Miss South

by Kay Williams

  “Your signing went well today,” Heronsgate commented as he made the coffee to his taste and the waiter moved on.

  “It was an experience. I think time will tell if it went well from a commercial perspective.”

  I didn’t want to say it but I was beginning to feel stalked. I had gone from having to call people and tell them what I was doing, to everyone already knowing. What did people talk about when you already knew each other’s business?

  “You were far more relaxed and natural with the press this time, I’m not quite sure what you were aiming for with the selfies though.”

  “I do not consider myself very photogenic, I don’t like having my photo taken at the best of times and it felt weird for strangers to want my photo. I felt that if I was going to make a fool of myself with a nervous photo then they had to look just as bad.”

  “I see,” Heronsgate chuckled again, a soft but deep sound.

  “I do not envy you your schedule,” I said, picking up my cake and the delicate little fork I had to eat it with. Heronsgate was going to be very bored if he had to keep asking questions. “You are in England for a short talk that you really shouldn’t have been giving, you go back to the States and I would imagine that you weren’t home for even twenty-four hours before coming back here. Do you travel to fast for jet-lag to catch up? Or are you just immune?”

  Heronsgate stalled before answering and I kicked myself.

  This, Harriet, this was why people think you are odd. It’s got nothing to do with the science fiction hobby and everything to do with the fact that when you are gifted with the chance to talk one on one with Henry Heronsgate, richest man on Earth three years running, you decide to ask him about jet lag.

  “I appear impervious to it at the moment, but I am sure it will catch up with me eventually,” Heronsgate settled for a diplomatic answer.

  I was instantly in love, I had just met a man who could use a word like impervious in general conversation.

  “Why did you buy the book?” I asked deciding to change the topic. “The digital copy is so much cheaper.”

  “You don’t buy books?” Heronsgate looked endearingly shocked.

  “Only once I’ve read a digital copy and know if I like the story or not,” I grinned.

  Most paperback books these days retailed between forty and fifty pounds, my own was relativity cheap at thirty-two. That was a lot of money to spend on a story I might not like.

  “There is something about a book I find hard to let go of.” Heronsgate picked up his cake and began to eat. “The sound the paper makes when I turn a page, the way the weight changes from one side to the other as I turn the pages. The way I play with a page corner as I’m reading. I don’t get the same experience from an eReader as I do from a book.”

  “Have you had much chance to read it?” I asked tentatively, telling myself that it was fine if he hated it.

  “I’m really enjoying it,” Heronsgate’s eyes lit up and I was suddenly blushing. “You have already murdered the girl I thought was responsible, and I still don’t know if she was involved in the first crime or not. And you were right about your setting, it doesn’t matter if they look out of a window and see a star field instead of a skyline, it is where they are and it is normal for them so it becomes normal for the reader.”

  “I’m glad my lecture hasn’t left you disappointed.”

  “I don’t remember a lecture,” he was grinning now. “I remember a very impassioned young woman talking about something she obviously loved. How long did it take for you to get published?”

  “Start to finish. Just shy of three years.”

  “Three years!” Heronsgate looked shocked. “Please don’t tell me it took that long because it was a science fiction?”

  “No. It took that long because of the way I went about publishing it.”

  “How did you go about it?”

  I honestly hadn’t expected Heronsgate to be at all interested in a market that was so far removed from his own, or in my journey over the last three years, or in me, but here we were and I was shocked at myself because when everyone else today had praised me, I had felt embarrassed and wanted to deflect the attention, but when Heronsgate did the same I was flattered.

  I watched him relax into the chair, completely comfortable with himself and his surroundings, there was a self-confidence to him that appealing because it wasn’t arrogant, and which actually felt open and artless. Realistically no one stayed successful for long in any industry without a ruthless streak and though it had to be in him somewhere I was struggling to see it.

  Obviously, when Heronsgate decided to be agreeable he was everything charming.

  “Like a bull in a china shop,” I smiled, using the phrase Simon had scowled at me more than once since he agreed to help me source a publisher. “There was a time, three years ago when I had no intention of publishing at all. I was happy penning my stories for my own pleasure and allowing trusted friends and family to read bits here and there. I got ribbed for it a bit but if it was ever unkind we didn’t stay friends for long. We were in a book store one afternoon, myself and a few friends, and one of them said that one day I would be on the shelf, which I laughed at because I never wanted to publish. Then one of the others turned around a said it would never happen, not because I didn’t want it to, but because my hobby was worthless.”

  “Worthless,” the word was breathlessly angry, and Heronsgate's frown was frightening.

  “That rather upset me. And being of a stubborn nature when I have the mind to be, I set out to prove her wrong. Hundreds of unsolicited emails, wires and postal manuscripts led to hundreds of returned letters, most of them acceptances but with frightening small print. Simon managed to whittle them down and negotiate a deal, then came editing and proofing, getting a designer on a cover for science fiction isn’t as easy as it sounds, and all of that around my job.”

  “Frightening small print?”

  Heronsgate managed to look interested even when I had to have been boring him.

