Tell Him About It (10 page)

Margaret went on to say however that she had just received the news that
Hidden Agenda
would debut at number three in the
Sunday Times
bestseller chart, which everyone was pleased about.

“So I suppose congratulations are also in order,” the publicity director said, begrudgingly.

Towards the end of the meeting Sara asserted that she would like to take some of the holiday time which had long been owed to her. There was little Margaret could do to deny her request, given that she couldn’t afford for her assistant to take time off between the crucial period of Sept – Dec. So she (reluctantly) allowed Sara to take two weeks off.

That afternoon Sara received an email from Adam Cooper’s literary agent, Edward Carter. Both he and Adam were sorry but they would have to now cancel the publication dinner. Unfortunately they had to fly to New York on business. Sara wrote to the literary editors and other guests who had been invited to inform them the dinner was off. She also spoke to Polly, whose best friend worked for the literary agency that Edward Carter was a partner at, and asked if she could get the scoop on what was transpiring.

Polly got back to Sara within the hour with news. Adam and his agent had flown to New York to sign a US book deal. The
New York Times
had also offered Adam a position to work as a correspondent for them. The far juicier gossip, Polly wrote in the email to her colleague, was that Adam’s agent had informed Martin Tweed that Adam would not be signing his next UK book deal with Bradley House. He would be signing his next deal with Richmond Books, partly to work with Richard Earle, an experienced editor there. Earle would allow Adam to write historical fiction, rather than just pigeon hole him as a military thriller author. Adam had written to Martin Tweed however to cite how happy and grateful he was for all the hard work Bradley House had put in to make
Hidden Agenda
a success. The author mentioned being particularly impressed with the enterprise and proficiency of Sara Sharpe in publicity (when Tweed summoned Julian Smythe up to his office to relay the disappointing news the editor first tried to argue that Adam had moved publishers because he had been unhappy with the publicity department, until the publishing director showed him Adam’s letter which, if anything, cited Julian as the cause of his defection).

Something swelled up in Sara’s stomach, and in her throat, when she read Polly’s email. She dipped her head down, behind the monitor. She hoped that her features were not betraying her feelings, but she couldn’t be sure. She felt a modicum of betrayal, that Adam had kept his plans to himself. He must have already made the decision to switch publishers before their tour together. Yet why should she have been entitled to know his plans? Who was she to him? And wasn’t there a chance, in his mind, that she would have shown more loyalty to her publisher than to her author? And did he also know that he would be moving to New York? He hadn’t said anything. Was she supposed to be his last UK conquest? Sara experienced a gut wrenching sense of loss, or finality. Bradley House would no longer want to arrange any events for an author who had left them. She would never have cause to see him again. She felt something akin to grief. Yet Sara also felt happy for Adam. She was more pleased for him than she was disappointed for Bradley House. Adam had mentioned how much he wanted to write historical fiction – but how Julian had argued that he should just stick to what they knew.

Could things have turned out any differently?

Sara had more questions than answers about the whole affair, but wasn’t that the case with everyone about everything?

Move on – from Simon and him.

18.

The following day was the first day of Sara’s holiday, or the first day of the rest of her life, she determined. She called her sister and arranged for them to meet for lunch. Carly was a little surprised by the call – to the point of being suspicious and worried – but by the time she put down the phone she was pleased that Sara had got in touch.

After speaking to her sister Sara logged on to
The Bookseller
and other relevant trade websites to check for editorial assistant positions – and applied for a number of jobs.

I’m worth a hundred Julian Smythes.

As well as replying to Frank Porter to arrange a date for giving a talk to his crime and thriller writing group in Birmingham Sara also emailed a few contacts she had who ran other writing groups. She offered to give a talk to their members about publishing and publicity, for gratis.

Over the next week or so Sara continued to apply for jobs. She also started researching and writing her novel, a romance set in Regency London. Jane Austen and Coleridge would make cameo appearances. The story would revolve around the character of Virginia Rake, a governess torn between her faith/duty and her love for a Byronic poet, Aaron Miller. The working title of the book was
Rake’s Progress
.

