The computer occupied much of the desk beside the bookshelf full of Cougar titles in the main room. She switched on to find there was indeed an email from her cousin, headed Take Care? It was hundreds of lines long, and she sent them racing down the screen as she tried to find their point. Cougar might want her novel, but not under that title. Charlotte's senior editor Glen had suggestions for improvements – many of them, though some were Charlotte's. Ellen felt heady with elation and yet heavy with the prospect of so much extra work on a story she'd been sure was finished. In particular she could have done without Glen's choice of words or Charlotte's decision to quote them unedited. 'Right now your work feels bloated. Try to slim it down.'
SEVEN
As Charlotte looked away from the poster of a flooded St Mark's Square the restaurant manager said 'Have you gone?'
'To Venice? Only in my dreams.'
'She ought to make them real, shouldn't she, Fausto?' Glen said and pointed at her with the grappa bottle. 'You could be there quicker than it took us to eat dinner. You can sink into the past like nowhere else I know.'
The thought of being shut in an aeroplane for hours made the small noisy Venetian restaurant feel cramped. 'Sink looks like the word,' she said.
Despite the lamps reflected in the water, she could easily have taken the black expanse for mud that was about to engulf the dim basilica. The impression seemed to darken the lanterns on the tables and to shade the manager's already swarthy face, unless her remark had pained him. 'I meant it's not the best advertisement,' she said.
'Our daughter took it. We asked for it so big.'
'It's a great photograph. She must be talented.'
'Your family's creative too, right, Charlotte?'
'Some of us are.'
She meant to leave herself out, but the manager was grinning at Glen. 'Is she another of your writers?'
'I'm just a colleague.'
'Hey, less of the just.'
'Bella, anyhow.' The manager pinched a kiss from his lips to flick towards Charlotte. Perhaps he was indicating the grappa, since he added 'On the house.'
'Bella for sure, Fausto. The end to a perfect evening.'
The manager gave Charlotte a comical frown. 'Don't say it is the end.'
As he sidled away between the tables, pulling in his proud dinner-suited stomach so as not to dislodge a pink-check tablecloth, Charlotte murmured 'Another in what sense?'
At first she wasn't sure that Glen had heard, given the Vivaldi that had joined the uproar, having lent the restaurant its name. He rested his gaze on her before saying 'A girl I was seeing wanted to write us a book. It didn't work out.'
'Sorry to hear it.'
'I should have known you shouldn't get too close to your writers.'
'Are you saying I am? Gosh, that's more than enough.'
He'd replenished her liqueur glass to the brim. As he refilled his own he said 'Not so long as you can be an editor. How's work progressing on your cousin's book?'
'I've sent her the suggestions.'
Glen stoppered the grappa, none too firmly. 'Any comeback yet?'
'She's had a new idea.'
'Fine if it works with ours. Sounds like we triggered her imagination.'
'An idea for another book.'
'OK then, sounds like she's productive. Don't forget your drink.'
Charlotte had a sip of brandy to fire up her enthusiasm. 'Four people share some kind of magical experience but they don't realise till years later when it starts to affect all their lives.'
'Go on,' Glen said and more than matched her sip.
'That's all so far. Maybe she doesn't want to risk developing it till she's had a response.'
'We need to see how she shapes up with Bad Old Things. If she fixes that I guess we'd want to option her next novel. Did you talk to her?'
'Not yet.'
'You could tell her that. Could be it's what she needs.'
'All right, I will.' Charlotte felt as if she'd neglected her cousin, although she had been waiting to speak to Glen. 'I'll call her now,' she said. 'I'll be outside.'
Ellen's soft voice couldn't have competed with the din, but as Charlotte unfolded her mobile beside a dormant streetlamp under the nine o'clock sky she realised how oppressive she'd begun to find the boisterous dimness. If there hadn't been so many people spilling off the pavements of Camden Road, outside would have been more of a relief. The phone had almost rung enough to rouse the answering service before the simulated bell subsided. 'Is that my author?' Charlotte said.
'Would you want it to be, Charlotte?'
