A Rural Affair (23 page)

‘Oh, OK, good idea,’ Chad agreed. He took the book from Pete beside him, who offered it. ‘Hey, I like the sound of this,’
he said, reading the blurb on the back. ‘Makes a change from Philip Roth, doesn’t it, Honey?’

This, to Hope, who, if she was surprised by the popular nature of the novel, was hiding it beautifully. ‘It certainly does.
In fact it looks wonderful,’ she said, turning it over in her hands as he passed it to her. ‘And what did you all make of
it?’ She glanced around, smiling.

‘Oh, it’s tremendous!’ boomed Angus. ‘Absolutely first class.’

‘Really? That’s great.’ She smiled at Angus, perhaps waiting to be further illuminated. If she was, she was disappointed.
He beamed back. ‘What about you, Pete?’ She turned kindly to her neighbour, having remembered his name. The blood surged up
Pete’s neck and into his cheeks.

‘Oh, um … I thought it was very good too.’

‘Good, good.’

This didn’t give us a great deal to build on. And although Hope could have asked someone else, it would have thrust her into
a dominant role, so she sensibly refrained. Instead she smiled encouragingly at Pete, hoping for more. Pete eyed the door
as if he might make a run for it.

In the deafening silence that followed, Angie shot me a pleading glance. ‘Poppy, what about you?’

Sadly I hadn’t read it. I’d had too much on my plate this week. Although, actually, come to think of it, I was pretty sure
I
had
read it, years ago.

‘I thought it was gripping.’ Angie’s eyes demanded more. Much more. ‘And … and I particularly liked the bit where the guy
hangs from the cable car, in the snow,’ I said wildly. ‘Really exciting.’

‘That’s
Where Eagles Dare
,’ said Jennie, rather disloyally, I thought.

Everyone cast their eyes down to their book. ‘Anyone else got any thoughts?’ Angie said brightly. ‘Who
didn’t
enjoy it?’

Lots of shocked murmuring, head shaking and pursed lips at this. But no concrete ideas.

‘So … everyone enjoyed it.’

More enthusiastic agreement. But then something of a hiatus again. And don’t forget we were all in a circle, so it was a bit
like Show and Tell at Clemmie’s school. A mistake, I felt. Too intimidating. We were also missing Simon, who surely would
have had some erudite, eloquent remarks on the matter. Angie, Jennie and I looked despairingly at one another. We hadn’t thought
this through. Did this need chairing? In which case, who was going to do it? Were there too many of us? Too few? How did it
work? What
was
a book club?

‘Did anyone have any thoughts on characterization?’ suggested Luke, and I could have kissed him. Angie looked 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
Troilus and Criseyde
, adhering to the conventions of courtly love and the literature to which it gave rise in the Middle Ages, which emphatically
supplied the first of several historical bases to underlie any adequate interpretation of the principal characters, and any
situations in which Troilus – and therefore Adam Lang – emphatically coexist today.’ She slowly closed her book, eyes down,
lips pursed.

‘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,
next
week’s,’ agreed Angie, with a note of panic, looking at me.

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
not
the end of the booky bit,’ Angie insisted, flustered. ‘We’re all going to sit down again and – oh, look, here’s Simon. How
marvellous.’

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
Evening Standard
. Jennie coloured up slightly but I noticed that although he greeted her warmly, he didn’t linger; he greeted everyone else
then said hello to the Armitages, who he appeared to know – through mutual friends, he explained. He did some man-chat with
Chad, whilst we women swarmed around his wife.

‘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.
So
lovely.

‘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?’

We all looked at her blankly.

‘I mean, the thriller?’

‘Oh no, we’re happy with any … genre. Tragedy, romance. I’d happily read Georgette Heyer every week!’ Jennie assured her.

‘I don’t know her.’

‘You don’t know Georgette Heyer?’ Jennie looked genuinely shocked. She clutched her heart. ‘Oh my God, I’ve got the whole
lot. I’ll lend them to you. You’re in for a treat. Start with
Faro’s Daughter
and you’ll be hooked for life!’

‘Thank you, I’d appreciate that. And meantime,’ Hope lowered her voice again and we all had to lean in because her voice was
soft. And she was tiny, so we must have looked like we were mugging her. ‘Well, meantime, if you’re really looking for suggestions,
I’m ashamed to say there’s one book which I know I should have read in high school, but just never got around to. I’d love
to do it now.’

‘Oh!’ we breathed. Plenty of those. Whole libraries full. ‘Yes?’

‘You’ve probably all read it.’

‘Noo, noo, not necessarily,’ Angie warbled.

‘It’s
Ulysses
.’

‘
Ulysses
!’ Jennie and Angie agreed in unison. They rocked
back on their heels, glancing wildly at one another. It rang a faint bell, but not a very loud one.

‘Can you believe I’ve never read it? Must be one of the greatest novels in literary history.’

‘
I’ve
never read it either!’ squealed Angie, hand pressed to her heart. ‘I’ve been so ashamed of that for years!’

