Tell Him About It (6 page)

“Playing hard to get may only make them try harder. It’ll doubtless be the married ones who’ll try hardest though.”

Sara laughed.

Having a bit of time to kill Adam suggested that they take a turn around the bookshop. He was interested in the books she had read and ones she would recommend. They found their way to the classics section and were like teenagers talking about their favourite albums or movies as they discussed certain books and authors. Adam insisted on buying his publicist a book – a beautifully bound hardback copy of the
Lyrical Ballads
. In return Sara insisted on buying her author a copy of one of her favourite novels,
Home of the Gentry
by Ivan Turgenev.

“It’s a tragic love story,” Sara said.

“Which true love stories aren’t tragic?” Adam sorrowfully replied – but then attempted to smile, not wishing to bring down the mood.

Shortly afterwards Adam gave his talk. He spoke about his time in the army and how it had informed the plot of his latest novel.
Hidden Agenda
was a thriller about a soldier and whistle-blower, who is killed for writing a report on how the British government were complicit in supporting the drug barons in Afghanistan (in exchange for them not supporting the Taliban). The report also damns a leading politician for turning a blind eye to the atrocities the poppy growers committed against girls who attended school in Afghanistan. The novel’s hero, John Powell, investigates the murder of his friend however and exposes the politician. The politician, who now works for the UN, escapes to a non-extradition country – but Powell tracks him down and murders him through forcing dollar bills down his throat.

“The villain of the piece, Anthony Hay, quotes Stalin at the beginning of the book saying that seven grams of lead, i.e a bullet, can cure any problem. Unfortunately I fear that we may need a tonne of lead to cure all the problems within the MOD, DFID and Foreign Office... A friend of mine operated as a sniper out in Helmand province. A therapist asked him what he felt when he pulled the trigger and murdered a member of the Taliban. His reply was that the only thing he felt was, “The recoil of the rifle.” And he meant it... I also heard a story about a briefing, which took place after the siege of the Iranian embassy in the early eighties. A soldier from the SAS team who helped liberate the hostages was asked why he had shot one of the terrorist thirty-two times. His reply was, “I ran out of bullets.” Sometimes a soldier’s sense of humour gets so dark that it’s difficult to see...”

After speaking for thirty minutes or so Adam then took questions from the audience.

“How much of John Powell is there in you?”

“Powell is brave, incorruptible and successful with women... Suffice to say to say
Hidden Agenda
is a work of my imagination, rather than being autobiographical.”

“What’s next for John Powell?”

“That’s a good question. I’m tempted to have Powell go up against a bunch of divorce lawyers, but I suspect that not even my hero could come out of that conflict unscathed – or solvent...”

Adam received a deserved round of applause at the end and he was soon swamped with people coming up to him with their books for him to sign. Sara noticed how much readers loved him and/or his books – and she sensed how much Adam was genuinely grateful for anyone who had read one of his novels. Seeing how inundated the staff were Sara chipped in and helped carry books, pour wine and clear things up. Meanwhile Adam chatted with people, signed books and posed for photographs.

Adam occasionally, covertly, glanced over at his publicist as she kindly helped out a bookseller and politely smiled as one of his old army mates tried to chat her up. He also noticed how his publicist went up to each of the staff members towards the end and gave them a small present as a thank you for helping make the event a success. Sara similarly often glanced towards her author to make sure he was fine, as he signed a book or made someone laugh. A couple of times their eyes met and, for a second or so, it seemed like it was only just the two of them in the busy bookshop.

*

Adam again asked Sara out to supper with his friends but she regretfully declined. Clapham was at the other end of town and she still had a few things to get through in regards to work.

“Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to suffer my company over the coming days, during the tour,” she explained.

Sara finally received a message from Simon as she walked from the station to her home. Simon told her about the restaurant he was currently in – how they would have turned heads if they had walked in together. He also mentioned how he had bought some lingerie for her whilst killing time at the airport.

