Love Letters (27 page)

‘Oh fuck,’ whispered Laura.

‘Laura!’ said Fenella.

‘I know. I’m sorry, but that’s the only word that will do. He’ll be absolutely bloody furious!’

‘Why? And anyway, the story probably came from him,’ said Fenella. ‘Who else would make up a story like this?’

‘Eleanora, for one,’ said Laura. ‘She’s got the most to gain.’ She thought hard about the course, trying to remember if there was anything about Eleanora’s behaviour that indicated she might have put this story about. ‘But I don’t think she did.’

‘Well, we can ask her,’ said Fenella.

Laura sighed. ‘I hope to goodness it doesn’t get on the main news.’ She looked at Rupert and Fenella plaintively. ‘After all, it’s only literary news, not really of general interest.’

‘It might not be like that in Ireland,’ said Rupert. ‘I mean, I don’t really know, but I imagine if word got out that “the greatest living Irish writer” was producing a new book, it would be of huge interest.’

Laura buried her face in her hands. ‘This is dreadful.’

‘It’s jolly good for the festival!’ said Fenella. ‘I’ll be able to tell everyone that he’s coming and then may be all those writers who haven’t yet confirmed, will. And people will be queuing for tickets.’

Laura reappeared from behind her hands. ‘I just don’t know what Dermot will do when he hears about this.’

‘Well, we can’t do anything about it until he does hear,’ said Rupert. ‘I think we should all calm down. Let’s go into the house and have a cup of coffee.’

Laura was plucking up courage to ring Eleanora when her phone went. Eleanora was phoning her. ‘Laura?’ she snapped. ‘Did you put this story about?’

‘No! Did you really think I had?’

Eleanora subsided. ‘No.’

‘In fact, I thought you might have released it,’ said Laura.

‘Me? Good God no! Why would I do that? If anything was designed to give him writer’s block for ever, it’s something like this.’

‘You knew about his writer’s block?’

‘Of course!’

‘He was hoping you didn’t know.’

‘Who or what does he think I am? Stupid? I’m his agent, for God’s sake. I know when my writers aren’t writing, even when they’re telling me they are! No, the poor boy’s been blocked as hell for years. We just keep up the pretence that I don’t know.’ She paused. ‘He told you?’

‘Mm.’ Laura didn’t explain the circumstances, or that they’d exchanged deep secrets. Eleanora didn’t need to know everything.

There was a long pause. ‘I think you’d better come up to London right away. We need to make a plan.’

‘But the festival—’

‘The festival won’t have it’s star act unless we can think of something. This has to be a priority. Fenella will understand.’

Laura was explaining all this to Fenella and Rupert when her phone chimed to indicate she had a text message. It was from Dermot. ‘Your festival can take a flying jump.’

It felt like a physical blow, not because the festival needed its star so badly, but because he might think that it was she who had betrayed him. Somehow, she had to tell him that she hadn’t.

‘I think we can take it as a no,’ she said, fighting to sound calm, having shown her message to Rupert and Fenella. ‘It’s quite polite, really, for him.’

‘Maybe he doesn’t know you can text the “f” word,’ said Rupert.

‘You can?’ said Fenella. ‘I didn’t know that!’

‘We can be thankful for small mercies,’ said Laura, proud of her lighthearted remark. In the circumstances it was a triumph.

‘You’d better go to Eleanora’s straightaway,’ said Fenella. ‘She’s the one to get us out of this mess. If she says she needs you, go.’

‘Maybe Laura would prefer to recover from the journey first?’ suggested Rupert. ‘She’s only just got back. I know your family always do jump when Eleanora snaps her fingers, but there’s no reason for Laura to do so too.’

‘I think there is, actually, Ru,’ Laura said. ‘The sooner we can get this sorted out, the better. If we
can
get it sorted out.’

‘If we could just find out who did it,’ said Fenella. ‘Then we could send them hate mail.’

‘You’d have sent them fan mail when you first heard it,’ said Laura, indignantly.

‘That was before I knew what a disaster it was.’

