Not Quite Perfect

by Annie Lyons

  ‘Ah Emma, just the person. Have you got five minutes for that catch-up?’ booms Miranda from the door.

  Emma jumps. ‘Of course,’ she stammers following Miranda back to her office.

  Miranda plonks herself behind her desk. ‘Sit down, Emma, and stop looking so scared.’ Emma does as she is told. ‘I’ve never told you about James Wilson, have I?

  Emma looks uncertain. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Miranda takes a deep breath. ‘James Wilson was a promising new author I discovered when I was about your age. He was hugely gifted, charming and very handsome.’ Emma doesn’t say anything, touched by Miranda’s shared confidence. ‘He was also married.’ She looks at Emma. ‘I am not proud of what happened and cannot justify our affair by saying that I was young and foolish. I was both those things, but I should not have allowed the closeness of our working relationship to spill into real life. You see, Emma, working with an author is one of the most intimate experiences in life. They bare their very soul to you and it is easy to mistake shared passions for something more.’ Emma goes to speak, but Miranda holds up her hand. ‘All I am saying is that I don’t judge you for what I witnessed today, but you have to be careful. Mr Bennett is a charming man, but if the rumours are true, he’s something of a heartbreaker too.’

  Emma nods. ‘I understand. Miranda?’

  ‘Yes, my dear?’

  ‘What happened in the end with James?’

  Miranda’s face falls and Emma can see tears brimming in her eyes. ‘His wife killed herself.’ Emma gasps. ‘It was ghastly. James moved abroad and I nearly left publishing for good. Happily though, that was around the time I met Digby and he helped me through it all. So you see, Emma, a moment’s madness can be a very dangerous thing.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miranda.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear, but to be honest, it’s James’ poor wife you should feel sorry for. Anyway, on to other matters. How are things with Joel?’

  ‘All right, I think. Actually, he mentioned something about strategic planning today. Is that something I need to be involved in?’

  ‘You will. At some stage. So will Joel. I presume he was just stirring?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘Well, keep your chin up and ignore it, Emma. Office politics is for those who lack confidence in their abilities or have small penises or both. I don’t think that includes us, do you?’

  Emma smiles. ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Good girl. Now, don’t work too late. I’m off to see some ghastly modern opera in Covent Garden. Wish me luck.’

  ‘Good luck,’ says Emma taking her leave. She returns to her desk, relishing the quiet of an almost-empty office. Half an hour later she has finished her edit and is feeling happier with the world. Just at that moment she hears a noise, like the sound of a heavy book falling to the floor. She jumps up in surprise and then hears the sound of more books falling. It’s coming from the library. Emma creeps towards the noise and can see that the door is shut and the lights are off. She is just about to turn the door handle when she hears a low-pitched moaning. She freezes. The voice, obviously female, moans again and this time is joined by a male voice urging. There’s a rhythm to the noise that Emma immediately recognises as the most intimate act between two people. Torn between an urge to find out the identity of the saucy pair and embarrassment at the scene, Emma runs back to her desk as quietly as she can. She giggles and contemplates phoning her sister with a ‘guess what just happened at work?’ tale. A few moments later, she hears the door to the library swing open and peers around the corner. She is extremely surprised to see Ella hurrying towards the exit. She ducks back to her desk feeling a little hurt at her friend’s secret. She is even more horrified, seconds later, when a voice calls, ‘Goodnight, Emma,’ and Joel strides past her desk. Emma can hardly speak but manages to squeak ‘Night!’

  She plonks herself in her chair, her brain racing. How could Ella be sleeping with this man? Surely she can see what an idiot he is? Emma is starting to feel let down when her phone rings. It’s Martin. Something triggers Emma’s memory and she has switched off her computer and grabbed her bag before she’s even answered the phone.

  ‘Mart? Yes, sorry darling. I got caught at the office and the Tube is a nightmare. Which pub are you in? Yep, I’ll be there in twenty minutes,’ she says, knowing that she’s at least half an hour away.

