Tell Him About It (5 page)

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Authors: Holly Kinsella

BOOK: Tell Him About It
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“Sorry, I’m just thinking about work. I must have seemed a thousand miles away,” Sara replied, snapping out of her reverie.

“I’m going to be thousands of miles away myself over the coming week. I’ve been asked to go out to the New York office. Paul and Lisa will also be coming on the trip. Would you like to join us? You could go shopping.”

Paul was Simon’s colleague. Sara tolerated rather than liked him. He was always talking – or bragging – about how much money he earned. Whenever Sara met up with him Paul would always ask her to introduce him to her model friends. Lisa worked as a secretary to both of them. Sara had only met Lisa a couple of times but she seemed friendly and fun.

“I’ve got to stay here and look after this new author unfortunately,” Sara said, glad that she had an excuse not to join them all.

“When I get back I think we should have a talk, about where we are and where we’re going,” Simon stated, growing serious – as though they were due to talk over a business transaction.

Sara had both desired and dreaded the conversation that Simon was asking her to pencil in her diary. What was he proposing? Proposing? Perhaps only when he finally asked the question would Sara know her answer.

“Okay,” she replied, not quite knowing what else to say. Just before the pregnant pause between them became too unnerving however Sara’s phone rang. It was Adam Cooper.

“Hi Sara, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, it’s fine,” she replied, genuinely pleased to hear from him – and not just because the call had rescued her from an awkward moment. She tried not to look across the table at her peeved boyfriend as she spoke. It was okay for him to take work calls during their time together, but not her.

“I just wanted to let you know that a charity I’m a patron of has asked me to give a talk at an event they’re hosting this coming Sunday evening. I’ll send over the details in an email. If you could let the charity and myself know should you be able to fit it into the schedule though, as they need to finalise arrangements.”

“Ok, thanks. I’ll let you know as soon as I get back to the office. Where is the talk going to be by the way?”

“The Lake District.”

When Sara hung up the phone she smiled at Simon, but thought of Adam.

*

“So he wants to have a, or rather
the
, talk?” Rosie said later that evening, as the two friends went through their day and a bottle of wine together. They had just finished having a light supper. Sara had made her (infamous) lasagne. They were now sitting in the living room. Bulging book cases lined most of the walls, as did some framed prints from the National Gallery of some of Sara’s favourite paintings – landscapes by Turner and Constable and portraits of Coleridge, Jane Austen and Keats. The two women sat at opposite ends of a large, leather sofa. Outside the evening sky glowed with the embers of dusk.

“I guess so,” Sara answered, her face expressing anxiety rather than excitement.

“I thought you wanted to discuss things with him and have this sort of conversation?”

“I know. Be careful what you wish for and all of that. A fortnight ago I was complaining how I didn’t want us to stay in limbo land in regards to the future, but limbo land seems a pretty attractive prospect now to having a conversation which may decide the rest of my life. The thing is, I still don’t know what I want,” Sara said, holding out her glass again, knowing only that she wanted a re-fill.

“You should consider yourself lucky. I’m going through such a dry spell that I’m thinking of having you set me up with your friend Eddie. He’d be so grateful for a girlfriend, I suspect, that he’d treat me like a princess. And I’d be willing to kiss a frog for that kind of treatment,” Rosie said, with as much sincerity as humour.

“If you want to kiss a toad I can always try and set you up with Julian Smythe. He’d prefer it if you kissed his arse though,” Sara said, the pair of them laughing as much from the wine as from the joke.

“The question is do you want to give Simon the kiss off? Or can you hear the sound of wedding bells in your mind?”

“Unfortunately they sound more like the death knell of a funeral. He used to be so sweet when I first met him. He went out of his way to win me. Now he just does enough not to lose me, I sometimes think. Maybe we’re just all but married in name already.”

I need to talk to Simon, not Rosie, about all of this
, she thought.

Sara thought about what Victoria Glass had said in her recent interview. But Simon and she were failing at being friends. Would, could, they still succeed as husband and wife?

