by Maureen Lee
Josie gulped. She’d had no idea you got paid for books before they were published – half on signing the contract, the rest when it was published. This was the third offer, five hundred pounds more than the last. ‘Will you accept?’
‘Will you accept, Josie?’ Leonard said smoothly. ‘It’s entirely up to you. As your agent, I would recommend against it. It’s early days yet.’
‘It makes me feel uncomfortable,’ she confessed. ‘After all, it’s not as if I wrote it.’
‘Would you feel uncomfortable had Louisa left you a valuable antique that was up for auction?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Well, this is no different, my dear.’
By the end of August, the bidding had reached twelve thousand five hundred pounds, and Leonard McGill phoned.
‘It’s a new company, Hamilton & Ferrers. I know nothing about Ferrers, but Roger Hamilton is a well-known entrepreneur. He’s been in oil, plastics, mining, owns a racehorse or two. The company have already published half a dozen works that haven’t exactly set the world alight. He hopes to create a stir with My Carnal Life. I have tentatively accepted on your behalf.’
‘Do you think the title’s okay? It’s the way Louisa described it more than once.’
‘It’s perfect, Josie. Oh, Roger Hamilton would like to meet you. I thought if I brought him to Liverpool one day soon, we could sign the contract over dinner and you can hand over the original manuscript at the same time.’
‘Can I come?’ Dinah demanded.
‘You’d feel out of place, luv, with a crowd of old people.’
‘You’re only forty, Mum. And who’s to say this Roger chap mightn’t be young? Anyroad, I’d quite enjoy it. And you need someone on your side.’
‘It’s not a battle,’ Josie argued. ‘There won’t be sides. If there were, Leonard McGill should be on mine. He’s me agent.’
‘He’s also a man. It’ll be two men against one woman if I don’t come with you.’
‘As I said, it’s not a battle … Oh, all right. I’d like to have you with me. I’ll ask Leonard to book a table for four.’
She felt touched that Dinah seemed protective all of a sudden, and bought them a new outfit each for the occasion. They actually ventured into George Henry Lee’s, where the prices were normally way beyond her reach. It meant being temporarily overdrawn at the bank.
‘Gosh, this brings back memories.’ She searched through a rack of elegant suits, possibly a bit warm for early September.
‘Memories of what?’
‘Of shopping in the Kings Road when money was no object. You should have seen the things I used to buy, Dinah! You know me camel coat with the fur collar? I bought that in the Kings Road. It’s older than you are, and still in good condition.’
‘I suppose Laura had lovely clothes, too,’ Dinah said.
It was a long time since she’d mentioned Laura, and Josie was upset by the bitterness in her voice. She touched the slim, white arm. ‘You didn’t exactly go short, luv. I always made sure you were as well dressed as Lily’s Samantha.’
For once, Dinah didn’t shrug her away. ‘Are you going to buy one of these?’
‘No, I’d prefer something not so heavy.’
She settled on a violet shot silk suit with a straight skirt and boxy jacket, with a black lace blouse to go underneath. Dinah refused to be talked out of a brief green linen frock that barely covered her behind.
‘You’ll have to wear tights,’ her mother advised as she gritted her teeth and wrote the cheque, ‘else your thighs will get stuck to the seats if they’re leather.’
The dinner was arranged for five days later. That afternoon they went together to the hairdresser’s. Dinah was still on holiday from school, and Terence Dunnet willingly gave Josie the time off. He had been dining out on the story of a famous lost manuscript being photocopied in his office, and she had kept him abreast of the various bids. He had offered to read the contract before it was signed. ‘As an accountant, I often read through agreements, contracts, that sort of thing. I can check if you’re getting a good deal.’
‘I’m signing it at dinner, but I trust Leonard McGill – that’s the agent – completely. He’s entitled to ten per cent, I know that much.’
‘Well, if you need help or advice, I’m at your service.’
‘Ta.’ She was pleased that they had become friends. They’d started to call each other Terence and Josie. His wife, Muriel, had been to see her, wanting to know all about Louisa Chalcott.
‘Do I look all right?’ she anxiously asked Dinah that night when she was ready to go.
