Made in Heaven

by McGoldrick, May

  All Meg could do was just nod.

  “But to do all of this right, we’ve been searching for the ideal editor--someone competent and seasoned. One with great deal of talent and...ahem, a lot of patience. But also one who is not afraid to face a big name author like Drew King and tell it the way it is.”

  “And you think I have what it takes?”

  “I do.”

  “And may I ask what evidence you have that makes you think so highly of my qualifications and abilities?”

  “Fair question. As a matter of fact, we have a total of eight of your previous authors under contract with us right now. I think you know who they are. And I have to tell you that every one of those people still worships the ground you walk on and wants you in this organization. Every one of them, Meg, speaks of you as an excellent and gutsy editor.” A slow smile broke out on the man’s tanned and wrinkled face. “Hiring you would be a great investment for Morgan Publishing. We could even use you as a bargaining chip when it comes to negotiating some pretty hefty contracts.”

  She’d been never one to accept complements easily--especially when they were based purely on rumor.

  “So what do you think, Ms. Murphy?”

  She couldn’t. The answer was no. Evan would have nothing to do with her, considering everything they’d been through. It didn’t matter how much she enjoyed reading his new work. It didn’t matter that the most exciting times of her life were the moments and days she’d spent with him. Evan would throw the whole thing back in Fred Shaw’s face.

  Hers would be the shortest and most humiliating career in New York publishing history.

  But looking up into Mr. Shaw’s benign and grandfatherly face, she just couldn’t bring herself to give a definite answer now. In this man’s mind--in the collective mind of the entire publishing industry--it would be madness to refuse an offer such as this with no sound reason. It was a small world, and there were ears everywhere. She had to have an excuse for turning him down. A reason good enough to keep the door open for other houses that might consider giving her a job.

  “I’m afraid that I have another interview scheduled in less than half an hour.” This was the only excuse she could think of. But at least, it was better than nothing. “So if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to call you tomorrow with my...”

  “I understand perfectly. And tomorrow will be just fine. By then I’ll even have a nice financial package laid out, and I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

  She could see from his face that he was assuming she’d take the job. But he was wrong. Evan wouldn’t have her. He was not about to be duped twice.

  Glancing again at her watch and making appropriate excuses, Meg left Morgan Publishing with twenty two minutes to make it to her next appointment.

  It was faster to walk to the address on Madison Avenue than trying to hassle the traffic. So that’s what she did. But all along the way, her mind battered around with thoughts of Evan. She tried to imagine what his reaction would be if she were stupid enough--or gutsy enough--to actually take the job.

  There was no question in her mind what he would do. He would get even. Perhaps having her get fired right off wouldn’t be his style. But he’d rub her nose in what they no longer had.

  Meg sped up her steps. She wouldn’t be able to take it. She couldn’t pretend that she was just his editor and there was no past.

  No! She couldn’t allow her heart to break. Not again.

  Arriving at the address she was given, Meg stepped into the elegant lobby. Perhaps this was her chance. If she were able to finalize an arrangement here, then she would have the temporary relief she was after. Feeling more determined than before to make a positive impression in this interview, she marched into the elevator like a woman with purpose.

  Stepping out on the fourteenth floor, Meg was immediately taken by the large, attractive front entrance and the personable receptionist.

  A secretary immediately came out to greet her and she was led down a long hallway flanked with offices. At the very end, Meg was introduced into a bright and spacious office with wonderful view of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

  Talking at length on the phone Monday, Meg and her potential employer had decided that it would be best for them to meet in person first, rather than mailing manuscripts back and forth and trying to make sense out of the direction they needed to be heading. But finally having the chance to meet the man, Meg quickly realized that John Peck was not at all what she had expected him to be.

  For one thing, he was much younger than the seasoned lawyer, ready to follow a life long dream of writing that she had envisioned. On the phone, John had mentioned to Meg that being a principal in his own firm left him with little time to pursue his true interests. In meeting with her, he’d said, he was hoping to take a positive step toward his goal.

  Gesturing to a comfortable sitting area at one end of the cavernous office, the lawyer led Meg to a brown, leather chair and sat down in one just like it, facing her across a mahogany coffee table. Declining coffee or tea, she sat and waited for him to begin, and she did not have long to wait.

  Unlike her last interview, in which she’d been more of an observer than anything else, John Peck drilled her with questions about her past and her work experience and about the different authors that she’d worked with. His questions were pointed and he listened attentively to her responses, making notes occasionally in a folder that she noticed had her name typed on the tab.

  And actually, when she was done saying all that she cared to say, Meg felt very good about the whole thing. This was what she needed, she realized. Someone who would look at her credentials from a purely objective standpoint.

  In return, Meg noticed that John said more about himself than his writing, though even those details were minimal. But before they were finished talking, he had identified how much he was ready to commit to this freelance, co-authoring venture financially, and that amount nearly took Meg’s breath away.

  Who was she to argue? This was a great job, more suited to her present needs than she could have hoped for. In addition, she could use this offer as an excuse to decline the job at Morgan Publishing. But still, to be fair to him, she did tell the lawyer that she had another interview and that she didn’t want to make up her mind until she had completed the three interviews she’d come to New York for.

