We both laugh. How did this happen? How am I laughing with Sam, as if we’re pals? I can’t figure him out. Thinking about Luther I realise I’m glad I’ve had a chance to calm down. If I had seen him right after all his fibs and after Brian told me about his wife, I would have wanted to rip his head off. Now I feel calmer.
Just as I think that, my phone rings. It’s Olivia.
I don’t want to talk to her with Sam right beside me, but if I don’t answer now, I know that she’ll go even crazier. I take a deep, deep breath, wishing that Sam didn’t have to hear what is probably going to be a very humiliating conversation.
‘Alice? I just got your message. What’s all this about Brian?’
‘It’s his wife,’ I explain. ‘She has cancer. She was just diagnosed.’
‘Oh, no. The poor fellow. I must send flowers. Can you organise it for me?’ There’s a loaded pause. ‘But – what were you saying about him going home?’
‘He’s just left.’
‘Just left? Just like that?’
‘No, I – actually, I just put him on a plane.’
There’s a silence so long that I say, ‘Olivia? Are you still there?’
‘You should not have done that,’ she says, ‘without consulting me.’
She’s right, of course. That’s what makes it so awful.
‘I’m sorry, Olivia. I just – there was a flight this evening, and he was in such a state. I couldn’t – I mean, it seemed—’
‘Did you hear me the first time, Alice? I said that you should not have done that without consulting me.’
‘I realise that.’
There’s another silence, during which I don’t like to imagine Olivia’s expression.
‘How do you propose that we do the book without a ghostwriter?’
I shrink down in my seat and lower my voice, hoping that this will somehow magically stop Sam from overhearing. ‘I think we’ll manage. Luther wasn’t talking to Brian anyway. I think I can do the interviews with him, and send tapes to Brian at home.’ That’s if I can get him to tell me the truth, I add silently.
Another deadly pause, and then Olivia says very slowly, ‘Well, Alice. It was a crisis before you went, and now – now, it’s a fucking disaster.’
I’ve never heard Olivia swear before. I’m not surprised when she just hangs up. I dig my nails into my palms and repeat to myself: Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. If I start having a meltdown in front of Sam, then I might as well give up and go home right now.
I don’t dare look at Sam. Did he overhear Olivia’s end of the conversation, hear her asking me to order flowers, for example? I have a horrible feeling that he did. Even hearing her squawking through my phone would have been enough. Great. Now he knows I don’t have back-up. If he finds out I’m not even a proper editor, I’m screwed, especially after what happened in the nightclub. He’ll walk all over me or, at the very least, he’ll complain to Olivia. I brace myself for what’s about to come.
‘Have you ever had caponata?’ he asks.
Before I can reply, he starts talking about some dish that Maria Santa is going to make for us tonight – not that I’m going to be able to eat it. As he rambles on at length about Sicilian food and how different it is from other Italian cuisine, I realise he’s deliberately changing the subject. This is very weird. Is he actually trying to save my face? My hangover is making a come-back, and I’m suddenly longing for five minutes alone so that I can pull myself together.
Finally, we’re back, and parking at the end of the drive. I fumble with the door handle, but for some reason it won’t open.
‘Is there some kind of child lock?’ I ask Sam, but to my surprise he’s already leaned across me and opened it. For just a split second, his arm and upper body are almost brushing against mine; his head is close to my chest; and I feel a strong crackle of something – I don’t even want to know what it is. I practically jump out of the car in my haste to get away.
Luther is outside the house, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette.
‘Hey, where were you guys?’ he says, coming towards us. ‘I woke up and I felt like Rip Van Winkle. Annabel’s out with her new dude and I’ve been staring at the walls all afternoon.’ He sounds genuinely annoyed, and I realise he’s not used to being left alone. I decide to let Sam deal with it and I slip inside.
He’s not on his own at all. Marisa and Federico are on the terrace about to start dinner. They look pleased to see us. I sit down beside Marisa, as far away from Luther as possible. Sam sits down opposite her, across from Federico.
‘You’ve been to the airport?’ Marisa says.
