What Would Jane Austen Do?, page 8
‘But we could make it into something a lot better! Like you said before, get the right speakers, a bit of publicity.’
‘And who’s “we”?’
Maddy smiled persuasively. ‘I was hoping that I might be able to enlist your assistance while you’re here. After all, having the bestselling Cameron Massey as keynote speaker would be a huge coup. To be honest, I can’t understand why they haven’t roped you in before.’
‘I like to have a bit of privacy. Hence the pen name. Is that bossy Myra woman paying you or something?’
‘No. But think of the legions of adoring fans who would flock to Cotlington to see you. Oh, and you could read an excerpt from your new novel!’ she added as her imagination got to work. ‘What do you say?’
‘No.’
‘Please?’
‘Still no.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Why would I want to make an appearance at the world’s worst literary event?’
‘Don’t you think that’s a bit of an over-reaction? After all Phineas T Barnum once said there’s no such thing as bad publicity.’
‘He also said there’s a sucker born every minute.’
Maddy sighed. ‘Well, it was worth a try.’ She wagged a finger at Luke. ‘And I haven’t given up yet either.’
If she was going to be roped into this event, she would do her best to assist. And Luke wasn’t the only person with contacts; she was, until recently, a full-time professional magazine writer, she reminded herself. She had some experience of attending project meetings at work and was on last year’s Christmas party committee, even though that only met three times and one of those bore a marked resemblance to a pub crawl.
Despite the personal pep talk, she was still rather apprehensive about chairing a committee, and later on she needed to do some more homework on previous years’ events in advance of tomorrow’s meeting. The idea of turning up to her very first meeting with a bestselling author on the speaker’s list would have done her self-confidence the world of good, but there was no harm in also trying other avenues.
For this morning’s walk, she took Buster along the road that led out of the village for a bit of variety. There appeared to be plenty of places that required investigation, so taking advantage of the leisurely pace, she called Briony’s number again.
‘Hello! Guess who?’ she sang down the phone as she strolled along. ‘So did you have a chance to ask around in the office? I was hoping that I might persuade one or two of you down to sleepy Cotlington. Carrie was always great at giving talks, wasn’t she?’
‘You-know-who is lurking this morning.’ Briony replied in a hushed voice. ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.’
Their boss was well known for patrolling the office first thing in the morning. He had only taken over as editor-in-chief seven months previously and in Maddy’s opinion, his personal skills needed some serious work. He would make Cameron Massey on a bad day seem like Florence Nightingale. If anything, in the last month she’d worked there he’d got worse, and staff had taken to going in to the office as little as possible. As PA to the boss, Briony was everyone’s preferred choice of contact.
‘Hi there, sorry about that—I’ve disappeared to the loos so apologies for the echo.’
‘No problem, you’re doing me a favour and I’m really grateful that you’ve asked around.’
‘There haven’t been any takers, sorry.’
‘Really? I thought Carrie would leap at the chance. I don’t have vast funds for speakers but I’m sure I can work something out.’
‘It’s not that.’ There was something in her voice that sounded a note of caution. ‘Look, this is difficult for me to say because you’re my friend, but I think you ought to know.’
Maddy’s hand trembled as she gripped the phone. ‘Know what?’
‘You-know-who overheard me talking to Carrie and a few of the others. I didn’t realise he was listening. Anyway, he made it clear that he didn’t want them helping you.’
‘What!’
‘I know. I didn’t understand it either so I did a bit of snooping around on the quiet. It wasn’t until I spoke to one of the editors that I found out the real reason, and I checked it out for myself. You probably don’t remember, but at the beginning of February, the Dear Jane column had a letter from Puzzled of Putney. She had written in saying she’d met this gorgeous, rich man who flirted endlessly, pestered her into going out with him, then months later when she finally agreed to move in with him he seemed to lose interest, and had been flirting with one of her friends instead. You replied to say that he sounded like he enjoyed the chase but maybe wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. You advised that he was a Henry Crawford type who should be treated with caution and that she needed to talk to him rather than be strung along.
‘Yes, I remember.’ Maddy was always careful on how she worded her responses, but in the end it was up to the writer to decide what to do. They were a magazine after all, not the Citizens Advice Bureau.
‘Well, it turns out she got fed up of being strung along and ended the relationship.’
‘That’s nice of her to write in. I’m glad I was able to help.’ Maddy’s Dear Jane column often received thank yous from people. Knowing that she had in some small way been able to help people deal with a difficult relationship was one of the many things she had loved about the job.
‘Erm… she didn’t.’ Briony made a strange gulping sound. ‘Write in, I mean. Turns out Puzzled of Putney was You-know-who’s girlfriend. And he was the one who got dumped.’
‘Oh no!’ Maddy stood rooted to the spot as a spasm of panic swept through her. ‘I’d never have replied if I’d known who it was—I honestly didn’t have a clue!’ Even though her boss was a prat and a grumpy one to boot, she would never have deliberately humiliated him in his own magazine. How the hell was she to know who Puzzled of Putney was?
