Page 83 of The Rest is History
So.’ He looks down at his pen tapping a rhythm out on his desk. ‘Have you told Zara?’
‘Yeah. Just now, actually. She seems tickled. Apparently it wasn’t a surprise to her.’
‘How’s she doing?’
‘Zara?’ I frown in confusion. ‘Same as usual. Annoyingly perky. She’ll be insufferable over this. Why d’you ask?’
‘No reason.’ His eyes are still on the pen. ‘Is she seeing anyone, do you know?’
I attempt to recall the regular, vapid conversation that generally floats over my head in the History office.
‘Don’t think so. She’s been going on about one of the PE teachers, though.’
He looks up sharply. ‘Gibbs? It has to be Gibbs.’
‘That rings a bell.’ I narrow my eyes. ‘You interested, or something?’
‘No,’ he says a little too quickly. ‘Just like to know what’s going on in my school.’
‘Course you do.’ Interesting. I make a vague plan to tuck that nugget of information away to tell Elodie. Not sure if I’llremember. After all, my brain’s a useless fucking swirl of love hormones right now.
‘Anyway. Tell Elodie she has my blessing.’ He grins at me. ‘You two will make a nice couple.’
A couple.Jesus Christ, how did I get so lucky? I nod my thanks and turn to go.
As I hit the door, he says behind me, ‘Just give it a chance, mate, okay? Do yourself a favour and don’t put your shit on her.’
I nod again, to let him know I’ve heard him loud and clear, and shut the door behind me.
CHAPTER 31
Elodie
‘I’m seriously tempted to sack in my job teaching boring old nineteenth century history and just come work here,’ I tell Charlie the following week as I process about the palace in all my finery, on the arm of a most handsome monarch.
‘As your boss, I’m sorry to hear you are so unmotivated to do the job we’re paying you to do,’ he says drily, and I stick my tongue out at him. Because, honestly, I’m getting so attached to this place and to the community of people who work here. Not just my fellow queens—though they’re awesome—but the rest of the enormous team that keeps this historic gem alive and in stunning condition. Gardeners. Conservators. Historians. Stewards. Even the specialist fire staff who oversee the lighting and maintenance of the enormous fire in the royal kitchen.
This morning, Charlie and I arrived early and enjoyed having the gardens to ourselves. When in costume, we have to stick to the Tudor part of the palace. But I adore the newer wing, too, with its racy frescos andtrompe d’oeilpanels and huge canopied beds. I still get a kick out of spotting the areas where Bridgerton was filmed. And I love the gardens.
Earlier, we took our coffees and wandered through the Georgian gardens with their ancient yew trees before headingaround to the sunken gardens—a series of the prettiest walled gardens that served as the royal fish ponds in Henry’s day. Their banks of tulips have waned, but they’re still beautiful.
‘This place really gets under your skin, though, doesn’t it?’ I ask him now, ignoring his remark and rotating slowly in Clock Court as I look up at the blue sky beyond the spectacular astronomical clock in its tower.
‘Why do you think I do this ridiculous role?’
That gets my attention. ‘Really? You don’t do it to educate? To help bring the man to life?’
‘Partly, yes, of course I do. But spending my Saturdays here gives me such profound pleasure. It’s humbling, being here under the weight of so much history.’
‘I totally agree. It’s hard to get your head around.’ Because Hampton Court really is special. It has a completely different vibe from the Tower of London’s frenetic crowds or Kensington Palace’s sedate prettiness. This palace is vast and varied. It’s jaw-droppingly beautiful, and, as Charlie says, it’s impossible not to feel the sheer weight of the history it bears.
Unspeakable tragedies occurred here. Parties, masques and even performances overseen by Shakespeare himself went off with great aplomb. Queens triumphed and gave birth and died here. Hundreds of families and thousands of courtiers spent their daily lives here. And here, in the still-quiet courtyard, you can still sense the melting pot that this place was.
We grab the in-house Tudor historians as often as we can for chats. Luckily, they seem to enjoy hanging out with us. They’re a mine of information, right down to the minutiae of palace life. The spices a courtier could expect in his meat pie, depending on his status. The staggering array of Apotropaic markings (basically, superstitious graffiti) etched into the walls of the kitchen.
But one area where they’ve really enlightened me has been Anne’s work at Hampton Court. She was one busy lady. She was courting Henry when he took over the undecorated palace from Wolsey in 1529, and she became his enthusiastic partner in all the great building projects Henry undertook.
I wish her suite of apartments survived. She designed them boldly, being on the same floor as Henry’s suite with direct private access. This was unheard of—Katherine’s apartments at the palace had been on the floor below Henry’s. I love what this modern arrangement tells us about the king’s love for her. At one point, anyway.
