Daughters of Fire (44 page)

Through the open door of her bedroom Viv could hear the faint noises of the street from the open window. Otherwise the flat was silent. It was almost tomorrow, when
Cartimandua, Queen of the North
would be published and her new life as an author would begin.

‘I’ve rewritten your schedule, Viv.’ Sandy Collingham, the publicity manager in charge of Viv’s book launch, dropped her shoulderbag and laptop carrier on the floor and put a fat file down on the table. ‘You’re feeling strong, I hope?’ She grinned. ‘The book has gone straight into the bestseller list at number twenty! That’s fantastic! We’ve several new events scheduled,’ she went on. ‘Bookshops are queuing up for you, lady.’ She glanced up. ‘People want to meet you.’

‘Why?’ Viv was overwhelmed.

‘Because they are fascinated by the sound of the book. They saw you on the telly and that review has done you nothing but good.’

Viv stared at her. ‘What review?’

Sandy paused. ‘Oh shit. You haven’t seen it? The one by Professor Graham?’

‘We were driving back from Yorkshire. We didn’t see any papers. And I didn’t go out yesterday.’ Viv clenched her fists. Why had no one told her? ‘Have you got a copy?’

Sandy nodded. ‘Hold on to your hat, Viv. Don’t let it upset you.’

The review was crucifying. Viv put down the paper with tears in her eyes. Her face was white.

‘Why?’

‘It’s a bit unkind, that’s for sure.’ Sandy shrugged. ‘Ride it. Take no notice. In fact it’s so over the top it will be counter-productive from his point of view. And good from yours. People will read the book to see why he’s so vitriolic. It’ll helpsell copies and that’s what matters. Now,’ she dismissed the topic briskly, ‘to the schedule. We’re
starting this morning with a radio interview. Then the launch party tonight. Tomorrow afternoon we take a train to York. And then as you know it’s all points south, coming back up the west coast route.’ Viv barely heard. She was thinking, numbly, about Hugh’s review. Why? Why was he still doing this to her?

The interviewer, Mike Malone, stood up, shook hands, waved Viv towards the microphone and returned to his bank of controls. ‘This is going out tonight, OK? Part of the Books about Britain fortnight.’ He glanced at her quizzically. ‘Nervous?’

She nodded.

‘You’ll be fine. Just be natural.’

As always she enjoyed it once she had started talking. He was friendly, well informed. He appeared to have read the book. He didn’t mention the review. They stopped after ten minutes or so and he grinned at her. ‘We’ll be pausing here for some music. Then for the second half I’ll be a bit more aggressive.’

‘Aggressive?’ Viv frowned apprehensively.

‘You’ll be fine.’ It was obviously his stock phrase.

He waited for a fraction of a second, watching the clock, then he clicked a switch. ‘Listen to this and then we’ll talk afterwards, OK?’

Viv reached for the earphones.

The voice in her ear was Mike’s. ‘Now, Professor Graham. You have read Dr Lloyd Rees’s book. What did you think of it?’

‘There’s a base of good stuff.’ Hugh’s voice was warm. ‘Not bad at all. But there are too many inaccuracies to make this a book I could recommend. Viv is a talented writer but she’s allowed her imagination to run away with her here.’ It went on and on. Or that’s what it felt like. In reality it was probably no more than a couple of minutes. It stopped and Mike turned back to her.

‘So, Viv. How would you reply to your professor’s criticisms?’ Mike glanced at her, his face impersonal.

Viv could feel herself sweating. The red light was on. Her reply was being recorded. ‘Unfair. Small-minded. Mean.’ She forced herself to laugh. ‘We have to have progress, Mike. Without leaps of deduction made through the latest research into archaeology, philology, forensic techniques, we would stay with the Victorian take on history. Or in this case the Roman. We have to learn to expand our views.’

‘You have anticipated Professor Graham’s own book on the subject. Do you expect to be asked to review it in your turn when it comes out?’

Viv stared across the table. Mike raised his eyebrows gesturing at her to speak.

‘I did know he was writing a book, of course,’ she said at last. ‘And perhaps that explains his angst. And if and when he completes it, oh yes, I would be delighted to review it and I hope in my case I can give a fair and considered opinion.’

