The Blurb

  The Blurb

  by

  Therese Rea

  HCBN 101-010-0011

  This e-book is published by

  Hiddencave

  Southampton, UK

  www.hiddencave.com

  info@hiddencave.com

  Published by Hiddencave UK 2001

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2001 by Therese Rea

  trea@netaccess.co.nz

  The Blurb

  I do a bit of writing so when my new neighbour, Daphne Haile, invited me to go to her book discussion meeting, I thought it would be an interesting way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

  We arrived at Lancewood Drive a bit after one thirty. It was my fault we were late. Just as I was clearing away the lunch dishes, I had an idea for a story and when that happens, I drop whatever I’m doing and jot it down. I hadn’t told Daphne about my writing so made an excuse about an important phone call.

  No.35 was a white gabled house set well back from the street. As we drove up the tree-lined avenue, I couldn’t help remarking on the excessively neat and tidy garden.

  ‘No weed with a wish for a long life would dare show its face in that garden,’ I said to Daphne.

  She looked at me strangely. My family keep telling me that my peculiar sense of humour would get me into trouble, and, from the look on her face, Daphne seemed to agree with them.

  Our hostess, Marlene Forbes- Smith, met us at the door. A nervous, rather fluttery type of person, she was very smartly and expensively dressed. My well-worn jeans and familiar tee shirt were obviously out of place. After the introductions, Daphne said apologetically.

  ‘Sorry I had to spring this meeting on you at such short notice, Marlene, but Nolene went down with the ‘flu.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Ruby replied,’ as long as you’re prepared to overlook the dirt and dust. My cleaning lady doesn’t come till Monday. Turning to me, she said,’ with an adolescent in the house at weekends, it is difficult to keep up a decent standard.’

  I agreed wholeheartedly. Sneaking a glance through the door of her almost clinically clean lounge, I thought of my own unwashed dishes and the mess left my own three teenagers before they rushed off to their sports meetings.

  I thought, ‘ if this is dirt and dust, I’d never be able to host a book club meeting at my house.’

  We were the last to arrive, the other four members being already seated in the spacious lounge.

  ‘I would like to introduce a potential new member,’ Daphne announced. ‘Alicia…meet Neil, Margaret, Peter and our treasurer, Zelda. We dispense with surnames here,’ she told me,’ it’s much cosier.’

  For a time we talked about the weather, inflation and the usual things people talk about when there is a stranger present. Then Daphne, who appeared to be the leader of the group, called the meeting to order.

  ‘We might as well get started now. There’s no correspondence…Zelda…finance…what’s the money situation?’

  Zelda flicked rather importantly through some papers on her lap and said, ‘there’s eleven dollars, fifty in kitty.’

  Sitting next to me was Neil, a large, red-faced man who had been scowling ever since I arrived. He seemed to brighten up.

  ‘That can’t be right,’ he said. ‘Last month we had seventeen dollars fifty cents. I remember distinctly.’ He made a mental calculation and said accusingly to Zelda. ‘What have you done with the other six dollars?’

  With amazing agility for someone her size, Zelda leapt to her feet and stood over Neil

  ‘Are you insinuating that I stole six dollars, Neil Bowen? How dare you!’ Shaking with rage, she turned to the others. ‘I suppose you all think I did too.’

  Daphne rose and took hold of Zelda’s arm and led her back to her chair. ‘Of course Neil didn’t meant that you took it, dear,’ she said soothingly.’ You’ve been our treasurer for years now and we have the utmost confidence in you.’

  All the others, with the exception of Neil who muttered "oh yeah", murmured their agreement. Slightly mollified, Zelda re-seated herself.

  Daphne said tactfully. ‘You must have paid something out during the month, dear. Can you think what it was?’

  ‘I remember writing something down at the last meeting but don’t know what I did with it,’ Zelda replied sulkily.

  Margaret, a thin nondescript little woman, was sitting directly opposite me. Her dull, brown suit was lightened by a very costly looking string of pearls. I’m no expert but I’m sure they must have been worth plenty.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said hesitantly…’but last month Zelda wrote something on her hand with a biro.’ She looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry…I can’t remember what it was.’

  ‘Of course…it was for that catalogue, Zelda,’ Daphne said, looking pleased. ‘Thank you, Margaret, you have a good memory.’

  Margaret blushed and lowered her head.

  ‘ That’s right!’ Zelda breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘I sent it away immediately after the meeting. It was exactly six dollars.’ She glanced at Neil but he just shook his head and gave me a cynical smile.

