Hannah Richell > Quotes

“Stopping at a damask rose bush laden with pink flowers, she cuts several stems, laying them in her basket before bending to breathe in their fragrance, sweet and pungent like Turkish delight. Further on, she trims bunches of ruffled sweet-pea blossoms, growing in spirals around tall cane pyramids.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Home. She closes her eyes and thinks of a swaying meadow, dappled sunlight falling through green branches, walking among tall, leafy trees. She thinks of long, tapered feathers with eyes the color of emeralds and sapphires.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“She finds herself, by some miraculous feat, no longer standing in the old nursery but returned to the clearing in the woods. It is the 'green cathedral', the place she first kissed Jack all those weeks ago. The place where they laid out the stunned sparrowhawk, then watched it spring miraculously back to life.
All around, the smooth, grey trunks of ancient beech trees rise up from the walls of the room to tower over her, spreading their branches across the ceiling in a fan of tangled branches and leaves, paint and gold leaf cleverly combined to create the shimmering effect of a leafy canopy at its most dense and opulent. And yet it is not the clearing, not in any real or grounded sense, because instead of leaves, the trees taper up to a canopy of extraordinary feathers shimmering and spreading out like a peacock's tail across the ceiling, a hundred green, gold and sapphire eyes gazing down upon her. Jack's startling embellishments twist an otherwise literal interpretation of their woodland glade into a fantastical, dreamlike version of itself. Their green cathedral, more spectacular and beautiful than she could have ever imagined.
She moves closer to one of the trees and stretches out a hand, feeling instead of rough bark the smooth, cool surface of a wall. She can't help but smile. The trompe-l'oeil effect is dazzling and disorienting in equal measure. Even the window shutters and cornicing have been painted to maintain the illusion of the trees, while high above her head the glass dome set into the roof spills light as if it were the sun itself, pouring through the canopy of eyes. The only other light falls from the glass windowpanes above the window seat, still flanked by the old green velvet curtains, which somehow appear to blend seamlessly with the painted scene. The whole effect is eerie and unsettling. Lillian feels unbalanced, no longer sure what is real and what is not. It is like that book she read to Albie once- the one where the boy walks through the wardrobe into another world. That's what it feels like, she realizes: as if she has stepped into another realm, a place both fantastical and otherworldly.
It's not just the peacock-feather eyes that are staring at her. Her gaze finds other details: a shy muntjac deer peering out from the undergrowth, a squirrel, sitting high up in a tree holding a green nut between its paws, small birds flitting here and there. The tiniest details have been captured by Jack's brush: a silver spider's web, a creeping ladybird, a puffy white toadstool. The only thing missing is the sound of the leaf canopy rustling and the soft scuttle of insects moving across the forest floor.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“The scrubbed oak table and the pots of herbs and geraniums growing on the windowsill, the old willow-pattern china standing on the dresser, a jug filled with peonies spilling petals on the floor.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“I love you," he says.
She pulls away, and studies him carefully, but the words rise up in her too, undeniable, irrepressible. "I love you."
He smiles. "L'amour étend sur moi ses ailes!"
"What is that?"
"A line from the song your sister was listening to."
"What does it mean?"
"Love spreads its wings over me.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“There is no one in the walled garden for company but the dog and a lone blackbird fluttering hopefully through the espaliered fruit trees and over the netted gooseberry bushes. The sun is still a low rose-gold blush on the horizon. Dew seeps through her silk slippers but she hardly notices.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Certainly, in a house such as this, there is much beauty to behold. Gilt. Glass. Gold. Everywhere you look, precious treasures beckon. Only nothing seems to shine as brightly as she does. She is a flower- a natural treasure- unfolding in the light.
Her transformation is so obvious: the candlelight catching in her hair; the color rising on her cheeks; the flames of desire burning in her eyes. She is lit up- her allure irresistible. A flame, enticing the moth ever closer. How does he not see her blossoming, right here under his nose?
For this is the trouble with beauty: it can never be enough simply to revere or admire it. With beauty comes desire- a yearning to touch- a need to possess. The coveter's grasp moves ever closer, reaching out to seize and steal, to hold too tightly that which must not be taken.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Who was it who said, 'the most beautiful things in the world are the most useless: peacocks and lilies, for instance'?"
"I think that was Ruskin," says Jack.
"Ha!" laughs Charles. "There's truth in that. Could have included women, too." Charles laughs loudly at his own joke.
"Only if you're to assume a woman's sole purpose in life is to look good," counters Lillian.
"Well of course... there's looking good... and there's child-bearing," adds Charles, still looking ahead at the bird.
Lillian grips the bag in her lap a little more tightly.
If the artist seated behind them is aware of the tension, he deflects artfully. "I think Ruskin misses the point," he says. "Beauty is never useless. It has purpose. Look at us, sitting here. We've ceased all other activity just to pause for a moment and wonder at the sight of this bird. The extraordinary jolts us from the mundane and makes us feel something. It reminds us we're alive."
"Rather like art," says Lillian, after a moment.
Jack meets her gaze in the wing-mirror and nods. "Yes. Art. Music. Love."
Lillian drops her gaze, unexpected heat flooding her cheeks.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Read a lot.
Write a lot.
Delete a lot.”
― Hannah Richell

