Chapter 3
THE MEETING
As I enter the room, Lenka’s head lifts. Her steely-grey gaze is on turbo-power mode, scanning me up and down. I meet her eyes with my own as she stands arms crossed, chin raised, ready for battle.
Rory is on to something. I can sense that Lenka is also playing a game of sorts – her sudden change in demeanour is unsettling but also intriguing. Maybe those YouTube videos were worth a watch after all!
Lenka motions for me to take a seat on a brightly coloured, polka-dot mushroom stool beside her desk. Low down beside her desk, so she looks down at me, queen to courtier. She’s not sitting on a throne, but she might as well be, while I’m basically sat on the floor.
Play her at her own game. Tactics, Daisy, employ those YouTube crisis negotiation strategies. They’re all you’ve got.
I smile up at her.
She smiles back down – Ruby Woo red lips stretched to the max, showing teeth.
Let the games begin.
I return with a smile wider again; I try to flash a little of my gum-cleavage because that’s how much I care. We’re in a smile-off. And I’m not going to lose.
Her smile widens again – even more teeth, possibly more than the standard set? Is this the latest aesthetic enhancement of the uber-achievers? Is this the latest trend among the rich and famous?
I raise my smile game once more, holding nothing back.
I pull the biggest, broadest, cheek-squeezing, face-cracking, jaw-breaking grin of all time – I’m gurning for survival, like your first school photograph when the teacher says you won’t get your snack or playtime or ever see your friends again unless the photographer gets his shot.
I can feel the heat rising between us as we continue to hold each other’s gaze, waiting for the other to break.
But I don’t break. I don’t even falter. For now, yet I can’t help wonder how much more she’s got? How much more I’ve got? When will it end?
With a sudden burst of energy, I unleash my ultimate weapon: a small giggle that catches her off guard. She blinks rapidly, her smile faltering just a bit. I can tell she’s trying to regain her composure, but it’s too late.
Lenka relents. ‘Daisy, Daisy, Daisy… finally, we meet again.’
Oh my God – I think I’ve passed round one. I think I made it. I still feel… okay. Intact. Alive. Now, according to my new mentor and guru, Rory, it’s time to play nice.
‘It’s so great to be here, to see you! What an honour to be invited in like this! I know you’re exceptionally busy, so I know it’s so kind of you to see me at such short notice.’
She retreats her smile and softens her pose. ‘You’re welcome, Daisy. Exceptionally busy – that I am. I’m glad you understand. And I do appreciate you coming in to the office for this meeting, especially at such short notice. That’s impressive, Daisy – it shows professionalism and I like that.’
Was that a compliment? Rory needs his own YouTube channel. Subscribe me for life.
I take a deep breath and steel my nerves. Here I go.
‘I brought my portfolio so it would be easier to show you some of the concepts behind Forest Fables rather than try to explain them,’ I tell her.
Lenka’s gaze narrows; she dips her chin and peers at me over the rim of her glasses.
I do it too. Even though I don’t wear glasses, so I just mime along prop-less. Mirroring her every move, like secretly playing Simon Says with the most terrifying woman in the industry. Bar Matilda Wilder, by the sound of it.
Lenka leans back in her seat, her features softening. She exhales.
And so do I. Oscar-worthy stuff by me. God, acting like someone else is so much easier than being yourself!
Now I totally get why Lenka opts for pomp and pretence – it takes so much less out of you emotionally.
I’m learning lots here and no doubt, this is working – she may think I’m as dim-witted and deranged as our little fox cub, but she’s disarmed for sure.
She’s not screaming or firing insults, she’s taking stock, reorientating.
This playbook is like a paint-by-numbers kit… genius.
‘You’ve brought your actual portfolio. Interesting. Let’s look at it then.’ Her accent is a mix of crisp English and lilting Czech. ‘It’s not often I see hard-copy work these days.’ She extends a hand in expectation.
With trembling fingers, I pass her the portfolio. My heart hammers against my ribs as she flips through the illustrations, one by one, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. She lands on a page, tuts, then mutters under her breath, shaking her head.
