Chapter 6
Music was blasting out from the record player as Emma opened her front door. Gerry and the Pacemakers. “Ferry Cross the Mersey.” They were Jilly’s new favourites. She had a pin-up of Gerry on her bedroom wall and kissed it.
Jilly was sitting on the couch painting her toenails, and Robyn was in the kitchenette stirring something on the stove. They both looked up as Emma came in.
“You’re late tonight,” Jilly said. “Did you have to work late again? I hope they pay you overtime.”
“Anyway, you’re just in time,” Robyn said. “I’ve made plenty. It’s a new pasta dish I’m experimenting with. I read the recipe in Woman’s Own. Spaghetti and meatballs. I can’t vouch for the meatballs.”
Emma looked at them fondly, realizing how much she appreciated their presence in an otherwise hostile, strange city. And now she might be about to walk away from them, to give up this flat and their easy camaraderie.
“Thanks but I don’t think I could eat another thing ever,” she said. “You’ll never guess where I’ve been today.”
“Been?”
“Out into the country with Mr Spencer.”
Before she could go on Jilly grinned. “Out for the day with the boss, eh? Nudge nudge, wink wink. Did you go to Brighton? Mr and Mrs Smith?”
“Shut up,” Emma said, laughing. “It was all perfectly respectable. And you won’t believe who I met.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Robyn said, coming through from the kitchenette with a spatula in her hand.
“I was taken to meet Iris Blackburn.”
“Crikey,” Jilly said. “That’s quite an honour, isn’t it? How was she?”
“Very friendly to me, because I’m a fellow Aussie, I think, but it’s all rather overwhelming.” She sat on the sofa beside Jilly. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you this, and you mustn’t repeat it, but she’s writing another book and wants me to help her finish it.”
“You’re joking!” Jilly gave a loud laugh. “Good one. Pull the other leg, it’s got bells on.”
“No, I’m not joking. I’m serious,” Emma said. “She’s writing her final book, only she’s been diagnosed with dementia and she can’t finish it. And for some ridiculous reason she’s got it into her head that I’m the person to finish it for her.”
“Can you do that, do you think?” Robyn came to perch on the arm of the sofa. “Is it set in Australia? Is that why she wants you?”
“No, that’s the weird thing. It’s set in Scotland.”
Jilly put her hand up to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Scotland? And what exactly do you know about Scotland?”
“Absolutely bugger all,” Emma said. “That’s what I told them.”
“Them?”
“It was her agent and her editor who were given the task of convincing me to do this, not Iris herself.”
“So how do you know she actually wants you to do it?”
“Oh yes, she really does. When we went back into the house—and you should see the house by the way—pretty bloody fancy—she asked, ‘Well, what does she say?’ in a very aggressive voice.”
“So, Emmie,” Robyn said. “Why do you think she’s adamant about wanting you?”
Emma sighed. “It’s the book I wrote. She seems quite taken with it.
She says I have her strong sense of justice and that’s what she wants for this book.
She hasn’t written anything for five or six years, you know, and she wants to wrap up her Inspector Melrose series in a way that’s satisfying to her. ”
“So it’s Melrose’s last case?” Jilly asked.
“That’s another weird thing. It’s his first case, when he was a young man in Scotland, before he was lured south to Scotland Yard.”
Emma saw a look pass between Jilly and Robyn.
“How on earth will you do it? Read Rob Roy in a hurry?” Jilly asked. “How does one get the feel for how the Scots sound and behave? I’ve only met two in my life and they were both quite brash and aggressive.” She paused. “And could they knock back the booze!”
“Iris wants me to go there in person. To stay as long as it takes.”
“You’re going to Scotland?” Robyn asked.
Emma squirmed nervously in her seat. “I haven’t said yes yet. I’m going to read the pages she’s already written and see if I could possibly take a shot at writing the rest of the book. If it’s really beyond me, then I’ll say thanks and walk away.”
Robyn got up again, dashing across to the kitchen, where the bubbling sound had become a little too intense. “Damn! The spaghetti’s boiling over.”
She came back into the room. “It’s just dawning on me what this could mean for you, Em,” she said. “If it really worked out and you cowrote an Iris Blackburn novel everyone would want a book from you.”
“Is she actually going to put your name on the book as a cowriter?” Jilly asked. “Or is she going to pretend she wrote the entire thing and pay you enough to stay silent?”
“We haven’t got that far yet,” Emma said. “Her lawyer is drawing up a contract for me to review tomorrow morning—he’s rather dishy by the way. Smooth but appealing in a British sort of way.”