“They weave between the trees and bracken, leaves and sticks cracking beneath their feet, grey flints and white chalk jutting like shards of bone glinting through the soil. Out of the direct sunlight, the air is soft and green, as if they walk through cool water. The further they go, the thicker the insidious ivy scaling the beech tree trunks and the denser the canopy.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“They do not know that I stand here in the corridor, a witness to their soft sighs, the creaking bed springs, the sounds of the forbidden.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“You're right to wait for a love that feels passionate and true- a love that you can't live without- but in the meantime, take the reins." She sounds urgent. "Don't let life just happen to you. Go out there and make it wonderful. Paint your pictures. Make them beautiful. Love. Laugh. Live.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“The grass in the meadow is wet and the ground gives a little beneath her feet. The herd of alpacas that have taken up residence in the meadow graze in the far distance. Maggie cuts a path towards the distant stile, watching as a flock of starlings take flight, swooping up from the earth and across the bone-colored sky until they come to settle in the treetops.
Stepping into the woods, Maggie senses the shift in atmosphere; here the air is a little cleaner, the light a little softer, glancing off the smooth, silver-grey trunks and dancing in the green canopy. She breathes the trees' exhalation, takes it in and makes it her own, inhales the moist-earth scent rising up beneath her boots and fills her lungs. The leaves rustle in the breeze, dripping the last of the raindrops in a steady beat.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Patricia Lovell up at the vicarage wants everything "vintage" themed this year. She wants it all 1950s Country Living style. You know the sort of thing: pastel bunting, flowers in jam jars and mismatched teacups.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“It is quiet in the clearing, though gradually Lillian's ears attune to the soft rustling of insects and birds moving through the undergrowth, the faraway tapping of a woodpecker high in a tree. Down on the ground, a bronze-colored beetle tries to scale the side of her shoe. It slips on the smooth leather and tumbles back into the dry leaves, waggling its legs in the air.
She shifts slightly on the tree trunk then watches as Jack pulls a strand of grass from a clump growing nearby and sucks on one end, looking about at the canopy overhead. "Wonderful light," he murmurs. "I wish I hadn't left my sketchbook at the house."
She knows she must say something. But the moment stretches and she can't find the words so instead she looks about, trying to see the clearing as he might, trying to view the world through an artist's eyes. What details would he pull from this scene, what elements would he commit to memory to reproduce on paper?
A cathedral, he'd said; and she supposes there is something rather celestial and awe-inspiring about the tall, arched trees and the light streaming in golden shafts through the soft green branches, filtered as though through stained glass.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“She glances up at Jack and finds he is watching her, a small smile playing on his lips. She wonders if he is at all alarmed to find himself in such close proximity to her after their shared encounter in the clearing the day before.
"You'll have to go gently with me," he says to Albie, his eyes still on Lillian. "This is all rather new to me."
Lillian blushes and stares down at the wall of tiles laid out on the table before them. "Albie is the expert. You should know that neither of us stands a chance against him."
"I'm lost already," he says quietly. "My concentration is completely off today."
Lillian swallows.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“They say she haunts the woods now, a girl in a white dress, luring people to their deaths.”
― Hannah Richell, One Dark Night