'I wouldn't have written all that to you otherwise.'
'I knew really. Thanks for spending so much time on me. You're not still at work, are you? You sound shut in.'
'I'm not. I'm outside a restaurant.'
'Not dining alone, I hope.'
'I've just had dinner with Glen. I mentioned him, my senior editor.'
'You don't mean old.'
'Four years older.'
'That's not too bad, is it? He's the one who's giving you ideas. What did you think of my new one?'
Charlotte glanced around, but nobody was eavesdropping. 'I was wondering what kind of magical experience.'
'The kind you don't know was one till it's got inside you and changed you. That's part of the point, the people it happened to didn't notice.' Ellen paused and said 'I hoped you might help me work it out.'
'Glen thinks we need to concentrate on your novel first, so you'll have some kind of track record.'
'I wouldn't want to cause any friction.' Before Charlotte could absolve her of the possibility Ellen said 'Will you have time to help me if I need you?'
'You know I'm here whenever you do,' Charlotte promised, only to wonder 'Now, do you mean?'
'Of course not now. I don't like to think I'm interrupting your date.'
'I did that. So what would you like me to do?' Charlotte thought it best to add 'About your book.'
'Can I send you bits when I think they're done?'
'Absolutely.'
'And if you still don't think it's right . . .' Rather than continue Ellen said 'I'll try not to let it take up too much of your time. I'll be giving it all of mine.'
'You mean you've given up looking for another job.'
'Wherever I tried they'd be able to check what was said about me. It won't do me any harm to stay out of sight for a while.'
Passers-by were crowding close to Charlotte, but nobody was peering around the streetlamp beside her. 'Why, who's been saying what?' she protested.
'Do you mind if I don't talk about it? Let's just say I wouldn't look suitable for the kind of job I used to do. Maybe I've been denying I'm what people say I am.'
'If it's anything bad I very much doubt it. Honestly, Ellen, you should tell me so we can deal with it together.'
'Just tell me if you think I'm a writer.'
'If you're willing to do all the work I'd say you must be.'
'Then I definitely must, because you're a lot more of one.'
Charlotte would have met this with a modest smile if they had been face to face. Before she could think of a verbal equivalent, Ellen said 'I was going to ask if you still don't think I've got it right, would you have time to rewrite it for me?'
'Let's hope that won't be necessary. Let's see how well you can do.'
'Have there ever been cousins who collaborated on a book? By Charlotte Nolan and Ellen Lomax.' A silence suggested she was dreaming of the prospect until she said 'Would you get half the money?'
'Of course not, Ellen. I'm being paid to edit.'
'Do you think I'll be seeing some soon?'
Charlotte heard how casual Ellen was trying to sound. 'As long as you're happy to work on the changes I'll look into what can be done.'
'We'll stay in touch, shall we? Not just us.' Ellen might have paused for thought, but all she said was 'Anyway, I've kept you away from your date long enough. I hope you'll be pleased with me.'
With that she was gone. Ch
arlotte folded up her phone and dodged through the crowd to the Vivaldi. How had she overlooked the lowness of the ceiling? The room hardly seemed to have space for so much clamorous dimness, let alone for her. She might have indicated that she would wait for Glen outside if he hadn't been sitting with his back to the door. As she struggled alongside the table he reached for the grappa. 'Anything to celebrate?'
'Maybe, but do you think we're finished here? I'm feeling a bit closed in.'
'Let's chase that, then. I've got the check.' When Charlotte made to take out her purse he said 'No, I mean I got it.'
'Well, thank you for a very pleasant evening.'
As they emerged into the crowded thickening darkness he said 'Can you use a coffee?'
'If I'm buying, Glen.'
'Everything's bought,' he said and steered her by the elbow towards Kentish Town.
As they left the crowd beyond a side street where three-storey houses propped up the black sky, he let go of her arm. He turned along a narrower street and then down one that might be narrower still. All at once his height dropped inches, followed by twice that. 'Going down?' he said.
Charlotte tried to find the sight of his lean face smiling up at her as comical as he might intend, but it made her less than eager to descend the steps. 'This is it, then.'
