Hannah Fielding is an incurable romantic. The seeds for her writing career were sown in early childhood, spent in Egypt, when she came to an agreement with her governess Zula: for each fairy story Zula told, Hannah would invent and relate one of her own. Years later – following a degree in French literature, several years of travelling in Europe, falling in love with an Englishman, the arrival of two beautiful children and a career in property development – Hannah decided after so many years of yearning to write that the time was now. Today, she lives the dream: writing full time at her homes in Kent, England, and the South of France, where she dreams up romances overlooking breath-taking views of the Mediterranean.
To date, Hannah has published three novels: Burning Embers, ‘romance like Hollywood used to make’, set in Kenya, 1970; the award-winning Echoes of Love, ‘an epic love story that is beautifully told’ set in turn-of-the-millennium Italy; and Indiscretion, her fieriest novel yet, set in 1950s Spain.
Indiscretion is
the new novel from award-winning romance novelist Hannah Fielding. Written in
Fielding’s signature style, infused with an old-school Hollywood glamour, Indiscretion evokes the drama and
passion of 1950s post-war Spain.
1950’s London.
Alexandra, a young writer is bored of her suffocating but privileged life
amongst the gilded balls and parties of Chelsea. Keen for an adventure,
Alexandra travels to Spain to be reunited with her estranged Spanish family on
a huge estate in AndalucÃa.
Arriving in
sun-drenched southern Spain for the first time, Alexandra is soon caught up in
the wild customs of the region. From bull fighting matadors and the mysterious
Gypsy encampments in the grounds of the family’s estate, to the passionate
dances of the region and the incredible horsemanship of the local caballeros,
Alexandra is instantly seduced by the drama and passion of her new home.
When Alexandra
inevitably falls for Salvador, the mercurial heir to her family’s estate and
the region’s most eligible man, she finds herself entangled in a web of
secrets, lies and indiscretion. Alexandra soon falls prey to scheming members
of her own family, the jealousy of a beautiful marquésa and the predatory
charms of a toreador, all intent on keeping the two lovers apart.
But nothing can
prepare Alexandra for Salvador’s own dangerous liaisons with a dark-eyed Gypsy.
Can Alexandra trust
that love will triumph, or will Salvador’s indiscretion be their undoing?
Hannah ~ welcome back to Jaffareadstoo and thank you for sharing news about your latest book, Indiscretion, with us....
Finding inspiration for my characters
Vivid,
believable, engaging characters are essential in any book, but especially in a romance
novel, I think. The reader needs to identify with the heroine, feel attracted
to the hero and be riled up by the antagonist(s). Having written several novels
now, I’ve honed a process for inspiring new characters to weave into my story
worlds:
Research the setting for the book.
Each of my books is set somewhere beautiful and culturally fascinating, and in
a time gone by. In order to create characters who belong in the time and place,
I have to immerse myself as far as possible in the setting. For example, for my
new novel Indiscretion, I travelled
to Spain and explored extensively, getting to know the hospitable, fun-loving,
flamboyant people.
Search within. In all my female
characters there is a little of me. There is much I like about them, but I also
dislike some of their traits. The important thing to me is that they are not
the stereotypical heroines and that they have their faults. They are human,
which I hope makes them easier to relate to. For Indiscretion, I cast myself back to being a young woman, when I
first struck out alone and travelled Europe. I remember well the mixture of
excitement and trepidation I felt being the foreigner in new lands, and I channelled
this memory into my character Alexandra, who has come to Spain after many years
living in England. In addition, Alexandra is a romance novelist; I always
wanted to create a character whose profession I know so well.
People-watch. Sometimes a person walking
by will spark some inspiration in me. Paolo, my hero in The Echoes of Love, first wandered into my mind when I met an
Italian lawyer who was the consummate gentleman, but somewhat tortured beneath
the façade, I sensed; and Venetia, the heroine, looks like a lady I once saw in
a Venice street.
Let the imagination take flight.
Having immersed myself in the culture of a place, ideas flood my mind, and
often shaping a character is a simple matter of letting the muse take over. In Indiscretion, for example, I have the
character of Don Felipe, a bullfighter who exudes masculinity and is Salvador’s
arch rival in the book. I’ve certainly never met a Felipe, but he walked into
my imagination one day fully formed and I just knew he would set the cat among
the pigeons!