“I don't think you two have even tried to beat me," says Albie with obvious dissatisfaction as he declares "Mahjong" for a final time.
"Sorry, Albie," she says. "It just wasn't going my way today. Well done." She reaches across the table and begins to stack the tiles to pack them away, her hand accidentally brushing against Jack's as he simultaneously returns his pieces to the centre of the table. She glances at him, wondering if he too felt the surge of energy pass between them.
"I'd like a rematch," says Jack, his eyes fixed firmly on Lillian's. "I feel sure I can only improve my performance with practice.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Here we are," says Jack.
Lillian stops and looks around, marveling at the high, green canopy and the soft light streaming through the branches. Overhead a magpie flits through the branches of a tree, rustling leaves until it takes flight with a mournful cry, its wings beating the air. "This is beautiful," she says.
"Yes," agrees Jack. "It's like standing inside nature's own cathedral, don't you think?”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“A sigh leaves Jack's lips- a soft exhalation- and in that moment she is lost. There is no Cloudesley, no Charles, no ticking clocks, no past or future; there is nothing but the clearing and Jack, and their hands clasped together. When she looks up at him, his face seems closer, so close she can see the amber flecks in the slate-grey of his eyes.
It is like gravity, she thinks, as she leans in towards him, her lips meeting his. Its is a force so natural- so inevitable- so like falling- or flying- that she isn't sure she could stop their kiss even if she tried.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“This spark between us is so strong. Sometimes, I feel it might steal the oxygen from the air around us."
"Exactly." He smiles and leans in to kiss her on the mouth.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“She isn't sure how long they sit like that, the two of them side by side, lost in their own thoughts, but it's a soft scratching sound that brings her attention back to the clearing. Opening her eyes, she looks across to where they had left the prone bird and is startled to see the hawk no longer lying beneath the leaf litter but standing upright, its head cocked, one beady orange eye peering at her with suspicion. "Look," she whispers, reaching for Jack's arm.
Jack follows her gaze. The bird studies them a moment then hops clumsily away through the leaves towards the base of a tree. Lillian holds her breath, watching as it half-extends one wing. It hops a few more paces but it looks off-balance, too damaged to fly; but it's as if it hears her thought and determines to prove her wrong for suddenly it stretches out both wings and, in one fluid movement, takes flight across the clearing to land in the lowest branch of a nearby tree. Lillian feels her heart beating in her chest, a heady mix of excitement and elation.
The sparrowhawk perches on the bough, its eye still fixed in their direction before it glides off the branch and sails low across the clearing in a showy swoop before soaring away through the trees and out of sight.
"Well how about that?" says Jack. "Lazarus rises.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“They follow the road into secluded green valleys, before climbing back up into the chalk hills. She looks across at Jack and finds him smiling at her. "Eyes on the road," she warns, but she takes up his hand and places it on her warm thigh, gradually directing it under the edge of her skirt and petticoat. He glances across at her again, his smile broadening. Lillian shifts a little in her seat, parting her legs slightly, releasing a soft sigh as his fingertips graze her inner thigh.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Ever since the sparrowhawk... since that day... you've released something in me." He clears his throat, as if embarrassed, but he doesn't stop. "For days I was all angst and despair, tortured by the blank walls, uncertain how to cover such a vast space. Then, after that first night together, it was there; the idea arrived, almost fully formed. It's exhilarating, and terrifying."
"Terrifying?"
"Yes. I'm so gripped by it that I don't want to spend too much time away from the room. I'm terrified I will lose the thread of it if I don't keep going. There's a moment when you're creating, when you lose yourself in the act of it, when you know you're finally hitting the flow of the piece. That's what I'm desperate to hold on to. Though it's quite a challenge. The size of the room means I have to work a little differently. It's all an experimental process, a sort of unfolding." He reaches out to stroke her bare shoulder. "I've never felt so inspired, so excited by a piece's possibility." He glanced at her, that wry smile of his just visible in the darkness. "I think I may have discovered my Muse."
"Cloudesley?"
He laughs and shakes his head. "No, you clot. You."
Lillian smiles. She can't think of a greater or more unexpected compliment than being called Jack's Muse.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Sometimes, terrible things happen— things beyond our control.”
― Hannah Richell, One Dark Night

“It’s frightening isn’t it, when the blinkers come off and you understand the world is a chaotic place? No real order. It’s a loss of innocence.”
― Hannah Richell, One Dark Night

“She is about to close the book and return it to the desk when she catches sight of a face passing on the flickering pages. She leafs her way back until she finds it again- not an entire face, but a section; an eye, the sweep of a cheekbone, the curved line of a neck observed from side-on; all illustrated as if seen in the reflection of a small, oval mirror. A car-wing mirror.
She peers at the page more closely, breath held in her chest as the moment returns to her: sitting in Charles's new car, Jack scrunched in the back and Lillian in the front, a peacock barring their path. It is exactly how he would have seen her reflected back at him in the wing-mirror.
As with the other drawings, the accuracy is remarkable. She is amazed at his ability to recall the smallest details. There is the pearl stud at her earlobe and the almost indiscernible beauty spot above her lip. Yet the more closely she studies the sketch, the more she is discomforted. It isn't just the precision of the pencil lines conjuring her on the paper- butt more the expression he has captured- a certain wistfulness she hadn't known she wore so plainly. The portrait feels so intimate; almost as if he had laid her bare on the page.
She continues to leaf through the sketches and finds a second portrait. This time she is seated in the drawing room, her face turned to the window, the skirt of her dress falling in a fan to to the floor. A third reveals her standing on the terrace, leaning against the balustrade, a long evening dress sweeping about her legs. The night of the party. The next page shows just her arm, identifiable by a favorite diamond bracelet dangling at the wrist. The last is of her head and shoulders, viewed from behind, the curves of her neck rising up to a twisted knot of hair. Looking at the images she isn't sure how she feels; flattered to be seen, to be deemed worthy of his time and attention, though at the same time a little uncomfortable at the intimacy of his gaze and at the thought of having been so scrutinized when she hadn't even known he was watching her.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer

“Terrible things happened in the world. None of the people he loves are immune.”
― Hannah Richell, One Dark Night

“It's a little early to be falling asleep," says a voice, soft and low, at her side.
Startled, she spins to face the man who seems to have materialized from nowhere.
"By all accounts," he adds, "there are still hours of this to get through."
She doesn't recognize him. In the near-darkness his face is smooth like sculpted marble and his eyes shine almost black; his expression is hard to read- playful, perhaps- but it's his choice of words that intrigues her the most.”
― Hannah Richell, The Peacock Summer