Mike grinned. He raised finger and thumb circled in triumph. Seconds later he had rounded off the interview and switched off.

‘That was a rotten trick!’ She glared at him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you had spoken to him?’

His shrug was mischievous.’ Your reaction was perfect. Natural. If I’d told you, you would have been nervous and angry.’

‘And you think I’m not angry now?’

‘Oh yes. You are. Great radio!’

‘Where is he?’ Viv had rung the DPCHC at once.

‘At home. He didn’t come in today.’ Heather didn’t have to ask who she meant.

Viv was on his doorstep in under an hour.

‘Why? Why are you doing this to me?’

Hugh was standing in the doorway, in an old cotton sweatshirt, sleeves rolled above the elbows and threadbare jeans, a pair of spectacles swinging from his left hand. As he stared at her she found herself incongruously noticing how the tight jeans suited him, but this was a different Hugh to the Hugh she had visited in the night the week before. He stared at her for several seconds, almost as if he didn’t recognise her. ‘Come in, Viv.’ When he spoke at last he sounded bored; even patronising. ‘Don’t make a scene on the doorstep.’ He turned into the hall.

‘Why not? It’s not as though anyone can see.’ She didn’t move.

He swung round to face her. ‘Did you bring the brooch?’

‘Ah. At last you’ve remembered I’ve got it; and have you remembered you were so frightened you begged me to take it away again?’

‘A stupid thing to do. I’m sorry.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘A very stupid thing to do. I need it back.’

She frowned. ‘Are you all right, Hugh?’ Her voice softened.

He laughed. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘You sound odd.’

‘Odd?’

‘Different.’ She eyed him suspiciously.

‘Perhaps because I dared to criticise your book.’

‘You call that criticism? It was vicious and hurtful!’

‘OK.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing more to say. I’m sorry you can’t take criticism. With study and discipline I’m sure one of these days you could find your way back into the academic world, but if you persist with this rubbish -’

‘Rubbish?’ To her embarrassment she found she was near tears. ‘You are trying to destroy me!’

‘No, no.’ He leaned against the doorpost. ‘You’re destroying yourself. This book is a disaster and it needs to be pointed out to people who might otherwise read it as serious history.’

‘It is serious history.’ She was beside herself with anger. ‘If you read it dispassionately, Hugh, you’d see that.’

He folded his arms. ‘Come on, Viv. You’ve entered novelistic territory. You are making stuff up.’

‘I see. OK.’ She laughed dryly. ‘Now we have it. You are terrified I have sources you don’t know about. I have done original research which you have not seen and you are afraid. Suddenly you are no longer the authority. I am. Poor Hugh.’ She began to move away from him. ‘Poor Professor Graham, fighting for mastery.’

‘The brooch, Viv,’ he called after her.

She paused and glanced at him with a frown. ‘It’s somewhere safe.’

‘I want it back. For the museum.’

‘For the museum, or for Venutios?’

For a while he didn’t reply. ‘Venutios was a dream. A hallucination,’ he said at last. ‘I was not myself when that happened.’

‘No, Hugh. You were almost a human being.’ Turning, she walked back to her car and climbed in. ‘Don’t worry about the brooch. It’s safe.’ As she reversed and turned the car towards the gate, to her amazement she was smiling.

Behind her he stood watching as the car disappeared between the banks of rhododendrons. Without realising it he was listening for the sound of the carnyx. All he heard was the crunch of her car tyres on the gravel.

Steve caught the train to Edinburgh. It was a fantastic idea, holding the party in the Museum of Scotland. Brilliant. Upmarket, a visible sign of faith from Viv’s publishers, and it was in full swing when he arrived. For a few minutes he could not see Viv at all, but he recognised Pat almost at once. Threading his way through the crowd he tapped her lightly on the shoulder and she turned.

‘Steve!’

‘Hi! Small world!’ he smiled. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine.’ Pat frowned. She looked pale and ill at ease; anything but fine.

He scanned her face ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shivered. A little champagne slopped from her glass over her hand. ‘A draught. It’s cold in here suddenly.’