‘We all know that. But when he heard me asking people about being able to help you out… Well, you can imagine how that went down.’
Maddy could picture it all too well. And something that had bothered her for the last month and half suddenly made perfect sense. ‘That’s why I got the sack, wasn’t it?’
‘I just want you to know that I had nothing to do with that,’ Briony said, her voice resonant with emotion. ‘He must have known that I would have told you if I’d found out. Honestly Maddy, if I could afford to work somewhere else right now I really would.’
‘It’s not your fault; please don’t chuck in your job on my account.’
Bloody, bloody man. Talking to Briony had dragged all the stress and upset to the surface again. The email she’d received back in February was just a smoke screen, with its pointless platitudes and best wishes. She hadn’t been sacked because the column was out-of-date and no longer relevant. Ms Austen had been used as an excuse to get rid of her because she had unintentionally dented someone’s ego. Well, now he had proved just how horrible and calculating he was, Puzzled of Putney was well shot of him.
Maddy extracted a broken custard cream from the pocket of her coat for her bored charge who was clearly wondering why the walk had turned into a stand. ‘Come on, Buster, let’s go home.’
She marched back to the house. Why were men so difficult? She’d been banking on her friends to help her and now her only option was the person who could do the job standing on his head with both eyes shut but had declined to help for some pointless nefarious reason of his own. Why couldn’t he just say a few words? Surely he’d want to promote his own book? Heaven knows that after the disappointing reaction to his last book, his agent must be desperate for a bit of positive publicity.
Maddy tugged her wellingtons off—a welcome purchase now she had some money in the bank—and chucked them in the corner of the kitchen. Without taking off her jacket she walked through to the hall.
The door to the library was closed and being a solid wood door, completely muffled the sound of activity, which meant that Luke was not disturbed by her comings and goings. He rarely appeared before late afternoon, but today she would invite him to join her for lunch and re-open negotiations. After all, even writers needed refuelling, despite the copious supply of Hobnobs.
Should she knock? Maybe that was a bit formal. He wasn’t her boss and this was her house. Carefully, she opened the door and poked her head round. Maddy’s nose wrinkled at the stuffiness of the unaired room, which mingled with the faint smell of coffee. Luke’s computer sat open on the desk with two lines typed in the middle of the screen, but the chair was vacant. Perhaps he’d gone out? It wasn’t as if he was her prisoner. She walked over to the French doors and then almost fell over in shock. What the hell? Sprawled out on the sofa under the throw was the body of her presumed absent lodger. The throw partially covered his face but there was enough of him visible to confirm this wasn’t some random squatter.
‘Luke?’
An arm reached up and pulled the throw from his face.
‘Are you ill? Do you need a doctor?’
‘No to both questions,’ he mumbled. Luke sat up slowly, pushing aside the throw and rubbing his face with his hands.
‘In that case, I think you could do with some fresh air.’ Maddy shoved open the doors and inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool draught that wafted in. Already there was a scent of spring flowers, mingled with that fresh country air smell that you never got in London.
‘Are you checking up on me? I’m not nicking the books if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Maddy whirled round. ‘I would hardly have let you stay if I thought you were going to pinch anything, would I? I actually came to ask if you wanted to join me for lunch. I thought you might want a break from writing. Although, it looks like you were otherwise engaged.’
Maddy waited for the pithy comeback. The snarky retort telling her to mind her own business. Technically it was none of her business what Luke did during the day but—today at least—it was obviously not writing.
Luke’s rubbed his hands through his hair making him look like he’d accidentally stuck his finger in an electric socket. ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled. ‘Lunch would be nice.’
It wasn’t a particularly exciting adjective but she’d take nice. And you couldn’t go too far wrong with a few sandwiches.
In the end, as she had company, she decided to make a bit of an effort and walked to the village store to buy some crisps, scotch eggs and a bag of salad to go with her sandwich plans. A rummage in one of the dining room cupboards produced a red chequered tablecloth which, after a thorough shaking out outside, she placed over the kitchen table, giving it a slightly creased French bistro look. She was pushing the boat out with a tablecloth, but ironing it was a step too far.
Luke was clearly in need of caffeine but in addition to the coffee cups she added a jug of water as it looked attractive. And a couple of pretty etched glasses. Candles would look good but that might suggest romantic overtones, which was not the intended idea. She’d forgotten about buying serviettes so folded kitchen paper would have to suffice.
It gave her something to do anyway, and she took a picture to send to Alice, followed by a quick message to update her on what she’d found out this morning.
Buster was overjoyed to see Luke appear at lunchtime. Although Luke’s instructions for Buster had included a no snacks rule, Maddy wasn’t so sure Buster had signed up to the agreement, and after several days of Maddy sharing bits of her lunch with her canine companion, said companion was now staring at her with a hungry expression on his face and making intermittent whining noises that clearly said, ‘Feed me, I’m starving.’
Maddy surreptitiously pulled a strip of ham from her sandwich and dropped it casually at the side of her chair. Buster caught it before it even hit the floor.
‘I did see that, in case you were wondering,’ said Luke, with an amused twitch of his lips. ‘He’s hard to say no to, isn’t he?’
