Eighteen summers

I’ve been queuing just shy of an hour. It’s utter madness. With the clock ticking closer and closer to midnight it’s beginning to feel like a fruitless task. Do I abandon the queue? I’m at the point w

IT was two days until Christmas and the afternoon sky was blue and crisp as Lydia’s car pulled up in front of the magnificent Bristol Hotel. Why was it called the Bristol? she wondered. It was nowhere

Mary Pargeter was starting to feel her age. When did she first attend the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony at Greenwood House? A quarter of a century, and she was retired even then. Had she loc

The past 12 months have seen some fabulous releases. Prima ’s books editor Nina Pottell looks back at her favourites and the ones you may have missed…

The first five pages of my new novel, Small Acts of Resistance, a love story set during the First World War, have taken a somewhat circuitous route to print. Their journey into being started over twen

HER phone pinged with the e-mail while she was lying on the beach. The Greek sun blazed down from – well, being a writer, it was second nature for Amy to think about how she would describe the blue sk