by Lucy Coleman
Send me that manuscript before you head downstairs. I’m going to skip breakfast and make a start. See you later. Hope your headache isn’t quite as bad as mine.
Seconds later he replies.
It’s probably worse but I deserve it and sorry to hear you’re suffering too. I’m ashamed, but thank you for being a listening ear. MS on its way together with a photo of Arthur and Rose. They did eventually marry. Arthur returned to the UK when he was shot, but he ended up losing his arm. I’m off to play host. And thanks, Brie, for everything.
So, it’s the story of his nanny’s father, the hero who returned. I pull on some underwear and slip on a silk wrap. It’s almost seven thirty and I’m eager to make a start. As the painkillers haven’t quite kicked in yet, I’m going to lie back on the bed with my iPad on my knees until my body begins to recover a little.
There’s a gentle tap on the door and I groan as I slide myself gently off the bed and into an upright position. When I swing it open there’s no one there but I glance down to find a tray bearing two bottles of water, a low-fat yoghurt and two apples. I smile as I bend to pick it up but that’s soon wiped off my face when a shooting pain stabs me in the back of my head. Okay, tilting is not good.
Moments later I’m opening Arran’s email and downloading the attachments. I click on the photo first and when it opens my eyes instantly begin filling with tears. Zooming in, there’s a handwritten date on the top right hand corner. The nineteenth of September, 1939.
It’s Arthur and Rose standing close together holding hands, Arthur resplendent in a navy suit and Rose looking very sweet in a pale grey, lacy dress. They’re glancing at each other, so their faces are in side profile and the happiness jumps out and grabs my heart. The horrors of battle are yet to inflict any damage on Arthur and I swipe away my tears angrily, hating the thought of war. How hard was it to smile when they had no idea if they would ever see each other again? Imagine making love knowing it might be the first and last time?
Guilt consumes me for the way I take everything for granted. Things that are only possible because so many men sacrificed their lives during the Second World War to secure freedom for their country. No homage could ever be enough to repay the debt. It was a generation of strong, noble, young men and women who somehow managed to grab some happiness while living through six long years of hell.
I crack the seal on a bottle of water, then stand, pacing back and forth as I begin reading. Carrie is right, the opening love scene doesn’t jump off the page. I hope there aren’t too many scenes like this one because if this is typical then it’s going to involve a lot of work. Ironically, Arran has cracked the sexual tension and it’s powerful in one way. It’s more graphically descriptive when it comes to the physical act than I would have expected from him. He isn’t a prude, that’s for sure, but the imbalance caused by a lack of any real emotional impact makes it all seem very mechanical. Almost as if it were a release of sexual frustration, rather than an expression of their love for each other.
There’s no sense of what must have been precious moments of intimacy, made special because they had such little time together to demonstrate how they felt. Knowing the clock was ticking and the minutes were slipping away, must have been agonising. It represented time spent in each other’s company that they might never get again. It could have been their first and last time alone together.
I turn on track changes and highlight the first two chapters, my heart sinking a little. But after that I’m hooked as Arthur’s story unfolds. The references to Rose are few, except for the brief letters they write to each other but often those arrive in batches, after days on the move for Arthur.
There’s a sharp tap on the door and it opens, Elisabetta’s head appearing around the side of it.
‘Mi scusi. Sorry. I come back later?’
The bed hasn’t been slept in, although it’s very clear I’ve been lying on top of it. I can see Elisabetta looking puzzled.
‘Oh, I have a headache, so I made the bed and am doing some work. There’s no need to clean in here today, but thank you, Elisabetta.’
‘Si. No problem. Feel better soon.’
I’m sure I’m not the first visitor who drank too much the night before and ended up staying in their room the following morning. I might be the first who didn’t actually sleep in their bed though.
My phone rings and I see it’s Mum. Oh no, I’ve been meaning to call her.
‘Hi Mum, how are you both?’
‘We’re good, but how are you? We’ve been worried. One text and then nothing. I rang Mel and she reassured me you were fine, but I wanted to speak to you and check for myself.’
She’s right and I’ve been remiss.
‘I’m sorry, every time I’ve thought about calling you something has cropped up and I’ve had two very late nights. I have this morning off but I’m working on someone’s manuscript.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean to disturb you, darling. But it is nice to hear your voice. How is Lake Garda and is the heat getting to you?’
‘It’s stunning, Mum, and I’m managing just fine. There are plenty of shady areas to sit and the rooms are air conditioned. The villa is beautiful, and my room has a balcony on two sides. The views are amazing. It’s going to be a busy week though, by the look of it. Then we have the first changeover on Saturday and a whole new group of people arriving. I don’t know how Arran manages to do this every year. It is a lovely bunch of people though.’
‘You sound happy enough.’ Her voice reflects her smile and, no doubt, her relief. ‘And busy. I won’t keep you, but you know where I am if you need me. We assumed no news was good news but it’s nice to know for sure.’
I sigh, feeling like the bad daughter I am.
