Don't Believe a Word (5 page)

T
he dinner was a little awkward at first, but a few drinks,
and universal good intentions, smoothed out the evening. Eden’s friends would not allow her to pay for anything. She looked around fondly at the motley group of actors and bloggers, artists and waiters who had gathered to welcome her back, with no questions asked. The topic of her loss was avoided by tacit agreement. It was not a subject to be discussed in a large, lively group. But their banter distracted her, and their concern for her was palpable. She felt lucky to be among them. Late in the evening, Vince, the bartender from the Brisbane Tavern, came in and was immediately invited to join their table. Eden could feel his gaze on her during the evening and they exchanged a nod and a smile. He was undeniably attractive, and ordinarily she might have flirted with him, but she was too exhausted tonight, and too fragile. She sank into the supportive kindness of those at the cheerful table like a warm bath, and when she got up to leave, she quickly accepted the offer from her gay barista friend, Drew, to walk her back to her apartment.

She barely slept, and thought about calling in sick when the alarm went off, but, finally, Eden told herself that she would have to face it sooner or later, and there was no point in putting off the inevitable. She wore sunglasses on the subway to Manhattan, even though the day was cloudy, and, when she entered the building on 57th Street, she avoided eye contact with anyone she passed. In the elevator she kept her gaze straight ahead. Even though she recognized some of the people who worked at DeLaurier Publishing, she pretended not to see them. She entered the reception area and waved at Melissa without stopping to chat.

Once she was burrowed in her own office, she felt safer, and the anxious racing of her heart settled down to a normal rhythm. A bouquet of flowers arrived from the company, and were set on her desk. Sophy came in, as she always did, and settled herself in the chair in front of Eden, ready to listen. Sophy could be a wonderfully matter-of-fact person, and she did not avoid the difficult subject of the murder/suicide. Her questions were both unabashed and tactful. Eden admitted helplessly that she could not explain it, and Sophy agreed that it was utterly baffling. Somehow, Eden felt better. She had said it out loud to someone who did not know her family, and she had not turned to stone as a result. It would be easier to say it aloud the next time.

Work had piled up on her desk and computer, and even though she had little appetite for it, she forced herself to begin working on manuscripts. Gradually, she found her interest returning. She hid out in her office for the rest of the work day, and no one tried to coax her out. When her mind wandered from the task, she chided herself into refocusing. She was lucky to have a job that interested her. Getting back to work felt like a relief.

Over the next few days, life as it was, far from Robbin’s Ferry, began to resume a semblance of normalcy. Eden called her father every night, reassured by the sound of Hugh’s voice. Her friends were solicitous, and invited her to dinner. She ate in someone else’s kitchen, or as their guest in one bistro or another, for the better part of two weeks. Her crying jags became less frequent. Her mother’s suicide had been a shock and a loss, but, in many ways, she told herself, she had grieved for her mother years ago. When Tara left Hugh for Flynn Darby, life as Eden knew it was torn apart. While Tara’s death was much more final, the feeling of losing her mother was not new to her. She had survived it once, she reminded herself. She would survive again.

One day Hugh called, and asked if he could come into Manhattan and take her out to dinner after work. Eden was surprised, but glad for the opportunity to see him. After they had eaten at a Chinese restaurant on the West Side, Hugh got around to the purpose of his visit. ‘I’m going to Florida for two weeks,’ he said.

Eden was delighted to hear that news. ‘Oh Dad, that’s great. You gonna do some fishing?’

‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I’ve been a little worried about going so far away from you at such a difficult time.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Eden reassured him. ‘My friends are looking after me. I haven’t had dinner alone since I got back.’

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked.

‘I’m okay,’ said Eden, and she did not allow even a shade of sadness into her voice. She wanted him to go to Florida, and rest in the sun, without worrying about her. ‘Who are you going with?’ she asked. ‘Are you going by yourself?’

Hugh looked a little pained. ‘Actually. No. Um … I’m going with Gerri. Her cousin has a condo down there that he’s lending us for the week.’

‘Gerri?’ said Eden, taken aback. ‘I thought you two were just … friends.’

