A Rural Affair - By Catherine Alliott Page 0,97

and gazed around, beaming. Sadly, though, Luke said, he had a meeting on Tuesday evening.

‘It’s a shame, because the book is absolutely riveting.’

‘It is, isn’t it, Luke?’

‘You’ve read it?’ Some surprise in his voice.

‘Oh, yes. Cover to cover.’

‘Me too,’ he said quickly.

‘What did you think about the protagonist having a sex change halfway through?’

A pause. ‘I thought it was … a good twist.’

I smiled. ‘I haven’t read it either, Luke.’

‘Ha ha! Nice one, Poppy.’ Although I could tell he wasn’t that amused at being caught out. ‘I intend to read it though.’

‘Oh, yes. Me too.’

‘And I wondered, if maybe we could do something the following night instead? See a film or something?’

‘Can I let you know, Luke? Obviously the eternal childcare question looms.’

‘Sure, or I could come to you?’

I caught my breath. Quite familiar. In my house, a cosy supper, bottle of wine, children asleep. Coffee on the sofa by the fire later. But why not? That was surely the next stage.

‘We’ll see,’ I assured him. ‘I’ll give you a ring.’

I put the phone down and scurried away from it, to the kitchen. Apparently needing some distance. But minutes later I was back, because Peggy was next, saying she had a prior engagement and that if I asked her the book was a complete nightmare. Then Angie, who said she was hunting the next day, so not to include her, even though she’d adored the book. Yes, she thought the sex change was entirely plausible, and actually served as a fitting motif to demonstrate how transitory life could be. It was very emblematic of the ephemeral nature of things, didn’t I think?

I agreed wearily. Although I wasn’t convinced going hunting the following day precluded attending the book club, and told her so.

‘Ah, but I like to clean my tack the night before. Plait my horse, that type of thing. It’s the opening meet, you see. Terribly smart.’

Everyone knew Angie took hunting seriously, to the point of undergoing a personality change when thus engaged, scarily barking out orders in the field and becoming a mounted hunt-etiquette manual, so no doubt her horse would be subjected to all manner of cleansing rituals. I was pretty sure she had an army of grooms to do it all for her, though, but I didn’t quibble.

‘And obviously I need to look the part because the new master is divine. I told you that, didn’t I, Poppy?’

‘You did.’

‘This one’s got my name on it,’ she told me firmly. ‘Plastered on his very cute, tight-jodhpured behind. Single, loaded, good-looking – hot.’

‘All yours, Angie.’ Was she warning me off?

‘And the Armitages will be out too apparently, and they’ll obviously be impeccable.’

‘Yes, so I heard.’

‘How did you hear?’

‘Oh … someone told me. Have a fun day, Angie.’

‘I will. Oh, and lovely that you and Luke had lunch the other day. That’s so sweet, Poppy!’

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 course.’

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 Ulysses.’

‘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

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