Between The Sheets (21 page)

'Some dinner and then maybe we could go to the pub you were telling me about; the one that has those live jazz sessions.'

'Cassidy's, in Temple Bar. Yeah, okay. Where will we meet?'

'I could pick you up.'

'Oh, no, that's okay. I'll meet you in town.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, really.'

'Okay. How about Nico's at eight?'

Sylvie nodded. 'Fine.'

Dana handed her PA the latest pages of
The Mile High Club.
'My latest pathetic offering. You get off home; it can wait till morning. I'm off for a bath. See you later.'

'Yeah, see ya.' Left alone, Sylvie went back to the office and sat down at her own desk. She couldn't wait until morning to read Dana's latest work. She hoped it was better than the last chapter. She bent her head and started to read.

Sylvie skipped forward to the next page, and then the next. There was just more of the same. Dana's heroine didn't seem to do anything other than wonder about her lover and her life. Not unlike the author. Nothing seemed to be happening in the book — hadn't been for the last couple of chapters. Bobbi spent all her time navel-gazing, phoning her lover or waiting by the phone for his call. Sylvie wasn't surprised Victor had lost interest. The heroine had become a pathetic and irritating woman. Even the love scenes were pedestrian and lacklustre.

This was nowhere near what Dana was capable of. It certainly wouldn't be good enough to launch the Passion imprint. Gretta would be furious. Sylvie felt sorry for Dana but she couldn't help thinking how it would affect her life too. Dana wouldn't need a PA if she didn't have a contract. And how could Sylvie help to support her family if she lost this job? Her only real skill was typing, and she had a limited knowledge but no flair when it came to looking after Dana's website. She had been very lucky the day Dana had employed her. The flexible working hours allowed her to help out with her father. And the money and perks were great. She wasn't sure she would be so lucky the next time. Still, having Dana's name on her CV had to count for something.

Feeling frustrated and helpless, Sylvie put on her coat, grabbed her bag and left the house. As she hurried to catch the bus that would bring her the short distance to her home in Ringsend, Sylvie wondered what to do. Going out tonight no longer appealed to her. She prayed Dana wouldn't ask her what she thought of her work; she didn't want to have to tell her. But maybe a night out was exactly what Dana needed. Maybe it would inspire her.

'Hello, love. Good day?' Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the news on the small television on the dresser.

'Quiet.'

'She's still not working, then?' Maureen said, a frown creasing her brow.

'She is. Just not very well.' Sylvie put on the kettle and, fetching a mug, spooned coffee into it. 'Want one?' she asked her mother.

Maureen shook her head. 'I just had some tea. So what will happen, do you think?'

'I'm not sure. If she carries on like this, though, I don't think they'll publish the book at all.'

'That's terrible.'

'Yeah.' Sylvie made the coffee and sat down opposite her mother. 'And what's worse is that both her agent and editor think she's back to normal and that the book will be finished by the end of next month.' She shook her head, sadly. 'But even if she makes that deadline, they're going to be so disappointed in the book.'

'And where will that leave you?'

Sylvie looked her straight in the eye. 'I really don't know, Mum.'

'Why does everything have to happen together?' her mother groaned. 'The doctor was here today and he thinks your father might need another operation.'

'Oh, no.' Sylvie reached out to grasp her mother's hand. If only it were possible to take the worry from her eyes.

'And your brother needs a new jacket.'

'But he just got one,' Sylvie protested.

Maureen nodded. 'I know. He left it on the bus apparently.'

'He'd lose his head if it wasn't screwed on,' Sylvie complained. 'Where is he?'

'Gone to study at Alec's house.'

Sylvie checked her watch. 'I'm going out with Dana later.'

Maureen's eyes widened. 'Again?'

'Yeah. Maybe it will cheer her up; it's worth a shot.'

'Is she going to end up in the newspaper again?'

Sylvie laughed. 'No. Tonight we're just going for dinner and a quiet drink. Is there anything you want me to do before I go and get ready?'

