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Yellow Door’s faith in Portico seemed to be paying off at grass–roots level too. Three hundred thousand copies had been printed to satisfy orders from bookstores all across America, and it seemed certain that a second print run would soon be necessary. As Brooke and David watched from the back of the room, Edward clambered onto a podium to give a speech to the assembled staff, journalists, and industry bigwigs, most of it praising Brooke Asgill and her vision.
Brooke blushed furiously, her cheeks clashing with her forest green Prada cocktail dress. ‘I wish he’d hurry up and finish,’ she whispered to David, but he was looking down at his BlackBerry, an agitated expression on his face.
‘What’s wrong, honey?’ asked Brooke, smoothing down the lapel of his Tom Ford jacket.
‘Nothing,’ he said vaguely. ‘Just waiting to see if someone is going to turn up or not.’
Mildly irritated, Brooke watched him leave, glad–handing the crowd as he passed through. You’re not on the campaign trail yet, thought Brooke, frowning.
‘What’s his problem?’ whispered Debs.
Brooke shrugged. ‘Another crisis, no doubt. He’s due in the studio in a couple of hours as it is.’
The crowd broke into applause for the end of the speech and Brooke saw Eileen make her way over.
‘Hey Eileen,’ she smiled. ‘I lost sight of you, you were surrounded by so many journalists.’
Brooke found it hard to stay annoyed with David with Eileen around. Just looking at the young woman’s transformation from downtrodden mother struggling on the breadline to feted literary sensation was enough to fill you with faith, hope, and vigour. The awkward yet resilient woman Brooke had met at the London hotel all those months ago had certainly emerged from her shell. Her hair was blonder, her clothes more chic; even her posture was different, making her look taller and more confident. Brooke felt a warm glow, not just from the knowledge that she had had something to do with Eileen’s change of fortune, but from the idea that, in a heartbeat, life could alter its path and take you off on a thrilling and unexpected journey.
‘Someone from Publishers Weekly was asking me if I thought Portico was going to get in the New York Times’ best–seller list,’ said Eileen with a trace of anxiety. ‘I just wondered how many copies we need to sell for that.’
‘No one knows,’ replied Debs, taking a long slurp of a bright red cocktail called Magician’s Brew. ‘It’s compiled from a variety of bookselling sources and it’s not always the biggest–selling books – which can either wo
rk for or against you. Very confusing; not entirely sure I understand it myself.’
Over Eileen’s shoulder, Brooke could see David approaching, and she stiffened when she saw he was accompanied by an attractive brunette.
‘Brooke, I’d like you to meet Charlotte Field,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ smiled Brooke, offering her hand, trying to work out from where she recognized the name.
‘Charlotte is a booker for the Ellen show.’
Brooke nearly spluttered out her Bellini. When she looked up, Charlotte was already introducing herself to Eileen.
‘David was telling me about your incredible story, Eileen,’ she said, pumping her hand. ‘I’m going to run it past my producer, but I don’t think there will be any problem at all getting you a slot with Ellen.’
Eileen and Charlotte had fallen into deep conversation. Brooke turned to David and squeezed his fingers.
‘Is she going to get Eileen on the show?’ she said, trying to whisper, but her words coming out in a squeak.
‘I think she’s going to try,’ said David.
Brooke clutched his arm, not wanting to let go. Wanting to kiss him. ‘I know you can do anything, David,’ she hissed, ‘but how, why is she here?’
David put his BlackBerry back in his pocket.
‘I met her through a friend at the network. I know how important it is to get books on shows like Ellen and Regis and Kelly, and I know how important this book is to you,’ he said, smiling. Brooke thought that when David Billington smiled, he was the most handsome man in the world.
‘Well, it was a very good thing that you did,’ she said, taking a deep breath to recover a little of her composure. ‘You know you are going to change that woman’s life?’ she said, pointing at Eileen. ‘
‘One person at a time,’ smiled David, kissing the side of her head.
‘Hey Brooke.’
She spun round towards the voice. It was Matt. He was standing there, looking very uncomfortable in a suit and tie, Susie at his side, hopping from one foot to the other. To her amazement, Brooke realized that she was wearing a sort of ethnic skirt and a Greenpeace T–shirt. She hoped it was Susie’s attempt at a fashion statement.
‘Matt, Susie. You came.’
