Miss South

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Miss South Page 20

by Kay Williams


  “I see your point.”

  “You might find that you sit down with them and they say it’s a terrible idea and that you need to get a job as soon as you get home. But I don’t want you to assume that all of this has to stop once you arrive home. Maybe it will be a diluted version of this moment, but if you don’t ask the question you are never going to get the chance to wear that ball gown you are so desperate to get dressed up in.”

  South laughed assuming I was teasing but if she could stay relevant in the four or so weeks she was home than I would have the perfect excuse to buy her that ball gown and fly her back to New York to come to my fundraiser.

  “It’s been my hobby for so long, and it’s never felt like work. The whole idea that it could earn me a living was just never reality.”

  “It’s like you said,” I agreed with her. “You aren’t sitting here now because of your own hard work and careful advertising; it happened because I was reading your book. I won’t say that I know how you feel but I can understand that it must be hard and strange to be so instantly famous.”

  “It’s like being thrown up in the air and catching a really high rung on the ladder and my fingers are slipping all the time. Lemon Grove in on the floor with a safety net and I’m not going to get hurt on the way down, so it’s easier to plan to let go and accept the fall then hang on ungracefully until the bitter end.”

  “I love your analogies,” I smiled. “I think if you talk to Jonathan and Rosemary you’ll find that while you’ve been hanging on they have been winching up the safety net. I don’t think you will have as far to fall as you think you do and you’ll be in a place where your feet have a rung as well so you can start to climb. You definitely won’t be going back to only five sales a week. With good advertising, good interviews, working at your public speaking and getting noticed at public events and your own signings you could easily be back to this rung in a year or so all on your own.”

  “And developing even a small career strengthens my end of our bridge so when the press start to clamber all over it when you come over for coffee it can hold its own.”

  “Exactly. When I say share, Harriet it is not just physical things we can give each other. It’s also things like time, and good publicity.”

  “Not wearing fake jewellery when you take me to expensive dinners inviting ridicule.”

  So that was why she hadn’t been wearing anything when we went to dinner, but I nodded surprised that she had been thinking of that when we had gone out.

  “Work out your figures, be practical, remember you’ll need to self-assess and paying taxes can get pretty expensive, and just see how willing they are to support you. If they don’t think they can give you what you need than start looking for work.”

  South nodded and I tried not to let the victory grin reach my lips.

  If she wasn’t happy in the spotlight full-time I would understand, plenty of celebrities only paraded out in front of the press for large events or for charity work, but she would get less hassle from the bigger tabloids when we were together if she had a small, healthy presence elsewhere.

  “Come on,” I said, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I’ll escort back to your room.”

  “Very gentlemanly of you,” South smiled, waiting while I gathered up my things and we started back to the elevator together. “Do you plan to be as gentlemanly after crossing the threshold?”

  I nearly tripped over my feet at the direct question and found myself staring at her.

  # # #

  Harriet South

  The shock sat so plainly on Heronsgate’s face that I wished I could take the words back.

  I remembered how softly he had said my name in the carriage before the accident, and the promise in his eyes as he had lent down to kiss me.

  Maybe I had been wrong though, maybe he hadn’t meant to infer that anything would happen that night or any other, or maybe he was happy with a few passionate kisses and taking things more slowly until we knew each other better. Heronsgate had said that making new friends was complicated so it made sense that he was even more careful when it came to moving those friendships along into something more serious. He had all but promised to stay close after I went home and after his fundraiser when he was back in the UK that we would pick up where we had left off with dinners and time together, maybe he just wanted to date a bit first.

  Then again he had held me so close on the dance floor I had been able to feel every movement of his muscles and he had broken the kiss at the hospital only after stating that we would finish it somewhere less public.

  Too many mixed messages.

  I should have kept my mouth shut.

  The elevator arrived, and was thankfully empty when it opened.

  The silence was growing thick and awkward.

  “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry,” I apologised. “You take it, I’ll wait for the next one.”

  Heronsgate took a few breaths as if he wanted to say something but eventually entered the elevator and chose his floor.

  Instead of hitting the button I settled for the stairs, it was only a few floors and I needed to walk off my stupidity.

  I scanned myself back into my suite and as much as I wanted to grab a little mini bottle of vodka from the fridge I settled for a water, mixed the memory potion into it and swallowed it down in several mouthfuls before crawling into bed.

  A shudder rocked the carriage in a metallic wrenching, and the roaring sounds of a crash and the frightened screams of people shattered the peace, we didn't even have a moment of confusion before we were both thrown from our seats as our carriage hit the one in front and jumped the tracks before grinding to a stop.

  I didn't remember the flight it had happened too fast but I remembered hitting the pole; the blinding pain of the initial connection, the carriage flicking in front of my eyes, the continuing aggressive throbbing as I stayed conscious and the hot, wet, sticky sensation of my blood streaming down one side of my face.

