William Shakespeare put down the quill, satisfied with a good day’s work. Three scenes, all of which needed almost no revision. A rare feat indeed. Shakespeare glanced towards the open window and into the garden. Outside, Anne walked towards a rose bush and picked a bloom. She held it to her nose and breathed in its scent, smiling. Shakespeare called out to her and raised a hand in a wave.
Anne smiled back and turned back towards the cottage, rose in hand. Inside, she handed it to Shakespeare. “For you my love,” she said. Shakespeare took it from her. “I shall write about it and how its beauty is nothing beside you.” Anne blushed, then brushed Shakespeare’s cheek with a light kiss.
Once the evening meal was eaten, it was their habit to sit together and by the light of a candle Shakespeare would read the day’s labours to Anne. She would always listen, attentive, then indicate where she felt there could be amendments and more often, reply that the words flowed so well that no improvements were possible.
They retired to their bedchamber and after their lovemaking, Shakespeare held Anne close, caressing her tresses. “Imagine,” said Anne, “what your readers would say if they knew a mere woman discussed scenes and plots with the great Shakespeare? Would you lose them, do you think?”
Shakespeare laughed then she replied, “They would find it even more unlikely than if they were to unmask the real William Shakespeare for the Wilhelmina she really is. One woman playwright would be implausible, two a complete impossibility to be denied at all costs.”
Inspiration: Who was Shakespeare really??