‘And what did you say to Simon Devereux?’ Jennie said, taut-faced and pale. ‘Did you ring him as well?’
‘No.’ Peggy sighed patiently. ‘If you must know I sat next to him at dinner at the Holland-Hibberts last Saturday. Oh, he was itching to come. Couldn’t say yes quickly enough. Don’t forget, he’s desperate to get elected as our local parliamentary candidate and at the moment he doesn’t even live in the constituency. Just darts in at weekends from his pad in Chelsea. He keeps saying he wants to get more integrated in village life and he’s joined the hunt and all that, but being a member of a local book club will give him huge brownie points. He’s jolly nice, actually, and, to be fair, he grew up here. We had a really good chat. He’s adamant he won’t let the post office in the village shut if he gets in. I don’t know why you’re all so outraged. This was the plan, wasn’t it? A bit of new blood? Some of it hot?’ She lit a cigarette and blew out smoke in a thin blue line.
That had rather silenced us.
So now, here we all were, in a rather therapy-like circle in Peggy’s creamy sitting room, splashes of modern art squeezed between the beams, the drizzle outside spattering the darkened window panes, while we passed a bowl of Doritos like children playing pass the parcel. I snuck a look at Simon Devereux opposite. Urbane, handsome and sophisticated in an immaculate suit with patterned silk tie, fresh from the auction rooms of South Ken, he looked faintly amused, I thought, as he passed the crisps. I wondered how long he’d last. This was manifestly parochial for him and once he’d ticked it off his list of Things to Do we surely wouldn’t see him for dust. I wondered why Peggy had asked him. Beside him sat Angus, his craggy distinguished face wreathed in smiles, pleased as punch to be out and already on his second glass of Muscadet. Next to him was Angie in her very short skirt, and beside her Pete, who, as I say, looked self-conscious but gorgeous, and beside him Luke, who, with freshly washed blond hair, was looking disarmingly handsome himself, actually. Much better now than in church, I decided. Better when he wasn’t shutting his eyes and making ecstatic faces at his organ, which I found faintly giggle-making. But of course it could be a piano, I realized suddenly. Surely if you played one you played the other? That could be promising. I had a quick vision of us in a pretty cottage somewhere, Luke playing Chopin, glancing over his shoulder to smile and gauge my reaction as I sat sewing by the fire. Hm. Perhaps not the sewing. And was an organist in the same league as a cyclist? A bit … nerdy? Well, presumably he didn’t do it full-time. Presumably he had a day job. What was it, I wondered. I had a feeling Angie had said, but I couldn’t remember. I shook my head. So much to learn. Still, I would be careful this time. I must curb my predilection to leap and snatch; I would be circumspect and slow. Oh yes, this time I would crawl.
‘Hilary Mantel’s awfully good,’ Saintly Sue was saying, after Angie’s Forster suggestion had fallen flat.
Ah yes, Sue. Probably just as well she was here, as a matter of fact, saving us as she did, by providing an odd number, from looking too much like a dating agency. But she was so intense. Prim and straight-backed in her chair, a pile of books on her lap which she’d brought along as suggestions – we hadn’t actually chosen a book yet – she was already getting shrill.
‘She won the Booker Prize last year with this one,’ she told us importantly. ‘But of course, you all know that.’
We all murmured appreciatively as Sue passed the book to Peggy beside her. But Peggy’s appreciative murmurs were still for Pete on her other side, and she took the book distractedly. ‘You must be terribly strong,’ she purred, batting her eyelids at him. ‘Must do an awful lot of hammering.’
This remark hung rather pregnantly in the air. Pete blushed and looked at the floor. Sue cleared her throat impatiently.
‘Peggy? What d’you think?’
‘Of what?’ She turned.
‘Of the book, of course.’
Peggy glanced down at the tome she appeared to be holding. ‘Oh. Oh, no. Far too long. We’ll