However my
characters form, each is very much alive for me. During the planning and
writing phases of book creation I’m often to be found in something of a
daydream – washing up or gardening in the real world while in my inner world I
chat with my heroine or set a scene and watch it play out. This, for me, is the
most fun in the writing process. What better job can there be than one in which
you meet countless fascinating people and have a hand in shaping their
destinies? I count myself very lucky indeed.
For the week leading up to the masked ball, confusion had
reigned on the ground floor at El Pavón. Servants had shifted out furniture,
rolled up carpets, prepared tables for the buffet in the dining room, and
chandeliers, wall sconces, columns and cornices had been decorated with
garlands of bright roses interspersed with jasmine and orange blossom from the
garden. As the evening began, and the sweeping strings of ballroom music filled
the hacienda, El Pavón seemed transformed into a magical palace.
Although the ball was in full swing as dusk gave way to
night, cars were still arriving. They stopped at the foot of the stairs with a
rasp of gravel and young drivers in dark-grey suits and caps leapt out to open
the doors.
In the garden, an array of colourful lanterns hung from
arbours, dangled between fruit trees, encircling the fountains and pools,
twinkling with light. While in the great ballroom, overlooking the east-facing
gardens, Doña MarÃa Dolores’ guests, attired in all sorts of disguises, drank,
joked and glided happily on the polished oak dancefloor.
The ballroom was long and rectangular, taking up the entire
length of the house. At each end, French doors opened out on to terraces
stocked with exotic plants. Down one side, more windows led to the wide green
lawn at the side of the hacienda. High mirrors hung between the windows, framed
with gilded beading. Supported on marble columns was a gallery with a
wrought-iron balustrade where musicians in evening dress were playing romantic dance
melodies from tangos to Viennese waltzes.
Alexandra paused on the threshold of the vast room, a trifle
overwhelmed by the grand spectacle. All the guests wore masks of velvet, satin
or lace, giving them a mysterious air. She watched for a moment as Ondine,
Goddess of the Northern Seas, leant against a column, lost in a dream, her head
slightly tilted to one side. In her long tunic of turquoise silk sprinkled with
iridescent sequins, she appeared to have just risen from the depths of the
ocean, her beautiful golden hair draped gracefully about her bare shoulders. A
torero in black silk breeches, drawn in at the hips, with a waistcoat brocaded
with silk, knee-length stockings and shiny flat shoes, gazed at her. Just as he
had decided to approach, another gallant figure, Oreste, bearing his father’s
sword in his belt, swooped in first and, bowing deeply before her, drew her on
to the dancefloor. They passed a maharani wearing a magnificent sari of dark
gold brocade, who was walking towards the veranda arm-in-arm with a American
Indian in a headdress of multi-coloured feathers and a jacket of brown suede.
A hand tapped Alexandra’s shoulder. Startled, she turned,
almost bumping into a couple of waiters carrying trays laden with appetizing
tapas and small glasses of fino sherry. The intruder was a musketeer in a wide
soft hat, loose breeches and a leather doublet. A black mask hid his twinkling
eyes but she recognized the beaming smile.
‘Well, Cousin,’ he said cheerfully, ‘I didn’t have to search
very long to find the most beautiful girl at the ball. I told you I could spot
you under any disguise.’
She smiled at Ramón, happy to find a friend in this sea of
masked strangers, but it was difficult to concentrate on what he was saying.
Her eyes were scouring the dancefloor, eagerly scrutinizing the whirling
couples from behind her velvet mask. What, or more precisely who, was she
looking for, exactly? After all, she knew nothing of the mysterious Conde,
except that he had a deep and seductive voice. Recalling it made her pulse run
faster and her knees slightly weak. Could the peculiar episode at Mascaradas
have been merely a foolish jest designed to mystify her? Surely Old Jaime would
not have taken part in a practical joke? She started with indignation at the
idea she might be the victim of some prank. Yet, the more she thought about it,
the more that seemed improbable. It would be an expensive joke to play, after
all. No, the sheer cost of her beautiful costume had to be proof of the
generosity and admiration of her romantic stranger.
As the evening progressed and there was still no sign of the
mysterious Conde, Alexandra was forced to admit that she must have been the
victim of a practical joke. It was gone eleven o’clock, surely he would have
shown up by now if he was going to? Putting aside her disappointment, she told
herself it had all been merely a captivating puzzle, one that had fired her
romantic imagination and aroused her yearning for adventure, nothing more. At
least she had some ideas for her new hero, she reminded herself, and decided to
enter fully into the festive spirit, now that she had given up on her elusive
stranger.
