Happily Ever After

by Harriet Evans

  “OK, OK,” Tom said. He turned back to Elle, and rubbed his face. “Can I meet you when I’ve finished work? Are you staying at the conference hotel?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s horrible. And Tom—I have to go back tonight, I do.”

  “Tom—look, she’s going mad, it’s not fair—”

  “I’d better get back. You go for a walk. You need some fresh air, cooped up all day. Think it all over. Think about it. I’ll call you.”

  He touched her arm, and then he was gone. She didn’t want him to leave. Outside was fresh air, and it was cool. Elle rubbed her eyes, rolled her head around her neck, and realized she felt a little lighter, somehow. She could feel the warmth of his skin on her hands, on her lips. She turned to walk back to the hotel, south, and then abruptly crossed the road and set off through Marylebone, going east, without much thinking about where she was going. She took out her phone and rang Courtney.

  “Hi, Elle.” Courtney sounded a little nervous. “How’s it going? Celine’s assistant told me there was a problem with your schedule. Was everything OK?”

  “Yes, it was fine,” Elle said. “Just me, being an idiot. I’m sorry if you worried about it. I got something wrong.”

  “Oh, OK.” Courtney breathed out. “Wow. Phew.”

  “How’s everything there? Any messages?”

  “Sure.” Courtney rustled through some papers. “Caryn asked me to remind you again about the figures for tomorrow’s meeting. But I told her you’d done them already and they were printed and ready to be handed out. I hope that was OK.”

  There was something so soothing about Courtney’s ultra-professional, neutral tone. “Yes, that’s perfect.” Elle sometimes wondered if Courtney could just do her job for her, operating the switches like the man behind the Wizard of Oz. “Anything else?”

  “I have a car booked to pick you up at eleven tonight, but I wanted to remind you it’s Newark and not JFK.”

  Elle hesitated. “Yep, got that,” she said. “I was wondering. How easy would it be to change my ticket? By a few hours? Or even a day or two?”

  “Oh.” Courtney sounded confused. “You mean catch an earlier flight?”

  “No,” Elle said. “A later one.”

  “Do you want me to check flight times, find one that’d get you in for the board meeting?”

  “I was thinking I might miss the board meeting. Maybe come back later instead.”

  Courtney cleared her throat. “OK—um—I’ll, should I—” She tried again. “It’s just Caryn has asked me twice today, when does she get back, what time does she land, does she have the presentation ready. I think they’re expecting you here for the meeting, and—”

  “Courtney, don’t worry,” Elle said, scratching her cheek. She didn’t want to alarm her. “I’ll let you know. It probably won’t happen. Just—there’s a few things to sort out.”

  “Got it. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  She sounded younger on the phone; Elle had to remind herself she was, in fact, still only twenty-four. She was so efficient, like a robot, sometimes she forgot. “Thanks, Courtney. I’ll let you know, love,” she said, not sure why she’d called her love—you didn’t do that at Jane Street, drop terms of endearment into conversation. She rang off, and carried on walking. Go for a walk.

  Pounding the gray pavements, her black boots slick with the rain, Elle thought again about the previous month when Courtney had had a bad case of the flu. She’d sounded so miserable that Elle had left work a little early and taken her some chicken soup. Visiting her assistant’s bare but cute apartment had made her nostalgic: vintage lampshades and throws, a battered old bookcase full of Penguin classics and modern girl’s classics. There were Converse in the hallway, half-eaten bags of Goldfish crackers, and a copy of People magazine on the old oak trunk that was the coffee table.

  “I just got it last weekend, in Brooklyn,” Courtney had told her with pride, running her hands along the warm wood of the trunk and sneezing. “Saw it a couple of months ago and I’ve been saving for it ever since. Isn’t it beautiful.” She’d tucked her feet underneath her and sunk even further into her comforter. Elle had looked at her, suddenly longing to kick off her shoes and stay here with Courtney and Sarah, her roommate, who’d just arrived home. They were about to embark on a Golden Girls marathon; there were chips and dips, ice cream, and Gatorade for Courtney, as well as the beautifully packaged, small tub of chicken soup from her boss.

