‘It’s imperative that we meet very soon, Maggie.’ Maggie stifled a yawn as she listened to her editor at the other end of the phone. She had been up since six-forty-five, when the nurses had called her to say that Shona was awake and fretful. So far her temperature had not been brought under control and she was a very sick little girl. ‘We’re anxious to have you out in time for the Christmas market and that means a very short lead-in period,’ Marcy continued. ‘So we’ve got to get working on the rewrites. That’s why I want to meet you tomorrow afternoon. I’ve kept it free so that I can start going through the manuscript with you. Isn’t there someone else you can get to sit with your little girl for a few hours? It’s not that I’m unsympathetic to your plight, Maggie, believe me. I know it’s tough. But we have so little time, we’ve got to get working,’ Marcy’s crisp voice came down the line.
‘I know, I know,’ Maggie said hastily. ‘It’s just that I can’t really leave here. She frets terribly and she’s so sick.’
‘Just for an hour, even,’ Marcy urged. ‘I could come and pick you up and we could pop down to the Gresham and then I could leave you back.’
‘OK, OK,’ Maggie agreed. ‘I’ll fix something up.’
‘Great, Maggie, that’s the spirit. I’ll pick you up at three. I’m going to put you on hold; Sandra wants to talk to you,’ Marcy said brisky.
‘Tell her to hurry,’ Maggie urged, ‘I haven’t any more change and I don’t want to be cut off.’ She saw the professor going up the stairs on his rounds and she wanted to be there when he got to Shona. Come on, Sandra, she thought impatiently.
‘Hi, you poor thing.’ Sandra came on the line. ‘Look, I know you’re up to ninety but I’ve got to set up a meeting with yourself, myself and Carol. We need an author biog from you and I want you to meet someone I think might suit us for the cover. That’s very important, Maggie. We need a cover urgently so I can start selling in to the shops. When can we meet? This week, if possible. Normally we wouldn’t publish a novel as quickly as this. But I think this is going to be big and I want to hit the Christmas market.’ Sandra was as always very enthusiastic.
‘Look, Sandra, could I get back to you?’ Maggie was utterly harassed.
‘Sure, sure, but soon, Maggie.’
Maggie was just about to hang up when she remembered. ‘Wait, Sandra. I forgot to mention it to Marcy. I’ve a title that I prefer to An Independent Woman.’
‘Hmmm?’ Sandra was cautious.
‘I’m going to call it City Woman,’ Maggie said firmly. After all it was her novel. There was silence at the other end of the phone. Maggie waited anxiously.
‘Hey . . . I like it. I like it,’ said Sandra enthusiastically. ‘Let me run it by the others. OK?’
‘Right. See you, Sandra.’ Maggie replaced the phone and raced up the stairs, anxious to get back to the ward in time to see the professor. Terry would never agree to taking a half-day, so there was no point in asking. Josie wasn’t available to look after Mimi and Michael; Caroline had promised to do that for her. She’d have to leave Shona alone for an hour while she was with Marcy and that was that. Sandra would just have to wait until things had calmed down a bit before she could even think of meeting her. And as regards sitting down to rewrite, how the hell was she going to do that? Maybe she should phone her mother and ask her to come up for a few days. But that would be more trouble than it was worth; it would end up with her looking after Nelsie as well as everyone else. Scrap that brainwave. She could hear Shona crying from the top of the stairs and with a heart as heavy as lead she went back into the ward to try and comfort her.
‘Hello,’ a familiar voice said in her ear several hours later, and Maggie turned to find Devlin smiling down at her. ‘How is she?’ Maggie looked down at her daughter, lying with her head against her shoulder, fast asleep. She looked worn out and still had a high temperature. As well as everything else she had developed blisters and mouth ulcers and she couldn’t eat, and trying to get her to take her oral medicine was a nightmare. Every time she saw a nurse coming she buried her face into Maggie’s neck, clinging tightly to her, and Maggie had had to hold her struggling in her arms as the nurse had forced a syringe into Shona’s mouth. Most of the medicine landed on Maggie and the nurse as Shona spat it out and they’d had to repeat the exercise. Shona had fallen asleep, still sobbing, her eyes reproaching her mother for her act of betrayal.
