by A. L. Brooks
Jennifer turned to her, one foot already in her car. “Want a lift, darling?”
“Yes, thank you.” Tamsyn slid gratefully into the seat alongside Jennifer. “Life-saver,” she muttered as she closed the door, shutting out the glare of the flash from the woman’s phone.
“Parasites, every last one of them,” Jennifer said, her tone scathing. “But I suppose they do pay the bills.”
Tamsyn faked a laugh but said nothing. No, she didn’t particularly like having a camera rammed in her face every time she left her house, but she’d never considered her fans parasites. She’d forgotten how little she and Jennifer had in common. Thank God they didn’t see each other that often.
After being dropped at her door, which she was genuinely grateful for, and air-kissing Jennifer the obligatory three times, Tamsyn could finally shut the evening away. It took her only fifteen minutes to strip off the outer, glamorous layer and let her hair down. The evening had been necessary, but it had frazzled her—from having to listen to Jennifer prattle on right through being haunted by memories of Maggie, and finally being pounced on by an enthusiastic fan. Each one on their own would have been manageable, but as a combination they were deadly to the calm state she’d been attempting to maintain. It was a fragile calm, she knew that; considering contacting Maggie, and knowing that if it went the way she wanted that would more than likely mean coming out, was a pretty big thing to stay calm about.
She poured herself a glass of fizz, having steadfastly refused alcohol in the restaurant, then flopped down on the sofa in front of the fake fire. For the umpteenth time in the last couple of weeks, she wondered where Maggie was, what she was doing, if she ever thought of Tamsyn. Although that last question had pretty much been answered by the publication of the book. She was more and more inclined to believe Carmen’s theory about that, rather than her own pessimistic version, but at the same time wondered if it was all just wishful thinking.
As she sipped, she scrolled through emails on her phone, then sat bolt upright, nearly spilling her drink, when she spotted one from Carmen sent while she was at dinner. The subject read ‘Operation Maggie is a GO!’ and she scrambled to open it.
Hi hon, we’re all set. Mickey came through with the email, and it was sent out earlier this evening. Her publisher should see it tomorrow morning at the latest, so fingers crossed!
Carmen had signed off with a smiley face, which made Tamsyn roll her eyes, but at the same time, a tingle of excitement ran through her. She just hoped the bait was big enough to hook the publisher and, in turn, Maggie.
“And this is legit?” Maggie stared at the email from her publisher for the fifth time.
“Well, yes.” Polly sounded peeved. “While it is unusual for them to ask to meet with the author, it’s not entirely unheard of.”
“I wasn’t suggesting they were hoodwinking you, Polly.” Maggie rolled her eyes. Polly had always been a tad on the sensitive side, but she had been efficient as Maggie’s main contact at the publishing house, so she couldn’t complain. Moving the phone to her other ear, Maggie used her mouse to scroll down to the original email Polly had received the day before. “I’m just more than a little surprised a Jessica Stewart book would be worthy of dramatisation.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself,” Polly said. “You know how well you sell, and God knows the British public loves a costume drama.”
“True,” Maggie mused, a small flush of pleasure rushing over her at Polly’s words. “So you think I should do it?”
“I don’t think it would hurt to have this preliminary meeting with them next week. Don’t sign anything, obviously—if there’s a contract to be made it will be with us. But I certainly don’t have an issue with you having a chat with them. Feel them out, so to speak. I could come with you, but we’d have to reschedule for after Christmas.”
“Well, I don’t think I want to leave it that long.”
“Indeed.”
“Okay,” Maggie said, her tone decisive even as her insides churned. “Tell them I’ll be there.”
She heard the sound of keys being tapped. “There, sent,” Polly said. “Just listen to what they have to say, and don’t—”
“Yes, I know, don’t commit to anything. Got it.”
