get me wrong. Derbyshire seems like a nice place. I'm just used to walking down the street and seeing friends, or popping round to my local pub, or having a meal at the Chinese restaurant on the corner. Exley Hall is miles from their nearest neighbour. It feels so isolated, as though we're living on an island. I'm not sure I would have wanted to live here full time."

"That might be why Mrs Reynolds has the line about Darcy not visiting Pemberley very often," Jess said. "He must have preferred life in town too."

"See? I'm more like Darcy than anyone realised." A muffled jingle came from the vicinity of his pocket. Apologising for the interruption he pulled out his phone, glancing at the message on the screen. "It's from a friend. He's been having a rough time lately. I think I ought to ring him back. Do you mind? I won't be long."

"Of course not. Go ahead." As Sebastian left the room Jess felt flattered that he'd even asked her. They were co-workers, sitting together, watching television. It's not like they were on a date.

A few minutes later Sebastian's head came around the door, and he signalled for Jess to join him. As she slipped into the empty hall, he said, "My friend is a huge fan of Jane Austen. I mentioned I was working with a fantastic Elizabeth Bennet and he wanted to know what you looked like. No description of mine can do justice to the reality. Would it be alright if we take a photo together, so I can show him?"

Jess looked down at her jeans and t-shirt. She didn't feel much like Elizabeth in these clothes. "Wouldn't it be better to wait until tomorrow, when we're in costume?"

"I'm sure he'd love that, but I think he could do with cheering up tonight. Is that okay?"

Who could object to a photo with Mr. Darcy, in or out of costume? "No problem. I'm happy to help."

Sebastian moved to her side, wrapping one arm around her waist as he held his phone with his other hand. Jess felt a tingle in her chest as he pulled her closer, and bent his knees slightly to counteract the difference in their height.

"Ready?"

"Go for it," Jess mumbled between lips frozen into a smile.

A flash lit up the dim hallway, momentarily blinding Jess. She blinked to clear the afterimage dancing on her eyeballs.

Darcy checked his screen. "We both look like ghosts. The flash on this phone is rubbish. Can we try again somewhere else? There's still some daylight outside."

Jess nodded her agreement and they left the basement by the outside stairs that led directly to the gardens. She took in a deep breath, enjoying the unpolluted country air. No matter what anyone thought about the inconveniences of being in the countryside, at least there was no smog or exhaust fumes; just the summer scents of lilac and honeysuckle. "When we're stuck in that dingy basement it's easy to forget that it stays light for longer at this time of year. We're only a couple of weeks from the longest day."

"The scenery is certainly beautiful," he agreed, as doves cooed in the branches above their heads. "Where did you want to stand?"

"Anywhere you like."

Sebastian's hands returned to her waist as he shuffled her around until they were facing the setting sun. "There. You're now in the spotlight, just as you should be. Are you ready? Say cheese."

Jess smiled into the camera. After a few seconds of silence, she looked up at Sebastian, meeting his eyes. Brown eyes that really were quite beautiful when you studied them closely. "Did you take it?"

"What? Oh, the photo?" He grinned. "Let's try it again."

This time Jess heard the click as he captured the moment. "Can I see?"

He held the phone in front of them. Jess wanted to be certain she didn't look like an idiot, and was surprised by how good the picture was of her. Sebastian had judged the lighting just right. The warm glow of the evening sun lit her face in a really flattering way. Then her eyes slid across the screen to check out her companion. It was a great photo of Darcy, or at least it would have been if he'd been looking at the camera. The photo had caught him staring at Jess; his expression softened by the hint of a smile.

"I'm not sure I ought to send that picture to my friend after all. It might not cheer him up as much as I thought. He'll be jealous as hell."

"It's a lovely photo."

"Did you want a copy? It's no problem. Here...send it to yourself." He grinned as he offered his phone.

Her hands shook slightly as she cradled the handset. "If you wanted my number you only had to ask." She added her details to his contacts then passed the phone back.

"You never know when it might come in handy." Sebastian pressed a few buttons. "There. The photo's on its way." As he slipped his phone into his back pocket he scanned the horizon, taking in a breath and letting it out as a long, slow sigh. "It's not that bad here, when you escape from that airless basement. I think I could get used to it. Maybe we should go for a walk before we head inside."

The idea of a long walk through a romantic summer garden with Darcy would have appealed to Jess at any time. The chance to get to know Sebastian better was just a bonus. "That would b—"

"Jess?" A voice came from behind them. Gareth stood at the top of the steps. "Laura sent me to fetch you. That period drama you wanted to watch will be starting in a few minutes."

Her interest in the sumptuous period romance had waned as soon as Sebastian suggested a better way to spend their evening, but she lost her chance to speak when her companion said, "Of course! I'd forgotten all about your film. We'd better go back inside before it starts."