She didn’t notice the oriental prince, wearing a costume
similar in style and colour to her own, observing her quizzically from a far-off
corner of the room.
A pierrot in a black-and-white silk suit with a collar of
pleated tulle and a bonnet decorated with black pompons asked Alexandra for a
dance. She allowed him to move her around the dancefloor, with only half an ear
on the eager conversation he was making as she took in the sea of colourful
guests. It was almost midnight. Don Felipe was paying court to a shepherdess in
a crinoline gown. Further along the room Mercedes, disguised as a bluebell,
wearing a crown of tiny blue flowers and a dress with a bodice of green velvet
and an organdie skirt, with petals of periwinkle blue, was squabbling with
Electra, who was sulking in a corner. Isis and Osiris were discussing something
with a pretty redhead in Savoy costume.
Alexandra was once again aware of the pierrot, who drew her
closer to him. ‘Soon it will be midnight,’ he whispered into her ear, ‘and the
lights will go out—’
‘Excuse me señor, I’ve come to collect my wife,’ interrupted
a deep, warm voice. Alexandra smothered a gasp. Her heart gave such a jolt she
thought it might leap out of her mouth.
The first notes of a Strauss waltz began. Before she could
recover, the stranger swung Alexandra into his arms, holding her so tightly to
him she was unable to lift her head to see his face. The blood pounded in her
veins. She was conscious of his strong, sinuous length against her and the
turmoil of her own body as his warmth soaked into her, adding to the heat
welling up inside her like a furnace. Her temple brushed against his jaw; his
skin was smooth. He smelled of soap, mint and tobacco, indefinably masculine.
As they twirled around the dancefloor, Alexandra was carried away by an
overpowering tide that left her light-headed, almost breathless. It was as
though she were under a spell, a bewitching charm of the mind and senses that
had no place in the dictionary of her experience.
Eventually, the giddy whirlwind ended and they found
themselves on the terrace. In contrast to the brightly lit ballroom they had
left, it was bathed in an almost unreal, diaphanous light from the moon and the
glowing lanterns in the trees. They waltzed in silence for a few more minutes,
taking in the melancholy softness of the night.
‘I owe you an apology for stepping in just now but I could
see no other way of tearing you away from the arms of your too-forward
partner,’ he said, in those same ardent, deep tones that had so haunted
Alexandra over the past few days.
She caught her breath, unable to reply immediately and all
the while hoping he wasn’t aware of the urgent beating of her heart. He still
held on to her firmly and she could only look up at him with a smile. The moon
disappeared behind a cloud, shadowing his features.
The stranger was almost a head taller than Alexandra. Under
his light cloak she could see that his costume was very much like hers. It was
in a similar cloth of pure, ivory-coloured silk, yet less decorated. His head
was clad in a plain turban, which entirely concealed his hair. In the wide
faja, the silk band that clasped his waist, he had placed a navaja, much like
the ones Alexandra had noticed at the station in Puerto de Santa MarÃa on the
day of her arrival, the difference being his was set with genuine precious
stones. His shoulders were broad; his embrace firm and close.
As a shaft of moonlight fell briefly on his face,
Alexandra’s heart missed a beat. In spite of the half-shadow and the narrow
mask shielding his tanned features, she recognized the stranger she had seen on
the seafront and then in the Church of Santa MarÃa: the man on the prayer stool
who had so deeply disturbed her. So it was the same man after all. One man who
now made something inside her thrill deliciously at his nearness.
Somewhere far off, a clock struck midnight. An owl hooted,
as if in response. The air was fragrant with the sweet smell of jasmine and
orange blossom. Masks fell and shouts of joy burst from all sides under a
shower of confetti.
The oriental prince leaned his head forward towards his
sultana.
‘Will you allow me, señorita?’ he whispered, his lean fingers
with infinite gentleness removing her velvet mask. His gaze delved deeply into
her large, glowing green irises, reading the emotion in her upturned face as
her body yielded helplessly to his touch. A rush of blood coursed wildly
through Alexandra’s veins as his hand once more slipped about her waist,
pausing before pulling her against him.
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My thanks to Hannah for this guest post and for sharing her latest novel
Indiscretion
with us.
It's always a real pleasure to welcome her back to Jaffareadstoo.
~***~
