The answer became apparent once Amelia began reading from her novel, for the protagonists weren’t actually humans. Instead, they were nymphs – magical woodland beings who lived in a mystical kingdom. Driven out of their forest by timber cutters, a group of them sought shelter in the nearest town where they were immediately hailed by some as angels to be worshipped, while others branded them as demons and demanded they be destroyed. The crux of the problem was that the qualities for which they were most revered – their beauty, outlandish clothing, the affection they inspired in children and their warnings about the weather – were exactly the ones for which they were also reviled. Amelia read some extracts from the opening chapters, and wouldn’t say what happened, though James suspected it ended very badly for the nymphs.
Amelia explained that it was based on a traditional Catalan fairy tale, but obviously it wasn’t meant to be a children’s story. Nor, as far as James could tell, did it seem particularly allegorical, which was as far as his powers of literary analysis and hard-won Grade B in A level English could stretch. Her book wasn’t about the destruction of the environment or the banality of Western monotheism – it really did just seem to be about some nymphs.
Lucian’s book, Sexheads, sounded more straightforward. It was about conjoined triplet brothers, who all survive a pioneering operation to separate them performed by a religious mystic, only for their minds to have miraculously fused, cursing them with a permanent psychic connection. As a result, all psycho-sexual experiences and ordeals were shared, however far apart they were. Their father, just before committing suicide, placed them across the world’s continents, so they only knew one another through their respective sexual encounters, with the additional complication that one of the brothers was an unhappily married heterosexual, the second a promiscuous homosexual and the third a sado-masochist and convicted murderer.
James bought a copy of each book from Kate and Miranda, who were now managing a makeshift sales counter with very little efficiency but high spirits. It cost him thirty pounds, but if nothing else, he now had some books on his shelves other than The Lord of the Rings and the sixth edition of Principles and Practice of Town Planning. Felix called Lucian over, and at once he crossed the room to join them, his shirt cuffs flapping and his thick arms outstretched. He was tall, almost the same height as James, but with the volume and force of personality to go with it.
‘James, this is Lucian. We used to work together, until he persuaded himself that his talents would be better applied elsewhere, and that what he really needed to do was reduce his annual income by three-quarters.’
Lucian smiled, a handsome, generous, smile. He was aggressively unshaven, with dark hair that seemed to be ripening across his jaw even as he spoke, craftily counter-balanced by long eyelashes and a chunky silver earring.
‘And what do you do?’ he said, turning to James. His voice was deep and stupendously upper class – he had not yet learnt to smudge his consonants or shorten his vowels.
‘I’m a planner,’ said James.
‘Ah, like Felix. That’s great,’ said Lucian. ‘Some of the most brilliant people I know are planners. Are you at the same agency?’
‘No, sorry, I’m a different kind of planner. I’m a town planner.’
‘Really? That’s great,’ said Lucian.
But Lucian’s attention was now being taken by a woman who had approached them without any need for stealth or courtesy. She had small round glasses on the end of her nose and a tidy bob of dark hair, but was otherwise dressed like a prostitute, with a scarlet blouse, tiny lime-green skirt and spectacular red leather boots. She was called Louise, she was a literary critic for a national newspaper and, at this stage in Lucian’s career, it was more significant if she liked him than if he liked her. They embraced without artifice, and with only a moment’s hesitation. It was almost inconceivable that they hadn’t slept together.
‘Louise, I’m so pleased you came,’ said Lucian. ‘I was worried you wouldn’t make it.’
‘Of course! I wasn’t going to miss this one. Sorry I got here so late. I had to show my face at some tedious awards thing.’
‘Better leave him to it,’ said Felix to James. ‘He’s made his career choice, and is now undertaking his professional responsibilities.’
Amelia joined them. Close up, her charms and talents were even greater than James had guessed. She looked, and she probably got this a lot, like one of her nymphs – a slender, precious being not of the material world. She had beautiful transnational manners, and made a point of introducing herself to each of them in turn, as if she really wanted to speak to everyone as much as she did to Louise. And so, by way of retaliation, James made a point of not talking to her or asking her to sign his book. It was a personal victory over her precocious success and beauty. Maybe, in years to come, after she had won the Booker Prize and become famous, he might be able to construct a memory in which he had snubbed her.