Jessica's protests fell on ears that, if not deaf, were at least too gentlemanly to allow her to miss something she'd previously shown an interest in.


~~~~~



By Sunday morning, everyone was preparing in their own particular way for the day ahead. Some sat down to a hearty breakfast while others were too afflicted by first day nerves to even glance at the food on offer. Georgiana was convinced that the smell of the eggs and bacon Mr. Flint was wolfing down was making her queasy, while Mrs Gardiner couldn't bear to look at Mr. Gardiner's thick slabs of fried bread, or the fat congealing on his plate.

Jessica was more excited than nervous and joined Bingley and Jane who were having a small bowl of cereal and some fruit.

Most of the cast had their dog-eared scripts close to hand―lying on the table, sticking out of back pockets or bags, or rolled up like a fly swat―as they took the last opportunity to go over their lines; either in the privacy of their own heads, or in hushed whispers under their breath.

Mrs Reynolds, sitting in the corner of the room, was watching the others with a rare smile in her grey eyes. Offering her a cup of tea, Jessica asked if she was ready.

"Of course. You don't spend fifty years in this business without learning how to memorise your lines." She eased herself out of her chair, happy to be able to show off her abilities. Changing the tone of her voice slightly, taking on the humble accent suited to a housekeeper, she quoted a random line. "This room was recently redecorated on the orders of Mr. Darcy, after his sister took a particular liking to the room."

Jessica sat up, recognising her cue. "He is certainly a good brother."

"I expect that Miss Darcy will be delighted by the scheme, but that is always the way with him. Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her."

Jess glanced back towards the table, where Darcy was distracting Georgiana from her nerves by cracking jokes with Mr. Gardiner. They were making a point of reassuring the young girl that all would be well. Yes, he was playing the part of a good brother, and she didn't think it was completely an act either.

After breakfast, it was time to don their costumes. Once dressed and ready, the troupe returned to the blue drawing room where Mandy gave them some last minute instructions before their first performance.

"As long as everyone sticks to the timetable it should work out just like our rehearsals yesterday. You all know when your lunch breaks are, and you must keep to the schedule. Tomorrow and Tuesday, during the Austen Convention, we'll be doing things slightly differently as our performances have to fit around the various talks and events. The organisers have asked if you can be available for photo opportunities between scenes, and if you can stay in character while you're interacting with the guests that would be even better."

"Hang on a minute! No one said anything about improvisations!"

Mandy smiled at Mr. Gardiner. "You don't have to if you'd rather not. I just thought it would be nice for people to feel like they're meeting the characters as they explore the house or gardens."

Mrs Gardiner raised her hand. "What if they ask us questions we don't know the answer to? I'm no historical expert."

"Just do your best." Their production assistant checked her watch. "I expect everyone to be ready and waiting for when the gates open at 10am, but before that I have a surprise for you all. Someone who would like to say hello."

On cue, the door opened and an unfamiliar woman entered the room. The neat, trim figure smiled at the assembled cast, as Mandy made the introductions. "Everyone, this is our generous hostess, Mrs Rivers-Smithe."

Her blonde hair, subtly coloured to camouflage the tell-tale wisps of silver, hung perfectly straight, with no strand out of place, while high cheekbones and tanned, unlined skin gave the impression of someone who could have been a catwalk model thirty years earlier. Yet Mrs Rivers-Smithe hadn't entirely been able to hold back time, as her hands bore wrinkles at odds with the rest of her appearance. With a double string of pearls lying against a pink cashmere twin set, Jessica guessed that Mrs Rivers-Smithe would not have felt out of place in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot.

"Oh, how lovely to see you together like this! You all look delightful in your costumes." Her precise, plummy accent spoke of boarding schools and debutantes as she moved around them, complimenting their clothes and accessories. She proved herself a fan of the book by unerringly identifying their characters and shared a few words with each of them, until only Elizabeth and Darcy remained.

Arriving in front of Jessica, she gave a wry smile. "Oh my, Miss Bennet! Well, you do look the part. I'm so glad. It would have been frightful to see Darcy making sheep's eyes at a plain Elizabeth, for although Jane is meant to be the beauty I never thought that Darcy would be so smitten as to fall for a dowdy girl! Yes, I think you will do very well indeed."

"Thank you for letting us perform in your beautiful home," Jess replied, resisting the urge to curtsy.

"You are very welcome, my dear. And here is Mr. Darcy, in all his glory. How delightful! I was concerned that the casting director could easily make a mess of casting Darcy, but I could not be proved more wrong. You are perfect! Isn't he just perfect?" she asked of Jessica, who nodded her agreement.

"The ladies who are organising the convention will be here later, and I must introduce you to them. I am sure they will be highly delighted with you." The glamorous owner of Exley Hall ran a pink painted fingernail down the lapel of Darcy's blue coat. "I would love the opportunity to discuss your thoughts on Mr. Darcy's character. Playing the part must give you a real idea of the man hiding beneath that starched shirt of propriety. It would be wonderful to explore the different facets of his character with you. I think I could learn a lot from your...unique viewpoint."

"Well, we really ought to get to our starting places," Mandy said, her voice overly bright. "The gates will be opening in a few minutes."

As Jessica accompanied her into the hallway she kept an ear on the conversation that continued behind them as Mrs Rivers-Smithe hung off Sebastian's arm.

The older woman's voice had dropped, sounding sultry and unctuous, like a bad impersonation of Marlene Dietrich. "Perhaps you could join me for dinner one evening. My husband will be away for a few days, so a little company would be very welcome. My apartment is only in the east wing, and we would be able to continue our discussion without interruption."

Jessica bit her lip. Surely Mrs Rivers-Smithe hadn't meant her invitation to sound as suggestive as it had. Remarks overheard in isolation, without looking at the speaker, could easily be taken out of context. Perhaps she'd imagined the kittenish purr that coloured the tone of the older woman's words.

Or maybe she flirted with every handsome young man she met?

Sebastian gave a brief, non-committal answer before they headed towards their starting positions. When Jess looked across at Darcy, all her questions were answered. He'd heard the not so subtle offer too.

There was no mistaking the miserable, hunted look in his eyes.




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]]> Heather F A Novel IdeaSat, 01 Sep 2018 05:13:27 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127953,127953#msg-127953 Playing Around in Derbyshire - 3 4 (4 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127953,127953#msg-127953Chapter three


The clock chimed six as Mandy took up her position at the front of the room. "Thanks for arriving on time, everyone. Welcome to Exley Hall." She collected a handful of loose papers from the table and cleared her throat. "You all know what we'll be doing next week, but maybe not why we're doing it. This beautiful old building is celebrating it's two hundred and fiftieth birthday next Thursday, and the owners, along with the local tourist board, are hoping to cash in on their Jane Austen connection to increase visitor numbers."

Mrs Green raised a thin, wrinkled hand. "Is there a Jane Austen connection?"

"They think Miss Austen might have visited Exley Hall while she was travelling in Derbyshire. She mentions the house in her letters, and as the nearest village is called Lambley it's given some people the idea that the house and village were the inspiration for Pemberley and Lambton in her book. This is why the owners decided on the Jane Austen theme for their celebration."

Mandy peeled back the cover of the flip-chart. "There have been a few last minute changes, so I'll need to run through our timetable for the next ten days. Sunday will be our first day of performances. Monday and Tuesday we're sharing the house with the Jane Austen Convention, so we'll have to fit our running times around their talks and lectures. On Thursday there is a Regency fair and tea-party in the grounds, so they're expecting the most visitors then. Next Saturday will be our final day."

She turned the page, revealing a bullet-pointed list. "Here are the eleven scenes we'll be presenting to the house visitors. We will show each scene in a different room of the house. Hopefully, you've all spent some time learning your lines."

Mrs Green's hand rose again. "Why are we not doing the whole play? Would that not be easier than messing about with individual scenes?"

Mandy shrugged. "The owners wanted to encourage more visitors into the house. They tried 'Shakespeare in the Park' here a couple of years ago, but it was rained off. My boss suggested this kind of pop-up theatre, using the rooms on the house tour. Fortunately, Exley Hall is perfectly set out for this. The internal corridor can function as our backstage area, while the public walk through each room behind the red ropes. You'll be performing in the parts of the room the visitors aren't allowed to enter, so please be careful of the furniture and antiques, and try not to break anything.

"Tomorrow we'll rehearse downstairs in the servants' hall during the day, and after tea I'll show you around the rooms where our scenes will be set. On Saturday Exley Hall will be closed to the public for health and safety reasons, because they need to erect the marquee for the convention. That gives us a great opportunity to rehearse in the house all day on Saturday, so you can block out your scenes and get an idea how much space you'll have available to move around."

The eleven scenes were split into two acts. The first five would be presented during the morning session, which ran from ten in the morning until twelve-thirty. After an hour for lunch, they would cover the remaining six scenes before the house closed at five.

"Jessica, Gerald, Alison and Emily. Your first scene will be in the breakfast room, where the Gardiners and Elizabeth talk about visiting Pemberley."

"Why do they need Georgiana?" Trevor asked before Jess had the chance.

"Emily will be doubling up as the chambermaid serving them breakfast at the Lambton Inn," Mandy said, before turning her attention to the second item on the list. "Jessica, Gerald, Alison. You'll also be in scene two, where Mrs Reynolds shows them around the house. That scene will be next door in the yellow parlour, with Mrs Green."

Alison sighed as she looked up from her script. "So many names to remember! Given that we'll only be together for a week, wouldn't it make more sense if we all answer to our character names?" Glancing around the room at the others, she counted their silent shrugs and nods. "Thank you. I'm sure that will make things easier for all of us."

Laura, who Jess had already begun to think of as Jane Bennet, put her hand up. "The fifth scene of the afternoon session is titled 'Lady Catherine's visit', but we don't have a Lady Catherine."

Mandy smiled. "Mrs Green will be playing the dual roles of Mrs Reynolds and Lady Catherine."

This was news to everyone except Mrs Green. "Housekeeper in the morning, irascible Aunt in the afternoon. Now that's what I call job satisfaction."

Georgiana leaned forward. "B...but if we're using our character names what should we call you? Mrs Reynolds or Lady Catherine?"

A rare gleam of humour lit up the old woman's face. "Let's stick to Mrs Reynolds, shall we?"

An older woman wearing an apron interrupted their meeting to let them know dinner was ready. The production assistant rolled her eyes, but couldn't really ask the catering staff to keep the food warm until the meeting ended. Instead, she invited them downstairs, where the old servant's hall would serve as their canteen, rehearsal space and green room during their stay.

The narrow staircase down to the basement created a bottleneck of bodies in the corridor. Jess was near the back of the group when Sebastian moved next to Laura. "You must be playing Elizabeth Bennet."

"No...no, I'm not. I'm Jane."

He frowned. "Really? But then who...?" His question tailed off as he scanned the group. After discounting Georgiana's youthful appearance, Jane laughed and pointed behind him to where Jess was hiding.

He turned, and for the first time she had Sebastian Fox's full attention.

Although Jess didn't mind being stared at, she'd never been stared at by Mr. Darcy before. Even wearing jeans and a collarless shirt his height and imposing presence made her feel jittery. Then he chuckled as he shook his head. "I'm so sorry, I ought to have known. Of course you're Elizabeth! What a stupid mistake for me to make, and how very Darcy-like." He held out a hand to Jess. "Good evening, Miss Bennet. I'm Sebastian, and I'll be your Darcy."

Just hearing him say those words set off a tiny tremble in her stomach, and she stumbled over her own name. Instead of shaking her offered hand, he lifted it to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to her fingers. Jess felt her face grow warm and hoped she didn't look like a blushing schoolgirl.

"You know, I'm not usually such an idiot," he continued with genial self-deprecation. "I can assure you that, unlike Darcy, I don't make a habit of sticking my nose in the air or ignoring beautiful women." Perhaps to prove his point Mr. Darcy offered an arm, escorting her down the stairs to the low-ceilinged hall.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirl for Jessica. It felt natural for Sebastian to sit at the head of the table, but not before he'd made sure she was settled in the chair next to his. The understandable awkwardness she often felt when meeting a new set of castmates for the first time was lessened by his innate ease and friendliness, and an aptitude for drawing others from around the long rectangular table into the conversation.

During the evening, Sebastian enquired about her previous work, and later offered some stories of his own. His resume was far more impressive than hers, although no one listening to the conversation could ever have accused him of boasting. Caroline—who had pounced on the chair to his right like a lioness hunting a gazelle—made an effort to overshadow Jessica with a long list of successful theatre productions and minor TV appearances. If she was hoping to snag Mr. Darcy's full attention, then she must have been disappointed, because, just as in the book, he didn't pay her much notice at all.

At almost twenty-four, Jessica had thought herself inured to a handsome face. You couldn't spend more than ten years hanging around theatres, with its ever-changing stock of good-looking young men, without becoming disillusioned with the species. Yet Sebastian Fox was not just incredibly handsome. He was also a patient and sympathetic listener. He tolerated Caroline's efforts to dominate the conversation, and even laughed at Mr. Flint's awful jokes.

After dinner, the cast remained around the table, nursing their drinks as they reminisced over past productions, famous names and ancient scandals, until the older members of the group decided to retire. By unspoken agreement, the whole cast climbed the three flights of stairs together, and each cast member called out their goodnights as they disappeared through their own doors. Mr. Flint's room was just before Jessica's, while Jane's was on the far side.

As Jessica reached for the door handle she sensed Sebastian behind her.

Bingley, his eyes shifting between the pair of them, frowned as he wished Jessica goodnight and returned to his room opposite hers. She spun around. They were alone in the corridor; Darcy pensive and silent as he stared down at her. "Where is your room?" She winced, mentally kicking herself as soon as she's said it. She'd grasped the question for want of something to say, not thinking how forward it might sound until it left her lips.

He grinned at her discomfort but seemed to understand that she hadn't meant it as a request for a personal tour of his bedroom. "Back there, nearest the stairs."

The implication couldn't be clearer. He'd walked past his own room to see her safely to hers. Despite having met Sebastian only a few hours earlier, he'd already climbed higher up her Darcy scale than any man she'd known in the last four years.

"Well, in that case...we have an early start tomorrow, so I'll...I'll see you in the morning." Hopefully, by then, she would have untangled all the knots in her tongue.

He shared a smile of understanding as he bowed his head. "Sleep well, Miss Bennet."



