West smiled reassuringly. He knew she believed what she said. After all, he’d heard it so many times. People would swear blind they hadn’t told someone something, and get embarrassed when faced with proof that they had but had forgotten. All it needed was the wrong person to get the right piece of information for it to cause untold damage.
Edel picked up her wine glass, drained and refilled it. She stood, swirling the wine around, and looked at him. ‘I mean it, I’ll handle this myself.’
Putting his empty beer glass down, he poured a glass of wine and sat back. ‘How about a compromise,’ he suggested. ‘You have a word with your pal, Aidan, and I’ll do a bit of a background search on him. Strictly under the radar.’ He watched as her eyes narrowed, wondering if there was a catch.
‘Strictly under the radar and no official garda investigation?’ she said.
‘Nothing official,’ he agreed, nodding. There was no point in enlightening her. Many of their investigations were unofficial. Neither was there any point in telling her that he was going to look into the others too: the publisher Hugh Todd, and her agent Owen Grady.
He hid a smile at how easy their names came to him once he was viewing them as possible criminals. Under the circumstances, she was unlikely to find it amusing.
21
Edel contacted Aidan Power by email the next morning. She decided on a simple, short Can we meet today? and hoped he’d be intrigued enough to agree.
He was, and immediately responded. Two o’clock, The Coffee Pot on Harcourt Street.
Perfect. And that was her one-word reply. Perfect.
She took out the photographs and looked at them again, her nose crinkling in disgust at seeing her face attached to a body in such a lewd, compromising position. They were well done, if she hadn’t known better, she’d have been fooled. For a second, she wondered if West had been, and shook the thought away.
She sat back in her chair and sighed. She should be writing, but couldn’t drag up any enthusiasm for it. Anyway, finding another publisher might be hard. A thought crossed her mind. Owen Grady. Had he received a set of the photos? It wasn’t something she wanted to ask over the phone. How can you gently drop into a conversation, have you recently received compromising photos of me? She gave a dry laugh and ran her hands through her hair, holding it away from her neck before dropping it. The best thing to do was to go and see him before her meeting with Aidan.
She’d have to dress carefully. More than ever, she needed to portray an efficient professional image. It would take a while to get those photographs out of her mind. For a moment, she felt ill at the thought. She’d waited such a long time for the success that had been within touching distance, and now it had been destroyed. Someone was going to be held accountable. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath.
In her room, she opened the wardrobe and searched for an appropriate outfit. She discounted anything frivolous, colourful or anyway revealing. Eventually, she pulled on navy trousers and a navy polo-neck jumper. When she pulled on a navy coat, she checked herself in the full-length mirror. It was a little severe, and a stark contrast to the wanton woman in those photos. Would they see it as a case of the lady protesting too much?
She’d pinned her hair up in a tight knot. Undoing it, she shook her head, ran her fingers through her hair and checked again. Much better. Grabbing her bag and her keys, she headed out.
The car park in Greystones was, as usual, full. Giving up after a few useless circuits, she decided to drive to the city. Maybe she’d do a bit of shopping.
She found parking easily in the Stephen’s Green centre but the idea that Owen Grady had seen the photographs was preying on her mind and she couldn’t relax until she knew one way or the other. The walk to Harcourt Street took her through the Green. Even this early in the year, with a cold breeze biting, it was full of people either sitting, hanging over the bridge taking photographs, or people like herself taking the most scenic route from one place to the next. A vacant seat overlooking the pond beckoned her to sit for a while; she ignored it and walked briskly to the agent’s office.
The receptionist was surprised to see her but was as cordial as she had been the previous visit leading Edel to believe the photographs hadn’t been sent. Tension eased a little and she took the seat indicated while she waited to see if Owen was available.
‘He’ll be free to see you in ten minutes,’ the receptionist said when she returned, adding with a smile, ‘Help yourself to coffee.’
