Giles Waterfield & Lucy Worsley: 'I gave a talk about a woman who went mad in the Tower; he told me it was a lot of feminist nonsense'

The historian and the director of Royal Collection Studies met at a summer-school course in 1999

Waterfield says: 'Lucy does not understate. Though, on reflection, it is probably better to blow your own trumpet' (Anna Huix)

Lucy Worsley, 41

A historian, Worsley is joint chief curator at Historic Royal Palaces, overseeing properties including the Tower of London and Hampton Court Palace. She has also presented BBC TV series including 'The First Georgians' and 'If Walls Could Talk'. She is currently working on her debut novel. She lives in south London with her husband, the architect Mark Hines

I was scared of Giles at first. We met in 1999 at a summer-school course in this great big country house. It's a college of craftsmanship and he was the director of the course, a godlike figure who took us around different historic houses and sites, talking about their history, furniture and gardens; he seemed to be a walking encyclopaedia. I'm not sure if it was deliberate but he had an intimidating presence, as the icy master of ceremonies. Or so I thought.

A week into the course there was a party for students by the college swimming pool. Giles arrived wearing long, vampiric, false fingernails; he showed another side that evening and it threw me. We spent the next three weeks together, with the rest of the class, travelling around Britain on a bus. He operates as the classic old-school curator, delivering impeccable information about the history of taste, and I always wanted his approval.

We stayed in touch afterwards: I wanted his view on where I should go in life. I remember when Giles wrote his second novel [The Hound in the Left-Hand Corner], on museum life, in 2002. At the time I was leaving my job at English Heritage and moving to Glasgow Museums, and three different people gave me his book to prepare me. I've still got a copy; it was funny and naughty, based on lots of people he knew in real life. Everyone was lapping it up in curatorial circles.

He's the one other art historian I've noticed who's become a novelist. When I went to see him for his course at the Royal Collection, he showed me proofs for his third novel [Markham Thorpe], which was an inspiration for me, as I've branched out into writing for children. He was intrigued by how I write: I have a 30-minute train commute each day and it's the perfect time to write 500 words.

When I was invited for dinner at his house in Kensington, it felt like I had penetrated the inner sanctum. It's all very artfully arranged there, full of framed prints, and very Georgian-looking. And I thought, wow, I must be becoming part of the establishment now.

Giles has an old-school, dignified manner about him. He's very dry in his delivery, and immensely funny. Though half the time I don't know if he's joking or not. And when he gives a compliment, I'm never sure either.

While we work in the same area of social and art history, we have a different approach to our work; he thinks I'm a bit bumptious: after I gave a talk about the Tower of London and a woman who went mad there, Lady Arbella Stuart, he told me he thought it was a lot of feminist nonsense.

Giles Waterfield, 65

Waterfield is director of Royal Collection Studies, an annual course organised on behalf of Royal Collection Trust, and associate lecturer at the Courtauld Institute of Art. He has curated exhibitions including Art Treasures of England at the Royal Academy of Art and Below Stairs at the National Portrait Gallery. He has also published four novels. He lives in London

Lucy was my student back in 1999 at an annual three-week school for professors studying country houses. We met at the introductory session for 48 people, at West Dean College, in Sussex. She was young and pretty and she impressed me with her energetic and ambitious manner.

We both strongly believe in the importance of historic buildings and their meaning for people today. And after that course we would often bump into one another at exhibitions and talks. I had a brief period of being a father-confessor figure, advising her on her next move: she had a junior role at English Heritage in the Midlands that she wanted to move on from, and she was interested in broadcasting. I advised her to cultivate more contacts and be seen in London – and that she needed to publish more. She has certainly succeeded in doing all of that.

I run an annual course for the Royal Collection, usually for people working in museums, and Lucy became prominent in that: now she gives a lecture there about the Georgian Court, which is extremely brilliant. She is both highly knowledgeable and also a good populariser. She bubbles away and makes these exciting pronouncements about George I, bringing to life his two mistresses; she loves a bit of scandal.

I admire her energy. She belongs to a riding school in Nottinghamshire, where she's learnt to ride sideways on a horse and stand up – I learnt that her riding instructor is actually the person you see in the distance shots of Aidan Turner, when he's riding in Poldark.

She's more interested in people and how they lived than how Henry VIII's court functioned in terms of governance. The first time I saw one of her Tudor programmes it was very memorable as she has this manner, what Victorians called "kittenish": sweet, flirtatious and with a little hint of playfulness. Though it makes history come alive, it's not always my cup of tea: sometimes it's a bit too girly and whimsical for me.

I'm quite keen on the ironic understatement: it's in my blood and it's how I was brought up. But understatement is out of fashion now; it's more about hyperbole. Lucy is younger than I am and she does not understate. Though, on reflection, it is probably better to blow your own trumpet.

Waterfield's latest novel, 'The Iron Necklace' (£12.99, Allen & Unwin), is out now

Photographed at the Garden Museum, London SE17 (gardenmuseum.org.uk)