  But just then she’d glanced at the two of them and realized they were waiting for her to leave. It was strange for her to be here. She was the boss lady in heels, not their friend who lounged on the couch with them. She had walked down the stairs, feeling chastened, not a little embarrassed, and gone back to Gray’s apartment, reminding herself as she put her keys down on the smooth marble countertop that this was much better, this was what she worked for.

  The afternoon light was already fading. The white stucco buildings broke apart in places, the gaps revealing mews streets, pubs with golden light streaming from them. Elle carried on walking east, knowing this was the wrong direction, but somehow unable to change her path. It struck her then that she was worse off than Courtney, in fact. She had nothing to show for her hard work, except an engagement ring and a flashy apartment that someone else had bought. Courtney had the wooden trunk, she’d saved for it and lugged it up four flights of stairs. Elle had a car to meet her at the airport, an assistant, a fiancé, a career, and yet she didn’t have anything that was really hers.

  She realized then she wasn’t quite sure where she was. She’d lost her way in London, in the streets she used to know so well. She walked down Cleveland Street, past the ancient chemists, the George and Dragon and the irate sign on the front door of a house that said firmly THIS IS NOT A BROTHEL!! next to a house that was, unmistakably, a brothel: broken windows boarded up with cardboard, weeds growing out of cracks on the bricks, naked light bulbs in each room visible from the street, a skinny, chapped-lipped woman sitting in the bare front room, a cigarette in one long hand. She glared at Elle, and Elle stared back at her, then shook herself out of her reverie and hurried along.

  The traffic along Tottenham Court Road was heavy, the road was wide, engines and drills from roadworks thundering in her ears. Elle scurried along the pavements, suddenly realizing why she’d come here, and crossed the road, almost running down the street. She turned off and she was there. She walked across Bedford Square, looking up at the houses, till she found the one she wanted.

  Panting slightly, Elle stood at the bottom of the steps, just as she’d done on her first day over eleven years ago, and stared up at the front door. Her phone started ringing. It was Caryn. Elle shut it off, still looking up at the old Bluebird building. There was no trace of Bluebird there, though; the sign had gone with Felicity on that freezing cold day before Christmas, and the windows on the top two floors had thick white blinds. There was a new brass plaque where the old buzzer had been, with three different buttons. She climbed up the front steps to peer at it.

  GROUND FLOOR: BRIGHTSTAR MEDIA PROPERTY LTD

  FIRST FLOOR: ADEX DIGITAL RESOURCES

  SECOND FLOOR: PAUL HURRIDGE

  Elle stepped back, smiling. What had she been expecting? A bookbinder’s and archivist’s with a workshop full of elves making glass slippers in the basement? She remembered throwing coffee over Felicity, running down the steps in the evenings with Sam or Libby, hanging around the corner waiting for Rory, sitting in the square on a bench reading a book, any book, with her prized Pret sandwich and her Pied a Terre shoes, bought in the sale, worn till they fell apart.

  But it wasn’t here anymore, it was in the past, and she wasn’t a girl anymore, she was a woman, standing on her own in the rain, looking for something she wouldn’t find.

  It was time for her to go home.

  EPILOGUE

  Four Months Later

  “HERE IS WHERE we keep the tea and coffee. We contribute to the kitty, fo
ur pounds a month, but I provide the biscuits. And ah—your desk is here.”

  “This is my desk?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought I was getting an office.”

  “Find a million-copy bestseller and you’ll get an office.”

  Elle put her hands on her hips. She smiled and said firmly, “I need an office.”

  “I was joking,” Felicity said. “Here is your office.”

  She opened another door onto a tiny room with a view over Curzon Street. On the desk was a bunch of flowers, a computer, and a slim black package.

  “That’s your e-reader,” Felicity said. “This is a new computer, and your assistant has your BlackBerry.” She smiled at Elle’s obvious surprise. “This isn’t the age of Caxton, you know. Move with the times, Elle.” She paused. “So, you’ve been back for over two months, what have you been up to?”

