‘Your husband must be very supportive.’
There it was again. She supposed she should give him points for effort. ‘Not so much,’ she said. ‘And not so much my husband any more, either.’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.’
Oh yes you did. ‘When the boys were little I couldn’t really go away,’ said Liv. ‘But once they started high school, I decided they could cope. Their father “minds” them part of the time I’m away – that’s his term. It annoys me: they’re his kids too, he’s not minding them for me.’
David gave half a laugh. ‘I know what you mean. After Scarlett came to live with me, I couldn’t get over the offers of help that streamed in, endlessly. I mean, it was lovely, and I appreciated it, but I started to wonder if people didn’t think I was capable of looking after my own child. Her mum had raised her solo for eight years, and no one ever ran to her aid. It’s a strange double standard.’
The PA crackled into life with the announcement that they were soon going to land.
‘Well, time has literally flown,’ said David.
Liv decided not to correct him on the use of ‘literally’. Besides, that was kind of poetic, so she could allow him some licence. The time had passed very quickly indeed, darn it; she would have liked to hear the rest of that story. Why had the daughter come to live with him after eight years with her mother? Were they overseas, or interstate maybe? It was so intriguing. From what age did she go to live with him? What had changed? Liv was dying of curiosity, but she could hardly start grilling him now: it wasn’t exactly a conversation to be had as they disembarked.
When the plane came to a stop at the terminal, and the fasten seatbelts light went out, David stood to open the overhead locker. ‘Have you got anything up here, Liv?’ he asked. ‘I’ll grab it for you.’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I had to check my baggage.’
‘I never check baggage if I can help it.’
‘Me either,’ she assured him. ‘But being away for over a week I can’t get away with packing light.’
He nodded before lifting his bag out of the locker. ‘Would you like to go ahead?’
Liv thought it best to sever the relationship now, make it swift and painless, no standing around awkwardly out in the arrival hall. ‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘I usually wait for the line to dwindle.’
He glanced over his shoulder: the queue was advancing on him, he would have to move on. He looked back at her with an expression that was almost regretful. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you, Liv.’
‘You too, David.’
And that was that.
Liv wasn’t making an excuse. She did usually wait in her seat until everyone else had shuffled past, especially when she had luggage to collect. What was the point in rushing – you only had to stand around waiting at the carousel. After she eventually made her way off the plane, she stopped at the ladies room to freshen up, and then walked down to the baggage claims area. As she approached the carousel for her flight, she was surprised to see David standing at the periphery, watching her, his wheelie bag propped beside him.
Liv spoke first. ‘I thought you said you didn’t have any baggage?’
‘Oh, I have plenty of baggage,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘Look, I don’t want you to think I’m weird or a stalker or anything, but you see, I made a promise to myself when I turned forty, and I don’t like to break promises, especially to myself.’
Liv was intrigued. ‘What was the promise?’
‘To try to avoid having regrets,’ he said plainly. ‘Now, I don’t want it to sound like I’ve been plagued by regrets all my life, but there have been a few . . .’
This was starting to sound like that Frank Sinatra song.
‘Mostly there’s just been too many times that I’ve regretted not acting on something when I could have, or should have.’
She was listening.
‘The thing is, Liv, I enjoyed talking to you, a lot. And in the past I would have left it at that. And for a few days, maybe longer, I would have kicked myself for not plucking up the courage to ask for your number. I don’t want to have that regret this time.’
‘Look, David, I’m flattered, I really am . . .’
He dropped his gaze to the floor. ‘I see.’
‘It’s just that I have kids, I’m not really looking for anything.’
‘I’m only talking about coffee.’
Liv wondered if her face had turned red. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply –’
‘It’s fine, I understand, I really do,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what it’s like for you, but I get constant pressure from my friends, my daughter, that I should be putting myself out there.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that. I’m not interested in internet dating, I don’t go to places to pick up. I certainly didn’t get on that plane looking to pick up. I guess I like the idea that good things just might happen when you least expect it.’
