A/N: More and more British expatriates are coming to live in France. They range from newly married couples through to retirees. All are seeking a better quality of life and the adventure and challenge of living in a country that is not only foreign to them geographically, but also in culture, customs, language and systems- and how unfathomable and illogical those systems can be. This story is a peek into the life of one such couple.
* * *
‘You cannot do that!’
The thunderous voice of Angela Hargreaves echoed from the wooden vaulted ceiling and reverberated from the stone walls of the cavernous 13th century gatehouse building giving a greater emphasis to her words.
‘You cannot make anybody buy your book!’ Angela strode from the end of the room towards Phyllis Grainger; her face severe; and her second chins wobbling in unison with her short, pigeon steps. The ten others who were standing around the ancient refectory table, packing their things away at the end of their meeting froze to witness the verbal assault on the luckless Phyllis as it took place.
All were members of La Climoberie Writer’s Guild, organised and hosted by Angela for the British expatriate community in the Haute Vienne department of France. A creative dozen who meet each month to review each other’s writing.
Phyllis shrank back as Angela approached. She wasn’t scared of Angela, not physically frightened of her that is, but she disliked being the centre of attention. They all suffered Angela’s strident mannerisms without complaint simply because they knew her and her ways. Nevertheless, whenever she made a statement it was always in the manner of a pronouncement and they stopped whatever they were doing to observe and listen.
Angela had spent forty years in private education; thirty of which were as Deputy Head of "Larksmoor School for Young Ladies". Everybody knew instinctively that she resented having been passed over for the top position whenever a Head Teacher had moved on. Richard Moss, a retired undertaker from Rotherham had once defined her behavioural trend to the group as being typical of a person who was “always the bridesmaid, but never the bride.” The group had learned it was best never to ask Angela about her past life in education
‘I was only joking Angela.’ Phyllis’s voice had risen an octave above its norm. She fidgeted with her fingers as she endeavoured to explain. Angela now stood close beside her. Phyllis could smell the taint of cigarettes on Angela’s breath and could see the dark discolouration between her teeth as her lips quivered in token of her apparent outrage. Angela slapped the table with the flat of her hand. Its sharp report resounded around the room as a prelude to her next diction.
‘You cannot, cannot, cannot, make anybody buy your book! Don’t ever think that you can!’
‘Yes Angela,’ Phyllis replied meekly. She felt she ought to explain. ‘It was a joke really, Angela. We were discussing what we would send around for review for the next meeting. I said since I am on the last chapter of my novel I would try a short story for next time. Gracie had said she wished to know what happened and all I said was “I think I’ll make you buy the book.” That’s all. It was a joke.’
The meeting dispersed, but the discomfort of the encounter stayed with Phyllis on the thirty-mile drive home from the mediaeval town of La Climoberie. The upset of Angela’s attack stayed with her. She muttered things to the steering wheel that she wished she’d had the courage to say to Angela’s face.
‘Silly old Bat! Still thinks she’s back at school. Runs us like a bunch of blessed fourth formers. Anybody would think she was a great author the way she carries on sometimes.’
Angela’s claim to literary fame was a slim volume of moralist poetry in the style of George Eliot. “For the guidance of the young and immature, on the advent of great adventures in life”. Pompous cow!’
Phyllis slapped the steering wheel to emphasise her words. She was not ordinarily vindictive, but Angela had got under her skin that day.
‘I’ll show her,’ she vowed, unsure of exactly how, as she drove into their short gravelled drive and parked alongside her husband’s white van. Seeing Ralph’s van at home at this time of day swept all thoughts of the meeting and Angela from her mind; a sense of anxiety replaced them. Ralph was a self-employed plasterer. He had found work scarce to come by of late, so that any time during the working day that he was at home, was a cause of concern to them both. She hurried inside hoping that nothing was wrong.
