Breeze Bridge (Puffin Bay Book 5)

13. Clover

It felt like I was walking into a strategy meeting about to plan a war. On the table was wine, three bottles of it, a bottle of whisky with several glasses and another bottle of gin. I assumed the tonic was in the fridge.

I was the last to arrive, only because I’d had a needy author on a call who hadn’t wanted to stop talking. Author stress should have its own medical condition logged, maybe called ‘Editor’s Torment’ or something equally Austen-sounding. This author’s current manuscript was a deviation from what she normally did and she was panicking that it wouldn’t be well-received. An hour later and two glasses of wine for her, and she believed in the story again, as she should because it was good.

Just different. And there was nothing wrong with things being different.

Amelie gestured to the seat next to her. It wasn’t a suggestion that I should take that seat, but an order and I figured this was because she didn’t want Ruby or Fleur sitting there. Freya was at her other side, checking something on her phone, and everyone else was milling around.

The kitchen – if it could be called that because it was huge and had two dining tables in it, as well as a sectional sofa centred around a huge TV – was full of smells that were making my stomach rumble. I’d already noticed a cake, and definitely not one that was decorated to look like Puffin Bay.

“What’s the score?” Fleur and Ruby were looking out of the window down the garden, deep in conversation.

“The score is Thane and Finn one, Ruby and Fleur nil. I don’t think Thane and Finn care so that score isn’t going to change. But Ruby and Fleur are still pissed off. They’re trying to plot some sort of revenge for the guys winning the showstopper.” Amelie shook her head. “They’ve suggested more categories next year.”

“What’ve you said?”

“A categoric no. Two is enough. One for Mavis to win and one for everyone else to have a go at. Although Mavis’ cake was amazing.” She pushed the chair away and stood up. “We’re on tapas tonight so I’ll bring it over to the table.”

I followed her, along with Freya, catching the oven gloves that were thrown our way. Roman and Amelie’s kitchen had been designed for her, although Roman would deny that outright.

Instructions flew out of her mouth and five minutes later, everything was at the table with no burns and nothing spilled. The food brought all the people to the table, and three jugs of sangria were also placed down. No one – unless you were Ruby and cooking a baby – was getting out of here sober.

I poured myself a glass of sangria, wondering what Amelie had added as her secret ingredient because there was something extra to it.

Whatever that extra was, it was going to help me get through the postmortem that Fleur and Ruby had started, the metaphorical corpses being that of their respective partners.

“I can’t believe he’s never told me he could bake. I mean, I knew his mum did, but in all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never known him to even mix a cake.” Fleur shook her head.

I wondered whether now was a good time to say I had known that, kind of. Thane had helped his mum, and I remembered at school him taking a course in hospitality and catering, but Fleur hadn’t been on the island then.

“Don’t say anything,” Amelie murmured, tapping my hand and then reaching over to grab the jug of sangria. “It will make it worse, trust me.”

I sat back, accepting my drink back, topped up.

“Finn told me he was fixing something at the distillery. You know that’s where they made everything, don’t you?” Ruby looked round at us all. “I just can’t believe they stole our thunder.” She sat back in her chair with her arms folded, obviously boiling with it.

“Okay,” Amelie said, leaning forward. “They didn’t steal your thunder. Both of you made amazing cakes, but even without Finn and Thane’s absolute masterpiece, neither of you were contending for third place. The standard was high across the board, but there were at least four cakes that would’ve been ahead of yours.”

That was brave. I attacked a dish of chorizo and prawns, one of my favourites, and prepared to watch the show.

“Seriously, the others were that good?” Fleur had started to eat, which meant she was calming down.

Amelie nodded. “They were. There was a lemon cake that was better than the ones I make, and the Everest-themed cake was just amazing. Both of you did really good cakes, but your designs weren’t original enough. I’ve seen a lot like them before, so you lost points for that.”

They both looked a combination of dejected and determined.

“Give Thane and Finn some credit. They were fed up with you bickering between each other. If one of you had won, then it would’ve been all-out war. They did a good thing.” I speared a jamón croquette which had to be one of my all-time favourite things to eat.

Ruby looked over at Fleur. “I blame my pregnancy hormones.”

Fleur nodded. “I blame having two-year-old twins. So as people, we’re not at fault. We’ve made a decision about next year though.”

“What’s that?” Romy leaned forward and grabbed the sangria, giving the fruits a stir.

“We’re joining forces,” Ruby said, scooping up a big portion of patatas bravas. “With each other. Then we can beat Finn and Thane.”

