by Melissa Hill
Just then, Amanda floated across the room, looking healthy, tanned and – as Kate had pointed out earlier – very obviously designer-clad.
“But how can you tell the clothes are designer?” Olivia had asked. “I mean without physically lifting up her skirt and getting a look at the tag?”
“I have an eye for these things,” Kate said, stifling a grin. “No, I don’t actually, but whatever it is, it’s expensive and I don’t think the likes of Amanda Clarke – pregnant or otherwise – would be seen dead in anything other than haute couture.”
Amanda did look great though, Olivia thought, and pregnancy obviously suited her. Her blonde hair tumbled in long layers around her shoulders, Claudia Schiffer style. The dress was a deep crimson red and with Amanda’s tanned skin and highlighted locks the effect was doubly striking. And the shoes! The shoes were like nothing Olivia had ever seen before! They were almost too gorgeous, too elegant to be used for walking. If anything, they should be sitting in a glass case in some fashion museum somewhere. She wondered if they were designer too – if so they had to be Prada or Fendi or that guy the fashionistas loved, the one with the name that sounded like a cross between an Irishman and a toy train, Jimmy something …
“Olivia, Kate, how are you?” Amanda trilled, and as she embraced her, Olivia caught the scent of expensive (probably designer too) perfume. “I’m delighted you two could come – it’s been ages!”
Olivia smiled a dutiful smile. ‘I’m so delighted you could come?’ Wasn’t this Leah’s party?
“I’m so sorry I haven’t had a chance to say hello until now,” Amanda continued in that weird faintly-out-of-breath tone that she affected now and again. Olivia knew that this drove Kate up the wall, and at that precise moment she could understand why. “This is exactly what it was like at my wedding, remember? Everywhere I went people were pulling and dragging out of me – but tonight it’s all because of this.” She caressed her stomach softly and laughed, obviously enjoying all the attention immensely.
“I heard. Congratulations.” Kate plastered a smile onto her face.
Olivia bristled. Yes, the girl was pregnant, and it was only natural for her to be excited about it, but tonight was Leah’s night. Just because Andrew had invested in the new venture didn’t mean that Amanda had the right to try and steal the limelight with all her floating around and carrying on as though this was another one of her uppity soirees.
“Did you two get something to eat?” Amanda asked them, and, Olivia noticed, seemed a little put out that she and Kate weren’t as enthused as everyone else seemed to be about her pregnancy.
“I’m fine, Leah got us something earlier,” she said, indicating the empty plates on the table.
“Oh, Leah’s been great at keeping everyone happy,” Amanda gushed. “I just don’t know what we’d do without her,”
“Without her? Isn’t this Leah’s launch party, Amanda?” Kate said aloud the words that had been right on the tip of Olivia’s tongue.
“What? Well, of course – of course it is. I just meant that she’s so good with people, you know? Of course she’s worked in restaurants for most of her life, so she knows how to deal with the general public.” She emphasized the words in such a way that she might as well have been honest and said ‘riff-raff’. “Me, I just can’t deal with all these strangers wanting a piece of me, and all because I happen to be married to Andrew Clarke.”
With that, she beamed regally, and Olivia thought she could see Kate physically struggling to hold her tongue.
“Anyway,” she said, sitting down alongside Kate and patting her hand, “where’s Michael tonight? And more importantly, how have you been?” she asked, obviously referring to Kate’s impending motherhood.
“Michael’s on his way, he had to work late,” Kate said shortly, knowing full well that Amanda couldn’t really give a damn where Michael was, she just wanted another male to fawn over. “And me? Well, I’m just fine – apart from the burning cystitis, crippling piles and constant farting.” At this, Amanda visibly balked and Olivia had to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing. Kate had never been one to airbrush reality, and since her pregnancy she’d got ten times worse. Amanda should know better than to expect Kate to join her in gushing new-mommy sentiment.
