City Lives (17 page)

‘Oh I had that with the twins. I’ll never forget it. I used to be exhausted. I fell asleep at a dinner party in Saudi once. Terry was mortified. It passes after the first three
months, though. And Devlin, my advice is, don’t run yourself into the ground and take naps when you need them,’ Maggie said firmly.

‘Yes, nurse,’ Devlin said meekly.

Maggie grinned. ‘I mean it, Miss. I know you. Gadding about here and there, organizing this, developing that. This is the perfect time for you to learn to delegate—’ A knock on
the door interrupted her lecture.

‘Perfect timing, saved from a sermon.’ Devlin wrinkled her nose at Maggie as she opened the door to admit a white-coated beautician. ‘Hi, Carla, can you do a quick repair job
on Maggie? She has to be out of here in five minutes.’

‘No problem,’ the young woman said cheerfully. ‘If you just sit here in Devlin’s chair – the light is better – I’ll fix you up now.’

Five minutes later Maggie, restored to her former glory, hugged Devlin. ‘Thanks for everything. I’ll be in touch.’

‘Let me know what’s going on. I’ll be dying to hear. And good luck. I’m sure it will all turn out for the best. Maybe your new editor will be dynamite! Maybe she’ll
take you to creative heights you’ve never been to before. Sometimes change is good,’ Devlin encouraged. ‘And don’t forget, Luke and I will help out any way we can when the
Al Shariffs are over. OK?’

‘OK.’ Maggie smiled as she waved goodbye and closed the door behind her. The relief of unburdening herself to Devlin left her feeling much less oppressed. Her friend was right.
Keeping things in didn’t help. A good cry helped the body and soul. The release of all that emotion had helped her clarify things in her own mind. She had finally admitted that she
didn’t want to be married to Terry any more. And while it didn’t change her situation, the verbal acknowledgement of it meant that she could stop running away from it. That at least was
something positive. And maybe Devlin was right about the new editor. She always had a very optimistic way of looking at things. Maggie hadn’t thought of it in those terms at all. Maybe her
creativity would be enhanced and she’d learn a lot more about writing. Perhaps things wouldn’t turn out too bad after all.

Maggie hurried down the steps of City Girl – she didn’t want to keep Marcy waiting. Then a thought struck her. Marcy had often kept her waiting. She slowed her pace. Typical of her,
Maggie thought ruefully. Putting everyone else first. Well, not today. She wasn’t going to arrive at the Shelbourne out of breath and all flustered. Marcy could cool her heels for a few
minutes for once.

The Shelbourne was buzzing. Movers, shakers. Businessmen and women. Ladies who lunch. Legal eagles. Men about town. Politicians. Journalists. They all ebbed and flowed through
the busy hotel and there, in the lounge, engrossed in a conversation on her mobile, a sheaf of papers on her knee, briefcase at her feet, sat Marcy Elliot, the epitome of the Nineties career
woman.

Maggie had always admired her. Highly intelligent, sharp, tolerating no nonsense. Marcy was assertive and assured and always put herself first. Although she admired her, Maggie didn’t like
her the way she liked Sandra Nolan, the sales and marketing director. Sandra was warm and bubbly as well as being superb at her job. Marcy lacked warmth and empathy and Maggie found that hard to
take sometimes. Nevertheless she was an exceptional editor and Maggie knew how lucky she was to have been given such an excellent grounding for her first three novels. Marcy had taught her a
lot.

Today her editor was as elegant and stylish as ever, in a severe black suit with a cream camisole. Her cropped chestnut hair gleamed. Her make-up was impeccable. Her bright blue eyes shone with
health. Marcy was one of the most health-conscious people Maggie had ever met. She neither smoked nor drank. Didn’t eat red meat, exercised daily and looked so fit and healthy that Maggie
always felt stones overweight and sludgy and flabby beside her.

Marcy saw her and beckoned imperiously for her to join her. Maggie hid a smile. Although she and Marcy were almost the same age, Marcy had an air of authority and self-assurance that made her
seem years older.

‘I suggest that we try and find a window that suits both of us sooner rather than later, Monica. Get your secretary to call me when you’ve had a chance to check your diary. Talk
soon. Bye,’ Maggie heard her editor say crisply before she ended the call. Marcy then turned her attention to her author and in her brisk, authoritative way said, ‘Maggie, good to see
you.
Love
the hair. It takes years off you. Let’s head directly into the restaurant. I’ve booked a table in Number 27. I haven’t eaten there before. I’m looking
forward to it.’ She swept her file of papers into her briefcase in one fluid motion.