I explain briefly about Brian. Marisa exclaims and asks questions; even Federico looks politely concerned – I think so, anyway.
Luther just says, with a shiver, ‘I hate talking about cancer.’ He immediately starts talking to Sam about the new release date for The Deep End, which is the film he’s got coming out before Roman Holiday. I can’t believe he’s being so selfish. I’m getting more and more disappointed in him.
‘I almost forgot!’ says Marisa, seizing my hand. ‘What about you? I worried about you! You’re feeling better?’
For a second I’m confused – do they know about my conversation with Olivia? Then I realise they mean my fainting fit, which already seems a million years ago.
‘Oh, yes,’ I say. ‘Just a little embarrassed.’
Federico nods. ‘Don’t worry. We all know. Too much party – boom!’ He mimes collapsing. ‘A little too much champagne and, how do you say, snow?’
The cheek of him! ‘No snow, just champagne. I have low blood pressure.’
‘Hypo-something,’ says Luther. He’s looking more cheerful now. ‘I’ll play doctors with you any time. I think I’d make a good doctor. Sam, can you get me a doctor part?’
Dinner seems to take for ever. I keep on thinking about Olivia. She was right. I know she was right. I should never have sent Brian home without talking to her; it was idiotic. When she said I had to make decisions, she didn’t mean unilateral and stupid ones. Thank God she doesn’t know about my performance in the nightclub. Strangely, though, I feel more self-conscious around Sam now than I do around Luther. At one point I glance up, and catch him looking right at me, before he looks away.
I think I’m just over-tired. All the events of last night and today have hit me, and I’m practically falling asleep at the table.
‘Alice,’ Marisa says, beside me. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘Sorry, Marisa, what?’
‘I said: do you want to come and have dinner with me tomorrow night?’
‘Just us?’ I ask, tiredness making me tactless.
‘Yes, just us girls! Federico is away on business again.’ Hearing his name, Federico looks up and says something in Italian, indignant and snappy-sounding. Sam says something to him, equally sharply, also in Italian, and Marisa joins in, conciliating.
‘Jesus. I need subtitles,’ says Luther.
I stand up. ‘I’m going to bed. Goodnight, everybody.’ Marisa looks embarrassed, and I smile at her. ‘See you tomorrow,’ I tell her. As I leave the table, Luther cracks another joke and the conversation starts again.
FIFTEEN
I’m in the water, ploughing up and down, swimming lengths just like I promised myself I would every morning. After thirty, I haul myself out and wrap up in a towel. In contrast to the brilliant mornings of the last few days, today’s a little overcast, but it’s still very warm. I dry my hair, looking out over the sea. I’m feeling calm. I know exactly what I’m going to do.
‘Ready for your therapy session with Luther?’
Of course: Annabel. It would be too tempting to imagine that she would just shack up with her caveman and leave us all alone. However, I’ve come to a very pleasant decision about Annabel; I’m going to ignore her completely. I don’t say a word, but float past her towards the villa. To my surprise, she comes after me.
‘It’s become pretty boring here, you k
now,’ she says. ‘Ever since you came. I’m going to stay with Nikos for a while.’
‘Who?’ I say, just to annoy her.
‘Nikos! My new guy. He’s got the most beautiful place on the other side of Catania. I’m really into Australian guys. They’re so much more macho than Americans, or English men. Or Italians—’
‘I thought you said he was South African?’
Annabel looks confused. ‘Well, he’s definitely lived there . . .’
‘Never mind. I get it. He’s macho. Have a good time,’ I mutter.
What a bird-brain. I go into my room, quickly pull on the pink skirt and a black top, and twist my hair up into a bun. I want to look neat, but other than that, it doesn’t really matter what I look like. I go and knock on Luther’s door. I realise that by bearding him in his den, I’ll be catching him off guard and possibly at a disadvantage, which is fine by me. Anyway it’s 10.30 a.m., a perfectly reasonable time for him to be awake. Sam’s already been up for hours, and has gone out with Marisa somewhere.
After a long pause, Luther calls, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Alice.’
