Marian Keyes
'Kate Thompson's novels are sublimely addictive – insightful, stylish, romantic and funny'
Sunday Independent
'Gripping...An all-round excellent beach book'
Book Description
A moving, bittersweet and romantic tale by the bestselling author of GOING DOWN and the MISCHIEF books.
Product Description
Maddie Godard: chief copywriter, The Complete Works advertising agency. Smart. Sussed. Scared. Because when your self-esteem's been trampled and your world is overturned, you have to act fast. Maddie escapes from busy Dublin to seemingly tranquil Saint-Géyroux, an idyll in rural France. There, she is led into temptation by beautiful, roguish Sam, cajoled into becoming a life model by renowned artist Daniel Lennox, and haunted by a portrait of a mysterious beauty with a secret to share. Can she help Maddie exorcise her demons? In this moving, bittersweet, joyously romantic tale, Maddie Goddard confronts her innermost fears, makes new friends, and learns that life really is worth living
From the Back Cover
Maddie Godard: chief copywriter, The Complete Works advertising agency. Smart. Sussed. Scared. Because when your self-esteem's been trampled and your world overturned, you have to act fast. Maddie escapes from busy Dublin to seemingly tranquil Saint-Géyroux, an idyll in rural France. There, she is led into temptation by beautiful, roguish Sam, cajoled into becoming a life model by renowned artist Daniel Lennox, and haunted by a portrait of a woman with a secret to share. Can this mysterious beauty help Maddie exorcise her demons? In this moving, bittersweet, joyously romantic tale by the bestselling author of GOING DOWN and the MISCHIEF books, Maddie Goddard confronts her innermost fears, makes new friends, and learns that life really is worth living
About the Author
Kate Thompson was born in Belfast. She came to Dublin to study French and English and had a successful career as an actress and voice-over artist before ditching the day job to write full-time. Her novels, It Means Mischief, More Mischief, Going Down, The Blue Hour (shortlisted for the Parker award in 2003), Striking Poses, A Perfect Life, Living the Dream and Sex, Lies and Fairytales, have been widely translated. Kate has had a ninth novel – Hard to Choos – published under her pen-name Pixie Pirelli. She divides her time between Dublin and the West of Ireland, is happily married with one daughter and is currently working on her tenth novel. For more information on Kate Thompson and her books, visit her website at: www.kate-thompson.com
Excerpted from The Blue Hour by Kate Thompson. Copyright © 2002. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
‘What an extraordinary mouth you have. Like a crushed flower.’
And what an extraordinarily unsubtle chat-up technique you have, you smooth git, thought Maddie Godard. A crushed flower! She arranged her features into a suitably unimpressed expression as she turned to deliver a put-down to the man who was standing just behind her.
Contrary to her expectations, there was nothing remotely carnal about the look in his eyes. If there was a word to fit the expression he was wearing it would have to be . . . dispassionate. The withering remark she’d been about to utter never made it out of Maddie’s mouth. For some reason she suddenly thought it would sound silly, not withering at all.
‘Extraordinary cheekbones, too. Do you mind?’ He leaned closer and briefly traced the contour of her cheek with a finger, then cupped cheekbones and jaw between the palms of his hands. Maddie made to back off. ‘Forgive me.’ As his hands left her face he spread them in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I know you must think this extremely odd behaviour – please don’t misinterpret.’ He gave her a smile – half apologetic, half amused – and then said: ‘I’ve been experimenting with sculpture, and I find it difficult to resist touching things that I find pleasing.’
‘I’m not a thing.’ Maddie finally found her voice.
‘That’s pretty obvious.’
The interested look he gave her invited her to banter back. She ignored it. She was very good at being snooty when it suited her.
The stranger inclined his head slightly, acknowledging that she’d called closure on the conversation. ‘I apologize for the intrusion,’ he said, looking at her from under his eyebrows. Then he turned and walked away through the crowd of chattering people that surrounded them. Suddenly he stopped and looked back at her with speculative eyes, taking her quite off guard. ‘Someone should paint you,’ he remarked, before continuing on his way.
Jesus! Maddie resumed her disdainful expression too late, and turned her back on him. She simmered as she leafed through the pages of her catalogue, realizing that her face was hot where his hands had lingered. She hated people invading her personal space! How had she allowed a total stranger to get away with such behaviour? She didn’t usually have a problem telling people where to get off if they were rude to her.
And yet . . . if she was to be honest with herself – she would have to say that the man hadn’t actually been rude. His apology had been undeniably genuine, after all, and the way he’d touched her had had a spontaneity about it that had been – well, disarming. It had certainly disarmed her enough to make her want to look twice.
She subtly shifted her stance and snuck a look at him over the top of her catalogue. He hadn’t advanced more than a few yards across the gallery floor before a little crowd of elegant women formed around him, all air-kissing madly and gushing with delight. The hand that he was extending to a fragile-looking girl looked as if it might crush her fingers between his.
He was a tall man – big might be a better word – and he carried himself well, with relaxed insouciance. A mane of silver-streaked, dark blond hair skimmed powerful shoulders, and there was something leonine about his profile. He had a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones and watchful eyes under heavy brows. Furrows were etched around his mouth and on his high forehead. He wasn’t handsome at all.
‘Daniel!’ A woman standing next to her called out to him, stretching an expensively manicured hand high above the heads of the crowd so that he could see her wave. Maddie ducked behind her catalogue, hoping he hadn’t seen her looking. ‘It’s been an absolute age, darling!’ The tone was plaintive. ‘You really should come back more often.’ The woman began to manoeuvre her way through the crowd, ignoring the fact that she’d practically shouldered Maddie aside in her enthusiasm to get to her quarry.