“Oh! I haven’t – I didn’t expect – I suppose I’d better …” For once, Amanda was lost for words. “Oh, there’s Grainne Fingleton, I’d better go and say hello.” With that, she quickly made her exit.
Olivia and Kate looked at one another and burst out laughing.
“You wicked woman, Kate Murray,” Olivia said. “You’ve ruined the dream for her.”
“Oh, come on, she was asking for it,” Kate took another sip of her mineral water. “Sitting down with her back to you, purposefully excluding you like that – oh, I could strangle that girl sometimes.”
“I know. Many’s the time I had to stop you.” Olivia laughed, thinking of their old college days. Just then Leah approached, a glass of champagne in her hand.
“Do you think it’s going OK?” she asked, looking excitedly around her. “I can’t believe there’s so many people here. Lots of Amanda and Andrew’s friends, mind you but …” She shrugged.
“Well, whoever they are, they seem to be enjoying themselves – and the chocolates.” Kate looked across the room to where a couple were making serious inroads on a selection of truffles. “You should be very proud of yourself.”
“At the moment, I’m too bloody nervous to be proud,” Leah confessed, sitting down at their table. “But it is going well, isn’t it? Amanda’s great at organising these kinds of things – I wouldn’t have known what to do.”
Olivia and Kate looked at one another.
“So, is Amanda going to be permanently involved in this, or is she just helping you get started?” Olivia asked carefully.
Leah grimaced. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not quite sure. She pretty much organized this party – you know how she is, always loves to be in the middle of everything. I think it’s a bit of a novelty for her at the moment so …” She trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. “Put it this way, I think me and my little chocolate store will be way down on her list of priorities once tonight is over.”
Olivia wasn’t so sure about that, not after the way Amanda had been so condescending earlier, but she said nothing. No point in saying anything to Leah tonight, not on one of the biggest nights of her life.
“I still can’t believe that you and Andrew are in business together now,” Kate said, shaking her head in wonder. “He was so lazy in college – he was the last person I’d have said would end up a successful businessman. It’s weird the way things work out, isn’t it?”
“Andrew was always a dote,” Olivia said warmly.
“Shame about the wife,” Kate added with a grin.
“Ah stop that, Amanda’s not that bad,” Leah scolded. “You just have to know how to handle her, that’s all.”
“Mmm,” Kate wasn’t convinced.
Just then, a smile broke across Leah’s face, and Olivia followed her gaze to see the beautiful Josh approach.
“Hi, you two,” he said, smiling at Olivia and Kate. “Enjoying the night?”
“It’s a great night,” Kate said, beaming unashamedly at him.
One night over a few drinks, she had admitted to Leah that Josh Ryan was the only man alive that could tempt her to cheat on Michael. Leah’s reaction to this was one of amusement tinged with more than a little alarm at the realisation that Kate was quite serious. But Olivia knew exactly what Kate meant. Josh was so attractive it was unreal. Deep blue watchful eyes, shiny tousled hair, a jaw-line made for snowboarding, and a tanned athletic body, he was most normal women’s idea of perfection.
“You’d run away with him,” her mother would say, and did when she met Josh for the first time at Olivia’s one night, keeping him talking in a corner for most of the evening. But, despite Josh’s obvious good looks, he was one of the most likeable men you
could meet.
“Have you taken anything with that camcorder yet?” he asked Leah.
“No, I’d forgotten all about it. I suppose I’d better get some shots of the guests – and outside! Oh, Josh, we have to get a shot of the shopfront and all the balloons,” She leapt up out of her seat.
Josh was soothing. “Relax, hon, I’ll do it, you stay there and enjoy yourself.”
“Would you mind? I left it out back in the office – it should be underneath
my jacket –”
“It’s fine, I’ll find it,” he interjected, and with a grin, said to the others, “Andrew Clarke doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for. This one would forget her head if it wasn’t well screwed on.”
