I first read this book back in 1988 and gave it a high rating; this reread didn't satisfy me at all. Palmer is one of my guilty pleasure authors: I can't quite pinpoint any more why I'm compelled to buy her books (new, to boot); she's like rubber-necking an accident on the highway. You can't resist looking but you know there's such distress involved. One thing about Palmer is that she's consistent, she never veers from her initial plot lines, her original 1980s heroines. You know what to expect which can be a comforting thing, however so many authors have moved upwards and onwards to a sharper-edged, more contemporary feel to their stories but Palmer is just mud-stuck in the 1980s: spinning her literary wheels. ( )