Chapter 1
‘Starting a new fashion?’ says a tall man in a cap. He’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s winter and is squashed against me on the busy train.
I look down. This crowded space is sweltering, so I took off my coat and accidentally revealed that my jumper is on inside out. I blush but the man raises one eyebrow and makes me laugh.
‘Hey, it doesn’t matter, your hair is a great distraction – the curls are fantastic.’
We both grin. Clearly he’s being polite. They are wilder than usual. Brushing them wasn’t a priority when faced with being late to work because I wanted to spend as much of Valentine’s Day as possible with Lenny.
Humming, I emerge from the musty depths of the London underground and make my way to Thoth Publishing. Thoth was the Ancient Egyptian god of writing. It was the unusual name that had first attracted me to the company. Historical words sound so solid and reliable. I push through the rotating doors and head to the silver lift. It slides open. I enter and press number three. Moments later, I reach the editorial floor just one minute after nine o’clock. I go into the staff kitchen, fill a miniature watering can and, before anything else, revive my desk plant.
‘You must be desperate for your mid-week drink,’ I say to the wilting flower heads.
‘They can’t understand, you know,’ says my senior editor in an affectionate tone, putting two cups of tea on the desks.
‘For a children’s fiction editor, Irfan, you don’t half lack imagination.’
I change out of my rain-splashed trainers and into smarter flat shoes. As a child, I used to share my secrets with a favourite cactus and Tinker the cat. I’d also chat with teddies and felt pangs of guilt when Mum eventually disposed of them at the charity shop.
After taking off my aubergine-coloured duffle coat and my bobble hat, I sit down. The office is open plan and I’m opposite Irfan. My space is organised and neat, with a pen tidy, a tub of multi-coloured paper clips, a photo of me and Lenny, a jar of cookies and a packet of keyboard cleaner wipes. Irfan teases me for using them every night.
I stare at the photo and think back to this morning. Lenny mumbled something about me being a great person. I teased him that he was only saying it because I cooked him egg and chips last night. He loves home comfort food. When eating out, Lenny only pretends to prefer high-end dishes. I wrapped my arms around his neck and moved in for a kiss, soaking up the intimacy that had been missing of late. In recent weeks he’s seemed so stressed, working into the night and coming in with just enough energy to brush his teeth before bed.
It’s Wednesday, my day for tackling submissions. I feel like a Gold Rush miner with a pan in his hand. I’m so lucky to be a junior editor working alongside Irfan after being promoted from publishing assistant. Lenny is trying to push his career forwards. He’s still learning the ropes at a literary agency, and running its social media platforms has become a favourite part of his job. He’s always attending some blogger get-together or book launch. No canapés go unsnapped for Instagram. No snippet of book news swerves his Twitter feed.
I pick a manuscript off the top of my pile. He keeps telling me to photograph our cat Flossie posed next to my authors’ books in order to raise my profile but I don’t require lots of followers or likes, because I reckon I have everything I need – although a new car that doesn’t stall quite so often would be appreciated, along with a boiler that hasn’t got a mind of its own. I have Lenny, a job I love and Flossie. Warmth radiates through my chest as I think back to this morning and how things felt like they had when we first got together. Lenny and I are celebrating Valentine’s properly tonight but a rare spontaneous thought jumps into my mind. I know he said he’d be busy today, but everyone needs to eat – at lunch I’ll pop over to his offices to surprise him.
At midday sharp, I wrap up well again. I head downstairs and into the reception. From his curved white desk, Hugo catches my eye. A gym fanatic, he looks strong enough to flick the desk across the building. Hugo’s a people person and prides himself on knowing agents, authors and publishers on sight from memorising so many profile pictures. He shoots me his usual smile, which is warmer than his efficient one for senior editors but less flirtatious than that reserved for the young female interns.
I hurry to the nearby Euston underground station. An icy wind cuts across my face and I hitch up my scarf to cover my mouth. The earlier rain has morphed into small flakes of snow. My body rocks from side to side as I try to keep my balance in the stuffy train.
I climb up steps into the fresh air and spot the waffle house where we had our first date. We’d almost walked past, but a whiff of something toasty stopped my feet. Its door had creaked a welcome, which was seconded by the gurgle of a coffee machine. Soft jazz played and tangerine flames licked the top of the fireplace. Sweet and savoury smells jostled for our attention. We’d talked about our favourite authors and mutual obsession with Harry Potter. The conversation felt easy as we finished each other’s sentences.
I’m just about to turn away when I see – is that Lenny in the window? I cross the road and push open the waffle house’s door, my anticipation rewarded by the familiar creak. Despite not having been here for a while, it hasn’t changed one bit apart from the vases of red roses for Valentine’s Day. I walk in and warmth massages my shoulders. This February is so cold I’m wearing eighty denier tights under my trousers, which was my neighbour Kath’s tip.
Lenny is sitting opposite a woman and his whole body spells enjoyment, from his gesticulating hands to his spread-eagled thighs. She must be a size eight and wears a stylish tailored trouser suit. Her ash blonde bob has been dip-dyed in pink and—
Oh my goodness. It’s Beatrix Bingham. I can’t believe it.
Along with my boss Felicity, she’s one of the most respected science fiction editors in the industry. I’ve followed her career since my first internship and seen her at a couple of work functions. She edited the well-knownEarth Gazerseries. Felicity has never really got over missing out on that acquisition. The books charted high all over the world and the film adaptation of the second book is currently being screened. Science fiction isn’t my favourite genre, but Beatrix’s career is such an inspiration. She’s razor sharp and one of London’s publishing darlings. She’s achieved so much and only just turned thirty. My pulse quickens.
I hold back for a second, take off my gloves and wipe my nose with a tissue. I pull off my hat and attempt to smooth down my hair. It hangs way past my shoulders but due to the curls looks much shorter. It’s strange that Lenny didn’t mention their meeting. He knows that I always read her blog. She replied to one of my comments once and I screenshot it. He’d teased me about how excited I was.
Her laugh flutters across the room like a butterfly. This is a dream come true. I cross the room and squeeze his shoulder.
Lenny looks up. ‘Violet. What are you doing here?’
‘I thought I’d surprise you, but should have realised you might have a lunchtime meeting.’
His cheeks flush. ‘Yes. Sorry. I can’t just—’
‘Don’t worry. I needed some fresh air anyway.’Lenny must be truly surprised because he doesn’t introduce me to Beatrix. I hold out my hand. To my embarrassment, it shakes. Beatrix is such an influencer. She oozes the professional confidence I hope to acquire one day. ‘It’s fantastic to meet you. I’ve followed your career for years. Watching your progress has encouraged me no end. I’m Violet Vaughan from Thoth Publishing.’
After pausing, Beatrix takes my fingers. Hers feel limp.
‘Can I just say,’ she says in a cool voice, ‘what an unusual coat. How very brave of you to wear it.’
Is it?