‘Come in.’
I walk inside. The blinds are half down and the room is pretty messy; I see several beer and wine bottles, and piles of laundry. Actually, it’s like my flatmate Martin’s room though admittedly not as smelly. Luther’s in bed, shirtless, reading one of a pile of handwritten letters. I’m guessing this is his fan mail.
‘What’s up?’ Luther says. ‘Not that this isn’t a nice surprise.’ He’s looking very handsome and rumpled, but right at this moment, I don’t care. I find a free chair and sit down.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘OK,’ he says, staring at me. He lights a cigarette, and offers me one. I shake my head and take a deep breath. I’m going to be very cool and reasonable.
‘Listen, Luther. I know that the Children of God thing didn’t happen exactly the way you told me. Didn’t happen at all, in fact.’ He starts to protest, but I go on. ‘And neither did that story about the curtain call at the school play.’
‘Woah. Who says I lied to you about the fucking Children of God?’
I can feel myself getting cross: I hate people swearing at me.
‘I know you did, because that actually happened to River Phoenix,’ I say as gently and calmly as possible. ‘And we spoke to someone from your high school who emailed us a photo of you taking that curtain call.’
‘How do you know it was the same play?’
‘You said it was Our Town, and that’s what it looks like. Look, I don’t mind about the specifics. You’re free to take the odd bit of poetic licence if you want. But you need to decide, now, whether you want to do this book, or not.’
‘What’s in it for me?’ he says, sulkily.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘What’s in it for you?’ I repeat.
‘Yeah. Why should I do it?’
Something snaps. All my good intentions go out of the window, and I lose it completely.
‘Luther,’ I say, ‘who do you think you are? We’re paying you a million pounds to write this book. I know that’s just spare change to you, but actually, to some people that’s a lot of money, not least me and my colleagues, who are hoping to get paid this year. We’ve put you up in this place, which is costing God knows how much, and sent you the best ghostwriter in the business, who’s been kept dangling here, while his wife was waiting for the results of a biopsy, and you’ve refused to lift a finger. It’s up to you. All you have to do is lie by the pool and dictate ninety thousand words. If you don’t want to do that, just say so, and we can all go home. But if you do, you’re going to have to stop being such a selfish pig and actually do some work.’
He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with his mouth slightly open, cigarette dangling. I stare back at him. I can’t believe I said all that.
‘So, let me know,’ I say finally, lamely. And I walk out of the room and quietly shut the door behind me. My heart is hammering.
I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my career.
What the hell am I going to do now?
I need to get out of here and think. Oh, how I wish I had a car and could drive somewhere, anywhere. I decide to take my phone down to the beach and call someone. Who, though? I don’t want to call Erica; she could give me legal advice, which might end up being helpful, but she has a tendency sometimes, if you mention a problem, to tell you to think of orphans in war-torn countries. I know she’s right but I don’t want to hear it right now. I know! I’ll call Poppy. It’ll be expensive, but I don’t care.
‘Hello, editorial,’ she says after a few rings. Hearing her voice, I can just picture her sitting cross-legged at her desk, wearing one of her crazy outfits – it all seems so far away.
‘Poppy! It’s Alice.’
‘Alice! How’s it going?’
‘Is Olivia there? Can she hear you?’
‘No, she’s not back in the office yet,’ says Poppy. ‘How are you? How is the gorgeous Luther?’
‘Oh, well, you know. He’s charming, selfish, spoiled and, I think, a compulsive liar, and I just told him to either do the book or go to hell. And I’ve sent the ghostwriter home.’
‘What? You’ve sent the ghost home?’
‘Shhh! Someone might hear you.’
‘Oh, absolutely. No, in that case it does make sense. Of course. Very sensible. Gosh, the line’s very bad. Just hang up for now and I’ll ring you from another line and see if that helps.’ I hang up and wait, praying she’ll get through. After a couple of minutes my phone rings, and Poppy hisses, ‘Alice? Hi. Claudine was out there with her ears flapping so I’ve gone into Ellen’s office. What’s happening? What do you mean, you told Luther to go to hell?’
