City Lives (18 page)

‘And were you pushed or did you resign?’ Maggie asked, agog.

‘Nobody pushes me, Maggie,’ Marcy said snootily, sitting back to allow the waiter to place her starter in front of her.

When Maggie was served and they were alone again, Marcy resumed their conversation.

‘I resigned after the most horrible year I have ever put in. I can’t continue to work there. I simply couldn’t cope with the demands and changes when standards were slipping in
every department. They’ve turned it into a Yellow Pack Publishers. The two proofreaders and the copy editor were let go. They’re hiring freelance ones who are absolutely hopeless but
needless to say much cheaper. And it’s not that there aren’t good proofreaders out there. There are, but the good ones are expensive and Claudette won’t pay them. The woman is
such
a penny-pincher except when she’s out buying her designer labels, of course.’

Marcy was going to town on Claudette. The knife was in deep, Maggie thought in amusement. She was sure her editor was exaggerating the situation, as was her wont. The trouble with Marcy was that
she liked being in control. Unfortunately, now it was Claudette who was pulling the strings.

‘I ended up proofing and copy-editing half the time. I don’t have time for that, Maggie!’ Marcy ranted. ‘But I couldn’t let manuscripts go to print in the state
they were in. I couldn’t stand over them. And I wouldn’t do that to my authors. No author of mine is going to be taken to task and get bad reviews because of shoddy editing. I needed
decent backup and I wasn’t getting it!’ Marcy shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe what was going on. ‘Sandra’s going berserk too,’ she added as she
speared a mushroom. ‘She’s not going to stay much longer either.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Maggie asked glumly as she forked a piece of anchovy and nibbled at it. The Caesar salad was delicious but her appetite had waned after hearing such
disturbing news. With Marcy gone, and Sandra going, Maggie knew she definitely didn’t want to stay.

‘I’m taking a couple of months off to review my options. Once the news is out that I’ve left Enterprise the offers will come flooding in, I’m not exaggerating. I’m
a valuable commodity. I can spot best-selling novels and go with them. Some editors are good at spotting talent but not good at working on text. Some are great at text but don’t have a
commercial eye. I’m good at both. I’ll have no problems getting work. I just want to be sure that I’m working for a publishing company that aspires to the same things that I
aspire to.’

‘What did Jeremy say when you offered your resignation?’

‘Maggie, that was the day when I realized that Jeremy has no loyalty to anyone. I was with him for years.
Years
. And it meant
nothing
.’ Marcy’s eyes glittered
suspiciously and Maggie saw the hurt reflected in them. What would she do if Marcy burst into tears? It was unthinkable.

The moment passed and Marcy regained her composure. She pointed her fork at Maggie. ‘Never mix business and friendship. Friendship always loses out. Loyalty is to the dollar, not the
person. Jeremy took my letter of resignation, wished me well in a cold sort of way. And that was that. Nothing more. Not even an expression of regret that our collaboration was at an end. But he
couldn’t look me in the eye. He knows full well that he’s sold out and I’m glad I don’t have to work with him any more. He’s pitiful.’ Marcy’s tone oozed
contempt.

‘That’s dreadful,’ murmured Maggie. ‘You both always seemed so enthusiastic about publishing and so in tune.’

‘When Jeremy was in his prime, there wasn’t a publisher who could touch him. He was a groundbreaker. But publishing’s changed. It’s all take-overs and international
buy-ups. It’s big business,’ Marcy moaned.

Maggie could see that, to a certain degree, her editor was enjoying the drama of it all.

‘Claudette, needless to say, is delighted by my resignation. I’ve been such a thorn in her side,’ Marcy continued. ‘She’s been trying to get rid of me ever since
she took over. She’s assured me of an excellent reference. As if I’d take a reference from
her
. The woman can’t even spell or punctuate. You should see the memos that she
sends around the office. I always make it a point to edit mine and hand them back to her with the corrections in red biro. It drives her bananas. Childish I know, but it makes me feel good. I
don’t need references from the likes of her. My authors and their novels are testament enough to my track record.’ Marcy’s fingers tightened on her knife and fork and Maggie could
see how deeply hurt she was, for all her bravado.

