Brambletye Chapter One (standard:drama, 1863 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jun 14 2025	Views/Reads: 0/0	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A dismal, murky day, a sixteenth-century ruin, a girl in a white robe, and a hard-pressed novelist set the background for this drama set in East Sussex.

BRAMBLETYE 

Chapter One 

“What, another trip away?” Joanne crossed her arms over her chest and
fixed me with a stare – her least friendly one. “They're getting more 
frequent, you know that?” 

Of course, I knew it. Though I also knew there was little I could do
about it – not without abandoning the background research I deemed 
necessary for my latest novel project–and I wasn't about to do that. 
“Well, I'm waiting.” Joanne had her hands on hips now, the death stare 
intensifying. “Look ...” I stretched my hand towards her. “My last work 
failed to impress my agent. Okay, it sold, but those sales were down. 
So, this time, I need to be more thorough in every aspect, which means 
more extensive research and more groundwork. I might write fiction, but 
if it doesn't turn out to be plausible, then the reader will notice – 
and so will my – no, our – bank balance.” 

The sudden gritting of teeth and brief lowering of Joanne's eyes told me
that my words had found their mark. That another poor performance could 
severely affect her numerous and never-ending projects, continually 
renovating an already over-renovated property included. Joanne, at one 
time, had been a high-flying model, but diminishing enthusiasm and 
increasing age had left their mark. Now, there was just the occasional 
booking. 

“Well, you'd better make sure that you research more thoroughly this
time, then, hadn't you? And don't take too long about it. I'm beginning 
to think your previous research involved more than met the eye, and 
perhaps that resulted in a poorer performance.” And with that final 
cutting and unjustified comment, Joanne pranced off, her chestnut 
ponytail swinging behind her, and left me to my packing. There was no 
doubt where she'd been going with that – that I had an undisclosed side 
interest involving the opposite sex, which was certainly untrue. Okay, 
I might have flirted a bit at times, but it never went further than 
that. And in any case, Joanne was hardly innocent on that score. 

I hit the road the following morning, heading south. Joanne had turned
over in bed when I got up, but that was the extent of it. She hadn't 
even opened her eyes. So much for a fond farewell. 

Naturally, I'd packed my laptop, a couple of notebooks, a Dictaphone,
and clothing I deemed sufficient for a two-week stay. I had planned on 
finding a budget hotel (nothing too expensive for what was essentially 
groundwork and location setting for my novel somewhere along the Sussex 
coast). My aim was to invigorate my previous ailing novel by producing 
a sequel with new, proactive characters. First, however, I needed the 
setting to be not too far removed from that of my preceding novel, but 
enough for it to support the storyline better. 

A grey, misty spring morning greeted me as I left Kew, took the M25, and
then, a couple of hours later, pulled off a trunk road into the village 
of Forest Row, for a break and a stroll around the lively village. 

After some coffee and a snack at a café, I deemed it time to continue my
journey to the South Coast. The mist that had been constant throughout 
hadn't relented one bit as I drove out of Forest Row, and it was now 
compounded by drizzle. To compound matters, a short distance out of 
Forest Row, a wiper blade stuck, impeding my view of a very busy road. 
Cursing my luck, I turned onto a narrow lane, looking for a passing 
place to fix the problem, and immediately became aware of the tractor 
behind me. 

Not wishing to obstruct the tractor from moving and thereby possibly
incurring the driver's wrath, I had little choice but to keep moving 
until, further along, a recess appeared to my right. 

Finally able to pull to a stop, I jumped out, intending to realign the
blade. 

“Is all okay, fella?" an amiable voice called out as the tractor pulled
alongside, and a beefy middle-aged man jumped down beside me. 

“Wiper blade,” I said, having pulled it clear of the screen and wiped my


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