20 Jul BARBARA GREIG DISCOVERY COFFEE POT BOOK CLUB BLOG TOUR #HistoricalFiction #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub @BarbaraGreig @matadorbooks @maryanneyarde

FEATURED AUTHOR: BARBARA GREIG

It is my pleasure to feature Barbara Greig as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from June 2nd  – August 4th, 2021. Barbara Greig is the author of the historical fiction novel, Discovery, which was released by Matador (imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd) on 28th June 2020 (336 pages).

Below are highlights of Discovery, Barbara Greig’s author bio, and an excerpt from her book.

HIGHLIGHTS: DISCOVERY

Discovery

by Barbara Greig

Discovery: An epic tale of love, loss and courage When Elizabeth Gharsia’s headstrong nephew, Gabriel, joins Samuel Champlain’s 1608 expedition to establish a settlement at Quebec, he soon becomes embroiled in a complicated tribal conflict. As months turn into years, Gabriel appears lost to his family.

 Meanwhile at home in France the death of her father, Luis, adds to Elizabeth’s anguish. Devastated by her loss, she struggles to make sense of his final words. Could her mother’s journals, found hidden among Luis’s possessions, provide the key to the mystery?

The arrival of Pedro Torres disrupts Elizabeth’s world even further. Rescued from starvation on the streets of Marseille by her brother, Pedro is a victim of the brutal expulsion of his people from Spain. Initially antagonistic, will Elizabeth come to appreciate Pedro’s qualities and to understand the complexity of her family?

Buy Links:

Available on Kindle Unlimited.

Amazon UK   ♥  Amazon US  ♥  Amazon CA  ♥  Amazon AU  ♥  Waterstones  ♥  Kobo  ♥  Troubador ♥  WHSmith ♥  iBooks  ♥  Google Play  ♥  Book Depository

AUTHOR BIO: BARBARA GREIG

Barbara Greig was born in Sunderland and lived in Roker until her family moved to Teesdale. An avid reader, she also discovered the joy of history at an early age. A last-minute change of heart, in the sixth form, caused her to alter her university application form. Instead of English, Barbara read Modern and Ancient History at Sheffield University. It was a decision she never regretted.

Barbara worked for twenty years in sixth form colleges, teaching History and Classical Civilisation. Eventually, although enjoying a role in management, she found there was less time for teaching and historical study. A change of focus was required. With her children having flown the nest, she was able to pursue her love of writing and story-telling. She has a passion for hiking, and dancing, the perfect antidotes to long hours of historical research and writing, as well as for travel and, wherever possible, she walks in the footsteps of her characters.

Discovery is Barbara’s second novel. Her debut novel Secret Lives was published in 2016 (Sacristy Press).

Social Media Links:

Twitter   ♥  Facebook  ♥  Amazon Author Page  ♥  Goodreads

EXCERPT: DISCOVERY

Ch30 Excerpt from DISCOVERY (Greig)

The day after their return to Caors dawned brightly, with just enough chill in the air to persuade Catarina to light the fire in the parlour. She was coaxing the first flames to catch when her efforts were interrupted by an urgent knocking. She hurried across the hall, the loud noise echoing around her, and pulled open the heavy oak door to reveal a diminutive figure.

“It is early to be thundering on a person’s door.”

Shrewd dark eyes pinned her to the spot. “I am Sara Gaulbert and I wish to speak to your mistress.”

“She is abed.”

“Then wake her up!”

Her attention caught, Catarina looked past the old woman to the untethered mule, who had chosen that moment to defecate copiously in Elizabeth’s yard. She watched the animal move a couple of paces to reach some grass, pulling the old, battered cart behind him, and then she gave Sara the benefit of her most withering expression.

“Wake up your mistress immediately,” demanded the tiny figure. “And invite me in.” Sara Gaulbert would stand no insolence from an uppity servant.

Five minutes later Elizabeth appeared, a shawl quickly thrown over her night clothes. In her haste, she had forgotten her slippers and she hopped from one foot to the other as the cold penetrated from the stone flags. “What is it, Sara?”

“It is the harvest. The pickers are late.” The enormity of the situation was clear on the old woman’s face. Her eyes implored. “We could lose much of the crop.”

“I will come.” Nobody had noticed Pedro’s presence. Three pairs of eyes turned towards him. For a moment he experienced the customary irritation, that he often seemed to be invisible to people, and then suppressed it as unworthy in the circumstances. How could they have known that he had risen well before dawn to ensure the ledgers were up to date before he left for Amsterdam?