She nodded, thinking. It was a nice idea, but . . .
‘Tell you what,’ he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He drew out a docket, and quickly checked both sides. ‘What if I give you my number . . .’ He took a pen out of his breast pocket and jotted something down. ‘And then it’s entirely up to you.’
Liv hesitated as he held out the slip of paper to her.
‘Take it as a favour to me,’ he persisted. ‘That way I have no regrets, and next time she asks I can tell Scarlett that I have put myself out there. And you can throw it in the bin after I walk away, I’ll never know. So it’s a win-win.’
Liv frowned. ‘For you maybe. Can’t see any win in there for me.’
He smiled. ‘I guess it all depends on what you do with the number.’
She couldn’t help smiling back as she finally accepted the slip of paper.
‘Thanks.’ He returned his wallet to his pocket and grabbed the handle of his wheelie bag. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around, Liv.’ And then he walked away out of the terminal.
Liv stood there, still holding the slip of paper. She really was flattered, but she wasn’t going to call him, of course. She shoved it into her pocket as she looked over to the carousel. The other passengers had all dispersed, and there was her bag, all on its own, about to complete the loop. She had to make a dash to grab it before it disappeared again.
4 pm
Madeleine glanced at the time on her computer. She had told Henry she’d be home as early as she could manage, and if she wanted to beat the traffic she’d have to leave soon to get across the Spit Bridge before it turned into a carpark. She had managed to put out all the fires for today; there were a few embers still smouldering, but hopefully they wouldn’t catch alight overnight.
Simone’s head suddenly appeared around the wall, seemingly disembodied. ‘See you in five,’ she chirped, before disappearing again.
‘Wait – Simone?’ Madeleine called after her.
She reappeared around the wall, in full body form this time.
‘See me in five for what?’ Madeleine asked.
‘The special editorial meeting Jane called.’
‘When?’
‘In five minutes.’
‘No, I mean when did she call it?’
‘First thing this morning.’
‘I wasn’t here first thing.’
‘It was sent around by email.’
Madeleine generally skipped over emails from their fearless leader when they had the word ‘editorial’ in the subject line. ‘Yeah well, lucky for me I’m not an editor,’ she reminded Simone with a hopeful smile.
‘I’m aware of that, but Jane wants publicity in the meeting, and Liv’s away on tour.’
Madeleine sighed inwardly. ‘Gosh, I don’t think I’m going to be able to wait around, actually. You wouldn’t even have caught me in another minute. I was just about to walk out . . .’
‘Oh, well of course. If you have to be somewhere, I’ll m
ake your excuses to Jane. What do you want me to tell her?’
Madeleine liked Simone, she really did, but she could be a bit officious. She supposed being gatekeeper assistant to the director might incline you that way. So now she was stuck. The excuse of ‘dinner with Henry Darrow’ wasn’t going to cut it – she couldn’t get away with invoking his name in a professional capacity any more. And it was still inside normal working hours, as much as there were normal working hours in this job.
‘Never mind,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll be there.’
‘Very good.’ Simone disappeared again, and Madeleine groaned, slowly lowering her forehead to the desk. She wanted to go home. There was nothing for it but to get in there and get it over with. Move the meeting along, keep it snappy, and keep everyone on track. She sat up straight and reached for her phone to call Henry, but it started to ring first. She peered at the screen. It was Genevieve. What did she want? Madeleine knew from experience that her sister only rang when she wanted something.
‘Hey Gen,’ she said, mustering her clipped, rushed-at-work voice. ‘You’ve just caught me before I have to go into a meeting, sorry.’
‘I’ll be quick,’ Genevieve said. ‘Actually, best if you just come to my place after work and I’ll explain everything then.’
‘I can’t come to your place after work,’ Madeleine said bluntly.
‘Why not?’
‘Aiden arrived today.’
‘Aiden, Henry’s best man?’
‘What other Aiden would I be talking about, Gen?’
