Chapter 5
When they returned to the house Emma expected Iris to be resting as she had said, but instead they heard voices from another room at the back of the house, then Iris’s unmistakable laugh, an almost masculine deep-throated chuckle.
“Ah, that’s where they are. The music room,” Jeremy said and led the way to a room at the rear of the house.
This was another sitting room on a more lavish scale although still with the country house feel—chintz-covered sofas and armchairs, low tables, potted plants and by the window a white grand piano.
Iris was lounging on one of the sofas, still with the sheepskin rug over her knees, although again the room felt almost too warm.
Cynthia Morton perched on the arm of the sofa, hovering protectively, and Tony Gordon sat in an armchair by the fire, smoking a cigarette.
Iris sat up as they came in.
“Well?” she asked, leaning forward like an expectant baby bird. “What does she say?”
“She needed some persuading,” Jeremy said. “She said she’ll read what you’ve already written and then see . . .”
“See what? What is there to see?” Iris’s voice became shrill. Now Emma heard a hint of Australian in it.
“To see if I can do justice to it, Miss Blackburn,” Emma said.
Cynthia leaned over to face Iris. “What are we talking about? Do justice to what?”
“I’ve decided I can’t finish the book, Cindy. I want Emma to do it for me.”
“You want her to finish your book? Why wasn’t I told about this?
” Cynthia demanded. “You went behind my back. And if you ask me, it’s a stupid idea.
Why ask her, of all people? A little slip of a girl who’s written a tiny book and you want her to write an Iris Blackburn novel.
You’re losing your marbles, Iris. You should have consulted me first.”
“And why would I do that?” Iris asked, staring at her calmly. “As far as I remember you are neither my publisher nor my agent.”
Cynthia’s face turned bright red. Emma was still standing, now feeling horribly embarrassed.
Iris turned away from Cynthia and reached out a hand to Emma.
“Come and sit beside me, darling. And don’t be scared.
You’ll do beautifully, I’m sure. Together we’ll finish the best Inspector Melrose novel ever. ”
Emma allowed herself to be led to the sofa beside Iris. “Miss Blackburn,” she said, “I’m afraid you might be overestimating my talents. It’s not as if I’ve had much experience as a writer, and I’ve no idea about Scotland or Scottish people for that matter. I’ve never even met one.”
“You’ve told her you want her to go and see for herself, haven’t you?
” Iris demanded, glaring at Jeremy. “I want her to go and get the feel of the place and the people. I want her to see it as if through Melrose’s eyes.
” She turned back to Emma, patting her hand.
“I want you to feel and to see just as he did. As the outsider. The man with no preknowledge, not knowing what to expect. That’s what I want.
That element of surprise everywhere you go.
” Her fingers closed around Emma’s hand, squeezing it hard.
“You will do it for me, won’t you? I’m placing all my hopes in you. ”
“I can’t promise anything until I’ve read the pages you’ve already written.”
“Go and get her the manuscript, Cindy,” Iris said. “It’s on the desk in my study.”
Before Cynthia could move David said, “Remember you already gave the manuscript to me to look at, Iris. I have it with me in my briefcase. I can give it to Emma when we’re back in London.”
“No!” Cynthia said angrily. “Absolutely not. This is utter folly, Iris. Those pages should not leave this house. You want to give them to a strange girl you know nothing about? What is to stop her from selling them to the highest bidder? Tell her, Tony. Tell her she’s being reckless and foolish.”
Tony Gordon had been sitting silently until then.
He cleared his throat, obviously also embarrassed by the tense scene.
“It might be wise, Iris, to have Emma sign some sort of contract in which she acknowledges that you are the creator and she has no rights to the material and is forbidden to share it with anyone outside this room.” He gave Emma a sort of apologetic glance.
Emma realized that he was Iris’s lawyer and what he said was right, but it made her feel he was not quite the ally she had first thought.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Jeremy said. “I’m sure Emma is a most trustworthy young person, but a flatmate or a boyfriend could seize the opportunity to make a quick bob or two.”
“Very well,” Iris said. “If you’re all so adamant about not trusting poor Emma then she shall read the manuscript here. Make the guesthouse ready for her, Cindy. We wanted her to move in anyway once she starts writing. She can move in now, instead.”
“I can’t move in today, Miss Blackburn,” Emma said. “I don’t have any of my things with me, and I’d have to tell my flatmates. And I’d have to keep on paying my rent there. It wouldn’t be fair to leave them in the lurch.”
“See what I told you?” Iris said, still holding Emma’s hand. “A strong sense of justice and fairness. That’s what I wanted. She’s going to be perfect.”
Cynthia stood up. “Huh,” she said. “Absolute rubbish.” And she stalked out of the room.
They were forced to stay for tea, which included tiny sandwiches, scones, a Victoria sponge and Eccles cakes.
Emma was still feeling full from the large lunch but felt she had to eat what was offered to her by the glowering Mrs Fisk.
In spite of her hostile nature it was clear Mrs Fisk was a wonderful cook.
“They won’t be staying for dinner, I take it?” she demanded. “Only I need to know now if I’m to put an extra chicken in the oven.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Fisk. We have to drive back before dark,” David said.
