Sara didn’t call Simon back. She did call Adam however and said that she would be unable to make the event this evening, a dinner and book signing organised by one of his fellow officers from his old regiment. Adam said he was disappointed that she couldn’t make it, but he would be fine flying solo. The main thing was for her to feel better. He asked if he could get anything for her from the pharmacist, but she said that it would hopefully just be a twenty-four hour thing. She just needed some rest – and to be left on her own.
Adam had been sweet and understanding on the phone, but the last person she wanted to spend the evening with was another serial cheat, or “love rat”, as Rosie often termed it when she wrote an article for her local paper. How different was he really from Simon? Sara didn’t feel like putting on an outfit and make-up and smiling in the face of the world at the event tonight, which would be filled with (happy) couples having dinner together or soldiers trying to chat her up.
Shortly afterwards Sara called Rosie and spent an hour or so talking – and crying – on the phone to her friend. Rosie tried – and to a small extent succeeded – to console her flatmate. Simon didn’t deserve her, Rosie posited. Sara was right to want to end things. It was better to find out now what he was like, rather than later. She couldn’t commit to him because deep down Sara knew he was more of a Wickham than Darcy – and that she didn’t love him. She was happy to collect any things belonging to Sara that Simon still had at his apartment. After talking to Rosie Sara switched on the TV and removed more than just a bottle of water from the mini-bar.
*
It was late by the time Adam got back to the hotel from the dinner. The event had gone well. He had caught up with various old friends from the regiment and he’d sold over a hundred books (crucially Sara had arranged for an independent bookshop, registered with Bookscan, to sell copies of the novel so that any sales would help in breaking the book into the bestseller lists). Yet there was a hole in the evening, for Sara not being there. Adam had been tempted to apologise on the phone earlier, should he have somehow done something wrong to upset her. She had behaved in a distant way towards him all day.
Instead of his publicist Adam found himself sitting next to a foreign correspondent, Tara Deaver, over dinner. They had first met – and slept together – during his time in Afghanistan. She was smart, sexy and they had been under fire, as well as under the sheets, with each other. Tara was looking good. She had bought a Karen Millen black faux-leather panelled dress to celebrate her recent promotion. Her dress was revealing – and she little disguised her desire to spend the night with Adam.
“She’s on a plate for you mate, as your last course tonight,” the organiser of the dinner had whispered to Adam during dessert.
For all of Tara Deaver’s charms though Adam spent most of the evening thinking about someone else. It wasn’t due to Adam still feeling raw from his divorce that he politely declined the journalist’s invitation to come back to her hotel for a drink. No. If he would have spent the night with Tara Adam would have strangely felt that he was being unfaithful to Sara.
But how can you fight for someone when they don’t want to be won? If she’s happy in her relationship I should just disappear.
Adam received a text message. Tara asked if he was still awake. She was still buzzing – and had some coke to give them an even bigger buzz. She could be with him in ten minutes. He turned off his phone. A year ago, or a day before he had met Victoria, he would have called her back. Sex and drink were great tonics. But Adam wanted something different from life, love, now. Not a Tara. Or a Victoria even. They were game players, as he had once been. He wanted...
Sara.
The only game she would want to play with me was Scrabble, he smilingly thought.
*
Sara was a lot more self-conscious standing in the hallway, about to knock upon a hotel door, than Adam had been the night before. Partly because, it must be said, Adam had had more experience in knocking on the hotel doors of the opposite sex over the years.
She had initially struggled with the decision. She told herself that she wanted revenge on Simon. She also told herself that she would be using Adam, as Adam had probably used other women before. She had been unable to sleep and so had been listening for her author to return whilst reading one of his old novels. During a love scene in the book Sara thought of Adam Cooper rather than his hero John Powell.
She had kept her phone on silent, but noticed that Simon had called repeatedly. Already she was becoming bored and annoyed, rather than angry, in regards to her ex-boyfriend. She was also beginning to feel content and grateful that she was free of him. Free to do what she wanted. Rosie had rightly reminded Sara how she had said, on more than one occasion, that she felt trapped in the relationship. “You’ve had a lucky escape,” her flatmate had argued. Sara decided she would return her sapphire earrings.
He can re-gift them to his secretary... Heaven can send him another Domestic Goddess.