~~~~~



Breakfast began at seven o'clock sharp. Only Mr. Flint and Mr. Gardiner were morning people, as they huddled over the sports section of the daily paper, discussing the latest odds on the three-thirty at Ascot. The others consumed their bacon and eggs or cereal and toast in what passed for silence among their transitory community.

By nine o'clock they'd cleared the room, and moved the large table to one end, allowing space for the cast to rehearse.

"I confess I would love to see Pemberley again," Aunt Gardiner said with a sigh as they began with the first scene.

"Are we close by?"

"A mere five miles from Lambton. It would be no more than a mile or two out of our way," Mr. Gardiner confirmed. "I have no objection if your aunt wishes to go."

"My love, should not you like to see a place of which you have heard so much? A place, too, with which so many of your acquaintance are connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you know."

"I must own that I am weary of great houses, after visiting so many during our journey." Jess infused her words with all the reluctance she knew Elizabeth Bennet would have felt at the idea of visiting Pemberley without an invitation.

"If it were merely a fine house richly furnished I should not care about it myself, but the grounds are delightful." Mrs Gardiner swatted at a fly with her script. "Not that my room is richly furnished, of course," she added, dropping out of character. "There's not enough space to swing a cat. Very different from the Master Suite. Have you seen the main rooms upstairs yet?" When Jessica shook her head, Mrs Gardiner sat back in her chair. "Very elegant. Imagine what it must have been like to sleep in the Master's chamber with the blue and gold draperies, and that huge bed with twisted posts." Her smile widened as she paraphrased from the book: "To be Mistress of Pemberley would have been something indeed!"

Emily giggled. "The Mistress of Exley Hall isn't enjoying the benefits. I've heard the Major and his wife sleep in a small set of apartments in the east wing."

"Don't blame them at all," Mr. Gardiner said, laughing. "Can you imagine how it would be if they overslept one morning and found tourists wandering through their bedroom?"

Mandy's entrance cut their laughter short, and they returned to the beginning to try it again. A brief time later, they moved onto the next scene, where Mrs Reynolds would show them around Pemberley and talk about her favourite subject.

"I have heard much of your master's fine person," said Mrs Gardiner, as she pretended curiosity in an imaginary miniature. "It is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not."

Mrs Reynolds frowned and looked at her script. "Shouldn't it be like him or not?"

"No, it clearly says like or not."

"Who wrote this script?"

Mr. Gardiner grinned. "Wasn't it Jane Austen?"

Mrs Reynolds shot him a withering glance before purposefully turning away from him and resuming character. "Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?"

"A little."

"And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?"

She cast a quick glance at the man himself, sitting in the far corner of the room, talking to Mr. Flint. "Yes...yes, he is very handsome."

Following the direction of her gaze, Mrs Reynolds snorted. "And I've no doubt he would agree with you about that," she replied, in an undertone. "It seems our Mr. Darcy thinks very highly of himself indeed."




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Chapter four


As rehearsals continued, each cast member received a summons to the makeshift wardrobe department, where racks of costumes, a sewing machine and two ironing boards were squeezed into the old housekeeper's room. They called Jess in just before lunch, which provided her with a much-needed respite. She'd found it rather exhausting to work with Mrs Reynolds while she was in Lady Catherine mode.

When Jess opened the door the smell of freshly laundered cotton wafted over her; the comforting aroma rekindling memories from earlier times, sitting with the theatre dressers while they were mending tears or adjusting seams. Sebastian stood in the centre of the room while two women hovered around him, pinning here or adjusting there.

He smiled as soon as he saw her, and held out his arms, turning slowly. "Well, what do you think? Does Miss Bennet approve?"

She allowed her gaze to slide over his form, taking in his stone-coloured breeches and stockings, embroidered waistcoat and snowy-white shirt. On top he wore a navy coat with shiny brass buttons, its tails reaching almost to the back of his knees, while the cut-away front seemed explicitly designed to emphasise the wearer's masculinity.

Catching his eye Jessica realised that he still expected an answer. "Yes, Mr. Darcy. I approve very much. You look very smart. Every inch a gentleman." Some inches more so than others.

His answering grin held a touch of satisfaction, as though he knew just what was going through her mind. "I'm glad you think so. Would you mind giving me your opinion on this one?" He shook his fingers impatiently towards a second coat hanging on the rack. One of the assistants fell over herself to help him out of the blue coat, while the other held out a second for him to slip his arms into.

Jessica sighed. It was dark green, and again he looked wonderful.

After spending a few moments appreciating just how well he fit into his costume, one of the women in the room reluctantly turned her attention towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Jessica had learnt from a young age that there was no place for modesty in show business. The changing rooms were nothing more than an open space behind two racks of clothing, standing across opposite corners of the room. However, seeing her own costumes, with their high empire waistlines, distracted her from any embarrassment. The first gown was a simple white cotton, decorated with delicate lace, and a deep frill at the bottom. The second dress had long sleeves and an all-over pattern of tiny blue flowers on a cream background.

After temporarily pinning up Jessica's long hair, the dresser settled a short velvet jacket over her shoulders before moving around to the front. Once she'd made a few adjustments—mumbling instructions around an assortment of pins sticking out from between her lips—she stepped back and instructed Jessica to turn around so she could check her handiwork.

The whole ensemble looked perfect, as though she'd stepped back in history to the early 19th century. Inhabiting the clothes made such a difference, and really helped her to feel like Elizabeth Bennet.

"Oh yes, that's very nice."

Jess started. She had been so busy studying her reflection in the tall mirrors that she'd almost forgotten Mr. Darcy, who had returned to his everyday clothes. Leaning on the rail he twirled his finger around in the air, requesting a second rotation. When she obliged he nodded his appreciation. "And without the jacket?"

