Authors: Katie Fforde
Love Letters (6 page)
Johnny mentioned a few other bands and it transpired that the music side of the festival was beginning to take shape. Laura drew roses on her pad of paper, determined to apologise to Fenella as soon as possible, and say she couldn’t run the literary side of the festival, not if it involved speaking through the chair at meetings like this.
‘So,’ said Bill Edwards when he’d filled two sides of A4 with notes and Laura had quite a pretty pergola going, ‘what about the literary side?’
Fenella cleared her throat, looking anxiously at her blank pad and then at the chairman. Laura stopped doodling, feeling instantly nervous as if the question had been asked of her directly, even though she wasn’t involved yet and probably wouldn’t be.
‘Shall I do this bit?’ said Sarah, much to Laura’s relief.
‘Oh please do,’ said Fenella, subsiding into her chair, also with obvious relief.
‘As you all may or may not know, this was Fenella’s idea and it’s brilliant! So many people wouldn’t go near a music festival but add big literary names and they’ll come in droves. Think of Cheltenham, Edinburgh, Hay-on-Wye.’
‘I’d rather think of Glastonbury,’ muttered Johnny Animal, and received a dig in the ribs from Fenella.
‘It’s a huge potential market,’ went on Sarah, ‘but what we need is a sponsor.’ She looked round the room, smiling in a way that invited people to volunteer. ‘Bill?’ She looked expectantly at the chairman.
‘I’m just here to keep order, as a local councillor,’ he blustered. ‘I’m not saying I won’t get the council to sponsor an advert or a small event, but I can’t spend the ratepayers’ money, or at least not much of it.’
Something about Sarah’s manner told Laura this didn’t greatly surprise her. Sarah turned her attention to Tricia Montgomery. ‘We need top-class authors, to attract a lot of people.’
Laura remained silent, taking it all in. If they had Tricia’s expertise and Fenella in charge surely they wouldn’t need her, she reasoned.
‘I’ll do my best, of course,’ said Tricia. ‘As a top-class agent’ – she made a face – ‘Eleanora does have all the right contacts. She could probably get Damien Stubbs to come and Amanda Jaegar—’
‘Who?’ asked the chairman, speaking on behalf of many.
‘Shortlisted for the Orange,’ said Laura automatically, forgetting she didn’t want to draw attention to herself but she just couldn’t help it. They were on her territory after all. ‘Should have won it last year, lots of people felt.’
Tricia smiled at her. ‘And Eleanora felt . . . we were rather hoping that Laura here would be able to get us authors we can’t lean on.’
Laura dropped her pencil in panic when she realised everyone was looking at her and cursed herself for piping up about Amanda Jaegar. That was what happened if you were a know-all. ‘I’m really not sure . . .’ she said. ‘I mean . . . I have no experience—’
Sarah interrupted her smoothly. ‘Shall we just discuss what we’d like, who we’d like, give ourselves a dream scenario and then see how near we can get to that?’
‘She’s a wedding planner in her day job,’ muttered Rupert.
‘She seems very efficient,’ said Laura, thinking with relief that with Sarah on board, she really wasn’t really necessary. She could make her excuses and leave. They’d manage just fine without her.
The discussion went on, not really achieving anything until Fenella got to her feet. ‘Right! Teatime! Down to the kitchen everyone. I’ve got sandwiches and cake and scones and it’s all got to be eaten.’
There was a moment’s ‘politesse’ and ‘this meeting is adjourned’ from Bill and then a stampede. Laura found herself next to Monica on the stairs.
‘Boring or what!’ Monica said. ‘I think it’ll be great when it actually happens but until then – God!’
‘It’s weird, but I really think I recognise you,’ said Laura. ‘Are you on telly?’
‘Not often. I’m in a band.’
‘Oh!’ squeaked Laura. ‘Now I know why I recognise you, only you haven’t got pink hair! I’ve seen you on stage! You were brilliant!’
‘Where did you see us?’
Laura told her about the venue. ‘Just a couple of nights ago. I loved it!’
‘Oh great! Nice to meet a fan. We’re appearing at this festival. Johnny got me in. Something a bit different for the punters. And I said I’d help out too if they needed me.’
‘Maybe you could do something in the literary bit as well. You know, someone – an actor – reading a bit of a book and your band singing an appropriate song.’ Then Laura remembered she wasn’t going to have anything to do with the festival and therefore shouldn’t have ideas. Although she had to admit she was beginning to feel getting involved might not be such an impossible thought after all.