‘I’m aware of who Aiden is,’ Genevieve retorted. ‘The point I was making is that he’s Henry’s friend – can’t Henry look after him?’
Madeleine steeled herself. ‘I only got to say hello to him for five minutes this morning,’ she explained, ‘and now I have a meeting, so I’m going to be home late as it is. What’s so important anyway?’
The sigh down the phone line reeked of frustration. ‘Archie’s sick, and I have to take Gabe to Kajukenbo.’
‘So I gather Mark’s away?’
‘Of course he’s away, where else would he be?’ Genevieve echoed Madeleine’s sarcastic tone. She didn’t much like it coming back at her.
Mark was the Asia Pacific – or was it Australasian? – manager for an international firm of property developers. He travelled constantly, and consequently Genevieve was constantly stressed. She really didn’t seem very happy, and Madeleine did feel for her – Gen was her sister and she loved her, but surely there was only so much she could be expected to do. She did have a life of her own these days, not that Genevieve seemed to notice.
‘Can’t Gabe just miss . . . whatever that is, for a night?’ Madeleine suggested.
‘Ka-ju-ken-bo,’ Genevieve enunciated the word for her, like that was going to help. ‘And no, he can’t “just miss it”, he’s being graded tonight. It’s only preliminary, but Gabe would have a royal fit if I said we couldn’t go. Why should he care that his baby brother has a head cold, and is prone to ear infections, and so taking him out in the night air is the worst possible thing I could do to him? No, none of that matters, because the world revolves around Gabriel Ryan after all . . . just like his father . . . Bloody eldest children, they’re all the same . . . Sense of bloody privilege like they’re all heirs to a throne . . .’
Genevieve was conveniently forgetting, for the sake of her argument, that she was also an eldest child. As her sister ranted on, Madeleine glanced at the time and reached down to retrieve her bag from the floor beside her desk. ‘Why don’t you call Mum?’ she eventually said, interrupting.
‘Mum? Are you kidding?’
‘No.’
‘She’s beyond useless.’
‘She is not,’ Madeleine chided.
‘Okay, she’s nuts.’
‘Gen, our mother is not “nuts”, and we have the test results to prove it. Did you call her back this morning?’
‘How do you know she called me this morning?’
‘Because she called me when you didn’t answer to see if I knew where you were.’
‘And she’s not nuts?’
Madeleine got to her feet. ‘Gen, that doesn’t make her nuts. It makes her caring, and interested, and concerned about you. Call her, I’m sure she’d be happy to sit with Archie while you go to . . . Kick-a-poo-pa. It’ll only be for a couple of hours, won’t it?’
‘Ka-ju-ken-bo!’ Genevieve repeated. ‘And I’d never be able to relax.’
‘You relax at Cajun-Ken-doll?’
‘You know what I mean. I can’t trust her with the boys, she’s hopeless.’
‘You do realise she raised us?’
‘With Dad, a schoolteacher who was home pretty much whenever we were. Can you imagine how she would have coped if Dad had worked the kind of hours Mark does?’
Madeleine picked up her jacket. ‘Look, I have to go to my meeting, Gen. And I’m sorry, but I just can’t help you out today.’
Her sister’s sigh this time was loud and recriminatory. ‘Fine.’ And she hung up.
Madeleine rushed out of the office, calling over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be in a meeting’ to anyone who was still around and within earshot. While she waited for an elevator she phoned Henry.
‘Hi,’ he answered. ‘Are you on your way?’
‘No, sorry, I have a meeting. I couldn’t get out of it.’
‘You’re going to hit traffic.’
‘I know, I’ll do my best to get away as quickly as I can. Apologise to Aiden.’
‘Okay. Drive safe.’
