Page 9 of The Rest is History
‘There’s a lot to unpack in that statement,’ I deadpan.
More staring.
I cock my head to one side. ‘You don’t exactly look like old Coppernose.’
‘Neither does Eric Bana,’ he retorts so quickly that I suspect he’s had to defend this role before. ‘Or Jonathan Rhys Meyers.’
My mouth twists. ‘True.’
Also true: Eric Bana was hot as fuck inThe Other Boleyn Girl.And I suspect he was cast precisely to portray the hotness that Henry may or may not have had at that point in his life. He was cast to prove how attractive power and majesty could be.
I hate the fact that the good people at Hampton Court may have cast Charlie for the same reason.
Once again, he can read my mind. It’s as annoying as it is creepy.
‘Look,’ he says. ‘It’s not like they had lots of options, or a big casting budget. They were more interested in finding someone who had knowledge of the period and could bring some colour to the role.’
‘I always assumed they’d use actors,’ I say.
‘They do. Usually. Appointing me was a little… unorthodox.’
I’m really struggling to equate the guy in front of me, with his public-schoolboy good looks and conservative white shirt, with a cosplay lover who likes to dress up and cavort around as a character from half a millennium ago on his precious weekends.
I have a pretty clear idea in my head of the type of guy who likes cosplay, and they’re usually big, bearded motorbike owners whose day job involves wearing all black and being a roadie or something similar.
I know, I know. I’m being obnoxious. And reductionist. But suffice to say, if you saw someone as square and clean-cut and totally devoid of personality as Charlie Vaughan, you’d pigeonhole him, too.
‘But why d’you do it?’
He clearly doesn’t need money. I can tell from his understated clothes that scream quality. And from the very nice Audi I see him get out of when I cruise through the staff carpark on my bike.
In fact, the bigger mystery is not why this guy has a side hustle, but where the hell he gets his cash from, because it sure as hell isn’t Hampton Court.
He must be a drug dealer. Or a secret crypto millionaire.
Charlie shifts in his seat. Fiddles with the pencils.
‘I find it rewarding.’ He glances up as if he’s expecting me to snigger at him. ‘There’s nothing better than bringing history to life. And I enjoy educating people. Let’s just say most of the tourists are far more engaged than the entitled little shits we teach around here. We don’t get any school trips on the weekends, which is a bonus.’
I stare at him. It’s not that I thought he liked the pupils of Hampton Park. I didn’t. After all, he doesn’t seem to like anybody much. Except for Philip Willoughby, our Headmaster, but it’s impossible to dislike Philly Willy (as he’s known). Still, I’m surprised he’s confiding in me. Humouring me with an actual adult conversation.
‘So where do I come in, then?’
He sighs. ‘We’re down a queen.’
I wait for clarification, but none is forthcoming. I lean forward, my bare forearms on the table.
‘Charlie.’ I give him a tiny smile. ‘Did you behead someone again?’
I have no idea what’s got into me today. I feel a little skittish. It must be the rush of discovering Charlie Vaughan has unexpected, intriguing, and exceedingly well-hiddendimensions to his character. And that rush makes me want to capitalise on the moment. To tease him a little. To push for the slightest bit of connection.
Don’t ask me why.
‘It’s always tempting,’ he mutters, ‘but I’ve managed to restrain myself so far. No, one of them needs an operation, and she’ll be out of action for a few weeks.’
‘Oh, right. Which one?’
He holds my gaze.
