The Matchmaker (28 page)

Angus Hamilton was stretched out in bed upstairs in the mews when she called bearing newspapers, a DVD of a Hitchcock film and fifteen freshly made fairy cakes with pastel icing and a bottle of pink Caladryl lotion.

‘You look awful,’ she said, staring at the spotted face and arms and the trail of huge red weals on his chest and hands as he clutched desperately at the quilt.

‘Go away,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Let me die in peace.’

‘You are definitely not going to die,’ Sarah chided, ‘but if you sit up I’ll make you a coffee.’

She chased back down to the kitchen, emptying his smelly bin and throwing some dirty clothes in the washing machine. By the time she got back upstairs with two mugs of coffee she noticed he had brushed his hair, smoothed out his sheets and was eating a pink-topped bun.

‘Aren’t they yummy?’ She smiled. ‘I knew you’d like them much better than chicken broth and all those disgusting invalid foods.’

‘I’m not an invalid,’ he protested as Sarah, trying not to look at the big scabby blisters near his lip and on his chin, passed him the coffee.

‘Sorry about the chicken pox, but I thought you said you’d had it already.’

‘Apparently not, my mother tells me now that I’ve had every other blasted childhood illness under the sun but not this one.’

‘Poor you,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering how was it that men mostly looked so bad in pyjamas, chicken pox or not!

‘I feel like shit,’ he admitted.

‘You’ll be a bit better in a few days once all the blisters have scabbed over,’ she reassured him. ‘Evie was flying around then.’

‘I was meant to go to Edinburgh tomorrow,’ he said, propping himself up with the pillows, ‘but I’m not well enough. Megan’s going mad because we had tickets for a charity ball which is held in Edinburgh Castle. It’s one of the biggest bashes of the year.’

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled again as she looked around the bedroom, noticing two photos of the beautiful Megan with her bobbed straight black hair and pale face. In one she was with Angus in formal evening wear, a sculpted black silk dress; in another she was sitting on a pier with the sea and an island behind her. She was a classic beauty with a svelte figure and a great sense of style; no wonder Angus was mad about her.

‘She’s beautiful,’ she said, realizing he had caught her staring at the photographs.

He said nothing and Sarah felt a strange awkwardness between them.

‘Will Megan come over to soothe your poor spotty brow?’

‘Doubtful.’ He sighed. ‘She’s not particularly gone on Dublin and when I told her that I was covered in spots you’d think that I had leprosy – she almost jumped away from the phone. No doubt she’ll find a willing replacement partner for the ball.’

Sarah suddenly thought of her mother’s old adage to look close at a lover and see how they behave when illness comes knocking on the door. Perhaps the beautiful Megan wasn’t as perfect as she seemed.

‘I brought you over a container with some of my lasagne and I’ve put it in the freezer. It’ll save you cooking.’

‘Thanks,’ he said weakly, scratching at his arm.

‘You know you should really rub some of that pink stuff all over you,’ she advised. ‘It really helped Evie stop scratching.’

‘Maybe you could rub it on me,’ he teased.

Sarah laughed, glad to see Angus was getting his sense of humour back. ‘I’m making meatballs in a tomato sauce and rice for tea tonight, I’ll pop over with some later if you fancy it.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, reaching for her hand and clasping it in his. ‘You’re an angel.’

He looked so lost and lonely and miserable that she was tempted to stay and keep him company for a while. If she were Megan and had a nice boyfriend like him she wouldn’t leave him reliant on the goodwill of neighbours and friends when he was sick. She’d fly to his side at once. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, she reminded herself, he was just a friend whom she’d come to care about.

‘Angus, I’d better get going,’ she said, passing him up the newspaper. ‘I’ve a few things to do before I collect Evie. I’m trying to get organized to go to London next week, to see a publisher who likes my book.’

‘What?’ he exclaimed, almost jumping out of the bed. ‘That’s
great
news, Sarah. I’m so pleased for you.’

‘Ronan gave it to her and she read the story and liked it. I’m trying not to get my hopes too high,’ she explained, ‘but it is exciting!’

‘You’ll knock them dead when they meet you,’ he said simply, ‘and the book is great!’

