Chapter 34
Aurelia’s first night home was filled with happy chatter as she caught up with each of the characters and told them about her holiday and her family.
By the following day, she’d fallen back into her schedule of working in the shop during the day, napping in the early evenings, and spending her nights with the characters.
She and Vronsky came up with ideas at night, and she wrote them out and added detail, dialogue, and descriptions during the day.
The relief of falling back into a writing routine drove her to keep going, so that she wouldn’t fall back out of it again.
Weeks passed and suddenly it was February.
Aurelia and Vronsky were working quickly now, motivated by their plan to get a copy of the manuscript ready for their experiment.
Other characters often joined their writing sessions, adding ideas about what Vronsky ought to do, or where he ought to go.
And as the characters disappeared back into their books at dawn each morning, it was less jarring now that Aurelia knew Vronsky was getting closer to disappearing into his new story.
With Aurelia spending so much time writing and editing, she was spending less time with her friends outside of the shop.
David had started bringing her samples of his cooking experiments just to get a chance to see her each week.
Most of them were edible and kept her fed through the many hours of writing she was putting in each day and night.
Fortunately, it was easy to keep up with Antonia and her father by phone since they didn’t live close enough for regular visits.
Antonia always made sure to ask Aurelia for updates on her ‘writing group’ and, although Aurelia felt guilty each time the lie resurfaced, she just couldn’t tell Antonia about the true cast of characters that were helping her to write each night.
As much as Aurelia wanted to share it all with her sister, she knew that she would doubt Antonia’s sanity if their roles were reversed.
She didn’t want to put her sister in such a terrible position when she knew what she was experiencing was perfectly harmless.
Her friends, however, couldn’t be put off indefinitely with phone calls and quick visits.
Kali arrived in the shop at lunchtime one afternoon, just as Aurelia was hitting her stride on a section of the sequel that had Vronsky settling into his new life in Paris after deciding he’d had enough of Italy.
“It’s non-negotiable, love. I insist you come to lunch with me, for my own sake as well as yours.”
“Now?” Aurelia dragged her attention away from the typewriter. “Couldn’t we go tomorrow?”
“No, afraid not. Come on, get your coat.” Kali held the front door open, letting in the cold air and forcing Aurelia to her feet.
Once they were out the door and sitting down to lunch, Aurelia didn’t mind the break after all. It was fun to socialize with a non-fictional friend who she could hug and who was willing to share dessert with her.
“How’re you here without Ben?” she asked. “Is he with Tom’s parents today?”
“No, I’ve found someone who can watch him for a few hours each week. I’ve been working on something.”
“I thought you weren’t going back to work?”
“I’m not—not back to my old job, anyway. Do you remember a while back, I told you about going through the National Gallery and those mums following me for my art talk with Ben?”
“Yes, right. I remember.”
“It got me thinking, so I posted on one of the mummy groups I follow and offered to do tours for mums with toddlers. Mad as it sounds, people actually signed up.”
“Mad?” Aurelia scoffed. “You’re great with kids and you love art—this sounds perfect! Have you started already, then?”
“My first one’s tomorrow! I just spent a few hours back at the National Gallery, plotting my tour. I’m thinking I could expand it, do different themes each week or tours at different museums, if people are interested.”
“That’s brilliant—you can make your own hours and you love talking about art. You have to stop by and tell me how it goes, okay?”
“I will, if I can manage to get you away from your typewriter again,” Kali laughed.
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve just been ‘in the zone.’ I’m plowing along and it’s nearly finished now.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic! Are you going to send it round to publishers? Is that how it works?”
“No. No, this is just a sort of… passion project,” Aurelia said, feeling her heart race at the idea. “More of an experiment than something I want to publish.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re spending all this time on it—you should really try and get it published.”
“I’m just enjoying myself for now,” Aurelia insisted.
Yet the truth was, ever since David had mentioned it a few months back, she’d also begun to wonder whether she might publish Vronsky’s new story.
But she couldn’t decide if he’d be open to the idea since the story was so personal—and was there really a market for a sequel to Anna Karenina?
She could picture the reviews now: ‘height of hubris to attempt to take up Tolstoy’s pen…
’; ‘should have left readers to imagine their own ending for Count Vronsky…’
As a fan of the novel, she didn’t think she’d like to read someone else’s version of what happened to the characters from Anna Karenina, so why would anyone want to read hers?
But she wanted people to experience Vronsky’s own version of his life, even if they could never know it was truly his version.
That night, after she and Vronsky had reviewed the pages she’d typed up earlier in the day, Aurelia cleared her throat.
“Alexei, I’ve been thinking about something.”
“Yes?” He was standing, leaning casually against her desk even though he was in full dress uniform.
“We’ve talked about using a manuscript, just these typed pages, for the experiment,” she said, gesturing to their pile of chapters. “But I’ve been wondering what you might think of trying to publish your sequel—having it bound and printed into an actual book.”
Vronsky nodded thoughtfully before answering.
“I have been thinking the same. We could try, but we cannot be certain that leaving these pages on the table will be sufficient to call me forth from my sequel. From what we have witnessed, we appear from books, not manuscripts.”
“Right—it might work with what we’ve got, but we can’t be sure. And if it didn’t work and I put your old book back on the table, you might not come out again.”
“That is true, and I shouldn’t like being absent as you attempted to find a solution.
But in addition to the question of the manuscript form,” Vronsky continued as he straightened to his full height, “we must also consider the time and effort you have invested in this project. Others should have the opportunity to read the beautiful chapters you have created.”
“Oh, thank you,” Aurelia said, feeling a little self-conscious about his compliment. “But… I should tell you, if we publish, I doubt if we could put your name down as a co-author.”
Aurelia could just imagine the puzzled looks of publishers and readers who wouldn’t understand why a fictional character was being credited for helping to write a book.
“The chapters may reflect our shared ideas, but you brought those ideas to life in a way I never could have done. It is just as well that your name alone should grace the cover of my sequel.” Vronsky wrinkled his nose, adding, “Publication was never an ambition of mine. I leave that to scholars and writers like you.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment, on the brink of yet another experiment.
“Well: publication. I can’t guarantee that I can find a publisher—”
She stopped, realizing Vronsky might not appreciate hearing that the audience for his story could be small enough to keep publishers from banging down her door, and changed tack.
“I’ve never published a book before, so they may not want to meet with me.”
“I see. I know a handful of men who own publishing houses in Petersburg and Moscow, but that does nothing to avail us here.”
“Actually, I know someone in publishing,” Aurelia said, surprised she hadn’t thought of James before now. “My friend works for a small press. I’ll call him tomorrow.”
And just like that, it was settled.