“Josh Ryan,” Leah exclaimed. “I’ll have you know that I’m well capable of remembering things, and it’s Andrew that’s getting the better part of the bargain. Now out you get and do a bit of work for yourself. All you’ve done all night so far is scoff all my hard work.”
“Well, that’s your own fault for going out with a diagnosed chocoholic,” Josh teased, giving her a quick kiss. The he winked at the others. “Why else do you think I snapped her up?”
Leah feigned outrage but Olivia could see she was trying not to smile. Things had obviously improved between those two, and whatever rough patch Leah had thought they were experiencing must have been overcome. She was pleased.
“If you keep on like that you’ll find yourself out on your ear one of these days,” Leah said. “Now stop annoying me and go and get some footage before people start leaving.”
“OK, OK, I’m going,” he said, and with a final cheeky wink at Olivia and Kate – one that left them panting in his wake – off he went for the camcorder.
“Don’t end up taking too much rubbish,” Leah called after him. “Short clips of something are better than long clips of nothing.” But Josh was already out of earshot. She turned to the others and shook her head. “He’s a disaster with that camera. And I know that the fact he has a couple of drinks in him isn’t exactly going to improve his camerawork. It’s a terrible pity we don’t have one of those LCD display things on it, then he might have some idea of the rubbish he’s actually filming.”
“He seems in good form,” Kate commented. “He must be relieved that everything’s finally up and running now.”
Leah nodded. “Yeah, it’s been tough on him, really. I’ve hardly been at home in the last few weeks. But I think things should settle down a bit after tonight.”
“I’ll say it before and I’ll say it again: Leah Reid, you are one lucky cow,” Kate said, shaking her head. “What I wouldn’t do …”
“Hi, everyone.” Kate froze instantly while, as if from nowhere, Michael sat down and put a protective arm around her shoulders. “Hey, congratulations, Leah, great party.” He took a sip of his drink, eager to get into the swing of things. “So, what were you saying, just then, love?” he asked his wife. “What wouldn’t you do?”
Kate, Olivia and Leah looked at one another and promptly burst out laughing.
28
Robin wasn’t sure she had heard right. “Are you serious?” she asked, wondering if the oppressive humidity was making her imagine things. There she was, sitting in an eighteenth-floor office on Park Avenue with a view over Central Park most New Yorkers would kill for, and the scary woman sitting across from her had said that her and Ben’s little booklet was “a brainwave, a money-spinner, a work of absolute genius”.
“But – but it’s not even a real book!” Robin interjected, stopping the other woman’s enthusiastic rant. “I mean it was just a thought – just a joke, really.”
This was all too surreal for words.
It had been weeks since she had provided Kirsty’s school with extra copies of Atchoo the Alligator, but since then, the school principal had been phoning her on a regular basis to pass on compliments and thanks from some of the children’s parents.
“The story’s message is getting through,” the principal told her. “These parents have been tearing their hair out for years trying to get the kids to help control the condition, and now this book is encouraging them to do it. They’ll be forever grateful to you.”
One particularly grateful mother had come in the form of Janine Johnston, an employee of Bubblegum Press, a small New York children’s publisher with offices on Park Avenue. Immediately recognising the book’s potential, and the fact that it had an immediate effect on her young asthmatic son, Janine arranged a meeting with the company’s Acquisitions Editor. By the end of following week, Robin discovered that – without ever once having thought about it – she was to become a published author.
“It’ll be huge,” Marla, the publishing director had enthused, after informing Robin of her plans over the telephone. “The story is simple, accessible, and if we get a good illustrator on board, we could make a real killing here.”
“Oh, you don’t want to use the same graphics?” Robin had said, wondering how Ben would feel about all this. It was his book, after all, his idea and his hard work that had made the book what it was.
But as it turned out, Ben couldn’t care less. “I just downloaded the stuff from some clip-art site on the web,” he said, clearly unconcerned about it. “It’s your story and if they want to bring in some hotshot illustrator to improve it even more, then all the better!”
