less than friendly terms, it’s no loss to Hughes and Widrow that he didn’t want to sell with us. Besides, we’ve got more than enough work on at the moment. I doubt very much that we could have taken on another client.’
Marti subsided in shock. Emma was known as the peacekeeper. She hardly ever raised her voice. Luckily, any further conversation was drowned out by Amy bringing the book group meeting to order and asking for suggestions for September’s choice.
Emma couldn’t believe they agreed on Demelza, the second in Winston Graham’s series of Poldark books. Writer Patrick always seemed to suggest some obscure travelogue, while Biddy hankered after the classics, and Amy was keen on the latest Booker prizewinner. Millie summed up everyone’s enthusiasm when she said it would be great to read something more accessible than Wuthering Heights, the group’s last choice. ‘And it would be wonderful to read one of the books seeing as the new TV series is starting this month.’
Emma nodded vigorously. ‘Of course, they’re way ahead on the telly but it would be ace to go back to the books themselves. And we all seem to have read the first book, so choosing the second is a no-brainer.’
‘Fine writer, Winston Graham,’ Biddy put in. Elvis, her deaf assistance poodle, snickered in agreement.
‘And Ross Poldark is such a hero,’ Emma replied.
‘Not so sure about that, child,’ Biddy barked. Pensioner Biddy was always forthcoming with her opinions. ‘He’s guilty of more than one sin. Reckon Demelza is the real hero of those books.’
Emma was about to launch into a spirited defence when Amy cut her short. ‘Just as well we’re reading her book then, isn’t it? And a discussion about what makes a literary hero could be for the next meeting, I think.’ She turned to Millie hopefully. ‘Time for sandwiches and coffee?’
‘Just before we break,’ Patrick said. ‘Could I tell you all about something that my friend Joel is doing?’
‘Oh yes,’ Millie exclaimed. ‘I meant to mention that before we began the meeting. Brain like a sieve at the moment. Please,’ she gestured to Patrick. ‘Go ahead. You know all the details anyway.’
‘Could we talk about it over food?’ Emma groaned. ‘I’m starving.’
Everyone laughed. Emma was well-known for her bottomless stomach.
‘Excellent idea,’ Biddy boomed. ‘Need to stretch the old pins.’
As everyone began to move downstairs, to the bookshop’s café, Millie added on a laugh, ‘Can’t promise you crisp sandwiches, Em, even though know they’re your favourite.’
‘Don’t know what you’re missing, Millie. Have you ever had ready-salted and tomato ketchup on a thickly buttered white slice?’ She watched in alarm as Millie turned green.
‘Excuse me for a moment,’ she said. ‘Amy, can you do the honours with the coffee and food? I’m really not feeling all that well.’
Emma backed Patrick into a corner after he’d explained to the group what Joel had planned. ‘So, a four-week beginner’s literature course?’ she demanded, her face aglow with enthusiasm.
‘Are you interested then, Emma? Sure, I wouldn’t have had you down as someone who was interested in evening classes, especially in literature.’
‘Why not?’ Emma bridled. Leona’s smug university-educated face and her jibes over her lack of education swam into her vision. ‘I love books and reading. Otherwise, why would I be here, at the book club?’
‘But evening classes? Is that really for you? It’ll be classic stuff, not Winston Graham.’
‘Oi Patrick, who was the only book group member who actually finished Wuthering Heights?’
‘Point taken.’ His blue eyes twinkled. He saluted her with his wine glass. ‘And didn’t you not only finish the book but defend our Mr Heathcliff with an informed passion, I seem to recall. I really shouldn’t be such a literary snob. It’s a bad habit.’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Emma grinned at him smugly, enjoying how his Irish accent slipped out occasionally. ‘Or I’ll make you sit next to Marti Cavendish at the next meeting.’
Patrick laughed in horror. ‘Don’t you be doing that! But evening classes? Is that really your thing?’
Emma shrugged. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘I love my job and I love living in Berecombe, but sometimes it gets a bit boring round here. Especially out of season. I just want the old grey cells rattled a bit.’
‘I can appreciate that. It’s just …’ He paused. ‘Aw, how can I say this without insulting you further? Joel is quite highbrow. I love the man dearly but, if I’m honest, he’s the last person I would have expected to teach these outreach programmes. Don’t get me wrong,’ he added hastily, ‘I think they’re a great idea, so I do. Anything that gets people reading and appreciating literature has my vote. I’m just not sure he’ll be able to make it accessible enough. I wouldn’t want you to be put off your studies right at the beginning and I certainly wouldn’t want you to waste your money.’
‘I hadn’t thought about the cost. Me and Ollie are trying to save for a place of our own, so money’s a bit tight,’ Emma said gloomily. ‘And I suppose this Joel bloke will be used to brainy undergrads. I messed about so much at school that college was never on the cards for me. Maybe I’ll give it a miss.’ Her face fell.
Patrick looked at her intently. ‘And now I’m sorry. Maybe I’ve put you off?’ He chewed his lip, obviously thinking. ‘You know, I think I’ve underestimated you, Emma. You’re probably exactly the sort of person these courses are designed for.’ He grinned. ‘And, do you know, I’d quite like to see you take Joel on.’
Emma preened a little. ‘Always up for a challenge, me.’
‘Well, isn’t that good. You know, Joel can get a bit esoteric sometimes. It would do him good to step out of his ivory tower for once. He tends to live in a pretty rarefied plane of existence most of the time.’
‘Who are you calling rarefied?’ A deep voice sounded behind them. Neither had seen the man come into the bookshop.
Patrick laughed. ‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear.’ He turned to Emma. ‘This is the man himself, so it is. Emma Tizzard, may I introduce you to my old mucker, Joel Dillon.’
Emma blinked. The man in front of them was tall; as tall as Tash’s new boyfriend Kit. But, in contrast to Kit, he was lean and elegant. Sun-streaked brown hair flopped overlong onto the collar of his linen jacket. He smiled and the edges of his eyes crinkled in a very sexy Hugh Grant sort of a way.
Clasping Emma’s hand, Joel stared into her eyes. ‘I can now quite see the appeal of your little book group, Patrick. Hello, Emma Tizzard. You appear to have stepped straight out from a Hardy novel. What wonderful hair. It’s alight.’ He dropped her hand and Emma felt as if the sun had suddenly gone in. ‘I’m early for our meal,’ he said to Patrick. ‘So I thought I’d drop in and see where I’m to be teaching.’
