rolled her eyes. How boring!
There were lots of thrillers. She stood up and picked a few off the shelves. Funeral in the Bunker, which had a big swastika across it. Old historical novels, called things like Katharine’s Promise and To Catch a King. One shelf had a row of copies of the same book, Quantox’s Dilemma, the only vaguely new thing she could see anywhere, by someone called Paris Donaldson, with a hilarious photo of the author, in black-and-white, posing looking moodily into the distance. Elle wanted to laugh. He looked a bit like her flatmate Alex.
But it was the bottom shelf that was most alarming. It stretched out on either side of the desks, row upon row of books all with a heart on the spine entwined with the words ‘MyHeart’. Elle’s eyes nearly popped out as she read the titles. He was a Sheikh … She was a Nurse. My Lord, My Captor. The Dastardly Duke’s Revenge. Devil in a White Coat.
‘Oh, my goodness …’ Elle whispered, trying not to laugh. ‘Libby … what’s MyHeart?’
Libby looked up at her, and then took off her headphones again with a sigh. ‘What?’
‘What’s MyHeart?’ Elle pointed.
‘Our romance list. We publish two a month. Posy’s in charge of it.’
‘So … I’ll have to work on those books then?’
‘Er – yes.’ Libby raised an eyebrow. ‘Why, is that a problem?’
Elle blushed. ‘No, of course not! It’s just … they’ve got such funny names, don’t you think?’
‘MyHeart is the most successful part of the company, apart from the four big authors,’ Libby said. ‘I wouldn’t make fun of it anywhere near Felicity, if I were you.’
Elle flushed with shame, feeling perspiration flowering on her forehead, under her armpits. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …’ How stupid she sounded! Her eyes were dry; she rubbed them. She thought she might still be a bit hungover. The bank holiday weekend, despite her best intentions, had been a big one, from which she was still recovering. The beautiful weather and the Labour landslide meant everyone was in a euphoric mood. They’d stayed in Holland Park all day, drinking, chatting, flirting. She’d even snogged Fred again, and this time she’d really enjoyed it. It was nice, kissing someone in a park as evening came, feeling the moist grass between your toes, his lips on yours, your fingers twining with his …
Libby carried on typing. Elle sat up straight and blinked hard, wondering what the hell she should do next, when the door to Felicity’s office opened and Rory emerged with a woman in her mid-thirties. The carved wooden door closed again as though someone was standing behind it, showing people in and out, in the manner of an audience with the Queen.
Rory was frowning. ‘We should have gone for it, Pose. It’s lunacy to be turning it down. Don’t listen to her.’
The woman ignored him and walked towards Elle. ‘Eleanor? Welcome! I’m Posy. Nice to meet you. Sorry not to have before. So glad you’re here!’ She was pretty, rather flustered looking, with pink cheeks and thin hair which curled tentatively at her neck and behind her ears; she looked the way a Posy should. ‘Now –’ She pulled up a chair and sat down next to Elle at her desk. ‘Let’s go through some things, shall we?’ She smiled, and ran her hands over her forehead. ‘You’ve met—’
‘Hey, Posy, give the kid a chance.’ Rory stood behind her and put his hand on Posy’s shoulder. ‘Hi, Eleanor. Great to see you again. Welcome. Has Libby been showing you the ropes? You should cultivate her, even if she is a bit stroppy and supports a rubbish football team.’
Libby, who had carried on typing throughout this exchange, could obviously hear enough of it through her headphones, as she raised one palm. ‘Talk to the hand,’ she said.
‘Rory,’ Posy said. ‘Why don’t I run Eleanor through some stuff, take her round and introduce her to people.’
‘Good idea, very good idea,’ Rory said. ‘We can take her to lunch afterwards.’
There was a slight pause. ‘Well …’ said Posy. ‘Abigail Barrow’s just delivered and I have to – I can’t really.’ She turned to Elle. ‘Sorry, Elle. We’ll take you out another time.’
‘Oh, no, please, I’ll be fine,’ Elle said hurriedly. She couldn’t imagine anything worse, sitting with her bosses making small talk. And anyway, she wanted to fulfil her cherished lunch plan: find a Pret A Manger, have a sandwich, and sit in a park with the Evening Standard like a proper office worker.
Rory leaned forward. ‘I’ll clear out. Why don’t we have a chat after Posy’s finished with you. We’re really glad you’re here,’ he said. ‘It’s a nightmare, getting used to things. I hated it, when I first started.’
‘Were you a secretary?’ Elle asked.
Posy gave a snort of laughter. ‘Rory! That’s a good one. He’s never sent a fax in his life. Now, come on, Elle, let’s—’
‘Only ever worked at Foyles and here, for my sins,’ Rory said, ignoring her. He grimaced. ‘I’m nepotism in human form, you know. My mother wanted me to be involved in the business, and – well, I love books, of course, though we need to change. It’s an interesting time to be in the game.’
‘“The game”,’ Posy scoffed, sitting back down again. ‘Rory’s very flash, Eleanor. I’m staid and boring and like actually editing my books and building authors. Rory has a horror of the mid-list and he only likes authors who look attractive in photos.’
‘Like Paris Donaldson,’ Elle said seriously, but was surprised when Posy roared with laughter and Rory, after a second of looking annoyed, slapped his hands on the desk and joined in.
‘She’s sharp, that one,’ Rory said. ‘Yes, like Paris Donaldson, exactly. All the guys wanna be like him, all the girls love him. Gold dust.’
‘I think he’s a prick,’ said Posy. ‘But we don’t agree about anything, do we, Rory?’
‘No, my love,’ Rory answered easily. ‘We don’t. I’ll leave you two to it. Good luck again, Elle.’
He wandered off, whistling. Elle saw the look Posy gave as her eyes followed him. ‘Er …’ she said, after a moment. ‘Right, let’s get on with it.’
By lunchtime, Elle was ready for food, and she could have done with a large drink, too. Her head was buzzing. She had been walked through everything by Posy, who would say, ‘It’s very important you don’t forget to do this,’ and, ‘Please make sure you always check this extremely carefully,’ but if Elle was honest she hadn’t understood about seventy-five per cent of what she’d been told. Posy kept explaining things and Elle kept writing them down in her ring-bound notebook, sentences that didn’t seem to make any sense.
You need to keep an eye on Jews to make sure you don’t run out of stock didn’t look right, in fact it looked downright disturbing.
When proof covs come in from prod send 1 to agent 2 to the author, with note from Posy pp me file the other two, one in the author file, one in the covs circ file. What did this mean?
If Ed Victor or Abner Stein phones get Posy immediately. No matter where
