Oberon Out

Lucinda Hart

Description

And Robin shall restore amends... Amends for 'what' is the question. Four agents, four problems to be resolved by mastermind Robin Goodfellow. A midsummer wedding in a Georgian country house and garden - all the trimmings, but who will be the lucky girl? A doomed love affair in the Welsh mountains ended brutally, but who is the final loser? Ripe fruits, pungent herbs and bright vegetables at a farmers' market; their colours and scents mark the turning of the seasons, but autumn also brings darkness and decay. Crazy, illicit goings-on at a department Christmas party lead to comedy, and badly conceived lies to identity crises, sexual confusion and narrowly averted matrimonial disasters. Oberon Out subtly blends controversial ethical issues, nostalgic memories of gentle romance, compassion, forgiveness and uproarious humour, all emotions familiar in the inspiration for this book, A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 31 mai 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528964487
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Oberon Out
Lucinda Hart
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-05-31
Oberon Out About the Author About the Book Dedication Copyright Information Acknowldegements Act I Love in Idleness Act II Where the Wild Thyme Blows Act III Green Figs and Mulberries Act IV Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be! Act V Almost Fairytime
About the Author
Lucinda Hart lives in Cornwall with her two young daughters. She has an honours degree in Fine Art and Creative Writing, and a Masters in Creative Writing, both from Bath Spa University. She has been writing since early childhood and is now the author of nine novels. Place is very important to Lucinda and her work frequently features her favourite locations.
Oberon Out is the first of her novels to be published by Austin Macauley.
About the Book
And Robin shall restore amends…
Amends for ‘what’ is the question. Four agents, four problems to be resolved by mastermind Robin Goodfellow.
A midsummer wedding in a Georgian country house and garden – all the trimmings, but who will be the lucky girl?
A doomed love affair in the Welsh mountains ended brutally, but who is the final loser?
Ripe fruits, pungent herbs and bright vegetables at a farmers’ market; their colours and scents mark the turning of the seasons, but autumn also brings darkness and decay.
Crazy, illicit goings-on at a department Christmas party lead to comedy, and badly conceived lies to identity crises, sexual confusion and narrowly averted matrimonial disasters.
Oberon Out  subtly blends controversial ethical issues, nostalgic memories of gentle romance, compassion, forgiveness and uproarious humour, all emotions familiar in the inspiration for this book,  A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Dedication
This book is for my family: my daughters Raphael and Aelfrida, my mother Caroline, and my grandfather Alfred. Also for my father Chris and my grandmother Sylvia, who never lived to see it in print. This is for you all with my gratitude and love.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Lucinda Hart (2019)
The right of Lucinda Hart to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528925884 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528925891 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528964487 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowldegements
Maddie’s butterfly house is better known as the Magic of Life Butterfly House at Cwm Rheidol, Aberystwyth. This is one of my favourite places and I recommend it without hesitation. If you’re lucky, you’ll meet Neil there, who knows more about butterflies and moths than any other person I know. Thank you, Neil, for letting me use your place, for letting me hold your Atlas moths, and for telling me about Denmark.
Still in Wales, if you haven’t been to the beautiful reservoirs of Elan and Claerwen, you might like to take a look at them online or, better still, visit them.
The Farmers’ Market in Bath is on Saturdays in Green Park Station. One of the original farmers’ markets, it is lively and vibrant with colour and music.

Thanks also to Mark and Tim for showing me around an NHS Sterile Services Department and for answering my many questions. Behind all the medics, managers, and nurses in all our hospitals are vast unseen armies of people keeping the places going. This book features just one of these armies.
Wotton House and its gardens are based on a real location, sadly no longer open to the public. The gardens would have made a wonderful setting for A Midsummer Night’s Dream .
Finally, thanks to CL for the title.
Act I

