Chapter 44

After getting off the phone with Florencio, I feel a lot more settled. The turmoil of the last few days has left me feeling jittery and being able to make plans is calming. My mum was discharged yesterday, and apart from being weak, she’s doing well. It turns out the virus had affected her so badly because she had an unknown iron deficiency. Now they’ve diagnosed her, and she’s getting treated for that as well. She just needs to rest but isn’t in any danger. I want a couple more days to make sure she really is on the mend before heading back to Spain. I know I’ve only been there six weeks, but I love the city, and it feels a lot more like home to me than England.

I don’t know what the future holds. I need to make plans and discuss them with Florencio, because apart from the fact he doesn’t want to go back to Argentina, I don’t know what he wants to do.

And then there’s the massive ache in my heart called Constantin. I haven’t even begun processing what he means by what he said and did. I couldn’t take it on board when I found out about my mum, so I put a plaster over that part of me, and now I’m scared to rip it off. I live with the dull pain that’s constantly with me, carrying it around like a cumbersome bag I can’t put down anywhere.

Whilst I’ve told my parents that I want to go back to Spain, I haven’t told them about Florencio and Constantin. I think it’s time they knew, and I honestly have no idea how they’ll take it. It’s a big change from marrying—and then not marrying—Loretta. They’ve only just got over the shock of all that.

I seek them out in the living room.

“Mum, Dad.” I wipe my hands down the front of my jeans and take a seat opposite them. “I know I haven’t turned out the way you wanted.”

My mum puts down the book she’s reading and my dad the newspaper.

“Whatever gave you that idea, love?” my mum asks.

“Like, I didn’t go into law like Dad or become an accountant, but I became an author instead. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Do you really think that? That we’re disappointed? We wanted you to have a steady career so you didn’t have any worries... financially,” my mum says, looking worried.

“We’re so proud of you, son, of what you’ve achieved,” my dad chimes in. Oh! I really had no idea.

“You could’ve said so!” That comes out stronger than I meant it to, but I still have to break the bigger news to them and my nerves are a little stretched. “Sorry, sorry.” I run my hands through my hair.

“No, we’re the ones who are sorry, love.”

“Are you?” My mum beckons me over. I sit next to her on the couch and tuck myself into her side in a way I haven’t done for a long time .

“All we want is for you to be happy, and I’m sorry if we gave you any impression that we were disappointed in you. I guess we were cautious about how happy you’d be as an author, and we didn’t want to see you struggle.”

I can almost understand their twisted logic, but it still hurts that they never told me they were proud of me.

“I thought all these years you didn’t approve and just wished I was doing something else, but you know I could never be happy being a lawyer or something. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.” I glance at my dad, but he’s smiling.

“We know, love. Well, we do now, anyway.” My mum rubs her hand up and down my arm.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” I say hesitantly. “And it might be a shock so I’m a little nervous.”

“As long as you’re happy, Rafe, that’s all we want for you.”

Well, we shall see how far that extends. I take a deep breath.

“When I was in Spain, I met someone.”

“Oh, that’s nice, love,” my mum says quickly.

“Mum, hear me out please, it’s not what you think.”

“Oh, did you get married? I mean, after the whole debacle with Loretta?—”

“Mum! Please?” I ask, and she stops. “No, I’m not married, nor likely to be.”

“Oh.”

“Will you let me explain?” I need to make sure I don’t have any further interruptions, as I want to make sure I can explain everything.

“Yes, of course. Sorry.”

“Well, I actually met two someones in Spain, at the same time, and we’re all together.” I don’t want to complicate the issue with Constantin, especially as I refuse to think he would just leave us suddenly, and I want my parents to understand. “ But they’re both guys. We’ve been living together for the last few weeks.”

I’m met with silence. I guess they need to process it.

“Two guys?” my mum asks, at least it’s not hysteria.

“Yes, Mum.”

“Are you happy?”

“Very much so.”

“Then we’re happy too.” She side-hugs me, and I lean into her, relief and love for her easy acceptance almost overwhelming me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and she tightens her hold.

