‘I’m not following—’
‘I just wonder, rather than writing “new love”, with characters in their twenties and thirties, why not consider writing love stories for an older market, book club fiction, perhaps? Something for those who have experienced a little more of life, who know what real love is all about, and who want to read something that’s engaging, thought-provoking and well written.’
I sit back for a moment, taking a mouthful of salmon,considering her idea. ‘I do know more about real love than new love,’ I laugh, tiredly, thinking of Robin.
‘So, you know the old adage – write what you know.’
Ginny quietly eats her salad while I mull over her suggestion.
‘My daughter thinks the trip might throw up an idea – that if I stop thinking about it for a while, a seed might grow.’
‘She might be right. Has anything come up so far?’
‘Only one about a love interest from my past,’ I say tentatively, feeling slightly guilty about giving credence to my thoughts of Alistair. I tell her about the book turning up in the bookshop. ‘I found myself thinking about him in the workshop and wondered if I should write about it – a search for the one you let go, if you will.’
‘It’s a good potential hook,’ she says. ‘Editors want a strong hook – an idea that can be sold in a sentence. Perhaps you can think about how to develop it further – what carries the momentum of the plot forward?’
I’m about to bounce some ideas off Ginny when Flynn approaches us.
‘Ginny,’ he says, his voice strained. ‘I’m sorry to disturb your lunch, but there’s a problem with Christopher.’
‘What sort of problem?’ asks Ginny, the grip on her fork tightening.
‘The train is delayed, which means we won’t make it on time to meet him from the plane.’
Ginny inhales slowly, closing her eyes.
‘Can’t he be met by a driver who can take him to the hotel?’ I ask, wondering why both of them seem so anxious.
‘His rider specifies that he’s to be met by me directly off the plane,’ says Ginny, a tiny bead of sweat forming on her philtrum.
‘Surely you can send your assistant,’ I say. ‘He’d understand if another member of the editorial team is there instead.’
Ginny and Flynn exchange a knowing look that suggests this is not the case.
‘We need to find a way of getting me there,’ says Ginny, ‘or else the rest of the trip won’t be worth being on.’
With lunch eaten and Ginny off with Flynn, I choose to sit at the table for a while to further consider Ginny’s suggestions. Looking for inspiration, I pull from my bagThe Hunchback of Notre-Dame, and as I do, something slips from behind the dust jacket.
‘It can’t be,’ I whisper, carefully removing the four-by-six postcard of the Moulin Rouge, which I thought had been lost to time.
My breath catches as I turn the postcard in my trembling hand and discover Alistair’s hastily written address, the blue ink as bright as the day it was written.
16C Cleaver Square
Kennington
London
SE11 4DW
12.
ELSA
The view of Durham Cathedral from the station is majestic. Standing proud above the city, it almost tops the splendour of Edinburgh Castle. I might be able to enjoy it more if my head weren’t still so busy with this morning’s talk by Marleen.
After the talk, rather than going to lunch, I went to Fran’s carriage to have a lie-down, to contemplate Marleen’s words which sounded at once familiar and inaccessible. ‘Those who want to help others, are often too busy and burdened themselves,’ she’d said, and I’d felt instinctively that it applied to Bill and me.
