Chapter 14

Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

The clouds roll in as dusk falls, and Charles switches on the table lamp in the living room, where we're together again, this time discussing the next steps towards publication of A Caribbean Calypso. He's opened a bottle of wine, but I'm driving so I've asked for sparkling water. He pours it for me and adds ice and lemon. He always likes to do things properly.

I made a few more suggestions, including getting rid of the massive clue to the murderer early on, and he's reworked those parts of the novel. So now it's ready to go to his publisher.

‘I'll bring it to Graham myself,' I tell him. ‘I'll make a big deal of delivering it personally and make sure he knows he has a real commercial bestseller on his hands.'

‘He has,' says Charles.

I laugh. It's always fun to see him when he's super-confident.

‘What?' He looks momentarily aggrieved, and then laughs himself. ‘Oh, look,' he says. ‘It won't be a disaster if he doesn't like it. There are other publishers, after all.'

‘It won't be ideal,' I say. ‘You'll still owe him a book and you'll have missed the deadline.'

‘Even if it isn't what he expected, it's a good story. A family of desperate women, an enigmatic man and his younger lover, and a dark, festering secret, all coming to a head in a tropical paradise. It's got Netflix or Prime written all over it.'

‘You have a point.' I take a sip of sparkling water. ‘Tell me a little about your beta reader.'

‘My what?'

‘It's a term for early readers,' I tell him. ‘You must know that, Charles.'

‘I've heard it,' he admits. ‘But I thought it might actually be some kind of publishing algorithm.'

I grin. ‘So tell me about her.'

He sits back on the sofa and gazes into his glass. ‘She was on holiday with her cousin. The cousin had, thankfully, read me. Beta girl was the Janice Jermyn fan.'

‘I truly can't believe you gave your manuscript to a complete stranger to read.'

‘Like I said, she was an expert. So I thought, why not?'

‘And you don't think I'm a crime expert given that I'm Janice Jermyn's actual agent?'

He looks at me with an expression of surprise. I say nothing as he takes a slow drink. ‘I . . . I suppose I was afraid,' he says finally.

‘Afraid?' I frown. ‘Afraid of me?'

‘Afraid you'd say it was terrible. If someone I didn't know hated it, that was one thing. But if you hated it . . .'

‘You're such an eejit, Charles Miller.' I lean across to him and squeeze his hand. ‘You'd never write a book I hate. I'm always on your side, no matter what. You know that.'

‘I know I should know that,' he says. ‘But sometimes . . . well, I wouldn't blame you if you'd lost a little of your respect for me.'

‘Absolutely not,' I say. ‘You're one of the best writers I know.'

‘Respect for me as a person, not as a writer.'

‘I'll always respect you,' I say. ‘Always.'

‘That's not what you said when you left me.'

‘The past is the past and we've moved on,' I tell him. ‘We're in a much better place than we were a couple of years ago.'

‘Do you ever wish we'd done things differently?'

‘I don't think we could have,' I say after a moment's silence. ‘I think we did our best.'

‘Whatever about anything else, I was lucky the day I sent my first manuscript to you.' His tone, which had been wistful, suddenly becomes positive again.

‘I know.'

‘We did great things together.'

‘We still can. And who knows, you may even get nominated for both the literary awards and the crime awards. A double whammy.'

He laughs and hugs me. I hug him back. Then I lean my head against his shoulder and savour the moment. We sit together in a silence so complete that the only sound I hear is my own breathing.

This is what I missed when our marriage started to go wrong. When I was growing my business and signing hot new clients, and collaborating with a media agent to look after movie and streaming deals and building up my list of overseas agents so that my authors would have access to a global market. When everything seemed to be coming together but in fact we were setting it up to fall apart.

It wasn't inevitable, I suppose. But there were competing pressures on us, and Charles couldn't quite get his head around the fact that my other authors were as important to me, professionally at least, as he was. Backed up by his interfering mother, who seemed to think she knew more about the business than I did, he wanted to know what deals they were getting and what they were writing and how I thought they were doing, even though I told him that this was confidential information between me and them. He didn't like the amount of time I spent with them, especially Cosmo Penhaligon, an up-and-coming author in his mid thirties who lived in a picture-perfect clifftop house in Cornwall. I occasionally stayed there for a few days while we worked on his manuscripts together. Charles hated the fact that I was staying in another man's house and made his feelings clear. I told him not to be so childish. Nevertheless, I understood it. Cosmo was younger than him, almost as attractive, and even if he wasn't as successful as Charles, he was doing very well. I knew he was going to be an important client for me and I was giving him a lot of attention. I told Charles that he had to trust me, even though, when Cosmo turned on his own brand of charm, it wasn't easy to trust myself.

