Rules for a Successful Book Club (The Book Lovers 2)

by Victoria Connelly

  RULES FOR A SUCCESSFUL BOOK CLUB

  VİCTORİA CONNELLY

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  The Book Lovers series

  Books by Victoria Connelly

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Victoria Connelly asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Cover design by J D Smith.

  Published by Cuthland Press

  in association with Notting Hill Press.

  Copyright © 2016 Victoria Connelly

  All rights reserved.

  To my dear friend Ruth with love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Polly Prior was running late. That was nothing new in itself because she was always trying to do at least three things at once, but it upset her nevertheless.

  ‘Archie!’ she shouted up the stairs. ‘I’m going whether you’re ready or not.’

  A minute later, her six-year-old son came tearing down the stairs followed by Dickens the spaniel.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you that Dickens isn’t allowed upstairs?’ she said, doing her best to flatten her son’s dark hair with her hands.

  ‘He sneaked up when I was brushing my teeth,’ Archie said.

  ‘Well, I hope he hasn’t been on your bed again.’

  ‘Not much,’ Archie said, ‘and I made it after he jumped off.’

  Polly shook her head. ‘I don’t want to find any more paw prints on your pillow. It’s not hygienic.’

  Archie grinned, obviously remembering the time when Dickens had waded through every puddle in Suffolk before racing up the stairs and leaping onto his bed.

  ‘Get your bag,’ Polly told him now. ‘I’ve put your packed lunch in it and make sure you eat your sandwiches, okay?’

  ‘As long as you’ve not put a banana next to them,’ he said, screwing up his face in disgust as he put his shoes on.

  ‘I’ve not put a banana next to them,’ she said, knowing of her son’s aversion to banana-smelling bread. ‘You’ve got grapes today. Dickens – basket! I’ll be back after lunch for a good long walk,’ she told the dog who cocked his head to one side, appearing to understand.

  Archie bent to pat the young spaniel’s head.

  ‘Come on, Arch. We’re late enough as it is.’

  Polly opened the front door onto a steely grey January morning and instantly wished that she was back in bed. The first day of the spring term was always the most trying after the joy and fun of the Christmas holidays, but Christmas was long over: the tree had been recycled and the decorations had been safely packed away for another year.

  ‘Do your coat up and put your gloves on,’ she said and she opened the front door of 3 Church Green and ushered him outside. Their Land Rover was parked opposite their Victorian cottage. It was her husband’s car and, after his disappearance, it had been held as evidence before being returned to them. How strange it had been to drive it knowing that the police had combed every inch of it for clues. Clues which had led them nowhere for Sean Prior was still missing.

  ‘For over three years,’ Polly said, her whisper lost to the wind.

  Getting in the car now, she glanced at the glove compartment on the passenger’s side, knowing that her husband’s sunglasses were still in there. She hadn’t had the heart to move them because doing so would seem such a final thing. It would be like admitting he was never going to come home and there was still a tiny little corner of her heart that truly believed that he might just turn up one day.

  She hadn’t wanted to use his car at first, but her dad, Frank Nightingale, had told her that it was a much better vehicle than the second-hand car she used to drive and she had to admit that it was perfect for days when a wet dog, a wet child and a week’s worth of shopping all had to be accommodated.

  ‘Belt done up?’ she said now, turning around to check on Archie who nodded, his eyes focussed on his phone.

  ‘Phone away, Archie. You know it’s for emergencies only.’

  ‘Muuuum!’ he complained. ‘Tiger’s just texted me.’

  ‘You’re going to see him in about five minutes,’ she pointed out.

  Archie put his phone in his bag and puffed out his cheeks in protest.

  It was only a short drive from their village of Great Tallington into Castle Clare and it wasn’t long before they’d reached the primary school.

  ‘Kiss!’ she said, as the two of them got out of the car.

  ‘Aw, Mum!’ Archie protested, but he allowed himself to be kissed all the same before legging it into the playground with a wave of his little gloved hand.

  Polly blinked away her tears as she got back in the car and drove on into town, parking a short walk from her brother Sam’s bookshop. It was always with mixed emotions that she greeted the start of each new school term and it never seemed to get easier. There was the wrench of leaving her safe little home in which she’d cosily snuggled with Archie for the duration of the holidays with the occasional trip to see her parents and grandparents. Christmas was never complete without dinner at Campion House and this year had been extra special with the arrival of Callie Logan on the scene.

  Polly smiled as she thought about Sam and how the pain of his past had finally been laid to rest with the arrival of Callie. And it wasn’t just Sam who was in love; the whole of the Nightingale family was besotted with the young author especially Grandpa Joe who, at eighty-three, still had an eye for the ladies.