I’m looking forward to watching you try everything on – nearly as much as I’m looking forward to you taking it off. Wink. xx

A crescent moon, like a lop-sided grin, beamed in the night sky, as Sara lay in bed. She kept the curtains and window open to let the room breathe in a cooling evening breeze. But it wasn’t just the sticky heat keeping her awake. She tossed and turned, like a princess with a pea beneath her mattress, as she recalled the scene just at the end of the event when a woman, claiming to be a writer herself, gave Adam her card, batted her eyelids and asked him to call her. The novel she was working on was doubtless as trashy as the outfit she wore, Sara ungenerously thought. Adam had taken the card and said something back, which caused the woman to toss her head back and give out a throaty laugh. Was he being flirtatious, or just friendly? Where was he now – at a club, with his old friends from the army? Or was he in someone else’s bed, like the barmaid’s? Sara had met his type before, for most of her adult life. Yet something inside of her argued that he was nothing like the various types of men she had met before. How many male models or City boys had she dated who could quote Byron? How many of them could make her smile, laugh or engage her as much as him? The problem was that Adam seemed too good to be true – and the comments Sara had read by his ex-wife still nagged at her. Underneath all the melancholy, intelligence and decency was Adam just like so many other men – shallow?

Like Simon.

9.

Adam looked a little worse for wear the following morning when he met Sara at the train station. She was dressed for comfort, rather than high style, in some white pumps, navy blue pedal pushers and a cream blouse. Sara couldn’t help but notice that her author was, perhaps tellingly, wearing the same clothes from the previous evening.

“Morning,” Adam remarked, squinting from the shimmering blue sky. He carried a much travelled canvas bag over his shoulder.

“Hi. Dare I ask, how was last night?” Sara said breezily, raising her eyebrow as Adam yawned and winced from his throbbing head. Her question was less innocent and off the cuff than it seemed. She wanted to know.

“It was fun catching up with people, not that I remember too much of where we went and what happened after dinner,” Adam replied – Sara was not sure whether it was in jest or in earnest.

Adam didn’t venture any more information and Sara thought it wasn’t her place to ask, although she briefly checked for any lipstick on his collar or any hint of perfume on his clothes as they boarded the train.

As soon as he sat down Adam ordered a coffee, which gave him a jolt due to its foul taste rather than the caffeine in it. Sara then switched on her iPad and went through the updated schedule. They were now heading for Birmingham, where Adam was due to give a signing in a bookshop and in the evening he would be giving a talk to a large crime and thriller writing group. The following day they would travel to Manchester for another afternoon bookshop signing and then an evening event. After that they would head for the Lake District – and then it would be back to London for some stock signings in key shops and a publication dinner at the Army & Navy Club. She also updated him on the various reviews which were due to be coming out over the next fortnight.

As with before Sara sensed that Adam was barely taking notice of his itinerary. He appeared distracted, as well as tired. He nodded occasionally and made the odd vague comment as he gazed wistfully, or wanly, out of the window. His phone rang a couple of times but he cut off the call before answering. When Sara finished speaking however Adam appeared to come back to the land of the living. He turned to his publicist and remarked, “You seem wonderfully proficient Sara. Thank you for all the work you’re doing. It’s appreciated. What are your career plans, if you don’t mind me asking? Do you want to remain in publicity, or work in editorial?”

“I’d like try my hand in editorial someday, but I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to be a Julian yet.”

Adam let out a burst of laughter.

“God willing you’ll never be a Julian. What do you think of him?”

Sara took a breath. She was tempted to be indiscreet, or rather honest, about her colleague but merely replied, unconvincingly, “He’s a good editor.”

