What I Did On My Summer Vacation!

 RHYS BOWEN: I have just returned from a short trip to England. It was all very intense as the object was for John to see all his family members.  His sister lives in Cornwall in a fifteenth century manor house (she married into an important Cornish family). Her sons and their families mostly live within reach so we had one big family meal after another.

One of the things I love about being in Cornwall is eating my favorite foods. Cornish pasties:

Cream teas:

The good news is that all calories leave when you pass the Cornish border.

The driving is always interesting as the roads are, well, rather narrow.

One of my favorite excursions is to St. Michael's Mount. This time the tide was up but when it's out you can walk across.

Then we went on to Bath and I spent two lovely days wandering around my home city, evoking memories and enjoying the new spa with rooftop pool. 

In London an extra treat. It was the Chelsea Flower Show and the main street in Chelsea and turned itself into Chelsea in Bloom with every shop doing a fabulous flower display:

As I look at this photos I'm already filled with nostalgia. It seems like a simpler, more sane life over there. 

What are your vacation plans this year? Who is going abroad?

Rhys on Home

 I’ve just returned from a trip to England, mainly to let John be with his many relatives. It was a lovely time, full of big family dinners, delicious lunches, cream teas and an endless stream of people coming and going. I enjoy being there, I love Cornwall and John’s family, but it is not home. Cornwall was somewhere we took vacations when I was very young. As sort of magical place that was different.

We also spent some time in London. London again is a place I know well. I spent a big chunk of time there, both at university and then living on Queen Anne Street behind Oxford Circus, working for the BBC at Broadcasting House (I could get up at eight thirty and be on the set by nine!). But again London is not home.

Which made me consider what exactly home is. I have lived in California for over fifty years. I have raised a family here, but is it home? I do find myself longing for the simple life in England, going to the village shop or the pub and meeting the neighbors. California is always fast paced, lots of traffic, new buildings.

So it was interesting for me to spend a few days in Bath, the city of my birth. I didn’t live there after the war when my parents moved to Kent where my father ran a factory, but I was a frequent visitor. My aunt Gwladys lived there, my godmother,--I could almost say my fairy godmother because that’s what she felt like to me. A single woman who had had a high powered job in the Admiralty during the war only to be kicked back to a secretarial position when the men came back. She quit and started teaching business instead. Long summer vacations gave her plenty of opportunity to travel and she traveled constantly. Everywhere she went she brought me back a doll. .I have them all in a cabinet and can name where they all came from.

From a very early age my parents would put me on a bus in London and Aunt Gwlad would meet me in Bath. There we would do exciting and different things: we’d go to a Persian restaurant and sit on cushions to eat. We went to plays and the opera. We visited her many and diverse friends like the old lady who lived alone in the mansion above the city, and we’d often have morning coffee with her friends in the Pump Room where an ancient orchestra played.

I left John in the hotel and wandered around Bath on my own. That was the road to my grandmother’s house, a lovely Georgian with molded ceiling. That’s the Francis Hotel where we once had an elegant lunch with my aunt’s haughty friend. And Pultney Bridge had a wool shop where I once was bought yarn and skirt material. It all came back to me. Look John,Jollys. They used to have lovely cream cakes (it was now shuttered). I remembered swimming in the Roman Baths before they discovered the bacteria content was not safe!  This time I indulged in the safer but more expensive new Thermae Spa with its rooftop warm pool. Such a treat.

I think a place knows when you were born there. I could feel it whispering ‘welcome home’ to me, and then, more disturbingly, ‘you don’t want to leave again, do you? You could come back here. Live a simple life here. Sit in the Parade Gardens and watch the river fall down the weir.’  So tempting. But we packed our bags and caught the train to London. Now home will have to wait until next year.

So Reddies, do you have a place that is definitely home for you? Or are you still looking and hoping to find it?

Guess Where I am today?

 RHYS BOWEN: When you are reading this I am on a train, heading out of London for one of my very favorite places: CORNWALL!

If you're not sure where Cornwall is--it's the far western tip of England, sticking out into the Atlantic Ocean. It's one of the last remaining vestiges of Celtic Britain with its own language (now almost lost but a sister language to Welsh). It has a colorful history of smugglers and wreckers (Du Maurier's Frenchman's Creek) and a mild climate that allows sub tropical plants to grow. It also provides all the daffodils for Britain in early spring. It's lovely to drive past field after field of them.

