Thirteen
This evening was the book launch for The Lady in the Lake, Laurence Lake’s newest publication. Hope had been the one who had organised this event so she could hardly ask one of the others to cover it, as tempting as it was to pull a sicky and stay at home, far from his murderous ways, and out of sight of the rest of the world.
She had done that yesterday. In fact, other than her family, and Griff who had come to help Grace move to Betancourt, Hope hadn’t seen another person throughout the entire day.
Not Rob, who had tried to call her several times and who she had finally texted back to say she was unbelievably busy and she’d get back to him soon.
None of her clients. Thankfully no one had called with a dire emergency, although several people had phoned her to chat about other things, and one or two, to change some minor details regarding their particular event.
And sadly, not Tom Hardy. They kept missing one another’s calls. He had called her early in the morning, when she had been in the shower. She called him back as soon as she saw the missed call, and got his voicemail.
She missed his second call when the entire family were on the doorstep of The White House seeing Grace off to her new home.
‘We’re only across the road,’ said Griff, clearly thinking it might be a little over the top for the family to feel the need to wave Grace off, especially as she only had two suitcases, a handbag, and her laptop bag. ‘You’re all welcome at Betancourt. Pop in whenever you want, day or night. Our home is yours.’
That had only made Pat more emotional and she hugged Grace even tighter.
‘You’re starting a whole new life, darling and you’re going to be so happy.’
Hope had tutted. ‘And that’s why you’re crying, is it? You weren’t this tearful when I went off to uni and that was hundreds of miles away.’
‘Because we knew you’d be coming back one day,’ said Simon. ‘Grace is leaving home for good.’
Hope pulled a face. ‘Thanks. I think.’
But even she felt emotional as she gave her sister a hug. ‘You take care of her,’ she said to Griff, knowing that he would.
She felt even more emotional when she saw she’d missed that second call from Tom. And rather annoyed when yet again, she got his voicemail. But they were both busy people with businesses to run so she knew it wasn’t his fault. Or hers. Although now that he was just a stone’s throw away with his sister and her girlfriend in Folkestone, Hope was anxious to set a date and time to meet.
She was helping Granny Joy take a mid-morning shower when she missed the third call from Tom. Granny Joy had somehow managed to get herself covered from head to toe in flour and some unknown sticky substance that looked worryingly like treacle mixed with chocolate spread. Hope had been working in the sitting room and had put her phone on charge when she heard her mum’s shriek. She ran into the kitchen and saw Granny Joy covered in brown goo.
‘What have you done?’ Pat cried. ‘I’ve got a client to meet in half an hour!’
‘I’ll sort it out, Mum,’ Hope had said. ‘Don’t worry. You go to your meeting. Leave Granny Joy to me.’
She had forgotten about her phone in all the commotion that followed.
Granny Joy insisted she didn’t need a shower when Hope told her she did.
‘I had one this morning.’
‘And now you need another.’ Hope edged her forward.
Granny Joy dug her heels in and folded her arms across her chest.
‘Why? All I’ve been doing is baking cakes. How dirty can a person get baking cakes?’
‘A person? Not very. You, it seems, exceedingly. Come along, Granny Joy.’ Hope took her hand and led her towards the kitchen door.
Granny Joy pulled back and pointed. ‘But I’ve just put a cake in the oven. I can’t leave it.’
Hope let out a sigh and wrapped an arm around Granny Joy’s shoulder. ‘Yes you can. And that’s the fridge, not the oven.’
‘I wondered why the damn thing wasn’t getting hot. Who moved the oven?’
‘This isn’t your kitchen, so the oven is in a different place to where it is at your house.’
‘Then take me home and I’ll put it in my own oven.’
‘Okey dokey. You come along with me then but how about we take a little shower first?’
‘Oh, all right. But you’re not getting in the shower with me. You can use your own shower.’
It wasn’t until half an hour later that Hope finally returned to the sitting room, Simon having taken over care of Granny Joy.
Hope saw Tom’s missed call and called him back but it had gone to voicemail. He’d called her again much later, and this time she was taking a relaxing bath. Staying at home and trying to make sense of your life, and sort out other people’s was extremely tiring and she had hoped a soothing bath before supper, listening to her favourite music, might help. Her phone was on her bed and when she heard it ring, she had tried to climb out and get to it but she had slipped and fallen on the floor. Luckily she wasn’t hurt, but by the time she got up and grabbed the phone, he had rung off and left a message.
