Jumping to Conclusions by Christina Jones Page A

about something completely different by July. They'd probably never spot the slim Fishnet volumes. And to think everyone in Oxford had told her that she would find life in the country deadly dull.
    Levi and Zeke, wearing identical ice-cream moustaches, were scraping the bottoms of their glasses, "s okay if we go and have a kick-about on the field? Or do you want us to stay?'
    'No, I can find my way home from here. And thanks for the tour.'
    The twins squirmed through the crowds and paused at the door. 'Ta for the ice-creams too, Jemima. You're ace.'
    'Jemima.' Maureen paused for a second to whisk away the empty glasses. 'That's pretty. Old-fashioned. Is it a family name?'
    Jemima had always hated it. In addition to her glasses it had led to quite a few taunts during her childhood. Especially when the majority of her contemporaries had been called Tracy. 'Actually I was named after a racehorse.'
    She had never quite come to terms with the fact that she had apparently been conceived during an alcoholic celebration shortly after Vincent had won a thousand pounds on Jumping Jemima in the last race at Ayr during her parents' Scottish honeymoon. It spoke volumes for her father's lack of gambling success that she was an only child.
    'Bloody hell!' Maureen spluttered through her pasted-on lipstick. 'Still, it could have been worse, duck. You could have spent your life as Desert Orchid. Anyway, you're in the right place here.'
    'I don't like horse-racing, either.'
    Heads turned and stared. Maureen sucked in her breath. Jemima realised she'd just uttered the worst possible heresy. 'Well, that is – I don't know anything about horse-racing. And I'm not particularly keen to find out.' She wasn't going to say anything about Vincent and the gambling. That was all behind her now.
    'You ought to go to a race meeting.' Maureen swept away the perspiration from her cleavage before diving off to serve a bevy of youngsters at the far end of the counter. 'You never know. You might change your mind.'
    Never in a million years, Jemima thought, spooning up the last mouthfuls of melted ice-cream. The formidable Bronwyn Pugh and Bathsheba Cox were just leaving and they smiled inquisitively at her. Her natural inclination was to bob her head downwards, hiding behind her glasses and the tousled layers of her hair. It had helped a lot so far. She'd read all the articles in Company about assertiveness – and even practised being bolshie in front of her mirror – but the principles always deserted her in real life. Still, once she was running the shop she'd have to get over her shyness, and start greeting people with confidence. So why not have a trial run now?
    She smiled back. 'Hello, I'm Jemima Carlisle. I'll be running the bookshop next door.'
    'We've heard,' Bronwyn said cheerily. 'Just what the village needs. I hope you'll have plenty of Agatha Christie and Dick Francis.'
    'And Catherine Cookson,' Bathsheba joined in. 'And none of that filth that masquerades as romance these days. Dame Barbara is the only one who writes romance proper, if you know what I mean.'
    'I'm sure there'll be something that you'll enjoy.' Jemima resisted the urge to fiddle with her glasses and carried on smiling. She hoped she wasn't blushing.
    'We won't tolerate filth and degradation,' Bronwyn said. 'We've never had any of that in this village. Anyway, it's lovely to meet you, dear. You look like a nice respectable girl.' The gimlet eyes approved the ankle-length skirt and studious spectacles. 'Perhaps you'd like to come to our next meeting? Might be as well for you to know what we want in our bookshop. And, more important, what we don't. Ask the Vicar for details.'
    'Yes ... yes, I might. Er – thank you.'
    'Well done,' Maureen puffed, wiping down the counter as the floral frocks disappeared through the doorway. 'Get 'em on your side. They can be the very devil if they takes against you.'
    Jemima scraped the bottom of her glass, feeling proud of herself. This was a nice