I read French literature at university, and am deeply inspired by the French romantic authors of the 19th century, like Stendhal, Musset, Theophile Gautier, Leconte de Lisle and Victor Hugo. But there is one author of English literature from this period who has also influenced my writing, and that is Charlotte Brontë.

Jane Eyre, published in 1847, is widely recognised to have been ahead of its time. Brontë was bold in probing such delicate subjects as class and religion and a woman’s place in society. Jane herself is an exceptional heroine for the time – brave, intelligent, strong. ‘I am no bird,’ she says, ‘and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you…’

The ‘you’ to which Jane is referring here is Edward Fairfax Rochester – Mr Rochester – and the reason for her leaving Rochester, despite the love and passion that has grown between them, is simple: she has discovered that Rochester is already married, and he keeps his wife, Bertha, locked away, because she is insane (the original ‘madwoman in the attic’).

I am sure you will agree, this is quite the secret for Rochester to be harbouring. It weighs heavily on him; it haunts him; it holds him back from happiness.

Plenty of heroes of romantic fiction are tortured – like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. But Heathcliff is tortured by his love, a ghost who haunts him still and whom he cannot let go. I am fascinated by the hero, like Rochester, who is tortured by a past that holds him back from the real love of his life; a past which entraps him but for which he must take at least some responsibility.

The reader of Jane Eyre feels sympathy for Rochester because he was tricked into marrying Bertha and has ended up with a wife he does not love and who is dangerously unstable. However, Jane is such a compelling character, a little bird learning to fly free, and her liberation does not sit well alongside a fellow female being locked away. The reader feels uncomfortable with how Rochester is handling his past; that he conceals the truth from Jane and he locks away this mistake he has made, as though this will rectify it.

Ultimately, the truth must out, as goes the saying, and ‘the other woman’ will make a stand. In Rochester’s case, the denouement is devastating: Bertha sets fire to the house and takes her own life, and in trying to rescue her, Rochester is terribly injured, losing one hand and his sight. Jane comes to him then, and the two are united at last; not, I think, because Bertha has gone, so much as because Rochester has finally faced his past and done the right thing: he tried to save his wife.

Rochester’s characterisation, the journey he takes in the book from being haunted by his past to free, is so powerful, and I found it most inspirational when I wrote my first novel, Burning Embers. When I began to dream up the story, and I pictured the hero, Rafe, in my mind, I knew at once he was a man with a past, a ‘secret anguish’ that could threaten his relationship with the heroine, Coral.

In each book that has followed, from The Echoes of Love and my Andalucian Nights trilogy, to Aphrodite’s Tears, the past of the hero is of integral importance to the story, as hinted at in the back cover synopses:

The Echoes of Love: ‘Will Paolo’s carefully guarded, devastating secret tear them apart forever?’

Legacy: ‘How could Rodrigo ever learn to trust the person who has kept her identity from him, even though he has a terrible secret of his own?’

Aphrodite’s Tears: ‘Will Damian’s tragic past catch up with them, threatening to engulf them both?’

Soon, I will be ready to share news with you of a new novel, and in that you will find further inspiration from Jane Eyre. This time, I really push my hero to the brink and have him bear the scars of his past in a very difficult way. His salvation? As Jane Eyre shows us, one must take ownership of one’s life – and past – and do the right thing; but this is all the easier if one is loved with unyielding passion:

‘I have for the first time found what I can truly love – I have found you. You are my sympathy – my better self – my good angel – I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you – and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.’ – Jane Eyre