‘We are friends,’ Hugh said firmly. ‘And my friend asked me if I wanted to go to Florida.’

‘Okay,’ said Eden slowly. ‘How long have you known about this?’

‘Not long. It was kind of spur of the moment.’

‘Dad, you’re not spontaneous,’ said Eden.

Hugh smiled shyly. ‘Okay, okay. It’s something we talked about on and off for a while. Gerri was thinking of asking her cousin, and then the cousin just called and offered. So, it seemed like … the thing to do.’

‘Well, great,’ said Eden, trying to mean it. My father is going away with a girlfriend, and I can’t even get a date, she thought. But whatever.

‘I’ll miss you,’ he said sincerely.

‘It’s only two weeks,’ said Eden.

‘I always miss you,’ he said.

‘I know, Dad. Listen. You have a wonderful time.’

Their parting was fond, but not sad. Eden was proud of herself for that. Part of her wanted to just climb into his pocket and stay there. But her life had to go on.

And so did his.

A few days after she bid her father farewell, Eden got a call from Rob Newsome, the editorial director.

‘Eden,’ he said. ‘Mr DeLaurier would like us to come to a meeting in his office at four o’clock.’

‘What’s it about?’ she asked. She had never been summoned by the publisher before. It was a family business, one of the few left in New York publishing, which had been started by Maurice DeLaurier’s great-uncle nearly a hundred years earlier. Maurice was widely considered to be a shrewd CEO, who had grown the business from the small house it had been when he inherited it. Eden had met him when Rob Newsome hired her, but after that she had done little more than exchange polite greetings with the impeccably turned-out executive.

‘A new project. I really can’t say any more than that. I’ll see you at Maurice’s office at four.’

‘Okay,’ said Eden.

At four o’clock she refreshed her make-up, straightened her form-fitting knit dress, and walked down the corridor toward the publisher’s office. She got a nod to enter from his assistant. Eden tapped on the door then went in. The office had a wall of windows overlooking 57th Street, and the afternoon sun had turned the room, which was lined with bookshelves and furnished in leather and rich-looking carpets, to a blinding red gold. Eden closed the door and approached the conversation area where the two men were sitting. Maurice DeLaurier stood up politely and indicated a club chair.

‘Eden, thanks for coming. Won’t you have a seat?’

She glanced at Rob, and sat down in the empty chair.

‘It’s good to see you back at work. You’ve been through a difficult time.’

‘Thank you for the flowers,’ said Eden. Although she doubted that he even knew about the flowers, he nodded graciously.

‘Little enough,’ he said, ‘under the circumstances. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll come straight to the point. I’ve asked you both here because I’ve been having some conversations with Gideon Lendl. He has made us a most interesting proposal.’

Eden immediately recognized the name of one of the most powerful literary agents in New York. ‘Gideon Lendl himself?’ she asked. She knew that it was unusual for Gideon Lendl to personally represent an author. His authors tended to be quite literary but also commercial, often landing on the best-seller list. Usually, the bigger, better-known publishing houses landed Gideon Lendl’s clients. She felt a little thrill of excitement at this news.

She glanced at Rob. His face was expressionless and his eyes were fixed on the publisher. Eden felt as if he was avoiding her questioning gaze. She turned back to Maurice. ‘Is it a celebrity author?’ she asked. They were all well aware of the clout a celebrity could bring to the sales of a book.

Maurice shook his head. ‘No. Up to this point, this author has only published in small literary magazines. But circumstances conspire to make this a very interesting property. I must tell you that the situation is a little delicate, though.’

Any book which was being fronted by Gideon Lendl himself was bound to be an important property. What does this have to do with me? she wondered. She had worked closely on big books with various editors in the company, but had not handled any major projects herself.

As if he had read her mind, Maurice addressed her. ‘Eden, this particular book has … personal implications for you.’

‘For me?’ she queried.

Maurice pressed his lips together and leaned forward. ‘Eden, the author wants you to be the editor of this book.’

‘Me? Why in the world? Do I know the author?’

Maurice nodded. ‘In fact, you do. His name is Flynn Darby. I believe he was married to your late mother.’

