as if she really might clasp his head in her hands and plant a smacker on his lips. Of course. Characterization. We all glanced surreptitiously at the Americans to see if they’d clocked this bon mot. Hope was smiling, nodding. Unfortunately, though, no one did. Why were we all so tongue-tied?
‘I thought the characterization was good,’ said Jennie desperately. ‘Particularly that of Adam Lang, the hero.’
‘I agree,’ said Angus staunchly. ‘Best character in the book.’
‘And I particularly liked the way he was depicted as tough, yet tender,’ broke in Saintly Sue. We all turned to her gratefully. She went very pink. Opened her book to where a piece of notepaper lay within. She cleared her throat and read: ‘It seemed to me he emphatically fulfilled the role of romantic hero in the classical sense, much as Chaucer’s Troilus did in
‘Well,’ said Jennie faintly, after a pause. ‘Yes. Quite. Thank you, Sue.’
‘More wine, anyone?’ said Peggy wearily. ‘That is, if no one’s got anything emphatic to add?’
She got to her feet, and everyone, apart from the Americans, eagerly got to theirs, agreeing that was a jolly good idea.
‘Shall we pass round the food now, Angie?’ someone asked. They did so, anyway.
Bemused, the Armitages stood to join us.
‘A real page-turner,’ Angus assured Chad, pressing the book into his hands. ‘Go on, take mine. You’ll love it. Be up all night.’
‘Thank you,’ Chad said. ‘Although, I should probably read next week’s book, don’t you think?’
‘Oh,
But I was miles away. Organizing a plumber to fix Marjorie and Cecilia’s boiler, even though they lived sixty miles away in Ashford. But Phil was the man of the family, you see. Role-playing was important. Men were important. On one occasion, Marjorie had turned to me and asked: ‘Where are the men?’ One was in his cot, six weeks old. I’d found it diverting for days. I didn’t now.
‘Hope?’ Angie abandoned me and turned desperately to our new friends. ‘Any suggestions for next week? You must have been to loads of these things in New York,’ she gushed.
‘Oh God, too many. Twice a week sometimes,’ said Hope. ‘But we tended to decide on the next book at the end of the meeting.’
‘This is the end,’ Peggy informed her.
‘Oh, really?’ Hope blanched. ‘You mean … that’s it?’ She waved a hand at the empty chairs.
‘It’s the end of the booky bit. Not the end of the evening.’
‘No – no, it’s
It was said with feeling, and indeed it was something of a relief to have Simon breeze in amongst us. He looked urbane and expensive in his suit, bringing something of London with him, and not just the
‘You must think we’re hopeless, Hope,’ said Angie. ‘Oh, that sounds dreadful – hopeless hope!’ she twittered. ‘Being so disorganized. But we’ll be much better next week.’
‘Oh no, not at all. I think it’s all going brilliantly. And Chad and I are so thrilled to be asked, anyway. We were just saying the other day that it’s high time we integrated more with the village. Really got involved in the community.’ We basked in her sweet smile and her wide blue eyes, feeling she really meant it.
‘And we really would welcome suggestions for next week,’ Angie told her. ‘We’ve all loved this thriller, but maybe we do need something more stimulating to get the chat going a bit more. Any ideas?’
Hope lowered her voice. ‘D’you know, there are huge gaps in my literary education,’ she confided.
‘Oh, mine too!’ agreed Jennie.
‘So much I haven’t read.’
We all nodded enthusiastically. This we liked. Loved, in fact.
‘D’you want to stick to this particular genre?’