  “A lot of the offers were willing to pay quite substantial advances, but they would then give the book to one of their authors who would rip out the science fiction elements and re-write the book in their own genre. That author would then get the royalties and I would be banned from publishing my story in any shape or form until the end of time.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “So long as they advise in advance of their intentions and I willingly sign my rights away on the dotted line. Yes.”

  “Luckily you didn’t do that. What do you intend to do next?”

  “I start my new job next week.”

  “You are going back to work after this experience? Why would you do that?”

  “Because I have rent to make, Mr Heronsgate.” I couldn’t help but laugh at his perplexed expression, it must have been nice not having to worry about money. “No business runs on one product and that is all I have.”

  “Is your popularity a consideration?”

  “Not really. My popularity hasn’t built over time with good advertising and a well-managed media presence. It has come from the fact that you were reading it and people want what you have. Once this flash of popularity has died down I have the feeling I am going to be very easily forgotten, and this crazy week is going to something I remember fondly but which isn’t going to be the spring-board for the rest of my life. Before you were caught reading it, and including your own copy I was sitting on five sales. That is where I am going back to.”

  “It is very refreshing to meet someone in your situation who is aware of how unstable their current circumstances are,” Heronsgate smiled, and coupled with his compliment I suddenly saw how well he had directed the conversation to this point.

  “Met many one hit wonders?” I asked.

  “Lots.”

  “And all of them think they are going to make it as big as you?”

  “Most.”

  “Do you always buy them cake or am I an exception?�
�

  “Usually its cake and coffee but I got stuck in traffic and you have ended up with some kind of cocktail.”

  “Pineapple juice and soda water,” I corrected him. “I find that alcohol in the afternoon does tend to limit my typing ability.”

  “Sounds refreshing,” Heronsgate smiled, clearly amused and not afraid to show it.

  “So do you struggle not to remind the one hit wonders that it has taken your family the better part of one hundred years to get you to where you are now?”

  “Quite the contrary, especially when they feel they can continue to lean on my support.”

  “So this is you sounding out my intentions.”

  “No, I knew I wouldn't need to do that when you and your firm issued your statements.”

  “So what is it I can do for you?” I asked, the cake had been nice but I was bored of the cat and mouse games.

  Heronsgate got up and moved to sit next to me, pulling out his phone and opening the camera function.

  “I couldn't make it to the signing so would you mind?”

  “You have to make a face.”

  “I don't make faces,” he answered curtly dropping one arm over the chair behind my shoulders and bringing us into focus on the screen. “Relax. Smile.”

  I had thought that having a mob of reporters on my door-step was surreal, leaning back almost into Heronsgate's shoulder posing for a selfie was another level altogether. He even smelt as good as he looked, a mix of coffee and something warm, sweet and spicy.

  “Your aftershave is nice.”

  I don't believe that I just said that out loud.

  “Thank you. Smile.”

  “Make a face.”

  “No.”

  Seeing that he was more amused then insulted I decided to get my own back a little.

  “I bet you would make one if I kissed you.”

  “Kiss me and find out.”

  He never even missed a beat, he was smooth, confident and comfortable. As if he knew exactly what I was going to say before I did and was positive that his reputation would keep me from following through on what I was going to threatening him with, problem was that I was used to playing with Lucy and her brothers, and if you made a threat then Wildlings expected you to follow through on it.

  I waited until his thumb was hovering over the capture button, then swiftly turned and blew out a breath on to his ear, he jerked away out of reflex and his thumb hit the capture button at the same time. I laughed when he scrubbed his ear.

  “You said kiss!” He complained.

  “Yeah, but you were prepared for that so I had to change tack.”

  Heronsgate scowled at the picture he had taken, I was grinning in my victory while he was flinching and making a very unflattering grimacing expression.

  “Let’s try that again, shall we?” He eased back into position carefully, as if expecting me to do it again and readjusting his camera. “Just think about something that makes you smile.”

  “Like your expression just now?”

  I thought about his grimace and it made me smile but I decided that I had to shut my mouth before he reminded me that all the profit I had made over the last week was technically due to him, I had no doubt that if he decided to sue me he would win back every penny.

  Heronsgate was more satisfied with this second attempt even if I thought I looked awful.

  After finishing up our drinks we collected out coats and he escorted me back to the street, his car was already waiting for him, and I wasn't surprised not be offered a lift to the train station given my poor behaviour. We shook hands one last time and I watched him climb inside his car, and waved as the expensive limo pulled into London traffic. It was starting to rain as I wandered up the street in search of my bus stop, but every time I thought of Heronsgate squirming as I blew a gentle breath into his ear I found myself grinning.

  # # #

  I checked my sales, when Lucy had set up the site I had had no idea I would get quite so addicted to checking it every chance I got.

  This evening I was sitting on three hundred and twenty-six thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two. My sales were slipping in a serious way now the first rush to get hold of a copy had died down. I hadn't seen sight of a reporter since my signing yesterday and that article had been relegated to a small half page piece halfway through the paper, with my popularity plunging and my sales dipping I was confident that I would be able to go back to work without this last week following me.

