I don't expect to recommend these to anyone; there are better books to be read. It just wasn't love-at-first-sight, for me. But if you're so inclined, be my guest. You could do worse.
Excerpt from Winterton Blue:
It's far too early for a phone call. Anna lies face down on the pillow, not quite awake, but aware of voices: she's left the radio on again, and the presenter is talking about the threat of London flooding. In her almost-dreaming state, the sound of ringing becomes wave after wave of muddy water as it sweeps through the back garden and into her flat. She gets to the phone just before her answer message cuts in. Sitting in the kitchen with the receiver to her good ear, Anna looks for signs of damage: everything appears to be in order--dry, at least--but she still avoids putting her bare feet on the flagstones, just in case. The voice on the other end of the line is vaguely familiar. It's Vernon Savoy, her mother's lodger. Her mother had taken another fall, this time on the steps outside her house.You've no need to panic, he says, She's going to be perfectly all right. No need to rush up here.I understand, says Anna, So this is just a social call at--er--six a.m.?Vernon's intake of breath is clearly audible.
Excerpt from Red-Rose Chain:
Thus equipped with a shaky licence and shakier diplome d'etudes from Paris, a doctored thesis from Ardenne and blank doctorate from North Shrewsbury, I returned to North York in Canada. I arrived on a Saturday and left the next. As Ralph [his too-conventional stepfather], in his panelled basement refuge, cocoa and Fig-Roll biscuits at his side, watched men talking about zinc futures, I rounded up a few essentials and fitted them with jig-saw precision into my mother's blue Colt, which had been sitting, sad and unridden, in the driveway. At midnight I headed east along the 401 and arrived in Lower Canada as the sun came up. A few rudderless, compassless years later, I applied for a teaching post at a French-speaking university.