A comforting bowl of soup and a lift to the station from Rupert did help Laura to calm down a bit. She read a light romantic novel on the train and by the time she reached London, she was feeling less desperate. After all, if the festival flopped it wasn’t the end of the world. Then she remembered how much effort she and Fenella had put in to it, how much money had been spent, and decided it might not be the end of the world but it would be a terrible shame. And there was always the fear that Jacob Stone would withdraw as a sponsor. Supposing he asked for the money he’d already given to be returned?

She dismissed this idea as ridiculous as she walked to the taxi queue, trailing her case on wheels. She felt as if she’d been living out of a suitcase for weeks. She was more worried about Dermot than she was about the festival. And she knew Eleanora would be too.

‘Darling, have a drink. God knows I need one,’ said Eleanora before Laura had even negotiated the case into the flat. ‘This is such a disaster.’

Laura abandoned the case and took off her coat, following Eleanora into what turned out to be an enchanting sitting room.

Eleanora went over to what seemed to be a Louis Quinze side table but probably wasn’t, quite, even knowing Eleanora.

‘Gin and tonic? Whisky? Anything you can think of?’

‘Whisky please,’ said Laura.

‘Good plan. We need to be fortified.’

She handed Laura a glass filled to a level that would have fitted right in with the measures she’d had in Ireland. ‘Sit!’

Laura sank on to the sofa. Eleanora took a chair opposite.

‘Sorry to drag you up here,’ Eleanora said, having taken a hearty sip, without any preliminary toast, ‘but you’re the only one who can get us out of this mess.’

‘What do you mean? You’re his agent.’

‘Yes, and his opinion of me, currently, is not fit to print, not even in the grittiest East End crime novel.’ Eleanora put down her glass. ‘He told you about his block, he asked you to help him with the course – that means he likes you. You have to be the sacrificial virgin delivered to the dragon.’

Laura jumped.

‘I was talking figuratively, darling.’ One of Eleanora’s pencilled eyebrows raised in surprise at her reaction.

Laura tried to gloss over the matter. ‘Well, I suppose he does quite like—’

‘No, darling. A lot. He likes you a lot. You certainly don’t irritate him.’

Laura smiled, hiding her pain. She didn’t want him to ‘like’ her, or for her not to irritate him. She wanted him to – well, want her. ‘I think that counts as damning with faint praise.’

‘You must go and talk to him. Tell him that we’re depending on him and that we didn’t leak the story.’

‘So who did? I’m just trying to think who knew.’

‘All the literary blogs have got hold of it,’ said Eleanora gloomily. ‘Why people have to spout on about their doings to the world I can’t imagine.’

‘Let’s have a look at one of the blogs, see if it gives us a hint,’ suggested Laura.

‘My computer’s in my office,’ said Eleanora. ‘You have a look while I deal with supper. It’s a ready meal, I’m afraid.’

‘I don’t care what I eat, really,’ said Laura. ‘Where’s your office?’

‘Room at the end, down the hall. The computer’s on.’

Laura typed Dermot’s name into the search engine and a whole host of blogs came up. She went through them quickly, ignoring those that referred to his first two novels. Then she found what she was looking for. It was a blog done by Gareth Ainsley – one of the students. Although he styled himself as ‘writerfrombeyond’ his identity was obvious. And he mentioned the course. The strange thing was, though, she was fairly sure that she’d never mentioned the fact that Dermot was appearing in the festival. She’d been protecting Dermot’s privacy so carefully.

As she read the blog, which went on about Dermot’s teaching, the other people and the accommodation quite a lot, she realised that this student had probably told the trade press and the gossip magazines before he’d written this. He’d been a very ambitious young writer, convinced of his talent, not entirely erroneously, and had apparently really admired Dermot. So why do this to him? Perhaps he thought it would further his own literary career.

Laura joined Eleanora in the kitchen. ‘I’ve found the culprit, I think. One of the students. But what I can’t work out is how he found out that Dermot was due to appear at the festival. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure I didn’t tell anyone. I was so careful not to.’

Eleanora tipped the contents of a foil container onto a plate. ‘Well, maybe Dermot did. I gather there was a fair bit of late-night drinking.’

Now Laura felt guilty for not being able to stay up late, as well as just feeble. ‘There was, and I didn’t stay up for it, so Dermot could have said something that gave him away.’ She sighed. ‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. The secret’s out, except I’m sure Dermot won’t appear now.’

