“No, I mean really think about it.”
“No, seriously? I wasn’t aware there were varying degrees of thinking. I thought you just meant the half-assed kind of thinking.” She smiled and linked arms with Laura, dragging her back onto the bustling street. “Coffee?”
“And that’s just for starters. You need to know exactly what to say when you return her call.”
“What to say? I need to know what she wants first.”
Laura worked for a management group that specialized in elite sports people. She represented some of Britain’s top athletes. Her current favorites were aspiring Olympians and female footballers trying to crack the prestigious US leagues. Her least favorite were the male footballers. Flic loved her dry sense of humor. Laura’s latest line to her whining boys was apparently, “The moment you play like Beckham, I’ll make sure you’re paid like Beckham.”
Flic’s palms began to sweat. “Maybe you should make the call?” She was suddenly nervous at the thought of talking to Dee Macintosh. “I mean, you talk people into paying you more commission for a living, and then they thank you for it! I think you should see what she wants.”
Laura grabbed Flic by the shoulders. “Man up, woman. It’s just a phone call. Do not, and I repeat, do not discuss figures over the phone.”
“Figures about what?”
Laura ignored her. “And don’t sound desperate.”
“What? When do I sound desperate?”
“Every time you want something from me.”
Flic smiled. “And do I get it?”
“Shut up, that’s not the point. Just try to sound calm and cool.” Laura maneuvered Flic by the shoulders to face her reflection in a shop window. She sighed. “Okay, cool will be a stretch, but at least you’re wearing pinstripes.”
Flic shrugged Laura away and straightened her pinstripe jacket. “Let’s just find out what she wants. First.”
They eventually pulled up stools in a café and ordered coffee. As an afterthought, Flic ordered a slice of thickly iced carrot cake.
“They must know to sign you now would be too late.” Laura was thinking aloud. “Maybe they’re trying to cut View Press’s lunch.” She stole the last of the carrot cake from Flic’s plate. “Underhand tactics if it’s true.”
Flic loved Laura’s enthusiasm and the frequency with which she used a phrase out of context or a word that was nearly the right one, but not quite. Flic often wondered how she wooed her clients at all. Perhaps her genuine nature was what set her apart. “I think you only cut someone’s lunch when you steal their girlfriend or boyfriend.”
“Not client?” Laura frowned.
“No, not client.” Flic drank the last of her coffee, even the dregs at the bottom. “Right, no time like the present.”
She listened to the message one last time and pressed the appropriate number to return the call. “Hello, my name is Felicity Bastone, and I’m returning Dee Macintosh’s call.” She indicated to Laura that she was on hold.
Laura nodded but was playing with her phone, and Flic was relieved that Laura’s attention wasn’t fully on her.
“Miss Bastone.” A Queen-like accent greeted her. “This is Dee Macintosh. Thank you for returning my call.”
Flic attempted to speak, but the muffled sound of a choking ant was all she produced. Laura gave her a gentle nudge. Flic shook her head and finally managed, “Hi, thank you for calling.”
Dee, probably used to twits like Flic stammering their way nervously through conversations, continued. “I’m sitting here with a rather interesting manuscript on my desk. You’re an investigative journalist, Miss Bastone, not an author, as far as I can see. Should I be concerned about the contents of this document?”
“Not unless you’re Pope Valentine.” Flic joked before her brain filtered the thought.
Dee Macintosh offered an indifferent tut.
Flic inhaled deeply. “I was in Rome last year and an idea came to me. It’s as simple as that.”
“I doubt if this particular novel was conceived in that manner, Miss Bastone, but regardless, I am interested in speaking with you about it.”
“I’m sorry Miss Macintosh, but I’ve already signed a publishing contract for that manuscript with View Press.”
“Ah, yes. Well, you have, but you also haven’t. I just made an offer to the publisher of View to purchase the business.”
Flic eyed Laura to gain her full attention. “I’m sorry, did you just say you’re going to buy the entire View Press publishing house?”
Laura’s eyes bulged wide.