‘Not too good: they can’t get her blasted temperature down. It’s fluctuating between forty and thirty-eight,’ Maggie sighed.
‘What’s that in the old system?’ Devlin pulled up a chair beside Maggie and deposited a large fluffy koala bear on the bed.
‘Thanks; you shouldn’t have.’ Maggie was touched. ‘Forty is 104 Fahrenheit. That’s the highest it’s gone. It’s 102 at the moment.’
‘Jesus,’ breathed Devlin. ‘One hundred and four! That’s high – but at least it’s dropped two degrees. Can’t they do anything?’
Tears stung Maggie’s eyes. ‘They’re doing everything they can. They’re very kind here. It’s just so frustrating that the antibiotics aren’t working yet. She’s so sick, Dev; it’s awful to see her like this. You know what a little live wire she is usually. I know they’ll get it down eventually. I’m a nurse. I know these things, but I can’t help worrying.’
‘Of course you can’t! You’re her mother, for God’s sake. I remember once, Lynn—’ Devlin stopped short. ‘Ah, nothing . . . don’t worry, Maggie, you know kids: one minute they’re as sick as a parrot, the next they’re jumping around.’
‘Yeah, I know. It’s just that this pneumonia worries me.’
Devlin put an arm around her shoulder. ‘She’ll be fine, Maggie, believe me. Caroline phoned me last night after you were on so I called the hospital and they said I could come in any time after eleven. So I just popped up. It’s handy being your own boss at times like this.’
‘You don’t know how lucky you are, Devlin. God, I’m running round in circles trying to sort things out. My editor wants to meet me tomorrow afternoon; my sales and marketing director wants a meeting; the car’s in the garage. Terry won’t take time off so I’m up the creek.’ Maggie grimaced.
‘Is Terry up to his eyes at work?’ Devlin asked sympathetically.
‘No more than usual,’ snorted Maggie. ‘Do you know something, Dev: he blames me for this. Because I went away for the weekend Shona got pneumonia. How’s that for logic? He’s been a real pig about it. If I tell him I need some time to go to a meeting at my publishers, he’ll just tell me to get lost. Anyway I haven’t told him yet I’m being published. The time just wasn’t right and I don’t think he’ll be that impressed anyway.’
Devlin shook her head. ‘That’s not one bit fair. I’m surprised at Terry. Men! They’re gas, aren’t they? I phoned Luke yesterday and he went into a huff and hung up – why, I don’t know. Wait until I see him tomorrow, I’ll be just as cool.’
‘Ah Devlin, you can’t be cool to Luke; he’s crazy about you,’ Maggie remonstrated. ‘He’s a very nice man.’ Maggie knew if it were Luke Reilly she was married to she would be getting a hell of a lot more support from him than she was getting from Terry.
‘I know he is,’ Devlin sighed. ‘Listen, I’m just thinking here: what if you could reschedule your meeting with your editor for now? I could stay here for a couple of hours. You can take my car. It’s open drive. Go and do your biz and back you come.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Devlin to the rescue. You’re a great old buddy.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll get my own back one of these days. Give me that child and go on and phone your editor.’
Maggie hesitated, for she knew Devlin was a very busy lady.
‘Now!’ ordered Devlin.
Twenty
Twenty-five minutes later Maggie was parking Devlin’s Sierra in the forecourt of the complex just off the Santry bypass that housed her publishers’ offices and warehouse. Marcy had rescheduled an editorial meeting so she could fit her in. Maggie c
ouldn’t help a little buzz of excitement as she parked the car. To be going to a meeting at her publishers! Thousands dreamed of getting this chance and she had succeeded. How many times had she passed this way and never really noticed the smart yellow-brick single-storey building, with its well-kept forecourt decorated with tubs of flowering shrubs. It was part of a small industrial estate that was well laid out and maintained. Enterprise Publishers were to the front of the complex. In fact to Maggie’s biased eye, theirs was the nicest building in the estate. The enormous warehouse, a long low building, was behind the office building and on her first visit to Enterprise House, Jeremy Wilson, the managing director, had given her a guided tour and presented her with a selection of books from the shelves. By the end of the year, with any luck, copies of City Woman would be reposing on those shelves.