Eleanora picked up the two full plates. ‘Bring the glasses and the bottle, darling.’

Laura followed her hostess into the dining room, aware that she had more to say. Suddenly things had changed slightly, and now she felt that perhaps Dermot was better just left alone. The festival would have to do without him.

‘To be honest,’ said Eleanora, filling two wine glasses to the brim. ‘I’m not bothered about the festival. Do start. This won’t be delicious hot, but it’ll be uneatable cold.’ She paused while she contemplated her plate for a moment before picking up her knife and fork and plunging in. She went on, a piece of chicken balanced on the end of her fork. ‘Obviously it would be fantastic if Dermot appeared but right now it’s him I’m worried about.’

Laura paused, her own fork halfway to her mouth. ‘What do you mean?’

Eleanora put down her knife and fork. ‘He’s a very tempestuous sort of person. If he took all this the wrong way he could . . .’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘Well, I don’t suppose he’d actually do away with himself or anything,’ Eleanora said slowly, ‘but it could easily mean he gives up writing all together, which would be a loss. A great loss.’

Despite her breezy air at times, Laura knew that Eleanora still hoped that Dermot would produce another masterpiece, even after all this time, and not just for her ten per cent. She believed in him, just as Laura did. She felt a rush of affection for the older woman.

A gloomy silence settled over them. Laura sipped her wine, thinking about a world with no more books from Dermot Flynn. ‘That would be dreadful,’ she said aloud.

‘Which is why you have to go there and sort him out.’

Laura replaced her glass, aware that Eleanora was a clever, manipulative person. ‘Why me? Why not you? Who better than his agent? You’ve known him all his writing life. You could be a mother figure to him.’

‘I can’t be a mother to him. He currently hates me. You’re the only one. You did it before, after all. You got him to agree to come to the festival in the first place.’

‘Yes, but he hates the festival now! He probably hates me too!’

‘Darling child, he does not hate you! Trust me on that. He’ll be only too pleased to see an uncritical face.’

‘I’m not that uncritical!’ said Laura wishing her indignation was genuine.

‘I know it must seem a bit too much like déjà vu, or Groundhog Day, or whatever the expression is, but you are the one for this task.’ She paused. ‘Even if he’s not that pleased to see anyone, he’d rather see you than anyone else I can think of.’ She looked at Laura, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Knowing when she was cornered, Laura said, ‘OK,’ and picked up her wine glass again. She felt tired and anxious, but there was a tiny spark of excitement at the prospect of seeing Dermot again.

The following day, when she was gathering her things for the journey back to Somerby, Laura phoned Monica. Monica had heard all about Dermot, of course. After they’d shared exclamations for a while Laura said, ‘Mon, would you come with me to Ireland again? I’ve got to go and sort him out. Everyone says. I really don’t want to go alone.’

‘Oh Laura! I can’t! I’ve got a mini-tour coming up. Seamus is coming with me.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It’s going really well between us.’

‘Oh.’

‘Mm. I haven’t actually heard his band yet but I’m sure they’re great.’ Then she remembered why Laura had rung. ‘And really, Laura, this is something you should do on your own.’

‘But, Monica!’

‘I know, I know, we had such fun before. But it’s not going to be fun, is it? Although of course I would have come to support you if I could have.’

‘I know. And I also knew it was a long shot. I’m sure it will be very character-forming for me to go on my own.’

‘Oh, love, you do sound down about it. Why don’t you ask Fenella to go with you?’

‘I can’t. She’s up to her eyes. In fact, even more up to her eyes now.’

‘So it’s good for the festival, all this publicity?’

‘Yes,’ said Laura dolefully. ‘It’s good for the festival.’

She was going to fly to Ireland this time. Eleanora had arranged a cab to pick her up from the airport and drive her all the way to Ballyfitzpatrick. She was also paying for everything. After all, Eleanora had a vested interest, Laura reminded herself.

Personally, because she didn’t know what she was going to find at the end of it, Laura would have preferred for the journey to be slower. The flight seemed to whistle by and she was sure the travelling was, in this case, going to be far better than arriving.

She asked the taxi driver to take her to the bed and breakfast where she and Monica had stayed before. She’d booked in there because she knew the people. When Dermot threw her out on to the street she could go to them for comfort.