His question sent the assistant scurrying to do his bidding. As they peeled the little coat from around her shoulders, Jessica felt strangely under-dressed in the thin muslin, even though it covered her from collarbone to ankle. She did a second turn for him, without waiting to be asked.

"Miss Bennet has exquisite taste, I see." By the time she glanced back at Sebastian, his attention had turned to something on the props table; the fob watch, chain and seal that would complete his outfit.

She wondered why he was still hanging around. "Is no one waiting for you to rehearse?"

He shrugged. "All my scenes are with you. Besides, they'll be calling lunch in ten minutes. I thought I'd wait and escort you there. I trust you have no objection?"

Of course she couldn't object. The wardrobe staff seemed to look upon her with a new-found respect, and set to work a little faster to complete the last minute adjustments to her dress before they allowed her to slide it carefully over her shoulders. She settled comfortably into her jeans and t-shirt and they left wardrobe to head to lunch.



~~~~~



That afternoon, the cast worked their way through the remaining scenes. Mr. Darcy played his part to perfection, seeming to know exactly the amount of assurance and deference to give to the role. As they took up their positions for each scene he transformed, giving himself a more noble mien and regal aspect. If he'd reminded Jessica of Mr. Darcy in the blue drawing room the previous evening, it was nothing to the way he looked when he was consciously playing the part.

"If we had known you would be at home, Mr. Darcy, we would never have dreamed of invading your privacy. Your housekeeper informed us that you would not be here until tomorrow. Indeed, before we left Bakewell we understood you were not immediately expected in the country." Jess bit her lip, hoping she'd coloured Elizabeth's lines with the right amount of apologetic embarrassment.

Mr. Darcy stood, seemingly at ease, yet Sebastian subtly conveyed his character's own agitation by twisting the signet ring on his right hand. "That is true. Business with my steward occasioned my coming forward a few hours before the rest of my party. They will join me early tomorrow, including some who can claim an acquaintance with you; Mr. Bingley and his sisters." He paused for a scripted beat before adding, "One person in our party more particularly wishes to be known to you. Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to introduce my sister to your acquaintance during your stay at Lambton?"

Knowing how surprised Elizabeth would be by his question, Jess dropped her gaze to the floor in a show of bashful modesty. "I would be happy to make her acquaintance,"

Sebastian's shoulders fell as his voice returned to its natural timbre. "Can you imagine how Darcy was feeling at this point? I know he was tongue-tied and awkward the first time he met her in the garden, but he must have been so aroused, knowing that the woman he loved was right there, standing outside his own house."

"Is that all you men ever think about?"

"That's not the point. This time in history must have been hell for any man in love. No phones, no internet, and no way of communicating without breaking all those ridiculous etiquette rules. He hasn't seen her in months, thought she hated him, and all of a sudden there she is!"

Jess sighed. "I know. It's so romantic."

"Romantic? It must have been agony for him. His mind would have been full of her, wondering what she would look like under all those layers. Although he couldn't even hold her hand, don't think for one second he wasn't imagining all the places he might be touching her if they were alone."

"No, no. Mr. Darcy is...was a gentleman. He was happy to see Elizabeth and eager for her to meet his sister. He wanted to show her that he had changed...that he wasn't the same man she'd rejected earlier in the book."

"Men haven't changed that much in two hundred years. Being a man, I think I can safely say what we as a species spend most of our time thinking about." His stare became more firmly fixed in her direction. "Particularly when a man finds a woman who interests him. It's human nature, I'm afraid."

Slightly flustered by his look—a look she would have described as meaningful if she tended towards the melodramatic—Jessica picked up the pages of her script again and suggested that they ought to continue with the scene. He made no argument, and they began again from the first line.

By the time they reached the proposal, Mr. Flint and Mr. and Mrs Gardiner stood by the door, while Georgiana perched on one of the chairs next to Caroline. Jane and Bingley were sitting to one side, exchanging whispers as they watched the final scene play out.

Darcy turned suddenly, staring at Elizabeth with an intensity she thought might burn her soul. "You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged. One word from you will silence me on this subject forever."

Jessica blushed and looked down at her feet, feeling almost as nervous as Elizabeth Bennet must have felt upon hearing his declaration. "Mr. Darcy. My...my sentiments on this occasion are so...so very different from your previous declaration that I imagine you must think me quite fickle. My feelings have altered, to such a startling degree, that it is almost impossible for me to sufficiently express my gratitude of your happy assurances."

Darcy's face seemed to transform; one minute grim determination, the next an exquisite happiness that made him glow. He took a step closer, capturing her hands in his as he looked into her eyes. "Miss Bennet! Elizabeth! Is it true? Dare I hope I have won your love?"

A withering voice by the door shattered the romantic moment. "You've got to be joking! Dare I hope I have won your love? My cat could write better than this rubbish." Everyone turned to look at Mrs Reynolds, who shook her head, her lips pursed in disgust. "I realise they have no original dialogue to borrow from, but couldn't they come up with anything better than that?" As the previously quiet room erupted with overlapping opinions her sharp voice cut through the noise. "You!" She pointed a bony finger at Sebastian. "What do you think Darcy would say if you didn't have to spout this drivel?"

"I don't think he would have said anything. If I was in Darcy's position, hearing her words, I would grab Elizabeth and kiss her senseless. Any real man would do the same." He paused until he had the attention of everyone present. "All Miss Austen wrote in her book was that he expressed himself just as you would expect from a man violently in love. That doesn't mean it was necessarily a verbal expression of love. Of course, back then she couldn't say they kissed, but I'll bet everyone understood what she meant at the time." His gaze met Jessica's. "If I was violently in love, and the woman of my dreams had just accepted my proposal, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off her."

Mrs Green nodded her approval. "The most natural reaction is often the best. We'll see what Mandy says." She wandered off to find the production assistant.

"Well, I think it's an excellent idea," Mrs Gardiner said. "We need something to liven up the story, and really get the audience applauding."

Jane stood up. "It's hardly in keeping with the spirit of the book though, is it? I don't think the Jane Austen fans will like it."

Bingley's usually placid features were tense. "Darcy is supposed to be a gentleman, and no gentleman would behave in that way."

"It's a terrible idea," Caroline said. "Change the dialogue, by all means, but there's no need for a physical kiss. It would completely ruin the power of the scene, and isn't anything like the book."

Even shy little Georgiana felt compelled to share her opinion. "We really ought to follow the script, don't you think? Otherwise, we might get in trouble."

Mr. Gardiner shrugged. "I don't care what you do, but make your mind up. I'd like to finish this first run-through before dinner. I'm starving."

Sebastian smiled. "The quicker we decide, the sooner we can finish rehearsing." When Mandy arrived Darcy explained his idea, and she agreed that they should at least try it out.

Moving back to her starting place, Jess dried her damp palms on her jeans and took a couple of deep breaths to relax as she waited for Darcy to join her. She hadn't been this nervous since her last opening night. It wasn't that she objected to kisses in general, but she hadn't expected to be kissed, on stage, by Mr. Darcy.

"Let's try it again." Darcy took up position next to her and leaned closer, whispering, "Relax. It'll be fine. You'll see."

Jess felt a tangle of anticipation growing inside, like that feeling just before the roller-coaster goes over the top. She swallowed her nerves and faked a smile. "I hope so."

Sebastian straightened his back, and lifted his chin, inhabiting his character once more. "My affections and wishes are unchanged. One word from you will silence me on this subject forever."

"My sentiments on this occasion are so...so very different from your previous declaration that I imagine you must think me quite fickle." As Elizabeth expressed her gratitude for his actions, Darcy turned to her, a gentle smile spreading over his face. Then, before she could draw another breath, he clasped her in his arms, whispered her name and brought his lips down to hers for one of the most seductive kisses Jessica had ever experienced. Counting the seconds in her head, she clung to his shoulders to keep herself upright.

When he finally released her the room exploded in appreciative applause. "Should we keep that change in then?"

"I don't see why not," Mr. Flint said. "The audience ought to like it, except perhaps the die-hard fans, and it's not like the scriptwriter is supervising the performances."

They all looked at Mandy, who was nodding uncertainly. "I'm not sure my boss would like it, but then she's not here to ask. We might get a few complaints, but it could really help with the publicity."

"Even complaints can be good for business," Mr. Flint reminded her.

Mandy smiled. "I can tell Sebastian doesn't have a problem with it. What does our Miss Bennet think? Do you have any objections, Jess?"

Jessica wanted to say yes. She could not imagine how she would get through the week knowing that, every afternoon around four thirty p.m., she would have to cope with a kiss that turned her legs to jelly. Seeing everyone else's enthusiasm for it she smiled weakly and shook her head.

It was going to be a long week.





~<>~@~<>~
]]> Heather F A Novel IdeaSun, 12 Aug 2018 05:45:26 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127940,127940#msg-127940 Playing Around in Derbyshire - 1 2 (7 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127940,127940#msg-127940It may seem, at first glance, that I've posted this story on the wrong board. Despite initial appearances, this is not a Fan Fiction story. It's an original story, with original characters, which just happens to be partially influenced by Jane Austen. Naturally, there are some lines taken directly from Pride and Prejudice, most of which are part of the "script". It becomes much less "Austen-like" as the story progresses.

This has been a ten-year labour of love. I wrote and posted the first version of this story in 2007, under the title "To Act in Your Name". Since then it's been re-written and greatly expanded, now being more than double the length of the original. Few (if any) who read the story here will have ever come across the old version, or the original ending, but if you do happen to remember it, I'd be grateful if you could avoid posting spoilers. Thank you!



**Please Archive**


Blurb: "When Jessica Lyons is offered the role of Elizabeth Bennet in Pride & Prejudice, it feels like fate has handed her the chance to find her very own Mr. Darcy."




Chapter one

She never saw it coming.

There was no warning. No dark sense of foreboding as the tiny black and white ball sailed across the screen and hit the back of the net.

"Yessss!" Jared jumped up, fist thrusting towards the ceiling as an exultant cry spread through the crowded pub. Her glass, knocked from her hand by the sudden movement, cartwheeled once in midair before smashing against the edge of the table.

He snatched his phone out of harm's way and dried the screen with a loving caress before stowing it safely in his pocket. His friends slithered back to avoid the spreading puddle of vodka and coke dripping off the table like an alcoholic waterfall. Those sitting at nearby tables offered cardboard coasters in a pitiful effort to mop up the mess.

Only then did he spare a thought for Jessica. "You okay?"

The white top had looked so pretty in the shop. Now it had a new pattern; a diagonal slash of dingy brown, like one of those canvases you might see hanging in the Tate Modern. Cold, wet denim clung to her thighs, as her jeans had soaked up nearly half of the liquid. Jess carefully collected some of the larger glass shards that lay in her lap as she bit back a curse. "I think I'll live."

Someone threw Jared a dry bar towel. He grinned as he blotted the coke from her chest until she snatched it off him. The day before, when he'd asked her out, his uneven grin had seemed cute. That was before four and a half pints twisted that cute grin into a lecherous leer that turned her stomach. He bent close to her ear, his beer-breath reeking. "I didn't expect you'd be practising for the wet t-shirt contest tonight."

He was right. The coke hadn't just stained her top. It had turned parts of the white polyester transparent, and Jared's mates into giggling thirteen-year-old boys. The one, admittedly tarnished, silver lining was that it had also stained her white bra a pale beige, so it was less noticeable at a distance. Jess covered the worst of the mess with the towel. "I'd better go and clean up."

"You can come back to our place if you like. We'll get you out of those wet clothes and dry them on the radiators." One of his friends laughed as Jared waggled his eyebrows.

Did he honestly think his offer would appeal to her?

Jess collected her bag and her jacket. She had no interest in spending another minute in their company. "I think I'll be okay. I'm nipping to the ladies room. I won't be—" Her words were smothered beneath a chorus of cheers and boos as one of the teams playing on TV scored another goal. She slipped through the crowd, past flashing fruit machines and the thumping bass of the jukebox, doubting whether he'd even notice she was gone.

She rinsed out the stain and held her top under the hand dryer, hoping it would dry enough for her to get home. It hadn't been a great night, even before the accident, but she couldn't lay the whole blame on Jared's slightly hunched shoulders.

It was all Jane Austen's fault.

Ms. Austen had written most of her favourite romantic heroes: those fictional but otherwise perfect specimens who existed only to sweep a girl off her feet. Yet despite years of fruitless searching, she hadn't entirely given up hope of one day finding a mild-mannered Henry Tilney, a steadfast Captain Wentworth, or—if she was really fortunate—a prideful Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Even George Wickham would be an improvement on Jared.

Everyone knew gentlemen were a dying breed but was it really asking too much to meet one? Or were they consigned to the past; only coming to life within the pages of romantic novels and dusty history books?