She found Ralph standing in the hall in his boots and stained overalls talking animatedly on the telephone. During his conversation he mouthed ‘Ron’ and placed his finger across his lips to forestall her forthcoming rebuke for him being there in working clothes. Phyllis said nothing, but brushed into him to show her displeasure while passing to go through to her tiny kitchen and make wraps for their lunch.
Ralph sauntered into the kitchen shortly afterwards. Her eyes went directly to his feet and then to the schoolboy smile on his face. Ralph now stood in his socks and had also taken off his overalls.
‘How’d the meeting go then? Any blockbusters come out of it.’ He pulled out a chair and sat at the little kitchen table where they took their meals when their two children were at school or elsewhere
Phyllis wriggled her shoulders as if to shake away a discomfort.
‘All right really, some good things came out of it. Not bad.’
Phyllis turned to continue preparing their lunch, but Ralph grasped her elbow and held her back.
‘Come on Phyll. I know you all too well. What went wrong?’ He spoke warmly, with concern. His voice calmed her fears. His love came to her through his words. She felt secure once more. She brushed away a loose strand of hair from her forehead before sitting down with him at the table. ‘It was nothing really.’
Over the next few minutes she told him about her encounter with Angela and of her upset. When she had finished, Ralph chuckled. He patted her hand to give her reassurance.
‘Don’t let it get to you, love. Damn stone age fossil, what does she know; written a book of rubbish, what did she call it “Etiquette for young ladies at times when they are unable to avoid using somebody else’s loo”?’
Ralph knew what he was doing and it broke his wife’s introspection. They both laughed it off. Phyllis felt better and began to defend Angela.
‘She’s a dear really and works damned hard for the group She means well, but we all wish she wasn’t so damnably bossy.’ Phyllis pulled out a tiny handkerchief from her sleeve, wiped away her sniffles before taking a deep breath. ‘Anyway, what was the call to Ron all about and why are you here at this time of day? Are we still going to England at the weekend?’
Ralph held his arms above his head as if in surrender to her barrage of questions.
‘Hold on there, old thing. I’m only a bloke. One question at a time please; I’m here ‘cos I got a text from Ron to call him urgently. I wasn’t far away so I came home to do it. Next. Yes, we are going to England. He wants me to finish plastering the utility room extension so he can get on and finish the rest of it.’
‘We’re only going for the weekend, will that be enough time for you to do all that? The children don’t want to go, you know?’
Ralph now took a deep breath as a prelude to his reply. ‘As long as he’s got all of the stuff I told him to buy at Wickes I can get it done. It’s all inside stuff. What are we going to do about the kids?’ Ralph looked up at his wife with his hands on his hips and with an expression that said, “this is a mother thing.” Phyllis stood facing him down.
‘It’s up to you really, Ralph. I don’t want you saying one thing one minute and changing your mind afterwards.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you! Rachel is happy to sleep over the weekend with Stephanie. Mme Lefèbre is keen to have her.’
Ralph sniffed loudly as a protest. ‘She spends more time there than she does here these days.’
‘That’s mainly because they all speak the same language.’
The accusation in her tone was unmistakeable. Ralph wisely chose not to pursue the matter, as he was the one member of the family who seemed unable to grasp more than a few basic expressions in French.
‘That leaves Glen. What’s he planning for his weekend with his folks away and an empty house?’ Ralph chuckled suggestively.
Phyllis sat down to confront him.
‘This is serious; Melanie and her family have invited him to stay. He wants to go. How do you feel about him stopping over?’
Ralph waved his hands nonchalantly in front of him. ‘If that’s what they all want, who am I to get in the way.’
‘Ralph,’ Phyllis spoke sharply, ‘he’s only fourteen. His voice has broken and you are his father, doesn’t it worry you at all?’
The acid tone in her voice reminded Phyllis of Angela, but it went over Ralph’s head.
‘I’d be a damned sight more worried if I was Melanie’s dad.’
Phyllis’s hand reached her face too late to stifle her snigger. They both laughed.