‘I’ve always meant to,’ Jennie chimed in. ‘Just never got round to it. Poppy, what about you?’

But I was hanging out Marjorie’s washing now, because she’d asked me to. Large white pants, huge conical bras, the cups of
which a puppy could have curled up and had a nap in. Hanging them on
my
line, while she watched
my
television.

‘Poppy?’

‘Yes, I told you. I liked the cable-car bit.’

Jennie blinked. Turned her back on me pointedly. ‘I think that’s a brilliant idea, Hope. We’ll all read that for next week,
then.’

‘And I could get a few notes from the Internet, perhaps? Circulate them, if you like, to help us along?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. As you can see, we didn’t need notes for this one!’ Angie trilled. She turned. ‘Everyone!’
She clapped her jewelled hands prettily into the party atmosphere that had naturally ensued – flooded in, more like, when
given the chance. Angus was already florid and booming; Luke had his hand on Sue’s arm as he told an anecdote, just emphasizing
a point, but still; and the volume was high. ‘Um, everyone! Listen up! Hope’s made a marvellous suggestion for next week.
We’re going to read
Ulysses
, which is a lovely book, apparently. I’m sure you’ll all adore it. It’s by –’ Angie turned to Hope expectantly.

Hope looked startled then collected herself. ‘Oh, OK. James Joyce.’

‘James Joyce, and it’s about …’ Angie tinkled, cocking her head to one side, liking this double act.

‘Well, not so much
about
anything as a stream of consciousness. One day in the life of. I guess if it does have a central theme it’s … well, it’s
–’ Hope puckered her pretty brow; looked momentarily flummoxed.

‘It’s about death,’ Peggy interjected softly, from over by the window.

We all turned to look at her. Her face, in profile to us, was sad and mournful. She blew a thin blue line of cigarette smoke
at the pane of glass and thence to the darkened fields beyond.

‘Saintly Sue and Luke seemed to be getting on rather well last night, didn’t they?’ Jennie said casually.

I was on my way back from the shop. Jennie was on her hands and knees in her front garden, messing around with a trowel, the
second time I’d found her thus in two weeks. Generally she expressed the opinion that plastic flowers were the way forward,
so authentic were they nowadays, and soil-tilling just another extension of a housewife’s shackles, only we got to rattle
them in the fresh air.

I paused at her gate. ‘Yes, they did, didn’t they?’

‘You don’t mind?’ She straightened up anxiously.

‘Not in the least.’

I didn’t, really. Well, OK, I might have been a bit piqued that he’d spent so much time flirting and amusing her, but no more
than that. ‘I’m seeing him on Tuesday, anyway,’ I assured her. I hated disappointing my friends.

‘Are you?’ She brightened, as I knew she would. ‘Oh,
good
. Oh, I
am
pleased.’

‘You sound like someone’s mother, Jennie.’

‘I am someone’s mother.’

‘Yes, but not mine.’ I smiled.

‘Fair comment.’ She paused. ‘Probably just humouring Sue last night, then?’

‘Most probably,’ I conceded, although privately I thought the giggling I’d heard behind the azalea bush in Angie’s front
garden as I’d left the party might have been more than humouring.

‘Simon was on good form,’ I said conversationally, but not without a parrying thrust. A touch of touché.

‘Yes, he was, wasn’t he?’ she said lightly. ‘Although not with me.’

‘He was busy catching up with the Armitages, Jennie,’ I said, instantly regretting the parry.

‘You don’t have to placate me, Poppy. I’m married, remember? I’ve got my Toad.’ She grinned. ‘My life is complete. You’re
the one that needs a man.’

She knelt and resumed her digging, humming to herself, which she didn’t do. I mean, years ago we all did; sing, even, but
not recently. There was a strange contentment to her too, as she chivvied those weeds, which was as alien as the horticulture.
I went distractedly up my path with the children. Something about Jennie and Simon’s behaviour last night had alerted me;
the way they rather pointedly didn’t linger in each other’s company. It was as if, in private time, some modus operandi had
been arrived at. As if they were beyond seeking each another out at a party and having tongues wag. Had some decision been
made, I wondered nervously? I wasn’t sure. One thing I did know, though, was that the more I encountered Simon, the more I
liked him. We’d had a good chat at Angie’s, and amongst other things he’d said how outrageous it was that the bus route from
the village was in danger, and that for some old people it was their only independent way into town; they didn’t want to rely
on lifts. Said it was the first thing he was going to tackle if he was elected, that and the threatened closure of the post
office, which he was tackling anyway, elected or not. He was taking a petition
round all the villages affected. Yes, a decent man. A sensible one too. Which Dan wasn’t always, I thought uncomfortably.

‘Where are you going, anyway?’ I heard her voice as I put my key in my door.

I turned. ‘Inside.’

‘No, with Luke?’

‘Oh. The King’s Head.’

Jennie looked astonished. Then delighted. She sat back on her heels on the grass. ‘Oh! How lovely!’