~~~~~


Raindrops rebounded from the pavement as the taxi stopped halfway down the deserted street of neat terraced houses. Jessica thrust a moist ten-pound note towards the driver, hunched her shoulders against the storm and flew towards the nearest front door. Once inside she peeled off her jacket, draping it over the radiator as water pooled on the tiles beneath.

Her soggy jeans stuck to her skin, and she eyed the staircase as a mountain to be conquered on her way to some warm dry clothes and a fluffy towel, until a disembodied voice floated from the kitchen.

"Is that you?"

She rolled her eyes in the semi-darkness. "No, it's my evil twin. With an axe. I thought I told you to keep the door locked at night?" She glanced in the hall mirror as she passed, running her fingers through the limp clumps of hair plastered against her head and shoulders.

A willowy figure with a mass of red curls and a retroussé nose bounced into the hallway with her arms full of towels. She wrapped a large one around Jessica's shoulders and offered a second for her hair. "I didn't want you to get any wetter while waiting for me to unlock the door. It's horrible out there. How was your date?"

Jess sighed and shook her head. "You wouldn't believe it."

"Pity. I had high hopes for Jared. I thought he showed promise. You go upstairs and get changed, while I put some milk on for cocoa. Then you can tell me all about it."

Jessica smiled at the motherly tone in her house mate's voice but did as she was told. She peeled off her jeans before shrugging herself into pink flannelette pyjamas. Ten minutes later she'd snuggled into the corner of the sofa, wrapped in her soft dressing gown, her hands around a warm mug, inhaling the chocolaty aroma.

Beatrice sat in the chair opposite, her back straight and legs crossed, yoga-style. "So Jared didn't climb too high on your scale of eligible bachelors then?"

"I think even a three would be too generous."

"Not even a Frank Churchill? Ouch. He seemed like quite the gentleman when he bumped into you in the café...all polite and apologetic. You were only meeting him for drinks. How could he mess that up?"

"The first half hour was fine. We were chatting about his job and I thought it was going well. Then his friends turned up and the whole evening suddenly morphed into a boys' night out. At that point, I became slightly less important that the match they were showing on the big screen. I don't expect to be the centre of any man's world, but I would like to rank a bit higher than a stupid ball game, particularly on a first date. It's not as if they were playing a major cup tie, or something important. It was an Italian league game." As Jess described the accident with her drink she realised Jared hadn't even apologised.

"Perhaps you were best off out of it."

"That's what I thought, so when I'd dried off I decided to come home. By the time I left the pub it was throwing it down outside, and I was only wearing my short jacket, so I went for a taxi instead of waiting for the bus."

"If you came home in a taxi how did you get so wet?"

Jess shivered involuntarily as she recalled the moment she'd been drenched by the filthy water. "I swear the first cab drove through the puddle in front of me on purpose. There was no way he didn't see me. So I went from damp to soaked in a matter of seconds. To top it off, the second taxi driver complained about my wet clothes messing up his upholstery and tried to charge me extra. If I hadn't been so desperate to get home I would have told him where to stuff his taxi."

Bea grinned. "Go on, say it."

"What?"

"The same thing you say whenever you have an awful date. Where are all the real gentlemen these days?"

"Wherever they are I can tell you they don't spend much time in the Frog and Dolphin." Her gaze drifted to her shelf next to the TV, which held all her classic novels and her collection of period drama DVDs. She loved the whole idea of living in a time where men removed their hats, bowed to the ladies and didn't feel the need to check their phone every five seconds. "Is it too much to ask for a man's undivided attention for a couple of hours?"

