Reviewed on Richard & Judy on Wednesday 13 May 2009.
Featured on The Book Show on Sky Arts on 29 January 2009.
Wealthy Damian Baxter is dying without an heir when an unsigned letter arrives inferring he had a son thirty years ago. The story backtracks to the late 60s and into the lives of six girlfriends who he slept with before mumps rendered him sterile. It’s the dying days of debs, the last coming-our balls of the season and a period when the upper classes were having to adjust to changing times. Full of terrific observations on human nature, it’s funny, poignant and enormously enjoyable.
Damian Baxter is hugely wealthy and dying. He lives alone in a big house in Surrey, looked after by a chauffeur, butler, cook and housemaid. He has but one concern - his fortune in excess of £500 million and who should inherit it on his death.
PAST IMPERFECT is the story of a quest. Damian Baxter wishes to know if he has a living heir. By the time he married in his late thirties he was sterile (the result of adult mumps), but what about before that unfortunate illness? He was not a virgin. Had he sired a child? A letter from a girlfriend from these times suggests he did. But the letter is anonymous.
Damian contacts someone he knew from their days at university. He gives him a list of girls he slept with and sets him a task: find his heir!
'A gloriously funny, bumpy ride through modern times.' Andrew Barrow, THE EVENING STANDARD
'he knows too, how to create memorable characters. Working with an upper-class cast Fellowes populates PAST IMPERFECT with a gallery of sometimes grotesque but mostley affectionately drawn toffs - acidly observered by the narrator, ever peevish, ever diverting.' Peter Burton, THE DAILY EXPRESS
'PAST IMPERFECT is both a historical document for that vanished era and a comedy of manners....... sharply perceptive and required reading for anyone who was there.' Claire Colvin, THE DAILY MAIL
'Its plot cannot fail to grip the reader...... what elevates this novel to much more than a comedy of manners is the depth of compassion the author displays for his characters.' Elisa Segrave, THE SPECTATOR