  John Peck agreed and chatted amiably with her as he walked her past the front receptionist to the elevator, himself. But as they waited for the elevator door to open, he paused and frowned.

  “There is just one final thing, Ms. Murphy. And I hope you’ll understand my reasoning for waiting until this last minute to mention it.”

  Meg’s heart dropped. She should have known that this whole thing was too good to be true.

  “The work that I’d like your assistance with...well, the actual writing is not my own.”

  Puzzled, she waited for the man to continue.

  “As you can imagine, we have a number of clients who are quite circumspect with regard to their privacy and their private matters. So, when it comes to their various needs, we try to offer them services that are sometimes a bit beyond the normal realm of legal advice.”

  “Are you telling me that you were interviewing me, not for yourself, but for a client of yours?”

  He brightened. “Exactly. As you have guessed, my firm has taken it on itself to assist one of our top clients in this journey of writing...publishing...struggling...whatever you want to call it. Therefore, we thought if we were to interview and hire someone of your obvious caliber, then...”

  Meg could actually feel the man’s discomfort.

  “I just thought you should know this before we go any further.” He leaned over and pressed the down button on the elevator again.

  “And may I ask the name of your client?”

  “No, I’m afraid that I can’t divulge that. Not yet. At least, not until you call me back and agree to take the position.”

  The elevator door op
ened. Quickly stepping inside and putting her briefcase down, Meg pressed her finger on the ‘Open Door’ button.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Peck. It would be totally impossible for me to accept the position without knowing my true client.”

  Their eyes locked for a long, awkward moment.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Peck,” she said finally, letting go of the button.

  “Drew King!”

  Meg watched the door slide shut.

  “The name of my client is Drew Ki...”

  CHAPTER 28

  The woman actually hugged her!

  Dressed in a hunter green jogging suit and Nikes, Mrs. Evelyn Stenerud was perhaps the sweetest and loveliest old woman Meg had ever met.

  Arriving at the Fifth Avenue address a few minutes earlier than she’d planned, Meg was directed by the uniformed doorman to an elderly, white haired woman just crossing the street from Central Park. Though she had to be in her eighties, she was as vibrant as a sixteen year old.

  Still a bit rattled by the two sets of interviews, each of which had directed her straight at Drew King, Meg hadn’t even been sure she wanted to sit through another one. But now, climbing into the elevator with the talkative and affectionate creature at her side, Meg thought perhaps that this was exactly what she needed.

  “You will, of course, be staying for dinner.”

  Meg looked down at her watch. Quarter to five. She tried to remember when the last train was leaving for Boston.

  “Actually,” she said, stepping out onto the tenth floor behind her fast walking companion, “I was planning to...”

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Stenerud dismissed the thought with a wave of one hand as she fished with the other into a waist pouch for her keys. “We have to have a night on the town. I have a friend, too, whom we can call. He can always get tickets to a show.”

  “Really, Mrs. Stenerud...”

  “Call me Eve, dear.”

  “Fine, Eve.” Meg watched her pull a huge key chain with countless keys from the pouch. “I just thought we could spend a couple of hours chatting about your work.”

  “My work? But that’s so boring. I want to hear about you, dear.”

  “Well, you know most of my background from our telephone conversation yesterday.”

  “No, no, no! I want to know about the real you.”

  Meg didn’t know what to say as they came to a stop before the door of an apartment. She watched Eve try one key after the next in the keyhole. But from the look of pain in the older woman’s face, Meg could see that Eve was suffering from arthritis, or some similar ailment.

  “Can I help you with that?”

  “I’d be grateful if you would, dear. You see, my problem is that I hate to get rid of things.”

  Meg glanced up at her.

  “Are you like that, too?”

  “To be honest, I’m trying to change.”

  “Oh, I’ve tried a dozen times. But I’m still a packrat. I have a key to every place I ever lived on that chain.”

  Meg started trying the keys. “This thing is so heavy. It must be a workout just to carry it around.”

  The older woman chuckled. “Actually, I use it as a weapon. Two years ago, I used it on a would-be mugger in the park. He ended up with ten stitches over one eye and three months in the can.”

  “That’ll teach them to mess around with you.”

  “You’ve got that right. They even wanted me to go on the Letterman Show when it happened.” Eve nodded proudly. “But you were telling me about yourself.”

  Meg sped up her efforts with the keys. “Well...there really isn’t much to say.”

  “I believe that comes under the category of ‘bullshit’!”

  Meg couldn’t stifle her laugh.

  “Hah! I got you. You didn’t think little old ladies in white sneakers could swear, did you?”

  She shook her head and for the first time met Eve’s intensely green eyes.

  “That’s the one.”

  Meg turned her attention back to the door and the key that had turned in the lock.

  “Is it?” she murmured quietly.

  Eve pushed the door open and Meg followed her into an open and empty foyer.

  “Don’t mind the lack of furniture. I’m told it’s coming, and an old woman can only complain so much.”