Maddie’s jaw muscles clenched, and she fanned herself with her catalogue. She was beginning to realize that she didn’t really enjoy these affairs. She must have been to at least five of them in as many weeks, ever since her partner Josh had announced over dinner one night that he’d been neglecting his cultural side. People tended to be rather patronizing about graphic art – but graphic and fine art weren’t at totally opposite ends of the cultural spectrum, he’d argued, citing his hero, advertising supremo Charles Saatchi as a prime example of new Renaissance man. There was a latter-day patron of the arts! A force to be reckoned with in the commercial as well as the cultural field.
Charles Saatchi had also made a fortune out of shrewd investment in contemporary artworks, Maddie had thought as she’d sipped her de-caf, but she’d refrained from pointing this out to Josh. He wouldn’t like her thinking that there was anything mercenary about his interest.
Later on in bed that night he’d added that it wouldn’t do their image any harm at all to be seen at more exhibition openings. Maddie had thought tiredly of the numerous theatrical opening nights and book launches and media parties she’d endured over the past few years just so that Josh could get their names – and that of the advertising agency they represented – into the social columns of the glossier monthlies. Now the glitter of the social round she’d once found alluring was wearing thin, and she was becoming increasingly aware of the hollowness underneath.
And what an extraordinarily unsubtle chat-up technique you have, you smooth git, thought Maddie Godard. A crushed flower! She arranged her features into a suitably unimpressed expression as she turned to deliver a put-down to the man who was standing just behind her.
Contrary to her expectations, there was nothing remotely carnal about the look in his eyes. If there was a word to fit the expression he was wearing it would have to be . . . dispassionate. The withering remark she’d been about to utter never made it out of Maddie’s mouth. For some reason she suddenly thought it would sound silly, not withering at all.
‘Extraordinary cheekbones, too. Do you mind?’ He leaned closer and briefly traced the contour of her cheek with a finger, then cupped cheekbones and jaw between the palms of his hands. Maddie made to back off. ‘Forgive me.’ As his hands left her face he spread them in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I know you must think this extremely odd behaviour – please don’t misinterpret.’ He gave her a smile – half apologetic, half amused – and then said: ‘I’ve been experimenting with sculpture, and I find it difficult to resist touching things that I find pleasing.’
‘I’m not a thing.’ Maddie finally found her voice.
‘That’s pretty obvious.’
The interested look he gave her invited her to banter back. She ignored it. She was very good at being snooty when it suited her.
The stranger inclined his head slightly, acknowledging that she’d called closure on the conversation. ‘I apologize for the intrusion,’ he said, looking at her from under his eyebrows. Then he turned and walked away through the crowd of chattering people that surrounded them. Suddenly he stopped and looked back at her with speculative eyes, taking her quite off guard. ‘Someone should paint you,’ he remarked, before continuing on his way.
Jesus! Maddie resumed her disdainful expression too late, and turned her back on him. She simmered as she leafed through the pages of her catalogue, realizing that her face was hot where his hands had lingered. She hated people invading her personal space! How had she allowed a total stranger to get away with such behaviour? She didn’t usually have a problem telling people where to get off if they were rude to her.
And yet . . . if she was to be honest with herself – she would have to say that the man hadn’t actually been rude. His apology had been undeniably genuine, after all, and the way he’d touched her had had a spontaneity about it that had been – well, disarming. It had certainly disarmed her enough to make her want to look twice.
She subtly shifted her stance and snuck a look at him over the top of her catalogue. He hadn’t advanced more than a few yards across the gallery floor before a little crowd of elegant women formed around him, all air-kissing madly and gushing with delight. The hand that he was extending to a fragile-looking girl looked as if it might crush her fingers between his.
He was a tall man – big might be a better word – and he carried himself well, with relaxed insouciance. A mane of silver-streaked, dark blond hair skimmed powerful shoulders, and there was something leonine about his profile. He had a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones and watchful eyes under heavy brows. Furrows were etched around his mouth and on his high forehead. He wasn’t handsome at all.
‘Daniel!’ A woman standing next to her called out to him, stretching an expensively manicured hand high above the heads of the crowd so that he could see her wave. Maddie ducked behind her catalogue, hoping he hadn’t seen her looking. ‘It’s been an absolute age, darling!’ The tone was plaintive. ‘You really should come back more often.’ The woman began to manoeuvre her way through the crowd, ignoring the fact that she’d practically shouldered Maddie aside in her enthusiasm to get to her quarry.
Maddie’s jaw muscles clenched, and she fanned herself with her catalogue. She was beginning to realize that she didn’t really enjoy these affairs. She must have been to at least five of them in as many weeks, ever since her partner Josh had announced over dinner one night that he’d been neglecting his cultural side. People tended to be rather patronizing about graphic art – but graphic and fine art weren’t at totally opposite ends of the cultural spectrum, he’d argued, citing his hero, advertising supremo Charles Saatchi as a prime example of new Renaissance man. There was a latter-day patron of the arts! A force to be reckoned with in the commercial as well as the cultural field.
Charles Saatchi had also made a fortune out of shrewd investment in contemporary artworks, Maddie had thought as she’d sipped her de-caf, but she’d refrained from pointing this out to Josh. He wouldn’t like her thinking that there was anything mercenary about his interest.
Later on in bed that night he’d added that it wouldn’t do their image any harm at all to be seen at more exhibition openings. Maddie had thought tiredly of the numerous theatrical opening nights and book launches and media parties she’d endured over the past few years just so that Josh could get their names – and that of the advertising agency they represented – into the social columns of the glossier monthlies. Now the glitter of the social round she’d once found alluring was wearing thin, and she was becoming increasingly aware of the hollowness underneath.
