Page 10 of The Rest is History
I hold my breath.
‘Anne Boleyn.’
Oh, Jesus Christ. I knew it. I bloodyknewit! I had the weirdest feeling it’d be her, as soon as he said he was ‘down a queen’. And there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that suggests he’s trying to communicate something significant.
Let me tell you, in this moment, it feels pretty damn significant.
Anne Boleyn.
One of the most famous royal consorts of all time. One of the most vilified, enigmatic, glamorous, tragic characters in history.
And by far the spouse with which Henry had the most intense, fucked-up, toxic relationship. The majority of their time together was a relentless series of power dynamics.
The guy broke with Rome for her, for God’s sake.
He initiated an upheaval in Britain that stands to this day. He murdered and pillaged and martyred.
He wrote love letters, extraordinary ones, which survive today and illustrate how ardently he loved her. Desired her. How desperate he was to make her his.
I know it’s just a silly Saturday job.
I know it’s just a bit of fun.
But Charlie Vaughan is sitting in front of me, asking me to be his Anne Boleyn.
CHAPTER 5
Charlie
Elodie seems to be enjoying this conversation. It doesn’t surprise me. I’ve observed her capacity for mischief on multiple occasions (very few of them involving me, obviously, unless it’s a case of Zara ripping the piss out of me). I can tell my little revelation has surprised her. In a good way, it seems.
This is precisely why I make myself such a closed book. These tiny moments of connection, however tenuous, however fleeting, are as damaging to my self-constructed Jenga tower as a toddler yanking at one of the supporting blocks of wood.
But when I mention Anne Boleyn’s name, her face changes. Her beautiful eyes widen. Her mouth clamps shut. And her hands press down on the table.
She knows. She can’t be a sixteenth century specialist and not know. She understands this isn’t an idle request on my part. If I was short a Catherine Parr, then whatever. I’d find someone to fill in. Unfair to Mistress Parr, perhaps.
But Anne Boleyn is different.
She’s the one the crowds come to see.
The only one, really.
In their eyes, she’s more important than Henry himself. More fascinating, certainly.
You don’t just get a random tofill inwhere Anne Boleyn is concerned.
The whole circus revolves around her. She’s the one who captures the public’s imagination. She single-handedly brings Hampton Court’s legacy to life for many of the visitors. And though Kate did a brilliant job, I feel in my bones that Elodie will be a whole other level.
Because if she was capable of eliciting that reaction from me with one peek at the back of her neck, she’ll be capable of having legions of tourists fall in love with her when she’s in all her glory at the palace.
I’ve tried not to imagine how she’d look, but I can’t stop myself. Her dark hair swept back under the headdress that frames her face. Showcases her incredible, delicate bone structure. Three small pearls suspended from her iconicBnecklace, trembling against the flawless skin of her breast.
God help me. I can’t think of anything else.
She will beguile. And bewitch. She willbeAnne.
Very few women have that kind of power. But Elodie does.