"These days, yes. Besides, you don't just want their attention, Jess. You want someone to sweep you off your feet. You bring all this disappointment on yourself by reading those stupid romance books. Jane Austen is a danger to the sanity of womankind, by raising false hopes all over the world. If she wasn't long dead already I'd be tempted to strangle her myself. You need to realise that modern men aren't like those guys with the tall hats that you watch on telly every week."

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't watch them that often."

"Every other week then. Face it, you're obsessed with those brooding, Byronic heroes with the baggy shirts and tight breeches. What is it about them that you love so much? I never thought Mr. Darcy was all that. He's a stuck up snob at the beginning, thinking he's better than everyone else. His first proposal is borderline offensive."

"You're missing the point. He has to start out like a jerk so he can become a better man. I like the way he listens to Elizabeth, even if he doesn't always understand what she's saying. He goes to visit her, but he's tongue-tied and embarrassed. Once he falls in love with her, his feelings are constant, and he doesn't stop loving her, even after she rejects him. Mr. Darcy is the kind of man who would hold the door for you and allow you to go through first, rather than letting it slam in your face. He would walk nearest to the road, to protect you from sadistic taxi drivers and puddles. He wouldn't spend all night on his phone, or watching football, because he's only interested in you." She sighed. "I just want to meet someone like that, but there's not many of them around these days. At least, not under sixty."

"At the theatre, Giovanni holds the door for me all the time. He's very sensitive and romantically minded, and he's not even thirty yet."

"I thought you said he was gay?"

Bea shrugged. "All the best dancers are, but you're going to have to lower your standards if you don't want to be perpetually disappointed. You'll never find a man you can be happy with if you measure them all against a mythological creature like Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"You're probably right. Besides, even if he did exist chances are he's most likely married."

"Exactly. You need to cut all these twenty-first-century guys some slack. Then you might not be disappointed so often." Bea uncurled from the chair and stretched her arms above her head before collecting the empty mugs. "Bedtime for me. I have early rehearsals tomorrow. Did you see those letters I left on the table? They were on the mat when I got home."

The brown envelope contained a phone bill. The other had a return address for an office in Streatham; a place she'd visited only a fortnight ago. She ran a shaky finger under the flap and pulled out a thick booklet; a script she already knew by heart. A smile grew as she returned to the living room. "Do you still think I can't find a real-life Mr. Darcy?"

"Never. Like the Yeti, he doesn't exist."

"He does, or at least he will do next month." She waved the script in front of Bea's eyes. "I got the job."

"Which one?"

As the reality sank in her excitement bubbled up inside, like a balloon about to pop. "The job! The one in Derbyshire I told you about. I'm going to be playing the part of Elizabeth Bennet, with the Regency dresses and everything!"

Bea laughed. "You lucky cow. So you will be meeting a Mr. Darcy after all. I hope the poor guy realises what he's taken on, playing a role that embodies every virtue. Being the perfect man must be so boring. How long will you be away for?"

"It's a short project for the local tourist office; part of some Jane Austen celebration week they're putting on. We'll have three days prep and rehearsal, then I'll be acting out selected scenes from Pride and Prejudice every morning and afternoon for seven days."

"Only ten days? It's a pity that won't give you very long to get to know Mr. Darcy. And they're actually paying you for this?"

"Not a lot, but to be honest I'd almost have done it for free. We'll be staying in a beautiful stately home, in the middle of nowhere. They're providing all the food and accommodation, and the house is only open in the daytime, so there are no evening performances. I don't care that the money is awful. I've always dreamed about having Jane Austen on my resume, and this might be my only chance. It'll be like spending the week in a real-life period drama."



~<>~@~<>~




Chapter Two


As her taxi drove through the ornamental gates, Jessica craned her neck to catch her first glimpse of Exley Hall. The winding ribbon of tarmac took them past a herd of deer, dotted across the wide paddock, while real sheep roamed bumpy fields in the distance. The only sheep Jess normally saw were the stylised drawings on her shrink-wrapped lamb chops.

After a few more minutes the road descended into a valley, revealing the hall, squatting in the landscape like some kind of stone tomb. Signs by the roadside identified points of interest, such as the Japanese garden or the Orangery. One arrow pointed to the car park, while another directed visitors to the reception and ticket office.

Jess asked directions from a cheery young woman wearing an Exley Hall sweatshirt. She followed the path around the outside of the house, and down a flight of steps, to reach the basement room being used as a temporary office for their production. Inside, a laptop hummed while a harassed female with a phone in each hand seemed to be holding two separate conversations at once. She pointed towards the spare chair and Jess sat down, waiting until the call was finished before introducing herself.

The woman brushed the loose wisps of blonde hair back from her face. "Hello! Sorry to keep you waiting. My name's Mandy." She picked up a clipboard, her pen sliding down the list of names until she located Jess. "Ah, you're our Miss Bennet! You're a bit early. We didn't expect anyone for another hour or two yet."

"Unfortunately the local trains don't run too often this far away from the main line, and the next one would have been half an hour too late."

"Well, at least you had no problem finding us. Let me show you to your room. It looks like I'll be coordinating things on my own for now. My boss was supposed to be here, but I think she might have resigned. It's a nightmare!" One of the phones started ringing again. Mandy sighed, checked the screen and declined the call. "We'd better get moving before they try again. Follow me."

They passed through a long corridor and up a flight of narrow stairs that took them from the basement level to the ground floor of the house. At the top of the stairs, she unclipped a rope marking the staircase as out of bounds to visitors. "We're going to meet in the blue drawing room at six o'clock. That's this room here." She pointed to a door that stood ajar, next to a full suit of armour. "But the house doesn't close to the public until five so until then you can get yourself settled in your room. It's on the top floor, in the old servant's quarters." The melody on her phone played again. Apologising, she glanced at the clipboard and waved towards a grander staircase. "Go up two flights, ignore the no entry sign, and then take the corridor on your left. Yours is the fourth room on the right. You can't miss it."

When Jessica reached the top of the second flight of stairs, she paused to catch her breath. The drab walls and bare floorboards had probably seen hundreds of servants come and go over the two hundred and fifty years of Exley Hall's history. For the next week it would be her home away from home. She counted the doors until she reached the one she'd been assigned and peeked inside.

Spreading her arms wide she couldn't quite touch both walls at the same time, but it only lacked a few inches. A narrow bed, pushed against the wall, stood opposite an ancient chest with three drawers. The dozen hooks screwed into the wall and a handful of hangers was the closest she'd get to a wardrobe. The only concession to modernity was a tiny hand basin squashed into the corner behind the door, the mirror above barely larger than a paperback novel.

Jessica sank onto the end of the bed, making a couple of experimental bounces on the lumpy mattress. It wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. As she ran her hand over the cool cotton quilt cover she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Despite its size, the bedroom wasn't all bad. She'd slept in worse, including a B&B in Brighton that had been memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Standing on tiptoe she peered through the grimy dormer window set high in the angled ceiling, but all she could see were the tops of the ancient trees that dotted the lawn, and a sliver of the hills in the distance.

Jess looked at her watch. She had more than an hour to kill so she settled onto the bed, allowing her head to sink into the soft pillow. Jess felt tense and stiff, like a coiled spring waiting for its release. It was nothing more than her eagerness to meet the group of people she would be working with over the next ten days. This week's work would not earn her any glowing reviews, but at least she could look back and say she had spent a week with Mr. Darcy.

