A Quiver Full of Arrows
“Regis Hotel in New York. I waved back realising I knew the face but I was unable to place it. She squeezed past waiters and guests and had reached me before I had a chance to ask anyone who she was. I racked that section of my brain which is meant to store people, but it transmitted no reply. I realised I would have to resort to the old party trick of carefully worded questions until her answers jogged my memory.
“How are you, darling?” she cried, and threw her arms around me, an opening that d...idn’t help as we were at a Literary Guild cocktail party, and anyone will throw their arms around you on such occasions, even the directors of the Book-of-the-Month Club.
From her accent she was clearly American and looked to be approaching forty, but thanks to the genius of modern make-up might even have overtaken it.
She wore a long white cocktail dress and her blonde hair was done up in one of those buns that looks like a cottage loaf.
The overall effect made her appear somewhat like a chess queen.MoreLess
“How are you, darling?” she cried, and threw her arms around me, an opening that d...idn’t help as we were at a Literary Guild cocktail party, and anyone will throw their arms around you on such occasions, even the directors of the Book-of-the-Month Club.
From her accent she was clearly American and looked to be approaching forty, but thanks to the genius of modern make-up might even have overtaken it.
She wore a long white cocktail dress and her blonde hair was done up in one of those buns that looks like a cottage loaf.
The overall effect made her appear somewhat like a chess queen.MoreLess
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