ELLIE
Ellie sat back in the office chair, then pushed herself away from the desk and stared out of the window. Eight hundred words written and edited for a feature Estelle had commissioned. A final proofread this afternoon and then she’d press the Send button.
She swivelled the chair so she was facing into the room. At Harriet’s suggestion, the study was now regarded as officially hers. Somewhere she could write undisturbed whenever she wanted. She glanced at the three shelves full of Amy’s books. So many Cassandra James novels. English, French, Italian, Spanish, Russian editions, along with other languages Ellie didn’t recognise, all jostled for space. All written in this room sitting at this desk.
Would she, Ellie Lewis, ever see a collection of her own books alongside them? Would she be inspired by the simple act of sitting at Amy’s desk, using her computer, her chair? Would Amy’s spirit linger and offer encouragement? She was probably imagining it, but she did feel different writing in this room.
Since the appointment with the solicitor and the confirmation that Amy had indeed left her a substantial sum of money, Ellie had been struggling to accept how much her life had irrevocably changed and that there was nothing she could do but learn to live with the changes. Whilst part of her fantasised over the freedom the money would give her, a large part of her struggled with the knowledge it came by way of a fragmented family – a family she’d never know.
Harriet tapped on the door before entering carrying two mugs. ‘Do you have time for coffee? Or shall I leave you to it?’
‘I’ve got time. I’ve finished the piece for Estelle and I was sitting here thinking about things – mainly my writing and Amy’s books,’ Ellie said, taking a coffee. ‘Thanks.’
‘I wanted to talk about your birthday,’ Harriet said. ‘How you want to celebrate it. Here? Back home where your friends live?’
‘It’s weeks away,’ Ellie said.
‘I know, but depending on what you want and where you want it, I need to at least start thinking about organising it.’
Ellie was silent for a moment. ‘How about a small party here? We should still be able to get out into the garden in the evening. If anyone wants to come from Cirencester, we can put them up or they can go to one of the hotels in town.’
‘I was hoping you would choose here,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s feeling so much like home to me.’
Ellie picked up Nick Walter’s business card, which Harriet had placed on the desk days ago.
‘I’m going to ring this agent and see if they’ll agree to me finishing Amy’s last book.’ Thoughtfully she fingered the card before saying, ‘It would be a way of me saying thank you to Amy for,’ she waved her hand around, ‘for all this.’ She glanced anxiously at Harriet. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘I’m sure Amy would approve,’ Harriet said. ‘How’s the research going for Vanessa? Found where she’s hiding herself these days?’
Ellie shook her head. She sensed the unspoken wariness implicit in Harriet’s voice. ‘No, not yet.’ She glanced at Harriet. ‘I’ve found someone who may or may not be connected to her, but I haven’t had time to follow it up yet. It’s near the top of my to-do list,’ she added in case Harriet thought she was cooling off on the idea of finding her father’s widow. She wasn’t. There were other things she needed to do first.
‘Okay. I’ll leave you to it. The garden calls,’ Harriet said.
Ellie found her mobile and punched in the number from Nick Walters’ card. Expecting a receptionist, she was surprised when he answered.
‘Nick Walters here. How can I help?’
‘Hi, my name is Ellie Lewis and I’d like to talk to you about the unfinished manuscript of my aunt, Cassandra James.’
‘I do have a little news about that. We’re currently in talks with one of our authors who also writes contemporary women’s fiction in the hope she’ll finish it for the publishers. I’ll be able to tell you more next week.’
‘Stop right there,’ Ellie said. ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. I intend to finish it.’ Her hand clutching the phone suddenly felt clammy.
‘Are you a writer?’ Nick asked.
‘Yes. Well, more of a journalist – but I am writing my first novel.’
‘I think the publishers would prefer a well-known novelist to finish the book.’
‘Amy left me the rights to all her books,’ Ellie said. ‘Which I take to include the unfinished one. You only get it to sell it if I can finish it. Otherwise,’ she took a deep breath. ‘I shall finish it and either find another agent or self-publish.’
There was a short pause before Nick said. ‘I think we’d better have a face-to-face chat. Are you in London? Can you come to the office before the weekend?’
‘I’m in Devon at the moment. Not sure I can get to London for a couple of weeks,’ Ellie said, not adding that she was already planning to spend every available moment working on Amy’s manuscript.
‘I’ll come down and we’ll discuss it,’ Nick said. ‘I’m off on holiday to Portugal at the weekend for a couple of weeks so it will have to be when I get back. Just promise me one thing? Don’t talk to any other agent or publisher in the meantime.’