Noticing how sad and uncomfortable her friend was becoming Rosie decided to change the subject, by first asking Sara if there was anything on TV she wanted to watch – and then mentioning that her new author’s ex-wife had been on a programme earlier, talking about Kate Middleton’s style. Sara, who was still yet to form a firm judgement as to what she thought of Victoria Glass, asked her best friend what she thought of the alluring socialite.

“Well on the plus side it seems that she does, along with Kate, do plenty of work for the charities she’s linked to. In her favour too she’s not Elizabeth Hurley or Tamara Ecclestone. Whether this is a plus or minus, she has a figure that even you’d die for – or kill for. From reading some of the stories in the newspapers – and seeing the countless number of photos of her – she owns more pairs of shoes than Imelda Marcus... On the whole though I just don’t like it when people are more famous than they are talented... But now you tell me, what do you think of the former Mr Glass, your author? From the pictures I’ve seen of him I wouldn’t mind dying – or killing – to get hold of his body.”

Sara laughed, but then remained coy on the subject when it came to her answer.

“I’ve yet to spend any real time with him. I promise I’ll send you his plus and minus points soon though.”

Adam Cooper was like a book that she had only got through the first chapter of. But she wanted to read on.

 

 

8.

 

Citrus-fresh sunlight flooded Sara’s bedroom in the morning and she found herself opening Adam’s message before Simon’s. The author it seems had either been working long into the night, or was a very early riser, given the time the email had been sent. Adam had completed the answers for the questions that various magazines and websites had sent her. The tone was largely informal in the interviews, as it seemed Adam knew quite a few of the journalists and editors involved. Perhaps, because of the personal loyalty involved, they had stuck to the brief in regards to asking questions about the author’s career and new book, rather than his private life.


Would you like me to bring you anything back from New York?
” Simon had messaged. Sara here thought about the song, ‘
Spanish Boots of Spanish Leather’
, which Adam had mentioned in passing during their conversation in the pub. The song tells the story of a woman who travels to Spain. She asks her lover if he wants her to send him any gift, but the man just misses his sweetheart and wants her to come back. In the end she extends her travelling and he concedes the relationship has ended by asking her to send him boots of Spanish leather. Reality always gets in the way of love and happy endings. Sara replied to Simon to just enjoy himself while he was away.

He had answered, “
I will. x
” inserting a winking smiley face too.

Sara sighed, either in exasperation that her boyfriend was developing the habit of sending emoticons, or in relief. She welcomed the breathing space she would get in their relationship while Simon was in New York. She spent a few minutes extra choosing her outfit for the day, which she would also need to wear for the event in the evening. She picked out her scarlet and black colour block shift dress from Episode, which accentuated her figure. She also pulled out her favourite pair of black heels, which she put in a bag and could change into at the end of the day.

When Sara got into work she called the bookshop in Hampstead to make sure all was well in regards to the arrangements for the book talk that night. She also called a number of local papers about covering the talks Adam was giving outside of London. She finalised some articles and interviews with the likes of
Forces News
and
Soldier Magazine
. All were obliging, having dealt with the author before. Sara had called one military publication and got through to a young, female journalist who had almost cooed on hearing the author’s name and said that, once Adam was free, she would love to take him to lunch. “I’ve interviewed him before, he’s very friendly,” the journalist had said, mentioning how Adam had once taken her out to dinner. Sara wondered how friendly Adam had been towards the journalist – feeling curious, disapproving and perhaps even a little jealous.

Sara also received a couple of calls around midday. They were from hacks from the tabloids, asking for an interview with the author about his former wife. Sara lowered her voice and politely refused the requests. More than to her boss Sara felt she still had to answer to her conscience.

Towards the end of the day however Sara was summoned into Margaret Duvall’s office.