‘It’s easy to get caught up in things here and after such a long period on my own in the house it really is doing me good. But I am sorry, and I will ring later in the week for a proper chat. I’m working on a manuscript for Arran right now, and there’s a tight deadline. I’ll be working on it all day tomorrow, too. After that, on Tuesday we’re taking a trip into Salò, which is the nearest town. That’s after I’ve done my session, of course, and on Wednesday there’s a trip to Verona, so we will be back late. I haven’t had a spare moment since I arrived, and I haven’t even been in the pool. You and Dad would love it here, you know. The setting is amazing and I’ll send you a few photos when I get a minute.’
There’s a laugh. ‘Oh, so Lake Garda has captured my daughter’s heart, then? I haven’t heard you sounding so enthused for a long time.’
If I had the right man by my side then, yes, I could easily spend my life here. Who wouldn’t be content to live amongst all this beauty? Chuckling to myself, I know that at least I’ve been blessed with enough common sense to know that some dreams just don’t translate into reality.
‘Mum, I have to go because inspiration is striking, and I need to get some words on the screen.’
‘Go, write and make that author’s manuscript come to life. Speak soon, darling, love you loads.’
Within seconds I’m on the laptop, my fingers are flying around the keyboard and I’m weeping as I type. I try to remember to keep stopping to drink some water as I’m dehydrated enough as it is. I’m feeling Rose’s pain and love in equal measure and I’m grieving already, even though I know they will eventually be reunited.
There’s another tap on the door and I glance at the clock. It’s just after noon and I’ve been reading and typing for more than four hours. Arran’s head appears around the edge of the door and he’s wearing a sheepish look.
‘I brought more water. Are you sick to your stomach?’ He walks in carrying a bottle in each hand.
‘No. I’ve been working. I haven’t even stopped to get dressed.’
He glances at the loo roll on the bed and the scattering of crumpled tissues.
‘I’m reading and tweaking the scenes with Rose. It’s a wonderful story so far, Arran, and you’ve done a brilliant job. I hope you thin
k the changes I’m suggesting portray Rose’s character and emotions in an accurate way. Some of it is down to good old female intuition, but there are things that I believe, as a strong woman, she would not have left unsaid.’
He looks surprised. ‘You’ve already edited some sections?’
‘Yes. I’ve made major changes to two of the more intimate love scenes so far. I’m not sure how many more there are. I have taken a bit of a liberty and embellished a few of Rose’s letters to give the reader a little more of her backstory. I know that as I was reading she was constantly in my mind and I wanted to feel her emptiness and pain. But you can reject anything you aren’t happy with. I bet Carrie can’t wait to get this one under contract. I think you will be widening your audience for sure as it doesn’t focus so much on military tactics, as in The Vengeful Enemy.’
Arran leans forward to place the bottles of water on the side table next to the bed.
‘You’ve read it?’
‘I did, on the trip over and I finished it yesterday. I wanted to get a feel for your writing. I admit military fiction is not my usual choice, but I learnt a lot, although it left me with questions. My grounding in romance means I can’t help but want to know more about the personal lives of the characters outside the plot. With this new one you’ve made quite a leap. You nailed the sex scenes, but you skated over the emotional turmoil of love under those circumstances.’
He smiles.
‘Well, it’s good to know I got something right. But I’m glad you’re here to fix the bits that fall short.’
I give him a wry smile.
‘It’s your story, Arran, so my revisions might not coincide with your thoughts on Rose’s perspective. But I think readers will expect to be given an insight into her emotional journey and how steadfast she was in her belief that Arthur would eventually come home to her for good. I believe it will help to give the story balance, but it’s entirely up to you whether or not to take my suggestions on board.’
He shrugs.
‘I can’t be precious about this; you know your job and you sell a lot of books. I need to grab a big advance and that becomes more likely if a publisher can see that I’m able to seamlessly swap genres. I doubt I’ll take exception to anything you re-write because I know it’s a weakness in my writing. In this case you’re the teacher.’
I look at him wishing he wasn’t in such a dire position. Like Rose, I know it’s too late to put a halt to what has been put in train and what lies ahead is going to hurt.
‘That’s kind but reserve your judgement until after you’ve combed through it. And run it past Carrie if you aren’t sure. How did it go today, did everyone join in?’
‘Yes. It went well; some of the group have already gone along to the restaurant for lunch. Do you want to grab something light out on the terrace?’
My stomach is rumbling but mainly because I’ve only had time to nibble on some fruit, although I have drunk two bottles of water.
‘I’ll throw on some clothes and make myself decent, then I’ll be down.’
Our eyes meet and linger. I only hope Arran isn’t having flashbacks of last night. I wonder who carried whom up the stairs? Or maybe we just clung to each other, trying not to make any noise as we staggered around. As Arran exits the room, closing the door behind him, I let out a loud groan. It was hardly professional behaviour, and this is work, not pleasure. Although having a hangover can’t really be classed as pleasure, anyway.
*
Arran and I sit on the terrace to eat, although neither of us seems to have an appetite. I wonder why? He tells me about settling the group in and how they took turns to talk about their current work in progress and other things they’d written. He reassures me that our night exploits seem to have gone unnoticed.
