Meeting of a Different Kind

Linda MacDonald

Description

When archaeologist Edward Harvey's wife Felicity inherits almost a million, she gives up her job, buys a restaurant and, as a devotee of Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall, starts turning their home into a small eco-farm. Edward is not happy, not least because she seems to be losing interest in him. Taryn is a borderline manic-depressive, a scheming minx, a seductress and user of men. Edward and Taryn don't know each other but they both know Marianne. To Edward, Marianne is a former classmate who sends him crazy emails. She is Taryn's best friend, and when Marianne meets Edward, she tells Taryn how wonderful he is and that he is not the philandering type. Taryn sees a challenge and concocts a devious plan to meet him during a series of lectures he is giving at the British Museum. When Edward and Taryn's paths cross, questions of friendship, loyalty and betrayal are played out against a backdrop of mental fragility and the destabilising effects of a large inheritance... Set in Broadclyst and Beckenham, with a chapter on the Isles ofScilly, A Meeting of a Different Kind is the stand-alone sequel to Meeting Lydia, continuing the story from the perspectives of two very different characters. Like its prequel, it will appeal to fans of adult fiction, especially those interested in the psychology of relationships.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 01 novembre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781780887739
• Langue: English

Extrait

A Meeting of a
Different Kind
Linda MacDonald

Copyright © 2012 Linda MacDonald
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Matador
9 Priory Business Park,
Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,
Leicestershire. LE8 0RX
Tel: [phone]
Fax: [phone]
Email: [e-mail]
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
ISBN 9781780887739
Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB

To Emily, Cameron and Fraser
* * *
Flower of this purple dye,
Hit with Cupid’s archery,
Sink in apple of his eye.
William Shakespeare A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Contents

Cover


About the Author


Acknowledgements


Author’s Note


1


2


3


4


5


6


7


8


9


10


11


12


13


14


15


16


17


18


19


20


21


22


23


24


25


26


27


28


29


30


31


32


33


34


35


36


37


38


39


Also by Linda MacDonald
About the Author
Linda MacDonald was born and brought up in Cockermouth, Cumbria. She was educated at the local grammar school and later at Goldsmiths’, University of London where she studied for a BA in psychology and then a PGCE in biology and science. She taught in a secondary school in Croydon for eleven years before taking some time out to write and paint. In 1990 she returned to teaching at a sixth form college in south-east London where she taught psychology. For over twenty-five years she was also a visiting tutor in the psychology department at Goldsmiths’. She has now given up teaching to focus fully on writing.
Her first published novel Meeting Lydia is a prequel to A Meeting of a Different Kind but either book can be read independently. Meeting Lydia tells of the effects of bullying on later life from the perspective of a woman in turmoil. It also examines midlife crises and internet relationships.
Acknowledgements
The publication of this sequel to Meeting Lydia has only been possible because of the support for its predecessor.
I should like to thank Brian Hurn for critical comments on the first draft and my sister-in-law Lindsey MacDonald for invaluable advice on the opening chapters. Also grateful thanks to Matthew Fall McKenzie for inspired and painstaking interpretation of my brief for cover artwork and to Kit Domino for editorial expertise and professionalism. I am especially grateful to the late Patricia Bullard who advised Broadclyst village as a suitable place for Edward Harvey to live. I had no idea at the time what an unusual and interesting location this would turn out to be.
The team at Troubador have once again provided excellent service and support, especially Amy and Sarah. I am indebted to several people who have helped with research queries: Dr Suzanne Conboy-Hill for clinical expertise and input regarding psychotherapy; Jo Barlow, poultry consultant; Helen Trebble on the workings of the Killerton estate; Alasdair Moore for Tresco tree identification; Rachel Davies for sharing her experiences of apple-packing and Martyn Clayton who pointed me in the right direction on the practice of wassailing.
Finally I would like to say a special thank you to friends and family who have offered encouragement and practical help, and without whom this novel would not have been completed.
Author’s Note
The University of Devon and Stancliffe University in London are fictional institutions at the time of writing, as are Blackbrook High and Cedarwood schools. The maze discovered by Edward Harvey at Troy Town on St Agnes is fictional, but it is not without possibility that there might have been a maze much earlier than the one found dating back to the 18th century. The characters are fictitious with the exception of the owners of the Parsonage in Chapter 25.
L.M.
1