“I will come,” Catarina volunteered, rather too swiftly for her mistress’s liking. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows in a gesture reminiscent of her father and Sara waited with interest to see how her friend would respond to the maid’s impudent reaction. “I will be of more value than you. You are not used to hard labour.”

Conscious that Pedro was studying her, Elizabeth clamped her lips shut on her sharp response and rephrased her answer. “It is true, that of late, I have not had the responsibility of running the household alone, but I can assure you I am capable of bringing in the harvest. When I was younger my father insisted all of us worked in the vines and I enjoyed it.” She paused, felt the emotion building, and determined to continue. “It was I who taught Gabriel to cut his first bunches.”

Sara looked from one woman to the other: something was afoot which was more complicated than aptitude for hard work. She stole a glance at Pedro Torres. He was staring at Elizabeth with a mixture of sympathy and amusement, while Catarina’s focus was clearly on him. Now I understand, she thought, and studied the maid. The woman was comely enough and, on Sara’s first acquaintance, she appeared spirited, which was a characteristic Sara secretly admired, but she doubted Pedro would be interested. In her opinion Pedro’s admiration of Elizabeth was perceptible and Sara truly believed they would make a good match.

He caught the old woman’s eye and smiled the curious half-smile she had often seen, as if his life had never allowed him to beam broadly. “You must be exhausted,” he said, “rising so early to come and see us.”

Sara chuckled, pleased her journey had not been wasted. “The mule needs the rest, which he can have while I break my fast with you. Then we can all leave together.”

*

By noon they were out in the fields, except for Sara, who had retired to rest. Pedro was working on a row with Elizabeth, much to Catarina’s chagrin, and he found he was revelling in the repetitive task. After filling each basket, he stretched and allowed himself a few moments to appreciate the scenery. Laden with fruit, row upon row of vines, their autumnal leaves quivering in the light breeze, unfolded up the slopes before him. He could see Luc and Helena, Jacques and Catarina, and the collection of neighbours who had rallied around to help, all methodically progressing between the rows. He had noticed that Jacques periodically glanced in the direction of the farmhouse, willing the itinerant pickers to arrive. It was true that the Gaulberts had started to harvest early but the extra hands they needed usually arrived in good time.

“Stop idling,” teased Elizabeth as she, too, stretched and placed her hands on the small of her back.

Pedro retaliated in the same tone. “Who are you to call me idle, Mistress Gharsia? My basket is full, unlike yours.” He hoisted the hod onto his back, struggling slightly with the straps, and called back as he strode towards the waiting cart. “However, if you speak kindly to me I will carry your grapes, too.” He turned when he reached the end of the row, pleased to see that she was still watching him.

“Pedro!” Jacques voice startled him, as the vintner was partially hidden by the increasing pile of grapes. “How about you coming to the barn to start the pressing?”

“I was helping Elizabeth.”

“She will be fine. She has been harvesting grapes since she was a child.”

“I will just go and tell her.”

Jacques waited impatiently. How long did it take for a man to say he was going to the press? he asked himself, reflecting on the way Elizabeth leant forward slightly, apparently listening intently. Her affection for the Castilian was as obvious to Jacques as it was to his mother, but it was no business of his.

The cellar was cool and dark after the outside heat and it took a moment for Pedro to adjust his eyes. The huge vats and press gradually came into focus as Jacques said, “We have enough grapes for one vat and you and I will have to manage. Come on, strip off.” Too busy pulling off his own shirt, the vintner did not notice Pedro stiffen and pause, torn between exposing his lacerated back and his desire to stomp the black, glistening grapes. “Come on,” repeated Jacques as he clambered into the vat and, if he noticed the scars, he showed no sign of it. “We have no time to lose. All the grapes picked today need to be crushed.”

The stalks were hard, digging into Pedro’s feet, while the fruit burst and oozed through his toes. At first, the strange sensation was disconcerting but soon he was lost in the rhythm, and although he did not know the words, he hummed to the tune of his companion’s song. He became absorbed in the physical exertion, his mind free, for once, of facts and figures, supressed emotion, and haunting memories. At the end of each verse Pedro breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the musty smell of the old stones and the earth floor, wine-soaked over decades, which mingled with the pungency of the newly crushed grapes and the sharp, woody smell of the new oak barrels Jacques had recently acquired. He experienced a moment of complete contentment and then a voice broke the spell. Both men turned towards the door.

“Not now, Mama. Pedro is here!”

Sara stayed where she was, averting her eyes. “Pierre has just been to tell us the pickers have been seen. They landed at Fumel this morning so will be here by sunset.”

Her son punched the air in delight and grinned at his companion. “You can go home tomorrow.” Pedro’s disappointment must have shown on his face as Jacques swiftly added, “Only if you wish to.”

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