‘Gorgeous, Mum. That suit makes your eyes look a lovely dark blue. I wish mine were darker. What colour did me dad have?’
‘Brown – still does, I expect. You’ve got lovely colour eyes, Dinah, there’s a touch of lilac in them.’ She looked sophisticated, and at the same time very young and fresh, in the green dress. Her fair, rather fine hair, tucked behind a green band, was shoulder length and turned up at the ends. She wore lipstick for the first time, a light coral, and her normally pale cheeks were slightly flushed. She was obviously excited at the thought of the evening ahead.
Relations with Dinah had improved enormously over the last few weeks. It was as if, since the discovery of Louisa’s book, she was seeing her mother in a new light, with an interesting past, not just someone who nagged her to get up or wanted to know what time she’d be home. Had she been a different sort of girl, Josie would have told her about Louisa – and all sorts of other things – before, but Dinah had never seemed interested in talking to her mother.
Leonard McGill had booked a table at The George in Lime Street, expensive and discreet. Josie had never set foot in the place before. Dinah insisted they be five minutes late. ‘You don’t want to look too anxious.’
‘I want to look polite, that’s all.’
‘Let them be waiting for us, not us for them.’
The restaurant was barely half-full. Two men were sitting at a corner table, set slightly apart from the others. Waiters hovered attentively, and there was the subdued clink of dishes, the mouth-watering smell of food. One of the men stood, waved and came towards them.
‘Josie! We meet at last. Leonard McGill, how do you do?’ He shook hands effusively. ‘And this must be Dinah!’ He turned back to Josie. ‘Why, you were scarcely any older than this when we first spoke on the phone all those years ago. How lovely to see you both. Let me introduce you to Roger.’
Roger Hamilton was equally effusive. Both men were remarkably similar in appearance – early fifties, silver-haired, wearing dark suits and dark ties. Roger Hamilton’s clothes were clearly more expensive than those of a mere literary agent, and his face redder, his chin jowly. Josie wondered if the large green stone in his tie clip was a real emerald. She was immediately struck with the feeling that she’d seen him before, and also that she didn’t like him much. Behind the smiling eyes she sensed a hardness. This man could be very cruel and ruthless, she suspected, but perhaps that went for all entrepreneurs.
Throughout the meal she felt she was being slightly patronised by both men. ‘I suppose this will be your first and only venture into the world of literature,’ Roger Hamilton remarked over the main course, delectable roast beef and melt-in-the-mouth vegetables.
‘It’s not her first.’ Dinah spoke up. ‘My father used to be a famous television writer, and she used to do his typing. What was it he wrote, Mum?’
‘Di Marco of the Met, and a few other things.’
‘He’s in Hollywood now. He writes scripts for films. Mum divorced him because she didn’t like living in London. Before that, they lived in New York.’
Under the table, Josie kicked her daughter’s ankle, but was glad she’d spoken, even if she’d made half of it up. She was regarded with new respect. They had probably thought they were dealing with an ignorant peasant. She said to the publisher, ‘I’ve a feeling I’ve seen you before, but can’t remember where.’
&
nbsp; ‘On television? I’m often interviewed about this and that. I’m on the book programme shortly, promoting My Carnal Life.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. He hadn’t had silver hair. It was more the cut-glass accent she remembered, the rather jerky gestures. ‘It’ll come to mind eventually.’
The meal ended, more wine was ordered, glasses filled, including one for Dinah who’d drunk lemonade so far. ‘To toast the signing,’ said Leonard McGill. He produced a sheaf of papers from his briefcase. ‘The contract, Josie. Do you have the manuscript with you?’
‘Of course.’ Terence Dunnet had loaned her a leather document case to carry it in. ‘It’s here.’
‘Fair exchange is no robbery.’ He laughed. ‘Read through this, my dear. Initial each page at the bottom, and sign on the dotted line at the end.’
‘I’m sure there’s no need to read it.’ Josie began to flick through the pages, conscious of Roger Hamilton watching, almost licking his lips, as he waited for her to sign.