“Finn and Thane might not enter again,” Amelie chipped in. “They succeeded. You’re now on speaking terms. Their job is done, sugars. You’re friends again.”

“We were always friends.” Ruby looked affronted. “She’s my sister-in-law and mother of my nieces.”

“I wouldn’t fall out with Ruby ever. We just had a moment.” They leaned into each other, almost knocking over Fleur’s glass.

“Excellent.” Amelie took a really big piece of pork belly, which was good as I was dying to try it but didn’t want to be the first. “Now, who knows things about my step-son and this girl he’s seeing?”

There was silence.

“What girl?” Freya frowned. “I didn’t know he was seeing anyone.”

Amelie looked irritated. “There’s definitely a woman staying over. I made the mistake of going upstairs in the flat yesterday and I fell over a pair of leopard print boots. They were definitely too small for Caleb, so I don’t think he’s starting up as a drag act.”

I frowned, reaching into my bag to grab my phone. Thirty seconds later and I was showing Amelie a picture. “Are these the boots?”

She stared at them. “I do believe they are? Why - how – did you know how to find them?”

“They’re Zoey’s.” I’d wondered why Caleb had seemed happier recently, not that he was ever anything but graced with a permanent smile.

“Zoey the singer Zoey? Am I having a really stupid moment here?” She really did look confused.

I nodded. “Zoey Mitchell. Your neighbour.” Zoey was a social media star, who’d become famous after being an influencer who had then proved she could more than hold a tune. She had a house next door – really a quarter of a mile away – to Roman and now Amelie. When Roman had first landed in Puffin Bay, his newly discovered teenaged son with him, Zoey and Caleb had become friends, with Zoey just a couple of years older than Caleb.

“Why’s Zoey going to the flat and not coming here? And why’s no one said anything or anyone else seen her?” She sat back. “Am I missing something?”

“Has Caleb broken up with the girl he was seeing from university?” Fleur tapped at her glass. “I heard that it was over.”

“The girl from the course Ruby teaches?” Freya asked. “I think that ended in November.”

“It did.” Amelie confirmed it. “He said it just wasn’t working any more and they were kind of friends for a few weeks. I think she’s seeing someone else – he mentioned something about it.”

“He’s right. She’s dating one of my PhD students. They’re cute together and she’s still friendly with Caleb.” Ruby rubbed her tiny baby belly. “And I think Zoey’s finished that big tour she was doing, hasn’t she?”

Romy nodded. “I read somewhere that she was working on writing a new album. Is she not back at her house?”

Amelie shrugged. “I don’t think so. When she’s gone back there in the past, someone’s let Roman know because there’s been increased security. I’ll ask him tomorrow if she’s been at the flat.”

“Do you think there’s more to it than friends?” Freya drained one of the jugs of sangria.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Caleb’s never hid how much he likes her and he doesn’t look anything like a gangly teenager anymore. If I’d spent any more time in his flat, I might’ve found more items of clothing, but I’d rather not hunt that hard.” She shuddered. “There will be things in there that I can’t unsee.”

“Shall we ask Caleb?” I was all for this.

“We should do it as a pack.”

“Maybe next Saturday night. Is everyone free?”

“Poor Caleb.”

“He’s definitely not poor. He lives there rent free.”

‘Who’s going to stalk Zoey in the meantime?”

“Clover! Clover’s an excellent stalker.”

And that was how the night continued.

I was back at Sul Lago and so was Grayson, but this time we weren’t at different tables.

“I feel nervous.”

He looked at me like he was wondering if I was developing feathers on my face. “Why do you feel nervous?”

“Because this is like a proper date.” I toyed with my napkin.

“It is a proper date. But why would you be nervous now? We’ve had more than this date, Clover.” He sat up a little straighter.

“Because this feels more formal. I don’t know, maybe I’m being weird. Do you know it’s six months to the day since we first met?” I liked noticing dates. I found it helped me to map where I’d been, my journey in reality TV speak.

“Is it? Six months? That’s gone fast.” He looked at the wine menu, taking his time to decide what he was going to choose.

I let Grayson choose the wine, mainly because I’d never discovered a bottle I didn’t like. He was more particular.

“I think it’s gone slower, but in a good way. I feel like I’ve always known you.”

“Maybe that’s what happens when you live together from day one. Every meal’s a date.” He was smiling at me from behind the menu, his eyes giving it away.

“But this date feels different. We have gotten pretty dressed up.” I’d actually gotten dressed twice, because the first time my dress had been removed by Grayson’s superpowers, which also had the effect of us almost being late and having to message Gully to pick us up slightly later.