‘That we can definitely agree on,’ said Maddy. ‘How long have you had him?’
‘Just over three years now. He’s a rescue dog so we’re not sure exactly how old he is. He’s great with people but doesn’t like noise. Especially if made by diggers and jackhammers. It’s good of you to have him here. A lot of places don’t allow dogs.’
‘I’m delighted to have his company. I’m used to noise so I’m still getting used to living somewhere so quiet.’
‘Quieter during the day maybe,’ replied Luke.
Maddy helped herself to a scotch egg. ‘Oh, do you mean all the creaks and knocking? It’s an old house. It’s over a hundred years old—that’s probably just contraction and expansion noises,’ she said in an attempt to sound reassuring.
Maddy studied his face. Despite the healthy tan, he had a tired look about him, but there was definitely something about his eyes that hinted at anxiety. ‘So has the house been keeping you awake at night? Is that why I found you asleep this morning?’
Luke threw her a challenging look. ‘And is this part of the rental agreement?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Being subjected to endless questions about what I’m doing.’
‘Believe it or not, I was actually trying to sound concerned. You are a hard person to help, you know.’
‘Have you ever considered, Dear Jane, that I don’t want your help?’
It was probably the use of the words “Dear Jane” that did it. It hadn’t been said in a particularly nasty way, but a surge of self-pity crashed over her nonetheless. She enjoyed helping people solve problems—it made her feel useful. It was what she was good at. What she used to be good at. And then maybe, just maybe, the hurt of knowing she was sacked for reasons that had nothing to do with her abilities and everything to do with a personal grudge, might not hurt as much as it did right now.
She looked down as she reached for a piece of kitchen paper and dabbed at the tear rapidly forming in the corner of her eye before it escaped down her face. She wouldn’t cry in front of this arrogant man. It had been a mistake to invite him to lunch with her, but in truth she found it companionable having someone to share the house with, and knowing that when she locked up at night there was someone else around.
Buster edged closer to her chair and put his head on her lap giving her a soft whine as if to say I’m here if you need me. She pinched her lips and stroked his soft head as her vision blurred with more tears. Buster sat calmly and snugly, all the while making gentle, plaintive noises, and clearly doing his doggy best to be a comfort to his new friend.
Maddy heard a chair scrape against the tiled floor and receding footsteps. Clearly her concern was not required. A half-eaten ham sandwich sat on Luke’s abandoned plate, and she offered it to Buster who wolfed it down.
‘Thanks for sticking around, boy.’ The no snacks rule could take a hike.
Chapter Eleven
There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better: we find comfort somewhere.
Mrs Grant, Mansfield Park
* * *
Maddy was running hot water for washing up when Luke returned. She didn’t bother turning round—he had already made his position perfectly clear.
‘Oh, I see. My sandwich went in the bin, did it?’
‘No actually, it went in the dog. But from your perspective, it probably amounts to the same thing. I assumed by your absence that you’d finished your lunch.’
Luke flapped a piece of paper. ‘I went back to print this off to show you.’
Maddy wheeled round. ‘What is it? Your terms and conditions?’
‘It’s an email from my editor. It might explain a few things. I’m not good at all the personal stuff; I know that’s your thing and I threw your offer of help back in your face. It’s unforgivably rude and I’m sorry.’
Maddy took the proffered paper but continued to stare at the floor.
‘I’ll have you know,’ said Luke in a gentler voice, ‘that I don’t apologise to just anyone.’
Well, at least that was honest. Maddy gradually raised her eyes until they met his. For several seconds, they stared at each other as though they had met for the first time, and had not already had bruising clashes of opinion. Alice was right, he was gorgeous, even down to his tousle-haired stubbly look. His dark eyes fixed hers with a piercing stare. With a few character modifications he could easily be the brooding hero of the romantic novels she loved—too much to hope that he was a Darcy in disguise though.
He gestured towards the table and she sat down to read the email. It was concise and to the point. Reviews of book seven had been critical. As in derogatory, not literary. The scheduled publication date for book eight had already been put back due to disagreements over plot suggestions, and there was a thinly disguised order not to become embroiled in rows on social or other media. They would like another Detective Inspector Jason Friend novel but not with the proposed storyline. Please advise progress ASAP.
‘Oh dear.’ Maddy wondered whether the Valentine’s debate they’d had just over seven weeks ago came under the heading of “rows on other media”. ‘So, when do you have to reply?’
‘When I’ve got something to report. And right now I don’t.’
Maddy pursed her lips. Clearly there was more to this than just these bland sentences, but despite Luke’s apology, she wasn’t sure how to respond.
Have you ever considered, Dear Jane, that I don’t want your help?
The words echoed in her head. They might have been said partly in jest, but they served as a cutting reminder that she had been declared officially redundant, and not just by her employer. She was enjoying having Buster here even though Luke scored below average on the Maddy Shaw lodger rating. However, his presence in the house didn’t require her to sort out his problems. She had got that message loud and clear and in any case, she had enough of her own to be getting on with.