‘Lesson learnt,’ he says with a wicked grin and then his face creases up.
‘Shooting pains?’
He nods. ‘Time for some more painkillers, I think.’
I look at him, shamefaced. ‘Me too. Do you think the group would mind if I didn’t circulate but head back up to my room to read some more of your manuscript?’
He raises both eyebrows, rather gingerly. ‘You’re keen. No, I’m sure it will be fine. Only Rick has asked for a one-to-one, so far. We’re going to check out his opening chapter this afternoon: he’s eager to hear my thoughts. I see a little of myself in him. I was impatient to make things happen when I first veered away from textbooks to write fiction.’
This isn’t just about raking in an additional source of income, Arran really cares – and he has a lot of patience. I’m worried about my session on Tuesday as it will be a first for me. I’m used to doing talks in general and often get asked for writing tips, but it won’t be the polished and honed performance Kathy would have given. Still, I’ve made a list of bullet points and to some extent I’m hoping the group will help steer where they want the session to go.
We take our plates back into the kitchen, as Elisabetta has already left for the day, and head off in separate directions.
15
Becoming an Arran Jamieson Fan
I can’t wait to get back to Rose and Arthur’s story. Knowing that much of what is written is probably close to the truth makes it compelling reading. I reach the part where Arthur is given a pass to return to England to marry Rose. They have five days together and after a quick trip to the registry office, and a buffet at the local pub for a dozen or so friends and family, they head off to Cornwall.
It’s like a story within a story and a wonderful contrast from the previous scenes. It makes me wonder how soldiers managed to adjust after being in such a hostile, bloody environment exposed to all manner of horrors. They were often cold, wet and caked in mud – living life one single second at a time. The comforts of home must have seemed surreal and almost wantonly luxurious by comparison. But it serves to lift the story and gives the reader a welcome break from a painful reality. I know that I felt in need of a reminder that life could be good, and it emphasised what Arthur was fighting for – freedom.
My phone vibrates and it’s Carrie calling.
‘Hey, Carrie, how are you?’
‘Good. I’ll email over the draft of that article. I didn’t realise you’d talked about Paul, but I think that might be a good thing. People will, no doubt, be interested in your side of the story and it reads well.’
My heart misses a beat. I can’t worry about that right now, so it will have to wait until later.
‘Thanks. I’m working on the edits as we speak, you’ll be pleased to hear.’
‘Please say you’re talking about Arran’s manuscript. I have two publishers eager to read it and I can’t give them anything more than the synopsis – especially until that opening love scene is rewritten. Chapter one reads like a page out of a sex manual. I don’t think Rose was like that; she was passionate, but it needs finessing.’
I start laughing.
‘Already done. Arran hasn’t seen any of my proposed changes yet, as I’ll hold off showing him until I’ve gone through the whole thing. It’s a brilliant story and I admire his talent. Rose touched my heart and I cried as I was re-writing the opening scene. I hope he approves.’
‘Great! I knew you’d nail it. How soon will I get it?’
I’m guessing Arran has been talking to Carrie and is trying to push things along. I wonder how much she knows? A fair bit, I’d say, as she was the one who warned me he’d been through a harrowing time.
‘I hope to get halfway through it by the end of the day. I’ve been working on it since seven thirty this morning with one short break. I will have to rejoin the group for dinner, but I’ll make that as short as possible. Tomorrow I’ll make myself scarce again and get as much done as I can. On Tuesday I doubt I’ll get more than an hour to work on it. I’m running the session in the morning and in the afternoon, we’re all heading into Salò. I think it might appear rather strange if I don’t go. Wednesday is also a long day. We’re off to Verona after the morning se
ssion and won’t get back until late evening. It will be Thursday at the earliest before I will be able to pass it back to Arran, if it all goes well.’
‘Great! Arran is keen to get it all wrapped up. Thank you, Brie. I know it was a big ask. I will be honest and say that I’m not sure Kathy would have been the right person to tackle this one.’
She sounds relieved.
‘It’s my pleasure. I hope you both think I’ve done it justice as the story around it is amazing. Knowing it’s based on a true story really rams home the harsh reality of that period in history.’
‘Well, I won’t keep you. But before I go, how are things between the two of you now?’
I can’t help thinking Carrie is hoping we’ll make a connection on a personal level. And in a strange, rather unexpected way, I suppose that is the case. I’m discovering we have more and more in common as each day passes but fundamentally our approach to life is very different. In my heart I know that at some point I want to settle down and have a family. I have this romantic picture in my head of a sprawling old stone cottage with a flagstone floor, not the pristinely renovated one that I already own. My writing desk looks out over the garden and I gaze out to see a child playing with a cat. I would be happy splitting my time between family and my passion for writing. But I would also be content to put my work on hold for a while if the situation warranted it.
‘Much better. We’ve found the middle ground between us and are a little more relaxed in each other’s company.’
I’ll omit the fact that we have shared a bed together as that might be a tad misleading.
