‘You’ve hardly said a word since you got back from lunch. Shall I take you to A & E?’ Irfan smiles and points to his watch. I give the thumbs up. In ten minutes, our meeting with author Gary Smith should begin. I put my jumper on the right way and focus again on my screen. Something about my encounter with Beatrix was definitely off. I’m still a little flummoxed as to why Lenny’s never mentioned meeting her.
I decide to search on Twitter for clues, although I don’t really know what I’m looking for. I log in and visit her feed. I scroll through the tweets about new authors’ books, recently signed deals and publishing jokes. Then a couple from a few weeks ago catch my attention. Beatrix sent Lenny a humorous meme about acquiring new authors. He replied with a dancing alien gif.
I scroll further back to find more innocuous tweets that wouldn’t merit a second glance to anyone else. What piques my interest is the occasional one that has nothing to do with work. I pick up my phone and open Instagram. I’ve only posted twenty-two photos in six months and haven’t looked at friends’ pictures since Christmas. I go to Lenny’s page. He posts at least a couple a day. I skim the images of fancy food, book covers and launches.
I’m just about to log out when I spot a selfie of him and Beatrix. I screw up my eyes and stare at the surroundings. It’s the cafe at Waterstones Piccadilly that looks more like a restaurant and is a favourite venue for book launches. Yet this snap strikes me as so personal. Lenny’s arm is around her shoulders and they’re cheek-to-cheek as if taking part in some intimate dance.
I take in her statement necklace, the perfect scarlet lipstick and matching nails. For the first time, I detail her appearance instead of her achievements. I take a deep breath and exit the app, observing how my nails looked stubby and cracked. Twenty minutes have passed and Gary hasn’t arrived. Irfan and I head to the side room regardless. It’s always been my dream to help writers realise theirs. When I was little, Uncle Kevin told me I could achieve whatever I wanted. I finger the silver book pendant around my neck that he gave me before he moved to New York.
I follow Irfan through the office and my eyes stray to the huge windows on the left. Fat snowflakes tumble through the air like polystyrene loose fill, as if I’m in a snow globe turned inside out. Kath won’t be pleased. Her shoulder still isn’t right since slipping on ice last month. I’ll pop in after work to see if she’s dared to venture out.
I push open the door and we enter the small room. I’ve already set out a selection of biscuits and the coffee is brewing. We sit down in the comfortable chairs and I slip a small circle of shortbread into my mouth. Whilst Irfan sorts through his paperwork, my thoughts are pulled back to Lenny and Beatrix.
It’s like when I read an author’s first draft and haven’t yet pinpointed exactly what isn’t right.
Irfan sighs and stares at the sweet treats. He pats the stomach that his doctor thinks needs to be smaller. ‘I could do with cheering up since Farah’s decided to tackle my diabetes risk and put me on a health kick.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve just the thing for you.’ I stand up and reach for a plate next to the coffee pot. ‘Gary said that he’s also under doctor’s orders to change his diet, remember?’ I put down a platter of neatly lined up vegetable sticks and dip. ‘I got these just in case he doesn’t want biscuits.’
‘I might say something rude if I wasn’t full of admiration – as usual – for your attention to detail.’
I like Irfan, as well as computer consultant Farah. Sometimes she meets him after work for a meal out or theatre trip. Now and again they invite me over for dinner. She makes the best onion bhajis. They melt in the mouth. I make them laugh with my lack of faith in dishwashers and insistence that I clean the plates by hand. Sometimes after work I’ll take them for coffee. Farah and I drink ours unadulterated black while Irfan enjoys indulgent creations like hazelnut lattes. We pick her brain about computer problems. An avid reader, Farah asks us about Thoth’s latest acquisitions.
The two of them look like a good match as much as Lenny and I don’t. They both dress down for work in jeans, love musicals and spend holidays hiking in the wild.
Lenny and I once had one of those indulgent conversations that new couples enjoy. He’d wanted to know what I thought of him in bed. I said his oil massages were second to none and loved the fact that he didn’t enjoy sex unless I had. Then I asked him what he liked about me. This was one year ago, just after we’d moved into the flat. Lenny said he liked the way I kissed. On a more practical note, he praised the way I made cheese and pickle rolls.
Eventually my probe burrowed through the surface.
‘You’re sort of like my… keepsafe,’ he said. ‘Moving to the capital was daunting. I missed the easy, cosseted student life. You made London feel like a home and helped me focus on my career.’
I had studied English in Durham, while Lenny went to Manchester Metropolitan. We met in The British Library almost two years ago, a few weeks after moving to the city and into tiny bedsits. We’d both been mature students, taking a gap year after the sixth form to do internships.
I guess I’m lucky. I’ve always enjoyed that feeling of being at home as long as there’s a good book between my hands. Lenny’s revelation made me realise I’m his go-to book in a way. I make him feel safe in a world of chaos. He said he loves that about me which must be the same as saying those three magic words straight. So I’ve written them in his Valentine’s Day card. I feel like I should have reciprocated his declaration by now. We were in too much of a rush to exchange presents this morning. I can’t wait until tonight when I cook him a special Valentine’s dinner.