Sara thought long and hard about it but decided, after a week, that she would just post a message up on her Twitter and Facebook pages to say that she had broken up with Simon. She wanted to put things behind her and didn’t want to tell everyone individually, re-living the hurt and embarrassment each time. Although Sara added that she wanted some privacy and there was no need to get in touch a couple of old friends from her modelling days insisted that they take her for a night out, to help take her mind off things. They went to a club off Bond St, wearing outfits that left little, or a lot, to the imagination. The club was full of neon, frosted glass and polished chrome – and dark corners and toilet cubicles that could house more than one occupant. Thankfully the music in the club wasn’t too intrusive and they played Rick Astley as well as, heaven forefend, Usher. Instead of shouting, or merely saying “pardon” or pretending to hear, Sara was able to genuinely catch up with Kelly and Sasha, who were still in the industry. Not much had changed, in terms of both their characters and their lives. They were flirting however with the idea of leaving modelling.

“We’re becoming too old and too fat,” Sasha half-joked.

Fortunately they were not in the mood to spend their time flirting with guys for the night, which, unfortunately, didn’t prevent various guys from trying to flirt with them. Even without comparing the would-be suitors to Adam they seemed dull and witless to Sara. One of them started to talk about how he loved Duncan Ferris, “comedy genius.” Most talked about themselves, or tried to. Kelly and Sasha were proficient at blunting the arrows on Cupid’s bow before they’d even been fired.

“I’ve been waiting for you all my life,” one hair-gelled copyright lawyer said.

“Really? I’ve been waiting for the past three minutes for you to leave,” Kelly replied.

When they were not being accosted by blokes (whose greatest love affair they’d ever have would be with themselves) Kelly and Sasha offered their old friend their support. Sara was better off without Simon, they asserted. They also conveyed how much they admired and envied Sara, for having gotten off the treadmill all those years ago and gone to university.

“You stepped off the Yellow Brick Road Sara – and found your own path. Which took a brain, a heart and courage,” Sasha remarked, pleasantly surprising herself by how much she meant what she said.

“You seem sorted in regards to what you want from your career now... But do you have your eye on anyone in the romance department?” Kelly said, thinking that she could ask both her fiancé and her other boyfriend if they knew anyone suitable she could date.

“No, I don’t have my eye on anyone,” Sara answered.
Not unless I can buy myself a telescope that can see across to New York.

*

During her holiday Sara kept busy (she even still kindly helped Polly out from home, so she didn’t get overwhelmed with work and have
Cruella
on her back). She also tried to have fun with Rosie. They went out to the cinema and theatre – and Rosie suffered many a defeat at Scrabble in the evening in the name of their friendship.

Yet still Sara found time to frequently – and endlessly – think about the state of her heart. She thought little of Simon (in more than one sense), but thought a lot about Adam. There was something missing from her life – and she knew it was him. It was as if the spine had been broken on her favourite hardback book, or her favourite CD had been scratched and it could no longer play properly. She scrolled down to his number on her phone a couple of times, but refrained from calling.

Sara listened to music while she worked on her novel. It helped fill the leaden silences – and also some of the songs, about loneliness, made her feel less lonely. Where once love songs had resonated and made sense (for that brief moment), now only sad songs struck the right chord. She even made a playlist and listened to it on a loop: Celine Dion, Emmy Lou Harris, Billy Joel (of course) and The Dixie Chicks. “This ain’t nothing but a Heartbreak Town.”

But just when Sara depressingly thought that all love songs turn into sad songs she received a phone call one morning, from an unknown number.

19.

“Hello, Sara? This is Victoria Glass.”

Her voice was polite, posh and confident. Sara was so shocked she paused before replying, as if unsure of her own name and everything else.

“Yes, this is Sara.”

“I was wondering if you might be free this early afternoon for a coffee. I have a window in my schedule and I’d like to meet you, if it’s convenient.”