He’d known damn well why we were late too.

Luca was having a sleepover with Heidi and Mia and had been over to Llandudno this afternoon with them, so we were officially totally child free until lunch time tomorrow, when we were meeting up with most of our friends and Cassian and Romy and the children for Sunday lunch, which involved the first barbecue of the year at Thane and Fleur’s cottage.

“We should get dressed up more.”

I agreed with this. Grayson looked like a movie star from Hollywood’s golden era in his suit, and this restaurant could just about handle all the goodness that came with that. I’d gone for a fitted dress, but one that gave me room to eat a little (or a lot) unlike the dress in Rome.

“We should. This feels like my first proper date.” I had a buzz of excitement that wasn’t like something I’d experienced before.

The sommelier came over. Gray pointed to something on the drinks menu, exchanging a nod with her, and then asked for a bottle of red wine.

I was puzzled, the track of which drinks he was choosing having been lost.

Wine came, our order was taken, some tiny amuse bouchées arrived which were fun but made me feel absolutely ravenous.

“I should tell you I have an interview in London next week.” This probably wasn’t the sort of thing you announced during a Very Romantic Dinner but I had a feeling that once I’d digested and we’d gotten home, Grayson would be ridding my mind of anything but orgasms and the good deeds his cock could do.

He frowned. “I thought you’d decided to set up on your own?”

I nodded. “I ninety-eight percent have. I just need to do this interview to make sure I’m one hundred percent. You know I won’t be able to apply for a mortgage until I have three years of accounts from being self-employed, so I won’t have roots until then and - ”

“I get that being self-employed is scarier, but you have a home with me and Luca.” He didn’t apologise for interrupting me.

“I know. But my parents just upped and left one day – maybe not that dramatic – and I was left without a place here. The same thing kind of happened the day you arrived here and I know I’ll always have a room to use with friends here but I’m nearly thirty – I want something of my own.” I craved that permanence and while I was living my fairy princess dream of living with Prince Charming, I knew fairy tales only existed in books – although there were still plenty of wicked witches in real life.

“I understand.”

He nodded, but something seemed off. I’d hoped he would argue a little more that I had a home with him.

“Who’s the interview with?” He fingered the stem of his wineglass.

I named the publishing house. “Interestingly, one of the people on the panel is the person who made the decision to let me go last year. She was in her notice period to move to this publisher, which I didn’t know at the time. She emailed me a couple of days ago that the board had specifically asked her to get me on board as I was being recommended by some of their new authors.” She was definitely one of the wicked witches. “I don’t think I’ll be accepting it but I’ll have the pleasure of telling her that.”

“So you’re attending out of spite?” He laughed, shaking his head at me but his eyes were playful. “I should be surprised but I’m not.”

“If it’s a really good offer and I can work from the island for the vastest majority of time, I’ll think about it. Even if I worked there for six months and applied for a mortgage - ”

“Okay, let’s stop there. I was going to wait until we’d eaten, but I can’t listen to this about you potentially moving out.” He rummaged in his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

I stared at them, recognising them as the house keys.

“These are yours.”

“I already have – a – set. Gray?” I took them, puzzled. There was one thing different about this set. They had a keyring on them with my name carved into it.

“And this.” He slid another item across to me.

It was a new collar for Moonshine, only this one had Grayson’s address on it.

I looked up at him, thinking I was catching up to the paragraph he was on.

“You should change the details on Moonshine’s microchip too. If you want to stay and I don’t mean as the nanny.” He clearly interpreted my gormless look correctly. “Clover, I’m asking you to move in with me permanently. As my partner, maybe more – definitely more - in the future. As Luca’s step-mum. Not as his nanny.”

“Not as his nanny.” I repeated the words. “Who’d be Luca’s nanny then?”

“Mrs Craven’s got a space for after school and there’s a holiday club running at the school. I’m not expecting you to look after him for free.” He shook his head. “I’m just hoping you’ll move your things into my bedroom and take up the space in my wardrobe; maybe change your address permanently over to mine.” He took hold of one of my hands in his. “So getting a mortgage is irrelevant. I’m happy to add you to mine so the house is ours.”

I knew my eyes had filled up with tears and I did not want to cry right now. I’d spent too long perfecting my eye make-up which was a feat in itself as I was not brilliant with anything apart from concealer and mascara.

So I did a typical Clover thing. I upped out of my seat and legged it to the bathroom, snatching a piece of toilet paper and dabbing at my eyes carefully so I didn’t smudge any of the eyeliner or mascara.