'No, love, you go on. There's plenty of water if you want a bath.'

'Lovely. I'll just nip in and say hi to Dad first.'

'Don't mention the operation,' Maureen warned. 'I'm not telling him until we're sure one way or the other.'

'Okay.'

Sylvie left her and went in to see her father. He was lying on his side, reading. She was struck by how small he looked; this cursed disease seemed to be making him shrink. He was barely half the size he'd been ten years ago. 'Hi, Dad.'

He turned his head to look at her and smiled. 'Hello, love. How was work?'

'Fine. I'm off out with Dana again.'

'Somewhere swanky, I suppose.'

She smiled. 'Maybe. I'd better go and get ready. Can I get you anything?'

He shook his head. 'Just come in and see me before you go; I love seeing my little girl all dolled up.'

'Okay, Dad.'

'Where's your brother?'

'Down at Alec's, studying.'

'I hope he is. He needs to work hard if he's going to do well in those exams. I worry about the maths; he's never been good with figures.'

'I'll go over it with him at the weekend, Dad, don't worry.'

'You're a good girl, Sylvie. I don't know what we'd do without you.'

Later, as she applied her make-up, Sylvie's thoughts returned to her plight. How much longer, she wondered, would she be employed by Dana De Lacey? Maybe she should just ask the author outright. Tonight. She might as well. It wasn't as if she had a lot to lose.

Sylvie took a last look at her reflection, slipped on her highest sandals and carefully made her way back downstairs. She went into her dad's room and twirled in front of the bed.

'You look gorgeous,' he told her. 'But that skirt's too short and you'll break your neck in those heels.'

Sylvie laughed and bent to touch her lips to his forehead. 'Night, Dad.'

After she'd said goodbye to her mother, Sylvie hurried — as fast as her shoes would allow — to the restaurant in Temple Bar. It was a fifteen-minute walk but she didn't want to waste money on a bus fare and walking kept her slim. As she walked, she wondered how to raise the subject of
The Mile High Club.
Dana knew that Sylvie read the chapters as she wrote them but they never discussed them unless Sylvie offered a compliment. She hadn't said anything since Dana had resumed work on the novel. She was as good as the next person when it came to flattery and ego-massaging, but she just couldn't bring herself to lie to Dana. Not when the outcome was so important to so many people.

When she pushed open the door of the restaurant, Dana was already seated at a table in the centre of the room, studying the menu. A champagne bucket sat next to the table and a foaming glass was at Dana's elbow.

'Hi!' The author smiled up at her, gesturing to the waiter to pour her PA some champagne, and to top up her own glass. 'I thought we should start as we mean to go on,' Dana said, raising her glass in a toast. 'Cheers.'

'Don't go too mad,' Sylvie teased, taking a sip. 'You've so much to do tomorrow.'

Dana's smile faded. 'Thanks. Can't I just forget about the bloody book for a couple of hours?'

'Sorry.'

'It's okay,' Dana said, but she still looked annoyed.

Sylvie took another sip of champagne and stuck her head into the menu. As usual, she couldn't understand most of it and didn't know what to order. 'I'm not sure what to have,' she said. 'Any suggestions?'

Dana rolled off a number of options and Sylvie dived in when she eventually mentioned something simple. 'The prawns with garlic sound good.'

'Yes. I'll have the same,' Dana said without interest, and closed her menu.

The waiter took their order. Avoiding Dana's eye, Sylvie asked for a large bottle of sparkling water.

Dana raised her eyebrows. 'Feeling thirsty?'

'I'm just trying to help,' Sylvie protested. 'I know you're finding it hard to write at the moment. And a hangover isn't going to help, is it?'

'Anything else you want to get off your chest?'

This was the perfect time to say something but Sylvie felt her mouth dry up as she searched for the right words.

Dana pushed back her chair. 'In that case, I'm going to the loo.'

