Wow! eBook
One Apple Tasted
Author(s): Josa Young (Author)
- Publisher: Elliott & Thompson Limited
- Publication Date: 7 Aug. 2009
- Edition: First Edition
- Language: English
- Print length: 352 pages
- ISBN-10: 1904027717
- ISBN-13: 9781904027713
Book Description
For Dora Jerusalem, fresh out of Cambridge with a head full of Victorian novels and romantic dreams, landing a job at Modern Woman magazine seems like amazing luck.
But her sheltered background hadn’t prepared her to resist the charms of rich, spoilt kids with nasty habits and nothing to lose. Inevitably she falls in love with art dealer Guy Boleyn, but it isn’t the right time, place or circumstances for either of them. And all the while a long-buried secret lies in wait to booby-trap any attempt at happiness.
Kicking off in 1980s London,
One Apple Tasted First Edition is warm, engaging and brilliantly characterised.Editorial Reviews
Review
“One Apple Tasted is by far the best-written new romantic comedy I’ve read this year” —Amanda Craig
“Compelling, original, cleverly plotted and funny, One Apple Tasted First Edition reads like a Virago Modern Classic” —Isabel Wolff
“Delicious froth combines with wit and insight in this romantic comedy of manners…There is a warmth and pathos in the writing and some wonderful insights and mixed with all the fun this makes for a lovely novel.” —Marika Cobbold
From the Publisher
Meet Dora Jerusalem, features assistant to the assistant features editor at Modern Woman, a fashionable glossy staffed by glamorous girls and clever boys. Catapulted into 1980s London and desperate to succeed, Dora is drawn into a whirl of launches and parties where she meets Guy Boleyn, louche and gorgeous – but from a very different world.
Follow the ever-optimistic Dora as she navigates her way through a maze of jealous frenemies, family secrets, weddings that don’t exactly go to plan and a heritage of passion and drama – trying to reach that elusive fairytale ending.
Kicking off in 1980s London, and moving between 1950s Home Counties and WWII, by way of a breathtaking trip to Himalayan India, Josa Young perfectly captures the tone of each era, to paint a touchingly accurate portrait of a young woman struggling towards happiness.
Brilliantly characterised, engaging and witty, One Apple Tasted is part family saga, part romance, part coming-of-age tale, all adding up to the perfect cheering holiday read.
About the Author
Josa Young is a writer, editor and internet content specialist based in West London. She started her career at Vogue, and has written for most of the top glossies and broadsheet newspapers.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
`I feel so sorry for people like him. Cameras poking into his face wherever he goes. Particularly with that difficult-to-manage, flyaway hair and the kind of complexion that always lets you down.’
Dora knew the speaker’s face but she couldn’t remember his name. He shook his head. `I would hate to be famous,’ he added shuddering.
Dora found him arch but touchingly beautiful. She assumed he was gay and therefore out of the question for anything but friendship. Not that she undervalued that. After Cambridge, her friendships still endured – unlike the relationships she’d had with straight boys.
The pretty, well-bred publicity girls known as Davoli’s puffettes had fielded just one A list celebrity for Davoli’s latest splashy book launch and he’d had a grim time with the paparazzi on the way in. Dora supposed the singer felt obliged to come as Davoli was going to publish the earnest photography he wasn’t ever likely to be famous for in a big glossy book.
`If it was me I think I would never go anywhere. He’d go to the opening of a stock cube. Lovely for the puffettes to have such a tame celeb.’
There was a bitchy note in the beautiful boy’s voice. Dora thought he sounded jealous. She was only half listening when she became aware of something.
She began to giggle. Laughter rose from her stomach in a bubbling stream. She tried to keep her mouth shut but the joy escaped through her nose. She snorted and clutched her middle with one hand.
`What’s the matter? Are you all right?’
She was speechless. Giggles were escaping all over her face and her eyes began to stream. She wiped them with the floppy cuff of her New Romantic shirt, staggering backwards, looking for a wall to lean on but encountering only solid, disgruntled, fashionable flesh. She wheezed and ached with laughter. His anxious face only provoked fresh paroxysms.
`What have you taken?’ the boy inquired, looking down at her hands to see if she had a joint. Her first glass of champagne was still half full.
Dora was held upright by the crush of the party. Davoli always gave good ones – champagne rather than warm white wine. The assembled liggers were squashed firmly together, rapidly smoking and drinking with arms clamped to their sides and hands up near their faces.
`Look behind you,’ she managed to gasp, an idiotic grin wavering on her face.
The boy swivelled his head over one cramped shoulder. `What is it?’
`It’s him,’ she whispered. The celeb. `You’re leaning against him.’
She was overcome again when on the boy’s elfin face it dawned that the celebrity was pressed firmly against his back. There was no way that the singer hadn’t heard their conversation.
She was suddenly afraid that her companion would abandon her in a sea of complete strangers. She’d been so relieved to see a face she half recognised, even if she couldn’t remember his name. Excruciatingly shy, Dora had been desperately pretending to have a good time before she ran into him. She had been thinking about leaving, hoping to give off an aura of an urgent, thrilling dinner date as she went.
Due to the squeeze the boy couldn’t move away, which was a temporary comfort. She thought his ears looked pinker, but it was difficult to tell in the gloom. His mouth trembled and his expression became more intense. Her heart sank. Then his face seemed to crumple.
He closed his eyes and threw back his head, not caring that he nearly nutted the famous object of his pity. He opened his mouth to the tonsils and bellowed with laughter. As far as they could, the cramped partygoers looked around to see who was so genuinely enjoying themselves.