‘That’s settled then.’ She wagged a reproving finger at her husband. ‘Just don’t change your mind later. Now what was so urgent about Ron’s call?’
Ralph fiddled with a salt pot as he explained. ‘It’s odd really. You know he told us they’ve been having a bad time at Ankerman Press, where he works, what I didn’t know was how bad it really is. Ron’s been under threat of redundancy for six months now.’
‘Oh that’s awful and he never said anything’ Phyllis gasped.
‘That’s right, he told me they were expecting to be laid off at the end of this month, but something came up that might save their bacon.’ He paused for dramatic effect and earned himself a slap on the arm from Phyllis.
‘Don’t stop there, go on, tell me?’
‘Well, there’s much less book publishing going on now, what with the internet and all, and precious less binding, but they secured a last minute contract with a new publisher and it’s for a hardback…’
‘Oh that’s wonderful, who is it?’ Phyllis could not restrain her impatience.
‘I’m trying to tell you, if you’d only stop interrupting.’
‘Well hurry up then.’
‘OK OK! Well it’s none other than Vern Hopkins’ publisher. They want Ankerman to produce his next novel. They’ve fallen out with the people they have been working with up until now.’
‘My word Ralph, that’s a triumph.’ Phyllis spontaneously jumped to her feet. Her chair overbalanced and fell on the floor. She stood awestruck looking for signs of tease in her husband, but saw none and re-entered the conversation more sedately. ‘Vern Hopkins. He’s huge, His last book outsold “Fifty Shades of Grey”. They talk about him all the time in the group. There’s no author either side of the Atlantic bigger than Vern Hopkins right now, I am so glad for Ron.’
Ralph tried to look unimpressed. ‘I heard he’d sold a few books’. Phyllis railed on her husband’s apparent indifference.
‘Vern Hopkins, he’s red hot. They’re all fans of him at the writer’s group. Never a meeting passes without somebody sidetracking into Vern Hopkins. Some are placing advance orders for this book. Oh I am so glad for Ron.’
Phyllis clasped her hands and held them triumphantly over her head while she pirouetted with joy for her brother in law. Ralph waited for her to stop dancing and to pick up her chair before adding.
‘That’s the good news.’
Phyllis stopped to look questioningly at her husband. His face was grim. ‘You mean there’s bad news as well? Have they cancelled the order, or what?’
Ralph exhaled noisily and shook his head.
‘It’s a hard back novel, due for release on the 24th April. The first batch of books, half a gross, he said. I think that’s five, dozen, dozen or something- anyway it’s about 700 books. They were printed and went to the binding shop last week. They’re meant to be advance copies, promotional books the publishers want to send out for review and all that.’
‘Yes, yes, but what happened” Phyllis sat facing her husband at the table straining to hear his every word.
‘Well, when they came back, they noticed that a section had been omitted. It seems the people who assemble the printed pages into book form had missed out the Prologue.’ Phyllis looked confused and interjected.
‘But books these days don’t have Prologues. Publishers don’t like them.’
Ralph waved her down and continued. ‘That’s what the manager said, but it seems success has gone to Vern Hopkins’s head. He wants to fly in the face of convention and put in a Prologue. He wanted to get his back-story put down there and lead on directly into the main account or something. That’s what Ron said. Anyway, he’s so important to the publisher, they’ve let him have his way.’
‘Good Lord. What happened when they found out about the mistake?’
‘Nothing’s happened yet. Ankerman Press are running scared of losing the publisher. They daren’t tell them and think themselves lucky they found the error before dispatching them. They’ve put a rush job on to print and bind another batch and will suffer the loss themselves. It’s money they can’t afford to lose in their present financial circumstances.’
‘What about the ruined books, can’t they sell them as seconds?’