  “Nothing really,” said Elle. “Seeing my family. Spending time with… people. Old friends.” She smiled quickly, looking down, because she wanted to keep it private, but then she remembered: Felicity wouldn’t pry. She wouldn’t be interested. To Elle, it was wonderful, the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. To Felicity, she saw now, love was something that only really happened within the pages of a book. For long periods of Elle’s life, she’d thought that was true, too. But it wasn’t. It was you and him, the two of you, a team to face the world together, and that was what she’d been looking for all those years; not an idol, or someone to lust after, or someone to fix her. “I rented a flat near the river, and I put my mother’s sideboard in it, and bought a sofa, and lay on it and did nothing. I read, mainly.”

  “How lovely,” said Felicity. She glanced quickly at Elle. “I’m very glad to hear it.”

  She looked at her watch. “Now, shall I let you settle in? Our editorial meeting’s at eleven on Mondays. If we meet first thing after the weekend it gives us a jump-start on the opposition. I remember when—”

  It was good to know some things didn’t change, and that Felicity still loved a long, pointless story. Elle listening politely to an anecdote about the time Felicity had told Carmen Callil how she should be running Virago, and then smiled politely, turning on her computer, and opening the post in her in-box. There was a large manila envelope, already opened. She tipped the contents out. A postcard was on top, a Veronese print, and written in looping, large handwriting:

  You haven’t given me your new address, so I’m forwarding on your post to Aphra Books. Good luck, my dear. Be well. Gray

  She smiled. She hadn’t quite forgiven Gray yet, for wearing his injured pride like a cloak around New York that caused people to look at Elle, in the couple of months she spent back there, through narrowed eyes. “She went crazy,” she heard someone at a book launch say, a few days before she flew back. “He had a hard time with her, you know. She’s still very young. Poor Gray,” whereas poor Gray had, in fact, hooked up with Jessica, a fellow lecturer and widow, less than two weeks after his split with Elle. It had taken her under an hour to pack her things up in the loft, and move into a hotel, after she’d broken up with him.

  “This wasn’t ever your home,” he’d said, matter-of-factly.

  “It was,” she’d told him. “It was. It’s just it’s not anymore.”

  Leaving Gray and leaving Jane Street sent her New York ranking plummeting so drastically that, by the time she flew back to London, just before Christmas, she was free of almost any guilt. They’d told Elizabeth Forsyte she’d had a breakdown. When Elle heard, she was furious, then she shrugged and smiled. Perhaps she had. Was it insane, to hand your notice in on a job like that, leave behind that life, to come back to London in the depths of winter, to do a job she employed other people to do?

  Maybe, maybe not. Caryn got Courtney to courier her things over to the Midtown hotel where she was staying, on her final day, and sign a release form.

  “I’m only moving to a tiny start-up,” Elle had told her boss, exasperated. “I just want to read something good, edit some books for once, do it all over again. I’m not defecting to our rivals, you know.”

  “I know, but you can’t be too careful,” Caryn replied. She was almost uninterested. She patted Elle on the back. “It’s business. We’re gonna miss you. Come back when you’ve got whatever it is outta your system.”

  The package of post from the States was mundane stuff: renewal reminders on her subscriptions, invitations to come shop at Dean & Deluca or extend her credit on her Bloomingdale’s card. She pushed it to one side and turned to the rest of the in-box. There were several cards from agents and other publishers welcoming her to Aphra Books. The last one was a picture of Sherlock Holmes smoking a pipe. It said:

  By the time you get this, paper will probably be obsolete. So treasure this and good luck. We can’t wait to see you for supper tonight. Lots of love, Tom and Dora xx

  Elle smiled, took out the old paperback copy of Venetia from her handbag, and propped it up on the windowsill next to the card. She opened the window, smelling the fresh air, and spun joyfully round on her chair, her hands clutching the armrests. Spring was on its way.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to say a special thank-you to Jane Morpeth for hiring me all those years ago and believing in me. She is my real-life heroine, a brilliant boss and a lovely person, and I miss working with her every single day.