Driving in Cornwall is not for the faint-hearted: the lines are just wide enough for one car and very winding      

Anyone who has seen Doc Martin knows what a Cornish village looks like. And how Cornish people speak with that lovely slow burr to their sound. And the temperament to go with it. I was once hurrying to catch a ferry when an old man looked up from where he was sitting on the quay. "You don't need to rush, my lovey," he said. "He's still having his dinner."  Everyone is called 'my love' or my lovey. So nice.

TTomorrow I'll talk about the food. Yum.

We stay with my sister-in-law at her lovely fourteenth century manor house (complete with haunted room).  I always loved the relaxed way the family spoke about this. "Will you take these sheets up to the haunted room, please."   The ghost is a young woman and doesn't bother the family. But she once ripped the bedclothes off the bed of a girlfriend one of the sons had brought to stay. Clearly she thought she was the wrong choice for him (he didn't marry her).  I've never encountered her personally but that room is always icy cold.

The manor has been in BIL Tony's family since it was built. They are the Vyvyans--a noble family who used to own much of that part of Cornwall. Now Tony's cousin Ferrers (Sir Ferrers!) still owns the stately home, Trelowarren, and Tony got Merthen Manor. Not too bad.

The manor has around three hundred acres of fields and woodlands going down to the Helston River (right opposite Frenchman's Creek) and we can dig for mussels to barbecue and in the springtime the woods are full of bluebells.  It's magical.  We've taken all our grandkids to stay there and for the first time in their lives they could play outdoors in the woods, only coming home when they are hungry--just like I used to as a child. 

I'll be enjoying myself in the little fishing villages, looking at local crafts, sketching of course. A whole week of being away from the world.  So I won't be chiming in much next week. But I'll be thinking of you.

Rhys Celebrates a Release

 
RHYS:  Saturday was apparently National Paperback book day (who knew there was such a thing?), and it was appropriate for me as this week I celebrate the release of the paperback edition of THE LAST MRS. SUMMERS.

The book came out in hardcover last year, with little fanfare, of course, as there was no book tour and only a couple of Zoom events. But it managed to reach #10 on USA Today list, and most recently won the Agatha Award for best historical mystery.  I should be happy--right?

But now, as I look at the paperback, I'm feeling a great sense of loss and nostalgia. Because, you see, the book takes place in Cornwall (a homage to Daphne Du Maurier's Rebecca) and this marks the second summer in a row that I have not been able to be in England, staying with relatives in Cornwall and enjoying the magical surroundings.

Usually we fly to England and get straight on a train in Paddington Station, heading for Truro. There we pick up a car and negotiate those scary Cornish lanes (hardly ever wide enough for two vehicles to pass) until we reach my sister-in-law's manor house.

 It's at the end of a half-mile drive, with a river at the bottom of its land. There we just feel all tension slip away. We are outside the real world. We can walk through woodlands, sit on lawns, sip a Pimms, eat a cream tea. Absolute heaven!

But we still don't feel comfortable traveling to England (where case rates are rising alarmingly) and my brother-in-law is very ill, making a visit not wise at this time. So I think I'm going to re-read my own book to remind myself about all the things I love about Cornwall.

Number one is the coastline--little fishing villages nestled between cliffs. Sandy coves to swim in. A feeling of fairy-tale.

Number two is the people. To say they are nice is an understatement. They call you 'my lovey'. Time has no meaning. I was once rushing to catch a ferry when an old man, sitting on the dock, looked up at me. "You don't need to run, my lovey," he said, "He won't be going yet. He's still having his dinner."

And number three is the food. We indulge in all the things we avoid all year: Cornish pasties come first and we have to have one on the first day, from the Oggi Oggi Pasty shop in Falmouth. Then cream teas--plenty of those too with Cornish clotted cream and homemade jam. Oh, and the clotted cream is used to make ice-creams too.  I once took a group of hiking friends to Cornwall. They were super-fit ladies, who watched their diets. I warned them they may have to bend those diets a little. They tried Cornish ice cream once and thereafter it was a main point of every day to find a new ice cream shop!  And lastly fish and chips, made with local fresh fish.

I'm sighing as I'm writing this. I'll be reliving through my photos and going back to read Mrs. Summers again.

So dear Reds, what are you missing most about not traveling? What's the first place you'll go to when we can move freely again?