Although she proposed the meeting as a request, there was something in her tone that expected that the request would be granted. Victoria Glass was used to getting what she wanted.

Sara gave her address to Victoria (who relayed it to her driver) and then asked, “Would you mind telling me why you’d like to see me Miss Glass?”

“Please, call me Victoria. And there’s no need to worry, I’ll tell you everything when I get there. Although I suspect that you know what, or rather who, we’ll be discussing... My driver has just informed me that I should get to you within an hour or so...”

Not even Adam had made her heart beat as fast as it did right now. Confusion and anxiety twisted themselves together like rope and a knot grew in her stomach. At first Sara stood frozen to the spot, in her kitchen. It was late morning and she still wasn’t even dressed yet. People didn’t meet Victoria Glass wearing M&S pyjamas, especially not ones made from a blend material with a picture of Tigger on the front.

She changed quickly (changing her outfit twice), falling over whilst doing so when she couldn’t get her foot into the leg of her jeans. Once dressed Sara sped downstairs and did her best to go to war on her apartment, armed with some polish, a dust buster and a bin bag. As she did so Sara asked a hundred questions and formed even more answers as to why Adam’s ex-wife was coming to see her but until she arrived any speculation seemed fruitless. Her nerves eclipsed a sense of intrigue.

When the doorbell went Sara shivered, as if the noise announced the presence of the grim reaper. She took an involuntary deep breath and opened the door.

She was momentarily speechless. Victoria Glass was stunning. Nature had endowed her with a perfect figure, but she still worked-out to maintain, or improve, it. The midday sun gave an added lustre to her eyes, skin and glistening lips. Her long, glossy full-bodied black hair hung over her shoulders with precision as if she were about to audition for a shampoo commercial (and she would have got the part). Victoria Glass radiated both refinement and glamour, which is rarer than you might expect (certainly any number of footballers’ wives and presenters of Strictly Come Dancing are unable to do so). Victoria was wearing a simple yet elegant Alexander McQueen belted crepe dress. The snow white outfit showed off her tan, legs and arms – without somehow being revealing. Sara suspected that Victoria Glass could still give off an air of poise and style in a potato sack though. The pair of Christian Louboutin shoes she had on cost half the sum value of Sara’s entire wardrobe. Her Bvlgari sunglasses, which she courteously took off as Sara opened the door, doubtless cost as much as the remaining half.

For a brief moment Victoria narrowed her almond-shaped eyes and took in the book publicist. Sara felt like she was being assessed, as if she was being given the once over by modelling agents again.

“Hi, thank you for seeing me at such short notice,” Victoria warmly remarked, extending a finely manicured hand for Sara to shake. “Thank you James, if you want to wait back in the car I shall be half an hour or so,” she then said, turning to her driver who stood by the gate.

Sara invited Victoria to come in and asked if she wanted anything to drink. She felt nervous, uneasy in her own home as if royalty were visiting.

“Just a glass of water will be fine, thank you.”

Sara here felt even uneasier, realising that Rosie had finished off the last bottle of mineral water the evening before. Had Victoria Glass ever had to drink tap water?

“I’m sorry, but will tap water be okay? I’m afraid I’ve run out of bottled water. Usually I have plenty in.”

“Tap water will be fine,” her guest replied, smiling. She genuinely didn’t want her surprise visit to cause any undue anxiety in her host.

There was a part of Sara that was prepared to dislike her (sort of) rival. A part of her wanted Victoria to behave haughtily and conceitedly. Sara had envisioned the scene beforehand, similar to that of when Lady Catherine de Bourgh visits Lizzie Bennett at her home, towards the end of the
Pride & Prejudice
. She imagined that, for whatever reason, Victoria Glass would look to somehow intimidate or look down on her. Yet the tabloid courtesan was being unfailingly nice, disarmingly normal.

Sara invited Victoria to sit down on a chair (her best one). She noticed how Victoria not only wore little jewellery, but she often rubbed her ring finger from where her wedding band had once been.