The vending machine was hidden behind a large, leafy and very artificial plant, and it served surprisingly good coffee. Ten minutes later, Edel’s cup was empty, there was still no sign of the agent so she helped herself to a second one. She’d taken her first sip when he appeared through a door to her right, a slight frown between his eyes when he saw her.
It was hard to know if the frown indicated a state of disapproval or not. She didn’t know him well enough to tell and predicted she’d be second-guessing many things from then on.
‘Come on through to my office,’ he said, standing back to allow her to pass into the narrow corridor.
His office was as she’d remembered or maybe a little untidier. She sat without invitation and waited for him to take his seat behind the desk.
‘You were lucky,’ he said, his voice giving nothing away. ‘I’d planned to be out this morning, but a meeting was cancelled. Now, what can I do for you?’
Edel had been so sure he’d have seen the photographs, that she hadn’t planned what to say if he hadn’t. She laughed nervously. It was only a matter of time before he heard the news from Hugh Todd. It was better if he heard it from her. Damage limitation, wasn’t that the term they used?
‘There’s a problem,’ she said, and watched as his frown deepened.
‘You’ve signed a contract,’ he said, tapping his pen on the desk.
It was her turn to frown. She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not that,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to get out of my contract, I’m very happy for you to continue as my agent.’ She gave another nervous laugh. ‘Unfortunately, you may not feel the same.’
He leaned forward. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what this problem is.’
There was no easy way to tell him. Reluctant as Edel was for anyone else to see the photographs, showing them to him was easier than putting it into words.
Grady took the envelope she handed him and looked at the contents with a raised eyebrow. ‘Well,’ he said, putting them back. ‘I can see how this could be a problem. I’m just not sure why you’ve come to me. If someone is blackmailing you, you should go to the gardaí.’
‘They’re not photographs of me,’ Edel said, horrified. Reaching out, she snatched the envelope from his hand.
He shrugged. ‘It looks like you.’
‘It was made to look like me, but I can assure you,’ she said, lifting her chin, ‘that it is most definitely not.’
There was a moment’s silence, broken only by Grady’s pen tapping on his desk. ‘I’m still not sure why you’ve come to me with this.’
Edel sighed loudly. ‘To be honest, I thought you’d have already seen them.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Similar photographs were sent to Hugh Todd, Books Ireland Inc and my partner.’
‘Ah,’ Grady said, dropping the pen and sitting back. ‘Hugh is as strait-laced as they come, and Books Ireland Inc definitely wouldn’t have been too pleased to see one of their children’s authors in such compromising photographs. I’m sure Mike wasn’t too happy either.’
‘Books Ireland Inc rang FinalEdit Publishing and said they were pulling all my books.’ She felt tears well and fought them back. ‘Hugh rang me. He’s cancelled my contract for both the children’s books and the new saga. It seems there’s something in the small print that states I must refrain from engaging in activities that could bring me or the publisher into disrepute.’
Grady nodded. ‘Exclusion contracts are common. It’s a shame you don’t write erotic fiction,’ he sa
id, ‘they could use it to promote you.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ she snapped. Then, feeling tears welling again, she said quietly, ‘What am I going to do?’
Grady scratched his head, ran a hand over his face and looked at her intently. ‘What do the gardaí say?’
She shook her head angrily and waved the envelope. ‘I’m not involving the gardaí. You think I want these spread about? It’s bad enough that you and Hugh have seen them, never mind how many people at Books Ireland Inc. But it stops there. Anyway,’ she said, putting the envelope back into her handbag, ‘I think I know who might be responsible.’
Grady’s eyes widened. ‘You do?’
She ignored his question. ‘If I can sort it out, prove it isn’t me in those photos, can I recover?’
‘I might be able to get you a publishing contract for your new book,’ he said, and stressed, ‘only might.’ He picked up his pen and drummed it on the desk. ‘If you can prove you’re innocent, we can definitely reduce the damage, but it better be soon.’ He tossed the pen down and crossed his arms. ‘I think it will be a difficult proposition with your children’s books. Books Ireland Inc aren’t going to take the risk. It might be wise to withdraw them for a few years, and then republish them under a pseudonym.’