She stood up gracefully and Maggie tried not to be envious of her supple, well-toned figure. ‘I hope you’re hungry. This is going on Enterprise’s expense account and I, for
one, intend making the most of it.’ She swept ahead of Maggie and led the way out of the lounge and into the restaurant.

As they were shown to their table, Maggie, who hadn’t dined in the restaurant previously either, was conscious that the majority of diners were men. She looked around to see if Terry was
at any of the tables. He often had business lunches here. She couldn’t see him, or, more likely in Terry’s case, hear him, but she silently applauded his choice of restaurant.

Number 27 was spacious, airy and ornately elegant, the high ceiling with its beautiful intricate plaster work a tribute to the timeless refinement of bygone days. Chandeliers sparkled. Mirrors
gleamed on the walls, reflecting windows adorned with heavy swagged blue curtains. Warm yellow walls lent a cosy air. The pile of the carpet was so thick she could feel her heels sinking into it.
She must jot down a few notes to remind herself of the décor, she thought. She could use it in a novel.

Pictures flashed into her mind’s eye. Tara, her heroine in
Betrayal
, could be having an unexpected business lunch, just like Maggie, and she could discover her skunk of a husband,
Jonathan, engaging in yet another tryst. It would be a good set piece and another chapter, Maggie thought happily, as she visualized the hugely satisfying emotional scene that she would later
write. There was eating and drinking in it. Maggie smiled. She loved it when inspirations like this struck.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Marcy asked as Maggie sat down opposite her and took the menu from the attentive waiter.

‘I was just thinking of a particularly meaty scene that I could write with Tara and Jonathan, set here,’ she enthused. ‘Tara could have a mid-morning meeting with a client
changed to a lunch appointment. When she walks into the dining-room she finds Jonathan sitting with a stunning redhead gazing into his eyes, and this after he’s promised her he’s
finished with the blonde bimbo mistress, Jill. And then—’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh but you won’t be editing me any more. There’s not much point in telling you about
it,’ she added regretfully.

‘Let’s order first, Maggie, and then we’ll discuss what’s happening. Have whatever you like. As I said, Enterprise is paying for this and I don’t mind if they have
to pay through the nose,’ Marcy instructed tartly. Maggie’s heart sank. She didn’t like the sound of this. Marcy had always been Enterprise’s champion. She had cared deeply
about the company and had always been completely involved in matters pertaining to it. She and Jeremy Wilson, Maggie’s publisher and Marcy’s employer, were particularly close. There had
been rumours of an affair. Watching them together over the years, Maggie couldn’t quite decide if this was the case. She was more inclined to think that their closeness was because of a
shared love of books and commitment to publishing.

Jeremy Wilson was not exactly God’s gift to women, and Marcy’s husband, Daniel, was rather dishy. If the relationship between Marcy and Jeremy was physical, Maggie would have been
very surprised. Besides, Jeremy’s second wife, Claudette, a feisty Frenchwoman, kept a fairly tight rein on him.

‘I think I’ll have the mushroom risotto and the vegetable lasagne,’ Marcy decided.

‘Maggie?’ She arched an eyebrow at her author.

‘Oh . . . aah!’ Maggie had been so busy worrying about what was going on at Enterprise Publishing that she hadn’t really studied the menu. ‘Mmm . . . I’ll go for
the Caesar salad and the fillet of beef, please,’ she ordered hastily, before handing back her menu.

‘Would you care for some wine, Maggie?’ Marcy asked.

‘I’m driving today. I won’t bother. Ballygowan Sparkling will be fine, thanks.’

‘Two Ballygowans with lemon and ice please,’ Marcy ordered.

The waiter smiled politely, took the menus and glided away.

‘Why are you leaving?’ Maggie was direct.

Marcy sighed. ‘It’s not my choice, to be honest. It’s not what I want or what I ever envisaged. I helped Jeremy build up Enterprise Publishing. I signed up great, talented
authors, yourself included. But quality was always of the utmost importance to me. You know that, Maggie.’ Her tone was stern. ‘I want to be proud of our product. I demand high
standards.’

‘I know that, Marcy. It’s always been a challenge and a comfort to know that you demand and expect the best,’ Maggie said warmly, and meant it. ‘So what’s
changed?’