Now, listening to Marla outline her plans for publishing Atchoo the Alligator, Robin wondered if this was all a set-up, just another one of Ben’s silly practical jokes.
“I’ve had to rearrange our list so as to get it out by the end of the year. Then we can make a quick killing at Christmas – and also before the rest of them get in on the act.”
Robin looked at her blankly.
“The other publishers. If any of them get wind of this thing they’ll be in like wildfire with one of their own.”
“Oh.”
“Now, in order to generate word of mouth we’re going to heavily target schools, hospitals, support agencies, places like that. Once we’ve got a buzz going, then we’ll think about blitzing general bookstores and …”
Robin let most of Marla’s plan of action go over her head. She still couldn’t believe that they were offering to publish her little book. How was it possible? Surely, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of children’s writers, any writers, that were more suitable for this than she was? When she said this to Marla, the publisher laughed.
“Robin, in this game, most of the time, the writing doesn’t matter. It’s the big idea, honey, the concept – forget wizards in boring old boarding schools, this is the next big thing in children’s publishing, I can feel it!”
“Well, you’re the expert,” Robin said, not quite sharing Marla’s enthusiasm. Atchoo was a cute little story certainly, and Kirsty and her classmates seemed to love it but …
“There’s more,” Marla said, leaning forward and interrupting her thoughts. “David and I had a meeting this morning,” David was Bubblegum’s MD, “and he wants to take it further, corner the market before the competition jump on the bandwagon.” She nodded sardonically out the window. “Once a trend starts on Park Avenue, it won’t be long before every publisher on the avenue, and America, follows suit. Bubblegum are determined to keep ahead of the game.”
The game? With all this talk of tactics and blitzing, Robin wondered whether publishing was actually some form of elaborate war-game.
She wondered what else was coming.
“We want you to do some more books,” Marla said, “cover some more children’s problems – things like say Diabetes Deer, or Epilepsy Elephant or Asthma Ass.” She laughed, apparently at her own lack of imagination. “Hey, I dunno – you’re the creative one here, but, Robin, do you know what percentage of American children suffer from one or other of those ailments I just mentioned? Take peanut allergies …”
Robin opened her mouth to speak but Marla plunged on, explaining that apparently the number of children with severe peanut
allergies in the US had grown tenfold in a generation.
“It’s the most common food allergy, and there’s no cure and no means of prevention,” she told Robin, who had given up trying to get a word in. “I read only yesterday somewhere that two and a half million Americans now are peanut allergic, and something like five percent of all children under age six. Several hundred thousand are at risk for life-threatening reactions – talk about a target market! We’re sitting on a fortune here, Robin!”
Robin was in two minds. Yes, the thought of writing more stories that might help some of those children appealed to her enormously, but she hated the way the
publisher made it all sound so predatory. Marla and the others didn’t really care whether the books actually helped – they were just thinking of their admittedly huge target market.
Still, she supposed, business was business, and if she didn’t do it, then it wouldn’t be long before they found someone who would. And this was really too exciting an opportunity to turn down.
“I suppose I could try out a few things and – ”
“Great! Let me talk to David – we’ll get going on the illustrator, and hopefully, get these babies sold before publication all over Europe, and possibly – hey!” She paused in mid-sentence, eyes widening. “China! That’s something I never thought of! Imagine all those Chinese kids with peanut allergies – poor kids, what are they gonna do – don’t they put nuts in everything there?” She slammed down the intercom button. “Hey, Bonnie, get me George in Rights on the line when he’s finished that conference call – we gotta do something about getting this series to the Chinese!”
IT DIDN’T SURPRISE Robin when later over lunch, Marla informed her that before working in the always-dynamic publishing world, she had worked in the even faster-paced New York fashion industry. Apparently, she started work at six-thirty am each morning and didn’t leave the office until late that evening, having spent the entire day on the phone to editors, agents and publishers in different countries. Robin didn’t know how the woman did it. Some days, Robin could barely summon up the enthusiasm to work nine to five.