Much as she disliked the idea, it made sense.
Seeing her accept the necessity, the agent pushed a little more. ‘It might be as well to approach a different publisher with your new novel under a pseudonym too,’ he continued. ‘They’ll have heard the gossip, of course, it’s too small a business not to, but under a different name they could brush it aside.’
For a moment, Edel agreed, and then Simon came into her head. He’d used a false name to trick so many people. Pretence. It was a trap for the foolish. ‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘on second thoughts I won’t use a pseudonym, not for my children’s books, not for my saga. I’ll clear myself, and I will fight for the right to be published under my own name.’ The corner of her mouth lifted in an attempt at a smile. ‘After all, what is it they say about there being no such thing as bad publicity?’
Grady tried to persuade her, but she wouldn’t budge. ‘Okay,’ he said, holding up his hands in defeat. ‘If you clear your name, I’ll see what I can do but there are no guarantees.’
She picked up her bag and stood. ‘There rarely are, Owen. But I can give you one. I will clear my name.’
Her head held high, she left the office and went back down Earlsfort Terrace. She’d only gone a few steps when something struck her, and her pace slowed until she stopped completely. Turning, she glanced up at the office she’d just left and saw Owen Grady looking down at her. She held his gaze for a moment before raising her hand in farewell, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to do. Then she walked on.
She didn’t stop until she was back inside Stephen’s Green. Then she sat on the first bench she came to and drew a ragged breath. I’m sure Mike wasn’t too happy. Her relationship with Owen had been strictly professional, there had never been any reason to mention Mike so how did he know his name?
Hadn’t she felt railroaded into taking Grady on as an agent? Maybe he was the one who sent the photographs?
Aidan had recommended him. Were they in it together? But for pity’s sake, what reason would they have? Mike was right; she should report it to the police. She went as far as taking out her phone before changing her mind and putting it away again. It would be better to wait until after she’d seen Aidan Power.
Then she’d decide what to do.
22
There were hours to kill before Edel’s meeting with her editor. She thought about going to Brown Thomas and headed in that direction only to change her mind when she got to the door. Beautiful clothes, the fragrance of perfumes, and the smell and feel of good leather handbags and shoes weren’t going to work today. Instead, she kept walking and turned onto Wicklow Street. When clothes and perfume didn’t help there was always chocolate.
A few minutes later, she was sitting in Butlers Café with a cappuccino and a selection of chocolate sweets going over and over her conversation with Owen. She tried to remember the tone of voice he’d used, or whether he’d looked uncomfortable at any time. With a sigh, she was forced to admit he’d looked relaxed the whole way through. He’d shown little expression even when faced with those hideous photos. Was it because he was responsible? She dropped her head into her hand. This was proving more of a conundrum than she’d anticipated. She finished the chocolates and sat back. How would Mike handle it? Wouldn’t he gather all the information first, and not jump to conclusions? It was what she needed to do.
At ten minutes to two, she headed back down Grafton Street and skirted around Steven’s Green onto Harcourt Street. As she walked, she tried to keep her focus on three things: Aidan Power made her feel uncomfortable; he’d suggested Owen Grady as an agent; and Owen knew something about her that he shouldn’t.
The Coffee Pot was busy. According to her phone it was exactly two o’clock but there was no sign of the editor. Having already had more than her fair share of caffeine she ordered herbal tea and looked around for a seat. There wasn’t a table free but she quickly and surreptitiously weighed up the various customers and approached a table where a lone woman sat in front of a nearly empty cup.
‘Would you mind if I sat here?’ she said with a smile, indicating the empty chair.
The woman shook her head. ‘I was just leaving anyway,’ she said, lifting her cup and draining it. With a friendly nod, she stood and left.
