The Knapthorne Conspiracy by Malcolm Ballard (best english novels for beginners txt) 📕

but it seemed that her essential fashion plan was based on getting noticed. The colour and co-ordination of her clothes and accessories owed more to Dali and Picasso than the dictates of fashion or common sense and she stood out like a wrong note played at a recital but she enjoyed the attention. She may not have been tall but she wasn’t short on either wit or intellect with a never-failing ability to laugh at herself and capable of delivering stunning one-liners that could drop her critics in their tracks. Professionally, she had built herself quite a reputation and, for that, Bella respected her but it was Jane’s personal life that was giving Bella cause for concern. As she drove west along Cromwell Road, passing the imposing building that housed the Natural History Museum, she recalled a comment Jane had once made that summed-up the sadness of her situation. Jane had invited her to attend the launch of a star rugby player’s kiss and tell memoirs, which had been held at Twickenham, home of English rugby union, and the place was brim full of male hunks. One of the England flankers had stopped, in passing, and said, “Don’t I know you?” the remark obviously aimed at Bella herself. She had fobbed him off, with a polite denial, and sent him on his way only to find Jane staring up at her, in total disbelief.

“I don’t believe you did that?” She looked incredulous.

“Did what?”

“Do you know who that was, darling?”

“Should I?” Bella asked, knowing full well and trying not to laugh.

“Half the women in London, no, correction, England would give anything for a date with that guy and you turn him away!” The stunned look on Jane’s face suggested that Bella had lost all reason.

“But I’m not half the women in England,” Bella reminded her, calmly.

“Jesus!”  Jane exclaimed, bitterly, stamping her foot. “Jesus Christ!”

“Jane, what on earth’s the matter?” By now, Bella couldn’t help but be amused at her antics, knowing that she was hamming it up.

“Oh, there’s nothing the matter, sweetie, why should there be? It’s just that you turn away one of the country’s most eligible batchelors, with that little flick of the head of yours, and, as usual, I’m totally ignored.” Jane pushed her bottom lip out, as though she were sulking, and stared into her empty glass. “Probably thought you were talking to a tight head prop from Llanelli, anyway,” she said, gloomily.

From a woman’s point of view Jane was excellent company, being both lively and good-natured with an excellent sense of humour, but the qualities which made her such a good friend were not those that were the first to attract male attention. Not as a rule, anyway. As an adult, Bella hadn’t been given to thinking about her looks much, more or less taking them for granted, although growing up with Laura had demonstrated how important appearance could be. It wasn’t until she met Jane that she realised the torture and frustration that could be inflicted through being five foot four inches tall and a size eighteen. As Jane had once said of her looks, in a typical moment of candour, “If you’ve got it, you don’t think about it. If you haven’t, believe me, darling, you don’t think about anything else!”

Playing matchmaker had been a disaster and taught Bella a memorable lesson. Don’t interfere!  Yet she had only acted out of the goodness of her heart and caused nothing but trouble, nearly losing Jane’s friendship in the process. She had found out the hard way that her good friend neither begged for nor appreciated sympathy, end of story. But that had been four years ago and now she had sensed a change in Jane, as if the relentless passage of time was sending her a message and that was what was worrying Bella. On a whim, she decided to go across to Hampstead and Parliament Hill Fields, one of London’s great open spaces, somewhere she hadn’t been in almost a year. Although Jane had been occupying her thoughts, there was also the pressing matter of the next book. The idea of a brisk walk in the fresh air appealed to her as it might be just the thing to blow away the cobwebs and give her some inspiration on both fronts. Inevitably, she couldn’t even think about the book, briefly, without the cottage coming to mind. In some strange way she felt as though it had already insinuated itself into her life in such a manner that it seemed impossible to reconcile herself to the fact that she had known about it for less than a week. Bella was not a believer, in any spiritual sense, but the emotional bonds she built with people went very deep.

In seeking an explanation for her feelings, it comforted her to think that Rupert, her Uncle Foxy, was reaching out from another dimension to act as the guardian of her future, as he had looked after her in the past. He had gone but left behind him an existential legacy to insure that he wouldn’t be forgotten. But she could never forget him, not after everything he had done for her. More than anything, he had instilled in Bella a sense of family, of belonging, something that had never existed in her young life, after the death of her father and the estrangement of her sister and for that she was eternally grateful. Perhaps that was why she felt as she did about the cottage, like it was part of her past as well as her future. Part of the family. It all seemed to fit into place so neatly that the excitement of it all consigned memories of the visit to The Lamb to the far recesses of her mind where it was incapable of intruding into her happiness. Feeling exuberant as she slowed for the junction with East Heath Road, on the spur of the moment she decided to turn left and