They said their goodbyes and Maggie popped the appointment in her phone calendar. She sat back in her chair and gazed out of the window. The small garden at the back of her house was bare, winter having stripped it, and although Gizmo was outside, sniffing at his favourite spots, even he looked despondent in the cold. It wouldn’t be long before he was whining to be let back into the house. They’d take a walk a little later, build up an appetite for lunch.
A film company. It was…ridiculous. She refused to get overexcited; chances were, they’d have some stupid idea about how to convert her book to the screen to make it far more glamorous or over-the-top than she’d written it, and although she cared more about the Maddie Jones books than the Jessica Stewart ones, she wasn’t going to let anyone mess with her work.
As expected, within minutes Gizmo was scratching at the back door. He shook himself down when she let him in, accepted a ruffling of his cold ears, and then went straight to his water bowl. His noisy lapping made her smile—it had been a few days since she’d properly managed one of those. She knew why: Tamsyn. Seeing her at the restaurant had unsettled Maggie to a degree that she still couldn’t quite fathom. Yes, it made her think of Norfolk, and of the wonderful time they’d shared. Yes, it made her wonder for the thousandth time since that trip just what might have been, if Tamsyn had been open to more. But that was eight months ago now, and Maggie really ought to be past the…craving. Only she wasn’t—even a brief view of Tamsyn had emphasised that.
I need to get out. Meet someone. Try again.
She snorted. Like she was even remotely interested.
Looking down at Gizmo, who was now staring up at her, licking his chops, she sighed.
“Come on, you. Let’s get out. I need some air.”
The offices of FilmLight were just off Soho Square, in a modern building that stuck out like a gargoyle amongst the finery of the older structures that surrounded it. Maggie winced at the contrast, bemoaning the crazy planning ideals of the sixties and seventies that had allowed such insults to architecture to be brought to fruition. She hopped up the front step and pushed through the glass doors into a bland lobby enlivened only by large posters on the walls depicting, she presumed, the latest films the company had been involved in.
She had to admit, their résumé was impressive, and a sudden jolt of nerves hit her somewhere low in her belly.
“Hi, can I help you?”
The receptionist was young and chirpy, and Maggie tried her utmost to match her energy, even as she felt more and more out of her depth.
“Jessica Stewart to see Michael Kirby.”
“You have an appointment?”
Maggie nodded and waited while the receptionist tapped a few keys and seemed satisfied with what her screen showed her.
“Perfect. Please take a seat and I’ll let his assistant know you’re here.”
Easing herself into the strange-looking chairs that formed a semi-circle across from the receptionist’s desk, Maggie braced herself to be flipped backwards, or eaten alive by the layers of fabric slats that made up the seat element, but was surprised to find the chair stable and comfortable. Although, she thought, as the slats moved beneath her bottom with each movement she made, getting up could be another matter.
She tried to breathe evenly and compose herself.
Just a preliminary meeting. Nothing to worry about. Just listen to what they have to say.
“Ms Stewart?”
She looked up to see a statuesque brunette walking her way, her heels clicking on the tiled floor of the lobby.
“Yes.” Maggie rose from the chair, thankful beyond measure she
managed it in one smooth action, and shook the proffered hand.
“I’m Scarlett, Mickey’s assistant. Please, follow me.”
Without waiting for a response, the woman turned on a sixpence and marched off towards a pair of lifts just beyond the reception desk. She punched the ‘Up’ button and smiled at Maggie as she caught up. The doors opened with a loud ping and Maggie followed Scarlett into the small car.
“How has your day been so far?” Scarlett asked as the doors closed.
“Oh, fine.” Maggie’s voice croaked, and she winced.
Scarlett smiled but said nothing more. The lift was slow and rumbled as it made its way up to the third floor, which only added to Maggie’s nerves. She was relieved when they finally reached their destination and Scarlett led her out of the lift and down a carpeted corridor to a small conference room. It had frosted internal windows that separated it from the harsh lighting of the corridor, and contained only a small round table with six ordinary office chairs circling it.
“Please take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Maggie smiled in gratitude. “Some water would be perfect, thanks.”
