thought that if Octavia had been a bird, she would have been ruffling her feathers by now.
‘What happened in July?’ Abby asked, playing along. She braced herself, ready to hear something she would have to explain away so that Jack didn’t fall in her estimation. Or did she want him to? Would finding out about his past banish her growing feelings, and take the unwanted complication out of her life? Maybe she should have done it at Christmas, read all the sordid details and been done with him.
‘Eddie sold his story to a national newspaper,’ Octavia said, ‘and let it be known that, all those years ago, when fame and fortune were beckoning, his first novel, the satire, had been the subject of a plagiarism claim. In the interview, he denies being guilty, explaining that at the time he was prepared to reveal the accusation and protest his innocence, but his good friend Jack Westcoat, on the verge of being an immensely successful author himself, paid for the whole thing to go away.’
Abby rubbed her forehead. ‘What? So … someone accused Eddie of copying another person’s book? And what did Jack do? He wasn’t under suspicion too, was he?’
‘No, not at all. Jack could have distanced himself from the whole thing, but according to this recent interview with Eddie he swept in like Prince Charming and paid off whichever journalist had uncovered the scandal and was threatening to go public with it. This was supposedly against Eddie’s wishes, mind. It seems that, even before he was successful, Jack’s family was fairly well off.’
Abby could believe that. He seemed more old money than new, like he was entirely comfortable with expensive cars and watches and aftershaves. ‘But if Eddie wanted to be honest about the whole thing, then why didn’t he refuse Jack’s offer?’
‘Why don’t you read the piece, Abby?’
‘No, you tell me, Octavia. It sounds kinder coming from you.’
‘Fair enough. Eddie claims that Jack was very persuasive and told him it would be much better for both of them if the whole thing disappeared. Eddie even suggests – and this is the worst of it – that Jack did more than just pay the female journalist, that there was nothing to stop her publishing her story however much cash he offered, and that he had other ways of sealing the deal.’ Octavia raised her eyebrows.
Abby had no idea what to say. Had this Eddie person honestly suggested to a national newspaper that Jack had slept with a journalist to stop a plagiarism claim being brought into the open? Despite Abby knowing very little about Jack, from what she had gleaned from their brief meetings, this seemed beyond far-fetched.
‘You’ve met him,’ Octavia said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘Is he this handsome in real life?’ She held up the newspaper, the double-page spread as much images as it was words.
There was a recent, posed photo of a man about her age, with a round face and short blond hair flattened to his head with gel. His expression was smug and contrite all at once. Obviously, this was Eddie Markham. On the opposing page was a paparazzi snap showing Jack mid-stride, his hand up, ineffectually trying to hide his face. She noticed the telltale darkness of broken skin on his knuckles, and his scowl was deeper than she had ever seen it, but there was also a haunted look in his eyes, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
She tried to process the revelation. He had covered up the plagiarism claim against this man, supposedly paid a journalist a huge amount of cash, and perhaps gone even further. No wonder his reputation was in tatters. It all felt skewed, dishonourable, despite the loyalty to his friend. She wondered if Eddie Markham had held something over him, something from the troubled past that Octavia had mentioned, that had forced Jack to behave like this. She wasn’t sure she believed any of it. But she didn’t know Jack, she reminded herself, she just didn’t want it to be true.
She looked again at the photo of him, how trapped he seemed in that instant. ‘He’s better looking in real life,’ she said quietly.
‘Good Lord, is that even possible?’ Octavia peered at the photos, the crackle of the newspaper echoing up to the high ceiling.
‘So, this all happened a long time ago,’ Abby said, ‘but Eddie chose last year to suddenly reveal it to the world. Why would he do that? And Jack didn’t respond?’
‘Except by hitting Eddie at the awards ceremony a week later. After which, he issued an apology through his agent …’ Octavia searched the pages. ‘… Leo Ravensberg. Short and sweet, but has done nothing to improve his floundering status, it would seem. Apparently, he was on the verge of being the Page Turner Foundation’s new ambassador, all sorts of accolades and responsibilities heading his way, but that’s all out of the window now, they say.’
‘And what about Eddie?’ Abby asked, feeling indignant on Jack’s behalf. ‘What about his reputation?’
‘Oh, everyone’s cooing over Eddie, the browbeaten, young and impressionable friend, trying to be honest, listening to Jack when he should have stuck to his instincts.’
‘He was the same age as Jack, though! How has he got away with it?’
Octavia eyed her over her glasses. ‘I’m sensing protectiveness again.’
Abby sat back in her chair. ‘I’ve met Jack, and although I don’t know him that well, I can’t believe … what did his apology say? The one through his agent?’
Octavia picked up a different paper and flicked through it, licking her fingers to turn the pages. ‘Here we are. Statement on behalf of Jack Westcoat: “I apologize unreservedly for my behaviour at the Page Turner awards. It was inexcusable, and I will be offering a full, private apology to Eddie Markham, Bob Stevens and the organizers of the event. There have also been recent claims about a plagiarism case in 2010. That matter is in the past, and as such I will not be making a further statement at this time. However, I will say that I believe the decisions I made were the best I could have under the circumstances, and I stand by them.” How’s that for smooth, eh?’ Octavia asked. ‘But a bit silly of him not to deny it, if it’s a load of gibberish.’
‘You think this Eddie person’s making it up?’
‘I think Eddie Markham gave the interview to tie in with the release of his new book, and was on the hunt for publicity. And he looks like a rat, if you ask me. No, on consideration, I would be delighted to have Jack Westcoat at my library. As long as we could get him to sign a disclaimer saying he wasn’t going to hit anyone.’
‘That might be a bit close to the bone,’ Abby said. ‘I’m sure we can trust him, unless Eddie Markham turns up.’
‘God save us!’ Octavia replied, and then glanced around nervously, giving a brief wave to the crucifix that was still nailed to the chapel wall. ‘Does that mean you’ll help me, love? Get Jack to take me up on my offer, once I’ve made it?’
Abby thought of the letters lying between the pages of her book, the text messages on her phone arranging their coffee date. Now she knew more about Jack’s past she was desperate to delve further, to disprove Eddie’s words. She wondered if reading one of his novels would give her insight into his personality, and then realized the easiest thing would simply be to ask him about it on Friday. The thought brought her out in goose bumps.
‘Let me see what I can do,’ she said. ‘But we might have to do it gradually. After all, while everyone in Meadowgreen is aware of him, he knows hardly anyone here.’
‘Softly, softly, catchee monkey,’ Octavia nodded.