  Massive thanks to Nikki Barrow, Auriol Bishop, Lindsey Evans, Abigail Hanna, and Tora Orde-Powlett for the wine-soaked memories of the good old days, and for the good old days themselves. Also to Lance Fitzgerald, Georgina Moore, Rebecca Folland, Sophie Linton, and Roland Philipps for their help. Especially thanks to Chris for the plot rehearsals and for everything, basically.

  Big muchas gracias to everyone at Curtis Brown, especially Melissa Pimentel, Alice Lutyens, Lucia Rae, and OF COURSE Jonathan Lloyd.

  And thanks to everyone at HarperCollins, especially Kate Elton, Thalia Suzuma, Kate Stephenson, and the one and only Elinor Fewster. Special thanks to Liz Dawson, I am very lucky to have you on my side. Lastly to my editor, Lynne Drew, who has put up with me for many years, taught me so much, and is very great, and that is why this book is for you, with my love.

  GALLERY READERS GROUP GUIDE

  Happily Ever After

  Harriet Evans

  INTRODUCTION

  At twenty-two, Eleanor Bee is sure about three things: she wants to move to London to become a literary superstar, she wants to be able to afford to buy a coffee and croissant every morning, and she doesn’t believe in happy endings. She saw what divorce did to her parents, especially her mother. “Happily ever after” is fine on the last page of a book, but it just doesn’t happen in real life.

  Elle moves to London. She gets a job at Bluebird Books, a charmingly old-fashioned publisher. She falls out of pubs, wears too-short skirts, makes a lot of mistakes, and feels like she’s going nowhere. And then, out of the blue, she falls in love. That’s when she realizes just how much growing up she has to do.

  Ten years later, Elle’s life has changed in ways she could never have predicted. Because no matter where you go and how much you try to run away, the past has a funny way of catching up with you, and “happily ever after” can come in all shapes and sizes.

  TOPICS & QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. Happily Ever After begins with a Jane Austen quote. Why do you think Harriet Evans selected this quote? How does the quote set the tone for this novel?

  2. What did you learn about Elle in the 1988 prologue? Did seeing her as a child help you understand her and her relationships with her family members as a young adult?

  3. Elle has failed at an important job interview. She’s living on a friend’s couch, and her prospects look bleak. Just when she’s about to give up, she accidentally finds an advertisement for the perfect job mis-posted in the newspaper’s vacation section. Why do you think the author had Elle notice a misplaced ad? What effect does this have on Elle and on what follows?


  4. Elle’s meeting with the great Felicity Sassoon (starting on page 58) is a success. But readers later learn that it had an unexpected result. Why did Rory react the way he did? How would you have responded if you were in Elle’s shoes?

  5. On page 66, Elle’s brother, Rhodes, now living in the United States, visits her. How has their relationship changed since childhood? How is it the same? Does their relationship remind you of any in your own life?

  6. Several bits of news are revealed during Elle’s family meeting starting on page 95. Which is the most shocking to Elle? Which one surprised you the most? Discuss your impressions of this meeting and its effect on Elle and her family members.

  7. What troubles Elle the most about her relationship with Rory? Did you find that you could relate to Elle? If so, in what ways? Would you have made the same choices in dealing with Rory? Why or why not?

  8. Elle must simultaneously deal with the drama of her family, her workplace, and her romantic relationships. Did any one of these intermingled aspects of her life intrigue you more than another? Explain which facet of her life you found most interesting.

  9. Elle becomes obsessed with the writing of Georgette Heyer. Have you read any of her books? What overlapping themes do you see between her stories and Elle’s story?

  10. A number of books mentioned throughout the novel show women finding independence on their own. The author references Forever Amber, I Capture the Castle, Jane Eyre, The Best of Everything, and Bridget Jones’s Diary. What other books cover similar ground? What other overarching themes do you see throughout these books?