⭐ Free Kindle Spotlight! ⭐
Meantime in Greenwich
Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After
by Hannah Keens
*Meantime in Greenwich is free on Kindle today!*
Publication Date: September 10th, 2024
Publisher: Hartsmile Books
Pages: 274
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Can an orphaned astrologer and a widowed astronomer put aside their differences to find love?
After Stella’s parents died, she spent her childhood in an orphanage so she fears loving anyone in case she loses them. Her only solace in life is astrology.
Benedict’s wife died in childbirth, so he has raised his son alone. When he meets Stella, he is overwhelmed by guilt. And as a respected professor of astronomy, can he really allow himself to fall in love with an astrologer?
Find out whether love is written in the stars for Stella and Benedict in this English romantic comedy.
From Chapter One:
So much for the trusty old London Underground. The Jubilee line train had been stuck for a sweltering half an hour while Stella McElhone checked and rechecked the time. When they eventually chugged into Westminster, the driver announced over a tinny-sounding tannoy that the train was terminating and the whole line was being suspended. Passengers were advised to change to the Circle and District lines. Determined not to spend another minute trapped below ground, Stella shot out of the train and legged it up the escalators, barely noticing the brutalist architecture in the deep well of the station. Once out of that austere environment, she bolted towards the River Thames, just in time to catch the river bus from Westminster Pier. It would take a good forty minutes, but short of an act of piracy, the boat would at least get her to Greenwich on time.
The impromptu summer-evening jaunt proved to be a delight, with the London skyline reeling past, only not quickly enough for her liking. Once the boat moved downriver from the London Eye, it took an age for St Paul’s Cathedral and the Shard to pass from sight, but then the boat moved beneath Tower Bridge and at last gathered pace as it navigated the loops and bends of the river that separated north and south London.
When the twin domes of the old naval hospital hoved into view, Stella knew Greenwich was close. On arrival there, she disembarked and dashed along the pier into a lovely borough of south-east London. She ran towards the park, her dark hair swinging behind her. That evening, she was attending a night sky showing at the planetarium, with a lecture afterwards from a visiting astronomer. Her destination was only about half a mile away, but if she didn’t get a move on, she’d be late and make a bad entrance.
At the other side of the leafy park, she reached a hill, graced with the seventeenth century Royal Observatory. This then, was the home of Greenwich Mean Time, by which the world had once set its clocks. The observatory resembled a domed palace, its red brick façade burnished by the evening sun. At the top of the hill, Stella stood back to avoid being flattened by a flood of boisterous schoolchildren surging past. Once certain there was no further risk of being trampled, she made her way to the main entrance and had her ticket scanned by an assistant who pointed her in the right direction.
In the courtyard, she paused to catch her breath. Because the observatory was on relatively high ground, she could see a fair amount of the London skyline that she’d just cruised past in the distance. Beneath her feet, she found the unassuming metal strip that represented the prime meridian, which marked nought degrees longitude. She couldn’t resist taking a minute to place her feet either side of it, so she was standing with one foot in the east and one in the west.
When the novelty wore off, she headed for the planetarium, which stood in stark contrast to the buildings surrounding it, and the modern bronze monolith reminded her of a sawn-off telescope. Inside a light and airy reception area, Stella found her fellow attendees. Despite a few dozen people being present, the place was as quiet as an old library and she felt that even her clothes were too loud. Her pink jumper was positively shouting and drowning out a surprising number of outfits made from tweed. She peeled off her jumper and hung it over one arm. Who would wear tweed in this heat? And such pallor, even in July. These were not people who went outside in the daytime.
By the looks of things, there was no one here under fifty, let alone thirty, and she tried not to look as disappointed as she felt. Life in London was lonesome and she’d hoped to make some new acquaintances. It had been a mad rush to get here, but now she regretted not dawdling and saving herself from what was obviously going to be death by small talk. When a passing waiter came within arm’s reach, she swiped a glass of red wine and clutched it for security. It wouldn’t matter if she got purple teeth as it was unlikely she’d be smiling at anyone this evening.
One mouthful of wine – all right, three mouthfuls of wine – and she’d force herself to speak to someone. Apart from Ernie the doorman at her building, she hadn’t spoken to anyone in real life for days, if not weeks. Fuelled by wine, she approached a trio on her left, which included an elegant blonde woman, who looked reasonably close to her own age. Next to her was a man with loopy brown hair, wearing a corduroy suit in a shade best described as quinoa. Finally, there was a woman clad in a puce knitted dress, complete with a wool scarf wrapped three times around her throat. Something about people interested in astronomy must attract them to warm clothing, which made sense if they spent a lot of their nights outside viewing the sky. Carefully, so as not to startle them, she made her approach.
‘Greenwich is a lovely part of London, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘If you like that sort of thing,’ said the blonde woman, managing to peer down her nose at Stella, even though they were the same height. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us.’
The woman ushered her two companions across the room towards a row of trestle tables covered with pretty canapés. There, the three of them stood, not eating or even looking at the food, and continued their conversation unmolested.
This charming behaviour was not entirely unexpected. Stella had only been in the city for a few weeks but was already getting used to Londoners’ way of not speaking to anyone, or looking at anyone, unless – or even if – their lives depended on it. She sipped her wine and looked about for other likely targets for her cringe-making opening gambits, but everyone was clustered in tightly drawn conversational knots that made it clear she wouldn’t be welcome in any of them.
The prospect of standing about nursing a glass of wine for the next fifteen minutes was not especially appealing. Her best bet would be to lurk in the ladies and check her hair, but she could hardly spin that out for a whole quarter of an hour. Instead, she placed her glass on a nearby table and set off in search of the library.
Years ago, she’d discovered that the first Astronomer Royal had cast a horoscope to determine the best time for the construction of the Royal Observatory, and she wanted to see it in person. Imagine all those astronomers who loathed astrology doing their best work in a building conceived according to astrological principles. There was a copy of the chart on the observatory website, but it would be great to get a look at the real thing, assuming astrologers weren’t barred from the library or forced to wear a bell around their necks or something.
An assistant informed her that the archives were held in another building at the opposite side of the park, which had closed some hours ago. Not to worry. Stella soon came up with another idea and made her way to the planetarium entrance, hoping to get in early and take her seat. Plan B was thwarted when she found the doorway barricaded with a red rope suspended over a bright yellow sign informing her that cleaning was in progress.
A quick listen revealed no hint of anyone hoovering. Perhaps whoever was in there was quietly peeling chewing gum from underneath seats or removing whatever other sticky detritus schoolchildren were inclined to leave behind them. More likely the sign was just an oversight and the caretakers had long gone. Surely no one would mind if she crept in a bit early. A quick glance over one shoulder confirmed there was no one watching her, and even if anyone did spot her, she had a valid ticket, so it wasn’t really trespassing, as such. Before she could change her mind, she stretched out a furtive hand to unhook the red rope.
‘Breaking and entering?’ said a voice from the dark void beyond. ‘You could get six years for that. Fourteen if the judge doesn’t like the cut of your jib.’
Hannah Keens
Hannah Keens is an English novelist. She writes sweet romantic comedies that will leave you with a smile in your heart. Welcome to a world of love, laughter and happily ever after.
No comments:
Post a Comment