Sylvie watched her leave. She'd missed her chance. Maybe it was for the best. It wasn't her job to counsel her boss or offer advice. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more foolhardy such a course seemed. Dana would shoot the messenger and that would leave Sylvie exactly where she didn't want to be: out on her ear. No, all she could do was try to cheer Dana up. And maybe, if Dana relaxed a bit, Sylvie could drop some subtle hints about jazzing up the storyline. Sylvie took another sip of her bubbly. Better enjoy it while she could.

Dana reapplied her lipstick and mascara and prepared to go back into the restaurant, but her earlier good humour had dissolved. She didn't want to sit through dinner trying to make conversation with her glum PA. Sylvie's disapproval was obvious. Dana should have stayed home, or called Ryan and gone for a quiet drink with him instead. But calling him so soon would give him the wrong idea — he'd expect the evening to end in her bed. And, it probably would. This whole friends thing was a joke. Dana knew she would never be able to resist him if he turned on the charm. And she didn't want to appear desperate either. Lord, it wasn't easy being single again. It certainly wasn't as much fun at thirty-seven as it had been when she was in her twenties. For a start, men treated her completely differently now that she was no longer accompanied by Gus. Then, she'd received compliments and respect. Now, she was fair game.

She didn't know how Sylvie could stand it. True, the girl was only twenty-eight. But because she was looking for a rich man, she frequented the older clubs and subjected herself to the leers and mauls from some real creeps.

With a weary sigh, Dana closed her handbag and went back inside. She managed to summon up a smile as she sat down. 'Hope you haven't drunk all the bubbly.'

'I'm sorry, Dana. I didn't mean to preach to you,' Sylvie said. 'It's just I've been worried about you.'

'Worried about me? Why on earth would you be worried about me?' Even Dana realized that she sounded more than a little defensive.

Sylvie shrugged, nervously. 'You're not yourself.'

'Then who am I?' Dana quipped.

Sylvie pulled a face and said nothing.

'I'm sorry. Go on.'

'Are you sure?'

Dana nodded. 'Sure.'

'Well, you haven't done that much work on the book. Yet you promised Walter you'd finish it—'

'And I will.'

They fell silent as their food was served. Dana looked at her plate, pushed it away and topped up her glass instead.

Sylvie watched, her large eyes full of concern. 'Maybe. But do you think Gretta will be happy with it?'

Dana lowered her glass and stared. 'Are you trying to say something?'

Sylvie looked down at her plate. 'I'm sorry, Dana. I just don't think that it's your best work.'

Dana sat in stunned silence. She knew that
The Mile High Club
was far from her best novel. Hell, it was crap. But for Sylvie to say so ...

'I'm sorry. I'd never normally say anything — there's never been reason to before—' Sylvie's words tumbled out in a rush. 'But when I read those pages today ...'

'Go on,' Dana said quietly.

Sylvie raised her eyes to meet Dana's. 'I just thought it was a bit... tame.'

'Tame?' Dana swallowed hard.

Sylvie nodded.

Dana forced a tight smile. 'Well, don't stop now. You've started, so you may as well finish.'

Sylvie took a drink. 'Okay, then. But please under-stand, Dana, I'm not trying to tell you how to do your job. I've no idea how you turn out book after book. I think you're amazing—'

'Oh, please—'

'But I mean it,' Sylvie protested, distressed. 'I've always loved your books, and it's really exciting for me that I'm the first one who gets to read them. That makes me feel very special.'

'Sylvie, really! My books are not exactly literary masterpieces,' Dana retorted.

'No, they're pure entertainment.'

Dana's lips twitched. 'I'm not sure I'd use the word "pure".'

Sylvie laughed, relief flooding her face. She continued, braver now. 'Women read your books to escape. They read your books because they're fed up with fat, balding husbands or drunken, cheating boyfriends. They want heroes who are sexy, who are handsome and who, above all, put what the woman wants first.'