‘Beautiful,’ I whisper back.
We stand together to see how Maria Santa’s refreshments go down. She’s brought out a big glass decanter filled with water, and Luther and Sam are explaining how, although Fiji water was unavailable, we’ve got chilled mineral water plus some special naturally sparkling Sicilian spring water which we’ve decanted into traditional glass bottles. Only Marisa and I know that it’s actually San Pellegrino. There’s an agonising pause, but then it seems to go down OK.
After a few minutes, we realise that we’re standing there like idiots, and we decide to go inside. Once we’re in the house, we look at each other and start laughing, but manage to stay quiet.
‘It’s exciting, eh?’ says Marisa in a low voice. ‘Like a visit from royalty.’
‘Or outer space,’ I reply. We both giggle at that, but quietly.
I start doing edits on the book and Marisa plays patience. I don’t feel exactly the same about her as I did before, but I’m glad she’s still here – the more hands on deck, the better, in case some special request suddenly comes through from the terrace. It would be nicer for us both to be outside by the pool, but we both know, without any discussion, that we need to stay out of sight for now. After about twenty minutes, Sam comes in.
‘She wants to read it,’ he says.
The manuscripts are waiting on a side table. I hand them to him. ‘How is it going?’ I ask.
‘Hard to say, but at least she wants to see the book,’ he says.
Sam goes back to the table, and hands the manuscripts to one of the entourage, who – I can’t believe my eyes – hands them to someone else, who takes two of the copies and hands one to Dominique. They then all withdraw, leaving just Luther with Dominique. They talk a few minutes more, and then Luther gets up and walks away ceremonially – almost, it seems, without turning his back. It’s like something in a martial arts film.
Dominique changes position to sit cross-legged with her back to the terrace, with the manuscript set out in front of her in a very neat pile. After a minute she turns a page very precisely. I’ve never seen anyone sit with such a straight back, and I remember reading that she trained as a ballet dancer. From time to time she makes a note in a separate notebook. Marisa and I watch for a while until it starts to become ridiculous, and we go off and resume our work. From time to time, though, I can’t help getting up and peeking out at Dominique, still sitting completely upright, reading with extraordinary concentration, a cigarette burning in the ashtray beside her. Luther is sitting near her, perched on the edge of his chair, looking at her.
At around 1 p.m., Luther comes in to us.
‘How’s it going?’ we both ask him.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. She’s still reading. She hasn’t said anything yet.’
‘Can you gauge her reaction at all?’ I ask him.
‘Nope,’ he says. ‘She’s quite the poker player.’ He sounds admiring.
‘We should eat,’ says Marisa. ‘Luther, will we offer her some lunch?’
‘I already asked,’ says Luther. ‘She’s not hungry.’
‘But what about all her – people?’ I say.
‘They don’t eat if she doesn’t eat.’
‘Jesus,’ says Sam, who’s just joined us. ‘OK, let’s eat in the kitchen.’
So we do. Maria Santa lets us raid the fridge for cherry tomatoes, mozzarella, cured ham and olives, which we eat with slices of bread dipped in olive oil and salt. Looking at Luther hoovering up his lunch, I realise I’ve never appreciated just how easy he’s been to deal with. Sure, he’s self-centred, but compared to Dominique, he’s Joe Normal.
‘Has anyone heard from Annabel?’ asks Marisa. ‘Is she still with her boyfriend?’
‘Oh yeah,’ says Luther. ‘I almost forgot about her. I had a message from her yesterday. I’ll call her back after Dom goes.’
After lunch, Marisa goes off to the beach, and I continue with the editing. It’s pretty dismaying to realise how big a part of the book Dominique is – if she’s not happy we could end up losing an awful lot. If she makes loads of changes, on the other hand, it could become incredibly bland.
‘That’s quite a sigh,’ says Sam, coming inside.
‘Sorry,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I didn’t realise I was sighing.’
‘Do you want me to go check on her – scope out the lie of the land?’
That’s incredibly good of him. ‘Are you sure?’ I say, tentatively.
‘Yeah. And you can print it out for me too, and I’ll start reading it.’
