Page 33 of Coming Home to Roseford Villas
Rory laughed too. Admittedly, teaching Shakespeare to a bunch of bored Year Tens on a rainy afternoon in November seemed, in theory, to be far less inviting than delivering a course to enthusiastic adults who desperately wanted to learn, but she was still unnerved.
‘What do I know about teaching creative writing to writers?’ she persisted. ‘I mean, I’ve got a few thousand words of my own novel that I’ve slaved over for a short time, and no idea about how to finish it. What’s to stop your paying customers from calling me out as a total fraud?’
‘You’ve been in the classroom for over a decade, Rory,’ Stella replied. ‘And yes, I know that’s not quite the same, but have you ever heard of the phrase “transferrable skills”? Not to mention the fact that I’ve got a ton of resources you can use for your first course. And speaking of phrases, here’s another one: “fake it till you make it”. How about that?’
‘I don’t know, Stella,’ Rory murmured. ‘It’s a lot to think about.’
‘You’ve got time to think about it,’ Stella replied. ‘After all, you’ve got a term back in York to get through first. And if the worst comes to the worst, I can teach the course. It’s just that Chris wants me to scale back a bit and focus on my own writing for a little while, too. I’ve been banging on for years about writing a screenplay, and with Finn Sanderson’s interest in creating something based in Roseford, this is the perfect opportunity. If you took over some of the teaching at the retreat for a few months, it would give me the breathing space to work on that, too, so you’d be doing me a favour.’
Rory felt reassured by Stella’s reasoning, and she was relieved that Stella was making the effort to try to convince her to stay. It didn’t seem quite so much like a sympathy offer now that her friend had explained it. It would also be good to know she had some security when her contract at her current school ended.
‘It sounds great,’ Rory said, enthusiasm for the idea beginning to ignite inside her. ‘I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I know if it can work.’ She reached out and gave her friend a quick, slightly awkward hug. ‘I’m so glad I came toRoseford this summer. It’s been lovely to be back in touch with you.’
And even though she was still in at least two minds about Leo, Rory realised that she was telling the truth.
36
Later that day, Rory’s enthusiasm was re-ignited by Simon Treloar’s surprised, bemused but definitely positive reaction to the information that she and Stella had been able to unearth about Edmund and Frederick. As she passed him the copies of the letters from the Halstead House archive that Stella had entrusted to her, he looked intently at them, and then, with Rory’s guidance, compared them to the unsent letters in the Roseford Hall archive boxes.
‘This is quite something,’ Simon murmured as he mulled over the fruits of Rory and Stella’s labours. ‘I can’t believe it was a secret that’s been so effectively buried until now. But, given the state of Roseford Hall when the British Heritage Fund took it over, I’m not terribly surprised. There’s so much material here, and it would seem that it was something that Edmund’s generation hoped would stay buried.’ He looked keenly at one of the photographs that Rory had found between the pages of the old newspaper. ‘I mean, when you look at them, it’s so obvious, really, isn’t it?’
Rory’s heart sped up a little. ‘And are you happy that we’ve found all this?’ she had to ask. It was, after all, quite a revision to Simon’s family history.
‘Of course.’ Simon looked up, and seemed surprised by the question. ‘It might seem contradictory, given the sheer amount of material in this house, but it’s taken so long to get things into a kind of order. The middle years of the twentieth century weren’t a good time for this family: that was when the money started to run out, if my father was to be believed. We lived in a state of fading disorganisation for two generations at least, when the last thing anyone was interested in was keeping tabs on the thousands of documents that made up the family history. Most families have a few photo albums and birthday cards in shoeboxes: the Treloars had whole cellars full of paperwork!’ He paused and grinned briefly. ‘Even Stella, as Writer in Residence some years ago, couldn’t have been expected to chase it all down. Although it’s fitting that you and she unravelled this mystery together: she became very fond of this place when she worked here. And the BHF archivists have enough to keep them busy well into the next century, I’d say.’
‘She was,’ Rory agreed. She could tell from Stella’s excited reaction once they’d found the real links between Halstead House and Roseford Hall just how much both places meant to her, and again she felt that the stars had aligned in allowing them to make the discovery together.
‘Well,’ Simon continued, passing the letters carefully back to Rory. ‘I hope that what you’ve found out has inspired you. Will you be including much of Edmund and Frederick’s story in your novel?’
