How Things Have Changed.

RHYS BOWEN: I’m gearing up for the release of a new historical novel THE ROSE ARBOR on August 6. That's four weeks from today! And I’m smiling wryly because the novel takes place in 1968.  How can it be Historical? It takes place in my lifetime , and many of yours, I suspect. But the publishing industry counts it as historical if it took place 50 years ago.

 In that year I was newly married. In the years preceding I was a young woman in swinging London. I worked in BBC drama. I had my hair cut by Vidal Sassoon. I wore Mary Quant, including hot pants. I dated a guy in a band. I sang in a folk club. 

 It was all exciting, a great time to be alive…. Which suddenly changed with the Vietnam War. Suddenly it was all student protests and hippies holding love ins and young people taking over deserted buildings to squat in them.(Yes, that's me in my modeling days! I loved those white boots)

 So everything in this book is first hand memory for me. My daughter Jane read it and said “This is your best book yet because everything feels so real.” It’s hard to believe that other people will read this as history. It makes me realize how change in a constant in our lives.  Maybe in past centuries someone born in a village could be assured that nothing would change in their lives there. People would be born, marry, die and their descendants would live exactly as they had.

 All that changed with the industrial revolution. Those same people moved to cities to get work. Trains took people to far away places, seeing things they never dreamed they would see. My great aunt was born in 1874. She was old when I knew her and told wonderful stories about her life. When she was young there were no automobiles, only gas lamps, no stores that sold read made clothing. She lived through the coming of electricity, cars, planes, radio, television, space travel… oh, and two world wars. What a life span!

 Now things are changing so quickly it’s hard to keep up. My nineteen sixties self would not understand any computer or social media terminology. “Sorry, got to go. Have to do my blog, check emails.  And then post to Insta. I hope there haven’t been any trolls on Facebook today.”

 Yesterday I was reminded of how swiftly change can take place. I went to our local mall to a pop up vintage sale in an empty store. One of many empty stores. The mall is due to close soon. When we first moved here in 1971 there was an outdoor shopping center with green spaces and a fountain. And elegant stores like City of Paris. It was a delightful place even if my budget in those days did not stretch to most of the clothing.

 Then they enclosed it, building anchor stores: Macy’s, Sears, Mervyns. And the chains came in: Gap, the Limited, Forever 21. It became a hang-out of the young. Meet you at the mall! A lively place with Santa at Christmas and the Easter bunny in the spring. And an outdoor skating rink. Then the demographics of the county changed. The young stayed home and texted each other or played video games. Sears and Mervyns vanished. Macy’s now has women, juniors, children and toys all on one floor and no sales assistant in sight. Then Covid killed it. Everyone got used to shopping online.

 So now it’s due to be pulled down and in its place a multi use area—apartment blocks with retail and restaurants on the ground floor. Green spaces and walking trails between buildings. A transit hub.  All good, I suppose. All part of the change we have come to expect. But sometimes I envy those people in the village, knowing what to expect from their lives.

 And I? I can look back on the good old days when I re-read my book.

 What are some of the most significant changes you have seen in your life?

Rhys gets ready...

 RHYS BOWEN: Well, I actually am writing something new. Clare and I have started our new Molly book. This one is set in the fledgling movie industry in New York (and the rival Edison studio across the river in New Jersey) but today my thoughts are focused on the upcoming release of THE PARIS ASSIGNMENT. 

Most of my writing at this very moment is blog posts, interviews for the new book. I'm excited to share it with the world as I think it is a special story, with plenty of danger, heartbreak and an ultimately satisfying ending. I decided to share a snippet with you today:

They made for the ferns and lay down amongst them. Madeleine tried to sleep, but every nerve was taut, and every stirring of the night breeze jerked her awake. An owl hooted as it sat in a nearby tree. At last there was a hint of dawn in the night sky. They could make out the vague shapes of trees.

“We should get moving.” She nudged Annie.

Annie stirred, opening her eyes. “Is it morning?”

“You were asleep?”

“What else was there to do?” Annie sat up and smoothed down her hair. “I’d welcome a cup of coffee, wouldn’t you?”

“Not me. I don’t like it black, and remember, there’s no milk in cafés these days.”