‘I asked Ron about that and he said it’s all hush hush, top secret stuff, nothing to come out before the book launch on the 24th. The books have to be destroyed. Ankerman have booked a place in a secure incinerator, where they burn old banknotes and bonds. Ron’s got the job of taking them there next Tuesday, under a police escort no less. It’s costing Ankerman a fortune. What do you think about that?’
Phyllis thought nothing about it. Her mind was suddenly racing on an idea forming in her brain to thwart Angela. She sat back in her chair, all thought of lunch now gone out of her head. In a pensive frame of mind she asked.
‘Did he say how these books are packed?’
‘No. He never said. What are you up to Phyll? I know that look.’
Phyllis giggled. ‘Did you mean it when you said I could have my book printed for my birthday, if I finished it in time?’
Ralph shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.’ ‘Umm Ye..ee..s. If you finish it in time, but you’ve not finished it yet. Have you?’
‘Not yet, but I’ve only a few pages to go and I could finish it tonight, but for a bit of editing. Did you really mean it? Can we really afford it?’
Ralph saw his wife’s excitement blazing in her eyes and the flushing of her cheeks. He was caught and he knew it.
‘Business isn’t good right now and what with the kids and their needs…’ He saw disappointment flood into his wife’s face to replace her elation and relented, ‘.. of course we can.’
Phyllis hugged and kissed him then jumped to her feet and began bobbing up and down like young girl that’s been promised a new party dress.
‘Oh can I? And if I finish it earlier can I have my present earlier?’
‘What’s all this about, Phyll?’ Ralph saw clearly that something was fomenting inside her brain. She sat down and outlined her latest brain wave. His jaw sagged in surprise as he listened.
‘What do you think’? She asked. ‘Do you think your brother would do that for me?’
Ralph emitted a long, demonstrative whistle prior to replying. ‘I don’t know Phyll. It’s a big ask you know. He could get into all sorts of trouble. I really couldn’t say. You’d have to ask him.’
She glanced at the kitchen clock ‘He should still be at home? Lets do it before he goes back to work’
They hurried into the hall and put through a call to Ralph’s brother.
‘Hi Ron, it’s Ralph again, Phyll wants a word. It’ll only take a minute. We know you have to get back to the works.’ He passed the receiver to Phyllis.
‘ Hello Ron, we’re all set to come over at the weekend and finish that utility room Madge needs so badly. Good news about the Vern Hopkins contract. Bit of setback about the first batch though.’ Her tone became confidential and inquisitive. ‘Ron. Can you tell me how those books are packed and where they are right now?’
‘They’re under lock and key in the works, I’ve got the only key. They’re in cardboard boxes of twelve. What do you want to know for?’
Briefly she explained her scheme to him.
‘I can’t do that,’ Ron gasped before she had properly finished telling him her plan, ‘It’s more’n my jobs worth.’
‘But if you’ve lost your job anyway...’ Phyllis regretted saying that the moment she had uttered it. However, she kept quiet and could sense the perturbation at the other end of the line as Ron worked through his options and fears. ‘Would they still come and finish the utility room if I say no? I need Ralph to do it and can’t afford contractors prices.’ Phyllis waited for Ron to speak. He sounded chastened, defeated, when he came back on the line.
‘If anything was to get out before the 24th April, well I could even go to prison; maybe.’
‘I’ll see nothing gets out before the 24th. I promise you Ron.’ Phyllis was most persuasive Ron’s resolve crumpled.
‘All right then, but how do you want me to do it.’
‘Listen Ron, if you can get a box of a dozen and take it home. Then take out the books, buy a dozen old books from the charity shop, about the same size. They sell them for pennies as I remember, seal them up in the box and put it back with the others to go to the incinerator on Tuesday. I’ll pick up the others from you this weekend. They’re going over to France so don’t worry. I’ll talk everything through with you over the weekend. I only want a dozen. Will you do that for me?’
‘All right, just this once. But I don’t like it. In fact I’m scared stiff.’