‘An awful lot has changed, unfortunately, and certainly not for the better. Some of the manuscripts that are being accepted now are, quite frankly,
rubbish
!’ Marcy tapped
the fingers of one hand agitatedly against the table in a sharp staccato. Maggie couldn’t help but notice. It was so out of character. Marcy was
always
extremely controlled. Maggie
had seen her snowed under with work, a dozen books on the go, phones ringing non-stop. Constant interruptions. But she was never fazed. This was a totally new side to Marcy. She’d never seen
her editor so fidgety or jumpy. It was unnerving.

‘Go on,’ she prompted.

Marcy inhaled deeply. ‘You remember, a year ago, there were management changes. Jeremy remained as publisher but handed over the reins of MD to Claudette. Well she –’ the
she
was uttered in a tone of utter contempt, emphasized with flared nostrils, tightening of the lips and narrowing of the eyes that left Maggie in no doubt as to how her editor felt about
the current managing director – ‘is making changes left, right, and centre. And, at the risk of repeating myself, none for the better. I can’t work with the woman. She has no
feeling for books.
Bucks
is her goal. Excuse the pun. Quantity not quality is her aim and frankly, Maggie, with her at the helm, Enterprise is going to go down the tubes. Believe
me!’ She waved a hand dramatically.

Maggie could see how Marcy and Claudette would clash. Both were domineering and bossy but, previously, Claudette had always remained somewhat in the background. ‘But why did Jeremy make
Claudette, MD?’ Maggie was curious. Jeremy had always been very hands-on.

‘He had chest pains eighteen months ago and was hospitalized for tests, as you know. He was diagnosed with angina. Claudette badgered him to make her MD. Not, I hasten to add, out of
concern for Jeremy, she doesn’t give two hoots about him. But she wanted to get her claws into the company good and deep. Jeremy has a daughter from his first marriage and Claudette is
determined that she’ll get nothing when Jeremy dies. She’s going to swindle her out of that company good and proper. Claudette is a gold-digger and always has been and she’s
extremely manipulative.’ Marcy was so angry her cheeks were puce.

Maggie was very startled at Marcy’s vehemence. She really had it in for Claudette. The fireworks in the past eighteen months must have been mighty.

‘How do you know that it isn’t concern for Jeremy? How do you know all this?’ Maggie broke a bread roll in half and began to butter it.

‘Maggie, I’ve known them both a long time. I’ve known Jeremy longer than Claudette has. Marrying her was a big mistake, I could see it. She went after him for his money. He, of
course, is so vain, he thought it was because she found him irresistible. The fool! Vanity was always Jeremy’s weak spot. He should have bedded her but never wed her if it was sex that he
wanted. But no, he had to make an idiot of himself and go galloping down the aisle at his age because his ego and his hormones were rampant.’ Marcy was so indignant she had to take a sip of
water.

Maggie was fascinated. Jeremy Wilson with rampant hormones. It was a faintly revolting thought. Jeremy, skinny, bony, with mottled hands and bad breath, Claudette deserved every penny she got if
she had sex with him, Maggie couldn’t help thinking. There was definitely a novel in this, she thought wryly, as Marcy resumed her tirade.

‘Claudette never gave a toss about the company when Jeremy was in the full of his health, all she wanted to do was
spend
his money. His angina has concentrated her mind
wonderfully. He is, after all, twenty years older than she is. Don’t forget that. Enterprise Publishing is relatively successful. She sees the dollar signs. Don’t for a minute think
that when Jeremy pops his clogs Claudette is going to keep on the company. She’s going to sell it for a mega profit to some big publishing conglomerate and then you can forget it, Maggie.
Quality, good writing, style . . . out the window.’

‘And can Jeremy not see what’s happening to his company? Can he not put his foot down?’

Marcy shook her head. ‘He doesn’t
want
to see. He’s sold out. She’s got to him. It’s all about money now. You were lucky you signed your contract when you
did. Don’t sign another one with them. Angela Allen and Josephine Langley are leaving at the end of their contracts. They can see the writing on the wall.’

‘Wow!’ Maggie’s eyes widened. This was shocking news. Angela Allen and Josephine Langley were Enterprise’s top authors.

‘I’m telling you, Maggie, that company is going to go down the tubes,’ Marcy reiterated. ‘To be honest, I know I said that Claudette will sell for a big profit but if
Jeremy doesn’t pop his clogs sooner rather than later, she might be on a hiding to nothing. If all the big authors leave there’ll be no company to sell. Big conglomerates won’t be
interested in the smaller-fry authors. Ha!’ Marcy gave a dry laugh. ‘She’ll be well and truly hoist by her own petard. And that is something I would dearly like to see.’