I try and explain. ‘He’s being a nightmare. He won’t do a thing, and he sort of –’ I decide not to go into the nightclub story. ‘He’s just not buckling down. He pretended to tell me some stuff but it turned out to be a total lie. So then I tried to have a calm chat with him this morning, but I slightly lost it and told him he was a—’
‘A what?’
‘A selfish pig,’ I say in a small voice.
‘Oh, boy, oh boy.’ There’s a silence. ‘Maybe it will be like in Anne of Green Gables, when she beats the little boy and it reforms him.’
I close my eyes. Sometimes I think we all read too many books and watch too many films.
‘That’s a nice idea,’ I sigh down the phone. ‘You are so lucky with fiction, Poppy. Never, never leave it. These autobiographes are insane.’
‘I won’t. God, Alice, what are you going to do?’
‘I actually don’t know. I just walked off afterwards and I haven’t seen him since. I’m too scared to think about it. I’ll have to wait and see what he does.’
‘Bloody hell,’ says Poppy. ‘And to think all I’ve been doing is going to my dressmaking class and watching Mad Men.’
It’s so nice to talk to her that I almost feel myself welling up again.
‘Tell me something to distract me,’ I say. ‘What’s up with you?’
Poppy pours out soothing news and trivia: she’s read a great book and is taking it to the editorial meeting; she has a new bicycle; she’s making a hat. Her biggest news, though, is that her oddball ex-boyfriend, an artist called Crippo, is creating an installation inspired by their relationship.
‘He’s calling it – brace yourself – Bitch Done Me Wrong.’
‘What? That’s horrible! Are you upset?’
‘Yes, but he says it’s meant to be ironic,’ says Poppy. ‘Whatever. I just hope he doesn’t end up winning a prize for it or something. Hey, would you like to hear the latest work gossip?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s a Claudine special. A great submission came in, and Ellen wanted me to read it, but Claudine kindly “offered” to read it instead because, she said, it was too literary for me. Honestly. Slap her, she’s French.’
It
’s all so brilliantly petty; I wish I was back there.
‘You know she’s angling for promotion,’ Poppy says. ‘She wants to be the next one they make editor.’
‘Well, of course she does. We all do.’
‘And . . . by the way, I don’t know if you want to know this, but – it’s probably not a big deal, but –’
‘Spit it out!’
‘She seems to be having some kind of thing with Simon. They met at a book launch. I don’t think it’s romantic, but I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just a networking thing . . .’
Ouch. That does sting, but actually, not as much as I thought it would. ‘Poppy – that’s fine. I don’t care. She’s welcome to him.’
‘Good.’ Poppy sounds relieved. ‘Anyway, what else has been happening? Who else is there? Is it just a totally crazy set-up and is he on drugs the whole time, with groupies? Spill.’
‘Not really. He’s being very lazy, but actually pretty tame, I suppose. But just – maddening.’ I tell her about stupid Annabel, and losing my luggage, and Marisa and Federico, and the yacht, and Sam.
‘Oh ho,’ says Poppy. ‘A hot young agent?’
‘Only if you like the clean-cut, angry type. He doesn’t want Luther to do the book, so he’s a fly in my sunscreen.’ I realise I don’t quite know how to explain Sam to her. She’ll get the wrong idea if I tell her about how he drove Brian to the airport, and saved my face with Olivia. ‘He’s very arrogant and controlling. He throws his weight around all the time. This morning I was in the pool and he decided I was drowning, and nearly gave me a heart attack dragging me out.’
‘He saved your life? That’s romantic! But what about Luther? I thought he was the man of your dreams.’
‘Not any more. He’s – I don’t know, he’s not how I expected he’d be.’ I hadn’t really realised this was the case until I said it to her. ‘Anyway, I might be going home after today, if he decides to take me up on my ultimatum.’
There’s a silence on the other end of the line, then Poppy says, ‘Yes, that was a bit of a gamble.’
‘A bad gamble?’ I ask her tentatively.
The Out of Office Girl Page 13