Emma gave a small sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to face another meal and the pressure of expectations she hadn’t even had time to process.
They finally parted with Emma agreeing to return the next day, Tony agreeing to draw up a rudimentary contract to protect Iris’s rights but also Emma’s.
“If she reads the pages and decides not to go ahead then you should agree to compensate her for the time she’s put in, Iris,” he said. “You have to be fair to Emma. You’re asking a lot of her.” He looked across to Emma, giving her a little nod.
“Of course, dear boy. Put it all in writing. Make it legal and binding.” Iris laughed. “And you, my dear, are going to show up nice and early in the morning.” She wagged a finger at Emma. “Are you going to drive her again, David?”
“I’m afraid I can’t, Iris. I have a meeting with another writer. Emma will have to come down on the train and then get a taxi from Tunbridge Wells.”
“I can meet her at Tunbridge Wells,” Tony said, getting up from his seat. “My office isn’t far from the station.” He fished in his top pocket. “Here’s my card, Emma. Phone me from the station and I’ll come to pick you up.”
“That’s awfully good of you,” Emma said, but he waved this aside. “Not at all. I have to be at Iris’s anyway with the contract to make you sign your life away.” He smiled as he said it but Emma shivered. It had all gone so fast and was feeling so final and overwhelming.
Emma remained silent for a long time as they drove back to London and twilight fell.
David tried to be cheerful. “That was quite a scene back there, wasn’t it?
Lots of drama. I’m afraid Iris does like to feed on drama—she pits Cynthia against Jeremy and both against me at times, but she’s clearly taken with you. ”
“I just hope she doesn’t have a false idea of me and my talents,” Emma said.
“Don’t underestimate yourself, my dear,” David said. “Remember I was the one who decided to publish your book. Barlow and Barlow does not publish second-rate stuff. It was my reputation on the line, too.”
They drove on. Streetlights had now come on and light reflected from the road, still wet from an earlier rain shower. Emma felt as if she were driving through a dream. None of what had happened seemed real to her.
“Why do you think Miss Blackburn wants to write about Melrose’s early life and set a mystery in Scotland?” she asked. “Does she know much about Scotland herself? Has she spent a lot of time there?”
David had to smile. “Very little. She’s been to speak in Edinburgh and got an honorary degree from the University of St Andrews, and I think she once did a tour of the Highlands when she first came to this country, but that’s about it.
I don’t know how she planned to write and finish this book if you hadn’t come along.
She certainly isn’t up to the journey to Skye herself, and I know as little about the Scots as you do.
We’d all be floundering in the dark. Still, she has these whims from time to time and they’ve usually turned out well for her.
Remember one of the Melrose books was about the discovery of artifacts from Henry VIII.
She knew nothing about him or about archaeology, but she managed to write a convincing book and we didn’t get any of those horrid letters pointing out all our errors.
So I’m sure she would have done her research well enough to be convincing.
But now you have the chance to go to Scotland in person and be a reporter.
Not much will have changed on Skye since the thirties, which is when this book takes place. ”
“I’m actually anxious to read it now,” Emma said.
“You’ll find it quite intriguing,” David replied. “I certainly did. When I got to the end, or rather where she simply stopped writing, I was really annoyed. I wanted to know what happened next. The sad thing is that I think Iris also wants to know and doesn’t have the answer.”
They made their way past the Elephant and Castle, past the Oval cricket ground, and approached Central London.
“I’ll drive you home,” David said.
“Oh, that’s not necessary, sir,” Emma said hastily. “I can easily take the Tube.”
“No sense in taking you back to the office. I don’t need to go there myself tonight, and I live out in Ealing. So you’re on the way.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind.” She smiled at him.
“Not at all. I have to look after Iris’s latest asset,” he replied.
They crossed the Thames at Chelsea Bridge with the great power station belching out white smoke beside them, then passed the Brompton Cemetery and arrived in Earl’s Court. David drew up in front of the three-storey Victorian that housed Emma’s flat.
“Good luck tomorrow,” he said to Emma. “In spite of the volatility you’ve seen, I think that Iris is essentially a kind person and won’t give you trouble. She’s been rather spoiled and isolated for too long. It’s not good to be too rich and too adored. Just remember that when you are famous.”
Emma had to laugh. “I can’t see that happening to me. Being famous, I mean. If Iris pays me I’ll probably take the money and run straight back to Australia, buy myself a little bungalow with a couple of kangaroos out back and be very happy.”
“What about a young man in your life? When does he enter into it? Don’t you want a home and family?”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” she said. “I’ve just not met the right person yet.”
“You will. You’re still very young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You don’t want to wind up like me, a dried-up old man who spends his evenings with a book and a cup of cocoa.”
“You were never married?” Emma asked.
“I was,” he said. “I’m a widower now. I’ve got a daughter. She lives in Cornwall so we don’t see each other often, but she’s a dear girl. She married a farmer and they have three boys. I do enjoy going to visit. Families are important, I think. I’m sorry you lost yours.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut, afraid she would cry. She nodded. Then she took a deep breath and opened the car door. “Thank you for driving me home, Mr Spencer.”
“Report in and let me know how things are going with Iris,” he said.
“I will.”
Emma ran up the front steps and fished for her door key as he drove away.