1 APRIL 1995, Page 36

Taste as a moral guide

Kate Hubbard

THE BEST OF FRIENDS by Joanna Trollope Bloomsbury, £15.99, pp. 261 In her last novel, A Spanish Lover, Joanna Trollope transported part of the narrative to Spain, and although she brought her usual thoroughness to bear on Andalucian architecture and cuisine, it wasn't quite the same. So it is with a small sigh of relief that, with The Best of Friends, we find ourselves safely back in Glouces- tershire, or Whittingbourne' to be precise. Trollope has moved away from the picture- book English village of her early novels, and though Whittingbourne is built of the requisite golden stone, it also boasts a sports centre, a super-store and gangs of gormless youths. Trollope is casting her net somewhat wider, geographically and social- ly, but not, since she knows her readers, too wide.

The Best of Friends, Trollope's seventh novel, bears all the hallmarks for which Trollope is so loved: a provincial setting; families in the throes of crisis; sympathetic characters; plenty of cheering warmth and humour and lots of lovely details. The best of friends in question are two couples Laurence and Hilary Wood, and Fergus and Gina Bedford. The Woods run a small hotel (where Laurence is the chef) and live in a homely, cluttered flat with their three adolescent sons. The Bedfords live in a jewel-like, mediaeval house, impeccably furnished and finished by Fergus, who is a fine-art dealer, with 16-year-old Sophy. The pleasing symmetry of this arrangement is violently shattered when Fergus ups and leaves Gina; an event swiftly followed by Gina and Laurence, who have known each other since their schooldays, falling in love.

Marital crises, of the kind that seem to blow up out of nowhere creating waves of damage, which can never be undone, but may, with luck, be accommodated and con- tained, show Trollope at her best. She is scrupulous about presenting the many shades to a dilemma and avoiding easy answers. As Laurence puts it, 'Why was it that if one chose one love, it seemed to invalidate all others, even if you felt them still?' It must be said that Trollope is more convincing on the demise of love than its blossoming (Gina and Laurence have some painfully coy exchanges) and on middle- aged love, than more youthful or elderly varieties, all of which are present here. But she is adept at capturing the finer nuances of feeling, or the involuntary, telling gesture — as when Hilary, during a crucial conversation with Laurence, wraps her skirt around her knees as 'a sort of bandage against feeling'.

The focus here is on the havoc wreaked on the lives of the children as their parents lurch in and out of love. Trollope is good on the subject of teenagers. The Woods boys are fairly standard representatives of adolescent youth — sloping about in off- white T-shirts, always awkward and some- times touching. But the anguish of quiet, sensitive, vegetarian Sophy, as she con- fronts adult limitations and struggles towards some autonomy, is really finely observed.

Whilst turning a wise and compassionate eye on human failings, Trollope withholds judgment. Nevertheless it's always clear where her sympathies lie (not with Gina). Too well-mannered to underline her char- acters' short-comings, she employs taste as a form of moral guide. Gina, neat and glossy-haired, wears leggings, mascara and little, red ballet shoes. Hilary, be- spectacled and ruffled of hair, wears sensible, navy blue skirts, has no time for make-up and is obviously going to give Gina a run for her money. Suspiciously

Don Rodgers

Thank you for your Interest

I'm sure you,meant well: Annunciation, Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection, the Harrowing of Hell.

It can't have been an easy decision: to become half unethereal, and acquire a smell.

But just look at the result of crossing rosy flesh with spirit: mealy with guilt, your meat's unbeefed, unsavoury or insipid.

No, ungodly's best.

But thank you for your interest. tasteful Fergus exchanges his chilly muse- um of a house in Whittingbourne for a chilly museum in Holland Park, where he lives with Tony (a strictly platonic relation- ship apparently). It's perfectly obvious that a man who uses a paper knife, fusses about his sofa-covers and only drinks tea from Fortnum and Mason, is sadly deficient.

The Best of Friends is rich in the kind of detailing — of food, clothes, furnishings at which Trollope excels. One has to won- der why it's quite so satisfying to know that Laurence likes a glass of Chablis, or Bul- garian Red after a long shift, or that the Bedfords have spotted, tie-on 'Swedish- style' cushions on their kitchen chairs and spinach and nutmeg 'designer soup' in their fridge (no sign of an aga, though). It must be something about the appeal of the familiar, the small thrill of recognition. There should be plenty of thrilling, and the fans are going to be very, very happy.