Contents ( 59)
- Prologue
- Amy Robsart, Cumnor Village
- 1
- Lizzie: Amelia and Dudley’s Wedding, 2010
- 2
- Amy: Stanfield Manor, Norfolk, August 1549
- 3
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 4
- Amy: Stansfield Manor, Norfolk, April 1550
- 5
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 6
- Amy: Sheen Palace, June 1550
- 7
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 8
- Amy: Castle Rising, Norfolk, Summer 1551
- 9
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 10
- Amy: Whitehall Palace, Summer 1552
- 11
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 12
- Amy: The Tower of London, March 1554
- 13
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 14
- Amy: Baynard’s Castle, London, Spring 1557
- 15
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 16
- Amy: Hatfield, Hertfordshire, Summer 1557
- 17
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 18
- Amy: Throcking Manor, November 1558
- 19
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 20
- Amy: Melford Hall, Suffolk, May 1559
- 21
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 22
- Amy: Cumnor Place, Oxfordshire, April 1560
- 23
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 24
- Amy: Cumnor Place, 8th September 1560
- 25
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 26
- Lizzie: Present Day
- 27
- Lizzie: Present Day
- Epilogue
- Amy Robsart, The Citrine Pool
- Acknowledgements
“Take some rest, Lizzie,” he said, “go home.” He smiled at her. Alessandro was ridiculously handsome, almost stereotypically so with his dark puppy eyes and curling lashes. Whenever he smouldered at her during their live performances Lizzie wanted to burst out laughing. “It won’t make any difference how much you practise,” he said. “You dance like an angel, but...” he gave an expressive shrug, “but they will vote us off anyway when they get the chance.”
“I know,” Lizzie said. She snapped the top off the water bottle and took a deep gulp. “I want to do my very best all the same,” she said fiercely. “I want to show everyone what a farce it is.” To her horror her eyes filled with hot tears. “I’m so sorry, Al,” she said. “We were good. We could have won and now it will all go wrong. It’s so unfair.”
Alessandro gave another very expressive shrug. “It’s life, Lizzie. It’s show business. You know that.”
“It’s still wrong,” Lizzie said. “It’s not your fault, is it?” Alessandro had been one of the professionals on Stars for four years now and had never been in the final. This time she knew he had thought he had won the jackpot and it was going to be snatched away from him because of her.
“I’m not sure it’s your fault either,” Alessandro said. “People say you broke up Dudley’s marriage and caused his wife to kill herself.” He made a scornful sound. “This is rubbish. He did that all by himself.” He wrapped her in a very muscular hug. He smelled outrageously of a mixture of citrus and jasmine and something Lizzie thought was black pepper. She tried not to sneeze. It was very comforting though. She snuggled closer.
“Thanks, Al,” she said. “I really need a friend at the moment.”
“Hey.” Alessandro released her gently and kissed her on both cheeks. “You’ve got plenty of friends. Come around for supper with Christy and me sometime soon. I will cook you proper spaghetti.”
“I’d like that,” Lizzie said. “As long as Christy doesn’t think I’m trying to break you up. I do seem to have a reputation as a homewrecker at the moment.”
Alessandro rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Listen to me, Lizzie. Dudley and Amelia got married too young. They were infatuated with each other and when that went—” he snapped his fingers, “there was nothing left. You are not to blame. You are just friends, no?”
“Yes.” Lizzie’s head ached suddenly and she rubbed a hand across her eyes. “We’ve been friends since we were kids,” she said, “but no one seems to get that. They treat it as though it’s weird.”
Alessandro smiled. “It’s tricky, you know? The two of you seem very close. People are either going to think that you’re secretly having an affair, or—how you say it?—you’re kind of dependent on each other and it’s a bit childish and inappropriate?”
Lizzie pulled a face at him. “Thanks!” she said. It was hurtful to have an outsider’s view of her friendship with Dudley spelled out in those terms even though that was only what Kat and Bill had been trying to tell her, in their different ways. Move on, grow up, get yourself a boyfriend...