‘Thanks Ron. I’ll give you a big hug when I see you on Friday night.’
* * *
The launch of Vern Hopkins’s new novel on April 24th coincided with the next meeting of the Writer’s Guild. Phyllis was running late for the meeting and expected a rebuke from Angela for her unpunctuality. The others had just settled down around the table when she arrived, all she had missed so far was the pre-meeting coffee, which earned her a frown from Angela as she entered the room weighed down on one side by the heavy shopping bag she carried.
‘Whatever have you got there Phyllis?’ Angela’s voice boomed as she entered and watched Phyllis struggle to her place at the end of the table over the top her spectacles. ‘Are you moving house or something?’ A polite titter from the group brought a satisfied smile to Angela’s face as she looked to Phyllis for a reply.
Phyllis was not intimidated by being under Angela’s spotlight, not today. ‘All in good time,’ she said lightly, tapping her nose knowingly as she sat down at the table.
The meeting got underway with the customary discussion of the work each had circulated to the others. Angela decided to start with Phyllis who had sent around a short story instead of the final pages of her novel; much to Gracie’s disappointment. Phyllis whiled away the meeting and contributed very little to the proceedings. Her attention rested solely on seeking the right moment to tell the group that she had finished and published her book; and she had copies with her for sale that very day.
Her moment arrived at the end of the meeting. Angela rose to her feet to close the meeting. ‘Is there anything else or are we all done?” Angela stared at each person in turn with her gavel poised to strike the beech wood pad on the table to bring an end to the business for that day.
Phyllis tingled throughout her body as the adrenalin coursed through her arteries. Angela raised the gavel another inch prior to bringing it crashing onto the pad when Phyllis spoke in an uncustomary strong voice.
‘Actually there is.’ All eyes turned towards her and Phyllis smiled at each in turn before announcing. ‘I am launching my book today.’ Deftly she brought a copy out of the shopping bag and passed it to Angela.
There was a ripple of surprised applause from the assembly and several congratulatory comments. Angela flicked through a few pages before passing it on with an expression that suggested a nasty smell had lodged in her nose. Each of the members looked at the book in turn, adding a complimentary remark.
‘Nice Cover’
‘Well done Phyllis!’
‘Congratulations.’
By the time it came back to Phyllis none of them had offered to buy the book or asked to read it even.
Other than platitudes, Adrian Barnett made the only valid remark from the far end of the table.
‘£8.99. It’s a bit steep. I thought you were bringing it out cheaper than that?’
Phyllis’s heart jumped for joy. This was her moment and she held the unbridled attention of the whole group. With trembling hands she took out a copy of Vern Hopkins’ latest novel from her bag and held it up for all to see. There was a loud gasp followed by an audible commotion as everybody recognised the book and spoke at once. Rosemary Pilcher’s shrill voice sounded above all others. ‘That’s his latest.’
‘Yes it is,’ Phyllis replied confidently, but as casually as she could manage. She was into her stride now. ‘It’s released today as well as mine. My publisher thought it would be a good way to introduce a new author if they gave away a copy of Vern Hopkins’ book to the first dozen people who bought a copy of mine; at full price that is. I know how much you all like Hopkins and I thought it would be right and proper of me to give you the first chance.’
She said no more as nobody was listening to her any longer. There was instead a scramble for purses and wallets around the table.
‘How much is £8.99 in Euros?’
‘Make it ten Euros for cash,’ Phyllis replied smugly and held her hand to her mouth to conceal her smirk.
Minutes later Phyllis sat with 110 Euros in front of her while the others feverishly turned the pages of the latest Vern Hopkins novel. She was just a tad disappointed that her own book lay untouched on the table in front of them. Angela had bought a copy and had her nose inside it when Phyllis wrote a few words in her notebook. She tore out the page and passed it to Angela, who read,
‘You CAN make somebody buy your book!’
Copyright 2013 Peter Thomson aka Hobnails All Rights Reserved