Written From the Heart

by Trisha Ashley

  The sun was warm, the birds and Sergei were singing, my rocket was still rising and my bolt-hole by the sea was secure.

  Sergei came in carrying a tray and smiling. ‘That was Nathan on the phone. Did you not hear me call? The film rights, he thinks the option will be taken up.’

  I sat up straight and stared. ‘The film rights to Travels Through a Life?’ I demanded.

  ‘No, my darling: to Dark, Passionate Earth.’ He put the tray down on the low table, sat down next to me and took my hand, the one with the big sparkly ring on it that was casting refracted rainbows all over everything.

  ‘You know, Tsarina,’ he said softly, ‘the upstairs tenant’s lease is about to expire and I am thinking that now we could convert the property back into one big house – big enough for both of us to be together always, but still have our own space – our own apartments, if you wish. So maybe we should turn this engagement into a marriage – have a family, even. What do you think?’

  He pressed my hand tenderly to his lips, while I gazed down at his glossy, blue-black hair, totally tongue-tied.

  What did I think? I thought he’d had a brain transplant, personally, but off the top of my head I simply couldn’t think of a polite way of putting it, since clearly a resounding, ‘No way!’ would have been totally inappropriate in the circumstances.

  My mind was still discarding phrases of acute disinclination for the idea while he prepared a blini with his long, elegant fingers and delivered it to me with one of his sexy, slightly demented smiles, which have started exerting their old magic on me now that his face is unfreezing.

  Then the answer that I hoped would put him off the idea without putting off our engagement came to me in a blinding flash, as do most of my better inspirations!

  I expect you got there first? But then, bear in mind that you didn’t have Sergei Popov in close proximity, addling your brains.

  Yes, it was confession time – truth or dare.

  ‘Sergei, that’s a terribly sweet idea, but I’m afraid I have a confession to make. You know I admitted last birthday to being thirty-five—’

  ‘But of course,’ he said. ‘And the one before. Why not? Do I tell the truth when a lie is kinder to myself?’

  ‘Yes, but Sergei,’ I persevered, ‘I’m much, much older than that, and I’m afraid children are quite out of the question!’

  ‘Ah, do not give up hope, my darling!’ he said, embracing me warmly. ‘For you are the same age as Linny, I know, you were at school together: that is clearly not too old!’

  ‘But you can’t possibly want children, Sergei! You’ve never shown the least interest in them,’ I protested. I didn’t mention Grigor.

  ‘I have seen the way you look at Linny, my Tina, and know what is in your heart. And children? Why not? Am I not still virile?’

  ‘Let’s not go there,’ I said tartly, and he looked slightly puzzled, but while I may have forgiven, forgetting is another matter.

  ‘I need the sea – I need to be alone in my cottage sometimes,’ I tried to explain, sounding a bit Greta Garbo.

  ‘And I too sometimes wish to be alone, to play the sad Russian songs of my youth. That is good, and when we are together, that is also good. So we are alike, and it will work, you will see.’

  I’d temporarily run out of stalling manoeuvres, and the invidious suggestion regarding procreation – which is something I’d never seriously even thought of in connection with myself until Linny suddenly set off on her journey into brink-of-menopause motherhood, leaving me behind – was beginning to have a certain appalling fascination, like an offer to try bungee jumping over the Grand Canyon.

  I was simply too punch drunk to react when Sergei sprang up and started phoning my brother, Tony, and then all his friends to announce our imminent nuptials, and I should think the bread makers and toasters will soon be arriving by every post …

  But if anyone can think of a way of freeing me from this strangely fascinating nightmare scenario, please, please do write urgently to me: Tina Devino at Noveltina Literary and Critical Agency, Mudlark Cottage, The Harbour, Shrimphaven.

  And I’ll send you a personally signed copy of The Orchid Huntress upon publication, I promise, together with my undying gratitude.

  The diamonds are negotiable.

