15. Melanie
Melanie held Sloane’s hand as they walked through the fancy hotel lobby towards the room where the Goldstone awards gala dinner was taking place.
Sloane gripped her hand so tightly, Melanie thought she might break a bone.
Ahead of them, Melanie saw Ross helping his mother, hobbling in her new boot and crutches, to reach their table.
Melanie had had to go to Sloane’s hotel room to help her author get ready and avoid a meltdown.
The fact that she had got Sloane down the stairs was a miracle.
Sloane had insisted Melanie fly to London with her, and stay by her side every second.
She had refused to speak to anyone else and had spent the plane and taxi rides with sunglasses on and a hat pulled down low on her head.
It was seven o’clock and Melanie was exhausted already. She desperately wanted Sloane to win, but she was worried that the poor woman would have a complete nervous breakdown if she did.
The room was packed with publishers, agents, authors, the literary great and good, and a few puffed-up peacocks too.
Melanie had been an agent long enough to know who to avoid and how to spot an inflated ego a mile away.
With Sloane gripping her hand, she could only nod and thank people who wished them luck as they rushed by.
They finally got to their table, where Sloane sank into her chair with a deep sigh of relief.
‘Sloane, we’ve ordered champagne to celebrate you,’ Ross boomed, as he handed her a glass of fizz.
Sloane shook her head. ‘I don’t drink.’
Melanie poured her author some water. Sloane’s hands shook as she lifted it to her lips.
Frank, whom Melanie had placed on Sloane’s other side, leant over. ‘It’s a lot to take in,’ he said gently. ‘I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed myself and I’m not a nominee.’
‘My anxiety is …’ Sloane put a hand to her chest.
Frank patted her shoulder gently and, in his very calm way, said, ‘You know, I’ve learnt over many years of therapy that anxiety is not a bad thing.
Our sympathetic nervous system does what it does and, actually, it’s very healthy and good for us.
We just need to make sure it doesn’t get out of control.
I find one of the best ways to control it is the five-four-three-two-one technique. ’
‘What’s that?’ Sloane’s breathing was already less panicky.
‘You have to name five things you can see, four things you can hear, three things you can feel, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. Do you want to try it?’ Frank asked.
Sloane nodded. Melanie could have kissed her husband. Sometimes she forgot how lovely he was.
‘Okay, what five things do you see?’
‘Table, champagne, flowers, plate, fork.’
‘Great. Now what four things can you hear?’
‘Laughing, corks popping, glasses clinking, ice rattling.’
‘Excellent.’ Frank beamed at her.
Sloane smiled back. They continued with feel, smell and finally taste, by which stage Sloane had visibly relaxed.
‘Wow, you’re amazing,’ Sloane told Frank. ‘You have such a calm and serene aura. I feel so safe with you and my anxiety is almost gone now.’
Frank smiled at her. ‘I’ve picked up a few good tools.’
Melanie was reminded of why she’d fallen for Frank. He was so kind and calm. He refused to be ruffled by anything. It drove her nuts at times, but it was also kind of a super-power.
Sloane bent her head closer to Frank’s. ‘Maybe I should go to therapy. Did you go for anxiety?’
Melanie watched her husband.
He smiled at Sloane. ‘It all started when I was in a car crash with my father when I was eighteen. I watched him die, which was harrowing. I struggled with depression and panic attacks afterwards so my mother, Nancy, sent me to see a therapist. It saved my life.’
Sloane’s eyes were wide. ‘Oh, my God, Frank, that’s horrific.
But you seem so together now and so amazing.
I’m in awe of you. Well done to Nancy for seeing your need for help.
Honestly, I find her intimidating, but I guess she had a mother’s instinct.
’ Turning to Melanie, she said, ‘How come you never told me your husband was such an incredible person?’
Melanie looked sheepish. ‘It never really came up. We always talk about work.’
Frank laughed. ‘Melanie finds my therapy-speak a bit annoying.’
Ross, Nancy and Jamie had stopped their conversation and were now listening.
‘We all do,’ Ross said.
‘Not true. I think Frank’s very wise actually,’ Jamie said.
‘I think he’s incredible,’ Sloane gushed. ‘To be so healed and together after all that damage.’
‘Frank had a very tough time and he came through it well,’ Nancy admitted. ‘All that therapy-talk is a bit too much for me, but it works for Frank and that’s what matters.’