  Meg just nodded absently as she walked slowly through the foyer and into a huge, high-ceilinged living room. Beyond a pair of open french doors, she could see an empty dining room. With the exception of floor to ceiling bookcases, already lined with books, and couple of gorgeous oriental rugs on the parquet floor, there was hardly a stick of furniture in sight anywhere. But with the afternoon sun pouring in the large, arched windows, everything looked absolutely perfect.

  Meg heard Eve disappear through a set of double doors into a corridor. She wondered briefly just how big this apartment must be.

  “How about some tea?” Eve called from down the hall.

  “That would be wonderful,” Meg called over her shoulder. “Need some help?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Dropping her briefcase against a wall, Meg wandered over to the door-sized windows. Outside was a stretch of balcony overlooking Central Park.

  It was so beautiful here. So peaceful. Glancing around at the spacious room, Meg’s mind was suddenly filled with images of Evan and the night of the ball at Rosecliff. She could just see him, dressed in his black tuxedo, gliding through this room. She could see him standing by the marble trimmed fireplace. He was made for a place like this. It would suit him. Money, elegance, charm...

  The sound of something scraping across the wood floor whipped Meg’s head around. She caught sight of Eve dragging two Windsor chairs into the living room. She quickly went to older woman’s aid.

  “Please, Eve. Let me help with these.”

  “Sorry, these were the only things I could find for us to sit on.”

  “They’ll be just perfect.” Meg arranged the chairs close to each other, facing the windows and looking out on the park.

  “And as far as tea, I’m afraid I’m out of tea bags.”

  “I really didn’t want one, anyway. I was just trying to keep you company.” Meg followed Eve’s lead and sat down.

  “You’re a very good-natured person, Meg Murphy. I like you.”

  Meg felt a blush creep into her cheeks. “Thank you, Mrs. Stenerud. I like you too.”

  “Eve! Call me Eve!”

  “Yes. Eve!”

  “So you’re widowed,” the older woman said without a pause.

  Meg immediately felt the hackles on her neck go up. “How did you know I was widowed?”

  “The ring.” Eve’s intense green eyes were on her wedding ring. Angry with herself, Meg unconsciously fisted her hands. She’d gotten rid of nearly all the excess reminders of Robert in her living arrangements, but her wedding ring had totally escaped her mind.

  “In some ways, dear, we women--all of us--are very predictable.” The older woman fingered a wedding ring on her own hand. “If you were married, then you’d have already mentioned your husband. As in, ‘My husband will be waiting for me in Boston.’ If you were divorced, you wouldn’t be wearing the ring. But the fact that you’re still wearing it...”

  “He died five years ago,” Meg said quickly. “But I’m determined to let go and move on.”

  “That’s a good thing. We all have to, sooner or later. I was married twice myself. And after my first husband died, there was a period of time when I even felt guilty for surviving him. But you know the clichés about time and healing. I suppose it’s true. All I know is that our heart lets us know when we can love again.”

  A comfortable silence descended on the two women for a moment, but the sound of a knock at the door brought them both quickly to their feet.

  “Oh! My groceries,” she explained with a cheerful smile. “I asked the doorman to have them brought up the front way. Excuse me, won’t you?”

  Meg nodded absently and looked down at
her left hand.

  It was time to discard this last symbol of her past with Robert. Pulling the ring slowly off her finger, she walked to the closest window. It opened inward, and she stepped through onto the balcony. Ten floors beneath her, a narrow strip of evergreen trees hugged the front of the building.

  She gave the gold band one last look. Until death...

  “Goodbye, Robert!” she whispered as she dropped her wedding ring. “I’m letting you go.”

  This was the end. She never wanted to erase him from her past. But from this time forward, a new life would pulse in her veins, and she could feel her spirit grow with every breath she took.

  “Goodbye.”

  Her voice drifted away on the breeze, and Meg remained there for a moment, breathing in the crisp autumn air and feeling it cleanse her soul.

  The chapter had ended. The page had been turned. The book--complete now--was tucked away on the shelf.

  She stepped back into the room and slowly closed the window. When she turned to the foyer, though, her heart stopped.

  Evan.

  “You look great. Cut your hair?”

  She had. Rebekah had made her. He’d noticed.

  She forced herself not to meet his gaze. And she forced herself not to voice her concern over the weight that he had lost. Most of all, though, she tried not to take the dozen steps that would carry her across the room and into his arms. She had missed him!

  Instead, her eyes searched the foyer beyond where Evan stood leaning against the arched entryway.

  “Where...where is Eve? I mean, Mrs. Stenerud?”

  “My grandmother had some things to do.”

  Uncontrollably, Meg’s eyes moved to his face. “Your...your grandmother?”

  He nodded. “She lives down on the eighth floor. She said was waiting for some groceries or something. I told her I could take it from here.”

  Meg’s emotions were holding Highland games in her stomach. She let her eyes again travel through the empty room.

  “And this apartment?”

  “It’s mine. I bought it a couple of years ago...at Eve’s suggestion. But I’ve never gotten around to decorating it. I’m kind of glad now that I didn’t.”