Close Relations by Deborah Moggach Page A

wearing jeans, as usual.
    â€˜We’re all very excited about
Playing with Fire
.’ Stephen filled Erin’s glass. ‘Has Liz told you the schedule?’
    â€˜We’re having lunch next week.’ Erin’s voice was deep and forceful. She didn’t seem like a first-time author; she seemed to take the publication of her novel as perfectly natural.
    â€˜And we’d be delighted if you could come to our sales conference,’ said Stephen. ‘You know, meet the publicity people, chat up the reps. Tedious but necessary.’
    â€˜Doesn’t sound tedious,’ said Erin. ‘I want it to sell.’
    â€˜Music to my ears.’ He passed a glass of champagne to Maddy, who shook her head. She didn’t drink. ‘You’d be amazed how many novelists are too precious for the rough and tumble and then start whingeing that their books aren’t on the bestseller lists. Since Unimedia took us over we’ve got a lot more muscle sales-wise. We’re moving into a spanking new building down by the river . . .’
    Prudence turned to Maddy. ‘I’ll get you some orange juice,’ she said, and went into the kitchen.
    Maddy followed her. Prudence opened the fridge. ‘What do you think of him?’ she whispered.
    â€˜Bit pompous, isn’t he?’ said Maddy.
    â€˜He’s nervous. Oh, do be nice to him!’
    They sat down to eat. Prudence had opened out her dining table and lit the candles. However, Erin made the living room seem cramped. She was such a splendid creature, blazing with confidence and tossing back her braids. Behind her, the ornaments on the mantelpiece looked niminy-piminy. During the first course she did most of the talking. She cast a spell over the three of them. Prudence surrendered herself gratefully; it threw the balance of the evening and diverted the spotlight from Stephen and her sister.
    â€˜You seem to be as footloose as Maddy,’ Stephen said, tearing a leaf off his artichoke.
    â€˜I lived in the Himalayas for a while, photographing the Kalash tribe,’ said Erin. ‘The women are wonderful – strong, tall, fierce as tigers.’ She pointed to her necklace. ‘They gave me this. They do all the work while the men sit around playing flutes. The men are utterly irrelevant.’
    â€˜Sounds just like our editorial department,’ said Stephen.
    â€˜Then I came back and started a film co-operative in Hackney, working with Muslim women. I made a documentary about a man who had two wives.’
    Prudence stiffened. Was Maddy going to say something tactless?
    Stephen said hurriedly: ‘And the gardening business?’
    â€˜I started that with my lover but we split up last year; she went to live in Wales. It’s just something I’m doing at the moment. Next year, who knows?’
    â€˜Who knows?’ said Stephen. ‘I like that.’ How casually she had mentioned a female lover! His life in Dulwich seemed suddenly suburban.
    â€˜Our tragedy is that we define ourselves according to a gender, to a skill,’ said Erin. ‘Most people are three-quarters asleep – they neglect so many parts of themselves.’
    Prudence carried the dirty plates into the kitchen. Stephen followed her, carrying the bottle of vinaigrette. ‘Just using this neglected part of myself,’ he said, indicating his hands.He put down the bottle and moved close to her. ‘Actually, there’s another bit I’d prefer to use –’
    Prudence pushed him away. ‘She’s quite something, isn’t she?’
    â€˜Very evangelical. And quite humourless. I can see her filling the Albert Hall.’
    Prudence was relieved. For a moment she had thought that he was attracted to Erin. Men were often attracted to strong-minded lesbian women; they had a missionary zeal to convert them. She carried the vegetables into the living room.
    Before Stephen could follow her Maddy came into