If Maurice DeLaurier had smacked her across the face, he could not have stunned her more effectively. Eden blinked at him, as if trying to summon her senses after a knockout punch.

‘Mr Darby is a very talented writer, and the novel he has written makes for compelling reading. But, I feel I must warn you that it’s … somewhat grim, and very clearly about his life with your mother. There’s a great deal in there about their … marriage, and their struggles with a disabled child. Apparently, Mr Darby had been working on it for several years, and it was nearly finished when this terrible tragedy occurred.’

Eden stared at Maurice DeLaurier. The publisher was about to offer her a chance to instantly gain status in the company. In the publishing world in general. All she had to do was betray her family. She felt the old familiar hatred for Flynn Darby wash over her, and she began to shake all over. ‘And now, my mother’s suicide, my half-brother’s …’ She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘murder’. ‘It would be good for sales,’ she said bluntly.

‘Eden,’ Rob said in a warning voice.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Eden,’ Maurice said kindly, ‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I realize how difficult this must be for you. I don’t have to tell you that authors cannibalize their lives rather shamelessly. Frankly, it can be a little … repulsive from time to time. Your stepfather is far from the only writer who has chosen to do this. No sooner does a personal tragedy occur than many an author is trying to use it to advance his or her career. Mr Darby is not unusual in that regard.’

Eden was not able to look him in the eye.

‘But I have to be very honest with you,’ said Maurice. ‘The timing on this, while unfortunate in some ways, is very significant for us. It makes his book very topical. This book has the potential to be a major best-seller. First of all, it’s very well written. I want you to know that. This isn’t some hack job. Then, there is the disability angle, which he handles sympathetically. And then, undeniably your mother’s tragic death and the death of their son—’

‘Gives it currency,’ said Eden in a dull voice.

‘It’s an important opportunity,’ said Maurice.

She shuddered and turned to Rob. ‘Did you know about this?’ she asked him.

‘Maurice emailed me the book last night,’ Rob said evenly. ‘He wanted me to know what we were wading into here. Obviously, if you choose to do it, I would be advising you. It’s a lot to take on.’

‘And me being the editor would also be a talking point, I suppose,’ she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

‘Eden, this is a business,’ said Rob. ‘Of course it would beneficial for publicity purposes to have you as an editor.’

‘I’m sure that’s why Flynn asked for me,’ she said.

‘Well, I asked Gideon about this,’ said Maurice. ‘He feels that Mr Darby sincerely wants your input on this. You know more about the people involved than any other editor could possibly know. Mr Darby acknowledged to Gideon that you might not be willing to work with him.’

‘He realized that, did he?’ she asked.

‘He did, but he asked Gideon to put this forward to you anyway.’

Eden took a deep breath and stared at a spot on Maurice’s desk. How could she possibly do this? How could she work closely with Flynn Darby, knowing that he was using her mother’s death as a way to promote his career? How could she ever explain it to her father? He would be appalled. ‘And if I don’t agree to do it?’ she asked. ‘Will I lose my job?’

‘Oh heavens, no,’ Maurice demurred. ‘Don’t even think such a thing.’

Eden studied the publisher’s face and body language. He was being sincere to a point, she thought. He would not fire her for refusing. But she would not soon be forgiven for her refusal to cooperate.

‘It should be said,’ Rob interjected, ‘that if you don’t take this project on, it may not stay with our company. Flynn Darby could have his pick of publishers.’

Maurice shook his head. The paterfamilias. ‘Rob, don’t do that. Don’t try to pressure her that way.’

Eden felt as if she would explode with frustration. It seemed like a cruel double blow that Flynn had put her in this position of jeopardizing her own career if she said no to his book. ‘I understand the consequences,’ she said.

‘Look, Eden,’ said Maurice. ‘We may be getting ahead of ourselves here. Why don’t you read the book first before you make a decision? I think you may be surprised by it. It’s really quite good. Of course, you would be looking at it from a very different perspective. But give it a read, and try to keep an open mind while you’re reading. If you decide that you cannot do it, I will respect your choice.’

There was no way out of this trap, and Eden knew it. She had to at least look at the book, and respond. Or be seen as completely intransigent and unreasonable.