‘I have been long awaiting this moment, but I’m afraid nature calls. Please, excuse me.’ The agent left the table.
Josie reached inside her handbag for a pen. The man opposite was playing with a knife, turning it over and over in his hand. She stared at the knife, then at his face. ‘I’ve definitely seen you before. Have you ever been to Liverpool?’
‘During the war, yes. My regiment stayed overnight before sailing for Cairo.’ He smiled charmingly at her. ‘But you would have been just a babe in arms then, possibly not even born.’
‘You’ve got a sister called Abigail.’
He dropped the knife. ‘How can you possibly know that? She died years ago.’ His face went ghostly white, his jaw wobbled. He picked up a glass, drained it, smoothed back the silver hair with a hand that shook.
Josie’s eyes never left his face. He’d remembered, too! ‘You called me mam a whore,’ she said softly. ‘You nearly raped me. I wasn’t a babe in arms, but I was only six.’
There was silence, and it seemed to go on for ever. A waiter appeared, and went away when everything seemed to be in order. Across the room someone laughed. A cork popped.
‘Look, that was a long time ago.’ His voice was hoarse, uneven. Saliva oozed from the corners of his mouth. ‘We were living on the edge. We did things we wouldn’t normally dream of doing. We weren’t ourselves.’
‘Nothing can excuse what you tried to do.’
He swallowed, recovered slightly, became belligerent. ‘If I recall rightly, your mother was a whore.’
‘I wasn’t,’ said Josie. ‘I was six.’ She stood, collected her things together, put them in her bag and picked up the document case. ‘Goodbye, Mr Hamilton. I think Louisa would have preferred her book to be published by someone else.’
‘Look!’ He was angry now, so angry that it scared her. ‘If this gets out, you won’t look whiter than white. Your mother was a prostitute. It’s not something to boast about.’
‘It’s not something to be ashamed of either. But it won’t get out, Mr Hamilton. I’m going to put it to the back of me mind again, where it’s always been until tonight when I met you.’
‘Mum, Mum. You left without me.’ Dinah caught her up at the door and grabbed her arm.
‘I’d forgotten you were there! Oh, luv!’ She could have wept. ‘You shouldn’t have heard all that stuff.’ Dinah wasn’t fourteen until the end of the month.
‘Are you all right?’
‘No, luv, I’m not. Me legs seem to have disappeared, and me head feels like someone else’s. I need a drink – a cup of tea, dead strong.’
They emerged into Lime Street. Dinah linked her arm in Josie’s for the very first time. Josie said shakily, ‘Let’s go to the Adelphi lounge, hang the expense.’
‘What was all that about, Mum?’
‘I reckon you’ve already got the gist of it, Dinah.’
‘Grandma was a prostitute?’ The girl’s face was bright with curiosity, and Josie was relieved there was no sign of disgust.
‘Yes. Look, once I’ve got a pot of tea in front of me, I’ll tell you the whole thing.’
‘Did the dinner go well?’ Terence enquired next morning.
‘It went abysmally.’ Josie made a face. She’d hardly slept, reliving the awful meal, worrying about Louisa’s book. ‘The publisher chap was dead rude, so I walked out. I’ll call Leonard McGill when I get home. He’ll have to get someone else.’
‘What a dreadful pity. Call him from here if you wish,’ he said generously. ‘The sooner the better. Muriel can’t wait for that book to be in print.’
‘Ta, very much. Oh, I’ve got the contract. I was so mad I stuffed it in me bag without thinking.’
‘Ah, do let me see.’
She handed him the contract, then dialled the London number. The friendly receptionist answered as usual. ‘What did you do to him, Josie? He’s like a bear with a sore head this morning. Hold on a minute, I’ll put you through.’
The extension rang. ‘Josie! What on earth happened last night? Poor Roger, he claimed you took umbrage over something trivial. I said that wasn’t like you.’ His voice was strained, as if he was finding it hard to be his courteous self.
‘Poor Roger’s talking rubbish, but I’d sooner not talk about it if you don’t mind. I’d like you to find another publisher.’