I look at him. He doesn’t look very friendly, but he clearly means it. And I realise that no matter what his feelings for me are, or what happened between us, he is still going to keep his promise to me.
‘Thank you,’ I say. I print him out a copy, and he starts reading it as it comes out.
We both continue working for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. Occasionally, I sneak covert looks at Sam, and wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake. When I think of how he was with me the other night, and the day we spent together, it does seem hard to believe that he could be having some sort of thing with Marisa on the side. But then I keep coming back to the same thing: why did he lie about going to Rome with her? And something else is nagging at me. How come she never told me that she was his ex? We’ve talked about everything else – why not that, unless there was something she didn’t want me to know?
Maybe they’re not having a full-on affair; maybe it’s something more complicated. Maybe he’s planning to marry her so she can get a visa and work in the US, or something. Or . . . Americans always date multiple people, don’t they? Maybe he thinks it’s fine to see both of us at once, and if I ask him about it, he’ll think I’m being unreasonable and unsophisticated and possessive . . .
That thought is just too horrible, so I decide to put it all out of my mind and try and concentrate on Luther’s book. In general, I’m really pleased with it. I’m making notes as I go, but aside from bringing out a few more dramatic moments and cutting here and there, there isn’t all that much that needs changing.
Except, of course, adding the producer story – the truth of what happened after Hawaii. I get out my email again and go back to the drafts folder where it’s waiting, ready to be sent to Brian and Olivia. I start typing a covering email. ‘I’ve just found this out . . .’ – it’s a lie, but anyway – ‘Luther is sensitive about it but I know that I can get him to put it in. It’s such a major trauma that we’ll have to change the second half significantly, and keep referring back to it, and then give more of an impression that L has “recovered”. There are legal issues but they should be resolvable, particularly since the producer is dead.’
I stop, and read back over what I’ve written. Did I really write that? It’s all so seedy and depressing. It will overwhelm the book; it will be all that anyone talks about. And, for the rest of his career, it will be the one fact that people remember about Luther, too. ‘Oh, yeah, he’s the casting-couch guy.’ Is that what we want?
Why did Luther tell me about it? Maybe he just wanted to tell someone, but that’s not the same thing as telling the world. Personally I think he was crazy to tell me. But he trusts me, and he would put it in, if I persuaded him. Oh, God. This is not why I wanted to work in publishing. I wanted to work with authors and help them tell great stories. I didn’t want to exploit people and harm their careers. I was proud of this book before. I won’t be any more, if I do this. Suddenly a really horrible thought comes to me. If I do this, am I really any different from the people who did this to him in the first place?
I can’t do it. I’m not going to put it in the book, and I won’t tell Olivia what happened. It’s not my secret to tell. If Olivia ever finds out that Luther told me about it, and that I kept it from her, then I’ll definitely be out on my ear, but I just can’t do it. I delete the email. Then I search for the file of our last interview, which I typed up and gave to Luther. Finding it, I press delete, and then I empty the tr
ash folder. It’s gone. And I feel as if a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I’ve hardly noticed that it’s getting dark, until Sam gets up and puts on the light.
‘My God. Are they still out there? I’d almost forgotten about them.’
‘They’re leaving,’ Sam says. ‘Let’s go say goodbye.’
Outside, the entourage are standing around, with Dominique and Luther a little way apart from them. He’s holding some notes, which I realise must be from her. We all shake hands with the others, and then they all file down the stairs. Dominique and Luther stay behind last of all, saying their goodbyes at the top of the stairs. Looking at them standing in the half-dark, at the edge of the terrace, with the last light from the setting sun behind them, I think about what a sight this would be for a passing paparazzo. But even if they were caught on camera, there’s no way for anyone to know what they are saying.
She leaves, and Luther comes slowly back over towards us, looking at the wad of paper in his hand.
‘How was it?’ I ask.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Bittersweet, you know?’
‘And did she like the book?’
He nods slowly. ‘She did, you know? She really did.’ He waves the papers. ‘She wants us to change, like, six pages.’
‘Six pages? Is that all?’