Davies and West are Back--Will North

DEBORAH CROMBIE: You know I have a real soft spot for American authors who write about Britain and do it well, and I count my friend Will North as one of the best of the bunch. Will has the same deep attachment for Cornwall that I have for London, and he's set some wonderful novels there, including a wonderful series featuring the irascible Cornish detective inspector Morgan Davies, and her Scene of Crimes manager Callum West.

MURDER ON THE COMMONS is the fourth Davies and West book, and it was certainly well worth the wait. I'm sure Will has struggled as I have during the pandemic with being unable to visit the much-loved setting of his book. But Will has had other and greater obstacles, as he will explain.

 WILL NORTH: Morgan Davies and Calum West are back!

“Murder on the Commons,” the fourth book in my British mystery series, releases May 17. There was a three-year delay between book three, "Trevega House", and this one. But it wasn’t writer's block. It was cancer. Two and a half years ago, I was diagnosed with a particularly aggressive form of bone marrow cancer. I went through three unsuccessful cycles of chemotherapy. The last resort, stem cell replacement completed at the end of February, was successful at last!

I’ve always believed the central characters in a series should develop from edition to edition, gaining depth with each professional and personal challenge.  But don’t worry, Detective Inspector Morgan Davies is still her cantankerous self and Scene of Crimes Manager Calum West is still putting up with her. As I wrote and the story unfolded, I was delighted to discover how much more we learn about DCI Penwarren and the rest of Cornwall’s major crimes team. I hope you'll love this aspect of the book, as well.

Now for a teaser: A body is discovered neck deep in an inaccessible bog on Cornwall’s Bodmin Moor. The corpse is faceless, thanks to carrion birds, but the body is tattooed. Without a crime scene or motive, the trail feels cold from the outset, but the victim's tattoos offer clues that lead the team on a chase to find a cunning killer.

 I hope you enjoy the twists and turns in “Murder on the Commons.” Write and let me know! 

Will North is the pen name of an international award-winning author and ghostwriter of more than a dozen nonfiction books as well as seven recent novels. He has ghosted books for Bill Clinton, Al Gore, several famous Everest mountaineers, a team of dinosaur hunters, a renowned physician, and others. Two of his books have been the subject of PBS and A&E documentaries. As a fiction author, Will has penned two romantic suspense novels, a family saga, and four books in his Davies & West British murder mystery series. Will lives on an island in Washington's Puget Sound. You can find him at www.willnorthnovelist.com, on Instagram @willnorthnovelist, and on Facebook at Will North, Author.

Murder on the Commons

When a hawk-ravaged head of a body is discovered neck-deep in a Cornwall bog, Detective Inspector Morgan Davies and her Scene of Crimes manager Calum West find themselves equally mired in questions and dead-ends. Who is this badly broken corpse on the grounds of Poldue Manor? How did the body appear there? And why does the Lord of the Manor’s daughter seem unfazed by her gruesome discovery?

Clues diverge and send the investigative team out of Cornwall and across borders as the team finds itself immersed in unfamiliar waters of both politics and romance.

But when shots are fired, there is suddenly more on the line than catching a killer. This time, it’s personal.

DEBS: That is such wonderful news about your cancer, and I am in awe of your fortitude in keeping on with your writing during your treatment. We all wish you the best of health in the future.

Now, the book! It is so atmospheric, the body in the bog!  Such a fabulous cover, and such great characters--I loved getting to know more about them in this book, too.

For all you current armchair travelers, Will be stopping in to chat and I'm sure he can tell you anything you'd like to know about Cornwall. Who has visited? Who would like to visit? Favorite locations?

Rhys Bowen--The Second Mrs. Summers

DEBORAH CROMBIE: What a treat to host our second Jungle Red book launch of the week! It's our Rhys Bowen's new Lady Georgie novel, THE SECOND MRS. SUMMERS. If you need  a summer getaway, this book is going to be it. Ah, Cornwall... ice cream, cream teas, gorgeous scenery, a fresh sea breeze--and a mystery with our favorite, funny, Golden Age heroine, Lady Georgie. You just can't beat it!

RHYS ESCAPES TO CORNWALL:

Thank you for the kind intro, Debs.

Like Hank I’m excited to be launching a new book this week. Especially excited as THE LAST MRS. SUMMERS is a real escape novel, set on the Cornish coast with a scary and romantic adventure for my Lady Georgie and her friend Belinda.