The first person Maggie saw when she entered the plush foyer was Sandra Nolan and she groaned inwardly. Her cotton summer dress was creased and clung to her. She hadn’t had time to wash her hair over the past few days, she had no make-up on apart from a touch of lipstick and she just felt she looked a sight. Sandra was perfectly groomed and looked every inch the young executive in her cream Betty Barclay suit. Her jet-black hair gleamed in a shining bob; her make-up was subtle but perfectly applied. She was one of these people who are naturally glamorous, and no matter what the circumstnces, are always perfectly groomed – the type of person you would love to hate but couldn’t because she was so nice.
‘Hi! how’s the baby? You look a bit tired, Maggie. Can I get you some coffee?’ Sandra said solicitously. ‘Come on into my office and we can have a chat. Everybody here loves City Woman. I’ve some great ideas for the cover design. The feedback in the trade is good too. I think we’re on to a winner here, Maggie!’ Sandra’s exuberance was infectious. Maggie found herself smiling, even though she had only been there for a minute or two; her adrenalin was starting to flow. Sandra always had that effect on her.
‘Shona’s not responding to the antibiotics. It’s a matter of getting one that will control her infection. It will take a while. A friend is sitting in for me so I was able to come up. But I won’t have coffee; Marcy’s expecting me.’
At that moment Marcy came out of her office and saw her. ‘Is Sandra trying to poach you? Typical!’ she laughed. ‘She’s mine today, Sandra. Make your own arrangements and stop trying to steal a march on the editorial department,’ she said with mock-severity to the sales and marketing director, as she ushered Maggie into her office. ‘I’ll organize coffee for us and we’ll get down to work,’ Marcy declared, as she pressed a button on her intercom and asked the receptionist to bring them in a pot of coffee. ‘And hold all my calls for the next hour, please,’ she instructed crisply. ‘I prefer to work on a manuscript with an author away from the office if possible, because this place is a madhouse!’ Marcy explained as she took Maggie’s manuscript out of a file. ‘I know the circumstances are exceptional but perhaps when your little girl is better we can arrange to meet where neither of us will be interrupted. You’ll get much more work done, quality work.’
The editor sat behind her desk and pulled a chair up beside her. ‘Sit down, Maggie, and take a deep breath,’ she said, smiling. Marcy, like Sandra and Maggie, was in her mid-thirties. She was a brisk businesslike woman with a sharp brain that impressed Maggie. Tall and very thin, Marcy was superbly fit and her skin and hair glowed with good health. She never ate junk, didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, her only indulgence being coffee. She jogged daily with her partner, a vice-president of a meat exporting company, and was always in bed before midnight. It paid off, Maggie thought admiringly. Marcy Elliot had the energy of ten; her workload was enormous but it didn’t faze her one bit. One of these days, she was going to get herself in hand, start eating properly and become more fit than she managed with her weekly workout and swim in City Girl. Definitely . . . one of these days . . .
‘Now Maggie—’ Her editor interrupted her musings. ‘—here’s a pad and paper. I know you haven’t your copy of the manuscript, so we’ll use mine and, by the way, I love the new title.’ Marcy tapped a pen approvingly on the title page, and Maggie hid a smile. Her editor was so authoritative. Maggie knew full well that if she hadn’t liked the new title she would have made her protests loud and clear. Because Maggie knew nothing about publishing she felt at a disadvantage sometimes in discussions with her publishers but she had decided if she felt really strongly about something she was going to stick to her guns. It was good that Marcy liked the title but even if she hadn’t, Maggie wouldn’t have changed it. ‘I just want to make some general comments first and then get you organized for the rewriting.’ Marcy sat back in her chair, her bright intelligent blue eyes staring at Maggie reflectively. ‘Just as an aside, Maggie, I suggest, indeed I believe it vital that you get yourself a word processor. Apart from the fact that it’s very expensive having work typed, it’s much easier to edit on screen and we do all our work on disk now. The typewritten manuscript is obsolete in this technological age, I’m afraid. So definitely for your next novel you should invest in a word processor.’
‘I wouldn’t have a clue how to use one,’ Maggie said in dismay.