Wasn't that every woman's dream come true?


~~~~~


She woke with a start, her eyes snapping open as she looked around. The bed must have been more comfortable than she thought because she'd dozed off. Panic rising, she looked at her watch, and then released a breath. She'd only slept for a little over an hour, and there was still plenty of time before she had to make her way downstairs.

Before her nap, the house had been silent, but now she could hear the faint murmur of voices in nearby rooms; a sign she was no longer the only resident of the attic corridor. The brief squeal of furniture moving against a floorboard, or the sounds of running water and squeaky taps were strangely comforting. At half past five, Jess ducked and dived in front of the mirror, trying to see enough of her head in one go to be sure she looked presentable. She freshened up her make-up, took a deep breath and opened her door.

The man standing in the doorway of the room opposite hadn't expected to see her either, and there was a second or two of awkward silence before he cleared his throat. "Hi, I...I'm Gareth."

Jessica's heart sank as she shook the offered hand. The sandy-haired actor looked to be in his late twenties, but with a boyish kind of innocence that suggested he could easily play younger. Sadly his beige cable-knit sweater and studious metal-rimmed glasses shouted tax accountant, rather than dashing Austen hero. No...no, he couldn't be Darcy. He didn't have the noble mien and stately bearing necessary for the role.

Actor he might be, but nobody was that good.

She forced her lips into a smile. "Hi, I'm Jessica. Are...um...are you going to be Darcy?" She mentally crossed her fingers and held her breath, praying for a negative.

He pulled a face. "God, no. No, no...definitely not Darcy. Charles Bingley, at your service." His stiff bow showed that he, at least, knew something of the time period they would be working in.

Jess relaxed, laughing at herself for jumping to such ridiculous conclusions. Yes, she could definitely picture him as a nice-but-dim Mr. Bingley. "Of course you are. Well, we'd better get downstairs and meet the others."

She headed down to the blue drawing room, and Mr. Bingley followed along in silence. He obviously wasn't big on small talk, but Jess didn't mind. She was more focused on the excitement of getting to know the other cast members. The room was empty apart from Mandy, who was still working her phone like a double glazing salesman. The poor woman paced back and forth, talking in a low but earnest voice.

With its blue chintz wallpaper and damask curtains, their meeting room was one of the poshest Jess had ever seen. They had a choice of settees and sofas, along with a couple of extra chairs standing against the wall. Mandy had set up a flip-chart in front of the fireplace, and there were refreshments on a table by the window. The man playing Bingley offered to pour her a tea or a coffee, but she declined, and he left her to her thoughts.

Jess already knew their cast was small. No more than ten people had been hired to bring scenes from Pride and Prejudice to life within the elegant rooms of Exley Hall. Jessica wondered when the other eight were going to arrive. A few minutes later four people entered together. A glance over the group told her that Mr. Darcy wasn't among them.

The recent arrivals were a varied bunch. An ageing, portly thespian called Gerald introduced himself as Mr. Gardiner, while Mrs Gardiner turned out to be a small woman with a kind, smiling face and short, curly hair. She introduced herself as Alison and mentioned that she'd just finished a short season of repertory theatre in Birmingham. A doe-eyed ingenue called Emily, whose only claim to fame was a short stint on TV as a child, would be playing the sixteen-year-old Georgiana, while the fourth was a dark-haired young woman of similar age to Jessica. She introduced herself as Laura but would be better known to them as Jane Bennet.

"But I thought Jane Bennet was blonde?" Young Emily blushed as all eyes turned in her direction.

Laura fingered her dark pixie cut with an apologetic smile. "They said something about providing a wig."

"You know, the book never describes Jane as blonde," Jessica said. "It only says she's the most beautiful of the Bennet sisters." There was no doubt that this Jane was beautiful. She had the bluest eyes Jess had ever seen.

Laura smiled at the description of her character. "I don't know about being beautiful, but at least you won't need a wig to play Elizabeth. Your hair is perfect."

Jess twisted a lock of her long brown hair consciously around a finger. Two months ago she'd been thinking of cutting it short, but she hadn't had the heart. When the Jane Austen audition had been advertised Jess had taken it as a positive omen that she'd made the right choice. Once her hair was put up, they'd only need a few minutes with the curling tongs and it would be perfect.

They settled into two small groups. Mr. and Mrs Gardiner, being of a similar age, gravitated towards each other, taking Georgiana with them. Jessica wasn't surprised that Laura ended up sitting next to the man who would play Bingley, or that the two of them had fallen into an easy conversation.

She took a moment to ponder who, apart from Mr. Darcy, was yet to arrive. She barely had the chance to tick Mrs Reynolds off on her fingers when an older woman wearing a short tweed jacket and sensible shoes appeared in the doorway; her steel grey eyes casting a razor-sharp glance around the assembled cast. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen."

Mandy, briefly between phone calls, made another mark on her clipboard. "Ah, Mrs Green. If you'd like to take a seat, we'll begin in a few minutes."

The elderly Mrs Green strode across the room, choosing to sit next to the Gardiners. Shortly after, a stocky older man with salt-and-pepper hair entered with far more grace than she would have expected from his size. He apologised for being late and introduced himself as Trevor. Jessica was surprised to learn that he would play the part of the Pemberley butler, Mr. Flint.

Laura pulled out a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice from her bag and flicked through the pages. "I can't remember Jane Austen writing about a butler."

Jess, who knew the book back to front, agreed. "There was no butler in Pride and Prejudice. The only servant mentioned at Pemberley was Mrs Reynolds."

Mandy, perched on the edge of a table, looked up from her notes. "The organisers of this event thought that the visitors would expect to see a butler, even though one is not specifically mentioned in Miss Austen's novel. As Mr. Flint, Trevor will lend some gravitas to the proceedings as well as formally welcoming the visitors, directing them to the beginning of the house tour and explaining the various locations where the performances will take place."

"That is perfectly correct," Mrs Green's sharp voice added from across the room. "It would be historically accurate, of course, to include a butler in the household. I'm only surprised they didn't hire a few extras to play footmen or maids as well."

"I'm not." Mr. Gardiner rubbed his fingertips together. "It's all extra cash, ain't it?"

Georgiana moved next to Jessica, Jane and Bingley. She leant forward, her voice little more than a shy whisper. "Does anyone know who's playing Mr. Darcy?"

Bingley shrugged. "There were a few others there when I went for my audition, more Darcy types than Bingleys actually, but I have no idea who got the part in the end."

"There should be the two Bingley sisters to come, as well," Jane said as she scanned a random page in her book.

"No, they've only hired someone to play Caroline. They said it would save them money, and if the films can do it so can they."

As a fan, Jessica would have preferred them to stick as closely to the book as possible and thought their employers were a bit tight-fisted. She looked around their little group and saw a general agreement. Productions always seemed to be looking for ways to save money.

"Although the costumes I saw were very nice," Georgiana added, just as the doors opened.

All conversation ceased as the last two members of their group arrived. Although Jessica had never met either of them before, the actress who would be playing Caroline looked and behaved just as Jessica expected; tall and slim with a supercilious air that pronounced her above mere mortals.

Ruth Swale was garrulous, introducing herself with a hearty "hello" to each cast member, and treating them all to a secret smile that promised friendship but had little warmth in it. While she was pretty, there was a hard, angular look to her face that stopped her from being beautiful.

When Jessica's gaze slid to her companion, she sucked in a breath. Slightly taller than Bingley, their Mr. Darcy had a strong jaw, a straight, noble nose and dark brown hair tumbling in loose curls that made him look a little like a young Colin Firth. And his eyes...well, it was fortunate Jessica was sitting down.

The casting gods must have been smiling down on them, as they'd found the perfect Mr. Darcy. He was her Austen dream come true.

The man who would be Darcy had held himself back from the group while Ruth was introducing herself. Jessica couldn't decide whether he was just being polite or if he was as taciturn as the character he would be playing. When Caroline had completed her turn in the spotlight she turned towards him. "And this, of course, is our Mr. Darcy...Sebastian Fox."

He nodded to the group and offered a quick hello before lowering himself into the nearest chair. The dimples that appeared when he smiled only added to his charm, and she had to wonder how she would manage to work with him when a mere smile could turn her knees weak. Even out of costume he looked every bit the elegant gentleman.

Georgiana leant towards Jessica and Jane, her eyes bright with excitement. "Sebastian Fox! I saw him in a West End production once; Dickens, I think. He's also spent six months as second understudy with the Royal Shakespeare Company. Isn't he gorgeous?"

Jess had to agree. Sebastian Fox would make a perfect Darcy. The only question left in her mind now was whether she would live up to his idea of a perfect Elizabeth Bennet.




~<>~@~<>~
]]> Heather F A Novel IdeaMon, 19 May 2025 17:04:27 +0100 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127853,127853#msg-127853 Titled? ~ 71 (end?) (4 replies)https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?6,127853,127853#msg-127853
Chapter Seventy-One




“We are very happy to be given another opportunity to experience this yet another time,” Isabelle said after the interviewer had begun by congratulating her. “It is marvellous to see children develop. They all have different personalities, but there are so many similarities. I always enjoy the journey.”