“Super. I’ll be right back.” Scarlett swished round and exited the room.
Maggie breathed out slowly and slipped into one of the chairs, dropping her bag onto the floor beside her and undoing, but not removing, her coat. It was cold outside and she still hadn’t warmed up, and she was too old to worry about impressing this Michael Kirby with the way she dressed.
Scarlett returned a minute later with a bottle of water and a glass, placing them on the table with a wide smile.
“They’ll be with you shortly,” she said and left, closing the door behind her, before Maggie could do anything more than murmur her thanks and wonder who ‘they’ were.
She poured herself a half-glass of the water and took a few sips. There wasn’t much to see in the room, not even posters like those that lined the reception area, and that told her this was a room normally used for internal meetings, not showing off to clients. If she’d thought about the meeting at all in advance, which she had tried hard not to, she would have assumed they’d be out to impress her, not tuck her away in this pokey little room deep in the building.
It all seemed a little odd, until the door creaked open, and instead of Michael Kirby, she came face-to-face with Tamsyn Harris.
Chapter 19
Maggie looked so shocked, Tamsyn feared for one moment that she might have a stroke of some sort. Her eyes popped wide open, and her mouth followed a moment later. Then she blinked rapidly and swallowed hard.
Closing the door behind her with a soft click, her gaze locked on Maggie’s, Tamsyn said, “Hi.”
It was all she could manage, now that they were face-to-face again, and she knew it was probably the most idiotic and simplistic start she could have offered to this meeting. Maggie looked incredible, even more beautiful than Tamsyn remembered, and it was as if a mini movie played out in Tamsyn’s mind as she looked at her. All the memories of that wonderful time they spent together whizzed by on a high-speed roll through her brain, and heat spread all over her body at the remembrance of how Maggie had felt in her arms, how it felt to kiss that mouth that was still open in shock as Maggie stared at her.
Maggie finally closed her mouth but still said nothing, her gaze darting to the door and back to Tamsyn’s face. Then she frowned, and sat slowly back in her chair, confusion writ large all over her features.
“I don’t understand,” she said, eventually. There was something else in her eyes now, and Tamsyn flinched as she recognised it.
Anger.
“You’re Maddie Jones, aren’t you?” Tamsyn blurted out, her well-rehearsed lines forgotten in the glare of that anger.
Maggie reeled in her chair. “What?”
“You’re Maddie Jones, and you wrote a book about us, about our time in Norfolk.” Tamsyn’s heart was racing and her words came out in a rush. “I read it. I’ve read all of your books. I love them.” Oh God, now you sound like a besotted teenager. Get a grip!
“Wait. Just…wait. You read the Maddie Jones books?” Maggie’s eyes were so wide Tamsyn worried they’d never regain their normal shape.
Tamsyn nodded, and inhaled deeply to try to calm her heart rate.
“And you figured Maddie Jones was me?”
Tamsyn’s breath caught in her throat. “You… Am I wrong?” Surely not. Surely she hadn’t gone to all this trouble only for—
“No, you’re not wrong.” Maggie spoke in a whisper, shaking her head, then dropped her gaze to the table. She brought her hands up to rest on the wood, and they were trembling. When she looked back up, the confused hurt on her face cut through Tamsyn like a knife. “Tamsyn, what the hell is going on? Why am I here? Why are you?”
“Can…can I sit down? I’ll explain everything, I promise. I just need to sit.”
Maggie shrugged and motioned with one hand to the chair opposite her own. Tamsyn sank into it, grateful her quaking knees could finally have some rest. She too rested her hands on the table, and tried again to gather her thoughts before speaking.
“I’m sorry, Maggie, for confusing you and…” Why had the power of words escaped her? Maggie stared at her. “Well, here’s the thing. I read your latest book and it was us. Or, at least, the first half of it was. And I was so shocked. Shocked that you were her, and, to be honest, shocked you would use our story in one of your books.”