‘Of course you would, you’re an intelligent woman; there’s nothing to it,’ Marcy said bracingly and Maggie felt like a ten-year-old. ‘Now at all times while we’re editing, remember that I am on your side and my criticisms are for your own good and the good of your novel. I know first-time authors often find it difficult to listen to someone pointing out errors and flaws but if you keep a positive attitude you will learn a lot, Maggie, and life will be much simpler when you are writing your next novel.’ Marcy was sweetly patient. As she gave her discovery a summary of the improvements necessary in her novel, Maggie tried not to cringe inwardly. Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered submitting her novel for publication. Maybe it just wasn’t up to scratch if all these adjustments had to be made.
‘We need more verisimilitude,’ Marcy was saying.
Holy Divinity, thought Maggie in dismay. What on earth was verisimilitude?
‘More true to life,’ Marcy explained, seeing her puzzlement.
Maggie nodded as she assimilated what she later realized was to be some of the best advice she would ever receive in her writing career. This woman, with her brisk businesslike way, was good at her job, Maggie had to admit. Everything she had said was absolutely spot on, even though it had been difficult to take it on the chin. ‘Thanks, Marcy,’ Maggie said calmly. ‘That will give me a lot to chew on. It’s very helpful stuff.’ Now that she had got over the shock of having her flaws pointed out, she was beginning to be enthusiastic about things again.
‘Well, I think you’ve enough to be going on with for now if you do the work I’ve marked up for next week. We’ll carry on from there.’
‘Sure, I’ll be in touch.’ Maggie gathered up her notes. It was like getting her homework marked, she thought in amusement.
‘When we’ve gone through the script we’ll have lunch. I like to bring my authors to lunch every so often. It’s nice to get to know the person behind the writer,’ Marcy remarked as she stood up and straightened her skirt. ‘Maggie, you must excuse me now. I’ve to attend an in-house meeting, but keep in touch if you’ve any difficulties. I’m always here.’ She added gently, ‘I hope Shona will be well soon.’ With that, she was striding out the door, a file under her arm, and Maggie knew that she was instantly forgotten. Marcy’s racing brain was already dealing with the next item on her agenda.
Driving back to Temple Street, Maggie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. How she was going to manage to sit down to rewrite with Shona still in hospital, and two other children at home – and a husband who was in a huff with her. Marcy, being childless, obviously had no conception of the difficulties Maggie was having to contend with.
For the first time Maggie realized that her writing was no longer a hobby. This was business. It was like having a job again. Now that she had signed a contract she w
as going to have to produce the goods and within the time required. She was a working mother now, although she had always thought that was a silly term since all mothers worked. She was just going to have to cope, like millions of other women who juggled motherhood and careers. At the moment it was a thought that gave rise to some apprehension. Writing was such a solitary occupation and how could she, the mother of three small children, ever hope to get the time she needed to write. But in spite of herself she felt exhilarated. I’ll manage somehow, she assured herself. As she sat waiting for the red lights at Whitehall Garda station to change, she was already planning the decor of the apartment of her heroine, as per Marcy’s instructions.
‘Please, God, let Shona be feeling better when I get back,’ she beseeched the Almighty. But for Caroline stepping in to take care of Michael and Mimi, she would have been in a hell of a pickle, because her next-door neighbour who was good at helping out in a fix was in Corfu for a fortnight’s holiday. Maggie parked the car in the car-park where Eccles Street College had once stood. She could still see the markings of basketball and tennis-courts where the schoolyard had been. It had started to drizzle and she had to sprint the rest of the way so she wouldn’t get too wet.
She was puffed when she reached the hospital. No doubt it wouldn’t have knocked a feather out of superfit Marcy. In the distance she could hear the rumble of thunder. It was so heavy and muggy, maybe a good thunderstorm would clear the air. Hot and thirsty, she walked down to the canteen and bought a can of Coke and a sandwich. She held the ice-cold can against the side of her neck as she walked up the several flights of stairs to the ward. It was refreshing. She’d love a swim right now, she thought longingly. Devlin was sponging Shona down when she went in. ‘Her temperature’s climbed back to 103, Maggie. I’m sorry,’ her friend said ruefully.
‘Shit!’ cursed Maggie in frustration.
‘Oh and ah . . . well, Terry called in. He was going to a meeting across town. He was wondering where you were. I didn’t say anything about your meeting or anything. I just said I was giving you a break for an hour. He’ll be back at teatime,’ Devlin murmured diplomatically.
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