Fame Fatale [antikvár]

Chapter 1 Grace Armiger stood on the edge of the party, clutching a glass of warm white wine and peering round hard for Henry. Concentrating on the search was difficult; everywhere she looked she saw someone distractingly famous. A mere paperbacks toss away, Nick Hornby was deep in conversation with Helen Fielding, while, just behind them, V. S. Naipaul and Joanna Troliope were laughing uproariously at something Robbie Williams had just said . . . Robbie Williams? Grace did a double-take. But yes, there was no mistaking that elastic, humorous face. Of course, Grace remembered, he'd been asked to be a Booker judge this year. The St Merrion Festival, long renowned for the number of celebrities it attracted, had clearly excelled itself this time round. Anyone doubting that books were the new rock and roll, Grace thought, only had to be here, at the festival's cocktail reception, to see how much more like a film premiere it looked than anything to do with the traditionally fusty world of writing. Hair shone, teeth gleamed, laughter tinkled. Everyone looked tanned, sleek, wealthy and confident; everyone, moreover, seemed to have film deals. 'So Warner Bros have just optionedyour book, then?' a blonde