‘Hello Hope. It seems we aren’t meant to talk today,’ he said, his voice a mixture of humour and disappointment. ‘I’m about to meet Alice’s family. Alice is Della’s girlfriend. But I expect you know that. Anyway, I thought it was just drinks and dinner but it seems it’s going to be a long night, so I don’t think I’ll be able to call you later. I hope you’re okay. Please leave me a message if you can. Just to let me know you’re fine. Hopefully we’ll speak tomorrow, and I’ll … we’ll see you soon. Have a lovely evening.’
She quickly called him back but again it went to voicemail. She left him a message.
‘Hi Tom. Have a good time tonight. Please say hello to Della for me. And Alice. I’m fine thanks, but it’s been a strange day. I’m looking forward to meeting you though. Erm. I’ve got meetings all day tomorrow, and an event I can’t get out of in the evening. Friday’s jam-packed with another event in the evening. Again, one I can’t get out of. A wedding on Saturday that’s both business and pleasure, so I’ve got to be there, and an eightieth birthday party on Sunday that I definitely need to attend, partly to ensure the police aren’t called.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll explain when we talk. Erm. Monday evening is free. If that works for you. And for Della of course. Sorry I can’t do anything before then. But I will get the sketch of the fairy grotto to you tomorrow and I’ll also update you on the venue situation. It’ll all be fine, so don’t worry. Speak soon.’
Her phone rang a second after she’d hung up and she was so certain it was Tom, she didn’t check.
‘I was hoping you’d call back,’ she said, unable to contain her joy.
‘Oh! That’s good to hear,’ said Laurence. ‘But what do you mean, call back?’
‘Oh,’ she said completely downhearted. ‘It’s you. I was hoping it was someone else.’
‘Thank you very much!’
‘Sorry, Laurence. Don’t take it personally. How can I help you?’
‘Fine. I was just checking if Simon gave you my message. It’s almost done, Hope. And I’m dying to know what you think of it.’
‘The new book, you mean? Dad did. But as I said the other day, I’m really busy at the moment so I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance to read it.’
‘Take it to bed with you,’ he said.
‘I go to bed to sleep, Laurence.’
‘Ah, Hope,’ he said, a hint of teasing in his tone. ‘That’s something we need to work on.’
‘Is it? I’m fine with things the way they are, thanks. I think Mum needs me so I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow evening.’
‘Oh. Okay. Don’t be late.’
‘I’ll be early. Bye Laurence.’ She rang off before he could say anything further.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, because she did. But what he’d said to her on Tuesday morning on the doorstep of The White House had unnerved her. And that comment just now about her sleeping hadn’t helped. She thought of him as a friend but there was something in the way he’d looked at her on Tuesday morning that had made her think he might be starting to see her as something else.
He’d said she was his inspiration and his muse. That might’ve just been writer’s talk, and might mean nothing, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had meant it as something more. Something … special.
She sincerely hoped she was wrong.
Having one man in the village declaring his love for her had been bad enough. Although since their heart-to-heart, Russell Betancourt had returned to London telling his family that he might not be back for a while.
Perhaps that was what he needed to do to get over her. She could only hope it would work. For his sake as well as hers. And she wished him well.
Having two men in love with her was a real problem, assuming Rob had been sincere on Tuesday night. She had no reason to think he wasn’t, even if he hadn’t been in touch with her for the past eight years, or even attempted to see her when he’d come home.
He had explained that. And she believed him.
She also had to admit that something had sparked inside her when he’d kissed her. Not a flame exactly; more of a flicker. A tiny spark. A memory of what there had once been. Could they ever get back all that they had lost?
He wasn’t happy that she had eventually demanded he stop. His hands were about to explore her body, his fingers just an inch from her breast and it had taken all her strength, both physical and mental, to push him away.
Were the feelings he had aroused in her, for him? Or was it simply that it had been so long since she had slept with anyone, that her body was merely reacting to a man’s touch? Just responding to the signals?
Having three men in love with her was just ridiculous. She was no beauty. She had a good figure but certainly not one that would make every man fall at her feet.
And yet she had an awful feeling that Laurence Lake felt more for her than friendship. She would need to nip that in the bud before he got any ideas. It had been so hard letting Russell down. The thought of doing that again to someone else filled her heart with sadness.
And then there was Tom Hardy. The one man she actually thought she might have genuine feelings for, and she hadn’t even met him. How ludicrous was that? Could you fall for someone you’ve never met? What if he looked like a frog? Would a kiss make her believe he was a prince?