Edward Harvey is not the philandering type, so it would surprise him to know that soon there will be two significant ‘other’ women in his life. At the moment there is only one woman occupying his thoughts, his wife Felicity, but for the first time there are ripples on the matrimonial lake and these thoughts have become disquieting. He might even call them qualms.
It is March 2003 and the family is having breakfast; Edward, Felicity, four children, two springer spaniels and a cat. They are scattered in their newly extended, newly fitted, modern chrome kitchen, with the longed-for double hob, the pine table, the French windows leading out onto the patio, the breakfast bar and the central work station. Pans of various sizes, a fish kettle and two woks hang on the wall and glint in the morning sun. This is a serious kitchen for serious cooks.
Felicity is bustling about grilling bacon, frying eggs, unloading the dishwasher, watering herbs, an expert at multitasking. She says, ‘By the way, Ted, I shall be giving up my job at the end of the term. I’ve handed in my resignation.’
No discussion, just a statement of fact.
‘Are you sure about this,’ says Edward, who is sitting at the table and stops reading his newspaper mid paragraph. A wave of something that others would interpret as panic passes over him. He is not used to being out of control of his life. The qualms multiply in seconds; the ripples on the lake become waves.
‘It’s the only way I’ll have time to carry through my plans,’ says Felicity, basting eggs with a fish slice.
My plans, thinks Edward. Not our plans.
‘Things have changed because of Mummy’s money; I want to put it to good use. Okay so the plans are a tad more ambitious than they were, but a restaurant is what I’ve always wanted, and the children will help. They’ll love it.’
‘I think we should discuss it fully before you do anything hasty.’ Edward hopes that she will listen to his fears and exercise some caution, but he knows that it is not in Felicity’s nature to be cautious. If she had been, they would never have got together in the first place.
‘You’re never here at the time when discussion might be appropriate, Ted. My career has been on hold since we met.’
That’s two Teds already, thinks Edward. And it’s only just gone eight. Bad sign! ‘That’s not strictly true,’ he says.
The children sit on stools around the breakfast bar. James, eighteen, the Brooding Intellectual; Rachel, sixteen, the Sensible One; Harriet, fourteen, the Feisty One … Oh yes, they were very regimented about family planning until Christopher, ten, Red Wine Mistake. Felicity insisted on Edward having a vasectomy after that.
The spaniels, dark-chocolate, Clint and Gryke, five, trot between the table and the bar, hoping for crumbs, awaiting their first morning walk with Edward.
‘The fattest one of us here is Mum,’ says Christopher from the breakfast bar, oblivious of his parents’ conversation.
More incendiary words.
Edward’s attention flips. Felicity … Fat …
‘Chris!’ says Rachel accusingly. Rachel is going on thirty-five.
Christopher is attempting to eat his third Shredded Wheat and his comment is in response to a jibe by Harriet. Edward waits for a huffy repost from his wife.
Felicity turns and glares at her youngest son. ‘With charm like that, you may have difficulty getting a girlfriend.’
Ouch! That was a good strike Flick, but harsh. He’s only ten. He didn’t mean to be unkind.
Edward had never before thought of Felicity as fat and wouldn’t have mentioned it, diplomacy always being wisest in matters of personal attributes. But the idea bothers him, and he is annoyed that it bothers him, preferring to believe that he is higher up the evolutionary scale than those whose decisions about the merits of women are governed by aesthetics.
These thoughts take milliseconds and there are swift reactions from the rest of the children whose seniority relative to Christopher has graced them with considerable tact when dealing with parents, though not, alas, with each other.
‘Oh duh, moron,’ says Harriet, adding, ‘I wonder if Dad’s Fanclub is fat?’
‘Mum is so not fat,’ says Rachel. ‘Curvy is the new thin.’
‘What’s “curvy”?’ asks Christopher.
‘You’ll understand in a year or two,’ says James.
Felicity stalks over to Edward and puts the plate of bacon and eggs firmly in front of him, clattering it against the fork. Her mouth is tightly closed and her eyes are steely blue.
‘What’s up with her?’ whispers James, smoothing his long, wavy brown hair and nibbling a piece of toast.
‘I am here,’ says Felicity. ‘If you must talk about me, can you save it for later when I’m out of earshot?’ She removes the tea towel that’s wrapped around her waist, covering her skirt. Edward catches her eye and tries a smile, but she turns away.
‘Who’s Dad’s fan club?’ asks Christopher, eyes wide behind dark-rimmed spectacles.
‘Dad’s fan club is called Fanclub,’ says Harriet.
Edward gives a sweeping warning glance across the kitchen, briefly scanning each of his children, trying to avert a crisis, but saying nothing. He is conscious of their proximity, but with the distance between the table and the bar, he has a sense of being in another room with a clear partition between himself and the rest of the family. Teenage babble in the mornings mostly goes over his head as lightweight chatter unworthy of attention, but this observation about Felicity has found a place in his brain to lodge and make itself comfortable. He is aware of it stretching out and yawnin