“And what a wonderful coincidence to have two small babies in the family,” said the interviewer, turning to Anna Margaret who was, like Isabelle, holding her son in her arms. They were seated in one of the official rooms, on a fairly uncomfortable sofa on which one had to sit up very straight and there was no chance of leaning onto an armrest or pillow for some relief. Thankfully the babies did not weigh much yet. “The births were surprisingly close together. Was that planned?”

“It was a coincidence indeed,” Anna Margaret said politely. “It will be nice for him to have a cousin of the same age.” If she had received this question in her professional capacity, she would have reacted differently, but she did not yet know how much room she would have to play. She had been invited to sit in, but how much could she really say? Isabelle knew she was not a dummy. She could not be expected to reply like a dummy.

She was not comfortable, however. What on earth could be said about babies? These babies did exactly the same things as all other babies, she bet. Or was she supposed to say how much her life had changed for the better now that she was a mother and how much she adored her son? She glanced down. He was simply there and he belonged with them, but she was not capable of expressing herself emotionally.

“Anyone with some degree of experience in natural childbirth will know this cannot be planned,” cut in Isabelle, without any sharpness. She was sounding terribly nice about the ridiculous question. “There is so much nonsense being written again these days. It was all natural. Nobody had twins and they are not secretly my grandchildren.”

“Will the boys be spending a lot of time together as they grow up?” asked the interviewer, ignoring the reference to nonsense. Perhaps he did not dare.

“They will benefit from regular contact, obviously, being the only ones so young,” said Isabelle. “They have already met, but there was not much interaction yet.”

“And who do they take after?”

“I can never see that in the beginning.”

The man turned towards Anna Margaret. “There was some speculation beforehand. Many people were certain that your child would be called Jacques if it was a boy, because of the family tradition in naming the firstborn sons. Now it’s a boy and he’s called Alexander.”

“Yes.”

“Does he still get the other names? Albert, Henri, Frederick?”

“No, he doesn’t have the other names. We’ve only given him one name, because we’re not naming him after anybody. It would be useless to speculate on that, on which Alexander, anyway. I was aware of the practice, but I never see the value in doing something only because it’s been done before. I do what I think or feel is right. It might be the same as in the past, or it might not. I didn’t feel compelled to perpetuate this practice for several reasons.” She tried to speak as gracefully as Isabelle, who had not betrayed at all that she thought a question stupid, but she did not quite succeed.

The interviewer looked expectantly at her.

She waited a few seconds, although he clearly wanted her to elaborate. But Isabelle should have the opportunity to interrupt if she stepped out of line. No interruption came.

“The way I see it, one man suddenly named his son after himself and then told that son to name his son after both of them, and then that grandson was told by – I don’t know who was still alive at this point – to do the same. This is merely something one man came up with. We came up with something else. Apparently some people think such a tradition nice. Mostly the pater familias who came up with this idea, I suppose, because it gave him some importance. But, there are several important players whose opinions didn’t matter or who were not even consulted: all the wives and the babies. Now,” she said, feeling she was really getting into it now and unable to stop, “you cannot consult an unborn baby, but you could at least wonder if he is going to be a unique individual or if he’s going to be some sort of clone who needs to be given the same names as all men before him – who may not even have contributed to his life in a positive way.

“As for the wives, as a matter of principle I object to the fact that it’s always the woman who is expected to submit to these types of practices in the husband’s family. I have not done extensive research, but reusing the same limited number of names suggests that they were not sourced from the mothers’ families. This implies that whoever the mother was, she was just an incubator. Her background, wishes or ideas could be completely ignored. What kind of relationship is that? Where the father says, ‘okay, if we have a son, he will be named after my father, grandfather, great-grandfather and me, and you have relatives too, but nobody cares about them’. Not my thing. How could anyone think it was?

“That said, how could anyone think I would marry someone who holds such ideas? So obviously he doesn’t and it was really a non-issue.”

Isabelle had studiously been biting her lip and looking at Maximilian, who had snorted and guffawed at the speech a few times as if he quite agreed with his aunt, and she had fiddled with her dress. Anna Margaret was not sure what she was doing and she did not dare to give it more than a furtive glance. She could guess, but if even she had to guess, the interviewer and the cameraman would certainly not know. Their view was blocked by the baby’s head anyway.

“The child, with his or her partner, are a new and independent family,” Anna Margaret continued in order to keep the attention off her sister-in-law. It was good that it was always possible to find more to say on this subject. This was not a rant; this was common sense. It had to be explained, though. Some people had so little common sense. “You cannot interfere with their personal decisions to such an extent by determining all the small details of their lives. Of course you could have expectations – I am not unfamiliar with parental expectations on other fronts myself – but never could you demand or order something that is really up to your child and his or her partner. The child is fifty percent his mother’s. So his mother should have at least a fifty percent say in things that concern him.”

Isabelle spoke. “At the very least,” she said dryly.

Anna Margaret was envious of her utter absence of discomfort or nerves. One day she might be able to nurse so discreetly that no one noticed. So far, even if she managed to open the flap in her dress with ease, Alexander would bite and she would wince in pain. Max seemed to have better skills. She was still a little shocked, though, and perhaps she ought to shut up before she said something ridiculous.

The interviewer was still looking nonplussed. He had perhaps expected an explanation of why they had chosen the name.

“While traditions are our raison d’être,” Isabelle continued, her expression and composure still completely comfortable. “Times change. There are some that are either silly or outdated. We are not opposed to adapting or relinquishing them, as we have already done. I chose my own partner, for example, although I still had to be a little devious to obtain permission.”

“And are you now the one whose permission they need to obtain, or is there now complete freedom for Maximilian and his older brothers and sisters?”

“No, there can never be complete freedom. People whose beliefs and values differ significantly from our own will have a difficult time. I’d do my very best to dissuade my child, but I understand that ultimately it’s his or her decision. That said, you will not know about any partners until my children are ready to share, so you may not notice what precedes it. In the case of my brother…” Isabelle looked aside. “Well, we kept an eye on them.”

Anna Margaret was amused when she recalled several examples. “You don’t say.”

“Because their particular circumstances didn’t allow for a slow beginning it required some supervision. But…” She looked at Anna Margaret again. “…they are quite proper. And it clearly did him good. So I just let them.”

“And what will you do if you have to travel?” the interviewer asked Anna Margaret.

“That question has been asked many times,” she reminded him. “But I have a husband.”

“Husbands are very useful,” Isabelle agreed. “But nobody ever asks them what they’re going to do about the children if they have to travel. Everyone simply assumes they would leave their wife and handful of children behind and everything will go splendidly – which it will – but if the opposite happens, the wife has to travel and will have to leave her husband and handful of children behind, everybody is suddenly in a panic and wondering how this could possibly go right. But let me reassure you that it will go equally splendidly. And if I have to go away in the next few days and I’m unable to bring my son, I’ll simply leave Maximilian with Anna Margaret. Her office is large enough – I have checked.”

“Will you be returning to work fulltime then, Prime Minister?” asked the interviewer.

“No, not yet. I’m trying half days this week and then we’ll see.”

“Will you be able to do any work if you have a baby in your office?”

She glanced down at her lap where Alexander was lying quietly. “Well, he’s not interfering much now either, is he?” The only thing was that she had had to reposition him because she was getting a sore arm.

“This age is easy,” said Isabelle. “They don’t do much yet, but they do learn a lot from being close to us. That’s very important. I did this with my older children and they have all turned out very well. My eldest daughter even assisted at the birth, which was very nice.”



“Couldn’t you have requested someone who asked more pertinent questions? Although I don’t know what they could possibly ask,” Anna Margaret said after the interview. She was not allowed to go home yet. Isabelle had said that the girls needed to do some check-ups first now that she was here. Frederick and Philip had still not turned up anyway and she might as well stay.

“I didn’t have much of a say in that. I suppose I could have. But I think you threw him off balance too with some of your answers.”

“Sorry. I hope it wasn’t too much.”

“For me it might have been. You probably get away with it.”

“But did you actually let Max drink?” She had forgotten about it and when she next looked, he was asleep. She had then wondered if she had guessed wrong.

“Yes, for about two minutes until he was asleep.” Isabelle shrugged. “I’m too old to care. He would have started to wail if I hadn’t. Be practical. It works a lot better. Now where are those husbands when you need them? I’ve just called them useful, but this isn’t even coming close.”]]> Lise A Novel IdeaSat, 18 Aug 2018 00:48:17 +0100