Chapter 8
If there was a more glamorous, self-assured table of people anywhere in London that afternoon, Kate would have been surprised to see it.
She’d been welcomed at the publishing house like the bride at a wedding, hugged and double air-kissed by a reception line of faces, apart from Rachel from PR, who Kate had actually kissed by accident. Now she wasn’t sure how to tell her she had Ruby Slippers lipstick on the side of her jaw.
She’d been a bag of nerves about the meeting for days, her first official step into Kate Dalloway’s shoes, which that day happened to be nude heels to go with the forest-green jumpsuit Liv had helped her pick out.
Prue, the lead editor, whom Kate had chatted to briefly once or twice over the last couple of weeks by email, got to her feet and opened her mouth, then closed it again when Fiona raised her hand and started speaking without invitation.
“If I could just kick things off with a reminder that the actual author of the book must remain completely anonymous to everyone throughout the publication process, which includes most of the people in this meeting.” Fiona looked pointedly at Kate, who kept her bright red smile firmly in place despite the first shot.
She was getting used to deflecting Fiona’s arrows.
Prue gazed at Fiona over the rim of her oversized patent-red glasses until she was sure the other woman had finished, then drew a breath and started again, probably equally accustomed to Fiona Fox’s abrasive agenting style.
“We’re all so thrilled to have you with us today, Kate, it’s great to put a face to a name. Speaking of which…” She paused to click a PowerPoint presentation into life on the wall with a wave of her arm. “Welcome to your new name!”
Kate Darrowby appeared in large print on the wall.
“So we heard your suggestion of Dalloway, which was a great kick-off point, and we took a straw poll around the team and Darrowby came out as the unanimous winner. It’s fresh yet timeless with the right commercial feel, and I hope you’ll agree it looks terrific in print.”
Kate had practiced signing Dalloway numerous times over the last few weeks and become quite fond of it.
Beneath the table she wrote “Darrowby” on her thigh with her fingertip and didn’t find it such a natural fit, but nodded anyway as she glanced nervously at Charlie, sitting suited and booted beside her, looking at home here in a way she couldn’t hope to emulate.
“Biscuit?” Rachel, the PR representative, pushed a plate toward her and Kate realized they’d been iced with her new name, looping turquoise letters against a white background.
“Oh my word,” she said, staring at them with a nervous laugh. “They look amazing.”
“So, we thought it might be helpful to go round the table and talk you through the plans we already have in place,” Prue said.
“I know this will all be brand-new to you, Kate, so please do feel able to speak up if there’s anything that doesn’t make sense.
For the record, authoring a book in quite this way isn’t something we’ve done before either, so we’re all feeling our way through this exciting new experience together. ”
Everyone around the table nodded earnestly except Fiona.
“Oh, come on, we’re hardly reinventing the wheel here,” she barked. “Half the books on the Sunday Times list haven’t been written by the name on the cover.”
Not a hair ruffled around the board table. Prue tucked her half-black, half-blood-red bob behind her ears as she paused to allow Fiona’s remark to hang in the air uncommented on, then clicked through to the next screen.
“And now…are you ready for a first look at your cover?” She added a flourish to the end of her sentence like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat.
Kate’s breath caught in her throat. She already knew the book had been titled The Power of Love, a micro-reference to the love song mentioned in the story and neatly encapsulating the overarching theme of the book.
Back when she’d been quietly trying to write manuscripts herself, seeing her book cover for the first time was one of the standout moments she’d dreamed about.
And there it was, her cover, huge and beautiful, projected onto the boardroom wall, and the experience was every bit as pinch-me as she’d imagined it would be, even if she hadn’t actually written the book.
“Oh my God, I absolutely love it,” she breathed, staring at the intricate design of rose petals falling around the title against an inky, midnight sky.
Things had felt abstract up to that moment, an unusual acting job, but seeing the cover with her new name emblazoned across the front brought things home on a whole new level.
She might not have written the book, but right now she felt every inch the proud adoptive mother.
“Really strong,” Charlie said, beside her.
The fact that Fiona didn’t object counted as an endorsement.
“Cake?” Rachel lifted the lid on a box of cupcakes, pearl-pink frosting with a tiny perfect rendition of the cover perched jauntily on top.
