‘Weren’t you before? You’re usually so excited about these things. Oh. But of course. Sorry. I heard this morning that Laurence is in hospital and he’s broken his leg and bashed his head, so I don’t suppose he’ll be doing his talk, will he? Hope youcan find someone to replace him. Give him our best when you speak to him. And good luck for next week.’
‘News travels fast in this village,’ Greg said, as Charlie dashed away. ‘It won’t take long for everyone to hear that Jemma Granger, the famous author, is staying in Betancourt Bay. Don’t be surprised if people come knocking on your door asking for selfies and autographs.’
Jemma gave a loud gasp, and the colour drained from her face. She seemed anxious now. And even … a little afraid.
‘What’s wrong, Jemma? Has something I said upset you?’
She nodded slowly and swallowed hard before taking a deep breath.
‘I … I came here to escape from all that,’ she said, her voice just a fraction above a whisper. ‘And to concentrate on writing my next book. Will they really find out I’m here?’
‘Not from me,’ he said, suddenly feeling he would do anything he could to protect her. ‘I only meant the residents of the village, and they’re all very friendly. But I’ll tell them to leave you in peace. Better yet, I’ll ask Griff Betancourt to tell them. And they will, believe me. When Griff says something, everyone takes notice, as crazy as that seems in this day and age.’
‘Thank you. That would … make me feel better.’
‘Jemma? You don’t have to do the event on Tuesday,’ he said, now riddled with even more guilt than before. ‘If you’re trying to keep a low profile, taking part in next week’s event might not be wise.’
‘But … you need someone to replace Laurence.’
‘Yes. But not at the expense of your wellbeing either. I’d rather cancel than cause either you of any harm. You should’ve told me you wanted to be incognito. I would’ve respected that. But I haven’t told anyone you’re here. Not even Laurence, yet, so your secret is safe with me. In fact. That’s it. I’ve made up my mind. I’m cancelling my event.’
‘No! You … you can’t do that. I’m being silly.’ She sat upright and pushed out her chin and her chest, almost as if she had stepped into some sort of warrior’s armour. We won’t tell anyone I’m staying here and then everyone at the event will think I’ve just come down for the day. And if no one in this village says anything, then no one will find out, will they? I’ll ask Molly to keep it quiet. And if anyone thinks they recognise me, I suppose I could always say I’m one of those lookalikes, and my name is … Esme. I’m doing your event, Greg. Whether you like it or not.’
He beamed at her. ‘That’s the spirit. And I like the name Esme. Not as much as Jemma, but it has a nice ring to it. That’s similar to the name of your main character in your bestselling series, ‘The Fitzglover Legacy’, isn’t it? She’s called Esmeralda, isn’t she?’
Jemma brightened like a cloud had lifted from her, and she nodded vigorously.
‘My gran’s name was Esme. I named Lady Esmeralda Fitzglover after her. And gran told me never to be scared of anything. Unless it is a wild animal, a person wielding a weapon, or a deadly disease. Even then, I shouldn’t be scared, just sensible. And I should keep a safe distance and be prepared.’
‘Well I don’t think there are any of those in Betancourt Bay. And I promise I will keep you safe and sound in my bookshop. But please, Jemma. If you do decide you’d rather not do the event, all you have to do is say so.’