“I want to market and sell your book. It’s as simple as that.”
“So you bought the publishing house?”
“Well, in theory I have. You know how it is, lawyers, contracts, finer details, all those tedious shenanigans. Please rest assured it was a generous offer.”
This time Flic was speechless.
“So, the crux is this: I’m in the process of buying the publishing house, so therefore, I’m now in the process of publishing your book.”
“Wow. I honestly don’t know what to say.”
Dee Macintosh laughed. “First things first. Come into the office. I’d like to meet you. Say half an hour.”
The phone beeped in Flic’s ear. Silence.
Laura held her phone aloft, showing Flic Dee Macintosh’s most recent Twitter post. Time stamped Just Now it read: Holy Father, Holy Secret. How much is a secret worth?
Laura raised her eyebrows and shut down her phone.
Flic was gobsmacked. It was all happening so fast. Holy Father, Holy Secret was the title of her novel. Dee Macintosh had just posted the title of her novel for the entire world to see. She looked at her watch. “What are you doing in the next hour or so?”
Laura shrugged. “Why?”
“We have a meeting with Dee Macintosh in thirty minutes.”
Laura’s feet, massive as they were, became entangled in the legs of the stool. She steadied herself. “Now? We have a meeting with her now?”
Flic stood nervously tapping her hand on the coffee bar. “Can you Google the address, please?”
Laura focused, and with the amazing technology now expected by all smartphone users, she was able to calculate the distance and time of arrival at their destination. “Guess how long it takes to get there?”
Flic already knew the answer as they rushed out onto the street.
“Cheeky cow,” said Laura.
“Not a spare bloody minute to do anything but rush to get there.”
After racing to the Underground, down escalators, and through tunnels to reach the correct train, Flic and Laura finally sat puffing on the Piccadilly line to Finsbury Park.
Although Flic had no reception, she saw eleven missed calls on her phone. “She’s something else, isn’t she?” She was referring to Dee Macintosh. “That bloody Twitter post or twat or twit or whatever it’s called, that’s why I’ve got all these phone calls. Christ knows who follows her on that thing.”
“Tweet,” offered Laura.
“What?”
“A post on Twitter is a tweet. I can’t believe you don’t know that.”
“Whatever.”
“It’s ingenious really.”
“Well, I don’t think someone needed a degree to think up the word tweet.”
Laura frowned. “No, I don’t mean that, you idiot, I mean Dee Macintosh’s schedule.”
There was too much adrenaline surging through Flic’s veins to flush with embarrassment, but she was hardly convinced about Dee Macintosh. “I feel like we’re being played. She gives us no time at all and then she practically boasts about it on social media.”
Laura shut her eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m putting myself in her shoes.”
Flic eyed Laura’s larger than average feet. “I doubt you’d fit into many strangers’ shoes, let alone Dee Macintosh’s.”
Laura’s eyes snapped open. “That’s why she’s the best
. It’s not boasting rights; it’s Dee Macintosh displaying just how good she is. She’s read the manuscript and she wants to publish the book. Buying View Press in order to publish it is an amazing marketing tool. I estimate she spent less on the deal to buy View than what she will to market your book. The very fact alone that she actually bought out a publishing house in order to publish a book is massive news. That tweet just shows that she’s snared her rabbit. You’re all hers now.”
“Hers? I’m not a prize.”
“Oh, yes you are. She’s outsmarted everyone. The book’s ready to go. All they have to do is sell it. I have to say, Flic, I like her style.”
“Well, I have to say that I don’t. I’m a respected journalist. I don’t like being treated like an idiot.”
“What’s a post on Twitter called?”
Flic sighed. The conversation had occurred only seconds ago. “I don’t remember.”
“See, you actually are an idiot. Don’t blame her for treating you like one.”
“Fuck off.” Flic sulked for a moment. “If she wanted to print it so much, why didn’t she just offer a deal when I first sent her the manuscript?”
“I can only imagine that the person who made the decision to disregard your manuscript no longer has a job.”
