TWO

Maria finished the phone call to a commissioning editor at Chatto, cleared her desk and grabbed her handbag. Fridays were always the busiest day of the week, with publishers and writers alike attempting to settle affairs before the weekend, and she was ready for a well-earned break. She was about to escape and meet Donald when there was a knock at the door of her office and Molly poked her head through.

‘Maria, Charles would like a word, if you’re free.’

‘I was just about to leave. I wonder what he wants.’

‘I don’t know, but he does seem rather pensive.’

‘Pensive?’

‘Withdrawn. Not his usual self.’

She followed Molly from the office into the reception area. Molly returned to her desk. ‘Charles’s chauffeur was in earlier,’ the girl said. ‘He’s quite a dish, isn’t he?’

Maria smiled. ‘But perhaps a little old for you, no? He must be at least thirty.’

‘The way he smiles, and he can hardly bring himself to meet my gaze … He’s very shy, for his age.’

Maria laughed. ‘I’d better see what his nibs wants,’ she said, indicating Charles’s office door.

She knocked and entered.

Charles Elder was seated behind his huge mahogany desk; he rose majestically and held out his arms as if to embrace her. ‘My dear, my dear. You do have five minutes – or perhaps ten?’

She smiled. ‘Of course, Charles.’

‘Take a seat,’ he said, waving to a buttoned leather armchair.

Maria sat down and watched Charles pace back and forth before the empty hearth.

Charles Elder was gargantuan; he was huge physically, though he deported his elephantine bulk with a certain nimble grace – and colossal too in terms of sheer charismatic presence. Like certain Shakespearian actors who possess the innate talent to captivate an audience – with his florid face, snow-white peak of hair and fruity, declamatory tenor – he played the cynosure wherever he might be. Maria loved him like a second father.

‘Would you care for a little drink?’ he asked. ‘Brandy?’

‘I’d better not, thank you. I’m just about to drive to Notting Hill to see Donald.’

‘Then pray indulge me while I indulge myself, child!’ he said, sloshing himself a huge brandy and continuing with his pacing.

He lodged his triple chin on to his chest and frowned at the carpet. Molly was right: he did seem unaccountably pensive today.

Maria decided to break the silence. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Charles, but Molly is rather smitten.’

He looked at her. ‘She is? Smitten? With whom, might I enquire?’

‘With Albert,’ she said.

He bellowed a laugh. ‘Oh, the myopia of innocence!’ he cried. ‘Albert did mention the other day that she’d been attempting to engage him in conversation. He was somewhat embarrassed by her attention.’

‘Perhaps,’ Maria said, ‘I should have a quiet word with her and say that Albert is spoken for?’

Charles beamed. ‘Would you, my dear? That would be divine of you. If you could say that Albert has a little lady down Bermondsey way … that might cool her ardour somewhat.’

‘I’ll do that.’

Charles nodded and continued his pacing.

A minute later, impatient to be away, Maria said, ‘Charles … what did you wish to see me about?’

The frown upon his porcine face intensified, and he said at last, ‘How long have I been running this agency, Maria?’

‘Ah … twenty years?’

‘Twenty-two, to be precise. Twenty-two. I built the agency up from nothing to the status it enjoys today – that of one of the finest smaller literary agencies in London; these past few years ably assisted, might I add, by your good self.’

Maria sat back and watched Charles as he strode in rumination up and down the length of the Persian rug; she wondered where this might be leading.

‘My circumstances have changed somewhat in the past few months,’ he went on. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, I have, at my late age, been fortunate enough to stumble upon the bounty of true love. Albert is a boon; everything a man might ask for, and his devotion is matched only by my own.’

Maria leaned forward. ‘And yet …?’

Charles stopped to slurp his brandy. ‘And yet I face a dilemma, my child. I find myself tied, nay anchored, you might say, to that which for years has been the focus of my existence, to wit: the agency.’

Maria opened her eyes wide. ‘You’re not thinking of selling it, are you?’

‘Selling?’ he thundered. ‘Selling? Perish the thought! Of course not. However, I have – how shall I phrase this? – been contemplating of late the idea of taking a … you might say … a back seat in proceedings.’

‘A back seat?’ she echoed.

He approached and loomed over her, a tweed-clad man-mountain topped with an unruly summit of white hair. ‘How would you care, my child, to take over the sole responsibility of running the Elder and Dupré Literary Agency?’

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

Charles rushed on, ‘I have watched the way you handle our affairs, and I cannot overestimate how impressed I am. You know the business inside out, have a winning way with both authors and editors, and an acute – might I say scalpel-sharp? – business mind.’

‘But … but run the agency, Charles?’

‘What I propose, Maria, is this: I shall take a back seat, perhaps popping into the office one morning every fortnight or so. You will be duly promoted to my role; to fill your position, I shall advertise for an experienced, up-and-coming fellow, or filly, to assist you.’

He stared, his tiny eyes boring into her.

‘You will, of course, be more than adequately remunerated, financially. I see no reason why you cannot contemplate a pay rise of fifty per cent.’

Sacre bleu!’ she gasped, fanning herself. ‘But, but … Charles, this is something of a shock, and to tell the truth …’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I was thinking I might mention to Donald the idea of moving to the country. Somewhere close to London,’ she hurried on, ‘so that I could still work here … though perhaps work from home two or three days a week.’ She pulled a face as she awaited his reaction.