  Tina’s Top Tips for New Writers

  Decide what kind of novel you’re going to write – for example, thriller, romantic comedy, literary, crime – and read as many recent examples of that genre as you can lay your hands on.

  With your first novel, it’s much better to stick to one genre, rather than go gaily skipping over several.

  Get a grip on the basic nuts and bolts of technique before you start – you don’t need a degree in creative writing, go to evening classes, or read a million books on the subject of writing. There are three books I would recommend: If you’ve never written anything at all and have no idea where to start, then Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones will speedily unblock the U-bend of your creativity. The Creative Writing Student’s Handbook by Margaret James and Cathie Hartigan clearly explains the tools you need to build the framework of your novel. And every author should read Stephen King’s On Writing, because he tells it how it is.

  Get on with it. Writers write and when they are not actually writing, they are thinking about writing, or talking about it. So finish your novel, polish it as brightly as you can, then send it out to agents or editors to see what reaction you get.

  Or, if you want to skip that and go straight to self-publishing, then have your manuscript independently edited by someone like me and seriously consider their advice on revisions.

  Writer’s block. If you come to a stop in your novel and can’t see a way forward, then employ lateral thinking and walk around that big rock, or tunnel underneath it, or do a sharp right turn and go somewhere else. But keep going: presumably you were burning to say something when you first started the novel, so recapture that enthusiasm and then move on.

  Good luck, everyone!

  Tina Devino

  Tina’s Espresso Ice Cream

  Inspired by Tina’s Italian heritage, this delicious recipe for coffee ice cream requires neither a fancy espresso- nor ice cream-maker. Easily whipped together and shoved in the freezer, it’s the perfect thing to pull out for a dinner party or as a treat for one …

  You will need …

  5 tsp instant coffee mixed with a little warm water to dissolve it

  300ml double cream

  1 can sweetened condensed milk

  2 tsp vanilla extract

  Dissolve the instant coffee granules in warm water and allow to cool as much as possible. Whip the cream into stiff peaks and then fold in the coffee, condensed milk and vanilla extract. Spoon the mixture into an airtight container and pop it in the freezer for at least 6 hours but ideally overnight.

  Feeling as rebellious as Tina? Try stirring in a handful of chocolate chips before freezing or topping with some Irish Cream liqueur and crumbled amaretti biscuits to make for a tasty take on a traditional Italian affogato.

  Sergei Popov’s Russian Blinis

  This blini recipe will ensure you’re eating like a Tsar or a Tsarina, whatever you decide to Popov-er them …

  You will need …

  200g (7oz) self-raising flour

  1 tsp baking powder

  A pinch of salt and pepper

  2 beaten eggs

  200ml milk

  1 tsp of vegetable oil for frying

  Things to top the blini with (suggestions below)

  Sieve the flour, baking powder, salt and pepper into a mixing bowl. Create a well in the middle for the eggs and a splash of milk. Combine well and stir in the rest of the milk to create a smooth un-lumpy batter.

  Heat the oil in a large non-stick frying pan and spoon the mixture into the pan – creating small round pancakes about 1.5 inches in diameter. They need to be big enough to hold but small enough to eat in one bite. Cook for 1-2 minutes until bubbles have appea
red all over the surface. Flip them and cook until the other side is golden, which should take about a minute.

  Repeat the process until all the batter is gone.

  Once you have your completed blinis you can top them with whatever you like but here are my three favoured suggestions:

  Goat’s Cheese and Roast Tomatoes

  Halve cherry tomatoes and pop them cut-side down in a small frying pan. Cook them for 2 minutes over a medium heat before adding a dash of balsamic vinegar to the pan. Allow the tomatoes to cook for a few minutes longer until they begin to caramelize and set them aside. Top each blini with a slice of firm goat’s cheese and half a caramelized cherry tomato.

  Smoked Salmon

  Cut up slices of smoked salmon to roughly the same size as the blinis, and set aside. In a bowl, combine the zest and juice of a lemon, sour cream, chopped dill and black pepper, to taste. Smooth the mixture over each blini and top with the salmon and some more dill if you have any left.