Her heart beat faster as she heard a number of revellers along the corridor getting out of the elevator. She was wearing her pearl-coloured silk pyjamas. She had thought about wearing her normal clothes, or putting on an evening dress. Should she have been in a movie or a Danielle Steele novel she would have been wearing a robe with lingerie underneath it, she mused. But she was neither in a film nor a novel.
What would happen after he opened the door? Where would this leave them personally and professionally? What if he rejected her? But as Sara moved her hand forward to knock on the door she tried to ignore her doubts. Several drinks from the mini bar helped dilute them too. The future could, or couldn’t, take care of itself.
But this is wrong. This isn’t you... If ever I spend the night with him, I want him to make love to me. Not me pretending to be a Lisa.
Rather than knock upon the door Sara merely gently pressed her palm against it, imagining the door was his chest and she could feel his heartbeat – in tune with hers. Melancholy, more than ardour, shaped her features.
15.
Amber sunlight poured through the curtains of Sara’s room the following morning. She woke to the sound of bin men rather than birdsong. Her head throbbed a little and she drank half a bottle of water to rehydrate herself. She stood before the mirror, her bob far from Louise Brooks-like and her eyes half-closed.
You’ve looked and felt better... At least he might now believe I was too ill to attend the event last night, on seeing me like this.
She wanted to go home, to cocoon herself from the imminent fall-out of ending things with Simon. How honest should she be with various people explaining why it was all over? He should feel ashamed of his actions, but she would be the one embarrassed when telling people about it. It felt like it would sting each time she would have to say that he cheated on her. She wanted her own bed. Rosie would take care of her too.
Yes. It was best all round it she went back to London. Even though nothing had happened last night, Sara would still feel uncomfortable around Adam. Sara could deny it to him, but she couldn’t deny it to herself that she had feelings for a man who she hadn’t even known for a week.
*
Grey clouds ambled across the sky. The sun still tried to lighten the scene although, by the time Sara stood with Adam outside the hotel waiting for her cab to take her to the train station, it seemed like it was fighting a losing battle.
Adam proved understanding when Sara let him know about her desire to return to London. He was concerned rather than angry or upset. She seemed genuinely ill and he sensed that there was something else wrong too. Sara said she would send an email whilst on the train in regards to any info he might need for the event that night in Cumbria. She also gave him his train ticket back to London.
“It’s a shame that you’re going to miss out on a trip to the Lake District. I guess this was not the happy ending to the tour that you’d envisaged,” Adam remarked, breaking the silence between them. On the surface the scene was merely that of an author sayin
g goodbye to his publicist and thanking her for the work she had done over the past week or so. But it was unspoken that more was being said. If the eyes were the mirror to the soul they shared a couple of soulful looks.
“We’ve both read enough Turgenev to know that there are no happy endings,” Sara replied, as much to herself as to Adam. It was her time to stare distractedly – and sadly – into the distance.
“It would be nice to see you again Sara.”
“You’ll see me again at the publication dinner, don’t worry.”
That’s not what I meant.
Oh God. That’s not what he meant.
“And I may get to work on your paperback and next hardback, if you want to give me a second chance after abandoning you like this.” She said it as a joke, but Sara again suffered a twinge of guilt for leaving Adam to his own devices.
“Sara, you’re a lovely person. I’d give you a second, third and fourth chance – and twice on a Sunday – if need be. It’s more important to know though that you can give yourself a second chance. You should apply for a position in editorial if that’s what you want – and also write your novel. Have faith in yourself. I read something recently, saying that there’s never been a summer that wasn’t followed by winter – but there’s never yet been a winter that wasn’t followed by spring.”
There was a pause, pregnant with recognition and surprise, as Sara realised that Adam had quoted from the story that she had posted up on Authonomy. Light and loveliness shone again in her expression. Simon had never read her story (although he did lie once and say he’d started reading it). Even Rosie had only glanced at her novella in a cursory way. Her smile made him smile.
“You took the time to read my novella? Why?” she asked, disbelief mingling with gratitude.
“Why? Because you’re worth it,” he replied, humour mingling with sincerity. Because you said that it meant something to you. And you’ve started to mean something to me.
Her heart skipped a beat and then thrummed faster.
“You know, I sometimes think that you’re too good to be true,” she finally remarked, reflectively.