Charles arranged his full lips into a contemplative rose bud. At last he said, ‘I see no reason why our two objectives – my desire to hand on the reins, and yours to enjoy a country idyll – should be mutually exclusive. You will think about my proposal, I hope?’

She smiled. ‘Of course, yes. I’ll tell Donald. He’ll be thrilled.’

‘The Happy Highways beckon!’ Charles declaimed. ‘I was talking with Albert, just the other day, about the idea of purchasing a caravan and hitting the open road.’

She smiled to herself as the image of Mr Toad sprang to mind.

‘And speaking of Donald,’ Charles went on, ‘he is the second reason why I summoned you to my sanctum.’

‘He is?’

‘For many years,’ Charles said, ‘Donald’s sales figures have been well above average; despite the fact that he sees himself as a stalwart of the mid-list, his books do sell rather better than that. However … I received a phone call this morning that might change the situation. Might, I say, boost the fellow into the big league …’

‘A phone call?’

‘Early days yet, of course – and not a word to old Donald on the matter until things are finalized, but …’

He went on to outline the details of the phone call, and finished with the warning not to tell Donald a dicky bird for the time being.

Ten minutes later Maria left the agency and drove, in a pleasant daze of disbelief, across town to Notting Hill.

Donald was sitting at corner table when she arrived at the Lyons’ tea room. She paused, watching him, before crossing the crowded café. He was miles away, absorbed in an old copy of the Daily Herald, and absent-mindedly stroking the scar on his right temple.

She felt a surge of love for the man as she threaded her way between the tables, pulling off her gloves and removing her hat. She bent to kiss him and fell into a seat.

‘My word! The traffic is terr-ible, Donald. I was stuck in a jam for ten minutes in Knightsbridge.’

He looked up at her, his thin face breaking into a smile. Then he frowned, tilting his head as he regarded her. ‘What is it?’

She laughed. ‘What do you mean, “what is it”?’

Donald took her hand. ‘You seem in rather fine fettle. Good news?’

‘I am soon to marry the handsomest man in London – that’s why I am in “fine fettle”, Donald. But what is this “fine fettle”, anyway?’

‘You’re not deflecting me that easily, girl – out with it!’

She laughed. ‘I cannot keep anything from you! Very well – I have some rather interesting news.’

He ordered her a coffee and poured himself a second cup of black Earl Grey. ‘Out with it, then,’ he demanded.

She told him about Charles’s plan to take a back seat in the running of the agency, and her potential promotion. She had to restrain herself, as she finished, from telling him about the other potential good news.

He clutched her hand. ‘My word! I don’t know what to say. You’ll accept, of course?’

She sipped her coffee, beaming at him over the cup. ‘I think perhaps I might,’ she said.

‘Then this calls for a celebration, Maria. Now … how would you like an all-expenses paid weekend at Marling Hall in Norfolk?’

She blinked. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Never more so.’

‘Norfolk is so beautiful. But why Marling Hall?’

‘Have you heard of a film star called Suzie Reynard?’

Maria was surprised. ‘Heard of her? Why, I’ve seen many of her films. She’s not a leading lady, but often plays best friend roles. But why do you mention her?’

He told her about his meeting with Suzie Reynard that afternoon, and the actress’s worries regarding the director Douglas Dennison.

‘If it’s as I suspect, a storm in a teacup,’ Donald said, ‘then we’re in for a pleasant weekend in the country, and we might even meet some interesting types.’

‘How exciting. And I thought, when you began work at the agency, that it would all be following unfaithful husbands and boring work like that.’

‘That’s what Ralph’s been doing all week. I think he’s a trifle miffed that I was manning the desk when Reynard blew in.’

Maria sipped her coffee. ‘Was she beautiful, in real life?’

‘I wouldn’t say beautiful so much as … as attractive in a fragile, brittle kind of way. And tiny. Not much over five feet tall.’

‘That’s surprising. It doesn’t show in her films.’

‘I suspect they have tricks to make the stars seem tall. Look at Audie Murphy. Oh,’ he went on, ‘she saw your photo on my desk and said you were so beautiful you ought to be in movies yourself.’

She laughed. ‘Perhaps I’ll be offered a part this weekend, Donald! Did you know that I was on the stage at school in Gloucestershire?’

‘Were you good?’

‘No, to be honest. I was terr-ible. So wooden. And I couldn’t remember my lines! Miss Macmillan, our drama teacher, despaired of me.’

‘Bang goes your film career, then.’

‘That’s a thought. I really should invite her and a couple of my other old teachers next month.’

‘It’ll be the best-attended wedding in London.’

Maria smiled, staring into the remains of her coffee. ‘Just thirty days, now,’ she said, looking up. ‘You aren’t getting – how do you say? – cold feet, Donald?’

‘Cold feet? Me? Not on your nelly. I can’t wait.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you. I cannot wait, either. To think that soon I’ll be able to look at you and say, “My husband …”.’

Donald smiled. ‘Look, how about a meal at the Moulin Rouge this evening, to celebrate your good news, and then an early night? We have to be up with the lark in the morning if I’m to drive all the way to Norfolk.’

Maria beamed. ‘I would like nothing more, mon cher.’