He put out his hands – a cigarette in one and an empty glass in the other – on either side of her and pressed himself against her. Bending to lean his blond head upon her shoulder, he gave way to the giggles as well. This set her off again. She put her arms around him to hold them both up.
They held on tight, glasses behind each other’s backs, terrified of parting, looking for an escape route and trembling with crazy elation.
The crowd had parted crossly to let them through. They found a table and put their heads down on their arms to recover, gasping for breath, little last bubbles of laughter breaking free from their loosened mouths, faces wet with tears, feeling weak and abandoned.
Dora didn’t dare look up. Then she felt him take hold of her forearm. She raised her head slightly. Only his eyes were visible. As she couldn’t see his mouth, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. His eyes were enormous in his thin face. His straight blond hair was dishevelled. Dora didn’t know what it was like to come back to life with a man after passionate love making, but she thought this stillness, gasps for breath, utter relaxation, happiness and enormous warmth towards the other might be how it would – or could – be.
They turned their heads towards each other, still resting them on folded arms, their only contact his left hand on her forearm. She studied the worn gold signet ring on his little finger. She didn’t want to speak.
`What’s your name?’ he asked. `I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Aren’t you a friend of Evangeline’s?’
`I work with her at Modern Woman. My name’s Dora Jerusalem.’
Dora knew the speaker’s face but she couldn’t remember his name. He shook his head. `I would hate to be famous,’ he added shuddering.
Dora found him arch but touchingly beautiful. She assumed he was gay and therefore out of the question for anything but friendship. Not that she undervalued that. After Cambridge, her friendships still endured – unlike the relationships she’d had with straight boys.
The pretty, well-bred publicity girls known as Davoli’s puffettes had fielded just one A list celebrity for Davoli’s latest splashy book launch and he’d had a grim time with the paparazzi on the way in. Dora supposed the singer felt obliged to come as Davoli was going to publish the earnest photography he wasn’t ever likely to be famous for in a big glossy book.
`If it was me I think I would never go anywhere. He’d go to the opening of a stock cube. Lovely for the puffettes to have such a tame celeb.’
There was a bitchy note in the beautiful boy’s voice. Dora thought he sounded jealous. She was only half listening when she became aware of something.
She began to giggle. Laughter rose from her stomach in a bubbling stream. She tried to keep her mouth shut but the joy escaped through her nose. She snorted and clutched her middle with one hand.
`What’s the matter? Are you all right?’
She was speechless. Giggles were escaping all over her face and her eyes began to stream. She wiped them with the floppy cuff of her New Romantic shirt, staggering backwards, looking for a wall to lean on but encountering only solid, disgruntled, fashionable flesh. She wheezed and ached with laughter. His anxious face only provoked fresh paroxysms.
`What have you taken?’ the boy inquired, looking down at her hands to see if she had a joint. Her first glass of champagne was still half full.
Dora was held upright by the crush of the party. Davoli always gave good ones – champagne rather than warm white wine. The assembled liggers were squashed firmly together, rapidly smoking and drinking with arms clamped to their sides and hands up near their faces.
`Look behind you,’ she managed to gasp, an idiotic grin wavering on her face.
The boy swivelled his head over one cramped shoulder. `What is it?’
`It’s him,’ she whispered. The celeb. `You’re leaning against him.’
She was overcome again when on the boy’s elfin face it dawned that the celebrity was pressed firmly against his back. There was no way that the singer hadn’t heard their conversation.
She was suddenly afraid that her companion would abandon her in a sea of complete strangers. She’d been so relieved to see a face she half recognised, even if she couldn’t remember his name. Excruciatingly shy, Dora had been desperately pretending to have a good time before she ran into him. She had been thinking about leaving, hoping to give off an aura of an urgent, thrilling dinner date as she went.
Due to the squeeze the boy couldn’t move away, which was a temporary comfort. She thought his ears looked pinker, but it was difficult to tell in the gloom. His mouth trembled and his expression became more intense. Her heart sank. Then his face seemed to crumple.
He closed his eyes and threw back his head, not caring that he nearly nutted the famous object of his pity. He opened his mouth to the tonsils and bellowed with laughter. As far as they could, the cramped partygoers looked around to see who was so genuinely enjoying themselves.
He put out his hands – a cigarette in one and an empty glass in the other – on either side of her and pressed himself against her. Bending to lean his blond head upon her shoulder, he gave way to the giggles as well. This set her off again. She put her arms around him to hold them both up.
They held on tight, glasses behind each other’s backs, terrified of parting, looking for an escape route and trembling with crazy elation.
The crowd had parted crossly to let them through. They found a table and put their heads down on their arms to recover, gasping for breath, little last bubbles of laughter breaking free from their loosened mouths, faces wet with tears, feeling weak and abandoned.
Dora didn’t dare look up. Then she felt him take hold of her forearm. She raised her head slightly. Only his eyes were visible. As she couldn’t see his mouth, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. His eyes were enormous in his thin face. His straight blond hair was dishevelled. Dora didn’t know what it was like to come back to life with a man after passionate love making, but she thought this stillness, gasps for breath, utter relaxation, happiness and enormous warmth towards the other might be how it would – or could – be.
They turned their heads towards each other, still resting them on folded arms, their only contact his left hand on her forearm. She studied the worn gold signet ring on his little finger. She didn’t want to speak.
`What’s your name?’ he asked. `I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Aren’t you a friend of Evangeline’s?’
`I work with her at Modern Woman. My name’s Dora Jerusalem.’
