THE PIMLICO PLOT
By
High-colored nonsense with occasional referrals to Irish unification--the only bombing involves a New York publisher--and endless garden-party small talk re the marriage of Maeve to Fen Vaughan, almost too sudden to survive Fen's jealousy, and the attempts of a former lover to put an end to it and to Maeve. ""Her tendrils were out, feeling the air""--it's all the silly embodiment of the nothing that's there.