And why, if she did have feelings for Tom, had she let Rob kiss her? Was it down to shock. The shock of seeing him again after all those years. Especially as he looked so good. Or the shock of the things he said. More likely it was thanks to drinking too much wine with Hanna earlier in the evening. And on an empty stomach.
Rob had said he would call her the following day, and he had, but Hope had told him she was busy. That wasn’t a lie. She had so much to do and so many events that she didn’t have time for men. Any man.
Apart from Tom Hardy, perhaps.
Today she must concentrate on Laurence Lake. One hundred and fifty people were attending this launch and it had to be a success. Not just because Laurence and his publishers were clients, but because he was a friend. A friend and nothing more though, as she might need to remind him.
Hope had considered inviting Tom, and possibly even Della, to this event, but as it was ticket-only, and she had no idea if either of them knew who Laurence Lake was, or if they read his books, she thought better of it.
Not only that, but the event was completely sold out within a week of it being announced. She knew that Laurence was a successful author, but she had no idea quite how popular he was.
That was something that was brought home to her when she arrived at Bishop’s Books just after four p.m. that afternoon. A queue had formed outside and was already snaking along the road in front of several other shops, including Greg Bishop’s uncle’s estate agency in which a large poster had been placed with a big red arrow drawn onto it, pointing to the bookshop. The poster was now hidden from view by the crowds of people standing in line, as was the window display in the bookshop itself, and the A board outside.
Fortunately, Hope, along with the team who would help set things up and were hired to do all the heavy lifting, would be entering via the rear thus avoiding the crowds altogether.
‘Blimey,’ Hope said, once she was inside Bishop’s Books. ‘I hadn’t expected that.’
Greg Bishop smiled. ‘The queue? Because you didn’t realise Laurence and his books are loved by so many people?’
Hope smiled back. ‘No. Well, yes. But mainly because it’s only four, and the event doesn’t start for another two hours.’
Greg laughed. ‘That’s not the best bit.’ He nodded his head towards the pavement. ‘Those people in the queue don’t have tickets.’
‘What!’ Hope couldn’t believe her ears, and she turned to look at the queue once more. ‘None of them?’
Greg shook his head. ‘Not one.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I asked them.’
‘When did they start arriving?’
‘The shop was getting busy from about two this afternoon. A few people purchased books and then left, but I noticed that several people seemed to be lingering. When I asked if I could help them find what they were looking for, I realised most of them were here in the hope of seeing Laurence. Once the shop started getting packed, I had no choice but to tell everyone that they had to purchase something or leave as we were organising an event and would be closing in order to set that up. That was around three thirty. It took me fifteen minutes to usher everyone outside and although I told them there were no tickets left and that they wouldn’t be able to see the author, there they all are. The queue gets longer every minute, it seems.’
‘I hope the sales of Laurence’s books make up for your lost profit.’
Greg’s smile grew wider. ‘Oh they will, believe me. And the best thing about these events is the attendees often buy other books as well. Not just earlier books by Laurence they might have missed but also books by other authors. I’m planning to let them wander around the shop while Laurence does the signings. And if I know him well, which I do, he’ll make his way outside at some stage to meet some of his other fans, and he’ll probably persuade me to open up for anyone wanting to buy one of his books.’
‘A win-win then. You’ll be making money not just from those with tickets, but also from those without. What’s your bestselling genre?’ Hope glanced around the packed shelves filled with books from floor to ceiling.
‘Apart from cosy crime, it has to be romance, and fantasy fiction. This shop stocks the largest number of fantasy fiction titles in the entire south east of England. It’s my own personal favourite.’ He leant forward conspiratorially. ‘But don’t tell Laurence I said that.’
Hope smiled. ‘My lips are sealed. I’d better get to work.’
She walked towards the rear of the shop once again and to the large room at the back where the book launch was taking place. It was the only area in the premises that was large enough to fit in all the chairs, the trellis tables for the buffet food, and the staging required for the launch which was due to start at six p.m. sharp.
Laurence would be arriving around five and ticket holders would be let in from five thirty to give everyone time to take their seats before Laurence started his reading. But given the large queue outside, Hope might suggest having a couple of people standing at the doors to make way for the ticket holders. She’d chat with Greg and Laurence and his agent about that. Two of the guys who were helping set up the backdrop and the furniture would be more than happy to do that as it would mean extra money for them.