  I was sure my new colleagues would have something to say on the subject and I was going to come into some teasing, but that was only natural and it would pass quickly.

  Shoving the phone back into my shoulder bag I turned my attention to the painting in front of me.

  Simon had issued his good natured, grovelling apology for the set up with Heronsgate in a call this morning and promised to make it up to me by inviting me to a non-black tie event where there would be plenty free champagne and where he could confidently promise me that no one would show the slightest interest in my book.

  I should have quizzed him more thoroughly on the destination instead of just saying yes.

  I had to hand it to him, the small gang of reporters on the doorstep of the hotel had looked up when I approached and exchanged confused looks as if they weren't sure if they should be taking my photo or asking for an interview and I passed by them and into the lobby of the hotel with them eventually shrugging off my presence as unimportant. The smartly dressed staff hadn't blinked twice when I stated my name, or at my being Simon's 'plus one' or turning up without him; they just scanned the digital invitation that Simon had texted to me and let me in.

  Once in though I had wanted to beat Simon to death with one of my dad's rusty shovels.

  Car parts and other industrial and commercial machinery adorned walls and pedestals in sculptures ranging from tiny hand-sized pieces of tat right though to huge piles of twisted scrap almost seven foot high and just as wide.

  Some of it was very clever and I could appreciate the time and attention of detail that the creator had gone to when crafting their exhibits, I had even lingered on the sewing machine that had been stripped down and turned into a pair of hands. But to say I couldn't see art in any of it was an understatement.

  Not even my imagination would go that far.

  Luckily the room was fairly busy with people who were more sympathetic modern sculptor. It was an informal event with people taking photos and placing phone bids so I hadn't felt out of place in my simple dress, or rude when I had begun to check my sales report.

  Simon hadn't managed to arrive yet and I was already bored. At least he hadn't been lying about the free champagne, the glass I was currently cradling was sweet and delicious. I had been half tempted to ask what vineyard it had come from, I owed Lucy a bottle and she would have loved it.

  “Nice to see you again, Miss South.”

  I jumped at the sound of the voice as Heronsgate eased to stand at my side with his usual confidence.

  I didn't believe in coincidence, but at the same time if this had been another set-up then I was sure that Simon would have warned me in advance this time.

  “Is it?” I couldn't help but tease; I was bored. “After our last meeting I would have thought that you would have passed on the opportunity to suffer me needlessly.”

  “You think I'm suffering?”

  “I do prefer to think of myself as an infliction,” I smiled.

  “You have an unusual sense of humour, Miss South,” Heronsgate replied with a low chuckle. Perhaps in his normal social circles, but it was fairly common where I came from. “Are you here alone?”

  “Simon should be on his way.”

  “You spend a lot of time together?”

  “Not usually. I think he thought that this would be a good apology for yesterday.”

  If Simon had known me better he would have just turned up on my doorstep with a pizza and a few bottles of beer.

  “He should have told yo
u who you were meeting and not to order anything,” Heronsgate agreed, “but he does like to have his fun.”

  “Most Wildlings do,” I smiled, Lucy and her brothers were similar in that respect. “Doesn't mean I am going to let him get away with it, I just need to find something of his worth aiming for.”

  “That sounds a little frightening,” Heronsgate frowned.

  “Don't get mad,” I quoted.

  “Get even,” Heronsgate winced but it had an amused edge to it.

  “Are you looking to buy?” I asked, deciding that we needed a change of topic.

  “No. We donated several parts and I was curious how they were used.”

  The royal 'we' meaning his company.

  “Which one?” I asked.

  None of the tags against the artwork had names or donators against them, just a number and a barcode a guest could scan and log a bid against.

  Heronsgate led me deeper into the exhibit to a large piece with several easily recognisable exhaust parts fashioned into a snake and painted in several garish fluorescent colours. I was still struggling to find something nice to say about it when we were joined by Simon and another woman who Heronsgate greeted with a warm smile and a loose hug. She was a thin little woman with short straight hair that was more functional than styled. She wore no make-up and sported jeans and a pain T-shirt that was even more informal then my dress.

  “Harriet South, this is Jessica Fallow,” Heronsgate introduced us and I offered her my hand, she looked at it a long moment as if she thought it would bite before shaking it in a limp and reluctant way. “Jessica is Heronsgate Industries' chief race designer.”

  “It's nice to meet you,” I smiled.

  “What have they done to my parts?” She complained, frowning at the exhaust system.

  “It's for a good cause, Jessica,” Heronsgate chuckled.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Fallow, if you see something you like I promise to help you liberate it back to your garage,” Simon grinned.

  Fallow snarled, the sound was more animal than human and leaving me in no doubt that she was Wildling. Instead of pushing the joke, Simon carefully but deliberately cut between Fallow and Heronsgate and continued through the gallery trying to keep her attention. I watched his attempts with undisguised amusement and fell into step with Heronsgate out of reflex rather than by invitation as we continued slowly behind them.