Happily Ever After

‘I was just about to tell Eleanor Bee,’ Tom said, ‘that I’m not an agent any more.’

‘You’re not?’ Elle said.

‘No. As you may have noticed at the sales conference, I was a crap agent. I love books, but I’m no good at looking after authors. I hated evenings like that. I’ve got a bookshop instead.’

‘That’s so great. Where?’

‘Richmond. Just back from the river. It’s quite big, on two floors, and the location’s good, we get passing trade.’

‘Tom’s shop is wonderful, Elle. You should check it out one day,’ Libby said. She put her hand on Tom’s arm. ‘And of course, Tom set up the Dora Trust.’ She nodded at Elle, as if to say, Pretend you know what I’m on about.

‘Oh …’ Elle said weakly. ‘Of course …’

‘You’ve heard of it?’ Tom asked.

‘Yes …’ Elle nodded vigorously. ‘It’s an amazing … trust.’

‘Well, well well,’ came a voice from behind her, ‘what have we here? Number one traitor, Libby Yates, defector to the world of the literary wank? Black-and-white photos of stubbly young male authors a must? Covers with huge block type printed sideways on? Eh?’

‘Oh, go away Rory,’ Libby said, but her eyes lit up and she grinned, and gave him a big hug. ‘How are you? Is it true what they say, that we’re about to buy Bluebird? Will I be your boss this time?’

Rory smiled and pretended to ignore her. He waggled his glass in his hand and looked around, as if noticing Elle for the first time. ‘Hello Elby, where’ve you been? Working the livelong day, eh?’

‘I had … a drinks thing,’ Elle said. He nodded vaguely.

Tom reached out and took Rory’s glass. ‘Hi, Rory,’ he said. ‘Shall I get you a refill?’

Rory looked shocked, as if Tom had tried to mug him. ‘What? Oh, hi, Tom. Thanks, thanks a lot.’

As Tom walked off and Libby turned back to Bill, her boss, Elle whispered to Rory, ‘Rory. What’s the Dora Trust?’

‘Oh.’ Rory rolled his eyes. ‘It’s some prize in memory of Dora Zoffany. Old Ambrose there set it up earlier in the year. It’s to raise the profile of women writers.’ He pronounced it ‘wimmin’. ‘Very PC. He got loads of press for it. And Bookprint’s sponsoring it, guess that’s why Libby’s so keen on him.’ His smile became politely fixed as Tom reappeared.

‘Thanks, mate,’ Rory said, taking the glass off him. ‘Was just telling Elby about the Dora Trust, very exciting, etc. etc. How’s it all going?’

‘Good,’ said Tom. ‘We had a meeting with a PR agency last week. And we’re getting a website, though I’ve no idea what we’ll actually put on it. It’s Greek to me at the moment.’

An agent, a young, wiry guy called Peter Dunlop, plucked at Rory’s sleeve. ‘Rory, hey. How are you?’

Elle scrunched up her nose. ‘Well, we set up a MyHeart database, you’d be amazed how many people have the Internet at home now. Or they just give us their work addresses. We email them once a month to let them know what the new releases are and give them special offers. I know it’s silly, but—’

‘No,’ Tom said. ‘No, that’s not silly at all. It’s great. Why would you think that?’

Elle was embarrassed to find herself blushing. ‘You know, romances, all that. It’s not on a par with –’ She waved her arm round the room. ‘You know.’

Tom smiled in amusement. ‘Are you indicating the Groucho? Or –’ He looked out over the rainy street below, streaked in yellow from the lights. ‘Or the district of London? Or the amazing literary wonderment that is the firm of Eyre and Alcock?’

She laughed ‘I suppose the latter.’

‘They were going out of business before Bookprint bought them up, don’t forget. Bluebird’s still making money, it’s practically the only old independent left.’

He stopped, as Peter Dunlop nudged him. ‘Hey, Tom, what are you saying about Bluebird?’

‘Just singing its praises,’ Tom said. ‘Especially its excellent MyHeart imprint. I hear the books on that list are brilliantly edited.’

Peter said, ‘You heard the rumour it’s up for sale? Rory says it’s rubbish.’

‘It is rubbish.’ Rory was smaller than both of them. He craned his neck up and said firmly, ‘It’s absolutely not true. We’re doing great.’ Elle watched him, trying not to smile; she found Rory at his most hilarious and strangely adorable when he was trying to play with the big boys, she didn’t know why.

‘That’s not what I heard,’ said the remorseless Peter. ‘I heard the cousins, Harold Sassoon and that lot, want to get more money out of the company. They think Felicity’s losing her touch. Sorry, mate.’

‘Again,’ said Rory, shifting his weight from one foot to another and smiling patiently, ‘it’s not true. Everything’s fine. These stories only come up because people are jealous, they want to see us go under, just because we’re the last of the old school. You know Felicity. She’ll buy some book for two K tomorrow and it’ll sell a million.’

Peter Dunlop shrugged. ‘Bluebird turned down Polly Pearson because of her, we all know that. That’s what I mean about losing her touch. No offence.’

There was a short pause. The success of Polly Pearson Finds a Man and the subsequent two follow-ups, Polly Pearson’s Big Drama