‘I can’t imagine working with another editor,’ Maggie confessed. ‘I always enjoyed our editing sessions so much.’

‘As did I.’ Marcy managed a wan smile. ‘You’re a good writer, Maggie. You write from the heart. Just watch your tendency to overuse adjectives and adverbs. Although you
have much improved in that too.’

Maggie laughed. ‘I’ll never forget you and your red pen on my first day of editing. I was shell-shocked.’

‘You survived and did very well. I’m proud of you, Maggie. And proud that I discovered such a talented writer. Perhaps we’ll work together again. How many more have you to do
for them?’

‘One after this one.’

‘That’s not too bad. Never
ever
sign more than a two-book contract. You never know how circumstances are going to change. It’s a nightmare to be tied up to a company
that you don’t want to be with. Have you heard about how there’s ructions in Bennett’s Books? The auditors have been called in, there’s wholesale fraud going on. Writs are
flying, authors are suing, it’s the talk of the trade.’ Marcy was in full flow.

Maggie took a sip of her sparkling water and sat back as the waiter removed her plate. She might as well
try
and enjoy the rest of her lunch, and the gossip, it was the last one
she’d have with Marcy as author and editor. Who knew what was in store for her now with Enterprise Publishing?

Terry panted hard and tried to suppress a groan. He was puffed. He glanced at the console in front of him. Four hundred metres. Only a quarter of a mile on level one of the
incline and he was bushwhacked. Maybe he’d jack it in early and go and have lunch. There was a time when he could have run three miles on the treadmill and it wouldn’t have knocked a
feather out of him. Just worked up a light sweat, that was all. Once you hit forty it was downhill all the way, he thought grumpily.

He jabbed a stubby finger on the speed button and reduced it to a more tolerable level. He shouldn’t be expecting miracles on his first day back at the gym. It was just that he needed to
get fit fast. In a matter of weeks Alma Al Shariff would be a guest in his house, and he wanted to be looking his best. He’d always had a thing for Alma. She was a sexy bird. And she had a
way of looking at you from beneath her lashes that was very come-hither. Terry
knew
she fancied him. Always had, he thought confidently, as he increased his incline to the second level and
saw two red dots light up the console. In a week he’d be up to five and more, he vowed. Alma Al Shariff was going to see a lean, mean, fighting machine. Not a paunchy slob with love
handles.

Terry sighed. The weight had crept on him so gradually. All the business lunches and expensive dinners. If Maggie was any good she’d take him in tow and make sure she cooked low-calorie
dishes at home and encourage him to diet. But she didn’t care any more. She had no time for him. It was the kids and her writing. He was just an afterthought. He wasn’t used to being an
afterthought, he thought resentfully.

Hell! He’d worked hard to give Maggie and the kids a decent lifestyle and a big house. OK, so he’d had a fling with Ria Kirby. Men did things like that and they meant nothing. Women
took all this fidelity lark so seriously. There was not one man in his set who hadn’t played around, although most of the lucky bastards hadn’t been caught, he thought ruefully. If he
had another affair it was Maggie’s own fault. He wasn’t getting tender loving care and consideration at home so he’d just have to look for it elsewhere. Sure they had sex,
occasionally, when she wasn’t moaning about being so tired. But her heart wasn’t in it. It was purely mechanical. And very unsatisfying. She just lay there like a sack of spuds.

Sometimes she didn’t even bother to fake it. That seemed worse than her not having an orgasm. The fact that she wouldn’t fake it just showed that she didn’t care about the way
he felt any more. When their marriage had been good he’d prided himself on his abilities as a lover. Maggie knew that. Knew that it was important to him, but now she couldn’t care less.
What he needed, and needed badly, was a woman who was hot for him. A woman who would make him feel like a man again. But first he had to get fit and look fit.

He checked the mileage display. Eight hundred metres. Half a mile in seven minutes. Not bad for his first attempt. It had been years since he’d worked out. He slowed the treadmill to a
crawl, wiped his forehead and took a drink. Next on his agenda was the abs toner. A couple of weeks doing that and his belly would be as flat as a pancake, he thought optimistically as he stopped
the treadmill. He took a couple more slugs of water then walked into the exercise section, placed a mat on the floor, laid his head on the pad of the lightweight machine and began to exercise.
Twenty reps later he was puffed and his stomach muscles ached. Just as well he was lying down, he thought dispiritedly, as he began another set. Only the thought of the flirty Alma kept him
going.

