‘Now, Fran, I really want you to try and play it cool,’ Bonnie said. ‘Don’t be too enthusiastic, we want to strike a good deal. Bannister Books want you and it’s up to them to come to the table with a good offer.’
‘But I want to do it anyway,’ Fran said. ‘Even if they weren’t paying me anything I’d want to do it. It’s what I’ve always wanted. This must sound ridiculous coming from me but the money almost doesn’t matter.’
Bonnie shook her head as she clicked the remote control to lock the car. ‘I know that, but it’s the principle. We have to get it right. The concept has to be what you want and they’ve got to demonstrate a commitment by paying for it. We need to make sure they’ll market and promote it effectively. And you have to have a say about the photographs and the cover, all that. They know the deal, they’re not expecting to get you for nothing, not even for peanuts, so wind your neck in and try not to look as though you just won Lotto.’
‘I may have stuffed up the negotiating position already, actually,’ Fran admitted. ‘I almost kissed Jack Bannister the first time he mentioned it. In fact, I was so ecstatic that if it hadn’t been for having to race off to the hospital I’d have had sex with him on the restaurant table if he’d asked. But then, he probably wouldn’t have asked anyway.’
‘Don’t be so negative,’ Bonnie said, taking her arm. ‘He should be so lucky, to get you to write a book let alone have sex with him anywhere. Self-esteem, Fran, come along now. What’s he like, anyway?’
‘Not bad looking, very nice, sense of humour. You’ll like him.’
‘Not till I see the colour of his contract,’ Bonnie said, decisively straightening her shoulders as they walked through the Sofitel Centre. ‘He’s bringing someone called Len with him. He’s the food books publisher, the person who’ll work with you on the book.’
Fran was more than a little impressed to find herself on the way to a meeting with a publisher, accompanied by her agent. She took a deep breath as they knocked at the door, and then another even deeper one when she saw the size of Jack’s hotel suite and the stunning views from the windows. Bonnie squeezed her elbow painfully hard just as she was about to launch into a flood of nervous appreciation.
‘It’s lovely to see you again, Fran,’ Jack said, leading the way through to an alcove off the main area where a meeting table was set up. ‘I hope your daughter’s doing well. This is my sister Len – Lenore. She’s in charge of our food books. Please make yourselves comfortable. Would you like coffee or a drink?’
The sight of Lenore Bannister pushed all Fran’s worst inadequacy buttons. She was probably around sixty, and from the top of her wildly curly mop of grey hair to the toes of her elegant black boots, she oozed power and energy.
‘I’ve read many of your columns, Fran,’ she said, ‘and the transcript of your speech. I’m really looking forward to working with you.’
She wore a long-sleeved black t-shirt and a long black skirt, and around her neck was a heavy silver chain with a large turquoise pendant almost the exact same colour as her extraordinary eyes. Beneath the close-fitting top the powerful muscles across her shoulders and upper arms were obvious and her large, strong gestures reminded Fran of some exotic bird. This was a woman who worked out. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on her, and while her face carried signs of age, her complexion glowed with health. Fran, who had reluctantly gone back to the gym to pursue her painful relationship with the cross-trainer the previous week, felt a surge of self-pity combined with hostility. It was a bad start, and she sat down at the table, hoping to disguise her bulk. Bonnie had nothing to worry about, she thought: she would be keeping very quiet during this meeting.
Jack had ordered coffee and it was delivered along with a selection of pastries that almost had Fran drooling, but with admirable restraint she waved the plate away. There was no way she would be caught eating such sinful food in front of Lenore, who probably lived on miso, carrots and tofu. But to her amazement, Lenore tucked into the éclairs, strawberry tartlets, and mille-feuilles with enthusiasm. It was immediately clear who would be doing the deal. Food and wine was Lenore’s area and while Jack was the managing director, she too had a seat on the board as well as being the publisher of gourmet titles. But while Lenore was clearly out to strike the best possible deal, so was Bonnie, and Fran watched in awe as her friend dealt with Lenore’s offer, playing through the deal until she got exactly what they had agreed to try for.