Irfan looks at his watch again.
‘I’ll go down to reception,’ I say.
When I arrive, all is quiet. Snow is settling outside. ‘Our author should be here by now.’
Hugo shrugs. ‘Perhaps it’s this weather. I can’t say I’m looking forward to bracing it tonight. You must have had a large incentive to go out earlier – perhaps a romantic lunch?’ He pulls a face. ‘I’m helping Dad decorate his kitchen today. Not sure how I ended up without a date on the one day of the year a meal out is most likely to end with a shag.’
I shake my head and he laughs.
‘You know I only say things like that to wind you up.’
It’s true. Hugo’s no misogynist. He’s popular with the opposite sex because he shows respect. It’s his commitment that’s lacking and he rarely dates the same woman for longer than a few weeks.
His desk props me up. ‘I wanted to surprise Lenny. Take him to lunch.’
‘I hope he ended up paying as recompense for you braving the cold.’
‘Not exactly. He was in the waffle house with someone else.’
‘Business?’ Hugo yawns.
What can I say? Casey Wilde’s book isn’t out on submission yet.
‘Networking.’ I gaze at Hugo. He knows everything about everyone, from professional achievements to random details. That includes me. A bookseller once emailed because Hugo told him I baked the best brownies this side of the Atlantic. He wanted the recipe for his Californian wife’s birthday.
‘Lenny was meeting Beatrix Bingham.’
It’s not how Hugo reacts – it’s how he doesn’t, by concentrating on the signing-in book even harder, as if it were a newly discovered Dickens manuscript. He’s remarkably quiet.
‘Have you ever met her?’ I ask and raise my eyebrows. Hugo and I get on well. Sometimes we eat lunch together. He’ll give me the run-down on any agent I’m due to meet and of course, we’ll talk books. Hugo loves Young Adult fiction. We’re both huge fans of John Green. He’ll try to show me photos of his latest date but I always refuse, citing no need. She’ll have straightened hair, look athletic and well-groomed. We joke that his type is the antithesis of me.
‘I’ve seen her a few times, most recently at Waterstones Piccadilly for a book launch last month.’ He runs a finger down signatures and focuses on a name that didn’t sign out.
‘No doubt she’s on your hit list even though she’s way out of your league.’ I keep the tone light.
‘I’d probably be in with a chance. She likes younger men.’
We don’t speak for a few moments and I realise I’ve folded my arms.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask eventually.
No response.
‘Hugo?’
The phone rings. He picks it up. Expresses sympathy. Hangs up. ‘That was Gary Smith. His bike skidded on ice. He’s okay but the chain’s broken. He’ll have to reschedule.’ Hugo shakes his head. ‘What sort of idiot cycles in this weather?’
‘An ambitious author who combines novel-writing with another job to pay the bills. Gary doesn’t like spending money on public transport. Anyway, what were you saying about Beatrix?’
‘Oh, nothing much. She’s recently bought a Mazda MX-5.’
‘Nice.’
‘Don’t pretend you have any idea what that looks like.’
Our eyes smile.
‘What’s more, next week she’s moving into a penthouse flat overlooking the Thames. Her Instagram shots look amazing. It must have cost a packet.’
‘She deserves it – but that doesn’t explain what you meant about her and younger men.’
Hugo runs a hand through his slicked back blonde hair. ‘Just another conspiracy theory. You know how publishing is full of them, like—’
‘So what’s the theory about Beatrix Bingham?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s just… take John Bennett—’
‘Who wrote the Earth Gazer series?’
‘Yes. He’d just left university. They dated for six months.’ He stares at the signing-in book once more. ‘Funny how she ditched him once the deal was signed.’
‘Perhaps the relationship just came to its natural end. Or she felt their professional relationship was more important.’
‘But then there was that young editor she dated who started out at Bloomsbury,’ he continued, warming to his subject. ‘All the books he worked on hit the Sunday Times List. He moved to Alpaca Books. Their romance ended shortly afterwards.’
‘If you’re implying that she was able to just use… I mean, really… these are intelligent men.’
‘Who partly think with their pants.’
‘Hugo. You can’t say this about her. And would she really take such risks? It’s a dangerous strategy that could so easily backfire.’
He shrugged.
‘And it’s slander apart from anything else. Beatrix’s form as an influential member of the industry should tell you that her editing skills are attractive enough.’
‘I’m not denying that. Nor implying she’s falling back on womanly wiles. Really, I see her more as a ruthless player who’s in charge and will use any extra tools in her arsenal to cut the deal when required. If anything, I admire her.’
‘I still think—’
‘Violet, this theory isn’t something I’ve created. Speculation has been rife for a while. And you’re right – it is dangerous, she should be more careful. Her reputation and professionalism could be at stake. There’s a difference between ambition and recklessness. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that if a younger man has got something she wants, Beatrix uses whatever assets she’s got to acquire it. Not that she’d stand a chance with Lenny, obviously – what with him dating one of the most genuine people I know.’ He gives me a good-humoured wink. ‘And Lenny is only an assistant. It’s not as if he’s got his hands on anything for her to chase, right?’
He answers the phone and I head back to the lift, glad he can’t see my face.