  Chapter 14

  A few days later, Emma climbs the steep steps into the hotel lobby, taking care not to spill her takeaway latte. The lobby has a veneer of luxury – bulging leather sofas, oil paintings of made-up dignitaries, winking chandeliers and dripping gold. She approaches the concierge desk where a bored looking man, whose badge declares him to be ‘Anthony – Happy to help you’. is checking a clipboard. He notices her and doesn’t look any less bored, but does manage a thin smile, using only the lower muscles of his face.

  ‘Yes, madam?’

  ‘Could you direct me to the Editor’s course please?’

  ‘Threeflightsdownfollowthecorridorroundtoyourrightteaandcoffeeontheleft.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  He repeats it as if addressing an idiot and Emma, still unsure of where to go, heads for the stairwell. She has just reached the bottom of the stairs, when she hears voices.

  ‘And I said to her, I don’t give a damn if he’s won the Booker, you can’t write a novel without using the letter ‘e’. I mean, Jesus!’

  The woman she is speaking to nods and then spots Emma. ‘Emma? Hi, how are you?’

  ‘Oh Vanessa. Thank God. A friendly face. Good to see you.’

  ‘You too. Do you know Stella? Stella, this is Emma Darcy.’

  Stella studies Emma for a moment, unsmiling, and then continues with her story. They find their room and moments later, Emma is devouring a custard-filled almond croissant.

  ‘Oh gosh,’ gushes Stella. ‘I do admire people who can eat at this time. I wish I could but unfortunately my metabolism simply won’t allow it. It probably accounts for why I’m so thin.’

  There is a moment’s silence and then Vanessa asks, ‘So, where are you working now, Emma?’

  ‘I’m still at Allen Chandler, working for Miranda.’

  ‘Oh, she’s fantastic. Best in the business. Lucky you. So that means you’ve just acquired the new Richard Bennett novel. I read the manuscript and thought it was amazing.’

  ‘Richard? Richard Bennett?’ says Stella, suddenly interested in Emma.

  ‘Yes, do you know him?’

  ‘Let’s just say, we’ve had our dealings,’ says Stella looking smug.

  ‘That’s one way of describing it,’ laughs Vanessa.

  Stella adopts a saintly expression. ‘You may say that, but I couldn’t possibly comment.’

  Emma wants to find out more, but a sincere-looking, curly-haired woman wearing an ill-fitting trouser suit and too much make-up interrupts their chat.

  ‘Ladies!’ She spots a young male editor, looking terrified at the back of the room. ‘And gentleman – don’t be shy! Let’s get started, shall we? Bring your coffees and come and sit in a circle.’

  During the course of the morning the tutor, whose name is Ros, talks about communication without looking any of them in the eye and then uses her fingers as quotation marks when she announces that they are going to do some ‘role play’. Emma is paired with the timid male editor and manages to bring him out of his shell by making him laugh.

  At lunchtime, they are herded into the cavernous dining room and Emma finds a seat next to Vanessa.

  ‘So, are you still in the same job?’ she asks.

  ‘Well actually, I’ve just been promoted to Editorial Director,’ says Vanessa.

  ‘Congratulations. That’s fantastic.’

  Vanessa looks a little unsure. ‘Well, it is but actually, I don’t get to do much editing these days and that’s what I really enjoyed, you know, creating something really special, even if it was a car-crash when you first read it. In fact, especially if it was a
car-crash when you first read it.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I’m just going through rewrites with my new golden boy.’ Emma looks over at Stella, who is on the phone. ‘So, is there a history between Stella and Richard?’

  ‘And then some. They were the Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor of Waterstone’s.’

  ‘Really?’

  Vanessa nods. ‘They were floor managers at Piccadilly. Apparently the rows were explosive and they were once caught at it in the Natural History section. She dumped him when she got the publishing job and then he got his publishing deal, had a bit of success and they haven’t spoken since. Apparently, his heroines have more than a little of Stella in them, and not the nice bits. Of course, she’s too narcissistic to see the true meaning but he’s clearly carrying round a truck-load of baggage.’

  Emma slaps her forehead as she has an epiphany. ‘Of course – Stella! She’s the character in the new book. It’s her.’

  ‘Very likely, but listen, Emma, just a word of warning, Richard Bennett does have a reputation as something of a lothario.’

  ‘Hmm, yes. I think I’d clocked that.’