She gave instructions as to where the chairs and tables should be set up and where the backdrop should be positioned. She wanted Hanna’s beautiful but menacing trompe l’oeil of the lake, the stately home, and the Lady in the Lake’s arm reaching out in vain as she sinks beneath the water, to be visible from all angles, together with the dramatic staging of the murderer’s cloak and the murder weapon in front of the incredible backdrop, and the room was big enough to allow for that.
The banners didn’t take long to hang and the chairs and tables were all in place in plenty of time. The food arrived along with the bottles of wine and soft drinks shortly before the man himself, Laurence Lake, who declared he was thrilled and that Hope was a goddess.
‘I’m delighted you’re happy with it all,’ she said. ‘Are you nervous about your reading?’
‘Not in the least. What I am nervous about, is you.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘Because I’ve finished my new book and it’s ready to receive your stamp of approval. Please be kind.’
He opened his tan leather briefcase and handed her a manuscript tied with a gold ribbon into which a single but exquisite red rose had been placed. The words, Destroying Angel by Laurence Lake were visible together with a hand written note that said, ‘For Hope. My inspiration and my muse.’
‘Oh! I assumed it would be a digital version.’
He raised his brows. ‘Digital? You disappoint me, Hope, and I never thought I’d say those words about you. But never mind. I know exactly why you said it. Because you want to be able to carry it around with you and read it whenever and wherever you can. So just for you, and just this once, I’ll send you a digital version by email. Give me five minutes.’ He took the manuscript from her, removed the rose and handed that to her. ‘A rose for a rose. I’ve had the thorns removed.’ Then he took out his laptop and a few moments later, Hope’s email on her phone pinged. ‘Check it”s there and you can open it,’ he said. ‘It’s a PDF. I know you said you weren’t an avid reader so I thought that might be the best format for you.’
She checked, and confirmed it was fine. ‘Got it, thanks.’
‘Excellent,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her to one side. ‘I meant what I said about you being my inspiration, Hope. My muse. And I’m dedicating this new book to you, as per the hand written note you saw. I would very much like to say something else, but this may not be the time or the place. Are you free for a drink afterwards? Just the two of us, somewhere quiet. Perhaps my cottage?’
‘Oh!’ She seemed to be saying that little word quite a lot recently. ‘I’m happy to discuss anything you might want to say to me here, Laurence. We don’t need somewhere quiet.’
Disappointment flickered in his eyes, but he took a deep breath and squeezed her arm a little tighter.
‘Very well. I told you that you no longer die in this book because I want you to live, and I want you in my next book, and the book after that. I said I might make this a series, and I have decided I shall. And that’s when it hit me. The reason I want you to live. The reason I want you in more books. The reason I had to write a love scene between the character based on you and the character based on me … well not just one love scene, two or three, and one that is quite explicit, which is a first for me and may be a bit too raunchy for a cosy crime, but I was so excited I couldn’t stop. And I’m waffling now. The reason for all of this is that I’ve fallen for you, Hope. I realise this may come as a surprise. It surprised me. But I think I love you.’
She almost burst out laughing – except it wasn’t funny. It wasn’t funny at all. And nor was the fact that he’d written a sex scene involving him and her. Precisely what she had been dreading might happen, had happened.
But why on earth would he pour out his heart to her here, at his book launch, shortly before he had an audience of his avid fans to please? Why hadn’t he waited and picked the right moment?
Had it even occurred to him that she might not be pleased to receive his news? Was he so sure of himself and his charms that he thought he only had to tell her how he felt and she’d fall at his feet? What was it with some men that made them so sure women would love them, regardless of what they said or did?
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘It’s a lot to take in,’ he said, smiling at her.
‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat and stepped back an inch or two. ‘The thing is, Laurence, I don’t think you do. I think you have fallen for my character. And as we discussed the other day, I am nothing like her. I don’t forage for mushrooms, or anything else in the woods. And, as thrilling as I’m sure your love scenes are, you and I won’t be having sex. Not now or in the future. Plus, I don’t read books. You were disappointed just now and that is because the person you’ve built me up to be in your mind and in your book, is not me. Not the real me, Laurence. You’ve turned me into something, or someone, you could fall in love with, but you haven’t fallen in love with the real Hope Eversley. I know you’ll see I’m right when you’ve had time to think about it. Time away from the character you’ve had in your head and heart for the last few months will help. But thank you for the compliment. Now I hate to cut this short but we do have an event starting very soon and we both need to be at our best for that. Give what I’ve said some thought, but you must excuse me for now.’
