‘I suppose you said I was your wife.’

‘Well, yes. It seemed less trouble than stating the exact position. Besides, it’s true, I presume, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose it is.’

They laughed.

‘His beard’, she said. ‘I thought I must be dreaming.’

‘I know. Superb.’

‘I should have thought a beard like that would interfere with his practice.’

‘Not in his heyday – I dare say it was an asset.’

‘It’s very odd: he’s exactly – in every respect – how I always imagined Dr Fell.’

They laughed again. 

Even in the most horrid circumstances, Lehmann makes her characters behave very human. And nothing says "we are out of our depth" as much as cracking a joke.
Hahaha. Dr Fell.
But which Dr Fell? The one from the nursery rhyme or the one from John Dickson Carr's mystery series?

This is still fantastic...or at least it is ticking all the boxes of what I need in a book just now.

I just read the part where Olivia feels sick on the train.

What a superbly written paragraph that lets us know so, so much about what is going on with both the plot and the character.

It was nine when they said what about a film? And Anna said there’s a French film at the Academy I want to see, and I got up and said, ‘I must go, dears.’ There was expostulation, and I said, ‘My cousin that none of you believe in is in bed with a feverish cold, and I swore I’d come back at nine and look after her.’

That is some fine bunburying.

This is so very good.

It's entirely not what I expected, but Lehmann's writing is excellent. She's keen on pointing out aspects of morality that are not usually discussed in depth in books of the same time other than perhaps by cliche or an unspoken understanding of things. 

I love the way that Lehmann writes about even serious things and yet still keeps a light tone. 

When I started the book this morning, I thought I might have accidentally bought a romance novel, but I was soon cured of that notion. It's about relationships, but it is definitely lit fic.

I also bet it was quite shocking when it was first published.

Ugh,... Booklikes' slowness is driving me nuts. I hit the update field and the post only loaded once I finished doing the washing up. 

Anyway, I woke this morning with an interest in starting The Weather in the Streets which is another book I picked up purely because of the cover, ... and a 3-for-2 sale might have had something to do with it last year, too.

Anyway, this is interesting. It's the sequel to another book, which I haven't read. I didn't know it was a sequel, but it is likely that I would have been less interested in the first book anyway as it is a coming of age story. 

This one starts with a woman, Olivia, meeting an old acquaintance (Rollo) on a train. There is something very Noel Coward to the story, and I don't just mean Still Life (Coward's 1936 one-act play that was the basis of the classic film Brief Encounter). The dialogue and observations are very witty, or rather, sharp. 

This is not a comedy, tho. There is something tragic about both Olivia and Rollo.

Interestingly, The Weather on the Streets was also published in 1936.

‘I’m afraid I’m not very grown-up,’ he said suddenly.

‘Nor am I.’

‘I should have said you were.’

‘Oh, no!’ There was a pause; and she added nervously: ‘I’ve noticed people with children don’t generally mind so much … about age, I mean. They seem to feel less anxious about time.’

‘Do they? I suppose they do,’ he said. ‘I expect it’s a good thing to have children.’

‘You haven’t got any?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Have you?’

‘No.’

They made it a joke, and laughed … All the same, it was surprising he hadn’t produced an heir. Couldn’t, wouldn’t Nicola? … or what?

‘Then,’ she said, ‘there are the pleasures of the intellect. They’re said to be lasting. We must cultivate our intellects.’

‘Too late,’ he said. ‘One ought to make at least a beginning in youth, and I omitted to do so. The fact is, I don’t care much about the intellect. I’m afraid the scope of my pleasures is rather limited.’

‘Really?’

‘Confined in fact entirely to those of the senses.’

‘Oh, I see …’ She answered his odd comically inquiring look with a lift of the eyebrows. ‘Well, I suppose they’re all right. Only they’re apt to pall.’

‘Oh, are they?’

‘I was thinking of cake.’ She sighed. ‘It used to be my passion – especially chocolate, or any kind of large spicy bun. Now, it’s beginning to mean less … much less.’

He leaned back, laughing; the tension dissolved again.

I think I shall like this quite a lot.