“I’d prefer to be less good – and truer – if it meant that you would give me a second chance Sara.”
They moved closer towards each other on the stone steps of the hotel; his eyes, brimming with affection and something else, were fixed upon her.
They’d found their moment.
A brace of smokers and other guests and members of staff streamed between them however as it started to rain and they rushed up the steps to take shelter in the hotel lobby. At the same time a receptionist came out to inform Sara that her taxi had arrived. The rain fell more heavily. The sound drowned out something that Adam whispered to her. A pot-bellied cab driver, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a shirt half hanging out of his trousers, abruptly picked up Sara’s suitcase and headed towards his car, grunting something in Mancunian as he did so.
They’d lost their moment.
Sara hurriedly said goodbye. Adam said something in reply, but again she couldn’t decipher it over the loud shush of the shower. The cab driver grunted again. She rushed down the steps and headed towards the car, the rain running down her cheeks like tears. The car pulled away – to the sound of the driver cursing that his cigarette had been extinguished by the rain. Sara craned her neck and turned to see if Adam was still there. If she saw him look back he would know that she cared, like in the movies. But he’d already disappeared back into the hotel.
I should’ve told him how I felt.
I should’ve kissed her.
There are no happy endings...
16.
The train journey back to London was long – and felt longer. Sara tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate. Scrabble was less than half the fun without him too. Sara was surer about her decision to leave Simon than she was in not staying with Adam and seeing the tour through. She sent an email to Adam about the event – and also any other pertinent information to do with the publicity campaign. She forwarded on the news that The Mail on Sunday and CrimeTime would be reviewing the book.
Sara finally received a reply to her email later that evening, when she was at home. She was still awake, watching a film with Rosie. Unfortunately even half a bottle of wine – and half a Toblerone – did little to lift her spirits. She hoped that the message from Adam would. But it didn’t. Adam merely thanked her for her email and mentioned that the charity dinner had gone well and plenty of books had been sold. There was nothing said about how they had left things outside the hotel. There was nothing indicating that he wanted to see her again, after the launch party.
We missed our moment. I missed my moment.
Sara consoled herself with the thought that she wasn’t ready for another relationship anyway.
That evening she wrote to Simon. She explained that she wanted to end things. It was for the best. There had been something missing from their relationship for some time. Maybe it had never been there in the first place. She didn’t want him to contact her for a week or so. She wanted to be left alone. Rosie would be in touch with him shortly, to arrange to collect her belongings from his apartment.
Within fifteen minutes Simon emailed Sara back, begging her to forgive him. He knew he’d done wrong, but this was the only time that he’d been unfaithful. He wanted to build bridges. Sara replied, reiterating that it was over – and asked him not to contact her for a week. Within ten minutes he emailed back – and burnt bridges. She was being unfair, he argued (ranted) – and she called herself a Christian? He was glad it was over too. She bored him, in and out of bed. Simon took an unpleasant pleasure in confessing to Sara that he had cheated on her numerous times, with numerous women. He would find someone else, someone better, easily – given his prospects. His tone was often similar to a spoilt child having a tantrum. Sara turned off her phone and shook her head in disappointment and pity. But she also felt free, content that she could write another chapter into her life.
17.
Sara returned to work. For once the office floor was a hive of activity, as they were expecting the TV comedian Duncan Ferris to come to the building and sign a new book deal (the ghost writer had already finished the first two chapters). Ferris was famous for swearing on programmes before the watershed and making jokes about the Women’s Institute. The comedian’s oleaginous business manager made sure he accompanied his client, to reiterate how he wanted the publishers to pay the advance into their off-shore company account. The agent explained how his “socially divisive” client didn’t like paying tax to “the Tory government,” although it remained unspoken how Ferris had also avoided paying tax under the previous administration too.
After the cooing, tweeting and clapping was over Sara was immediately called into Margaret Duvall’s office (after her boss had finished smoking a cigarette on the roof). Margaret played the school mistress and matriarch and informed Sara that she was disappointed in her for not securing a big interview piece with her author.
“You’ve let me down... And you’ve let the team down.”
Sara let the words wash over her. The main thing was she hadn’t let herself or Adam down.
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 h
ad 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).
Tell Him About It Page 7