I expect many of you are like me at the moment, longing to get away somewhere, dreaming of the most idyllic places we have visited. For me seeing the publication of this book is bitter-sweet. If you read the dedication it is to my Cornish kin, with whom I spend my summers. Any other year I’d be staying at Merthen Manor at this time of year, sitting at the glorious kitchen table and eating a cream tea.  I’d be walking around little fishing villages and picking up a hot pasty, or treating myself to a clotted-cream ice-cream. Alas the only way I can do that this year is in my book.

If one of the reasons for writing this book was my affection for Cornwall, then the other was Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. When I saw that Netflix was making it into a mini-series I read it again. It had been one of the first adult books I had read as a teenager, and definitely the first book that showed me a story could not only be entertaining but could play with the emotions. I knew Devon and Cornwall well as a child and could picture Manderley and the wild coastal setting.  I have to confess even then that I was a little annoyed with the second Mrs. De Winter and the fact that she didn’t stand up for herself more. I know she was young and not from an upper class background but if I had been mistress of that house I would have not allowed the servants to walk all over me like that.

So as I was reading the book again I found myself thinking that this would be a fun adventure for Georgie. What if her friend Belinda inherits a property in Cornwall? And they drive down to see it, and find themselves in a house like Manderley with a housekeeper like Mrs. Danvers and a mystery about what happened to the first wife. Those of you who know Rebecca will get a chuckle from the various allusions, although some of this book is scary. But you know what? It’s a chance to spend some time in Cornwall and who doesn’t want that at this moment?

DEBS: If that's not enough, just to up your longing another notch, here's a Cornish cream tea.

Is that your in-laws' kitchen, Rhys? So cozy! Love the blue and white china--my favorite! Now if I could just have one of those scones with my tea... And some clotted cream, yum. For those unlucky readers who aren't familiar with clotted cream, maybe Rhys will explain in the comments how it's different from American cream.

READERS,  where would you be spending your ideal summer vacation, in better times? I'd be happy to go along to Cornwall with Rhys...

Rhys on Cottages she has Known

RHYS BOWEN: I am nearing the first draft of my 14th Royal Spyness book, this one a spoof on REBECCA and set in Cornwall, a place I know well since we visit John's sister there every summer.
In this excerpt Georgie's friend Belinda has just inherited a property in Cornwall. They go to inspect and it turns out to be a cottage perched above the rocks. A rather primitive cottage.

As with all my books, I make my characters suffer my own experiences. In this case their suffering mirrors the time John and I were lent a farmhouse in France. We arrived and couldn't find a loo. We knew there must be a bathroom somewhere as the instructions told us how to work the shower. Eventually I went down to the cellar, across a dirt floor and down another flight of steps into...well, a cavern. Vaulted ceiling with ferns and mushrooms growing out of it. In one corner was a loo and in the middle a shower coming from the ceiling directly onto the stone floor. Needless to say neither of us went down there at night! Will Belinda and Georgie?  Read on:

Below was a stone basement with another large sink. The smell of fish still lingered. In one corner was a rusted tin bathtub, and in another a lavatory. Goodness knows where that drained to!

            “Not exactly much privacy,” I pointed out.

            “Can you imagine coming down here in the night?” Belinda sounded horrified. “Forget what I said about furniture being the number one priority. The first task is a proper bathroom.”

            “Are you sure this place is worth all the effort?” I asked. “it’s terribly remote. Would you really want to be here alone?”

            “I’m not sure,” she said. “I like the idea, but… Let’s sleep on it. I always say things look better in the morning.”

            “Do you think we should lock the front door, just in case?” I asked.

            “Who is possibly going to bother us out here?” Belinda said. “But maybe you’re right. We are far from any help, aren’t we?”

            She turned the big iron key in the latch. “Satisfied?” she asked.  I was.

After we had taken turns to use the facilities while the other stood guard at the top of the stairs we got undressed for bed. 

            “I don’t feel like turning off that oil lamp, if you don’t mind,” Belinda said. 

            “I agree. And wake me up if you need to go down to the loo.”

            “I rather wish I hadn’t had that pint of cider now,” Belinda said. 

            “Me too.”

            We climbed into the bed. The mattress was lumpy and the springs squeaked every time one of us moved.

            “I wouldn’t recommend this for a romantic hideaway,” I said, making Belinda laugh.

            “Oh crikey, can you imagine.”

            We both lay there laughing, as one does when very nervous.

            “I’m freezing. How about you?” Belinda asked.

            “I certainly am. The blankets feel damp, don’t they?”

            “I could put my cape over us. And your overcoat.”  She got up and started to drape them over the bedding.