‘That’s easily done, though the advance won’t be as large.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Josie was conscious of something very odd happening. Terence Dunnet was doing a war dance in front of her eyes, mouthing, ‘No, no, no,’ and waving his arms, jumping up and down. To her complete astonishment, he suddenly snatched the phone out of her hand in mid-sentence and slammed it down.
‘Sorry to be rude,’ he gasped, ‘but you don’t just need another publisher, Josie, you need another agent. Did you agree to sell the book outright to this Hamilton chap?’
‘I didn’t agree to anything in particular.’ She looked at him, alarmed. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘There most certainly is,’ he said grimly. ‘No author in their right mind sells a book outright. If you had signed this, you would have given up all rights to the work. You wouldn’t have received a penny in royalties.’ He waved the contract. ‘It would seem that Hamilton and McGill took advantage of your ignorance, did a deal, signed a private contract of their own. Either that, or a very large backhander was involved.’
She was back to square one, no further than that. At least in the beginning she’d had an agent to negotiate on her behalf. How did you acquire an agent? Terence offered to find out.
‘Do you need an agent?’ Dinah queried that night. ‘Why can’t you send it to a publisher yourself?’
‘Terence said that might be tricky. Leonard McGill had offers from most major publishers, so he’d consider himself entitled to ten per cent. He rang earlier, and wasn’t half mad when I told him nicely to get stuffed.’ She wasn’t prepared to let him have a penny, and still bristled with indignation at how close she’d come to being conned.
‘Another agent might find it tricky, too.’
‘I know.’ Josie sighed. She was beginning to wish Louisa hadn’t left her the damned book.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, luv?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For goodness’ sake, luv.’ Josie laughed. ‘None of this is your fault.’
‘I know, Mum.’ Dinah came and sat beside her on the settee. ‘It’s that stuff you told me last night. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I’ve been horrible, haven’t I? I was a hateful little girl, and now I’m a hateful big girl.’
‘Dinah, luv! You’ve never been horrible. I must concede you’ve been a bit awkward from time to time, but horrible and hateful? Never!’
‘Yes, I have, Mum.’ Dinah seemed to hesitate, before laying her head on her mother’s shoulder. ‘You didn’t have a mum or dad, and today I realised how lucky I was, having you.’
‘And I’m lucky, having you.’ Josie’s heart tur
ned over. Was it possible that after fourteen strained years they might become friends?
‘When I was little,’ Dinah said in a small voice, ‘I used to have this dead funny feeling that you didn’t want me, that I was in the way. When I got older I was convinced you kept comparing me to Laura, wishing I was nicer, more like her. I was awkward. I did it deliberately, I don’t know why.’
‘I was glad you weren’t like Laura,’ Josie cried. Guilt almost choked her. Fancy, a tiny baby sensing it was unwanted. ‘I preferred to have a little girl different to Laura. It was wonderful, you know,’ she said softly, ‘to find meself pregnant only a few weeks after Laura died. Like a miracle. I would have been dead lonely without you, what with your dad gone an’ all.’ It came to her how empty the last years would have been, spent alone. ‘Mind you, it was me own fault your dad went, I told you that last night. He didn’t want to go, I made him. If we’d known about you, nothing would have made him leave.’ Last night, she’d told her daughter just about everything except the murky part Uncle Vince had played in her own and Mam’s life. She wasn’t quite old enough to know that yet!
‘And you nearly married Ben Kavanagh!’ Dinah wrinkled her white nose. ‘He’s a bit of a drip, Mum. I’m surprised he didn’t propose again when his wife died.’
‘Oh, he did, but I turned him down. He’s not a drip, Dinah, just a very sensitive man.’
‘Huh! I always thought you’d marry Francie O’Leary. I’ve always liked him.’
‘So has your Auntie Lily.’ Josie grinned. ‘And now she’s got him, hasn’t she?’
Directly after that New Year’s Eve four years ago, when Lily had claimed it was her intention to chase Francie O’Leary to the ends of the earth, Josie had told him she didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t add that Lily’s need was much greater than hers.
Francie’s face was tragic. ‘Why ever not, Jose?’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘I didn’t think you’d care. I mean, we don’t love each other.’