“Darling, would you be a dear? I’ve somehow broken my Twitter account again and also forgotten my password... Also, I need you to book me a table at
The Midas
... Make sure you seat me near the door, in case I need to dash out for a cigarette... I remember when I was last there, I ran into Nicola Redriff, the celebrity chef. Her ex-husband, that ghastly man, has just been arrested I understand, for tax evasion. For years I always thought that she’d be the one to be arrested, either for taking drugs or for stealing recipe ideas from friends... I heard that her latest book,
Tarting It Up
, has flopped. It looks like the publishers will be seeing many unhappy book returns... When I saw her in the restaurant she was wearing a dress that showed off her figure, unfortunately for her... Now remember to keep your phone to hand when you’re away. You never know when I may need you...”

Sara did her best to tune the publicity director out but still her bitchiness stabbed through like a stiletto. The marketing department were lazy, sales staff had been lucky with a few titles which papered over cracks of failures and many of the editorial staff walked around like the living dead, powerless to sign the books they wanted and pining for a golden age. Indeed if Margaret Duvall hadn’t had to leave early to attend an appointment about getting laser eye surgery done she would have had a pointed comment ready to say to Sara about everyone in the building.

*

Adam’s first talk was at an independent bookshop in Hampstead. The shop regularly held events and had sold seventy tickets or so, which was good for a summer’s evening in London. Sara was both nervous and looking forward to seeing her author again, as if she were about to go on a date. She got to the bookshop early and re-touched what little make-up she was wearing and changed into some heels. Sara also sent a message to Simon to say she hoped he’d had a good flight. Maybe his flight had been delayed and he was still in the air though, as he failed to reply.

Sara was in conversation with a bookseller when Adam arrived. Again he was dressed simply yet smartly in a jacket, shirt and jeans. He smiled at her across the room, turning his head and looking at her strangely – as if gazing at her for the first time. They both worked their way through the ever increasing throng of people. Sara didn’t know whether to shake Adam’s hand to greet him or give him the ubiquitous, often phoney, double peck on the cheek kiss which was as endemic to publishing as it was to Paris. She chose neither. Adam seemed temporarily distracted as he scanned around to see where he could get hold of a glass of wine. Thankfully a bookseller came to his rescue.

“Thank you,” Adam said warmly as the young woman handed him the glass. She was pale, pencil thin and a little awkward looking. Part Goth, part Emo, part something else that she would grow out of. She was wearing a black and white T-shirt with the line “I’m not old I’m just out of date” emblazoned upon it.

“Are you a Dwight Yoakum fan?” Adam added, taking in the phrase, a quote from a country song (he seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of books, music and films Sara thought, remembering their conversation in the pub). The bookseller smiled and nodded, looking bashful, happy and pretty all at the same moment. Someone had finally recognised where the phrase came from and they appreciated it – and her.

“Let’s just hope that the bookshop has as good a taste in wine as you do music,” the handsome author remarked, downing half the glass in just one mouthful.

Blushes added colour into the girl’s pallid cheeks. She was unable to speak, but her smile communicated how much her evening had been made by the exchange with the bestselling writer.

“You’ve got a nice crowd it seems,” Sara said, as she gazed around her – pleased by the numbers – as the shy bookseller scurried away. There was a professional part of her which wanted to bolster her author’s ego and also communicate to him how the publishers were doing a good job promoting his book.

“A fair number of them are friends; the rest may be seeking a cure for their insomnia. I’ll look to keep them awake, or send them to sleep with my talk, accordingly. Thank you for coming by the way. I don’t want you thinking that I’m one of these authors, or divas, who need their hand holding all the time though.”

“No, it’s no trouble. I’m interested in hearing you speak,” Sara replied, grinning at Adam’s knowing comment (too many author did indeed behave like divas, especially the men).

“Should you be free after the talk would you like to join us for dinner? A few of my old army friends are coming along tonight and we’ll be having a meal afterwards. I should warn you though that half of them will spend the evening telling you some well trodden war stories and the other half will look to chat you up and get your number.”

“I’ve already got their number, so to speak. My uncle was is the army. I’ve sat down with many an officer at a dinner before. I’ll get my own back by telling them some well trodden stories about being a book publicist.”

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