Edel took off her jacket, dropped it on the vacant chair and sat back with her eyes fixed on the door. She checked the time. He was late. It was another fifteen minutes before he arrived. Not hurrying, she noticed, instantly annoyed to see him saunter through the door.
He crossed the café to her table. ‘A meeting ran later than expected,’ he said, without offering an apology. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’
Perhaps, after all, caffeine might be necessary. ‘I’ll have a double espresso,’ she said. The queue at the counter was slow, giving her time to observe him as he stood waiting to be served, hands plunged deep into his expensive-looking leather jacket. Everything about him was overdone. His clothes, the impeccably shiny shoes, and hair that she guessed wouldn’t move in a hurricane.
She quickly pasted a smile in place when he glanced over and caught her staring. He didn’t return the smile, giving her a what-can-I-do shrug at the slowness of the queue, and looking away.
‘I think the barista is new,’ he said, when he finally returned bearing her espresso and a macchiato.
‘Thanks,’ she said, adding a sachet of sugar to her cup and stirring briskly. She took a sip, put the cup down and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I’m sure Hugh told you about the photographs,’ she said. ‘I’m determined to find out who is responsible.’
He looked away. Crossing one perfectly-creased trouser leg over the other, he picked up his cup and took a sip, pausing as if to savour the taste, before taking another and never looking her way.
If he was trying to provoke her, he was doing a good job. Her hands clenched into fists; sharp words poised on her lips. Taking a deep breath, she looked around the small coffee shop. Couples, singles, workers, shoppers, tourists. They were all here, dealing with whatever life threw at them. Letting her breath out slowly, she relaxed and released her hands; to lose control wouldn’t help, she could wait him out.
‘Hugh was really shocked,’ Power said finally, drawing her attention back to him.
She met his gaze. ‘He really thought the photos were of me?’
‘Weren’t they?’ he said, his voice cold.
Her audible gasp wasn’t in response to his remark, but to a sudden revelation. The admiring looks he’d sent her way, the flirtatious remarks he’d made, they were a lie. It was there in the sneer; in the derisive look he gave her. He didn’t like her. She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, he was staring at her, much as she h
ad been staring at him a few minutes before.
‘Why do you dislike me?’ she asked, deciding she had nothing to lose.
‘What’s to like?’ he said, looking at her as if she were something he’d scrape off his shoe. ‘You’re not nearly as good a writer as you think you are, and now it seems your morals leave a lot to be desired.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Thank goodness, I don’t have to pretend anymore.’
Shock left her incapable of words. It was tempting to get up and run from the café but she refused to give him that satisfaction. The veneer of friendliness had gone. All she could see was contempt and dislike… no, more than that… disgust.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, hating the plaintive quality in her voice. She cleared her throat. ‘Why did you agree to meet me?’
He shrugged. ‘I thought it might be fun.’
Fun? She put a hand over her mouth as her lower lip started to tremble. She wasn’t going to cry. Dropping her hand, she lifted her chin. ‘You sent those photographs, didn’t you.’
His laugh was unexpected. ‘You see, I was right. This is fun.’
‘But you did send them.’ Edel pushed. ‘I don’t want to go to the gardaí, but I will if you don’t admit it and tell me why you would do such a thing.’
He finished his coffee and pushed the cup away. ‘It’s getting boring now. Women are like that, they never know when to shut up.’ When she sat silently looking at him, he sighed loudly. ‘No, you stupid bitch, I didn’t send the damn photos. Why would I? If you want to spread your legs for every cock in Dublin, why should I care?’
She was taken aback. She’d been so sure. But despite the crudeness of what he’d said, she believed him.
Hurriedly, she gathered her thoughts. If it weren’t him, who was it? ‘How well do you know Owen Grady?’ she asked.
‘Hardly at all,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘Anyway, much as I’m enjoying our little chat, I have a meeting to get to.’ He stood, and without another word or look in her direction, left.
The Dublin Murder Mysteries: Books four to six Page 14