Caroline sat fidgeting at her desk. She was supposed to be working out staff requirements for the new Galway project but her attention kept wandering and she simply
couldn’t concentrate.

It was almost a week since Mrs Yates had had her heart attack and she was making satisfactory progress, according to Richard’s brief daily report.

Tension was high between them, almost as bad as when he had been hitting her and she’d been drinking. She hadn’t suggested again going to the hospital with him and he hadn’t
invited her to and so a wall of resentment was being built between them, brick by brick. Caroline knew that unless she made a move he never would. What a fool she’d been to move back in with
him after working in Abu Dhabi. To think she had actually made the break once, survived it and made a life for herself, and then she’d let it all slip away.

It was said that life presented the same lesson to you until you learned it. Now she was going to have to go through it all again. Devlin had suggested that she take a holiday as she
hadn’t had one this year. The thought was appealing. But where to go on her own and what to do?

A friend of hers, Monica Denton, whom she’d worked with in Abu Dhabi, was constantly trying to persuade her to come back out to the Gulf on another holiday, but the idea didn’t
really appeal to her. Her first visit to the Gulf had been wonderfully exciting and adventurous. The cultural differences had astonished and delighted her. The scents of jasmine and frangipani and
other glorious exotic flowers had been intoxicating and she had enjoyed the whole experience, although in the end she’d been glad to escape the heat and humidity for the fresh tangy air of
home. A year and a half later when she’d gone back for a ten-day visit it hadn’t been the same. She’d been tired and stressed after a year without a holiday. In that twelve months
she’d done a damn good job for Devlin, taking charge of the personnel administration in the three City Girl centres. After such hard work, she’d badly needed a break.

She shouldn’t have gone to the Gulf for that particular holiday, she’d admitted to herself on the second day of her stay. The heat and humidity that left her feeling like a wet rag,
the noise, the never-ending traffic that filled the city with stinking fumes, had got to her. It was far from restful. She would have been much better off on a beach in Majorca.

Monica and her American husband Wayne had felt obliged to fill Caroline’s day with activities, when all she had really wanted to do was to laze in the sun and read and relax and avoid
people. She met enough people at home, between work and Richard’s ladder-climbing social life.

Unfortunately Wayne was a go-getter. He worked for a large multinational oil company. A high-flyer in his own eyes, he liked to see and be seen. He had the biggest ego Caroline had ever
encountered. He couldn’t sit quietly for ten minutes but always had to be bustling about in his fussy irritating way, organizing this, that and the other. He was sure that Caroline was deeply
impressed by their affluent lifestyle and nearly drove her insane with his boasting and bragging.

After ten days of parties, cultural events, coffee mornings, shopping, eating out and general socializing, Caroline was exhausted. Monica and Wayne seemed to have been going through a bad patch
and had bickered constantly. The atmosphere in their big high-rise apartment that overlooked the Corniche had been tense. Caroline had found it stressful, to say the least, and had been glad to
step onto the KLM airbus for the long tiring flight home.

‘You’ll have to come and stay longer the next time and we’ll have to do much more sightseeing. We never got to Dubai, or Al Ain, this time,’ Monica urged on the phone,
two days later, as Caroline, still not unpacked, was thinking that she’d need a holiday to get over her holiday.

They phoned regularly to invite her back to stay with them and Caroline knew they couldn’t understand how she wasn’t jumping for joy at the idea of a holiday in such an exotic
location. They were completely immersed in the frenzy of the expat lifestyle. They couldn’t see beyond it. Monica and Wayne had forgotten how to relax. The older woman could not understand
Caroline’s need for solitude.

‘You’ve changed so much, Caroline. You have to put yourself about. There are great job opportunities out here for someone with your experience. I could introduce you to so many
influential people. What do you want to bury yourself in Dublin for the rest of your life for? Divorce the jerk. Come out here and find a rich husband and you’ll be set up for life.
You’ll never get a man with your head stuck in those books. Come on, we should be out socializing, you can read any old time.’