“Torquay?” Chelsea inquired like one would say, “A sanitation plant?”
“Yes. A touch of shopping. A cream tea. The sea air,” Rally stated, then to Battle. “We’ll be back by cocktails.”
“Sounds perfect,” Battle purred.
Chelsea glowered at her fish.
I exchanged a beam with Prue.
“Okay, I can’t stand it anymore,” Courtney announced, everyone looked to her, and I was sure I wasn’t the only one who braced.
But I braced more when I saw she was gazing at me.
“I’ve read all your books,” she gushed.
I relaxed.
“I’m a big fan,” she said.
“Well, gosh. Thanks,” I muttered.
“My favorite is What Could Have Been,” she declared. “Your reimagining of Elizabeth’s relationship with Christopher Hatton was so romantic.”
“It’s my understanding there were rumors they were at it,” Rally put in.
“Oh yes,” Courtney practically panted. “I’d never heard of him before your book,” she told me. “So I looked into him, and it’s clear he was a particular favorite of hers, he built that big house, but wouldn’t sleep there until she did, which she never did, sadly, and he never married. Do you think maybe your conjecturing is true?” she asked hopefully.
“Sorry, it’s doubtful,” I replied on a small smile to take the sting out of dashing her hopes. “Most historians agree, although he was a favorite, earned nicknames from her and quite a bit of land, status and wealth, and he wrote copious love letters to her, so did many men at her court. Although there were rumors, no one really believes they were lovers or even in love. That said, it’s pretty clear she had his utter loyalty and devotion, and in her way, she returned that.”
“Fools,” Tempie said, “thinking, because she’s a woman, she’d be swayed by empty avowals of love.”
“I don’t know,” Battle replied. “I’m relatively certain her father reacted rather positively to people stroking his ego and shoving their heads right up his arse.”
Everyone laughed, including me.
“I can’t think of anything more boring than talking about dead people,” Chelsea announced.
The laughter died.
She put a flake of fish between her lips, swallowed and finished, “Or reading about them.”
“You don’t find Cleopatra fascinating?” Tempie asked.
“Another fool for love, I would say,” Chelsea answered.
“Marie Curie? Anne Frank? Amelia Earhart? Maya Angelou? Mary Wollstonecraft? Jane Austen?” Tempie pressed.
Chelsea turned to her. “I’m just saying I prefer to be in the here and now.”
“Oh, my apologies,” Tempe replied. “I thought you were insulting Vivi’s choice of a career and path to writing bestselling novels. My mistake.”
Chelsea turned to me. “Obviously, to each their own, Vivienne.”
“Obviously,” I replied as Harry and Scotty came in to remove the fish course.
“One thing I learned about you during our brief fling, Chels,” Battle started.
Oh boy.