‘Yeah, she’s worried when I talk about a friend of ours, and there are some other things that she wanted to change. But she’s cool with most of what I said about her and me. She says she hopes it helps other people who are going through similar stuff.’
This is unbelievable. I feel a new-found respect for her: what a star. Suddenly the noise of the helicopter begins. It’s completely deafening, and it blows all our clothes against us. We look up at the chopper, lifting higher and higher overhead.
I take the pages from Luther, and examine them, holding them tightly – it would be too tragic if the wind blew them away. Her changes are written in a tiny, neat hand, and they seem to be mostly psychobabble – far-out chat about learning and growth and acceptance and change and other stuff which is going to sound extremely strange woven into Luther’s bad-boy anecdotes. But I just don’t care any more.
‘These look great,’ I say to him. ‘I can’t believe she came out and just did it in a day. Luther, do you know what this means? We’ve finished the book!’ I’m so excited that I’m practically jumping up and down, and Luther is laughing at me.
We get some champagne and open it on the terrace, while Maria Santa is setting up for dinner. I remember the last time someone brought champagne on to the terrace – Luther, when he tried to seduce me after the nightclub. I can’t believe that after everything that’s happened, all the disasters and detours, we’ve actually ended up with a publishable book.
‘This is such a great feeling,’ I say to him. ‘Luther, you should be proud of yourself. Are you happy about it?’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Yeah, I am. I feel like I learned and grew, you know?’ He’s clearly taking the piss, or is he? As ever with Luther, I’m not totally sure, but he looks pretty happy.
I decide that before the others join us, I’d better tell Olivia that Dominique has approved the book. I’ve just opened up my email, when Sam comes inside.
‘What the hell is this?’ he snaps.
‘What the . . . hell is what?’ But I can see. He’s holding a piece of paper. In slow-motion horror I realise Luther’s told him about the producer story. And shown it to him.
‘Sam, I can explain,’ I say, realising I’m talking in clichés. ‘I changed my mind. I don’t think it should go in.’
‘Oh, sure you’ve changed your mind. Right after you asked Luther to show – this – to his ex-wife. How could you do this? He trusted you. How could you encourage him to broadcast such a miserable, shitty story? Didn’t you even think about what it would do to him, to his career? I’m just glad he decided not to show it to Dominique.’
‘But – I’ve deleted it! Honestly. You can check my computer.’ I turn the laptop towards him with shaking hands.
‘I don’t believe you,’ he says. ‘But I get it now. There’s the version you gave me, and there’s the version that you’re really publishing. Well, you can do your own dirty work from now on.’
‘So – so are you cancelling the book?’ I ask helplessly.
He laughs. ‘Of course, that’s the main thing: the book. Don’t worry; Luther still wants the book. But don’t even think of including this sordid piece of gossip in it.’
‘Wait, Sam! You don’t understand. I’m about to lose my job—’
‘Skip it, Alice. I know you’re under pressure to dig for dirt. Just go dig somewhere else, OK?’
‘Please, Sam. I can explain.’
‘There’s really no need. Luther’s changed his mind about the TV; he wants to do it. We fly tomorrow. You’ve got your book; we’re done here.’
And he walks out to greet Federico and Marisa, who’ve just arrived. I can’t speak; I can’t even cry. I’ve lost him.
At dinner, everyone is in a celebratory mood. Federico tells us how his printer kept jamming, and Marisa talks about getting hold of the paper and how her cousin wanted Dominique’s autograph. Luther is on great form as well, inventing lots of outrageous anecdotes which he claims he’s put in the book. The champagne gets finished surprisingly quickly, and Luther immediately asks for another bottle, and another one. I just concentrate on cutting up my food and making it look as though I’m eating so that nobody asks me any questions. I’ve already booked my flight, and I’ve emailed Olivia telling her that Dominique has approved the manuscript, and that nothing else came of the Hawaii story. Now I want to go home.
The others are discussing Roman Holiday. In the ending of the original, the Princess and the journalist go their separate ways because they belong to different worlds. In Luther’s remake, she hands the throne to her younger brother and they ride off into the sunset together. It sounds awful. Of course I haven’t said as much to Luther, but Marisa, who can say things we can’t, is telling him they should have kept the ending as it was.