‘Impressive, aren’t they?’ Jack whispered to her as he refilled her coffee cup. ‘Lenore always leaves me for dead when it comes to doing deals.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Fran said. ‘You’re a team, you do the softening up and then in comes Lenore with both barrels blazing.’
He laughed. ‘Well, Bonnie has a few barrels blazing herself,’ he said. ‘And that Boatshed project is a stunner. I’d like to see our books in the gallery there.’
It took about forty-five minutes to nut out the basics of the contract and Fran, delighted by the results, began to relax at the prospect of leaving.
‘Can we have some more coffee, Jack,’ Lenore said. ‘And some sandwiches and bottles of water. I need to talk to Fran about the concept.’ Fran stiffened as Lenore turned her turquoise gaze on her. ‘We need to firm this up now, Fran, so you can start working on it as soon as possible.’
Fran was transfixed by Lenore’s mesmerising eyes. She opened her mouth and shut it again.
‘Contact lenses,’ Lenore said. ‘Just got them last week. What d’you reckon?’
‘Amazing,’ Fran said, relaxing a little. ‘Stunning but also a bit scary.’
‘Very scary to do deals with,’ Bonnie said. ‘I think I’ll have to get some.’
‘You don’t need them,’ Lenore countered. ‘You’ve got great eyes. They turn to steel – I was terrified.’
They laughed and Fran thought she would probably survive the next stage of the meeting. But she had no idea what was ahead. It was another hour before they left, an hour in which Lenore challenged everything Fran said. An hour in which she had to argue to defend everything she wanted in the book, and in which Lenore made counter proposals which Fran was driven to argue against. When they finally sat back after reaching an agreement with all Fran’s original ideas intact, she was totally exhausted and extremely irritable.
‘Wonderful! ‘ Lenore said. ‘It’s a winner, Fran, great concept. I know we can do well with this. It’s hard to find new angles for food – there’s so much competition – but yours is a winner.’
Fran’s jaw dropped. ‘But you’ve been arguing with me about everything,’ she said.
‘Devil’s advocate! I need to know you’re clear about it all and that you’ll organise the material, come up with the new recipes, use the historical, literary and sociological material effectively. We have to work together on this, Fran. I needed to be infected with your passion, and now I am. So, what about the title? Did you have one in mind?’
Fran hesitated, struggling with uncertainty about how they’d react. ‘All the years I was thinking about the book, long before it became a reality, I did have a title in mind,’ she said, glancing around the table. ‘But now I think it’s not really suitable.’
‘So what was it?’ Lenore asked, leaning forward, chin on her hands.
‘Well . . . because it’s obviously about food, and it links attitudes about food to love and sex and eroticism, and then there’s the part about how those things really transcend levels of wealth or poverty, I’d thought of calling it Food, Sex and Money.’
Jack flinched and Lenore drew her breath in sharply through her teeth. ‘Food, Sex and Money. I love it. What do you think, Jack?’ she asked. ‘Does it do it for you?’
Jack paused, frowning slightly. ‘It does and it doesn’t. I mean, I think it’s valid as a title but I’d be concerned about perceptions. It might not set the right tone. This is a prestige publication . . . I’m not sure. People might be drawn to it for the wrong reasons.’
‘What do you mean “the wrong reasons”?’ Lenore asked.
Jack shook his head, trying to find the right words. ‘I suppose I mean that they might be buying it either because of the possibly sleazy connotations around sex and money, or, indeed, not buying it for the same reasons.’
‘I think they’d buy it in droves with a title like that,’ Lenore said.
‘I think Jack’s right,’ Bonnie said. ‘It’s risky.’
‘Risky or risqué?’ Lenore said with a laugh. ‘Come on, guys, it’s a great title.’
‘I think they’re right, Lenore,’ Fran said. ‘Although it’s been in my head for so long, I’m not really comfortable with it now. Maybe we could have food and love in the title, instead of food and sex.’