  Now, as Polly turned the corner into Church Street, she focussed on the day ahead. As sad as she felt about returning Archie to school, she couldn’t help acknowledging that there was something intensely satisfying about getting back to a real routine and the regularity of the school timetable and her duties at the three bookshops run by her family, as well as her part-time job teaching English as a foreign language in a small school in Bury St Edmunds. She’d had to take on more hours since becoming a single parent family, but she loved her job.

  Today, she would be working with Sam and, bowing her head against the boisterous wind, she opened the door into the shop and hurried inside, a flurry of leaves chasing her heels.

  As much as she loved working with Josh in the bookshop next door, ordering and selling new books, and helping Bryony out in the children’s bookshop across the road, there was something rather special about Sam’s second-hand bookshop with its endless rows of pre-loved tomes all hoping to find a new lease of life and somebody new to love them. She never tired of browsing the shelves, seeing what little gems fate had delivered into their hands, a
nd trying to team up exactly the right book with the right customer; that was a part of the job she always enjoyed.

  ‘Hey, Polly!’ Sam said as he strode into the main room of the shop. ‘It’s a bit blustery out there, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. I must tidy my hair,’ she said, quickly unpinning the clip that held it neatly at the nape of her neck before brushing her hair back into place and clipping it once again.

  ‘Archie okay?’

  ‘You know, I think he was actually looking forward to getting back to school for the first time ever,’ Polly said. ‘He seems to be in thick with a boy named Tiger.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard him mention that name before,’ Sam said. ‘That’s not the boy’s real name, surely?’

  Polly shook her head. ‘I believe he’s called Terence,’ she said.

  ‘No wonder he goes by the name of Tiger,’ Sam said with a grin. ‘Do the teachers call him that too?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Polly said as she took off her coat and walked through to the back room to hang it up in the kitchen before joining Sam again.

  ‘So, how are you getting on with the book club arrangements?’ he asked. ‘We’ve had a few more sign-ups.’

  Polly looked at the piece of paper on the clipboard which Sam kept by the till, casting her eyes down the list of names. She recognised a few of them like dear Flo Lohman and Winston Kneller. Then there was Antonia Jessop – Castle Clare’s bossiest resident.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t take over things,’ Polly said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Antonia Jessop.’

  ‘Oh, she already has,’ Sam said. ‘She said she hopes we’re doing the classics and not this modern rubbish.’

  Polly tutted and continued to look down the list of names.

  ‘Honey?’ she said incredulously. ‘Who on earth is Honey?’

  ‘Hortense Digger. You know her?’

  ‘She’s in the WI, isn’t she? I didn’t know she calls herself Honey Digger?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘I guess.’

  ‘What is it with people and nicknames?’

  ‘I don’t know, Parrot,’ he said.

  ‘Very funny,’ she said, play-punching him in the ribs at the use of her childhood nickname. ‘Anyway,’ she said, placing her shoulder bag on the counter and pulling out a notebook, ‘I think Antonia raises quite a good point about which books we should read and it’s something I’ve been thinking about too. So I’ve made a little table of all the different genres we could choose from. What do you think?’

  Sam took the notebook from her and read through the list. There were classics, historicals, biographies, science fiction and fantasy, travel, thrillers and crime.

  ‘Ah,’ Sam said.

  ‘What?’ Polly said, instantly on her guard.

  ‘You’ve missed a very important one out.’

  ‘Have I?’ She looked at the list again and frowned.

  ‘Romance.’

  ‘You want romance on there?’

  ‘Flo Lohman will want it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Polly said, taking a pen out of her bag and adding it neatly. ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I do,’ Sam said. ‘Some of the greatest novels ever written are romances. Just think: Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre. Wuthering Heights and Madame Bovary.’

  ‘But they all come under classics,’ Polly pointed out.

  ‘Well, those ones do, but I’m sure we’ll have suggestions for modern romances too like The Bridges of Madison County and The Shell Seekers.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do like Rosamunde Pilcher,’ Polly said, ‘but, generally, I prefer a good biography.’

  ‘But the point of a book club is to get you to read outside your comfort zone, isn’t it?’

  ‘As long as it’s not too much outside of it,’ Polly said. ‘And that’s another thing I’ve been thinking about. How are we going to decide on the books we read?’

  ‘We should probably take it in turn, don’t you think?’ Sam said.

  ‘What – unchecked? Just leaving it up to an individual?’

  ‘Why not?’ Sam asked. ‘Could be interesting.’

  ‘Yes, but just imagine if somebody chooses one of those Married to the Billionaire Sicilian Playboy-type of books.’

  ‘There’s room for every kind of book in the world, Polly.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘but not at every kind of book club.’

  Sam looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe you’re right. Perhaps we could take it in turns to suggest a book, but then make sure the rest of us – the majority of us – are happy with the choice. How would that suit?’

  ‘That could work,’ Polly agreed, scribbling all this down in her notebook. ‘Now, practicalities. We’re holding all the meetings in the back room here, and you’ve only got your old sofa at the mo. Are you sure you can borrow chairs from the village hall?’