Flic was about to question how Dee knew about the story if that was the case, but then she remembered View Press was on the hunt for investors to increase the print run. Now it all made sense.
Laura gave Flic a wink and dragged her to a standing position. “Come on. This is us.”
Upon returning to ground level, Laura consulted the map on her phone and set off in the right direction, Flic in tow.
Set on the top floor of an old building, recently redeveloped for exclusive office space, Griffin Publishing House looked more like a set from Downton Abbey than a workplace. Conflicting with the age of the building were the state-of-the-art computers, security gadgets, and the smell of expensive coffee emanating from the elaborate machine near reception that Flic was convinced could be larger than a small car.
Although hot and sticky, Flic was thankful she’d at least worn a blazer that day. She was choosing to believe her flip-flops were simply trendy and not just the first thing she bothered to find rushing from the door that morning. Indeed, all Flic seemed to have done that day was rush.
A smartly dressed young man said he had been expecting them, and his almost imperceptible glance at the clock, followed by a faint smirk, suggested he knew how tight their schedule had been.
Although she knew her book was safe, that it was the sole reason Griffin’s bought out View, impressing Dee Macintosh was suddenly of utmost importance. Griffin Publishing House was Britain’s largest and most respected publisher. She had to get her shit together. Ms. Macintosh was obviously a tough cookie, and she couldn’t afford to become tongue-tied. At least she had Laura. Two against one were good odds, and they were in her favor.
The receptionist ushered them along the thickly carpeted hall and politely knocked on a heavy timber door. The brass nameplate read Publisher. Flic took a deep breath and held it as the weighty door swung open easily. The breath she wanted, indeed needed, to release became trapped in her throat. The vast room, which she guessed she couldn’t even kick a football the length of, housed a massive mahogany table with five people sitting toward the far end. In the center sat Dee Macintosh. To the left of the table, projected onto a large expanse of white wall, was an image of a book cover. It was glamorous, it was Rome, and although View Press had designed a great cover, the one she was looking at, wrapped around an image of a hardcover book, was absolutely stunning. Holy Father, Holy Secret by Felicity Bastone beamed back at her in all its glory.
Flic finally exhaled and promptly passed out.
Chapter Three
“You sure showed them.”
Flic registered the voice but was too frightened to open her eyes. She felt something soft touch her cheek.
“Come on, Flic. I think you’ve adequately demonstrated how swiftly you can transform from an upright position to flat on your back. Open your eyes for me.” Laura sounded amused.
Flic wanted to open her eyes, she hoped to God it was a bad dream, but when she cracked her left eye open even a fraction, she saw the massive book cover on the screen and the nausea engulfed her all over again.
“It’s okay. They all dashed from the room when you hit the deck.” Laura poked her in the ribs until she squirmed.
“They’re going to print me in hardback?” Publishers only printed best sellers in hardback. A paperback and an eBook format always followed, but it was the ultimate to have written a hardcover novel.
Flic finally opened her eyes to be greeted with a cup of tea and a biscuit sitting beside her. She could smell the strong tea, immediately knew it would be well sugared, and couldn’t resist any longer. Laura helped her into a sitting position.
“Everyone was super concerned, wanted to call an ambulance, but when you started moaning and groaning, I said you would be fine. I explained that we had missed lunch—what with the announcement and all—and I guessed you would have skipped breakfast—although Dee did do a little tut tut at that.”
“You told her I miss breakfast?”
“Well, you do.”
“Not every day. I was in a rush today.”
“I don’t think she cares, Flic, and anyway, I was under a little duress when I had that conversation.”
“But she tut tutted. I can’t believe you told her I don’t eat breakfast.”
“Get a grip before I whack you over the head with a blunt object and knock you out again.” Laura shoved the biscuit toward Flic. “Here. Eat.”
Flic took a deep breath after finishing the tea and biscuit. “They could have given me more than one measly biscuit.”
“They did.” Laura hauled Flic up to sit in a chair. “I ate the others waiting for you to open your eyes.”
