‘Oh … someone told me. Have a fun day, Angie.’
‘I will. Oh, and
I was all packaged up, wasn’t I? All sorted. People so liked to dust their hands of one, I thought rather uncharitably.
‘He’s just a friend,’ I said wearily.
‘Oh, of
We left it at that.
Later, I bumped into Hope in the village shop. I’d never seen her in there before, assuming she shopped in Fortnum’s before coming to the country. She looked like she was going to lunch at the Ivy, although she was, in fact, buying Rice Krispies. Her dark hair was swept back in a sleek chignon and she was wearing shiny flat black boots, a swirling grey skating skirt and a crisp white shirt. It was the sort of effortless ensemble that no one ever managed to pull off in our village.
‘Oh – Poppy.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘About the book club.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ve cancelled it. There didn’t seem to be much enthusiasm this week, Hope, which is odd when you consider we’re reading one of the greatest novels in literary history.’ I deliberately echoed her words.
‘If not the greatest,’ she said quickly. ‘I go all tingly just picking it up!’
‘Oh, me too. But I suppose you’re going hunting the next day?’
‘I am, as a matter of fact. Don’t you just love Stephen Dedalus?’ she purred, touching my arm.
‘Is he the new master?’
She frowned. ‘No, he’s a character in
‘Oh.’ It occurred to me I might have run into the one person who had read it. ‘Dreamy,’ I agreed. ‘Until the sex change.’
She stared at me long and hard. ‘Ye-es … But then, one is never encouraged to think of him as a traditional romantic hero, is one? In the mould, say, of a Mr Rochester?’
‘No, one is not,’ I agreed. I wrinkled my brow. ‘And it’s emblematic, don’t you feel, of the transitory nature of life? Symptomatic of how ephemeral things can be?’
‘Yes!’ she said eagerly. ‘Isn’t it just?’
‘Although between you and me, it hasn’t quite got the page-turning appeal of a jolly good read, like Jilly Cooper.’
I was losing her now. My in-depth analysis into the mores of contemporary literature too much for her at half- past eleven in the village shop. She looked confused.
‘Jilly …?’
‘Never mind. Anyway, as I say, I’ve called the whole thing off.’
‘Such a shame. And a pity not to see everyone again. Chad and I so enjoyed ourselves last time. But I expect I’ll see you at the meet, won’t I? There are usually lots of foot followers,’ she added kindly.
I blinked. ‘Yes. Well, maybe.’
She bestowed a dazzling smile on me and swept out in a cloud of Diorissimo, jangling her charm bracelet.
‘You going, love?’ Yvonne asked me, weighing the bananas I’d handed her.
‘Where?’
‘To the meet.’
‘I don’t know. Where is it?’
‘Mulverton Hall at eleven. It’s old George Hetherington’s place; belongs to his son now. D’you know it?’
I stared at her as she handed me back my fruit in a brown paper bag. ‘Well, not intimately. But I know where it is.’
‘’E’s come back from London apparently, to take it on again. Been tenanted for years that place, all sorts of people who didn’t really look after it after the old boy died. Well, you don’t if it’s not your own, do you? Let the garden go to rack and ruin by all accounts. Shame. Be nice to have someone breathe a bit of life into it again, eh? Nice to have some new blood around too.’ She grinned, revealing her unusual dental arrangement.
‘Thanks, Yvonne,’ I said as she handed me my change, declining to comment. I turned to go. ‘Nice to see you.’
‘You too, Poppy. And I’m glad you’re finding your feet again.’
I turned back. She’d lowered her voice conspiratorially even though there was no one else in the shop. ‘Getting out and about,’ she went on softly. ‘And don’t you pay any attention to those that think it’s a bit soon. Can’t be in widow’s weeds for ever, eh? I know after my Bill died I stayed indoors for months on end, but that’s not everyone’s way, is it?’ She