'It's worth a whole lot more than I paid for it back when.'
'I wasn't putting it down,' she said and ventured onto the first step.
It was dark in the cramped stone yard at the bottom, and darker beyond the door Glen unlocked. As she waited for him to switch on some light Charlotte had the unwelcome fancy that he was about to encounter an intruder in the blackness. She heard a beeping that suggested Glen was trying to summon help on a mobile phone, but he was switching off an alarm. In another moment the hall lit up, and he looked out of the doorway. 'Are you OK on the steps?'
She felt less so with each one she took. 'I didn't drink that much,' she said, wishing that were the problem, whatever it was.
The click of the latch reminded her how she was shutting herself in. The short hall was decorated with Cougar posters as if, she felt unfair for thinking, Glen anticipated a visit from their bosses. Past the bathroom and a bedroom where a double bed lay low in the dark, the main room managed to contain a leather suite and a home cinema system with a plasma screen, as well as bookshelves and a hi-fi and a desk bearing a computer. Glen crossed the room to a panelled kitchen largely occupied by fitted units and a pine table with six chairs. 'Sit anywhere you're comfortable,' he said.
'Can I open the curtains?'
'Handle whatever you like.'
Was she hoping for a sunken garden? When she parted the black curtains they revealed French windows, but these opened onto a subterranean brick enclosure where a round metal table and four chairs were surrounded on three sides by boxes spilling blossom. 'What do you think?' Glen called.
Charlotte retreated to the farthest leather chair in case at that distance the enclosure could be mistaken for the edge of a darker garden. It couldn't, and she was thrown by her desire for the illusion. 'It's neat,' she had to say. 'You must be quite a gardener.'
'I'm not. My girlfriend was.'
'Oh dear, are you going to have to learn?'
'That's one option. You any good with that stuff?'
'I don't think any of my family have much to do with the soil.'
'Pity,' Glen said and stayed quiet while the percolator did its work.
Charlotte's last remark echoed like an unwelcome voice in her head for no reason she could grasp, unless it was reminding her that she was under the earth, except that she was nothing of the kind. 'You've made a lot of your space,' she said.
'It's my burrow for sure. The girl I mentioned, she used to say it was like some animal's home in a fairy tale. Guess which animal.'
'I really couldn't say, Glen.'
'OK, well, you haven't seen it all yet.'
Before she could think of an answer he carried in two mugs, each advertising a Cougar million-seller. Having handed Charlotte How You Can Save the World, he planted Know Everybody's Secrets next to the chair he took opposite her and sat forwards. 'Anyway, let's get to the important stuff,' he said. 'Your cousin, yes?'
'I'd very much like to offer her a deal.'
'We haven't seen any rewrites yet, have we?'
'She's committed to them, and I'll give her any help she needs, on my own time if I have to.'
'We may not have so much of that, the way things are shaping up.' He took time to swallow a mouthful of coffee and said 'So you don't think it's going to call for too much of a favour.'
'I think together we can come up with a book that'll sell the way you thought it could.'
'I guess that's good enough for me. I'll back you when you talk it up. How much are you looking to offer?'
He'd lowered his head as he put down his mug, and yet she felt watched. 'As much as we reasonably can,' she said.
'Go ahead, give me your figure.'
As he raised his eyes she had the disconcerting idea that it wasn't his attention she had been sensing. Of course nobody was spying through the windows behind him; there was certainly no room for anyone to hide beneath the sill. 'We've been paying twenty-five for some first books, haven't we?' she did her best to concentrate on saying.
'Maybe, but I'd expect a whole lot more for that now, more than I figure you're going to give me.'
She felt not just eyed but trapped. The room seemed to have grown constricted, whether by its contents or the earth that must be pressing against the walls of the apartment, and dimmer. She tried a gulp of coffee, only to feel the caffeine seize her by her nerves. 'What would you suggest?' she said.
'I'd say ten tops.' Perhaps he sensed her disappointment on Ellen's behalf, because he added 'Did she say any more about her next book?'
