good ones.’ He curled his lip. ‘Not that any publishers have yet recognized that fact.’
‘Ah. So you never have been published?’
He raised an admonitory finger and shook it at her. ‘Ah, depends what you mean by “published”. Not so easy to define these days. There are more possibilities out there than chopping down trees to produce Stray Leaves in Autumn.’ He gestured with contempt towards the table where Burton was still signing, full of bonhomie and magnanimity. ‘My books may not be “published” in the traditional sense, but they’re out there.’
‘By “out there” do you mean they’re e-books?’
‘Better than that. You can read them online, through my website. And I’ve got links to them through social media.’
Jude nodded, thinking that it had never been easier for a writer to make his book available, but the old problem remained. How did you get potential readers to know that it was available? The established publishing houses with their publicity departments would always have the advantage over the individual, self-promoting author.
She found that a cheaply printed garish flyer had been thrust into her hand. Revenge of the Plague Planet was the book it touted. How had she known from the start that Steve Chasen would write science fiction? Though she read little fiction of any kind (except when she was on holiday), Jude had always had a strong resistance to anything involving other worlds or aliens. Through her varied life, she had encountered as much weirdness as she needed to in the real world.
‘You’ll like it,’ the author assured her. ‘Really got some ideas in it. Makes you think. Not like that bland pap which people like him produce.’ There was another derisory gesture made in the direction of Burton St Clair.
‘Do you actually know Burton?’ asked Jude.
‘What if I do?’ came the defensive reply.
‘Nothing, really. I just wondered what he’d done to annoy you.’
‘People like that don’t need to do anything to annoy me. His very existence annoys me. The world would be a better place if Burton St Clair wasn’t in it!’ Apparently deciding that he wasn’t going to better this as an exit line, Steve Chasen moved abruptly away from Jude. Saying, ‘I’m going to get another refill,’ he went across to cause further embarrassment to the young librarian at the drinks table.
‘Bit old to play the enfant terrible card, isn’t he?’
Jude turned at the sound of this urbane voice and found herself facing the man in pink trousers. Because her previous vantage point had been from behind the rows of chairs, this was the first time she’d seen him from the front. He was probably in his sixties, but he wore it well. His hair, ringing a central bald patch, was long but well cut. His generous lips wore a pleasingly sardonic expression.
‘I’m talking about God’s gift to the world of science fiction,’ he continued, nodding in the direction in which Steve Chasen had gone.
‘I thought you must be. So I gather you know him?’
‘Met him when the library set up a Writers’ Group. He was a member for a while; stopped coming when he discovered that other people wanted to talk about their writing too.’
‘Ah. Does that mean you’re a writer?’
‘Hardly. Spent my working life dealing with scripts, though.’ Jude looked at him for an explanation. ‘Television director. No work now, I’m afraid. Producers tend to favour the younger model.’
‘So you joined the Writers’ Group because you wanted to try your hand at creating your own television scripts?’
‘Good Lord, no. If there’s ageism in directing, there’s even more in writing. With a couple of famous exceptions, no one over sixty gets a look-in. Over fifty, probably. Television is a young man’s game.’ He spoke wryly, but without bitterness. He was just accepting the way the entertainment business worked.
‘If you’re not writing scripts in the Writers’ Group, what do you write?’
‘Very little. Or, to be more accurate, nothing. I went to a few meetings, but it wasn’t really for me. Full of old biddies who thought they could write poetry. Though actually I should be careful who I describe as “old biddies”. In this day and age, the phrase is no doubt sexist. What’s more, the people I’m referring to are probably the same age as I am.’
‘Is it the Writers’ Group who organized this evening with Al … Burton?’ asked Jude.
‘No, that’s the library staff. The Writers’ Group actually no longer exists. Apparently, got too expensive. Funding cuts, you know, hitting libraries hard. Places like this have to rely increasingly on volunteers.’
‘Like you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I saw you dutifully folding up chairs.’
‘Yes, and I came early to put them out too. Least one can do. Anyway, I think, once they couldn’t use the library, the Writers’ Group started meeting in people’s houses. Whether they still do, I don’t know. I rather lost interest. But the former members certainly knew all about this evening.’ He looked round. ‘There are a lot of them here.’ He focused his attention back on Jude. ‘You called him “Burton”. Does that mean you know him?’
‘I was a friend of his first wife’s. Used to see a lot of them at one point. We’re talking twenty years ago. I haven’t seen either of them for a while.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t think he needs other female friends now he’s got the immaculate Persephone.’ The man spoke with sly cynicism, and his words ambiguously contained the possibility that Jude’s relationship with the author might have been more than friendly.
Jude instantly picked up on that. ‘As I said, it was Megan who was my friend. I only met Burton through her.’
‘And are you saying he never came on to you?’
‘No, I’m saying that when he did come on to me, I gave him a very immediate and firm brush-off.’
‘Hm.’
‘The way you talk about him … I’m sorry, I don’t know your name …?’
‘Oliver. Oliver Parsons.’
‘I’m Jude.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Oh?’
‘Come on, we both live in Fethering. Almost everyone in the place knows the names of all the others, even if they’ve never actually met.’
‘True. So I’m surprised I don’t know yours. And surprised we haven’t met before. Or even seen you round the place before.’
‘I used to travel a lot when I was directing. And now maybe I keep myself to myself. My wife died a couple of years back. I think she must have been the social one in our partnership.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
He