‘It's hard to believe it's all about work when you've bought at least six new outfits for your visit to Cornwall,' said Charles one day when I was heading off to the airport.

‘Because there's a heatwave in England and I need to dress for it.'

‘In shorts and crop tops?'

‘For God's sake, Charles, stop being so silly.' I glanced out the window. ‘My taxi is here. I'm off.'

‘When are you back?'

‘I already told you. The weekend.'

I leaned towards him to kiss him, but he turned away so that my lips glanced off his cheek.

I heaved a sigh of relief when I got into the taxi. My mind was already on Cosmo's book. I didn't need Charles's petty jealousy distracting me.

The kiss Cosmo greeted me with when I arrived at his home just outside St Ives was a lot warmer than the cheek-grazing I'd had with my husband. And it wouldn't have taken much for my stay with him to have crossed the line. After all, Cosmo's books were very erotic, and we were sitting side by side talking about sex scenes as well as sharing glasses of wine in his gorgeous garden overlooking the sea. If I'd been a character in one of Charles's novels, I'd definitely have slept with Cosmo Penhaligon, but I couldn't afford the fallout.

When I got back to Dublin, I discovered that Charles had decamped to Mayo. He hadn't texted, but simply left a note on the kitchen counter, and a bundle of laundry in the basket. I was so annoyed that if I could've caught a flight back to Cornwall right then, I would have. But I was meeting Janice Jermyn the following day and I certainly wasn't going to stand up one of my favourite authors for an affair with another. When I finally did speak to Charles, he told me that his mother and sister had joined him for a few days, but that he was sure I had better things to do than come to Mayo. I spent the next two weeks rage-working my way through more admin than I normally did in a month, and comparing and contrasting Cosmo and Charles as clients and as men. It was Charles who kept falling short.

However, when he eventually arrived home, he was in much better spirits and I'd worked off most of my anger. We didn't talk about my visit to Cornwall or his stay at the cottage, and although things weren't back to normal, the atmosphere between us slowly improved. I thought we'd dodged a bullet.

We had, but the damage was already done.

A couple of weeks later, Charles heard me on the phone talking to the organiser of a prestigious literary festival in Canada about Cosmo's availability for an event. He wasn't free for the slot they were interested in, but he told me he'd be able to do it later in the week, and hoped I'd be able to swing it for him because he really wanted to go. Although the organiser was keen to have him, she said that switching the date would be difficult and suggested that if Charles was available instead, he'd be a good alternative.

‘If you can't change the date, I'll discuss it with Charles,' I told her. ‘But I think it would be of real benefit to your festival to have Cosmo.'

When Charles realised what was going on, he came and stood in front of me flapping his arms and saying that he'd be happy to go to Canada, while I mouthed at him to go away.

‘Why are you favouring Cosmo bloody Penhaligon over me?' he demanded when I ended the call. ‘That woman was perfectly happy to have me.'

‘You've done this event before,' I reminded him. ‘Cosmo hasn't.'

‘So what!' he exploded. ‘You know, with you running off to St Ives at every available opportunity and now pushing him ahead of me, it's very clear to me where your loyalties lie.'

‘It's not a case of favouring him over you,' I insisted. ‘I'm working for both of you.'

‘You certainly are working for him,' he said. ‘I saw your laptop the other day. It was open on the flights page.'

‘So what?'

‘So you're not long back and you're looking for an excuse to go again.'

‘Oh for God's sake, Charles. If my client needs me, I'll go. And I'll remind you that you weren't even here when I came back last time. So I could've stayed longer.'

‘And done what?'

‘Had a good time,' I snapped.

‘Have you already had a good time with him?' demanded Charles. ‘Sitting in his lovely living room reading his soft porn together.'

‘It's not soft porn,' I objected.

‘It bloody is. And I can just see it, him asking you if a woman would really like what he's describing and then you—'

‘Stop it!' I cried. ‘You're being ridiculous.'

Though only partly ridiculous, because the scene he was sketching out was uncannily accurate.

‘You're different every time you come back from him,' said Charles.

‘And you're different every time you come back from Mayo,' I retorted. ‘Doesn't mean I suspect you of having an affair with the woman in the cottage next door.'

