Page 33 of The Rest is History
‘We all get a pair of free tickets,’ Cassie, who plays Katherine Howard, squeals. She’s half my age—a good seventeen years younger than my thirty-five. The age gap between Henry and Katherine was double that, if you can believe it, though it doesn’t bear thinking about.
I roll my eyes. ‘You can have mine.’
She gasps theatrically? ‘Seriously? OMG, Charlie. That would besoamazing?—’
Lauren, aka Anne of Cleves, holds up a hand to cut her off. Her formidable head of candy-pink hair, usually hidden under a modest hood when she’s in character, is an untamed mane this evening. She’s what I would describe as a badass (if I was cooler).
‘Don’t be hasty, Charlie,’ she says. ‘Honestly, the history behind it is seriously interesting. A couple of Cambridge grads wrote it. It takes revisionist history to a new level.’
My ears prick up at my favourite R-word. ‘How so?’ I address the question to Tess, who’s the only one whose opinion I value. Incidentally, she’s the only one of us (aside from Elodie and me) who’s not a professional actor but instead is an academic and plays Catherine of Aragon for the sheer thrill of it. She’s most definitely Team Catherine, but obviously she’s well-adjusted enough not to let her character’s hatred of her usurper spill over into real life and has been very sweet to Elodie.
Tess smiles enigmatically. ‘Lauren’s right. Tell him, Lauren.’
‘Well,’ Lauren says, ‘in the musical, Anne of Cleve’s number is all about what a great divorce she negotiated from Henry and what incredible freedom she enjoyed after she got rid of him. She’s a proper powerhouse.’
Hmm. I’ll admit that does sound interesting. I make an approving noise and nod at Lauren. ‘You’re well cast then.’
She rubs her shoulder against mine in mock-affection, and I hold on tight to my beer bottle.
‘Ooh, you’re such a charmer, Charlie.’
I roll my eyes again. ‘Never on purpose.’
‘He’s so adorable, for an old guy,’ Cassie coos.
Jesus Christ. I risk a glance at Elodie. She’s standing on the outskirts of the huddle, looking a mixture of a little amused and a lot uncomfortable. Just because I won’t—can’t—engage with her, doesn’t mean she should get left out altogether.
‘What about Boleyn?’ I ask the others, with a nod at Elodie. ‘Can’t imagine they’ve reinvented the wheel with her much?’
Rebekah—Catherine Parr—notices Elodie’s a little excluded and ushers her further into our group with a hand on her arm. She’s tall, with a short, austere ponytail. This is very much a stepping stone for her on her acting journey. I can tell she has talent, though her acting style is understated. She’s perfect as the dignified Parr, though I could see her popping up inLine of Dutyor some other police procedural before long. She’d make a great on-screen cop.
She wrinkles her nose a little. ‘They haven’t done much with Anne’s role—it’s more of a tongue-in-cheek performance. Very smug. Not so polite to her poor predecessor.’
Elodie smiles properly for the first time all afternoon. ‘Eek. Sorry, Tess.’
‘“Sorry not sorry,” you mean,’ Tess jokes, and even I recognise the phrase from the seemingly millions ofSixt-shirts that do the rounds of the palace every weekend.
Sorry not sorryis possibly one of the most irritating phrases ever invented, if you want my opinion.
‘They’ve taken an interesting stance on Katherine Howard, though,’ Rebekah continues. She jerks her head at Cassie to continue, which is typical of how I’ve noticed these women operate. They’re very much a team.
‘Yeah,’ Cassie pipes up. ‘My song is all about how Katherine was a victim of abusive men using her as a pawn in their agendas from a young age.’
I sigh. ‘It sounds not as utterly terrible and moronic as I may have assumed it was.’
‘See?’ Shelby says. ‘That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?’
I jerk my head away before she can squish my face. So undignified.
‘It’s definitely not terrible,ormoronic,’ Tess says in a chiding tone. ‘Its messages are important, and it’s very cleverly executed. But, at the end of the day, it’s Anne the punters all come to see. Just like here, eh?’
The others turn to grin at Elodie, and I take advantage of the opportunity to drink her in in all her leggy, casual beauty. Anne Boleyn had nothing on her. God, if Henry had set his sights on Elodie Peach… I shudder at the thought. He’d have done far more than raze monasteries to the ground and execute men who were rumoured to have been intimate with her.
Because women like her don’t come around in every lifetime.
CHAPTER 14
Elodie