  ‘Yep,’ Sam said,’ I’ve checked with the caretaker. We can collect them on the day and return them the next morning.’

  ‘Great,’ Polly said, ticking something off in her notebook. ‘So, seeing as you’re going to all this trouble, I think we should suggest that everyone chips in a pound each time to cover costs.’

  Sam’s eyebrows rose. ‘A pound? I can’t do that!’

  ‘Why not?’ Polly asked. ‘It isn’t really fair that you should provide everything for free and you’ve got to heat the place and stay after opening hours and provide the tea.’

  ‘Yes, but I’d feel really uneasy about taking money from anyone, especially the likes of Winston.’

  Polly nodded, obviously seeing where her brother was coming from.

  ‘Why don’t we just get everyone to bring something instead?’ he said. ‘Flo and Antonia have already said they’d be happy to bring in a bit of home-baking.’

  Polly’s nose wrinkled. ‘I can’t vouch for the hygiene levels at Flo’s cottage. She probably allows the hens and pigs into the kitchen.’

  Sam laughed. ‘Probably, but I’m sure Winston won’t complain.’

  ‘Okay, so venue, chairs, food and drink are all taken care of,’ Polly said.

  ‘And the first meeting is next week,’ Sam said.

  Polly took a deep breath. ‘Are we ready?’

  ‘I think so,’ he said.

  ‘You seem very relaxed about all this.’

  ‘Do I?’ Sam said. ‘Well, that’s all an illusion. I’m panicking inside.’

  Polly smiled. ‘I’ll be there to help you.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, smiling back at her, ‘and that’s what’s carrying me through this.’

  He straightened a few books that he had displayed in front of the till.

  ‘Hey, how’s Grandma?’ Polly asked, putting her notebook and pen away.

  ‘She’s good,’ Sam said. ‘I miss not having Grandpa in the shop with me every day, but I think he’s right to spend more time with Grandma.’

  Polly nodded. ‘I’m still having nightmares about that afternoon she went missing.’

  ‘Me too,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. But she’s got Grandpa and Mum and Dad to keep an eye on her. Lara too at the moment.’

  ‘Lara’s not gone back to university yet?’

  ‘Next week,’ Sam said.

  ‘Blimey, students have it easy.’

  ‘You were one too, don’t forget.’

  ‘I have forgotten,’ Polly said. ‘Those days seem like another lifetime.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ve got two big boxes of books to sort out.’

  ‘Will I need a duster?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said, ‘they arrived in the back of a trailer that also had a couple of sheep in it.’

  Castle Clare’s church clock had just struck one as Polly left the bookshop. She drove back to Great Tallington after picking up a few groceries from town, and opened her front door to be greeted by an exuberant Dickens who knew his walk time had finally arrived. Changing out of her neat shoes, Polly popped on her wellies and placed
a woolly hat on before clipping Dickens’s lead on and heading back out into the grey afternoon, breathing in great lungfuls of icy winter air. They crunched down the frozen footpath behind the church and did a circuit of the big field, and, once they were safely away from the roads, Polly unclipped him and watched as he leapt over puddles, his long brown ears flying behind him.

  Of course, the very best thing about dog walking on a winter’s afternoon was returning to the warmth of one’s cottage afterwards and, after rubbing Dickens down with a massive towel, Polly made herself a quick cup of tea, luxuriating in its heat and sipping it whilst tidying the kitchen. She then scooted around the house with the vacuum and put a wash load on and then went upstairs to tidy up.

  By the time the house was looking shipshape, it was three fifteen which meant another trip into town to pick Archie up from school. So, putting on her coat and shoes once again, she got in the car and drove the short distance back to Castle Clare. This might have been the first day back after the Christmas holidays, but Polly couldn’t help feeling that the old routine hadn’t ever really stopped. The familiarity of the hours were both a blessing and a curse, taking her mind off the bigger issues in her life, but numbing her from them too. And she didn’t want to be numb; she didn’t want to have to pack her feelings away so that she was able to get on with the day-to-day business of being a mother. She was tired of that, but what choice did she have?

  When Sean Prior had gone missing on a warm September day three years ago, Polly had stopped being a wife, for what was the role of a wife when her husband had disappeared? It was as if that part of her had been erased along with all trace of Sean.

  But she didn’t have time to think about that now. She never seemed to have time and, pulling up at the school, she sat in the car and waited for Archie. She didn’t have long to wait for the car door was soon pulled open and her son jumped onto the back seat and started his non-stop commentary about his school day all the way home.

  It was after they’d parked the car and got out that the near-fatal accident happened. One minute, Archie was stood on the green, waiting for her to lock up and, the next, he was in the middle of the road. It was one of those terrible moments in life that seemed to speed up and slow down at the same time.