this evening, Richard Bennett isn’t going to have such an easy time. He looks floored for a moment and Emma would almost feel sorry for him if she weren’t so fed up. ‘Well, if that’s all you came to say, I would really like to go home now please.’
He blocks her path. ‘Look,’ he begins again, ‘come and have a drink with me.’
‘Why?’
Richard considers the question. ‘You want to know why?’
Emma detects that he doesn’t get turned down that often. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’
Richard’s brown eyes flash with amusement. ‘I’ll give you three reasons actually.’
‘Go on then.’
‘One, I am really very sorry for what happened today. Two, I thought your pitch was wonderful. And three, your boyfriend stood you up so you may as well.’
Emma is gobsmacked. ‘You were spying on me!’
‘No, I just came along at the right moment. So what do you say? One drink. I get to absolve my conscience and you get to spend an hour in the company of a glittering literary talent,’ he says grinning.
She considers her options. One drink can’t hurt and she is intrigued by this man. Even if he has an ego the size of Big Ben, he does write a bloody brilliant book and that’s always of interest to Emma. Plus it’s not as if she’s got any better offers and she could murder a glass of something crisp, dry and white. ‘Oh all right then.’
‘Brilliant,’ says Richard seeming genuinely pleased.
The nearest drinking establishment is one of those central London pubs that would have been lovely if they hadn’t let a eighties wine bar designer get his hands on it. The once dingy brown ceilings and walls, which always remind Emma of pubs she used to go to with her dad, have been replaced with a light airy space and pale wooden floor the size of a football pitch. The bar and surrounding tables and stools seem a little higher off the ground giving the impression that they have wandered into a giant’s kingdom.
‘What can I get you?’ drawls the ponytailed man behind the bar. Garen, as his name badge declares him to be, is surly but smart in his black shirt and silver tie with a Premiership footballer-type gigantic knot. The glass in which he serves Emma’s Sauvignon Blanc is the size of a goldfish bowl and could easily house the whole bottle. Richard’s Czech beer is the colour of gold with a price to match.
‘That’ll be nine eighty thanks guys,’ says Garen with as much cheer as he can muster. Richard waves away Emma’s purse,
‘You can get the next one,’ he says with a grin.
They find a seat and Emma takes a large gulp of wine feeling herself relax a little.
‘So,’ says Richard at last, watching her carefully.
‘So,’ replies Emma.
‘Look, I’m really sorry how things turned out today.’
‘Are you? You seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. As did your cohort.’
‘Oh Joanna’s, you know, an agent. She’s a bit fierce, but she knows what she’s doing.’
‘Oh and what’s that? Eating editors for breakfast?’
‘OK, maybe she’s a bit heavy-handed, but we authors do need a bit of protection from you merciless publishers you know.’
‘Publishers? Merciless? How very dare you. We act with integrity at all times.’ Emma is getting into her stride now and the wine is making her feisty and flirty.
‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever,’ grins Richard making a sign with his fingers.
‘Well I act with integrity.’
He fixes her with a piercing look. ‘Do you know, Emma Darcy? I believe you do.’
It might be the wine or the dodgy lighting, but Richard is starting to remind her of some actor she used to fancy. She pats her cheeks, which are starting to feel warm and fixes him with a look. ‘Then why did you give me such a hard time?’
‘Well you weren’t very nice about me on the train.’
‘I didn’t know who you were then.’
‘And that makes it OK, does it? You listened to the tittle-tattle of others before you made up your own mind. That doesn’t show too much integrity, does it? Shame on you, Emma Darcy,’ he says with a superior smile.
‘OK, I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s all lies,’ she says, daring him to contradict her.
‘Complete lies. I am actually very choosy both when it comes to girlfriends and editors.’
‘Well that’s very reassuring.’
‘I’m glad you think so. But enough about me, tell me about you. What’s your favourite book?’
‘One Hundred Years of Solitude,’ says Emma without hesitation.
Richard looks pleased. ‘Mine too.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘Why would I do that? It’s not as if I’m trying to get you into bed. You’re attached and I respect that.’
‘Again, very reassuring,’ grins Emma.
Richard gives a little bow. ‘Favourite film?’
‘Il Postino. Yours?’
‘Cinema Paradiso.’
‘That’s definitely in my top five.’ They continue to talk and Emma is amazed at how quickly the evening passes and that she has managed to put away three glasses of wine before she notices the time. Her stomach is growling from emptiness and she is feeling decidedly woozy. ‘I really should be getting home. I was only going to stay for one,’ she says, fumbling for her handbag.
Richard sits back in his chair. ‘I’ve had a great evening, Emma Darcy, and the best is yet to come. Do you want to know the real reason I asked you here tonight?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘Well, despite our faltering beginning, I think you understand my novel and you get what I’m trying to say. So, for that reason and the fact that you’ve got really nice legs, I want you to be my editor.’
Emma is blown away and slightly flattered by the leg comment. ‘What about Joanna?’
‘Oh she’ll come round. She’ll still get her fifteen per cent and she needs to keep England’s most promising new novelist happy doesn’t she? So, what do you say?’
Emma hesitates. Something deep inside her brain is trying to warn her off this one, but the wine and the fact that she has decided she quite likes this man makes her say, ‘I’d love to.’
‘That’s wonderful. I’m