They were about to get to their feet when they heard sounds. A dog barking.

“Get down.” Madeleine pulled Annie back into the ferns. To her horror she heard the sounds coming closer. The barking louder. And suddenly the dog was standing over them. They could feel its warm breath on them, its panting loud in their ears.

“What’s this, then?” said a man’s voice. A French voice.

They sat up, staring up at a man with a gun and a large hound.

“Oh monsieur, you terrified us,” Annie said, sitting up. “My sister and I had to leave Paris because where we were living was so dangerous, and we’re making for our aunt’s house in Moret-sur-Loing—do you know it? Have we still far to go?”

“You came on foot?” he asked. Now they could see he was an older man, still strong and upright but with a grey mustache and bags under his eyes.

“We started in the train, but there were German soldiers in our compartment, and they were fresh with us, so we got out at Bois-le-Roi and decided to walk the rest of the way,” Annie said. “But we got lost and it got dark, so we felt safer here. Now we’ll go back to the Bois-le-Roi station and continue our journey, hopefully in safety.”

“Those damned Germans. Always making trouble of one sort or another,” he growled. “Well, at least you have not strayed too far from the station. There is the good path up ahead. I’d invite you back to my house for something to eat, but I don’t think you want to go in the wrong direction. And my dog is anxious to get to work.”

“What work does he do?” Annie asked.

“We’re out hunting rabbits,” the old man said. “How else does one get meat these days? And old Louis here, he has a good nose for finding game. Rabbits, squirrels. Anything for the pot so my wife can make a stew.”

“We wish you good hunting, monsieur,” Annie said.

“And you too, ladies.” He tipped his old felt hat to them and whistled for the dog to follow him.

The two women got to their feet. “You were amazing,” Madeleine said. “I can see you’re going to be good at this. You think on your feet. So convincing.”

Annie grinned. “I was good at lying when I was a kid. I could make my mother believe anything. Who thought it would come in handy in later life? But I don’t think he was fooled for a minute. He knew who we are.”

“He did?”

“When I wished him good hunting, he replied, ‘You too,’ didn’t he? He suspected we were Resistance of some sort, but he was on our side.” She brushed down her coat. “Well, we’ve had good luck so far. Let’s hope it holds up. Ready to make for the station?”

RHYS: It was hard to find a snippet that was not a spoiler, but I think this gives you a feel of what the young women were up against during the war.

If you want to pre-order here is the link

And I'll give away a copy to one of today's commenters.  Enjoy.

What We're Writing: Rhys and Queen Victoria

RHYS BOWEN: I seem to be going back in time with my writing. After writing two stand-alone novels set in WWII, my next book, coming out this February, is called THE VICTORY GARDEN and is about the Women's Land Army in WWI.

However, my work in progress, actually only just started, is going to be about Queen Victoria and the time she spent in Nice. When I was staying in Nice a few years ago, actually writing Naughty in Nice, I was surprised to learn that Queen Victoria spent the winter there, during her latter years. I hadn't known this. An enormous hotel had been built for her--the Hotel Regina Excelsior. It stands on a hillside above the city with fabulous views. She took over a whole wing with a retinue of 100. She brought her own bedroom furniture and chefs on a private train from England.... however, she didn't want anyone to know she was the queen. (I think they might have guessed with a regiment of Highland pipers accompanying her). She told everyone to call her Lady Balmoral.

So the working title of my book is LADY BALMORAL'S CHEF. And it's about a young woman who cooks for the queen and there's a murder and a lot of intrigue.

This is how it begins:

Lady Balmoral’s Chef

Chapter 1

London, September 1897

If Helen Barton hadn’t stepped under an omnibus, I might well still be sweeping floors and lighting fires in that dreadful house in St. John’s Wood. But for once I had followed my father’s advice.

“Carpe diem,” was one of my father’s favorite sayings. Seize the day. Take your chances. He usually added ‘because that might be the only chance you get.”

He spoke from experience. He was an educated man, came from a good family, and had known better times. As a second son of the junior branch he could expect no title or property that went with it, and was sent out to India to make something of himself.  He had married my mother, a sweet and delicate creature he met on one of his visits home. It was soon clear that she couldn’t endure the harsh conditions of Bengal, so Daddy had been forced to bring her home to England.