Love in Idleness
“ How now, Spirit .” Fairy arranges delicate segments of pink and white cake on a long oval platter, and looks up at the man in the doorway.
There are bowls of fruit, jewel-bright and luscious: cherries, strawberries, grapes, and crescents of melon. There are plates of spun-sugar confectionery. There are six Champagne flutes.
“You’ve done a beautiful job as always, Fairy.” RG unwinds the green silk scarf he wears even on these balmy June evenings. “We’ve had to wait some time for tonight, haven’t we?”
“I’m still not sure about him.” Fairy strikes a match, dips it to one of the tea lights. “I don’t think he’s reliable.”
“You weren’t sure about Peaseblossom either,” RG retorts, helping himself to a slice of pink iced cake.
“And I was right,” says Fairy, blowing out the match, and standing back to survey the ring of candles gently flickering in the breeze coming through the open casement. “I’m not happy with her doing the Midsummer job. And don’t eat all the cake.”
“Don’t be spiky, Fairy. Peaseblossom has done well. I shall ask her to stay behind tonight. It will suit her well. She won’t let us – you – down.”
“It’s most unwise. Give it to Moth. Look what Peaseblossom did at the christening last month.”
“That wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know the priest was listening. And everything worked out all right with the great-aunt in the end. Now, I need to sort out the money for Moth and Cobweb for the London job. They’re a good team.”
“Moth and Cobweb are a different class of agent altogether.” Fairy pats her silver bun in front of the wall mirror.
“Please try to be agreeable tonight, Fairy. This is a special evening to enjoy the company of all our agents, and to welcome Mustardseed into our family.”
He leaves her grumbling in the outer reception and goes through into his private office at the back. The agency occupies the floor above a high street goldsmiths in the centre of Bath. The reception room overlooks New Bond Street. RG sometimes wishes he had taken that room for his office, but then he would not have the fun of irritating Fairy by wandering in, opening the blinds and watching the crowds tramping the pavements below. It was from that very window he first saw Mustardseed some four weeks ago.
It was a Monday lunchtime. Summer rain was falling. Fairy had gone to one of the organic delis under her voluminous umbrella, and RG was standing alone at the front window gazing out through a fine veil of drizzle. The boy was striding down the opposite pavement. He wore jeans and a dark shirt, with a black cap on his head. A siren howled from around the corner in Milsom Street, and an ambulance forced into the queue of cars. Its siren wailed and wailed, strobes spinning, and the boy turned to find the source of the noise. As he turned, RG saw the long tumbling ponytail of russet hair under his cap. The traffic moved on, the ambulance shunted underneath the window, and the boy disappeared into the crowd. RG thought no more of him, until he sorted through the applications for the job vacancy he’d advertised, and saw on one a photograph of the young man with the bronze ponytail. He shortlisted him, interviewed him – with three others – a few days later and, that same evening, rang to offer him the job.
RG counts out fifties and twenties, and slides them into two envelopes for Moth and Cobweb. He checks the time. Nearly seven o’clock. He’s asked these two for seven, Peaseblossom for ten past, and Mustardseed for twenty past. As he locks the desk drawer, the bell rings on the street below, and he hears Fairy speaking on the intercom. She’s friendly: it must be Moth and Cobweb.
He greets them on the landing, shakes Cobweb’s hand, kisses Moth on the cheek. Fairy is right, he thinks, as he hands them their money. They are by far the best agents he’s ever employed. Moth is a quiet girl, studying for a PhD. Her hair is soft and brown and moth-like, and people don’t realise what’s beneath that inscrutable exterior.
“Moth, Cobweb, huge congratulations on that assignment. The client called me earlier. He’s delighted with your work.”
“It was great fun.” Cobweb folds his envelope into the inner pocket of his jacket. He’s dressed discreetly in black, with dark hair gelled into spikes and his eyes outlined in smoky liner.
RG ushers them into the reception room, and opens a bottle of Champagne with a crack. Bubbles cascade down the flutes in Fairy’s hands and Cobweb exclaims over the delicate morsels on the plates. The four of them clink glasses. RG inhales the heady dry breath of the wine. He dreads the day when he may have to call Cobweb in and say he can no longer offer him work. Cobweb’s an actor, resting at present but, if his face becomes better known, he won’t be able to work for the agency any more. Fortunately, Cobweb is a master of disguise with hats and hair dye and wigs, which make him unrecognisable to most people. For one job he dressed as a woman, but he does that occasionally anyway.
The street bell rings again. Fairy finishes her piece of cake before answering.
“Peaseblossom,” she sniffs down the intercom. “Yes, come up.”
“Everyone will be here tonight,” RG smiles. “Our new Mustardseed is arriving shortly.”
He can hear Peaseblossom’s feet bouncing up the stairs. She arrives on the landing in a breathless haze of fluffy blonde hair and floral scent.
“Robin,” she cries, taking both his hands in hers. “So good to see you again. Is Mustardseed here yet?”
“RG to you,” Fairy mutters, as she pours a glass of Champagne for Peaseblossom.
“Those cakes look divine, Fairy.” Peaseblossom gulps her drink. “Did you make them yourself? Moth, I just love that shawl. Is it antique?”
Cobweb kisses Peaseblossom’s outstretched hand, and she giggles and flushes.
“If you could stay for a few moments at the end, Pea