  ‘Just be careful. I found him very tricky when I had to deal with him. Lucky for me I’m a lesbian,’ says Vanessa with a smile.

  Stella returns to her seat having finished her call, runs her hand through her dark bobbed hair and fixes them with cat-like emerald eyes. ‘Can you believe it? I’ve just got off the phone to my builder and it’s going to be another six weeks until they finish. I mean, six bloody weeks.’

  Ros claps her hands, calling them to attention. ‘OK, everyone, grab yourself a tea or coffee and we’ll reconvene in five.’

  Emma hears her phone ringing and sees that it’s Martin. ‘Hi, darling, how are you doing? Fancy a curry tonight while we chat about the guest list?’ she says, moving out of the dining room and into the hotel lobby.

  ‘Hey, Em, listen, I know we said we would talk about that tonight but can we do it at the weekend? It’s just that –’

  ‘Charlie wants you to play football again.’

  ‘He’s entered us into this tournament. It’s an important game.’

  ‘Not as important as our wedding.’

  ‘No, that’s true but I promise, I’ll sort whatever you want me to at the weekend. Don’t be cross, Em. I love you, OK?’

  Emma doesn’t want to give in but she hates bad feeling. ‘OK, but you’re buying me a curry tomorrow night in lieu of being a crap boyfriend.’

  ‘Deal. And I’ll chuck in some filthy sex too.’

  ‘How romantic.’

  ‘I can do romance if you’d prefer?’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘See you later, gorgeous.’

  Emma throws her phone into her bag and heads downstairs to find the others feeling fed-up. She spends the afternoon keeping a close eye on Stella and wondering what it was like to be the woman who stole Richard Bennett’s heart.

  ‘Grandaaaaaad!’

  ‘Alfieeeeeee!’

  Edward spins round and catches his excited grandson as he throws himself into his grandfather’s arms. Rachel and Lily are out of breath when they catch up with him.

  ‘Alfie! You mustn’t run off like that.’

  ‘Sorry, Mummy.’

  ‘I should think so,’ scolds Lily.

  Edward and Alfie exchange glances. ‘That’s us told, eh Alf?’ says Edward and they both giggle.

  It’s Rachel and Lily’s turn to shake their heads at one another. ‘Honestly. Boys!’

  ‘Well, anyway. Who’s for a swing?’ says Edward.

  ‘Meee!’ chorus the children and they hurtle off towards the playground.

  ‘How’s my favourite daughter over thirty?’ asks Edward, giving Rachel a squeeze.

  ‘Fine thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘All right, you’ve got me. I just hate all this uncertainty about the move. I’m not very good with change, you know.’

  Edward nods. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘No more than you do already.’ She kisses him on the cheek.

  ‘Gran-dad!’ Lily is stamping her foot.

  ‘On my way, Miss Lily!’

  Edward pushes the children on the swings while Rachel fetches the coffees. When she returns they watch the children for a while revelling in their whooping glee. Rachel enjoys time with her father. They don’t even need to speak to each other. She looks up at the sky and pulls her coat tighter against the autumn chill.

  ‘Getting a bit colder,’ she remarks.

  ‘Yes, I had to close up the greenhouse last night. I’ll probably put the heater on later this week.’

  ‘Have you notified The Times?’ she teases.

  Edward laughs. ‘Sometimes the quietest lives are the happiest lives, you know.’

  ‘I know. I long for a quiet life!’ says Rachel.

  Edward looks at his daughter. ‘Don’t wish your life away, Rach. I remember how it was with you and Emma as little girls. It’s over so quickly even if it is hard work sometimes.’

  Rachel nods. ‘It is and I wish I could find a way to enjoy it more sometimes.’

  Edward puts his arm around her. ‘Stop giving yourself such a hard time. You’re a wonderful mother and you have three very lucky children. Don’t forget that. And it is hard having small children. Your mother didn’t always find it easy being at home with you two.’

  ‘I’m sure. I know we were challenging sometimes.’ Edward looks at Rachel, amused. ‘OK, I know I was challenging sometimes, but Mum seemed to cope.’