The door was pushed open hard enough to knock the wall. A very growly Grayson walked into the ladies’ bathroom, closely followed by the bartender who looked like she was ready to wrap her hands around Grayson’s throat if necessary.

“We’re okay,” I said to her, not wanting her to take a knife out of her back pocket and this turn into a slasher flick. “Honestly.” She didn’t move.

This was possibly one to share with my friends on our message group later.

“Clover, you can’t just leave me sat there with the entire restaurant thinking I’m a dickhead for saying something to upset you. Leaving me thinking I’ve fucked everything up? What did I do wrong?” He sounded more upset than I’d ever heard him before. “Ever since you stopped on Menai Bridge to help when I’d broken down, even though you were convinced I was a serial killer, you’ve turned my life upside down. I needed a new home and I found one here, but it had nothing to do with Puffin Bay and everything to do with you. I love you. I don’t want you to be my live-in nanny anymore, I want you to be mine.”

There was no way this eye make-up was surviving with a speech like that. I didn’t even try to stop the tears.

The bartender wafted her hand in front of her face. “I’ll let him live. That’s so swoony.” She disappeared out of the door.

“It’s all good. I will live live with you and change Moonshine’s microchip details over and I can still look after Luca – it kind of works and I’m so glad your car broke down that day and that you weren’t a serial killer.” I wiped at my eyes and hoped I didn’t resemble a racoon afterwards.

Grayson caught my hand before I could do it again, taking the tissue off me and carefully blotting my face. “You ran because you didn’t want to mess your make-up up, didn’t you?”

“I did. Because you know how experienced I am with wearing it.” I laughed, my arms going around his neck now, pulling myself close to him.

His lips met mine and bang went my lipstick too. My dress seemed likely to follow only the opening of the door had us both pausing.

“Oh, shit – Doctor Wynne. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt but your starters are at the table and we were worried about where you were and – yeah.” Another waitress stopped talking. “He’s my doctor. Sorry. I can see everything’s okay.” She backed away.

We looked at each other and burst out laughing. This was going to be something we remembered for a long time after, along with the rest of the restaurant because I had no doubt that the waitress was spying too.

My dress stayed on. At least for the next two hours.

The food was as good as last time and the champagne that Grayson had secretly tried to order was excellent, although I think I was too giddy to taste it properly. Amelie would tell me to order a second bottle just to make sure, but I was more keen to get home and make the most of having a child-free house – in a house that was definitely my home.

I almost pulled out of the interview. It seemed unnecessary given that I didn’t have the pressure of a mortgage right now. Grayson talked more about the technicalities of putting my name on the mortgage deeds and what was involved. Part of me was fearful of the commitment that this was becoming, because I hadn’t been here before, and the other part of me wanted to sit down and shed a tear because for the first time in a long while I had security.

But I still got on the train from Bangor to Euston, Gully dropping me off at the station, knowing the ropes because this was the train he usually got when he had events on in London.

“Show her what she let go,” were his parting words.

I spent the train journey editing a manuscript that was needing a lot of work before it got to the stage of being presentable to an agent, which was this author’s goal, so the three hours passed without me noticing them, only coming up from my laptop when the guard checked my tickets.

I liked the occasional visit to London, preferably when it was like today and I was there and back in a day and didn’t need to stay over. I’d had a couple of nights away there with Amelie and Fleur, but that had been different because I’d been with friends. When I’d been there for work and even if I’d attended whatever function it was, it wasn’t the same.

The night I’d met Grayson I’d had to drive as well, as there had been another set of train strikes on, which was another reason I didn’t want to be contracted to being in London on a regular basis.

The publisher’s offices were in Bloomsbury, where many of the older companies were based, or at least their address was. I found myself greeted a little too warmly by the receptionist, who squawked over me being earlier than they’d expected.

“They have lunch booked for you and Grizelda at The Ivy at two, but would you like a snack to tide you over?” She took my coat and hung it up, giving it a little stroke as if she were admiring the material, which was interesting because it was a charity shop find from Llangefni and wasn’t worthy of any sort of adoration.

“I wasn’t expecting to be needed for that long.” I gave her a smile; she was really trying to be kind which was a refreshing change. Often receptionists would be disinterested at best.

“Oh.” She looked taken aback. “I took the minutes at one of Grizelda’s meetings last week and she was adamant that you’d need longer to talk through your authors.”

