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I like the photograph of Miss Binchy lighting a cigarette.In fact I like all your photographs of her whatever she's doing.And it was this that led in the direction of fiction.In fact it was Gordon who first mentioned writing fiction as something they could both do.Maeve was starting to feel the same way about journalism -- you wrote your piece, expending great creative energy in the process, and it was history the next day.They both wanted something more lasting, like books. Now, after she'd finished her day on the paper, she wrote short stories in the office between 6 and 8pm, after everyone else had gone home.When she arrived home in Dalkey there was a cheque waiting for her.Her father had been so impressed by her letters home that he'd had them typed up and sent to the newspapers.
Both her parents had died by now and she had moved from the family home in Dalkey to a flat in Dublin.
They gelled immediately, partly because they shared the same kind of humour.
She claimed not to have fancied him straight away, but liked being with him and trusted him. And trust was not something she associated with men, since she had been let down several times on her travels in her early 20s. She observed that his face lit up whenever he saw someone he liked, and it lit up for her especially.
I particularly liked the one in today's issue of her lying on the beach with no clothes on, wasn't she? By the following year, when Maeve was 38, she had discovered she couldn't have children.
She and Gordon were bitterly disappointed, but as time went on they remained so occupied with writing their books that some friends of theirs believed at first that they were childless by choice, which wasn't so.