‘Because Mrs Mahon is eighty-five. And because my motherwas with me in Mayo. But I've seen the way Cosmo Penhaligon looks at you. I've seen the way you look at him. I'm not a fool, Ariel.'

‘Yes you bloody are,' I said. And I stormed out of the room.

The following day, Charles told me it was him or Cosmo.

I said it wasn't an either/or situation. And that in case he'd forgotten, I was married to him, not Cosmo. I was sleeping with him, not Cosmo.

‘You sure about that?' he asked.

‘Of course I'm sure. But I'll tell you something, Charles Miller, if the opportunity arises to hop into bed with Cosmo Penhaligon, I'll seriously consider it. I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. And at least when you're ranting on at me, I'll be able to think it was worth it!'

We stared at each other in grim silence. I wished I could take back those words, but it was too late. Charles cleared his throat. Then he said I still had to choose.

‘As I said at the start of this . . . discussion, it's not a case of you or Cosmo,' I said as calmly as I could. ‘I don't love Cosmo.'

‘You want to have sex with him.'

‘Can't we—'

‘Drop him,' he said. ‘Or it's over.'

I always thought it was possible to have it all. I always thought I had the power to fix anything that was wrong. But I couldn't fix this. Love doesn't truly conquer everything. I loved Charles, but I'd already compromised my career by moving to Ireland for him. I wasn't going to let him tell me who could or couldn't be my client. And I wasn't going to let him make me feel guilty every time I went away.

So I moved out.

He didn't try to stop me.

While I was in Canada with Cosmo (whose book was a roaring success and went to number one there), Charles met with other agents. I knew that by walking out on him I'd lose him as a client, but I also knew that my heart wasn't in it any more. I still loved his books, but our tangled relationship would make things too difficult. Somehow neither of us could recapture the joyful moments that were ours alone: sitting in the garden together, spending weekends at the cottage in Mayo or heading off to Europe for short breaks he insisted were research even when the most research we did was finding the nearest bar. It hadn't always been about books and his career.

And until his Mayo trip without me, he had stuck up for me every time his waspish mother complained about my relentless ambition.

I'm sure Pamela Boyd-Miller was thrilled at our split.

I said as much to Ekene when I went to London for a visit. I didn't have any business meetings. All I wanted was to talk to my friend about my messed-up marriage.

‘Charles is an absolute fool, and his mother always sounded like an interfering old bat to me,' Ekene said. ‘She's convinced him you should be running around after him the whole time, and that's why he thinks you should be putting him ahead of your other authors. I'm glad you didn't. Cosmo Penhaligon is a great writer.'

‘He's not Charles, though.'

‘I know.' Her voice softened. ‘But I know you. You'll get over Charles.'

‘I still want the best for him. I wonder who he'll find to represent him?' I gazed thoughtfully at her. ‘I wonder if he'll go for a female agent and if she'll fall for him too. If she'll become the next Mrs Miller.'

‘Now you're just being silly,' said Ekene, and she ordered more drinks.

When Charles asked to meet a few weeks later, I wondered if he wanted us to reconcile. After all, no matter how close I might have come to it, neither of us had been unfaithful; our problem was all about a lack of trust and balance, and I couldn't help feeling that it was something we could work on. I insisted on a neutral venue, so we decided on the elegant surroundings of the Merrion Hotel, where we were served tea and coffee in silver pots and where the serene atmosphere lulled us into being almost pleasant towards each other. However, Charles didn't want to reconcile. He wanted a divorce.

He said he'd been writing a lot since we'd separated and he realised that this was a good thing. He said perhaps he was one of those writers who was better off without the distractions of domesticity. I was proud of myself for not saying that he didn't have a clue what domesticity was.

And although part of me was sad about making our split permanent, I was prepared for it.

He asked if we couldn't sort it out between ourselves without involving legal teams. I agreed it should be possible for us to do most of the heavy lifting – after all, negotiation is my business – but I also warned him we might need advice at the later stages. I asked what he wanted from our separation.

Not surprisingly, he was worried about having to sell Riverside Lodge. I told him there was no need for that. I asked to keep the mews as my office and said I'd buy an apartment of my own. Charles, clearly relieved that I was being reasonable, said that he'd make a contribution to the cost of my new home.

We had it all sorted in less than half an hour. I couldn't help thinking that if we'd managed to have the same kind of civilised conversation over the past few months, we wouldn't be getting divorced at all.

