The View From Here // freddy honeychurch, a room with a view fanfiction

prologue

"Freddy, do come here," Mrs Honeychurch beckoned her son from across the church. The Sunday morning service had just ended and she was talking to the new tenants of Cissie villa, the Stockwells. Freddy promptly made his way across the church, the light from the arched windows hitting his face delicately as he weaved in and out of people.
"These are the new tenants of Cissie villa, Mr Stockwell, and his wife and daughter." Mr Stockwell was a tall man, he had simple brown hair that he kept swept back and unreadable green eyes. His wife, however, had dark brown hair that was styled elegantly, with comforting brown eyes to match. Their daughter had the same dark hair and facial features as her mother but the eyes of her father. Mrs Honeychurch turned to face them, "This is my son, Freddy." Mrs Honeychurch smiled at the Stockwells, they seemed to be Honeychurch kind of people.

"Pleasure to meet you," Freddy reached out to shake Mr Stockwell's hand before bowing to Mrs and Miss Stockwell. "How has the moving process been?" He asked politely, mainly directed towards Mr Stockwell, glancing at Miss Stockwell every now and then as her father informed him of their comfortable move.

"It's been fine, we are almost finished, I believe we only have to hang our art up and then we shall have finished." Mr Stockwell answered him. Freddy appeared to be quite a well-mannered young man to him. The boy had a certain brightness about him, he was radiant - from the way he stood, you could sense his charisma.

"Do you enjoy art, then? My sister and her husband prefer Italian art: they met in Italy, actually." Freddy smiled, his mind wandered to Lucy and George, wandering how they were settling in their new home a couple of towns over.

"Oh, I do enjoy art!" Miss Stockwell spoke for the first time, her voice resembling a bell - light and tinkling - at least, to Freddy, anyway. "I enjoy Italian art too, but I like modern art the most." She finished with a smile.

"Lucy, my daughter, likes Renaissance art, as does her husband, George. They're visiting tomorrow, perhaps you'd like to come to tea?" Mrs Honeychurch asked, smiling at the Stockwells. She had taken quite a liking to them as she chatted to them.

"Tea would be lovely," Mrs Stockwell, replied. "What time would you like us to arrive? I shall hope we are punctual as our Candace usually finds something to get distracted by causing us to be late." Mrs Stockwell looked at her daughter, who stood at and equal height to her mother. The mother and daughter exchanged words purely through eye contact: Candace expressed her embarrassment and her mother apologised.

"Three, if that is not too early or late for you?" Mrs Honeychurch suggested.

"Very well, we shall see you at three tomorrow afternoon. But I am afraid we must go as Martha is cooking a leg of lamb and it must almost be done. Goodbye, Mrs Honeychurch. Young Mr Honeychurch." Mr Stockwell bid the two Honeychurches farewell and his wife and daughter followed suit.