‘It was more romantic,’ she says. ‘Ah, the scene with the press conference at the end – it’s beautiful.’
‘It’s a downer,’ Luther says irritably. ‘Ours is more uplifting.’
‘But not as true,’ Marisa argues. She turns to Sam. ‘What do you think? More beautiful before, no?’
Sam just makes some generic comment about how he can’t wait to see Luther’s version. If only I hadn’t done that awful thing with the producer story, maybe he would have looked at me and said something meaningful about how the Princess should have ended up with the journalist or something, and I would have agreed and we would have ended up riding off into the sunset together. But he won’t talk to me, or even look at me. Seeing him sitting beside Marisa, I realise it’s hopeless. There probably is something between them. And even if there isn’t, he hates me now.
By 1 a.m., Marisa and Federico are still there, having a whale of a time, and Luther’s clearly in for the long haul. When he tries to top me up for the tenth time, I make a move to go, talking about being tired and having to pack.
‘No!’ Luther protests when I get up. ‘Disloyalty to the party!’
The mention of disloyalty makes me blush. ‘My flight’s at eleven,’ I mutter.
‘I’m sorry I can’t take you to the airport,’ Marisa says. ‘I have some errands to do. Sam, will you take her?’
‘I won’t have time,’ Sam says shortly. Marisa looks surprised.
‘It’s OK. I can get a taxi. Goodnight, everyone,’ I say.
‘Hey. Come on, man,’ says Luther, unexpectedly. ‘She’s worked hard. Give the girl a ride to the airport.’
This sudden kindness, coming on top of what I was going to do to him, pushes me over the edge; I can feel tears collecting in my eyes and a lump in my throat. Sam snaps, ‘OK, fine.’
I escape to bed before I break down completely. I’m so reliev
ed. Sam hates me now, but I know that if I can just talk to him properly, I’ll be able to explain. I hope so, anyway. I fall asleep practising the way I’ll phrase it.
THIRTY
I’m packed. I’m ready. I’ve looked under the bed and in all the drawers, and I’m leaving in twenty minutes. I’m leaving the brown hair-shirt here – I’d like to have a ceremonial burning of it, but I’ve left it a bit late. I’ve decided the neon swimsuit is something Poppy might be able to carry off, so I’m taking it with me. I’ve just come back from saying goodbye and thank you to Maria Santa when I see Marisa, jumping out of her car and running towards the house.
‘What’s up?’ says Sam, who’s just emerged on to the terrace with Luther.
‘I just talked to Annabel on the phone,’ Marisa says. ‘She sounded terrified. She’s in Nikos’s apartment. She says they’ve had a fight, and he’s really scared her. She wants someone to come and get her.’
‘Tell her to get a taxi,’ says Luther.
‘Did he hit her?’ says Sam.
Marisa shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. There wasn’t time. She said she couldn’t talk for long, so I just said we would come and get her. Sam, please will you go and collect her? She told me where his house is.’ She looks at me. ‘Oh, wait. I forgot. You’re taking Alice to the airport.’
‘No. I think I should help Annabel,’ Sam says. And hearing this, I know that I’ve lost him for good.
‘Damn,’ says Luther. ‘I knew I should’ve packed my piece. Never mind, I can go hand-to-hand. Take that Nikos guy down.’
‘Easy, Starsky. You’re not coming. Forget it,’ says Sam, going inside the house.
‘What are you talking about?’ Luther’s following him. ‘You need back-up. You’re a Mormon, for Chrissake. What are you, going to preach him to death? You need someone from the street, like me.’
‘No! Your publicist hates me enough as it is.’
‘Come on, bella,’ Marisa says. ‘I’ll take you to the airport.’
I knew it. I knew this would happen. Even if Annabel is in some kind of danger, which personally I doubt, her timing sucks. We go inside, where Sam is putting on his shoes and Luther is practising gun-pulling poses in the mirror.
The Out of Office Girl Page 24