I gave her another smile and a small shrug. “I have to be on a train at just after four, and I need to pick up a gift from a store for my step-son.” It felt odd calling Luca that, but it was easier than explaining the current complexities. Nothing had changed for him – his life was still exactly the same as it had been, although he had helped move some of my jumpers over to Grayson’s bedroom.

Our bedroom.

It still felt sparkly new saying that.

“Oh, let me see if Grizelda is free now and I’ll bring the reservation forward.” She hurried back behind her desk and made a call taken in hushed murmurs.

I didn’t try and listen. Instead, I looked at the photos that were displayed in pretty frames around the reception. This was a big move for Grizelda. She’d been the editor-in-chief at the publishing house that had taken over the place where I’d been for years. This company was twice the size and came with a lot of stature and prestige that I suspected she enjoyed as much as the salary.

She appeared a couple of minutes after the phone call ended.

“Clover!” She held her arms open for a hug, the lightly given type that also involved an air kiss to each cheek. “I didn’t know you were getting in early. Where are you staying?”

“I’m not. I’m heading back to Anglesey this afternoon. It’s a flying visit.” Which she would know as I was pretty sure the lovely receptionist would’ve explained just that to her.

“Oh. Can you extend? Stay tonight? We have a launch party for Andy Taylor’s new thriller – The Info Exchange. It’s the first in a new three-book series; the other two are tentatively titled Engage and Cascade but we’re not sure how effective they’ll be at capturing a reader’s attention. We had to use two editors on The Info Exchange too and I’m still not sure everything’s been caught style-wise. We could’ve desperately used your skills, my dear.” She patted my back lightly, which resulted in me trying to increase the distance between us.

Grizelda had been cold in the brief time I’d worked with her, but then her game plan had been to remove the long-standing editors and bring in her own team, so she was never going to be friendly if her decision was always going to be to make me redundant.

I’d also heard stories about how she’d climb over the corpses of those she’d poisoned to make her way to the top. She was hungry for power and influence – I just wanted to help make stories the best they could be.

“You could’ve contracted me independently.”

“This company doesn’t like to do that, Clover. Everything’s in house. The authors we have here need that reassurance that nothing would be leaked.” Her smile was condescending.

I didn’t take it offensively; Grizelda wasn’t meaning to sleight me, purely to trample on the corpse of my suggestion and elevate her exclusive position.

I followed her into what was a beautiful room, with wooden panelling and ornate cornicing. It was what you’d imagine as the place where someone like Charles Dickens might’ve made a deal for a book.

It was also going to be the place where I told them, very politely, to fuck off.

“That’s what non-disclosure agreements are for, Grizelda.” I sat on a chair halfway down the dark wood table that was polished within an inch of its life.

She made a noise that reminding me of a horse.

The door opened and another staff member entered with a trolley. He smiled at us both, looking a little nervous, then placed mats on the table on which he put a carafe of coffee and pot of tea, as well as a tray of tiny cakes that Amelie would’ve been secretly judging if she’d been here.

“Mr Steiner will be here in a few minutes.” The staff member almost curtsied to Grizelda and backed out of the room with the trolley.

“Shall I be mother.” She gestured to the teapot. “I remember you were always a tea drinker rather than coffee.”

Which could be considered a crime in some parts of London.

“Let it brew for a while longer. There’s not much worse than underbrewed tea.”

“Very well. I’ll have a coffee – I need the extra caffeine to get to the end of this day.”

An uncomfortable silence shrouded us. I let it hang there, not attempting to fill it like I would’ve done months ago.

Finally, just as the tea was the right colour, the door opened and Mark Steiner entered. I’d met him a few times at various events. At one of them, he’d thought I was one of the waiting on staff and had become quite annoyed when I’d told him I would not get him another glass of champagne. I doubted he would remember that encounter.

“Clover Carew. It’s good to meet you.” He stayed standing and offered me his hand. I stood and shook it, giving him the best smile I could muster.

I realised I had no nerves whatsoever right now, just a sense of upcoming closure.

“Grizelda’s had nothing but praise for you, so I was keen to meet you in person. I hear you’re the go to person for authors who require some support with their developmental edits.”

I nodded, sitting back down again on a chair that was far more beautiful than it was comfortable. “It’s nice to hear that Grizelda was pleased with my work, as it was her decision to make me redundant from my previous publisher.” I gave her a smile that Fleur would’ve been proud of. “But lots of good things came of that, so I can’t complain.” I’d met Grayson and Luca, had a home I could think about how I’d like to decorate – that had been one of mine and Gray’s discussions last night – and I was earning more than double what I had before.