‘I don’t find it annoying,’ Melanie lied, not wanting Sloane to think badly of her.
Frank laughed. ‘Yes, you do. You told me to take my “breathing bolloxology and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine” the other day.’
Melanie smiled stiffly. Seriously, Frank? Now? In front of Sloane? ‘I’m sorry about that, Frank. I was in a bad mood. I’d had a long day.’
‘I know, and I was trying to help.’
Trying to keep her voice light, Melanie responded, ‘Sometimes, when you’re stressed, being told to breathe doesn’t help.’ Like sometimes when your husband isn’t pulling his weight in work, and your brother-in-law is breathing down your neck, it’s very goddamn stressful.
‘I’d love to find a man who understands anxiety, and respects that it is a serious condition and has the patience and emotional intelligence to help me manage it,’ Sloane said.
‘Well, Frank’s kindness is one of the reasons I married him.’ Melanie tried to save face.
‘You’re both incredibly kind. I’m so lucky to have you as my agent.’
Melanie saw Ross’s eye-roll and tried not to smirk.
‘We’re lucky to have you as our author,’ Nancy put in. ‘We’re very proud of you and your book. Now, let’s cheers for a win tonight.’
‘We are all so honoured to represent you,’ Ross said, while Melanie tried not to vomit.
They clinked glasses and Melanie crossed her fingers that Sloane would win. A win for Sloane was a win for her and for the agency, and it would mean Ross had to give her the respect she had bloody well worked so hard to earn.
‘If Sloane wins, it’s champagne all night,’ Jamie said to Melanie.
If she wins, everyone will know who her agent is and I’ll be flooded with manuscripts from high-end authors , Melanie thought, and Ross will probably combust with envy. Bring. It. On.
Sloane’s hand shook in Melanie’s when the time came to make the announcement.
The judge fiddled with the envelope and then said …
‘Oh, my God!’ Melanie exclaimed, as Sloane’s name was called out.
‘Yes!’ Ross punched the air. ‘The Fitzroy Agency’s first Goldstone winner. Congratulations, Sloane.’
Sloane froze like a rabbit in headlights.
Nancy, Frank and Jamie all called their congratulations.
Melanie hugged Sloane, who was shaking like a leaf. ‘You won, you brilliant woman. Now you must go up and claim your award.’
‘Take your time.’ Frank helped Sloane to her feet. ‘Remember to breathe.’
Sloane clasped his hand. Sensing her panic, Frank stood up and guided her to the stage, then came back to the table.
‘Thank you.’ Melanie was grateful for his kindness to her author.
They all clapped and watched as Sloane shakily accepted the award.
‘Really well done, Melanie. This is huge for the agency.’ Nancy raised her glass to her daughter-in-law.
‘Well done, mate. This is your award too.’ Jamie hugged her.
‘I’m so proud of you.’ Frank kissed her cheek.
‘Thanks.’ Melanie thought she would burst with pride and happiness for Sloane and for herself. She was now the agent of a Goldstone winner. Yeeesss!
‘We need to capitalize on this win.’ Ross was all business. ‘I suggest a meeting in the morning to discuss the best way we can profit from it.’
‘Let’s take a minute to enjoy the moment, Ross.’ Jamie poured them all more champagne.
The presenter stood back to let Sloane say a few words.
Her voice shook. ‘I’m not very good at …
well … crowds and all that. I’m much better at writing than speaking.
But I do want to thank two people, my editor Judith Monroe, for helping to elevate the book, but most of all I want to thank Melanie Miller, my agent.
She is amazing. I can call her any time, day or night, and she is always there for me.
She has held my hand through everything.
I’m so lucky to have her representing me and my books and I dedicate this award to her. ’
Melanie fought back tears. This was a moment she had dreamt about.
It was the biggest moment of her – any agent’s – career.
It was a dream come true. All of the work, all of the missed dinners with the twins, cancelled nights out with Frank, the late-night Zoom calls with authors and editors, it was all worth it.
The sacrifices had led to this incredible moment.
Frank and Jamie whooped loudly. Nancy pulled Melanie in for a half-hug. She looked emotional, too. ‘This is such a momentous day. Take it all in. You discovered and nurtured a Goldstone winner. You have raised the agency’s profile to a whole new level. Well done, Melanie. Really well done.’