'She asked me to help her develop it.'
'So what's your take?'
As Charlotte searched her mind she felt as if she were reaching down into a lightless place where she was awaited. That was just a dream she'd once had, but it made her feel more confined than ever, unless Glen's insistence did. 'I haven't had a chance to work on it yet,' she said. 'I'm sure it has potential. Don't call me unprofessional, but maybe it's too late in the day right now for me to give it what it deserves.'
'Listen, forgive me. This was meant to be a fun evening, not an editorial session. Let's make the most of our free time while we have it,' Glen said, leaning forwards to take her hand. 'OK, maybe I should put your mind at rest. Why don't you pitch twenty for both books at the meeting and I'll back you on that.'
She might have felt more at ease if she'd known why he had apparently changed his mind. 'Well, thank you,' she said, 'and Ellen thanks you just as much.'
'Hey, my pleasure, but we're the only ones here.'
She was instantly convinced he was wrong, and struggled to dispel a sense of being spied upon as he squeezed her hand before gradually letting go. 'So what's yours?' he said. 'Another drink? Some music? All that and more?'
She gathered he was talking about pleasure, an experience that seemed to be receding from her at speed. Of course the darkness just beyond the light wasn't crushing the apartment smaller and dragging it down into the earth, but she needed to be in the open – much better, on her roof. 'Would you mind if I called it an evening?' she said as evenly as she could. 'I've got some reading still to do before I go to bed.'
'That's perfectly fine. I have myself. Need a taxi? Want me to walk you to the station?'
'You get your reading out of the way, Glen. Maybe I can work on Ellen's idea while I'm walking.'
'Ever the professional,' he said and ushered her to the street. As she turned to say good night he clasped her hands and dealt her a kiss more lingering than she was quite prepared for. When she flexed her fingers he released her and backed down a step.
'Thanks for everything, Glen. See you on Monday,' Charlotte said and managed not to rub her hands on her skirt until she wa
s hundreds of yards away. She wasn't trying to rub away Glen's touch, nor was she fleeing the sight of his jerky descent. She was simply anxious to leave behind the image of a figure reaching up to draw her into the dark.
EIGHT
Hugh had almost finished stripping the left side of aisle thirteen of tins when Tamara and Mishel sauntered out of the cosmetics section. At first they seemed content to pose at the end of his aisle, so that any passing customers might have taken them to be promoting dietary aids and blondeness, and then Tamara said 'You're being very fruity, Hugh.'
He was able to believe she had the contents of the tins in mind until Mishel enquired 'Are you fond of fruits, Hugh?'
'Some.' When the girls pouted to prompt him he admitted 'I like pears.'
Tamara unleashed a delighted squeal. 'I'll bet.'
'Not in tins. Too sweet for me.'
'He likes them out in the open with nothing on,' Mishel declared.
Hugh felt his cheeks begin to flare red. 'It's the syrup I don't like,' he tried saying.
'He doesn't like that slimy gooey stuff,' Tamara spluttered.
'You haven't told us pairs of what, Hugh.'
'I'm talking about fruit.' The heat spread over his face as he grabbed cans in both hands to add them to the stacks on the floor. 'I thought you were,' he mumbled.
'Oh, we are,' Tamara said. 'Don't you like dates?'
'Only at Christmas.'
'That's too long to wait for one, isn't it, Tam? You must like passion fruit, Hugh.'
'I've never had it.'
Even before they greeted this with cries of sympathy Hugh realised he could have phrased it better. He turned his blazing face to the shelves and lifted down tin after chilly tin, which didn't prevent Mishel from asking 'Don't you like a nice juicy melon?'
He had the impression that she was aiming her prominent breasts at him, but nothing could happen if he stared straight ahead. 'No,' he muttered.
'Now you're sounding like a lemon, Hugh.'
'An old prune, more like,' said Mishel.
'I think he's being a prickly pear.'
Hugh thought he saw a way to join in. 'At least I'm not an ugli fruit.'
There was silence while he shifted two armfuls of cans, and then Mishel said 'That's verbal abuse, that.'
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