“Use?” Maggie arched one eyebrow, her nostrils flaring.
“Wait, no, wrong choice of word.” Tamsyn sighed. “Actually, no, I have to be honest. That was my first reaction, that you’d merely used our story to make some money.” She winced, waiting for the reaction.
Maggie simply shook her head and looked away, biting at her bottom lip in a move that spoke of her frustration but was also ridiculously sexy, and Tamsyn admonished her libido for going there, right now.
“But then a very good friend of mine made me rethink that. She…she had a couple of theories as to why you’d written it, and knowing what I know of you, her theories were vastly superior to my own pathetic take on things.” It still staggered her how quickly she’d thought the worst of Maggie. “I’m really not proud of my initial reaction. I was scared of being outed”— Maggie snorted but Tamsyn plunged on—“and I had my usual knee-jerk reaction to that. Luckily for me, Carmen has a better head on her shoulders and made me see sense.”
Maggie still wouldn’t look at her, and it was causing a pain the likes of which Tamsyn had never experienced.
“Maggie, please. I’m so sorry for thinking that way. I’ve…I’ve missed you.”
At that, Maggie’s head whipped round, and her eyes locked on Tamsyn’s. There was a mixture of disbelief and wonder in them, and Tamsyn’s heart leaped at the sight.
All or nothing, Tamsyn. She’s here, and you’re probably only going to get this one chance, so bloody well take it.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you ever since I left Norfolk. You…” She chuckled softly, shaking her head at the words she was about to offer up, words she’d never imagined saying in her life. “You torment me. In the nicest way possible of course. And I have no experience of that, and I’ve been fighting so hard against it, trying to keep the facade maintained. But when I read your book, read our story again, and the ending you imagined for us, something broke in me.” She kept her gaze on Maggie, willed her to hear and see the truth of her words. “I wondered what it would be like to have that ending. I wondered if that was what you really wanted, and if I could find you and ask you.” She was shaking now but didn’t bother trying to hide it. “Maybe this is out of line. Perhaps you’re seeing someone. But I couldn’t continue asking the ‘what ifs’, so Carmen helped me set up this elaborate way of getting your attention. I…I didn’t have a way to contact you directly, and I couldn’t be sure yo
u’d respond if I did, so I apologise for the subterfuge, but I just wanted to be able to sit down with you and, well, spill my guts.”
At that, the faintest of smiles did breach Maggie’s defences, and then she exhaled slowly, her fingers twisting together in front of her.
“Ever the diva, huh?” she said, but her smile was warm.
“Well, I could have hired a skywriter, I suppose.”
They were joking; that had to be a good sign, right?
Maggie’s smile widened but she shook her head again. “God, Tamsyn. I…I need a minute to take this all in.” She shuffled in her chair and eased her coat off her shoulders. The simple green jumper she wore underneath only set off her hazel eyes more, and they shone in the glare of the overhead lights.
Tamsyn had to swallow hard to fight back the urge to walk around the table and kiss Maggie senseless.
After taking a couple of deep breaths, Maggie said, “I’ve missed you too. And no, I’m not seeing anyone.”
Tamsyn’s stomach flipped.
“And yes,” Maggie continued, “I did write that book with an ending that I fantasised about us having.” She blushed deep pink. “But I never, for one minute, thought it was possible. It was just that, pure fantasy.” She sighed. “And now, out of the blue, you track me down and make this declaration and, well, I don’t know what to think.”
“Sorry, I have rather blindsided you, haven’t I?” Tamsyn’s stomach rolled in a much more unpleasant way. Maggie looked confused, and unsure, and like she wanted to run.
“Yes, you have.” Maggie’s voice softened. “And as much as it is wonderful to see you again, I’m just in shock. I can’t quite take it all in.”
Don’t force this. Give her space, no matter how badly you want to be with her right now.
“Okay.” Tamsyn swallowed hard. “Then why don’t you take some time to think about what I’ve said, and… Well, about how you feel.”