“Ah, now we get why she wants to do it.” Jilly dug Emma in the side. “Romance at last for the virgin queen.”
Emma blushed.
“Forget about romance,” the ever-practical Robyn said. “They are going to pay you for this, aren’t they? The whole thing is not on spec—you going to Scotland and writing a book and then finding it isn’t what they wanted?”
“I think Iris will be fair,” Emma replied, now wondering how much she actually knew. “She did say they’d take care of my expenses in Scotland, and Barlow and Barlow will give me a leave of absence, so at the very worst I’ll get a free Scottish holiday.”
“How long do you think you’ll be gone?” Robyn asked, now looking worried. “What about this place and the rent? And what if you do decide to write the book with her? Can you still live here and commute?”
“No. She wants me to move into her guest cottage,” Emma said.
“So I’m not sure about the flat. Oh, I’ll pay my rent until I know what I’m doing, and then we’ll have to decide if you want another flatmate instead of me.
” She looked up, suddenly distraught. “I don’t want to leave you guys. You’re my family here.”
“We don’t want you to leave either. We’d have to break in a new girl,” Jilly said. “That’s not always easy. Luckily you were well trained from boarding school when you came to us, but I’ve heard horror stories.”
“Like that girl who brought back blokes every night and had sex with them on the living room floor?” Robyn said and they laughed, breaking the tension.
“When do you get these pages to read?” Jilly asked.
“Tomorrow morning. I have to go down to Tunbridge Wells and Tony, her lawyer, is picking me up from the station and driving me to Iris’s house.”
“Crikey, that’s not much time to think about it,” Jilly said. “Are you going to bring back the manuscript to read here?”
Emma shook her head. “They didn’t think the pages should leave Iris’s house, just in case they fell into the wrong hands. I’ve got to move into the guest cottage while I read it. That will be good, won’t it, because Iris will be there if I want to ask questions.”
“Although if she’s already gone gaga will she be able to give you the answers?” Robyn said dryly.
“I don’t know how bad the dementia is,” Emma said. “She sounded quite all there to me today, although she did forget a few things and mixed up names, but I expect that’s quite normal for someone over eighty.”
“Is that how old she is?” Jilly asked.
“I don’t really know. She looks old. I asked if there was a biography of her and David said she wouldn’t allow one.”
“David? Another beau?”
“Will you shut up about beaux.” Emma laughed now.
“My boss. Mr Spencer. He’s about seventy himself.
He’s been her editor since she came to this country.
I thought he was rather stiff and frightening until now, but he’s quite nice when you get to know him.
” She sat up suddenly. “Oh gosh, I’ve just realized.
I have to pack clothes to take down to Iris’s house.
I want to look a bit better than today. Why did I have to wear this outfit and look like a Belles of St Trinian’s schoolgirl? ”
“Is Iris rather fashionable?” Jilly asked.
“Obviously rich,” Emma said. “Not fashionable, but she wore a lovely cashmere jumper and well-tailored trousers. Of course that might be just because she was having guests to lunch.”
“I always thought authors were a sloppy lot,” Robyn said. “Going about in their pyjamas until the muse struck.”
“I can’t ever imagine Iris going about in her pyjamas, but who knows. Oh, and she has a live-in companion.”
“Companion, eh?” Jilly winked.
“David said he thought she really is just a companion. Iris bosses her around. She’s the classic English countrywoman—brogues and tweeds and home-knitted jumpers.
I don’t know anything about her yet, how long she’s been with Iris or what made her take the job.
I expect I’ll find out if I have to live there for a while. ”
“At least you’ll get some decent food without having to cook,” Jilly said. “I’ve no doubt people like Iris Blackburn eat well.”
“The lunch was delicious. Although the cook is terrifying. I think even Iris is afraid of her, but she does cook divinely, so yes, I’m looking forward to the food.”
“Well, this will be our last night together for a while,” Robyn said solemnly. “I think we should open the last bottle of plonk to celebrate, don’t you?”
“Celebrate getting rid of me? Thanks a lot.” Emma pretended to walk away.
“No, you dope. To celebrate our friendship and that one of us is soon going to be rich and famous.”
“A likely story,” Emma said. “I expect I’ll read the pages she’s written, decide I can’t possibly write anything like it and be back here by the end of the week. Or I’ll try to write the book and they’ll take one look and say, ‘Uh, no thanks.’ Don’t let my room while I’m gone.”
With that she went into her bedroom to pack.