They both looked round the huge room. Whatever else it was, it was not cold. She took a deep gulp from her glass. Someone pushed between them and for a moment he lost sight of her. He didn’t notice the slight frisson in the air around him. Plunging after her, he saw her talking to a group of media people. She raised a hand, he waved and moved on.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he spun round. ‘Hello, Steve.’ It was Viv. She was dressed in black trousers and a vivid scarlet top. Off the shoulder. Sexy.

‘Congratulations, Viv.’ He leaned across and kissed her on the cheek.

‘I’m so pleased you came, Steve.’ She reached up and touched his face.

‘Of course I came. You knew I would.’ Steve reached for her hand, but Viv had gone, swept away by someone from her publishers to confront a man with a camera. With a grimace he held his glass out for a refill.

Hugh stood in the doorway, staring around him. It was a good turn-out. A media-fest. Why, for an unknown? He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and stepped into the room. Alison
would have loved this. She would have been proud of Viv. Supportive. She would have told him to stop being such a horrible selfish grouch. She would have called him a dog-in-the-manger. She would have said - what she had said only a week before she had died: ‘You must marry again, Hugh. Don’t mope about, thinking of me. Marry someone like Viv. I’ve always suspected you fancied her a little bit. You do, don’t you!’ And she had lifted her poor thin arm and attempted to punch him and she had laughed.

As though Viv could replace her. As though anyone could.

‘Hello, Hugh.’ Steve Steadman was standing in front of him. He gave a puzzled smile, a bit wary, as though unsure what to say next. ‘Were you looking for Viv? She’s over there.’

Hugh frowned. Steve. Always Steve, constantly hanging around her. He shook his head. Were they having an affair? That was grounds to sack her if anything was. Inappropriate behaviour with a student. Steve shouldn’t be here. But then he wasn’t a student as such, was he, and he was obviously her friend. Hugh sighed. He was the one who shouldn’t be here. He should allow her this one piece of celebration at least. But it was too late. Viv was there in front of him. She hadn’t seen him. She looked stunning, beautiful, as she talked animatedly to a man in a green shirt. She was laughing, vivacious, happy and so very alive.

He stepped forward. Without thinking, he touched her arm.

She stopped in mid-sentence and swung round to face him, staring at him, frozen, a rabbit in the headlights.

‘Why have you come?’ In the noise of the room he had to lip-read the words. Perhaps she hadn’t actually spoken them out loud. Perhaps she could hear the distant sound of the carnyx in the background. Strange thing to have at a party, but perhaps not in the museum where there were the remains of real carnyxes on display.

‘I was invited.’ He smiled. ‘Presumably by you? She is too generous, but I am the head of her department.’ He was speaking to the man in the green shirt now. Explaining. ‘She can’t believe I think the book is crap. Can’t believe it at all.’ The man was smiling. Someone else was coming. A photographer. He felt drunk. But he hadn’t drunk anything at all. Had he? There was an empty glass in his hand. And she was shouting at him.

‘Why did you come? I didn’t ask you! Why did you have to do this?’ Camera bulbs were flashing. The man in the green shirt had produced a notebook. Hugh smiled sadly. Alison would not have
been pleased with him. Not at all pleased. He was quite relieved when Heather appeared out of the crowds and gently took him by the arm. Perhaps she would drive him home. He couldn’t quite remember where he had left his car.

‘You OK, Viv?’ Sandy was standing on the doorstep beside her as Viv groped for her keys. Behind them a taxi was drawn up at the kerb, engine running. Viv nodded. She was exhausted.

‘Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we hit the world.’ Sandy chuckled. ‘I’ll be here with a taxi at nine, OK?’

‘Was that all as much of a disaster as I think it was?’ Viv had the door open and was standing in the hall at the foot of the stairs.

‘No, not at all. Viv, love, one would pay money for that kind of publicity. I’d be very surprised if you haven’t made the front page of every paper in the land! Publicity departments kill for that kind of scene. Don’t worry about it. Your sales will rocket. Hundreds, even thousands of people will buy your book just to see what all the fuss is about! Believe me, your drunken professor has done you a huge favour!’ She paused. ‘He’s a handsome devil, isn’t he!’ She laughed and leaning forward gave Viv a quick hug. ‘Go on. Get your beauty sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.’