He stood blinking at her for a few moments and then he stepped aside to let her pass.
‘I’ll give it some thought,’ he said, looking utterly bewildered. Perhaps she was the first woman to tell him she wasn’t interested.
She was worried that this somewhat embarrassing episode might have a detrimental effect on the evening and for a while Laurence did seem unlike himself. But as soon as his fans began arriving, he was the Laurence Lake she knew and loved.
Well, not loved, but liked a lot as a friend. She hoped he would soon feel the same about her once more and forget this silly love nonsense. Only time would tell.
Once Laurence was in full flow, Hope took the opportunity to call Tom. He had left her a message earlier in the day to say that although he was disappointed that she couldn’t make it sooner, Monday worked for him and Della and they were both excited to meet her. She hadn’t had a chance to get back to him until now.
She asked Greg Bishop if she could go into the bookshop to make a call and he said that was fine.
‘I’ve pulled down the blinds at the windows so that the fans still queuing outside have no inkling of what might be going on inside, and only a couple of wall lamps have been left on. It might be a bit gloomy in there. Turn on the lights if you want.’
‘It’ll be fine, thanks. And we don’t want the fans outside to think you might be opening the shop back up.’
The shop wasn’t gloomy but it did have an eerie, other-worldly atmosphere in the semi-darkness, and that, together with the smell of books, both new and old – because Greg sold antiquarian books as well as brand new ones – made her feel as if she had stepped back in time.
‘Hi Tom,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything before but I’m so pleased Monday’s good for us all. Anywhere in particular you’d like to meet. I’m happy to come to Folkestone. It’s only a few minutes away.
‘Hi Hope,’ he said, and then laughed. ‘Or should that be high hopes, because that’s what I’ve got for our meeting. And I’m not talking about the business side of things, as I’m fairly sure you know. As for where to meet, we’re both happy to go anywhere. What about at the hotel where I’m staying? It’s got a great bar and an even better restaurant. Will you have time for dinner? Or is it just drinks? It’ll be my treat if you do.’
Hope’s heart was still reacting to the ‘high hopes’ comment, and it did a little dance when it caught up with the fact that both drinks and dinner were on the menu.
‘I’m yours all evening.’ Her seductive tone added impact to her words. His response sent a tsunami of desire crashing through her.
After a long and husky gasp, his voice was thick in his throat as he said, ‘All evening, Hope?’ putting extra emphasis on all three words.
They both knew it meant that breakfast was also on the menu if everything went well, and neither spoke for a moment as they each digested this fact.
Loud cheers and clapping from the back room of the bookshop returned Hope to the present.
‘I wish I had more time to talk, Tom, I really do, but I’m at an event and I must get back. I’m sending you the sketch of the fairy grotto. I think it’s perfect but let me know what you and Della think. Don’t hesitate to say if you want any changes or have any suggestions. I’ll be available to discuss it during the day tomorrow, although you might have to leave a message. Another hectic one I’m afraid. After that, I’m at an event in the evening from about five onwards till very late, and then the wedding on Saturday is an all day affair. But you can text or email me any thoughts or comments you or Della have and I’ll get them dealt with. Sunday, I’ll be around to talk, on and off, and then I’ll see you on Monday.’ Her voice caught in her throat at the thought of that. ‘Oh! Where are you staying? It might help if I knew that.’ She laughed.
‘At the Trulove Folkestone Hotel. I chose it because Trulove Hotels are always excellent, but also because I thought it might be a good omen.’
‘The perfect choice, Tom. Bye for now.’
She sucked in her breath and sighed wistfully. She wanted to dance and shout and throw all these books in the air. But Greg wouldn’t be happy. And some of the books were beautiful, even she had to admit that.
She ran her hand gently along the spines of some older books and then spotted the locked bookcase containing red leather bound books with spines decorated and titled in gilt. They looked old. And expensive. You wouldn’t keep ordinary books locked away. On closer inspection she saw that they were by J.R.R. Tolkien and a small note beside them stated that they were first editions.
She spun round on the spot and her eyes lit up as an idea struck her. But the clapping was slowing and she had to get back before the floor was thrown open for questions from the audience. She would need to speak to Greg in any case.
As she hurried to the back room her heart was pumping so hard that she thought she might pass out.
Could a person faint from too much excitement?