  Blue Cheese, Walnuts and Pear

  Simply layer a reasonable slice of good blue cheese and a slice of pear on the blinis. Top with a walnut half and serve.

  Linny’s Lebanese Baba Ganoush

  Linny would love this recipe and would surely serve it at her table with a large flatbread sourced from somewhere incredibly fancy and expensive. I’m happy to serve mine with some pitta bread from the local supermarket …

  You will need …

  3 aubergines

  3 garlic cloves, crushed with a teaspoon of salt

  Lemon juice (1 lemon will do)

  2 tbsp tahini

  Black pepper, to taste

  3 tbsp olive oil

  1 tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley (optional)

  Leave the aubergine whole but stab them all several times with a fork. Grill the aubergines for around 20 minutes, until the skin is charred and the flesh feels soft under a spoon.

  Mix the crushed garlic cloves with the lemon juice, tahini, pepper and all the olive oil in a medium bowl.

  When cool enough to handle, cut the aubergines in half, scoop out the flesh and put it straight into the same bowl as all the other ingredients. Mix. Serve topped with some extra olive oil and a little parsley if you like.

  Have you read the latest novel from the Sunday Times bestselling author Trisha Ashley?

  THE HOUSE OF HOPES AND DREAMS

  When Carey Revell unexpectedly becomes the heir to Mossby, his family’s ancestral home, it’s rather a mixed blessing. The house is large but rundown and comes with a pair of resentful relatives who can’t be asked to leave.

  Still, newly dumped by his girlfriend and also from his job as a TV interior designer, Carey needs somewhere to lick his wounds. And Mossby would be perfect for a renovation show. He already knows someone who could restore the stained glass windows in the older part of the house …

  Angel Arrowsmith has spent the last ten years happily working and living with her artist mentor and partner. But suddenly bereaved, she finds herself heartbroken, without a home or a livelihood. Life will never be the same again – until old friend Carey Revell comes to the rescue.

  They move in to Mossby with high hopes. But the house has a secret at its heart: an old legend concerning one of the famous windows. Will all their dreams for happiness be shattered? Or can Carey and Angel find a way to make this house a home?

  Heart-warming, witty and quirkily original, Trisha Ashley’s THE HOUSE OF HOPES AND DREAMS will delight both old fans and new readers alike. Read on for an extract …

  Mossby, 1914

  To whoever finds this journal (presuming they do so before it crumbles into dust), some explanation is due.

  Having recently, unbeknown to my dear son, Joshua, seen an eminent London doctor and had the verdict I suspected confirmed, it seems to me time to set my affairs in order.

  I was in the forefront of women working in the field of stained-glass window making at the turn of the century, including the setting-up of my own workshop here at Mossby during my tragically short marriage. But my achievements in that craft are already well documented, particularly in Miss Cecilia McCrum’s recent excellent and exhaustively researched publication, A Brief History of Women Artists in Glass.

  However, little has been written about my private life and this journal, which I kept at the time of my marriage, will go some considerable way to explaining my reticence until now in this matter.

  Mossby has always held its secrets close, but it will be a relief to me to lay bare the Revell family skeletons at last, even if this book must then be secreted away.

  At eighteen, I do not feel that Joshua is ready for the revelations I am about to make, particularly since his aunt Honoria, who dotes on him, has brought him up to idolize the memory of the father he never knew. But perhaps one day he will discover the secret of its hiding place for himself, in the same way I did …

  1

  Fallen Idol

  Carey

  Late November 2014

  Carey Revell lay on his hospital bed, propped in a semi-recumbent position by an efficient nurse and rendered temporarily speechless by the astonishing information his visitor had just imparted to him.

  Though Mr Wilmslow was a country solicitor of a prosaic turn of mind and not usually given to flights of fancy, it suddenly occurred to him that with his large frame, gentian-blue eyes, thick, red-gold hair and the stubble burnishing his face, his new client resembled nothing so much as a fallen Viking warrior.