There was a purposeful knock at the door before Dee Macintosh and her entourage re-entered.
No longer distracted by a stunning book cover with her name on it, Flic gave Dee her full attention. “Sorry, Ms. Macintosh. I don’t know what came over me.”
Dee Macintosh was average in every single way, except that she was the Dee Macintosh. Average height, average weight—a little on the heavy side—and besides the fact that she was wearing an expensive dress, she was rather average looking. Her expensive, highlighted, middle-aged haircut was perfect, not a strand out of place, both sides swept back and tucked behind her ears. Her face was well made-up but subtle without seeming to try too hard.
She intimidated the life out of Flic. Nausea threatened her again until the young man from reception delivered a tray of pastries, sandwiches, and unknown chocolate delicacies. Flic ignored protocol and selected chocolate immediately.
Dee smiled warmly. “Not at all. But you should see a doctor if it happens again.” She held out her hand. “As far as a formal introduction goes, yours was a little flamboyant for me.” Flic took her hand. “I’m Dee Macintosh.”
“Felicity Bastone. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Flic laughed nervously. “And I’m upright.” She glanced to Laura for help.
“You must be a busy lady. I imagine it was difficult to slot this meeting into your schedule?” As expected, Dee’s eyes followed Laura’s as they drifted toward the projected front cover image.
Dee nodded in understanding. “Let’s just say this meeting was something I was willing to clear my afternoon for.”
Flic relaxed. Laura was experienced at levelling the playing field.
Dee relaxed, too. “Please, ladies, sit. We have much to discuss. And, Felicity, do eat something more than chocolate. We don’t want you passing out on us again.”
The atmosphere in the room altered, and Flic was suddenly famished.
“Firstly,” said Dee, “I’d like to welcome you aboard and assure you we’re the best publishers to handle your book. Let me introduce you to my team.”
Oddly, Flic had forgotten anyone else was in the room. She took in the man and woman flanking Dee.
“This is Cameron Humphries, one of our most experienced editors.”
Cameron wore smart tight jeans and a figure-hugging navy blue knitted top. His pink-and-white striped shirt, of which she could only see the cuffs and collar, indicated he was no fashion slouch.
“And this is Anna Lawrence, our marketing guru.” Anna was attractive. Flic was hopeless at ages but guessed Anna to be mid to late thirties. She wore a simple black suit, not cheap, but not Armani either. Her face was sweet looking, round and cheerful, and her wavy auburn hair sat just below her shoulders.
Flic shook hands with them both, wondering how such a young pair could be so experienced, let alone “gurus.” Regardless, her eyes lingered on Anna longer than she had intended. There was something about her that she couldn’t put her finger on; perhaps it was that she maintained the air of aloofness even Dee Macintosh had abandoned.
“We’d like to offer you a new contract.”
What?
Dee mistook Flic’s dumbfounded silence for an indication she should continue.
“The advance is £50,000, paid however you like, and we commence marketing immediately. Publishing your book is a time game at this stage.”
Flic began choking on an egg sandwich.
Laura rolled her eyes and handed her a glass of water.
Dee smiled, but continued. “We can’t afford to be complacent with time or quality. The news about the pope is big, and it will only get bigger. At some point, the Vatican will have to deny or confirm the rumors and with no denial forthcoming, I think it is safe to assume that the pope is gay.” She shrugged. “Although why that’s a problem, let alone big news in this day and age, I’ll never know.” Anna flinched and Flic wondered why. “Either way, we’re producing a work of fiction. If we get our story out before the pope has a chance to tell his, we’re printing nothing but a story full of coincidence.” She paused for effect. “Do you understand me?”
Flic understood; of course she understood. All she’d thought about for the last ten months was the pope. When her mind hadn’t been consumed with writing the manuscript, she’d either been sleeping or wondering how she would explain a book that so closely resembled the truth if it were ever to become known. Thinking about the latest Vatican revelations, there was no way the pope’s sexuality was going to remain a secret. She needed to explain. Her book was far from fiction.
The Fifth Gospel Page 2