“We’re happy for you.” She pulls back slightly and looks pointedly at my father. “Aren’t we Reggie?”

I turn to him. I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t the bemused expression he has plastered on his face. I should be thankful it’s not disgust.

“Aren’t we Reggie?” she repeats a little louder.

“Yes, of course.” He still seems tickled by the idea. “How do you?” He makes a series of hand motions. “You know?”

“Reggie!” my mum shouts, and I can’t stop a giggle from escaping, as it was pretty much my first question too. “Go and make us all a cup of tea,” she orders him and he obeys. “I’m sorry about that. We can have a nice cup of tea, and you can tell us all about them.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, which is very short-lived.

“But how do you?”

“Mum!”

I take a deep breath before I open the door to the office. When I first started out with Helen, she didn’t have her own office, but now, with her impressive roster of authors, I guess it’s become more important for her. I called her a couple of days ago to set up the meeting, something I feel I need to do before returning to Spain.

“Rafe. How lovely to see you.” Her greeting is overly friendly, which grates on my nerves slightly.

“Helen,” I say before I sit down in the chair offered.

“You’re looking very . . . European.” Helen always was the master of conveying what she means while pretending to be pleasant, and I see nothing has changed.

“Que maleducada,” I utter under my breath, amusing myself that I can swear so easily in Spanish. But out loud I say, “It comes from living in Europe.” I enunciate the word deliberately. She narrows her eyes and sits back.

“You’ve changed,” she says icily. Yes, I have. I’m no longer going to allow myself to be pushed around. I can stand my ground. Love, respect, and support can do that for a person.

“And you haven’t,” I reply, proving her point. But I haven’t come here to do anything other than terminate our agreement, so I remove the letter my father helped me draw up last night and place it on the desk in front of us.

“I don’t have a lot of time as I have a plane to catch.” It’s not true—I don’t leave until tomorrow—but I want her to know I am going back. “But effective immediately, I’m no longer in need of your services. You’ve been paid up to the end of the month.”

She looks at it but doesn’t take it.

“How does it suit you to write the biographies of decrepit old stars no one’s ever heard of?”

“Very well, thank you.” I chuckle, not allowing her to bait me. I see her nostrils flare as she finally realises she can no longer affect me.

“It won’t sell,” she sells peevishly .

“We’ll see,” I say, rising from my chair. “But it’s not your problem anymore, is it?”

I don’t bother saying goodbye. That she didn’t use the Sloan Kennedy card raises her very slightly in my estimation, but only slightly. Helen, Loretta, Sloan, they’re all part of my past now, and I allow any last hold their influences have on me to be borne away on the breeze as I stroll to my next appointment, one I’m much more looking forward to.

I glance up at the impressive stone facade of the building. It’s a gentleman’s club. It oozes old money and looks as tight-lipped as the secrets it no doubt keeps. Not so long ago, the thought of entering a building like this would have intimidated me, but I’ve spent weeks living in a large mansion surrounded by almost priceless artworks and antiques. I think I can hold my own.

I say my name to the concierge on the door and am shown to a small room that looks like a library. The books make me feel at ease. The concierge announces my name, says he’ll arrange tea, and withdraws.

A dark-haired man who had been staring out the window turns round. He’s about my age and height, but I’m struck by two things: first, his pretty eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses, and second, he appears to be very nervous. Then he starts talking.

“Thank you for coming, Mr Alderson.” He crosses the room and holds out his hand, which I shake. “I hope you don’t mind me asking you to meet here.” He gestures round the room. “It’s my father’s club... Well, I suppose mine too, but I don’t have an office yet, and I thought it very amateurish to invite you to my house, or rather my parents' house, as I don’t have one of those of my own yet . . .” He stops with a grimace.

“I assume you’re Noah Ellington?” I enquire, as he hasn’t introduced himself, but I don’t really need to ask as he talks exactly like his email.

“Urgh, yes, sorry. I’m not good at this, but I want to be. Good at it, of course.”