  ‘Not always,’ says Edward. Rachel looks at him in surprise. ‘Don’t tell your mother I told you, but it all got too much for her at one stage.’

  ‘And?’ says Rachel.

  ‘And she left us for a while. Not for long, just a month or so.’ Rachel is stunned. ‘So you see, everyone struggles and you can’t judge them or yourself.’

  ‘But what about Mum. What happened?’

  ‘It was a long time ago. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

  ‘It’s all right, I won’t say anything.’

  ‘All I’m saying, Rachel, is that you are caught in a moment and you must see it as that. Things will change. Life won’t always be this exhausting or intense. You can’t see around corners and so you have to trust your instinct.’

  ‘So, go to Scotland then?’

  ‘If that’s what your instinct tells you. Who knows what new adventures it might bring.’

  Rachel hugs her Dad. ‘It sounds as if you fancy it yourself.’

  ‘If I were twenty years younger, I would, but alas I cannot leave my roses and anyway, it will make the times when we do see you all the more special, won’t it?’

  ‘Graaaandaaaaad!’

  ‘Coming, Alfie! Duty calls.’

  Edward ambles after his young grandson and Rachel watches them delighting in each other’s company. Lily comes bouncing over, her cheeks red and her eyes bright with life.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Yes, Lils?’

  ‘I love you,’ she says, plonking herself on her mother’s lap. Rachel is surprised, but deeply touched but this out-of-character affection. She wraps her arms around her daughter.

  ‘I love you too, Lils,’ she says breathing in the warmth of childhood.

  ‘Well, that just about concludes things for today. Thank you ladies and gentlemen. I think we did some excellent work. If you have any further questions, feel free to e-mail me.’

  Emma gathers up her belongings and Vanessa catches her at the door.

  ‘We’re going for a quick drink,’ she says, gesturing at Stella. ‘Fancy joining us, Emma?’

  Emma checks her watch. It’s just gone five and she has nothing to rush home for. ‘Why not?’ The young male editor looks over and smiles. ‘Do you want to come too, Josh?’ she asks.

  ‘That would be great. Thanks.’

  They find a pub just down the road from the hotel. Vanessa orders a round of drinks whi
le Emma, Stella and Josh find a table. Stella starts to hold court and Emma is amazed by her ability to talk about herself without listening to anyone else or indeed asking anyone anything about themselves. The first drink goes down well, so Emma orders a bottle for her and Vanessa to share, a beer for Josh and a soda water for Stella – ‘I never drink on a day with a “T” in it’.

  Stella looks around the room and notices the Rothko print on the wall above their heads. ‘God, not another bloody Rothko. He’s everywhere, isn’t he? So pedestrian. I bet he’s rubbing his hands with glee.’

  ‘Actually he’s dead.’ They all look round at quiet, mousy Josh, clearly emboldened by the influence of expensive, Belgian beer.

  Stella looks at him, clearly irritated. ‘Is he? Really?’ she says uninterested.

  ‘Yes he is. Committed suicide actually.’

  Vanessa raises her eyes at Emma and nods towards Josh, amused. Emma feels like patting Josh on the back, but is interrupted by her phone. She feels her heart start to pound when she sees Richard’s number flash on her screen. She flicks the answer button.

  ‘Hello? Richard?’

  Stella looks up sharply.

  ‘Emma? I’ve done it!’

  ‘Sorry, Richard. It’s difficult to hear you. What have you done?’ she asks, moving away from the table and mouthing ‘sorry’ to the group.

  ‘The bloody rewrite. I’ve done it!’

  ‘That’s fantastic. Well done.’

  ‘Well, it’s down to you, Miss Emma Darcy. I couldn’t have managed it without my favourite editor. Where are you, by the way?’

  ‘In a bar.’

  ‘Oh terrific, I’ll come and meet you. We can celebrate.’

  ‘No, Richard, I can’t –’ begins Emma before her phone is grabbed by Stella.

  ‘Richard! Sweetie! Guess who?’ Emma watches in horror and can only imagine Richard’s responses. ‘Ahhhh, have you missed me? I hear you’ve named your latest heroine after me. How sweet. Oh come on, Richie, calm down. Yes, I’ll hand her back.’ She gives the phone to Emma.