He nodded, his expression looking less relaxed. “That’s good. Things often happen for a reason. So, we’re hoping you’ll consider joining our editorial team, hence the reason for asking you to travel all this way. I’m aware you’re working closely with Gulliver Holland.” He looked at me expectantly.

“I have been. Gulliver’s a friend as much as a client. But I’ll be honest with you, Mark.” I saw Grizelda flinch at my use of his first name. “I’m not sure that working for a publishing house is in my best interests.”

His back stiffened. His eyes darkened. Mark Steiner had been in publishing since he was an embryo, the publishing house formed by his grandfather and passed to his father and then to him. He wasn’t used to being told no, or that there was a different way.

“Why wouldn’t it be? We’re one of the most established and reputable publishers, working with the best-selling and award-winning authors. Why wouldn’t you want to work for us? I don’t understand.” He did look puzzled.

Grizelda looked like she was about to cry.

“I live on an island off the North Welsh coast. I love living there and I love my small town. My friends are there. My partner and step-son are there. I also love books and stories and helping authors to birth the best story they can. I don’t love the publishing industry, especially the traditional side of it. I don’t need to go to events or launches or be in London every week just to show my face. I can work with authors remotely. I don’t have to pressure them or force them to make their story a way that they don’t want. I can work with independent authors who are doing everything themselves. I can say no to editing a book that’s been put together under a celebrity’s name just to make money. I can work with an author to set our own deadlines. I can say yes to a writer who’s finishing their very first book and not have to worry about how much money it would make everyone but the author. I can be the person who doesn’t have any agenda apart from to help that writer make that book the best book they want it to be. I don’t need to work for a prestigious publishing house to do that. Can I ask what the salary would be?”

My question put him off.

He gave me a number that was ridiculously low.

“Okay, so I earned slightly more than that in the last six months of being freelance. Your offer isn’t competitive.”

He looked at Grizelda. She didn’t meet his eyes.

There would be questions later, I knew. Why hadn’t she found out how much I was earning freelance? Why hadn’t she scoped out what it would take for me to join them? Why had she assumed I’d be so flattered at being asked, it would be a given I’d say yes.

“We’d look at a signing on bonus, if you like, especially if you can encourage some of your current clientele to consider contracting one or two books to us.” He was only focused on me now. “Gulliver Holland and Marisa Kennedy I know are both out of contract with their current publishers after their next books and we could really elevate their profiles if we combined our skills and worked together.”

I’d done my homework. Mark Steiner needed at least six big names to keep his business at the level where he wanted it. Gully managed to acquire a lot of insider info, mainly because he was charming and good at pillow talk. We’d had a recent lunch where we’d talked about Steiner and what he was trying to achieve.

“I”m afraid I couldn’t speak to my clients about their contracts. That’s what an agent is for. My talent is in editing, not negotiation.” I was not unethical.

“We know that if you were with us, some authors would seek to be part of our team to work with you. Your recent endorsements have been incredible, Clover.” He leaned forward onto the table. “You would be an asset to our team.”

“Which is a lovely compliment. However, I’m not sure you can offer me anything to tempt me away from how I’m working at present. I’m very much enjoying my job as it stands. I am more than happy for you to outsource editing work to me, if your authors want that. Some publishing houses have already done that.” This was the absolute truth, no games being played.

Steiner nodded. “This job gives you far more security than being self-employed. That’s something to consider.”

I looked over at Grizelda. She winced.

“Given that I was made redundant by your colleague here seven months ago after working at the same company for seven years, I think I prefer to manage my employment myself.” I stood up. “I don’t think we need to continue this meeting for any longer. Grizelda has already mentioned that you don’t outsource your editing.”

Steiner stood up and shook his head. “I think we can make an exception for you.”

I couldn’t help it. I threw Grizelda a wide smile.

“Then let’s arrange an online meeting. It’s my step-son’s birthday in a few days so coming to London has given me chance to do some present shopping, so this wasn’t a wasted trip.” Which it wouldn’t be. I had a few places to pop into which I’d wanted to do anyway. Another wasted trip to London wasn’t on my agenda anymore.

“Of course. I know Sally Sharples has mentioned wanting you specifically for developmental edits and I’d like to honour that promise I’ve made.” He stood and offered his hand again.

I took it, aware that Grizelda was now completely cut out of our conversation.

“We can definitely talk about that. Send me an email. It’s been good to meet you.”

“And you.” His smile seemed genuine.

I walked out of there with my head held high. Revenge had been a dish best served freezing cold.