“I honestly don’t know what to say,” Kate laughed, blown away. “Can I steal one for my sister?”
Liv would never believe all of this unless she saw it with her own eyes.
“Take the box,” Rachel said.
“So, your author bio,” Prue said, clicking forward to the next slide. “We took the suggestions you sent over and ran with them, as you’ll see here.”
Kate Darrowby lives in London with a Bengal cat called Clive, and when she’s not writing she loves West End shows, photography, and crochet—she’s currently crocheting a mouse orchestra. The Power of Love is her first novel.
The room fell silent while they all digested the information, rain drumming against the boardroom windows.
“Clive’s a tortoise and, strictly speaking, he lives with my sister’s family,” Kate said, wondering how all of the crossed wires had happened.
“And I can’t crochet. I actually think I’m missing a coordination gene—I’m really bad at following anything that requires remembering repetitive steps.
I can’t thread a sewing machine, yet my sister is a complete whizz at it.
Isn’t that a weird thing? Dancing too—I break out in a cold sweat if I’m expected to follow a sequence of steps, my brain just goes into panic mode.
It’s as if balls of tumbleweed blow through my brain when people try to teach me stuff like that… ”
She mimed scrunched-up balls scurrying across the table with her hands and then looked up to find all eyes on her, perplexed expressions around the table. Except Fiona, who rolled her shoulders as if she was gearing up to give her a dressing-down.
“I mean, we can totally change it to a tortoise, but we collectively thought a cat seemed more accessible,” Prue said. “We’ve gone with a mix of info that seamlessly blends girl-next-door with just a splash of kooky, and crochet is so of the moment.”
“She’ll learn to crochet,” Fiona said. “It’s mice. How hard can it be?”
Mice playing trumpets sounded quite difficult indeed, Kate thought, glancing at Charlie.
“You really don’t need to worry,” he said mildly, and everyone around the table nodded eager agreement.
“Honestly, it’ll never come up,” Rachel assured her. “You should see some of the other author bios, this is mild.”
Prue moved the conversation briskly along with a click of her button, bringing up a map of the world with several chunks shaded the same midnight blue as the cover. “Joel, would you lead with where we’re up to with foreign rights?”
A guy in a striped waistcoat with statement glasses and an impressively high quiff sprang to his feet, a transatlantic twang apparent when he spoke.
“Okay, so as you all know, our sister German publishing house is excited to come on board, with other European arms of the business expected to follow suit.”
He pointed to the corresponding shaded areas on the map in the manner of a hipster geography teacher.
“Additionally, I know Fiona has been having conversations with the U.S. too, so watch that space for news soon. We’re aiming to create a domino effect with the launch, spreading a tidal wave of love for the book around the world.”
Kate felt her heartbeat ratchet with anxiety at the sound of such grand plans. She was certain no one had mentioned international publication. Charlie shot Fiona a sharp look and earned a nonchalant shrug in reply.
“Surprise,” she said, deadpan, adding lackluster jazz hands.
“Not all debuts get this level of buy-in,” Joel said, failing to read the room. “We’re all super excited to see how far The Power of Love can go.”
He sat, pleased to have imparted his update, and Kate found herself touching her silver bangles in an effort to remain professional.
“I won’t need to actually go to all those places, though, right?” she said.
“Oh no, don’t worry, nothing like that,” Rachel smiled, chirpy, as the next slide appeared detailing a planned blog tour and a list of podcasts.
“We’ve gone big on the blog tour so there’ll be quite a few written pieces to do, which is perfect as it’ll give you time to plan out what to say.
You can play around with things to develop your author persona more deeply.
Podcasts obviously you can’t plan ahead for so easily, but I’ve prepped a question list for you of the type of things we anticipate might come up, everything from inspiration for the story to favorite lovers in literature to quick-fire questions about your favorite writing snacks.
My biggest advice is to keep notes, be consistent, and be as succinct as possible. ”
Fiona laughed, then held both hands up as if the derisory noise had escaped by mistake.
“I can handle that,” Kate said, determined not to be rattled. “Would I be able to have a copy of this presentation to study again later, please?”
“Already done, emailed across to Charlie just before the meeting,” Prue said. “Keep in mind that every territory handles their own PR, so you’ll get separate requests from the U.S. for blog pieces, interviews, etc.”