  Everything was too dark until a bright light flared up a few inches away.

  “Harriet?”

  “Henry?”

  It was less of a word and more of a whimper even to my own ears but I could barely cling to the pole that had tried to kill me and couldn't find the strength to try his name again. He didn't need it though, he found me easily and his large hands were warm and gentle as he cupped the uninjured side of my face trying to see the damage in the light from his phone.

  “Harriet, say something.”

  I really wished I could but the throbbing in my head seemed to have a direct line to my stomach and even the thought of opening my mouth made me feel like I was going to throw up. I honestly didn't think that it could possibly feel any worse but then Heronsgate pressed his handkerchief to the wounds trying to clean it and I was fairly sure that his attempt at kindness was going to kill me which meant that I struggled to push it away. Thankfully, he pulled me against his chest and suddenly cold beyond all reason I clung to the warmth of him, deciding that he could kill me as he continued to poke the head wound so long as I died warm I didn't care.

  “Everything is going to be alright, sweetheart,” Heronsgate whispered as if all I had done bump my head and not crack it open. “Just try to stay awake for me, okay?”

  I tried to open my eyes but the light from the phone was too bright. Heronsgate's not so gentle attentions to my wound seemed to be doing the trick though. Where everything had been fading and blurry only a few moments before it was now easier to breathe, open my eyes and the pain and sickness had eased.

  “Try and stay awake, sweetheart. I'm going to get us out of here, say strong for me.”

  I didn't want him to let go but he eased away and left me with the light. He had only taken three steps before I was instinctively seizing the pole again as the carriage lurched with his body weight. Heronsgate stumbled back next to me; he had told me to stay awake and stay strong and as poking at the head wound seemed to be accomplishing that I picked up my sh
awl and began to timidly press the fabric to my head. It didn't hurt nearly as much as before and I was sure not nearly enough as it should.

  Heronsgate decided to try for the other door, the one that should have been connected to the carriage in front, the light from his phone was bright but it didn't touch the whole carriage even so I could see quite clearly the moment Heronsgate's feet left the carriage floor by a couple of inches and he floated there.

  I hated coining Harper's preferred phrase, but everyone knew that Heronsgate wasn't a magic user, so how was he able to float? It had to be the head wound, there was no way I was seeing what I was seeing. He turned around and floated back to me, I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the shawl against my gash hard enough for it to hurt again trying to dispel the vision of Heronsgate floating.

  “We are straddling the rail,” he said softly. “We aren't connected to the other carriage anymore.”

  “I feel cold.”

  I had felt cold the moment I had cracked my head open, but this was the first time I didn't think I would pass out or throw up by making the complaint. Heronsgate responded instantly, taking off his jacket and flipping it over my shoulders before guiding my hands carefully into the sleeves.

  A whine of complaint escaped me an instant later when he slid his arms around me and lifted me up. Sitting still had caused my head to throb dully, moving sent it crashing back into a more brutal pain.

  “It's okay, sweetheart, we are almost out of here.”

  “Don't call me sweetheart. It's a special word.”

  Only Angela called me sweetheart, my mum had used the endearment ever since I was a little girl, I really didn't like the idea of thinking of Heronsgate in the same paternal way as I did my mum.

  I sucked in another pained breath when Heronsgate tightened his grip. He had cause to be concerned; looking over his shoulder I noticed that the distant city lights vanished as the window in the far door slid down until only the dark choppy water of the Hudson was in view. But we weren't sliding down the carriage to meet it, I looked down and Heronsgate was once again displaying his strange ability. Not just in a few inches this time, but in several feet, flying in the middle of the carriage that was now falling off the rail and down to the murky water.

  The door and lower windows shattered inwards as the carriage hit the Hudson, but instead of being swamped with shattered glass and freezing water we were flying upwards towards the other door.

  Heronsgate loosened his grip and I let out a startled cry; frightened that he was going to drop me and save himself. Only to be ashamed of myself in the next instant when he guided my toes to stand on his feet and he used one arm to pin me to his chest while trying to pull the other door open.

  The carriage was sinking fast and when the frozen water touched my bare toes I shuddered violently; I didn't even know when I had lost my shoes. I started to cry when I realised I was killing us both, he could have been free and clear if it hadn't been for me. Now the water was up to our hips he couldn't hold me and open the door and we were both going to die.

  I wanted to tell him to let me go, but the pain in my head was back and the temperature of the water was making it hard for me to draw enough breath for the words.

  The door gave way as the water reached our waists, and Heronsgate used both arms to hold me close so the carriage could sink and we would pass safely through the open door.

  I could hear cries as frightened as the ones I didn't have the strength to issue, and there was a dull roaring that I wasn't sure was a real noise or just the pain in my head. Heronsgate was perfectly still though, he didn't kick or try to swim in the water, he was just stationary, continuing to fly in the water. It suddenly got a lot colder as Heronsgate lowered us shoulder deep in the frozen water. He was trying to clean the gash and blood from my hair but now wasn't really the time for that, why wasn't he just flying us to safety?