Lenore raised her eyebrows. ‘Not suggesting that they mean the same thing, I hope,’ she said, looking hard at Fran, who blushed.
‘No, but love is in the book – you know, the preparation of food is often about love, and . . . it’s often about duty, so –’
‘Food, love and duty!’ Lenore cut in. ‘I like that. Not as much as the other one but it works. Jack? Bonnie?’
Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Connotations of history and tradition, good – I like that.’
‘Me too,’ Bonnie said. ‘It’s much better.’
Fran took a deep breath, ‘Okay, then?’
‘Done,’ Lenore said. ‘I still prefer the first one, but I bow to your collective sensitivities. Food, Love and Duty, it is.’
‘Thanks, Bon, you were brilliant,’ Fran said, leaning wearily against the side of the lift. ‘I’ve no idea how you managed it. That woman is a nightmare, and I have to work with her.’
Bonnie smiled. ‘She was a tough one, but I liked her, liked them both. I think it’ll be okay, Fran. You do your bit, she’ll do hers. And as long as you deliver she’ll stay off your back.’ She swapped her briefcase to her other hand. ‘While you were busy with Lenore, Jack and I were discussing the Boatshed. I’m going to take them down there tomorrow. Want to come?’
‘I think I’ll take a raincheck,’ Fran said with a grin. ‘Sylvia’s going to come and see the house and then take me shopping for curtain fabric. I don’t think I can face another marathon with Lenore quite so soon.’ They walked together out of the lift and into the bright cold of the spring afternoon.
‘Do you think Sylvia seems different?’ Bonnie said as they reached the car.
Fran shrugged. ‘Not really. She’s probably just adjusting to being back. I thought she looked very well when we met her at the airport. More relaxed, I suppose.’
‘Mmm . . . you’re probably right. Maybe it’s just my imagination but she looks like the cat that got the cream.’
‘After all those years with the Incredible Sulk, if anyone deserves the cream it’s Sylvia,’ Fran said. ‘Maybe she met some rich and handsome Englishman who swept her off her feet. Has she made up her mind about the Boatshed?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bonnie said. ‘I didn’t like to ask her last night but I’ll talk to her this evening. By the way, after you’d gone last night I did notice she’d bought a mobile phone, quite a flash one, and someone called her on it. She and Mum and I were in the living room and when it rang, Sylvia went out of the room to take the call.’
‘There you are then,’ Fran said triumphantly. ‘I bet you anything you like she’s met someone.’
‘Not so soon after Colin, surely?’ Bonnie said.
‘It’s not soon, really,’ Fran said. ‘Sylvia and Colin were over a long time ago. It was just that the separation was a long time coming.’
‘Maybe,’ Bonnie said. ‘Well, good luck to her. I hope he’s young and cute.’
*
Irene was determined not to let Bonnie’s attitude deter her from enjoying herself with Hamish. She felt it was really too silly for words, as well as being quite hurtful and insulting. The only concession she had been prepared to make to Bonnie’s sensitivities was that she had agreed with Hamish that he would not spend a night at the house just yet. She resented it somewhat – after all, it was her home and she felt she should be free to do as she wanted in it. If this had happened a year ago it wouldn’t have been an issue. Irene was sure that had Bonnie been safely in Zurich with Jeff she would have been delighted to know that her mother had someone special in her life.
In her efforts to be fair, Irene had thought very seriously about how she would feel if Bonnie brought a man back to the house, and she realised that it would take some getting used to, but it certainly wasn’t something she’d disapprove of. How would she feel if she bumped into Bonnie’s lover in the mornings? Uncomfortable at first, she thought, but she’d accommodate it, and that’s what Bonnie would have to do. Just the same, she’d decided to hold off for a while to give her daughter time to adjust, and because she really didn’t want Hamish to find himself in an uncomfortable situation. A few nights earlier, Bonnie must have heard them come home after they had been to a concert. Hamish had left about eleven o’clock, but the next morning it was clear from Bonnie’s stilted manner, and the way she kept glancing around surreptitiously as though expecting Hamish to materialise beside her, that she assumed he had stayed the night.