I ordered two glasses of champagne, and when they came, I raised my glass.

‘I only drink champagne on two occasions,' I said, quoting Coco Chanel. ‘When I'm in love, and when I'm not.'

‘And which is it now?' asked Charles.

‘Sadly, the latter.'

‘What about Cosmo?'

‘I'm not in love with Cosmo.' I gave him an exasperated look. ‘I was never in love with him. I'm not in love with anyone.'

‘I hope you still like me, even if you don't love me,' he said.

‘I'll always admire you. I'll always want you to do well and I'll always cheer when I see you at the top of the bestseller lists. How are you getting on with your search for a new agent, by the way?' I kept my voice even as I asked the question, and followed it with a gulp of champagne.

‘A lot of people are interested in representing me, naturally enough,' he replied. ‘I haven't made a decision yet. And you? Any new authors?'

I said I wasn't really looking for new talent right now. He reminded me that it wouldn't be easy to replace him. I'd been feeling a little sentimental about my soon-to-be-ex-husband-and-client. Now I simply drained my glass and said that nothing good in life was ever easy but I was sure I'd manage.

‘So given that you're buying an apartment here, you're not thinking of returning to London?' He gave me a quizzical look.

I wasn't, but his question got me thinking. Perhaps this was a chance to make a radical change. To be back in the heart of things again. I told him I'd consider it, but that it wasn't an immediate plan. He said that whether I bought in Dublin or in London, he'd still contribute to the cost. I thanked him, then got up and left him to finish his glass of champagne alone.

When I got home, I opened a bottle of my own. This time I toasted myself with a Marlene Dietrich quote: ‘Champagne makes you feel like it's Sunday and there are better days around the corner.'

There would be better days. I was sure of it.

I hoped they'd come quickly.

When everything was finally agreed between us, we sent the document to our solicitors and told them we didn't want to change a thing, although in conversations long afterwards, we laughed at the fact that both our legal representatives had suggested we could do better out of our agreement. But we didn't waver. I was proud of both of us.

To my surprise, Charles then brought up another subject. Whatever about our personal lives, he said, we were good for each other professionally, and what did I think about being able to work with him again now that we had all the messy personal stuff out of the way. He didn't feel the same connection with the other agents he'd met as he did with me. And he knew that no matter what he might have said in the past, I always had his best interests at heart.

This time I was completely unprepared. I thought he was enjoying meeting different agents, but of course I was pleased that none of them seemed to measure up to me. Nevertheless, I'd already told myself that working with Charles would be impossible. And although I believe in making the impossible possible, I wasn't sure how good an idea this would be. At the same time, I had to admit that keeping an author of his calibre at the agency would send an excellent message. I didn't want him to go back to Saxby-Brown, or, even worse, to one of the big conglomerates. He wasn't a conglomerate type of person. I told him I'd think about it. In the end, despite my uncertainty, I agreed. After all, I had a possible streaming deal for one of his books and I didn't want to lose it. So we stayed together professionally, and it's been surprisingly smooth sailing ever since.

The boundaries, which were very strict at the start, have become a little more fluid as we live our new reality. And if sometimes we stray into more personal moments, we're always very clear that I'm his agent and he's my author and the personal is really just the professional with the edges rubbed off a little.

We were, for a time, the perfect married couple.

Now we've become the perfect break-up couple.

I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. It's just the emotion of remembering everything we've gone through, but I don't want him to notice. I get up and walk over to the window. A dusting of frost means that the garden sparkles beneath the light.

‘Thanks again for doing the decorating.' He comes to stand behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘You know I'm grateful for everything you do for me. And I very much appreciate that you're taking this book and running with it. I know you'll make it a real success.'

‘No pressure,' I say.

‘I always put pressure on you,' he says. ‘I can't help it.'

‘I put pressure on myself. I remember you coming to my office all those years ago and me telling you what might or might not happen, and you listened and nodded and put your career in my hands, and I felt huge pressure to deliver.'

‘I didn't know any better.' He smiles.

‘We're a good team,' I say. ‘Despite everything.'

‘Of course we are.'

He turns to me and I turn to him, and I don't know how it's happened, but we're kissing each other just as we used to kiss. I can't deny it's wonderful. It's happened before, in moments of celebration, but each time we've pulled away from each other very quickly. This time I don't want to pull away at all.

I wonder if we should get back together.

I wonder if he thinks so too.