Chapter 34
They were awoken by both of their phones going off at once, notifications from Prue that the publisher’s official statement had just been released.
We realize there has been some speculation around the publication of The Power of Love by Kate Darrowby, and we hope to clarify things by sharing some of the thought processes behind the publishing decisions.
As always, everything begins with the arrival of the manuscript, in this case a beautiful, impactful love story by a world-renowned author who wishes to remain anonymous.
Readers will be aware that ghostwriters and pseudonyms are a regular and transparent part of the day-to-day business of bringing books to market, and although those mechanisms were applied slightly differently in the case of The Power of Love, we believe it still sits within the spirit of the usual parameters.
Our priority as a publishing house is to deliver stories we believe in into the hands of readers who will love them, and reviews have certainly proved this to be the case with The Power of Love.
They say it takes a village to produce a book, and that’s never been truer than the case in point. We’re grateful for the incredible support readers have shown the book, and we ask that the author be allowed to retain the privacy and anonymity they’ve requested.
#itsallaboutthebook #LoveStoriesMatter
Kate read and reread the publisher’s statement, unsure how it helped. “I’d hoped they might mention me directly,” she said, looking from her phone screen to Charlie. They’d made fresh coffee and settled in the living room to analyze what had been said.
Charlie nodded slowly, thinking. “I guess we wait now and gauge reader reaction. It may be enough to redirect the focus of the attention away from you.”
“Onto what? Digging until the actual author is unmasked? I know they’ve asked people to respect his privacy, but I worry this is going to have the opposite effect and feed the hunger to identify him.”
“Which could take the heat off you,” Charlie reasoned.
“But I don’t want that to come at his cost,” she said, exasperated, thinking of H thrashing around Liv’s shop with his dino head in his hands.
“There isn’t an easy fix to all of this, it’s going to have to burn itself out,” Charlie said. “The author is well protected. He won’t be identified unless he decides to out himself, which is unlikely.”
“Do you think it will burn itself out?” she said.
He considered his answer. “It isn’t going to harm the book, it’s outselling all expectations.
And it won’t harm the author either, he stands to do very well from this in the background.
The only person it could potentially have lasting repercussions for is you, and it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen. ”
“There’s only so much you can do,” she said. “This whole thing is starting to feel like a monster that keeps growing a new head.”
He studied her for a few quiet moments.
“Come on,” he said, getting to his feet.
“Where?”
“The whole point of coming here was to get away from all of this for a while,” he said. “Let’s go take a look down by the river.”
She glanced at the constant notifications scrolling on her mobile, then out of the window at the sun-drenched riverside scene, and made a snap decision.
Turning her phone off, she placed it on the coffee table and accepted his outstretched hand to heave her up out of the low, insanely comfortable sofa.
It was beginning to feel as if Charlie was the only barrier between herself and complete disaster, but if he was prepared to live in the now just for this weekend, then she was willing to do the same.
—
“This summer has been off the charts, hasn’t it?
” she said, glad of the shade of a broad umbrella as they snagged a table outside a riverside bar an hour or so later.
They’d meandered inside designer gift shops and artist galleries, browsing at a pace that belied their current lives back home.
Kate had picked up a wonky coffee cup for Liv, and Charlie had bought a wide shallow porcelain bowl, midnight blue marbled with bright lava orange, from a local designer’s workshop.
“There’s a vase in the same pattern in the apartment,” he’d shrugged by way of explanation.
“It’s not hard to see why stressed-out Londoners flock here,” he said.
“It gives me that same feeling as Cornwall,” she said. “Holiday escape.”
“I’d never actually been down there until the signing event,” he said.
“Not even as a child?”
He laughed softly. “Unsurprisingly, my father didn’t go in for holidays,” he said. “He had a brother in Scotland and he’d send me up there on the train for a few weeks in the summer. I guess that counted as a holiday for me in his head.”
“How old were you?”
He shrugged. “Nine? Ten?”
She couldn’t imagine letting Alice out of her sight at that age. “I don’t like to think of you catching the train alone so young,” she said.
“Different times, I guess. He always put me in first class and convinced one of the stewardesses to keep an eye on me.” Charlie took a long drink. “He was an unconventional father, but a good one.”
Kate fell silent. She was seventeen when she’d first met Jojo, and had no recollection of ever knowing he had a son just a couple of years older than she was.
“It would have been his birthday today,” Charlie said, not meeting her gaze. “The first one since he died.”
She swallowed, taken aback. “Really? Charlie, you should have said. I feel awful—did you have plans this weekend?”
He finished his beer, dropping his aviators from the top of his head down over his eyes. “I was glad of the distraction to be honest. What do you do to mark the birthday of someone when they’re not here anymore?”
Kate’s father had always kept his daughters at a distance; his passing when she’d just turned thirty had been joltingly sad, but not out of the blue, and in truth they’d seen very little of each other since her marriage. He probably wouldn’t have been able to pick Alice out in her class photo.
“Well, we could do something to celebrate Jojo?” she said.
She could see him frowning behind his sunglasses. “What kind of thing?”
“What would you have done if he was here?”
Charlie huffed. “He’d have booked a table at the most expensive place he could think of and ordered the best champagne on the list, and then made a scene when I insisted on paying for it, even though we both knew I was always going to.”
She nodded, finding the scene easy to envisage.
“Right, so let’s do that. I just happen to have booked us the balcony table at this super-cool secret restaurant overlooking the river. I hear the chef does a mean rare steak.”
He laughed softly, looking out across the street, and she picked up the wine list from the table and caught the waiter’s eye.
“Could we have a bottle of this to go, please?” She skimmed her finger down the menu to the more expensive of the two champagne choices at the bottom.
The waiter nodded his approval. “Celebrating something special?”
“Someone special,” she said.
“Thank you, Kate,” Charlie said, scrubbing his hand over his jaw.
“Let me get this,” she said, reaching for her bag.
“No chance,” he said, opening his wallet.
“Oh, I absolutely insist,” she said, louder than intended as she summoned her inner Jojo.
He caught her eye and laughed softly, onto her.
“My treat,” he said, handing his card to the waiter when he reappeared with the champagne and the bill.
Kate gathered her things together, ready to get back to the cool interior of the apartment and prepare a dinner fit for the inimitable Jojo Francisco.