‘Tell her to mind her own business,’ Marjorie had said. ‘It’s your house. If she doesn’t like it she can stay somewhere else.’
‘She’s my daughter and I love her, and it is her home too,’ Irene said. ‘You’re not a mother, Marjorie. Despite all your training you don’t understand what a minefield that relationship can be.’
‘No, thank God,’ Marjorie said. ‘Far too complicated. All the same, Irene, Bonnie mustn’t be allowed to spoil this for you and Hamish. You have every right to do what you want. Bonnie should be happy for you, all your friends are, even an old harridan like me.’
‘I think she will be eventually,’ Irene said. ‘I suppose it’s a surprise for her, and in a way I think it’s making her feel the loss of Jeff all over again. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but at the same time I am getting a bit fed up with all this.’
‘She might just be jealous, I suppose,’ Marjorie said, ‘although being jealous of your eighty-year-old mother is a rather extreme reaction for a mature woman.’
Irene conceded that there might be an element of jealousy along with loneliness for Jeff in Bonnie’s reaction, but she thought it was more subtle and complex than that. ‘It’s not the idea of me having a man friend she objects to,’ she said, ‘it’s the fact that we sleep together. She’s shocked, and I think it’s more than just the shock everyone feels when they have to acknowledge that their parents have a sex life. The real problem for her is that Hamish and I are old and old people having sex is somehow indecent or obscene. We’re supposed to be past it.’
‘Human beings are never past it,’ snorted Marjorie.
‘Obviously! But you know what it’s like – younger women think we’re old crones, that we used to be women but aren’t anymore.’
‘Bonnie’s no spring chicken herself,’ Marjorie said. ‘I wonder what age she thinks is the dividing line.’
Irene shrugged. ‘Goodness knows. Anyway, Sylvia’s back now. A third person in the house makes it a little easier.’
Sylvia’s return had certainly made a difference. The careful dances that Irene and Bonnie had been performing around each other were less apparent, the awkward silences were diluted somewhat and Sylvia’s was a calming presence. Irene hoped she would stay, take the guest cottage and settle down. Now that Bonnie had the business, Irene had plenty of time to herself and Bonnie’s friendship with Sylvia and Fran was an added pleasure for her too. All she wanted now was to sort out the present tension. She needed equality in the relationship with Hamish and while she could only stay at his place it was too one-sided. He might start to think about her moving in and that was definitely not on the cards. Love and companionship were enriching her independent life, but cohabitation was the fast route to domestic disharmony.
Irene ran her fingers over a beautiful length of pale green silk that Sylvia had brought her from Hong Kong. ‘I know you love this colour,’ she’d said, ‘so I thought I could make it up for you – a dressing gown, or even a jacket. I could line it with the same colour or perhaps cream, if you like.’
Irene slipped off her jumper, stepped out of her skirt and stood in front of the bedroom mirror in her slip. She thought her skin looked like that crumpled fabric that was so popular at the moment. You wouldn’t get old women wearing it, that’s for sure: there’d be a puzzle to work out where the fabric ended and the skin began. She picked up the green silk and draped it around herself. It fell in sensuous silky folds over her body and she smiled at herself in the mirror. She was a different woman from the one who had set off to Greece, more like the old Irene who for so long had been aware of herself as a joyfully sexual being.
Dropping the silk she stared again at her body, the body of an old woman and entirely lacking sex appeal, but a body that once again was providing her with sensual and sexual pleasure. She understood that Hamish loved her for herself but she couldn’t really understand why he loved her body and at first she had been alert for the slightest sign of disappointment, but his appreciation was evident. He loved her and wanted her, just as she loved and wanted him. He had told her that he too feared her response to his body, while she had been delighted by it. She had thought that sex and sensuality, tenderness and love were over, only to discover those precious gifts were hers once again. And, despite what Bonnie might want, Irene was determined to enjoy them to the full.