another, I mean.’
Emma rescued her. ‘Great idea, Amy. Shall I go first?’ She beamed at the group. ‘I’m Emma Tizzard and you all probably know, I work with Natasha at Hughes and Widrow, the estate agent’s up in town. I absolutely love to read and I’ll read anything. I’m working my way through the Poldark series at the moment. The main problem is time.’ She looked around. ‘It’s probably something we all battle with. Finding the time to read.’ A few nodded. ‘Well, that’s me…’ She tailed off and looked to Kit.
‘I’m Kit Oakley,’ he said after clearing his throat. ‘Just moved into the area. I’m in the middle of setting up the farm I’ve just bought. Like Emma, I love to read and will read anything too, although I don’t sleep much so finding the time is maybe easier. Reading at night means I get through an awful lot of reading material.’
There were one or two murmurs of sympathy and then Tash realised it was her turn. ‘I’m Natasha, although most people call me Tash. As Emma said, we work together at the estate agents. I’m the manager. I live up on the new estate on the edge of town and I don’t have much time to read at all but when I do I like something escapist, a good beach read.’ There was no reaction to this at all. Sod them. Tash stopped talking and turned to the woman next to her.
‘Well, you all know me,’ she began, stoutly. ‘I’m Biddy Roulestone, used to be Treeby, as I’ve not long married.’ One or two giggled. Biddy glared and they shut up. ‘I like a good biography or a bit of Dickens and I’m partial to erotica, as long as it’s well written, that is.’
Tash smothered a laugh. She knew Biddy by reputation. Pete, her manager before his promotion, had dealt with Biddy when she’d bought the huge house on the hill. She’d been a cash buyer. He claimed he’d never recovered from the experience.
One by one, they all introduced themselves. The only other man present caused a slight stir when he said he was Patrick Carroll and a writer. Tash saw the blush creep over Amy’s face and didn’t blame her. The man, with his black hair and vivid blue eyes, was gorgeous.
A woman in an arty linen smock and large earrings introduced herself last. ‘I’m Marti Cavendish and I live on the new development too.’ She smirked at the group as if they should all be impressed by the fact.
Tash had noticed her when she’d come in. She thought she looked familiar and now recognised her from the six-bedroom detached at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was the biggest, most expensive house on the estate. She often flashed past Tash’s house in her Audi convertible.
‘You probably know me as I volunteer in the charity shop,’ Marti preened. ‘I love to read too and I read most things but not those big books with the gold lettering.’ She gave a delicate shudder. ‘I don’t read trash.’ She gave Tash a quick look as if in challenge.
Tash was about to retaliate and then remembered, as an estate agent in a small town, it wasn’t politic to annoy anyone. You never knew whose house you were going to sell next.
Amy beamed. ‘Millie, do you want to add anything?’
Millie smiled. ‘Just that you all know me, Millie Fudge, or rather Millie Henville now. I was ecstatic to buy this old place and rescue it. Owning a bookshop is a real bucket list tick for me, because I’ve always loved to read and belonged to the library’s book club for years, when it was running. Or tried to. Work kept getting in the way.’ She shrugged, her brown hair falling over her face. ‘I just love reading, talking about books. Any kind of books. I never had the chance to go to university, so I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since, I suppose. To get people together and discussing what they’ve read is a dream and I’m determined, now I’ve got a full-time manager in the café, to be fully committed to a book group this time.’ She turned to Tash before she continued. ‘And I love escapist beach reads too.Oh, and I also promise to provide good food and wine!’ Everyone laughed. They knew Millie’s reputation for great catering.
‘Thanks Millie,’ Amy said. She looked around and blushed again. ‘Well, that’s everyone. Thank you for coming. Our next task is to decide which book we want to read for this month.’
‘I’ll go and get some more wine, shall I?’ Millie offered. ‘This could take some time.’
It did.
No one could agree. Emma suggested one of the Poldark books, Patrick offered a travelogue about walking in the Hindu Kush and Biddy wanted A Tale of Two Cities. Tash kept out of it. After all, she’d only agreed to come with Em for this first meeting, she had no intention of coming again and certainly wouldn’t bother reading any of the books. The arguments even continued throughout Millie’s excellent sandwiches and coffee. They re-grouped back in the reading area, with topped up wine glasses.
‘What about Wuthering Heights?’ Kit put in. Everyone stopped bickering and looked at him. He had a way of commanding attention. Perhaps it was the deep, authoritative voice. The sun had lowered almost into the sea and, as it shone through the huge windows, imbued the reading area with a warm orange glow. It deepened his suntan and picked out the red highlights in his hair.
‘Oh, I loved that when we had to read it at school,’ Tash said, impulsively.
‘I so adore the classics,’ Marti gushed. ‘Oh, Charlotte Brontë. The Mahler of the literary world, as I always like to think of her.’
The women who had come with her looked on admiringly and nodded.
‘It’s Emily Brontë, actually,’ Tash said.
Marti blinked. ‘Did I say Charlotte? I meant Emily, of course.’ She flushed unbecomingly.
‘It’s easy to mix them up,’ Emma said, ever the diplomat. ‘I never have a clue who wrote what.’
‘Haven’t read any Brontë for years,’ Biddy said. ‘And I was born in that part of the world. Be good to reread it. Cruel book though,’ she added and shuddered.
Amy looked from one face to the other. ‘Wuthering Heights, then? I mean, we could discuss a few more?’
‘I think most of us are in agreement, Amy,’ Kit said, looking around. The others gave a collective sigh, obviously relieved something had been decided. He looked at his watch. ‘And it’s getting quite late. I have to get back to put the chickens away.’
That was the cue for people to begin gathering their coats and bags.
‘Millie,’ Biddy roared, getting up and going over to her. ‘Got a new recipe for chocolate brownies. Think they might go down a storm in the caff.’
‘Same time in three weeks,’ Amy spluttered, aware she was losing control of the group and trying to regain it desperately. ‘I’ve got all your email addresses so I’ll be in touch. Thank you all for coming,’ she called, as they tripped down the spiral staircase and drifted out into the night. ‘And don’t forget the bookshop’s grand opening in a couple of weeks!’
Taking pity on her and seeing Millie had been ambushed by Biddy, Tash volunteered Emma and herself to help tidy up. They pushed the chairs back into position to the soundtrack of Amy’s effusive thanks. Kit glanced at Marti, as she ushered her coterie out. She was talking loudly about the importance of Emmaline Brontë’s poetry. He blew out a frustrated breath and began to collect glasses.
‘Put them in the kitchen in the café please, Kit,’ Millie said, having escaped Biddy’s clutches. Kit nodded and hefted a tray downstairs. ‘Nice man,’ she said, as the women watched him disappear.
‘Strangely attractive too, in a weird way,’ Emma added. ‘Scything muscles to die for.’
Tash looked at them in disdain. ‘Close your mouth Em, you’re salivating. And get a grip, you’ve got Ollie. I can’t see the attraction, personally. Big nose. Felt a bit sorry for you, Amy. He practically took over.’
‘I didn’t mind, actually.’ Amy blushed. ‘It was getting a bit out of hand, wasn’t it? I never thought we’d