Win a copy of The Bridge Club by Patricia Sands

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THE BRIDGE CLUB (.. it was never just about the cards..)


There is one copy of Patricia Sand’s wonderful novel, The Bridge Club, waiting to be won. Simply post your details as a comment here by 13 August 2011 to be entered into the random draw.   (Please note: comments can take up to 24 hours to appear.)

Eight women. Four decades of friendship. One unimaginable request. How far would you go to  help a good friend? Is there a point where you might draw the line?

Partying together as hip twenty-somethings in the psychedelic 1960’s, eight young women begin a connection that will last longer than any ever imagined.

What starts as a monthly card game, turns into forty years that span a woman’s journey from youthful optimism to the challenges and opportunities presented in life’s later years. The complexities of women’s friendships are played out through a maze of life’s inevitable scenarios. Laughter and tears lead to a crisis that challenges principles and proves the power of friendship.

The Bridge Club is a story for anyone who cares about friendship. Not simply the “Hi, how are you?” type but the kind that weathers all storms, unselfishly celebrates triumphs, and hums along year after year with never an unkind word. It does exist. If you already share a friendship like this, you will relate to the women of The Bridge Club. If you don’t, perhaps the story will inspire you to find it.

Here are some excerpts from this inspiring novel by Patricia, that give a glimpse of what The Bridge Club is all about:-

The tires crunched up the gravel drive leading to Pam’s rustic log house, where the rest of the Bridge Club was already relaxing. Relieved to be there, Dee laughed in spite of herself as the Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” blared from around the back of the house with the familiar sound of the Bridge Club backup singers in full voice. Mick and the boys, Sir Elton, Sir Paul, Stevie Nicks, and the Bridge Club—still rockin’ as they headed for sixty.

One of the pluses of living in the country, she thought. You never have to worry about the volume.

The spacious cedar deck at Pam’s had witnessed many great parties over the years, and Dee knew precisely what the scene would be as she took the stone steps two at a time and rounded the corner of the house.

“I can’t get no, I can’t get no. Hey, hey, hey-y.”

The singing stopped mid-chorus as they welcomed the latecomer.

“Yay! Look who’s finally arrived!”

“Our first lady of the links!”

“How did the match go?”

Scarcely noticing a glass of white wine slipped into her hand, she made the rounds to get everyone’s latest news. Although she appeared subdued to several of the women, nothing was said. It was simply assumed she was tired from her day of golf. Of all the group, Dee was the most low key and conservative. She saved her moments of exuberance for very select occasions.

Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight was the tradition, and sometimes they actually made it happen. Tonight was one of those nights, so Dee had only about twenty minutes of chitchat outside before they sat down at the 150-year-old pine dining table for a late summer feast of BBQ ribs, free-range chicken from the farm down the road, accompanied by fresh corn, new potatoes, and field tomatoes all picked that afternoon. It was a traditional meal at this time of year, but Dee, known for the huge portions she could consume without gaining an ounce, wasn’t eating much on this particular evening.

“I’ve got a lump in my breast,” she blurted partway through dinner.


Bo signaled a time-out with her hands, obviously wanting to get back to Marti‘s earlier comment.

“Okay, enough of the sad story. It‘s done and we‘ve moved on, right? Not to be insensitive, but we did deal with this when it happened.”

“Absolutely right, enough is enough,” Marti agreed, happy to change the subject.

“So what‘s the powwow about?” Bonnie pressed on.

Leaping to her feet, Marti turned her back to them briefly and then twirled around with her hands pressed to the side of her face.

“Get it?” she asked.

Everyone looked at her quizzically.

Some laughed.

Others just shook their heads.

“Mar, to be honest you never have been very good at charades! What the hell are you getting at?” Dee asked, looking completely confused.

Plopping herself back down in her chair and making a face, Marti groaned, ”God I wish I still smoked! I would love to light up right now! Oh, but then I might not be able to do what I‘m thinking of doing. So…”

“So … what?” Jane asked.

Cass crumpled up a paper cocktail napkin and threw it at Marti, ”Will you tell us what this is all about?”

“You‘re making us crazy!” shrieked Danielle.

“I‘m making me crazy too! I cannot believe I feel so self-conscious telling you about this! Honestly, I feel like I‘m being so self-absorbed. So narcissistic. So … so … anti-feminist! All right, here it is. I‘m seriously thinking about having a facelift.”

With an air of exaggerated disappointment, Cass asked, “That‘s what all the drama was about?”

“No biggie there, Marti,” said Pam, palms outstretched and relieved this was all that had been on Marti‘s mind.

“Go for it—after careful consideration as to who does the work, of course,” was Dee‘s typically cautious response.

Marti sat up straighter, nodding as she did.

“So you don‘t think I‘m a nut bar or completely into myself? I‘ve really been reluctant to say the words out loud.”

“Oh God, Mar, just promise me you won‘t end up looking like Goldie Hawn in that movie. Remember those lips?” Cass reminded her.

Laughing and nodding, Marti gestured with her hands as she shook her head.

“No overblown lips. I promise.”

“Vanity, thy name is woman,”intoned Bonnie. “Even though it was probably some beauty editor and definitely not Shakespeare who said this, it seems to fit.”

“Guilty as charged,” laughed Marti, “just slap a big V on my forehead!”


Back in Toronto after the vacation, Danielle rolled up her sleeves one morning after first cranking up Beatles music on her iPod. For over thirty years that was her music of choice to clean by. Today she was going to give the place a good once over. She moved all the furniture, cleaned every nook and cranny, and decided to tackle the storage closet. Bryce was off on his annual four-day fishing weekend at an isolated island lodge in Georgian Bay with the guys, so it was the perfect opportunity to turn things upside down.

Standing tiptoe on the top rung of the small stepladder, she momentarily lost her balance and knocked one of Bryce’s old briefcases to the floor. Working from home now and with files all stored on a laptop, he really didn’t use them anymore. This particular case had always been her favorite, with a soft, rich leather the color of roasted chestnuts and classic brass fittings. It had such a fine quality look to it that suited Bryce. As silly as it sounded, she had loved to see him carrying it.

The briefcase hit the floor with a sharp thud, and the locks popped open. Her heart stopped as her brain tried to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.

To find out more about Patricia and where to buy The Bridge Club, here are some links:-

Author Page:

Author Website:
Author Blog:
Twitter A/c @Patricia_Sands:
Facebook page Patricia Sands: and
Facebook page The Bridge Club:


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