‘Great!’ said Monica. ‘That sounds cool! Something like Philip Marlowe would be fab! We could do a really sleazy, smoky number to go with it. We could have fake smoke to get the nightclub atmosphere.’
It did sound rather good, but as they had reached the ground floor and the stairs to the kitchen were too narrow to chat on, Laura didn’t feel obliged to explain she wasn’t the one to talk to about it.
Fenella, or someone, had put on a wonderful old-fashioned spread, in the best traditions of cricket clubs, the WI – in fact, anywhere where sandwiches and cake might be comforting. There was an urn providing tea and a big jug of coffee.
‘This is amazing!’ said Laura when she found herself next to Fenella. ‘I thought I might get a stale Rich Tea if I was lucky.’
‘When I’ve got lots of people coming, I like to barricade myself in with food. I didn’t make all this, though, only a few of the cakes. The dogs will eat anything that’s left over. I’ve shut them all away, because of the meeting.’
Johnny spoke with his mouth full, holding a laden plate. ‘If I have my way, the dogs won’t get anything. If you weren’t married already—’
‘I wouldn’t marry you, but thank you for the offer,’ said Fenella, laughing.
Tricia Montgomery joined the little group that was forming next to the Aga, away from the table. ‘Eleanora tells me you’ve read everything, and that you put on a fantastic reading for Damien,’ she said to Laura. ‘I wonder if he would come? He likes literary festivals.’
‘That would be brilliant,’ said Fenella, scribbling on a napkin. ‘What’s his surname?’
‘Stubbs,’ supplied Tricia. ‘But Eleanora was really impressed with you, Laura. She said she’d never met anyone so well read, so young.’
‘Oh well . . .’
Her self-deprecation was ignored. ‘It’s not often someone who works in a bookshop has such a wide knowledge of contemporary literature,’ went on Tricia, to Laura’s huge embarrassment.
‘Oh,’ said Fenella, ‘I don’t get nearly enough time to read but what do you think of Anita Dubrovnik? I know she’s the novelist of the moment – like every other book group in the country, we’re reading her latest.’ She paused. ‘And I know I won’t have time to finish it.’
Laura laughed. ‘I run a book group at the shop and I always tell people they should come even if they haven’t read it. They can often ask questions that really get the discussion going.’
‘I don’t think I can trade on that for ever,’ said Fenella. ‘So? Could I have a cheat’s guide?’
Laura found herself giving potted reviews of all the latest bestsellers and, unusually for her, content to be the centre of attention. It must be the relaxed atmosphere of the kitchen, she thought, away from all that forced formality upstairs.
Jacob Stone, who hadn’t really opened his mouth up to this point, came over to their group. He was short and stocky but had presence. People seemed to listen when he spoke, and as he didn’t, often, it made an impact when he did. Now, holding his mug of tea and with a piece of cake in his other hand, he said, ‘Do you know Dermot Flynn?’
‘Oh yes!’ said Laura, genuinely keen. ‘He’s brilliant. He was—’
‘Get him to the festival and I’ll sponsor it – however much money you’ll need,’ said Jacob Stone, cutting through her rush of enthusiasm.
Laura swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. This man thought she actually knew him. He was possibly her favourite writer, ever, but she didn’t actually know him, any more than she actually knew Shakespeare, however many essays she’d written about him. She had to explain. ‘Um—’
‘Oh, that would be marvellous!’ said Fenella, not noticing this small interjection. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful we’d be. Basically we can’t do this without a sponsor and – well, it’s hard to get them,’ she added, suddenly looking a little sheepish.
‘And I was the only millionaire you knew?’ said Jacob Stone.
‘Yes, frankly, but we’d be terribly thrilled—’
‘If Dermot Flynn is there, I’ll be proud to support it.’
‘But—’ Laura tried to break in. Now everyone seemed to think she knew him. She had to put a stop to this. ‘I don’t—’
‘He’s one of Eleanora’s. Utterly charming but almost impossible to manage.’ Tricia Montgomery had the look of someone who really wanted to be outside smoking a cigarette. ‘You won’t get him to the festival unless he really wants to come.’
‘I didn’t mean I knew him as a person,’ said Laura, getting her word in at last. ‘I meant I know his work. I studied him at university and think he’s utterly brilliant.’
‘Oh he is!’ agreed Tricia. ‘But he’s an
enfant terrible
. As I said, can’t be managed and we think he’s setting a record for lateness on his latest book. It’s
years
past its deadline.’
enfant terrible
. As I said, can’t be managed and we think he’s setting a record for lateness on his latest book. It’s
years
past its deadline.’
