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.