“Greeting people?” I’m teasing him slightly, but I like him, and I think some gentle teasing might help him calm down a little.

“That bad, huh?” His shoulders lower as he lets out a breath, and he looks so glum that I think I might have gone too far. The door opens, and a waiter comes in pushing a trolley. We both watch him as he transfers a tray onto a low table between several wingback chairs in front of an unlit fireplace, before going away again as soundlessly as he entered.

I look back at Noah. “Shall we try again?” He brightens considerably to show me a slightly less nervous smile.

Once we both have a cup of tea and are ensconced in the very comfortable wingback chairs, I ask Noah to tell me a bit about himself. I learn he was privately educated, studied at Oxford for an MA in World Literature, but has just returned to complete his Masters in publishing.

“Up to now, my job has been working for a dealer in antique books. I’m good at it. I like hunting down rare editions of books and attending auctions.”

“Then why do you want to be a literary agent?” I ask, sensing a but.

“The books I deal in are all by dead authors. I’d like to get to know some living ones.”

I let out a genuine laugh and decide I like Noah very much .

“Why me?” It’s an honest question, and it looks like the nervousness that the last few minutes of chatting have managed to dispel is going to creep back.

“I hope you don’t mind that I contacted you,” he starts. “But I would really like to represent you with your current project.”

Now he does have my attention.

“How do you know about it?” I haven’t told anyone about it except my parents... and of course Helen.

“Well, we were at an event a while ago, for my course and with some people in the industry. Your agent was there, and whilst she didn’t mention any names, she was telling people what to do when your authors ‘go rogue’ as she described it. Then later, I overheard her say one of her authors was trying to ask her to sell a biography of a nobody. Her exact words were, ‘I mean, who’s ever heard of Estrella Winters?’”

I can’t help scowling at the indiscretion of my former agent, but somehow it doesn’t surprise me, and only adds weight to the belief that my earlier action was the correct one. But that’s not what interests me here.

“And you have?”

“Oh, yes. I know she’s not as widely well known as the Hollywood stars, but I dealt in some vintage books recently, photographs of the stars from the forties to the sixties. She appeared several times in those.”

I’m impressed, but I’m still not connecting the dots.

“How did you know it was me if Helen didn’t mention me by name?”

“Ah, this is where I might have overstepped the mark, I’m afraid.”

I sit and wait for him to continue, and with a slight intake of breath, he does.

“Our fathers. I think they like to talk about us, and as we’re both in books, so to speak, I think it gives them some common ground. Your father mentioned it to mine, who told me. I put two and two together with what Helen had said and, I’m sorry to say, I begged him to ask for a contact for you.” He wrinkles his nose and makes a slight grimace. It is indiscreet, and my dad is a lawyer so he should know better. But now I know he’s proud of me, so I can imagine him mentioning it to Noah’s dad with some pride. It fills me with a warm glow, and so I can forgive him.

I look around the room, remembering where I am, and wonder how much business is done, how much has been won and lost, on a chance word or a name dropped here and there in the right ears. It’s the way things are conducted behind the closed doors of gentleman’s clubs and it seems apt that this is where he set up the meeting.

“Well, indiscretion of former agents and the gossiping of our fathers aside.” His face relaxes and his eyes brighten at that. “ What makes you think you can sell this book?”

He reels off a list of potential publishers, some I’d never heard of, who could be interested in the biography, and not for the first time since we met, I’m impressed by him.

“So, would you consider taking me on as your agent, at least for this book?” he finishes. I am very tempted, but I don’t want to rush into it. I want to step away and have time to consider all my options.

“I’d like to think about it, if I may?”

“Thank you.” He gives a relieved smile. “Now, would you like to stay for lunch? They have an excellent restaurant here.”

I have no doubt about that.

“You don’t have to woo me with lunch,” I say teasingly.

“If I was going to do that, I would have opened with it,” he quips and I laugh. “I’m asking because I like you.”

“Then thank you, I accept.” I have a feeling Noah and I are going to be good friends.