            “Remind me whose mad idea this was,” I said.

            “At least you are not having to give tea parties and feel lonely and bored,” she said.

            “You’re quite right. It is an adventure. I must remind myself of that—especially if I have to get up in the night.”

            “Wake me and I’ll hold a candle for you,” Belinda said.

The extra layers started to warm us up. The wind had died down and all one could hear was the distant thump of waves on the rocks below. Gradually I drifted off to sleep. I awoke to pitch darkness. The oil in the lamp must have finally given out. I lay staring at nothing, wondering what might have woken me. Then I heard it again… the slightest sound. Was it the creak of a door? 

            Only the wind, I told myself. I knew from experience with Castle Rannoch that old houses were full of noises as they creaked and sighed and shifted. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. I had almost drifted off when I felt the covers being peeled back and someone climbed into the bed beside me. The bedsprings creaked ominously. Silly Belinda, I thought. She’s been to the loo by herself. How considerate of her not to have woken me up.

Then I realized this person was getting into the bed on my left side. Belinda had been lying on my right. I reached out a hand and felt the warmth of her body. Then who on earth? 

Who on earth indeed? The plot thickens after this! It's called THE LAST MRS. SUMMERS (Those of you who know Rebecca might appreciate the names) and it comes out next August.

Rhys returning to Roots

RHYS BOWEN : I've just started on my 14th book in the Royal Spyness series. Finally I'm able to set a book in Cornwall. I've been wanting to for ages as I spend part of every summer there and it is a part of England that has great childhood memories too. John's sister married into one of the old Cornish families. His cousin has the title and stately home. Tony inherited the manor house (which isn't too shabby either) so every summer I play at being lady of the manor.

I'm finally putting all of this into a book. The adorable Cornish people who call everyone 'my lovey'. Cornish pasties. Clotted cream. Smugglers. So much good stuff for Georgie to experience.  And as well as this I am making the book a homage to Daphne Du Maurier's REBECCA.  I've always adored that book--the great brooding atmosphere, the clever twists that punch the reader in the gut.
And having decided to do this, guess what? I learn that Netflix is going to be doing a Rebecca series. Perfect timing!  I've called it THE LAST MRS. SUMMERS.

Of course, being a Royal Spyness book, mine won't be all dark and brooding, but I'm hoping for some good twists of my own. Here is a snippet of a scene near the beginning.

“This can’t be right,” Belinda said. “I don’t remember this at all.” She slowed the car to a crawl. “Oh, look. An answer to prayers, darling. There’s someone to ask. Be an angel and find out, will you?”,

I tied a scarf around my head and stepped out into the full force of the gale. A man was leaning on a gate, watching us.  He didn’t seem to mind getting wet at all. I went over to him.

“Excuse me, but do you know a house called White Sails?”

“Ooo arr,” he said, nodding with enthusiasm. He was an older man with a weathered face and a mouth missing several teeth. He was wearing an old sack over his shoulders and a shapeless faded hat on his head. “Fish!”

“No, I don’t want fish. I want directions to a house called White Sails.” I tried not to sound too exasperated.

“That’s right. Err wants fish.” He had a really strong burr to his accent and he was grinning at me. Clearly only the village idiot would be out in rain like this.

“White sails” I said again, trying to be patient. “It’s a house on the coast near here. Could you tell us how to get there?”

He was eyeing me up and down as if I was a creature from a distant planet. “Round little rumps,” he said with great enthusiasm.

“Well, really.” I stalked back to the car.

“Disgusting old man.” I slammed the car door behind me. “He was leering at me and then he said I had round little rumps. The nerve of it.”

Belinda looked at me and then suddenly started laughing.

“It’s not funny. You might not mind having men comment on your shape but I certainly do. Especially when I’m cold, wet and hungry.”

“He was telling us the way, darling. I’ve remembered now. The headland is called Little Rumps. We’re on the right track.”

“Little Rumps,” I muttered. “What a stupid name for a headland.  Camels and Splatt and now Little Rumps. This really is a very silly place!”

If you love Poldark or Doc Martin then this will be for you. 

And next Tuesday, August 6, is the release date for the new Georgie book, called LOVE AND DEATH AMONG THE CHEETAHS. I'll be heading out on tour to lots of hot places. I hope to see some of you along the way! (There are giveaways right now on my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/rhysbowenauthor)

Kim Heniadis is the WINNER of THE MURDER LIST! Email Hank at hryan at whdh dot com with your snail mail address!