‘I mean, why is the hedgehog still wearing a waistcoat, Daisy? It’s bad enough I must point this out once, but twice? Nobody has time for this coddling, for all this guidance and direction you seem to need – I am not your mother!’
Ouch.
My stomach rolls as I struggle to reply, but I gather myself. I’ve managed not to break so far, and in fact I would say I’ve even chipped away at the ice queen a little, so I take a breath and explain.
‘With respect, Lenka, Mr Hedgehog wears a waistcoat to cover his prickly spikes. That’s his emotional signature, his schtick – he’s hiding who he really is, afraid, ashamed, confused; without a waistcoat, he wouldn’t make any sense, and then the whole story wouldn’t make any sense.’
She clicks her tongue and blinks quickly.
I open my mouth again, but she shakes her head in warning.
Okay, I’m sensing that she’s not in the mood to hear about the in-depth imagery, the symbolism, the hidden meanings and archetypal themes.
I went off-piste there. Tried to improvise and promptly got shut down.
Lesson learned – I’m sticking strictly to Rory’s instructions from now on. No deviations.
Lenka stands from her seat and strides to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Thames, turning from me, clasping her hands behind her back.
Uh-oh. Have I messed it up?
Lenka turns from the window, eyeing me sharply. Her imposing stance looms over me as I sit on the small stool, making her seem larger than life. Her eyes rake over my figure before settling back on my face. Her lips press together firmly, and then she speaks in an authoritative yet composed voice.
‘Emotional signature,’ she says slowly. She strides around the room, her presence barely contained within its walls. She stops directly in front of me, her arms crossed as if daring me to look away before speaking once more.
‘That makes some sense, at least. I can’t be expected to understand the inner psychological workings of every little fantasy creature I come across.
’ She taps a long red fingernail against her cheek.
‘You seem to have a good grasp on the subtext – and the author, Ms Wilder, did insist on that, so in that case… I say, adequate.’
This faint praise is the most I’ve received in months. I cling to it. ‘Thank you.’
Lenka stands, the skyline of London against her frame, playing with the string of pearls around her neck, twisting each small white bead between her fingers.
I’m supposed to be FBI mirroring right now…
Only thing is I’m not wearing a necklace.
So I just kinda bluff it. I’m fully onboard with Rory’s strategy at this point.
I keep Lenka’s eye contact the whole time as I claw at my neck, at nothing and for no reason, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
She then raises her hand to loop a strand of her glossy white-blonde hair around her ear. I do the same.
She catches my eye and blinks quickly a few times.
Oh God. Is she on to me? I don’t know, but I’ve got to play the game. I blink right back.
And then she smiles at me – a real, genuine, warm smile, no fake gurning this time. ‘You know, Daisy, I think I like you. Sometimes you can get the wrong idea of someone when we work remotely.’
She walks over to my portfolio and lightly places a hand on Mr Hedgehog.
‘The work looks quite different here in my lap than on my laptop.’ She laughs at her own joke, flicking a wrist in the air.
Of course, my laughter chimes in with hers, wrist-flicking in perfect sync. Rory was right. This is quite fun.
Lenka keeps laughing and claps her hands together.
‘You know, Daisy, I surprise myself – always. It’s one of the things I love about being me.
I never know when inspiration will strike!
When I’ll be moved by my inner muse to take a totally radical and exciting new direction!
I never thought I’d say this, but I think we may be quite similar, you and me…
I think we can make something work here. ’
Holy smoke.
This is voodoooooooo.
Lenka takes a big breath. ‘It’s reassuring to me that you know the stories so well, that you appreciate how iconic these characters are, how precious these books are to so many.
Generations of readers have grown up with and love these stories, and now it’s up to us to make sure they continue to capture the hearts of new readers. Somehow…’
Lenka pauses, her gaze fixed upon me. ‘Matilda Wilder was a founding author of Hedgerow Press, so I’m contractually obligated to ensure her works are published in the editions she has requested. No getting out of it – believe me, I’ve tried.’
I continue to mirror everything: winks, blinks, nose twitches, finger steeples. I never thought I’d say this but I’m in Lenka’s company and I’m having a pretty good time. Weird.
‘I’m going to reconsider you, Daisy.’
That’s when I snap back to full attention.