Standing outside the mews she tried to gather her thoughts. Even though she was young and single, she was a parent, and she didn’t need the complication of falling for someone like Angus, no matter how charming and fun he was, for the harsh truth of it was that he was already taken.

As Sarah Ryan walked through the busy Terminal 1 in Heathrow, her precious manuscript and photocopies of her story safe along with a change of clothes in the roomy black leather shoulder bag Grace had lent her, she couldn’t help smiling. She was going to London to talk to a real pubisher about a story and character that she had created – it was just too incredible. Thousands of people passed by, caught up in their own lives and problems and work as they rushed and brushed alongside her in the huge airport. Keep calm, she reminded herself as she ignored the panicky feeling in her stomach and tried to suss out which way to go. She was to take the Heathrow Express Train that would bring her into central London and then it was just a short cab ride to the offices of Little Bear Books. She was naturally nervous about meeting a big publisher and discussing her work on a professional level, but was also excited at the prospect.

What was meant to be a simple day in London had turned into a weekend visit! Ronan, when he’d heard about her appointment with Jilly, had insisted she stay on the Friday and Saturday night in his place.

‘Fingers crossed we’ll be celebrating,’ he insisted, ‘and we’ll go out for a lovely dinner.’

Her mum and sisters had been equally supportive. Her mother was minding Evie today, and tomorrow Grace would take over as Maggie was going to Knock on a pilgrimage with Aunt Kitty.

‘Evie will be spoiled rotten while you are away,’ they’d all insisted. ‘It’s only for a few days!’

Her flight had cost half nothing and she’d blinked away the tears when her sisters and mother had insisted on giving her some extra shopping money. Karen had told her she was proud of her and Angus had hugged her and wished her luck.

She hated leaving Evie but knew in her heart that with her granny and aunties she was in safe hands. The prospect of a few days in London was very tempting. She’d only been to London twice previously. Her first time had been with her class of eighty convent girls, and they had spent most of the trip sightseeing for boys their own age and drinking secretly in the rooms of the student hostel that they were staying in. Then she had come over for a twenty-first birthday treat with Grace and Anna when Evie was just over a year old. They’d had tickets for
Les Misérables
, and all she remembered was missing Evie, who had developed a sore ear, and wishing she was home.

This time was different. She had total faith in her family’s ability to babysit and was here on business.

Sarah took a deep breath as she paid the cab driver and stepped through the door of Little Bear Books. There were poster displays everywhere for their latest books and she recognized some of the titles.

A security guard pointed the way to the lift to the fifth floor where editor Jilly Greene had an office. Jilly was tall and dark-haired and very slim, her big eyes and brilliant bone structure emphasized by the amazing silver earrings that dangled from her ears. They were of a spider’s web. Sarah, unable to help herself, stared.

‘They’re cool, aren’t they!’ She smiled, pointing to the seat opposite her desk. ‘Jess, one of my friends, made them for me. They go with a book I’ve just done about a spider who can foretell the future. Who knows, maybe next time I’ll be getting kitten ones!’

Sarah blushed, relieved that Jilly was so taken with her story.

Jilly professed her fondness for Ronan and then asked her to spread her story out on the desk and talk her through it.

‘It’s so simple and cute but I defy anyone from three to ninety-three not to like it,’ she said, fixing Sarah with her intense gaze. ‘You’ve done a lovely job with the character of the cat and of course of her owner. We are keen to publish it, and sign you up for a second book: that’s why I asked you to come over to meet us.’

Sarah stared at the table strewn with her story and drawings, not really believing what she was hearing. It was every art student’s dream, every writer’s hope to get a book published, and here it was happening to her. She dared not say a word in case like an absolute eejit she broke down and cried.

‘We would hope to publish for next Christmas. We’re too late for this year, obviously, and would want it for the UK, Ireland, Australia, Canada and New Zealand. Your agent will obviously sell the rights for the rest of the world.’

‘I don’t have an agent,’ she admitted.

‘Don’t worry, that will change, and if not, we will sell the rights.’

Sarah felt like jumping across the table and hugging Jilly.

