I love Serendipity. I love the character Perdita Moon and relationship with her rogue fairy, Lulu Larch. What I didn't have quite right is the plot. Or the romance. Or the confidence. I got scared about writing it in the first person. I suddenly thought I needed a male perspective. I lost my way and abandoned.
And it's a shame. Because I think it's good, perhaps the best thing I've written. One day it will get it's place in the sun. At the start of the book Perdita receives a note from her brother Nick, Lord Moon, foisting an unknown young lady upon her hospitality. She is not pleased, but she finds she can't send Lulu away.
It is one of my particular principles that I should take people as they are and not to judge them on their history or the way that they earn their living. I don’t speak of it as it would brand me a radical and I do enjoy polite society. “What were you doing before you met Lord Moon?”
“This and that... I’m a musician.” I nod. It is as I expected. “And a dancer,” she continues, “and a teacher.” I frown, struggling to imagine Lulu Larch as a seminarian. A chorus girl seems more credible.
“And a fairy,” she finishes, drinking the last dregs of her lemonade.
I think I have misheard her. “A real fairy?” There is a laugh in my voice.
“Is there any other variety?” Her eyebrows lift. There is the faintest suggestion in her expression that I have been less than polite. I raise my eyebrows in return. I do not relish my manners being brought into question.
“Do you mean you have to dress as a fairy on stage?” I imagine her in a tawdry theatre, dancing lightly across the stage trailing a pair of fairy wings. It seems like a reasonable assumption.
“How do you imagine a fairy dresses?” Miss Larch asks, sounding genuinely curious.
I think of the last time I saw A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. “Wings, a wand, a crown.”
“In children’s stories perhaps,” says Miss Larch, her lip curling in scorn. “As I am a fairy, it follows that fairies dress like me.”
I am commonly held to be an intelligent and well informed woman but she speaks to me as though I am a small child.
“A fairy,” I repeat and my voice sounds sarcastic to my own ears. A well bred woman is never sarcastic. I feel slightly shabby.
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