As a teenager I devoured, in private and with a tinge of shame, my local library’s entire collection of Mills & Boon, so it was a relief to discover that, according to a recent survey conducted on behalf of the Costa Book Awards, 85 per cent of us have a guilty-secret author whose work we read avidly but never in public.
Perhaps there are some closet Jilly Cooper fans out there; some of you made a mightily convincing stab at taking off the queen of the racy romp. I liked Tom Durrheim’s Violet Elizabeth swooning over William’s ‘hard magnetism: the square shoulders, the tousled hair, the glittering eyes that twinkled with eternal mischief’, and J. Seery’s saucy Romeo.
The winners, printed below, get £25 each. W.J. Webster shows true bonkbuster potential, but the extra fiver belongs to a nicely understated William Danes-Volkov.
Bathsheba heard a horse, and went out. The rider did not stop, but turned towards the sheep field. As he passed, Gabriel looked down at her. Bathsheba avoided his gaze, but her eyes were drawn again to the thighs in their smooth jodhpurs, pressing close to the horse’s sweating flanks.
In the field Gabriel flung off his coat and shirt, and the sun caught the little silver chain that nestled in the soft hair on his chest. In his hand was the pricker, ready to release the gas from the dying sheep. He knelt, running his left hand across the distended stomach. Bathsheba watched, fascinated, as he stabbed the pointed knife, with its circular sheath, into the panting sheep. With a jerk of his hand he pulled the knife out, leaving the tube in place. The gas rushed out, and the sheep lay back, breathing easier now, in its gratitude.
William Danes-Volkov
The Islamic hordes were making their superior numbers count, but the desperate state of battle was the last thing on Roland’s mind.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in