Daddy had received no help from the family but at last had fallen on his feet in a way and had held what was considered a prestigious position: he was a receptionist and greeter at the Savoy, London’s new luxury hotel.  His ability to speak good French and know how to mingle with crowned heads had made him popular at the hotel. He had patted the hands of elderly Russian countesses and arranged roulette parties for dashing European princes, for which he received generous tips. We had lived quite happily in the small town of Hampstead, on the northern fringes of London. My sister and I attended a private school. We had a woman who came to clean and cook for us. It was not an extravagant life, but a pleasant one.

            Until it all came crashing down when the demon drink overcame my father. He worked at an establishment where the alcohol flowed freely among the guests. He was invited to take a glass and it would be rude to refuse. So who would notice if he finished off a bottle?  His visits to the public house became more frequent. And one day he was found drunk on the job. That meant instant dismissal. He tried in vain to find another position but with no reference no respectable establishment would want him. We watched him sink lower and lower into depression and drunkenness. My mother died around that time. She was a genteel and sweet person who adored my father. They said she died of pneumonia but I think it was of a broken heart.

            We moved to a squalid two room flat above a butcher’s shop, with only cold water and an outside lavatory. Father occasionally picked up work writing letters for the illiterate, tutoring in French, but nothing that kept the wolf far from the door. And so it was, just before my fifteenth birthday, that he announced he had found a position for me. I was to leave the school that I adored and to become a servant, so that I’d earn money to feed father and Louisa and someone else would have to feed and clothe me. I was more than shocked. I was mortified. We might not be rich but I was from a good family. And the house to which I was sent was that of a nouveau-riche man who had made money in the garment business. His factories turned out cheap blouses for working girls. He and his wife were loud-mouthed and common.

            I pleaded with my father not to do this.

            “It’s only for a short while, Bella,” he said, patting my hand. “I promise you as soon as I’m on my feet again I’ll bring you home. Until then you are helping to make sure that your little sister does not starve.”

            What could I say to that? He always was a great manipulator.

I'm dying to get on with it, but holiday shopping, decorating and parties keep intervening. However I shall enjoy spending time with Bella Waverly, Queen Victoria and a cast of naughty and nice characters. 

Queen Victoria and I explore Nice

RHYS BOWEN: Yesterday I talked about research for The Tuscan Child and today I'm going to share my initial research for a book I want to write next year that has to do with Queen Victoria and her time in Nice. Most people don't realize that, in her latter years, Queen Victoria spent her winters on the French Riviera. She tried several places: Cannes, Menton, Grasse, but finally settled on Nice.

The local inhabitants so appreciated the stature she brought to their town that they built an enormous new hotel for her. The Regina Excelsior. it stands on a hill, overlooking the town and the bay. The queen came here for four years in a row, bringing a retinue of 100, including Highland pipers, her bedroom furniture and a pony and trap and took over an entire wing of this hotel, including her own kitchen staff to cook for her.

It seemed too good not to write a story around this. I'm not going to tell you what the story is but I do want to share how I filled in the pieces for this story:

First I visited the area with the hotel, now luxury flats:

Then I browsed local used bookstores for books and photographs of the era. I found several brilliant books: one on the history of Cimiez (where she stayed), another on the British on the Riviera, one on the villas of Nice and their history. I found plenty of old postcards showing me the city in 1890 as well as the Carnival procession, the parade of flowers, which are destined to play a part in my story. The queen loved to throw flowers at handsome young men! I have so many good tidbits for my book already!

In the central library I found a really helpful librarian who hunted diligently and finally struck gold: The brochure published when the Regina Excelsior was opened. It had images of all the public rooms, the floor plans, the list of servants that the queen brought with her.. in fact everything I needed. Hooray for librarians (but it is lucky that I have a degree in French).

I rode a bus up to the waterfall which she loved to visit. So now I know the layout of the place where I want to set the story. All I have to do is to write it... but that has to wait until next year.

So dear Reds and Readers, how do you set about researching a setting for your books? Do you feel it's necessary that you have to visit the place in person?

And the winner of Dianne Freeman's book is RAMONA. Ramona, please email me at authorrhysbowen@gmail.com and I'll put you in touch with her.