‘As I said, I want him here,’ said Jacob Stone, his tone brooking no argument. ‘And without being mean, if he’s not, you’ll have to find another sponsor.’ Then he turned and walked away.
Everyone inhaled at once and then they all started talking at Laura who wanted to put her hands up to her face and hide. She managed to keep from doing so by sheer effort of will.
‘If you could get him, it would be such a coup,’ said Tricia. ‘Every opinion-former in the literary world will come. I know there will be lots of other writers but no one’s seen him for years. It would be amazing.’
‘Oh please, Laura! I beg you! Do try and get him! We need the money. God knows who we’ll get to be a sponsor if Jacob Stone doesn’t cough up!’ said Fenella. ‘We wouldn’t have approached him if we’d had a choice, he’s so eccentric.’ She turned to Laura, slightly accusing. ‘You said you know him!’
Had no one been listening to her? she thought with frustration. ‘I know his work! Like Shakespeare!’ she squeaked.
‘Now that really would be a coup,’ said Rupert, winking at Laura, ‘getting Shakespeare along.’ He put a fairy cake into her hand.
‘Isn’t he supposed to be rather gorgeous?’ said Monica.
‘Who, Shakespeare?’ asked Fenella.
‘No! Dermot Flynn!’ said Monica.
They all regarded Laura, as the official Dermot Flynn expert. ‘He was when he was young, going by the pictures,’ Laura admitted, wondering if people would stop expecting things from her if she stuffed the cake into her mouth whole.
‘And Eleanora told me he’s doing a little festival in Ireland at a place called Ballyfitzpatrick,’ said Tricia, taking a fairy cake from Rupert and unpeeling the paper.
‘Oh,’ said Monica, sounding surprised.
‘I think he lives there,’ Tricia explained. ‘And I don’t think it’s really literary, just some people who are friends who’ve got together to put something on,’ she went on and then bit into her cake.
Laura saw her way out. ‘Oh well then, you just need to get Eleanora to ask him to come to this one. It’ll be small and friendly, he’s bound to say yes.’ She passed the buck with both hands.
Tricia gave a hollow laugh. ‘But how to get in touch with the man? He doesn’t open letters, or email, or answer his phone, or ring back. I told you, he’s an absolute nightmare!’
‘So how did you find out he was doing this festival?’ asked Monica. ‘If he doesn’t communicate?’
‘Eleanora was looking for something else and it came up on the Internet. It’s Irish music, poetry, food, stuff like that.’
‘It sounds great!’ said Monica, full of enthusiasm. ‘But who has a literary festival in winter?’
Fenella ignored her protest as she addressed Laura. ‘You’ll just have to go there and ask him to come here,’ she said. ‘If that’s the only way we’ll get him.’
‘Fab idea!’ said Monica. ‘I’ll come with you. We’ll have a great time!’
Just for a second, Laura was tempted. Monica was such fun, her confidence and zest for life were infectious. And it was her singing that had made Laura do some serious thinking. For whatever reason, she felt a bond. Then she got a grip on reality. ‘You don’t seem to understand—’
‘But you’ve arranged loads of literary events at your bookshop?’ said Fenella, sounding indignant.
‘Yes,’ Laura tried to explain, ‘but when I did that, I wrote polite letters via the publisher or agent. It was the publicity department who decided whether or not they came and when they came. It was all down to them. I didn’t have to visit the writers in person!’ She turned to Tricia for support, feeling things rapidly sliding out of her control again. ‘Who are his publishers? Get them to ask him.’
‘He’s been out of contract for years, and if he doesn’t respond to Eleanora, who’s a tough cookie, believe me, he wouldn’t take any notice of the publicity department.’
‘That’s my aunt you’re talking about,’ said Fenella, ‘but you’re right, she’s very tough.’
‘So you need to go to Ireland and bring him back,’ said Monica. ‘Like a Canadian Mountie who always gets his man.’
The ridiculousness of the situation got to Laura and she started to giggle. ‘I’m not a Mountie, or even a Labrador. I don’t do fetching.’
‘But it would be such fun!’ went on Monica, laughing too. ‘I’ll come with you! It’ll be a riot!’
Fenella seemed to sense Laura teetering; going anywhere with Monica would definitely be different. ‘Oh God, thank you so much!’ Shamelessly, she played the guilt card. ‘I can’t tell you how much this means to me. And we’ll obviously pay for you to get there . . .’
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