‘Thank you, Nancy,’ Melanie said. ‘I’ve learnt so much from you over the years. Thank you for believing in me.’
Ross shouted towards the stage, ‘We’re so proud of you, Sloane. The Fitzroy Agency values its authors.’
Could he be any more annoying or brash? Melanie tried to block out Ross’s voice.
As Sloane was whisked off for a post-win interview, Melanie felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Petrus van der Beek, one of the shortlisted authors. ‘Congratulations on your nomination, Petrus,’ she said.
Petrus thanked her. ‘I wanted to talk to you tonight. The thing is, I’m not happy with Hank.
I want you to be my agent. I want to be able to call the person representing me at any time.
I want someone ambitious and hard-working.
Hank’s getting sloppy and lazy. He turns his phone off at seven p.m. Can we talk tomorrow? ’
Melanie tried to keep her face neutral but inside she was gleeful. ‘Of course. Anytime. I’d love to chat. I’m a huge admirer of your work. The Path to Nowhere is such a beautiful book.’
‘Thank you. I’ll call you in the morning.’
Nancy leant over. ‘What did he say?’
‘He wants me to represent him.’ Melanie beamed.
‘If you bag him, you’re getting a fat bonus from me,’ Nancy told her.
‘Wow, Petrus van der Beek!’ Jamie was very impressed.
‘Is he good?’ Frank asked.
Melanie tried not to mind that her husband was so clueless about authors outside the music world. ‘He won the Booker six years ago.’
Frank nodded. ‘Okay, wow. That’s incredible, darling, you’re on fire. But you’re already flat out. Do you think you have room for another author right now?’
‘It’s called hard work, Frank. You could take a leaf out of your wife’s book,’ Nancy said.
‘Melanie works twelve-, sometimes fourteen-hour days, Mum.’
‘And it’s paying off,’ Nancy replied. ‘She is now wanted by the top authors in the world.’
‘She has a life outside work, Mum. She needs more balance.’
‘What she needs, Frank, is to take advantage of her success. This level of attention and respect does not come along twice.’
Ross hovered behind his mother. ‘Right. We need to get contracts ready to go in the morning and nail this down. I’ll set up a Zoom call with Petrus and discuss details.’
Over my dead body!
Melanie glared at Ross. ‘You will do no such thing. I will talk to Petrus tomorrow. I will see what he’s looking for and I will decide whether to sign him as my author or not.’
Ross’s eyes narrowed. ‘There were a lot of “ I ”s in that statement. We are a family agency, Melanie. Any success is shared by all of us.’
Nancy tutted. ‘Leave Melanie to deal with Petrus. She has a magic touch with authors. She’s this agency’s golden goose.’
‘Thank you, Nancy.’ Melanie knocked back her champagne and shot Ross a look of pure disdain.
Later that night, after Melanie and Frank had walked Sloane to her hotel room and Frank had called it a night, Melanie went back down to have another glass of champagne.
She could properly relax now, without having to mind Sloane or talk to Frank.
She wanted another celebratory drink and to relish the moment she had waited for so long and worked so hard to achieve.
This was her life’s dream, and hopefully the beginning of more literary prizes to come.
This was who she was, Melanie Miller, super-agent!
She wanted to chat to her peers and enjoy their congratulations and, in many cases, envy.
The utter joy of sitting with a glass of champagne, no Frank, no one calling ‘Mum’ and tugging at her, no Ross or Nancy trying to steal her thunder, just the blissful freedom of being alone and the incredibly sweet taste of victory to go along with it. This was her moment.
She was coming out of the lift when she saw Ross in the corner of the lobby, talking to a woman in a raincoat.
Melanie recognized the woman’s face but couldn’t place her.
They appeared to be arguing. Melanie moved closer, edging along the wall and staying out of sight.
She couldn’t hear the woman’s voice, but Ross’s travelled even when he tried to whisper.
His face was red and animated and she caught certain words: ‘… won’t pay any more … I’m maxed out … tricked me … ruined my life …’
The woman stared at him for a moment, then slapped him hard across the face.
She stormed off and Ross stood there, watching her leave, his face a mask of pure anger.
Melanie flattened herself against the wall, praying he wouldn’t look around.
To her relief, he walked straight through the lobby and into the bar.
Melanie stared at the spot where the two of them had stood. What had she just witnessed? What the hell was going on?