  He had the typical Revell looks all right – there was no mistaking his heritage – though on a much larger and more resplendent scale.

  Carey’s left leg, the flesh scarred, misshapen, patched by skin grafts, and also bearing the marks of the pins that had held it immobile in a metal cage while the shattered bones finally knitted, was mercifully hidden by loose tracksuit trousers. The nerves and muscles still twitched and jangled painfully from his earlier physiotherapy session, but the news his unexpected visitor had brought him had for once relegated this dismal symphony of discomfort to the background.

  ‘Do you have any questions? I know it’s a lot to take in at once,’ said Mr Wilmslow, breaking the silence.

  ‘Yes, it certainly is,’ agreed Carey rather numbly, wondering for an instant if he might be still under the influence of heavy painkillers and dreaming all this. His eyes dropped once more to the letter the solicitor had brought him and he read it through for the third time.

  Mossby

  April 2014

  To Carey Revell,

  I will not address you as ‘Dear Carey’ or ‘Dear Nephew’ since we have never met and nor have I ever wished to do so. I will not go into the circumstances that led to your father’s total estrangement from his family at such an early age, but suffice it to say that we were entirely disgusted when he continued to use our revered and respected family name throughout his stage career.

  However, since you are the last of our branch of the Revells, and I suppose retribution for my brother’s sins need not be visited upon his son, I feel it only right that you should inherit Mossby in your turn. I am signing a will to this effect today, my ninety-first birthday. My solicitor, Mr Wilmslow, will give you this letter of explanation after my decease.

  Do not think I am bequeathing you great wealth, a mansion and a vast estate, for Mossby is a modest country residence, much of it rebuilt in the Arts and Crafts style at the end of the nineteenth century. Besides which, it has not of late received the care and attention it merits, due to the steady decline of my investment income. In fact, I have recently been forced to live on my capital.

  On to your shoulders now falls the burden of finding a way to make Mossby pay its own way, before the remaining money runs out. From what I have discovered, you seem to be a young man of some enterprise.

  Ella Parry, my stepdaughter by my second marriage, has been pressing me to make a will for some time, assuming, I am sure, that it would be in her favour. Due to the rift with your father, she had no idea of your exis
tence, so was sadly disappointed when I told her of my testamentary disposition. However, I have never considered her as my daughter and, since she and her husband have for many years received handsome salaries for acting as my housekeeper and gardener respectively, besides living rent free in the Lodge, she can have no real cause for complaint. I also paid for their daughter, Vicky’s, education.

  I hope you will take a pride in your heritage. You will find the family papers in the secret chamber in the Elizabethan wing, which Mr Wilmslow will show you the secret of. I always meant to sort them and write a history of the Revells of Mossby, but never got round to it. Perhaps you will do so.

  Your uncle,

  Francis Revell

  ‘Secret chamber in the Elizabethan wing?’ Carey muttered incredulously, feeling as if he’d strayed into an Enid Blyton mystery. Then he became aware that Mr Wilmslow, who was a slight, be-suited and altogether unremarkable personage to be the bearer of such astounding news, was stuffing papers back into his briefcase as a prelude to departure.

  ‘Among the papers I’ve given you is a copy of the will. Probate should be granted before the New Year, though you can take up residence at Mossby before that, should you wish to … Health permitting, of course,’ he added delicately.

  ‘I’ll be out of here before Christmas and intended staying with a friend while I decided where I wanted to live. I’ve put my old flat on the market because carrying things up four flights of stairs is going to be out of the question for quite a while,’ Carey said. ‘I’ve lost my job, too – I’ve been replaced. You know I presented The Complete Country Cottage TV series?’

  He’d not only presented it, it had been his own idea … and being credited in the new series with ‘From an original concept by Carey Revell’ was not going to be much consolation. He ought to have read the fine print in his contracts more carefully – and so should his agent.