Carolyn looked down her long, straight nose at Amy, her eyebrows knitting together. ‘Of course you can’t,’ she said wearily. ‘But be realistic. He has cards to play that you can’t match– the sympathy card, as well as his family connections. Julian is his uncle, and they’re close … Their family owns the bloody building.’
Amy’s stomach cramped and she stared at her shoes.
‘So, I’m supposed to just … leave?’ she asked, sad and seething and sounding like a sulky adolescent. ‘Jump before I’m pushed? It’s … it’s notfair!’
‘You’re bloody right, it isn’t fair,’ Carolyn said with feeling, sounding genuinely sympathetic for the first time since they’d come up here. Possibly for the first time in their eight-year acquaintance, Amy thought.
‘No,’ Carolyn went on. ‘I didn’t ask to speak with you so I could recommend you resign. Far from it.’ Wordlessly, she slid open a desk drawer, retrieved a box of Kleenex and handed it to Amy, who dabbed gratefully at her suddenly leaking eyes.
‘What, then?’ Amy asked.
‘I have a proposition for you,’ Carolyn said. ‘Howard-Knight has been toying with the idea of setting up a new imprint for some time. It’s taken memonthsof persuasion, but I finally have the green light for a digital-first commercial project– and it’s always been my plan to try and base it outside London. As a business, we’re dogged with an old-fashioned “metropolitan elite” label that, in my view, is putting promising young authors off signing with us.’
‘Okay,’ Amy said, intrigued but very confused. ‘This is interesting, but what does it have to do with me? You know I’ve no experience with commercial fiction. It’s not my area.’
In truth, she didn’twantit to be her area– she was very happy where she was, working with authors whose artistic credentials were impeccable, even if their sales were hit-and-miss. Popular stories weren’t her bag: too often they came with the sort of bland happy ever afters she’d never been able to stomach as a child, let alone an adult.
That kind of fiction also reminded her of her dad– of how badly burned he’d been by believing in soulmates, true love and its ability to conquer all. His whole life had been blighted by her mother’s choice to leave them, though he’d worked tirelessly to try and hide it. He’d been a kind, thoughtful, fun-loving father– the sort who hosted board game tournaments, jumped into swimming pools and nursed cut knees– but he’d never stopped missing Lily or longing for her to come back. He’d never stopped hurting.
‘You’re talented, Amy, and I don’t want to lose you from the team,’ Carolyn insisted. ‘In fact, I’d say you’re ready for a new challenge. I’d like you to build the author list for this new imprint, and I want you to do it from a different city. Birmingham has always been my preferred option, and you’re from there, aren’t you?’
‘I’m from Warwickshire,’ Amy said. She resisted the urge to point out that the Midlands was a pretty big place, much of it nowhere near Birmingham.
‘So …’ she went on, ‘you’re telling me you want me to leave, butnotleave? You want to send me away? For how long?’
Carolyn sniffed impatiently. ‘I don’t want tosendyou anywhere, Amy. You’re a person, not a parcel. However, I am strongly suggesting this as a sensible course of action bearing in mind what’s happened. This is your chance to turn a potentially career-stalling calamity into an opportunity for growth– a way to take some time away and do something new. Something I’m sure you’ll be good at.
‘As for how long …’ she continued, spreading her hands in a ‘let’s not worry about that now’ sort of way. ‘I suppose that depends on how things go, as well as how long it takes our friend Mr Howard’s injured feelings to heal.’ She wrinkled her nose at this, betraying a dislike of Hugh that Amy had never previously suspected.
Amy sat with Carolyn’s suggestion for a few minutes, turning it over in her mind. She felt hot and cold and immediately sweaty at the thought of leaving London: she’d been here since she was eighteen and had never seriously entertained living anywhere else again, despite the pollution, the crime and the insane property prices.
But Birmingham wasn’tunappealing … Amy had a vision of the massive Selfridges there, then remembered that several of her university friends had ended up with jobs in the city. It might be nice to reconnect with them. And as much as she had no desire whatsoever to spend time in Rowton-in-Arden, it would be nice to see her grandmother more: their weekly FaceTimes were always awkward affairs, not least because Gran’s broadband was useless. The freedom to pop by in person on a regular basis would be novel, and something inside her warmed at the thought.
Plus, based on this morning’s frosty reception from her colleagues– not to mention her unpleasant encounter with Hugh– there seemed little sense in saying no to Carolyn’s offer. If she stayed, Amy might get to continue working on her preferred kind of fiction– but she might also face a long period of strangeness and silence from people she’d formerly worked well with.
What’s more, while Hugh couldn’t have her sacked, between them he and Rupertcouldconspire to see her sidelined from every project she wanted to work on. Who knew: she might be pushed out of her role in lit fic even if she dug her heels in and refused to slink quietly away. She might end up editing books about knitting, origami or cage fighting– all valid topics for enthusiasts, she supposed, but very far from her wheelhouse.
Carolyn’s arms were folded. She raised both her eyebrows as Amy took a deep breath and met her gaze.
‘I’ll do it,’ Amy said. ‘I never thought I’d leave London for more than a holiday, but for now I think this makes sense. Thank you for offering me a way out of this mess.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Carolyn answered, nodding. ‘And I’d have asked you to do this anyway, personal disasters aside. It’s a smart step for you.’
‘Great,’ Amy replied, trying hard to settle the butterflies that had taken flight in her stomach.‘When do you want me to start?’
Carolyn picked up the box of tissues Amy had left on her desk, deposited them back inside her drawer and closed it.
‘Taking everything we’ve discussed into consideration,’ she said, ‘I think Monday might make sense.’
Chapter 5
‘Man alive, this is nice,’ Kit sighed as his jam-packed Kia made its way up a single-track, tree-lined road towards Rowton-in-Arden. ‘It’ssogreen and lovely here. I feel healthier just for breathing the air.’
‘That’s air con. The windows are all closed,’ Amy pointed out, cringing as they approached a sharp bend. She knew exactly what would happen when the car rounded it.
‘Fuck ME,’ Kit practically yelled, his eyes wide as he stared through the windscreen at the stately home that had suddenly come into view. ‘It’s fucking PEMBERLEY– as if from nowhere!’ His face was aglow with excitement.
Amy groaned. ‘It isn’t Pemberley, and I think you’ll find it’s been there since the late eighteenth century.’ She threw Kit a glare that she hoped sent the messageI expected better from you. Also:don’t you dare start droning on about men in wet shirts.