By the time Madeleine made it to the boardroom two floors above, it looked as though all of the key staff had assembled – all the publishers and commissioning editors, the head of marketing and his second-in-charge, the national sales manager, even Jordan, the head designer. Madeleine wondered what this was about. It wasn’t the best of times for the industry: bookshops were collapsing like dominoes around the country, and publishing houses were definitely shrinking. Madeleine hadn’t heard of any lay-offs as such, though the printing sector had taken a hit since the rise of ebooks. Staff members who left were not replaced, and more and more work was being done by fewer and fewer people. It was only a matter of time before actual retrenchments started, and an extraordinary meeting at the arse-end of the day made Madeleine a little nervous. Looking around at the faces of her colleagues, she could tell she wasn’t the only one.
Bridget caught her eye across the table. She was the most senior publisher, and deservedly so. She was smart and insightful and professional to a fault. Madeleine had a lot of time for Bridget.
‘I haven’t had a chance to thank you for the publicity you did for Tigers in the Mist. It was really exceptional.’
‘It’s an exceptional book,’ Madeleine said graciously. ‘It could sell itself.’
‘If only that were true,’ said Bridget. ‘Seriously, you put together a great campaign. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ said Madeleine. ‘I saw that it hit the bestseller list on the weekend. Congratulations.’
Bridget gave her a wan smile. ‘Hmm, bestsellers aren’t quite what they used to be.’
It didn’t take as many sales to make the list these days, because sales of books were declining overall. Madeleine knew Bridget had paid a lot of money for that book, after a pretty fierce bidding war. Every time a publisher took a risk like that she was putting her reputation, and hence her job, on the line. Bridget was probably feeling particularly vulnerable right now.
‘Thanks, everyone,’ Jane said as she strode into the room and took her place at the head of the boardroom table. She was a diminutive woman with doe eyes set in a pixie face, all of which belied her indomitable toughness. ‘Let’s get down to it immediately,’ she began.
Good. Madeleine sat up to attention.
‘The erotica bubble has burst,’ Jane announced.
There was a general look of bemusement around the table.
‘By which I mean it appears that, based on o
ur most recent sales figures, erotica has finally peaked.’
‘Shouldn’t you say climaxed?’ suggested Emma, one of the commissioning editors.
Jane lifted an eyebrow at the barely suppressed snickers. ‘What I probably should have said is it’s actually on the downward slide. I’m not even sure there’s going to be any afterglow.’
That garnered a nervous laugh. ‘Should we be lighting a cigarette?’ someone offered from the end of the table, Madeleine didn’t see who.
‘All right,’ said Jane, ‘joke all you like, but this is a real problem, and we can’t afford to be complacent about it, given the current climate.’
That silenced everyone, and an air of solemnity laced with fear descended once more upon the room.
‘So I gather you don’t want us commissioning anything in the genre?’ Bridget asked.
‘That goes without saying,’ said Jane. ‘And I’m afraid anything you currently have under consideration is going to have to be passed on. And,’ she continued over some muttered protests, ‘it doesn’t matter how good it is. I don’t care if you think you’ve found the erotic answer to Harry Potter and The Da Vinci Code rolled into one, the market is so saturated, it just wouldn’t get noticed.’
‘So what should we be looking for?’ asked Emma.
‘Anything that’s not erotica,’ Jane replied simply. ‘Except for that, nothing’s changed. Good writing, great characters – I don’t have to tell you how to do your jobs.’
‘Well, I for one am glad I don’t have to wade through any more of the stuff,’ said Emma. ‘It’s like eating too much chocolate, makes you queasy after a while.’
‘The acquisition stage isn’t my greatest concern,’ Jane went on. ‘That’s easily fixed by just applying the brakes. And we can’t do much about books that are already going through the editing stage, but if there’s any opportunity to tone things down at all, cut the odd sex scene, then go for it.’
‘Some that I’m working on barely have a plot to hold the sex scenes together,’ muttered Beth, another editor.
‘I know, you’re right,’ said Jane. ‘It’s only a suggestion, we certainly can’t completely change a book at this point. But unfortunately, some are going to get lost in such a crowded market. If there are any changes you can make, any wiggle room at all, present it to the author as an opportunity to stand out from the masses. Something’s got to be the next big thing, after all.’
The Best Man Page 6