  “Henry,” I complained.

  Even through my renewed shivering I felt Heronsgate flinch as a bright spotlight found us, that was went Heronsgate finally began to kick and swim, but he didn't struggle for long before the lifeboat I hadn't realised was coming to rescue us arrived and three hands took my arms and lifted me effortlessly from the water.

  I was laid down on something hard and someone I didn't know was calling my name.

  I didn't feel it when I watched a needle go into my arm.

  But the pain stopped and everything went dark.

  # # #

  Henry Heronsgate

  I scowled at South’s author board and the most recent update from her team; the photo was taken in the suite I had brought for her and she sat surrounded by flowers and bouquets of all sizes and colours, helium filled get well balloons, teddy bears and trinkets. She said she was overwhelmed by the support and generosity of her fans.

  Her publishers also used the post to advertise the two extra signing dates to reassure her public that no long-term damage had been done.

  I had cancelled the flowers I had been planning to order for her, there was no point when they would be lost amongst the sea of offerings after my stupidity the night before.

  I still couldn’t believe how I had reacted, South had asked me back to her suite, invited me across the threshold and hinted at the fact she was happy if we took the step to a more physical relationship. Permission that I had been aching for her to give me for days; but she had done it with a question that had tripped me up and instead of responding to it I had manage an ‘umm’ and completely ruined the moment.

  I dropped my phone back into my pocket and knocked on the door.

  Harriet opened the door and I didn’t blame her for looking nervous and hesitant as she let me in. I was going to have to hope that another chunk of my dignity and my honesty was going to be as welcome as a bunch of flowers.

  “You got away early today,” South managed.

  I took in the riot of colours, scents and gifts South had neatly organised on one side of the room while she was working from the sofa with her laptop.

  “We have just won an indoor karting season, which has come as a bit of a surprise for all involved. So I have decided to take afternoon off before there is a celebratory dinner tonight with the crew and the drivers who are flying up from Texas.”

  “Congratulations,” South smiled. “Something to drink?”

  “Please,” I said.

  We opened the fridge and she poured out her usual cocktail and I grabbed a soda before we moved to the sofa, where she saved her work and closed her laptop. It was a bulky old model and I hoped with her next pay day due tomorrow she took advantage of her stay in one of the major technological hubs on Earth and bought something to replace it with, before I did something unnecessary like buy a new one for her.

  “You were right,” South started before I could launch into my planned explanation. “Rosemary and Jonathan had been winching up the safety net.”

  “Were they pleased?”

  “Rosemary burst into tears and had to excuse herself. I freaked out thinking that it was going to be bad news until Jonathan explained all of Lemon Groves past to me.”

  “Go on,” I encouraged, calling myself a coward as I did.

  “Rosemary started Lemon Grove when she couldn’t get a company to publish her own work. It grew and Jonathan jumped on board when she couldn’t cope alone any more. A few years ago she took on a novel that proved very popular, they both got excited thinking they might have a best seller on their hands and were hoping to get involved in proper signings and tour dates. The author saw how popular it was and decided that he had picked up on enough of the basics of self-marketing and he didn’t need Lemon Grove any more. He cancelled the contract with them and self-published thinking he was going to keep more of the profits.”

  “How did that work out for him?”

  “It flopped massively and he came crawling back to Lemon Grove begging for them to take his book back. Rosemary told him no, that the small print on his contract stated that they wouldn’t
re-publish if authors withdrew a title with the purpose of self-publishing. But she said they would look over anything else he had to offer and market the next title if it was as good as his first. He never came back, another publisher did pick up his book, but because it had been published with Lemon Grove, withdrawn and self-published, and withdrawn again and re-published with another company its popularity never picked back up.”

  “The author really shot himself in the foot.”

  “Let greed get the better of him,” South agreed. “I’m different. I wouldn’t need to try and self-publish, with my sales log the way it is and my popularity on a high note any publisher would happily prise me loose of my contract with Lemon Grove and offer me a deal if I went looking for it.”

  “Rosemary thought the money would be as attractive to you as it was to the last guy.”

  “The thought of going elsewhere never even crossed my mind,” South smiled. “I told them I would give them my best full-time effort but if I was paying for hotels and travel I wanted a guarantee of at least fifty thousand sales a month, on the other hand if they wanted to stump up for those kind of costs than I would drop that figure to twenty thousand. We would review month by month and if we hit consecutive months of not meeting either of those figures than we would call it a day.”

  “How did they take that?”

  “Happily, they don’t think I am asking for enough from them considering we have to work in souvenirs as well. I’m being a bit more cautious. They have winched up my net but once I am home I will have to let go of this rung and tour on my own steam. Anything over my minimum threshold is very welcome but I’m not working for anything less.”

 

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