I wonder if this is who he was all along? If the bashful, self-effacing Elliot I met by the market stall was just an act, and the whole time he was hiding this heart-breakingly handsome stranger behind his sweet smile and sparkling eyes?
Was it all just pretend?
“Thank you, Alan,” he says to Dad, sounding very American, somehow, in the confines of the little bookshop. “I’m so happy to be back here in Bramblebury. This is where it all started for me, and I can’t think of a better place to celebrate the 10th anniversary ofThe Snow Globe.”
The audience applauds again, with the exception of Levi, who gives a small shriek of excitement, before being elbowed in the side by Paris.
“I think the plan is to take some questions before I start signing; is that right?” Elliot asks, turning to the woman in the black dress, who nods her confirmation. Instantly, a small forest of hands springs up as the members of the audience all compete for his attention. Elliot leans back, perching casually on the edge of the table behind him as he scans the audience, before selecting a woman in the front row, who’s carrying an expensive-looking camera and a notebook.
“Is it true that you’re also here to announce your next book?” she asks breathlessly. “And that it’ll be a sequel toThe Snow Globe?”
Before Elliot can answer, little black dress woman steps forward.
“Mr. Sinclair will only be answering questions aboutThe Snow Globeat this time,” she says, sounding like she’s reading a statement that’s been prepared in advance. “His focus is very much on the anniversary for now, and we really appreciate your understanding on that.”
A small sigh of disappointment ripples through the audience — started, no doubt, by Levi. But they soon recover themselves, and within a few seconds the hands are in the air once more, and Elliot’s answering questions ranging from the banal (“How long did it take you to write the book?”) to the really quite ridiculous (“If you were a cat, what would your cat name be?”).
Elliot answers every question with the same care and attention, no matter how stupid it is, pausing to consider his answers (His cat name would be ‘Jay Catsby’, he says…), and looking each questioner in the eye as he responds, as if they’re uniquely important to him. He’s funny, self-deprecating and clever, and as I stand at the back of the room, watching him, I can’t help but smile along with everyone else, caught up in the spell he’s casting over the room.
Finally, Elliot’s glance lands on Levi, who’s been straining so hard to get his attention that he’s almost lifted himself right off the ground.
“My question is about inspiration,” says Levi innocently, his eyes flicking over to me, before re-focusing on Elliot. “I wondered if there was anything in particular that inspired you to write this particular book? Or anyone, even?”
I clench my hands so hard I almost drop the tray I’m holding.
IknewI shouldn’t have just taken his word that he wouldn’t mention me. Iknewhe’d somehow find a way around it.
Levi keeps his eyes fixed on Elliot, knowing perfectly well that if he were to turnmyway, my glare would probably turn him to stone. Elliot, however, looks out at the audience, his familiar blue eyes searching the room until he finds me.
“Yes,” he says, holding my gaze in a way that makes it impossible for me to look away. “Yes, there was someone, as it happens. Someone very special.”
The entire room seems to hold its breath; or maybe it’s just me. I’m definitely the only one whose hands are shaking right now as I wait for the answer that has the potential to turn my life upside down for a second time, as well as confirming that I, Holly Hart, am ‘someone special’.
So, a bit of a double-edge sword, really. To say the least.
“His name was Luke Sinclair,” Elliot says. “And he was my great-grandfather. I named the main male character in the book after him, in fact, although I changed his surname, to make the connection less obvious.”
The crowd murmurs with interest, but the tray in my hands doesn’t stop shaking. This time, though, the tension I’m feeling is from anger rather than apprehension.
He’s not going to mention me at all, then? Not even a single acknowledgment of how I helped him come up with the main plot line?
Elliot continues talking, addressing Levi now, instead of me. He talks some more about his great-grandfather, and his connection to Bramblebury. Behind him, his assistant/publicist/whatever she is glows with excitement. This is the first time anyone’s ever heard the story behind the book — or the part of the story Elliot’s willing to tell them, anyway — and it’s absolute gold, as far as book sales are concerned. I can practically see the dollar signs in the woman’s eyes as she thinks about how all of this will play out in the book press tomorrow; how excited readers ofThe Snow Globewill be to find out it’s a true story.
They won’t know thewholetruth, though, will they?
“We have time for just one more question,” says Little Black Dress, glancing at her watch. “And then we’ll have to get on with the signing.”
A slightly smaller selection of hands go up this time, but it’s Paris who Elliot selects for the final question.
“I was wondering about the snow globe,” she asks, twirling a braid around her finger. “The one the book’s named after, I mean, not the book itself. I just wondered … given that you’ve just told us the story was based on a real one, does that mean the snow globe was real, too? Was there ever anactualsnow globe? And do you still have it, if so?”
For the first time, Elliot’s confidence seems to falter.
“I… um…” he begins, sounding more like the man I used to know. “I… yes. Yes, there was, actually. I bought it here in Bramblebury; at a Christmas market very like the one I passed on the way here, actually. But no. No, I don’t still have it. I don’t know what happened to it. I wish I did.”
Once again, his eyes find mine in the crowd, but this time his gaze seems to hold a challenge of some sort.
I think I’ve had enough now.
