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272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1965
"My goodness though, you do look washed out. Is it the 'flu? Do you have it very badly?"
"Yes, I suppose it is," she admitted. 'It's this one-day 'flu that everyone's been having, though it's lasted two days with me. My temperature was a hundred and two last night,' she added, warming to the recital.
Carlotta leaned forward, frowning anxiously. You might have supposed that the anxiety was for her neighbour's state of health, but even Rosamund could tell that this wasn't so. Carlotta was in fact being agonisingly torn between two treasured, but sadly contradictory, images of herself: one, as the woman who is never ill; the second, as the woman who has had a higher temperature than anybody else, ever, and much higher than Rosamund's paltry 102°.
Lindy passed her cup with a murmer of thanks and a smile. For a second the two smiles met in midair, like warring aircraft...but that got old fast. My favourite passages concerned the boys Peter and Walker - too bad we'll never get a book about them - and Rosamund winning the mums' oneupmanship prize for having teenagers to moan about. Unfortunately the ending was one of the silliest and most disappointing I've ever come across. What a sad life Celia Fremlin and her children led. All the sadder to know that her characters and situations seemed to come out of her own experiences with post-war British social attitudes and her own family's devastating history. I have better memories of other books of hers and will definitely look them up.