“I think we both know that he can barely be considered a good person, let alone a good editor. Julian’s a snob, but he should first look down on himself rather than others. He’s part of a class of people that lacks class, whose idea of doing good is to read
The Guardian
, condemn football hooliganism and buy free trade bananas... In regards to him being an editor I’m yet to be convinced he reads my books, or anyone else’s. He’s slow to reply to emails, if he replies at all... Every time I meet him I play a game. I mention either a classic novel or a recent release that’s been a bestseller, to see whether he’s read it or not. Although Julian doesn’t know it, he’s never won a round of the game... He’s also forever name dropping or mentioning bestselling books that he turned down – as if he’s proud of it! In the army we would have called him a ‘Rupert’ – or something worse... Unfortunately, the truth is that he’s probably working to the best of his abilities... You shouldn’t think that you’re somehow not ready to work in editorial yet Sara. You’re well read, both in terms of the classics and contemporary fiction. You’re also aware of what sells – and equally crucially how to sell things... Trust me, you’re worth a hundred Julian Smythes, Sara, for all sorts of reasons.”

Adam’s compliment made Sara glow as much as the midday sun. She had thought about applying for editorial assistant jobs before, but something (or more than one thing) had always stopped her doing so. She felt she lacked confidence, or the contacts, or hadn’t attended the right university, or that she would just be viewed as the blonde publicist.

Just as Sara was about to say something Adam’s phone rang again. He checked who was calling and switched it off. His expression sunk into a gloom again and he decided to switch himself off too.

“Sorry for that. You’ve doubtless got some work to catch up on before we get to Birmingham. I thought I might use this time to catch up on some sleep though, if that’s okay?”

Having served as a sentry in the army, learning from necessity to get bouts of sleep whenever he could, Adam soon drifted off. Sara often looked up from her iPad to take in her author. Despite his red-rimmed eyes and stubble, or perhaps because of them, he looked endearing when he was sleeping, Sara fancied. He needed taking care off. Rosie might have eyed him up, learned of his background, and have called Adam “a bit of rough”. But when he opened his mouth Rosie would have realised what a smooth talker he could be – and she would take the rough with the smooth. Sara couldn’t help but gaze upon Adam with a certain fondness – and attraction – in her expression. Whilst she was doing so a train steward passed by and said, “Would your husband like a pillow?”

10.

As the train was pulling into Birmingham Sara received an email from her boss.

Yet to hear news of an exclusive interview with Cooper talking about his marriage to Victoria Glass – and plugging the book. TV and
The Mail
are everything. Raise your game. M.

During the journey Sara had updated Margaret Duvall on certain things, including the articles that had gone live about Adam and the news that both the
Evening Standard
and
Daily Telegraph
would be reviewing the book due to conversations she’d had with their literary editors. But rather than acknowledging her successes her boss had looked to put her down and pressure her into betraying her author. Adam.

Sara stood transfixed, out of sorts, on the platform as she read the message over again. Her sun-kissed complexion even seemed to pale a little. Sara wanted to scream – get out of herself, or be herself. She felt flustered, angry, unappreciated. There was a part of her that wanted to cry, not just because of the message – but because of everything. Because of months of being over-worked and under-appreciated. Because as a publicist she had to smile all the time and nod her head. Because everyone thought she had a thousand friends but really she was lonely. Because she could never find the time and will to write her own book. Because should she say yes to Simon her wedding day might also feel like her funeral. Yet some of those feelings melted away as Adam warmly clasped her on the shoulder and looked her in the eyes, smiling kindly.

“Are you okay Sara? Would you like a bottle of water?”

“It’s fine. Maybe it’s the heat. I just feel a bit nauseous. Do you mind if I sit for five minutes?”

Adam led her to a bench. Without a word said they sat down and Sara leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around her.

I’m supposed to be looking after him. Not him me. Pull yourself together Sara. Or raise your game, as the inept hag said. But let me just stay here, like this, for a bit longer.

The sunny weather sapped the strength of a few, but for the most part an air of vibrancy and purpose filled the streets of Birmingham (for once?) as people showed off their new summer wardrobes and enjoyed the fine weather and feel good factor. The signing was due to take place at lunchtime in a bookshop within the shopping centre. Rather than check into their hotel first they headed over to the signing straightaway. Things went well. There was a small queue made up of fans and a few of Adam’s friends from his army days. The laughter and conversation emanating from the corner of the shop where the signing was taking place drew in a few passing customers too, more women than men, and they sold another fifty copies of the new novel (as well as signing another fifty for stock – “a signed book is a sold book”).