Rory nodded. ‘If you’re happy for me to fictionalise their account, then I’d very much like to draw on their experiences.’
‘I’m more than happy,’ Simon replied. ‘And I’m sure the BHF will be, too. They’re always on the lookout for engaging ideasfor exhibitions. This will provide them with a great deal to work with. And who knows, perhaps, when your novel is published, they could sell it in the shop.’
‘It’s still in the drafting stage,’ Rory laughed, ‘but it’s a lovely thought!’ She carefully put the letters back into the cardboard document wallet she’d brought with her. ‘Thank you so much, Simon, for giving me access to the archive. It’s been more inspiring than I would have ever thought possible.’
‘You should be thanking the BHF, really,’ Simon said. ‘But on behalf of the family, I can at least say you’re welcome.’ He sighed, as if, suddenly, the story of Edmund and Frederick’s doomed love was hitting home. ‘I wish we’d known about all this sooner,’ he said softly. ‘Poor Edmund, and poor Frederick, returning from war carrying so much trauma, and losing the man he adored.’
‘At least they both knew they were loved,’ Rory said gently. ‘Even if they weren’t together after the Great War, there was a time when they were, with Francesca’s blessing. Those moments, however brief, would have given Frederick some solace, I’m sure.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Simon smiled. ‘And now Edmund and Frederick’s truth can be brought into the light where it should have been, instead of buried in boxes in the dark. I’m sure, if either of them is keeping an eye on the comings and goings here, from the great beyond, that they’d be pleased to see it.’
‘I think they would,’ Rory replied. She felt her own emotions bubbling to the surface as she said goodbye to Simon and headed back to Roseford Villas. Simon’s reaction to the information she and Stella had discovered had been so positive and so welcoming, she felt as though she’d really accomplished something. She wasn’t given to thoughts of what happened after people shuffled off this mortal coil, but she hoped thatsomewhere Edmund and Frederick would be together, and happy with how things had turned out.
37
Rory headed back to the chalet feeling a whole lot more optimistic about her future than she had that morning. Despite the nagging doubts about what was happening with Leo, the fact that she had another option to consider in terms of her career and her living situation was a definite bonus. The lovely meeting with Simon had been the icing on the cake. Suddenly, the prospect of leaving her job at October half-term didn’t seem quite so scary. It now felt exciting. Galvanised by the prospect of a fresh start, she spent the afternoon on the main teaching recruitment websites, submitting her CV to a few, just in case she needed some supply teaching hours to top up her work at Halstead House. Schools were always looking for reliable supply teachers, and she had enough experience for them to put their trust in her. And with the prospect of some extra income from tutoring Gabe, too, it seemed as though there really could be a solution. Not to mention the possibility of getting more work done on her own novel if she had more time to spare.
That done, she cracked open the notes she’d been making about the modern-day section of her novel. She’d been so caught up in the historical narrative that she’d not written much aboutthe twenty-first century romance lately, and she felt as though she wanted to get to grips with it again.
She glanced at the notes she’d made the other night and tried not to cringe. She’d been high on the endorphins that being with Leo had released and realised that a lot of it would have to be cut, or at least rewritten. Stella always used to laugh at her for her ‘Mills and Boon tendencies’ when they’d had creative writing assignments at university, and the stuff she’d written so far was purple prose of the highest order. Grinning to herself, she decided not to just delete it, but added to the page, trying to refine, explore and get a handle on her two modern lovers and their predicament. She’d spent so much time with her fictional versions of Edmund, Frederick and Francesca lately that it took her a while to get back into a modern mindset. But eventually the words started to flow and the ideas came back to her as she began to explore the love story that had been so heavily influenced by her own early experiences of a broken heart.
She worked for so long, sitting at the table in the chalet, that she hadn’t realised how late it was getting until her stomach started to rumble. As she stood up from the desk to put the kettle on and grab a quick slice of toast, she was startled to see Leo walking across the garden towards the chalet. Grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard, she flipped the switch on the kettle and waited for him to approach the door.
‘Hey,’ he said as she crossed the small floorspace to let him in. ‘I’m sorry I took so long. I had a few things to sort out, and time got away from me.’
Rory nodded. ‘I’ve been pretty busy myself. Tea?’
‘Please.’