‘We’ll pay you twenty thousand pounds for two books which will be spread out and paid not just on signing the contract but on delivery and publication of each book.’

Sarah concentrated on her drawing of Miss Bee trying to coax Mitten down out of an apple tree. This was too good to be true. Money to go into a bank account for herself and Evie, money for ballet classes, for new shoes, for a trip to the hairdresser’s to get proper highlights instead of her usual do-it-yourself job.

‘Is that OK with you?’ asked Jilly grinning.

Sarah nodded. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Well, do believe it,’ added Jilly, serious now, ‘because we really do like the stories and your style. I would like to see another one or two Mitten stories with Miss Bee. I also think that your dog detective Mr Bones has great potential and it is something else we might be interested in optioning.’

Sarah sat dumbfounded across from her, thinking how lucky she was. If she hadn’t gone to Karen and Mick’s for dinner and got talking to Ronan none of this would have happened.

‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’ asked Jilly. ‘Jeremy our art director wants to come in and say hello as he will be the one working with you on the art and design.’

‘Coffee please,’ she said, trying to relax and enjoy the moment.

Jeremy Howard wore dark black-rimmed glasses, a black jacket and bright red shirt. He was the same height as her and she guessed was about forty years old. He introduced himself and reeled off a few of the children’s books he had worked on previously. Sarah was delighted to hear one or two that were favourites of Evie’s. She listened attentively as he talked through the artwork and some suggested layouts.

‘We have to decide on page length, size, endpaper design, and which illustration should be the cover.’

Sarah’s stomach flipped over with excitement as she took in all that he was saying. Mitten the little marmalade kitten was actually going to be in a proper book, not just a bedtime story for Evie or a distraction on her computer.

Two cups of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie later Jilly gave her three copies of the contract for
Mitten the Kitten
to take back to Dublin to read and sign.

‘What are you doing for lunch?’ asked Jilly as she got ready to leave.

‘Nothing.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m going to Ronan’s later when he finishes work, but I thought I’d just have a look around the shops for a while.’

‘Come on then, I’ll treat you to lunch,’ offered her editor. ‘There’s a nice Italian down the street that does a great mushroom tagliatelle and seafood cannelloni.’

Sarah glanced around Jilly’s office before they left, taking in book covers and posters and publicity material, pink and purple pigs, a dancing duck, swans doing ballet and a rabbit magician. Mitten and her author were already beginning to feel at home!

Grace had volunteered to mind Evie while Sarah went to London for the weekend. ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to manage a six-year-old for all that time?’ Sarah had asked as if she doubted her capabilities.

‘Evie will be fine,’ she’d promised. ‘I’ll collect her from Mum’s on Friday evening after work and guard her with my life. You just go to London and concentrate on selling your book. Evie is in good hands with Auntie Grace.’

Sarah was so grateful to her for minding Evie so she could have just two nights away that Grace felt horribly guilty about having been such a self-centred cow and not having been a better aunt and sister. To compensate she had loaned Sarah her expensive travel bag and a new fitted honey-coloured jacket that she had only worn twice.

To tell the truth she was actually looking forward to having Evie as company in the apartment. The weekends since breaking up with Shane had become an abyss of gloom. She just hung around watching DVDs, shopping, sleeping in and recovering from nights out late clubbing and drinking with her friends. The promised phone call from Mark McGuinness had, as she suspected, failed to materialize; obviously the fact that he had half the single female population of Dublin after him meant that she had barely figured on his radar. Her mother had quizzed her about seeing him again but Grace had put her off by saying that she was far too busy at work to get involved with anyone at the moment. At least this weekend with a six-year-old around was going to be different: fresh air and walks, a trip to a playground, cooking something nutritious and staying home at night. If Sarah could do it, she certainly could!

Evie was jumping up and down with excitement about coming to sleep in her apartment when she collected her after work. It made more sense for her to take her this evening as her mother and Aunt Kitty planned to get up at the crack of dawn and get an early start joining the parish group on the bus for their annual pilgrimage to Knock.

‘I’ll say prayers for all your intentions,’ she promised, ‘and ask Our Lady to be good to you all and answer your special requests.’