  ‘Zelda, will you collect the money now?’ Daphne asked, and Zelda went round the room collecting fifty cents from each one. When she came to Neil she said abruptly. ‘One dollar fifty from you, Neil. You didn’t pay the last two times.’

  It was Neil’s turn to look embarrassed. He made a show of searching through his pockets but soon gave up the pretence. ‘Sorry,’ he said in a subdued voice. ‘My wife still hasn’t given me my allowance. I’ll catch up as soon as I can.’

  The others remained silent and I could sense a feeling of sympathy. ‘Here’s a chance for Zelda to get her own back,’ I thought, but surprisingly, she said in a gentle voice.

  ‘Never mind the money, Neil…just as long as you’re here. We won’t go broke.’ She looked thoughtful as she returned to her chair.

  Whatever Neil’s problem was, and I was dying to know, the group obviously understood and sympathised with his predicament. I was intrigued for my impression was that he was a nasty, unpleasant character. However, no one volunteered an explanation and I was left to wonder.

  I thought that now we would get round to discussing the book but I was wrong. Peter, a young and self-assured young man, dropped his glasses and inadvertently kicked them underneath his chair. As he bent to retrieve them, he said jokingly.

  ‘I won’t disturb any more dust than I have to, Marlene.’

  She reacted indignantly.’ What do you mean, Peter Wilson? I’ll have you know I cleaned this room out thoroughly this morning.’

  Upset because his little joke had misfired, Peter retorted angrily. ‘Make up your mind, Marlene. It was only a short time ago you said you didn’t have any time for cleaning.’

  I said earlier that Marlene seemed a fluttery sort of person and now she proved me right. She fluttered around the room, and in my imagination I could picture her fluttering out of the window like a lost butterfly. She looked pleadingly at Daphne and I heard her whisper.

  ‘Do you think it is time for afternoon tea?’ and Daphne nodded.

  We drank our afternoon tea from dainty china cups and ate dainty club sandwiches, Danish pastries and other delectable goodies. When we congratulated Marlene on the repast she said modestly that it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

  After a lengthy tea break, we talked about everything except "The Mastercard Preference", the book we were there to discuss. I had spent a considerable time analysing the book and had a list of comments for discussion., so took it upon myself to broach the subject.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Daphne, ‘I’m afraid I didn’t have time to read it myself.’

  ‘I didn’t have time either, Zelda said.

  Neil and Margaret both
produced a copy of the book but Peter said with great fervour.

  ‘I read the blurb in the library…it was disgusting. I wouldn’t have that trash in my house…not with young children.’

  I was astonished. I had enjoyed the book and couldn’t understand what he objected to.

  ‘To start with…living with that chap in sin and having his baby,’ he said sarcastically.

  I pointed out that even the "blurb" stated her husband had been officially declared dead and she couldn’t possibly have known he would return.

  There was a sudden movement opposite me and I was just in time to see Margaret spring up out of her chair. With her head held high and flushed cheeks, she demanded of Peter.

  ‘Who do you think you are to pass judgement? ‘ Her voice was firm and resolute, quite unlike the negative tone she had used earlier.’ Living in sin indeed! What gives you the right to say that? What would you know about it?

  We all sat in stunned silence. Clearly this reaction was out of character. Peter’s face paled and his mouth drooped as he stared at her in shock. I felt sorry for him.

  Daphne, the peacemaker, came to the rescue again. ‘I’m sure it was just a figure of speech dear, Peter didn’t mean any harm, did you Peter’

  Peter shook his head miserably and muttered. ‘No…sorry, Margaret.’

  With a final piercing stare, Margaret resumed her old hunched up position in her chair. To my amazement, there followed a long and complicated discussion on the morality of re-marrying when a partner had been declared dead. Eventually it came to an end when Daphne said.

  ‘Goodness me! Is that the time? We’ll have to go, Alicia. I have an appointment at the Art Gallery at five thirty.’

  On the way home, Daphne asked me if I had found the meeting interesting. ‘They’re a great crowd aren’t they. I love getting together with the literary people.’

  I said I had found it interesting and I meant it. Ideas and characters were fluttering in my mind just as Marlene had fluttered in the lounge earlier. There must be a story in the private life of Neil and what about Margaret’s uncharacteristic reaction to Peter’s foolish comment. Zelda was an interesting character too. I was eager to get home and jot down my impressions.

  ‘But ’ I said to Daphne,’ we didn’t get round to discussing the book.’

  ‘No,’ she replied,’ but then we seldom do. There is so much else to talk about.’

  She looked at me and said quite seriously.’ We didn’t do too badly today, dear. We discussed the ‘"blurb" at length, didn’t we?’

 

 

  Therese Rea, The Blurb

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