Between The Sheets (16 page)

Dana saved the file and closed her laptop. The room was freezing now and she shut the windows. Glancing at her watch she was startled to find it was almost midnight. She was tired but she knew she was also too wound up to sleep. Going to the kitchen, she topped up her glass and then, pulling a warm jacket around her shoulders, she went into the moonlit conservatory, curled up in a chair and let the silence and darkness envelop her.

Dana had just walked out through the door when the phone rang. Sylvie picked it up. 'Hello?' 'Sylvie?'

'Oh, hi. If you're looking for Dana, I'm afraid she's gone out for a couple of hours.'

'No problem, it's nothing urgent. How are things?' 'I'm not sure,' Sylvie told him. 'Dana's behaving a bit oddly.'

'She's writing, though, isn't she?'

'Yes. Only ...'

'What?'

'She seems to have changed her whole routine. She used to write in the mornings and give me pages to proofread as she produced them. Now, she sleeps in and works very late. And she doesn't want me around when she's working. So I'm working mainly mornings. When she gets up I brief her, and then I go home. It's very odd.'

'Well, her life has changed,' he pointed out. 'She's lonely and has nothing else to do at night now her husband has gone.'

'I suppose.' Sylvie wasn't convinced. 'But it still doesn't explain why she hasn't given me any chapters to proofread. She's been working since Friday, and yet not a sausage.'

'She's probably nervous of letting you see her first efforts. Remember, she hasn't written for weeks. She may be finding it hard to pick up where she left off.'

'You're right,' Sylvie agreed. 'And she does seem to be on edge.'

'She's bound to be. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Sylvie. Last Tuesday night was a huge success and the press coverage the next day and at the weekend was fantastic. Everyone empathizes with Dana now. Things couldn't be better. We had quite a good night ourselves too,' he added, a smile in his voice.

'Yes, it was good fun.'

'Maybe we should do it again,' Ian suggested.

'I don't think so.'

'Oh, come on, you know you're crazy about me.'

Sylvie laughed. 'The word crazy does come to mind when I think of you.'

'Ah, so you do think of me?'

Tan, go away. I have work to do.'

'Sylvie Parker, you're a cruel and heartless woman.'

'You've got that right. Go and find yourself a nice girl.'

'Nice girls are boring.'

'I'm hanging up now. Goodbye, Ian.'

'Bye, Sylvie.'

'So, Dana, how are you today?'

She laughed. 'You'd think I'd seen you only last week, the way you said that.'

The psychiatrist peered at his notes. 'No, it's been about seven years.'

Dana sighed. 'Yes. Just before I met my husband.'

'It's never wise to stop treatment without consulting your doctor,' he said gravely. 'Especially when you're coming off antidepressants.'

'I'm sorry, but I followed your instructions to the letter,' she promised. 'And, quite frankly, I didn't feel the need of another session.'

'So marriage cured you?' The doctor smiled.

'Yes, something like that. You'd have liked my husband. He was great.'

He frowned. 'Was?'

'Still is, I'm sure. Only We're not together any more.'

'I'm sorry. Was it a joint decision or ...'

She shook her head. 'No, he left me. Which is why I'm here.'

'So what went wrong?'

'I wish I knew. One evening he said wasn't happy and that he was leaving.'

Dr Corcoran made notes. 'And did he tell you why?'

Dana crossed and recrossed her legs. 'He said we hadn't grown as close as he'd hoped; that I didn't talk to him. I don't understand any of it. I loved him. He was my best friend. And, as far as I was concerned, we were blissfully happy.'

The doctor looked at her over his half-moon glasses and waited for her to continue.

'Yes. So, it's been quite difficult. And I haven't been able to sleep or to write. And I've been feeling very down. I think I need to go back on the antidepressants.'

'Why do you think he left, Dana?'

'I have no idea. Maybe he got fed up with me. Maybe he fancies someone else. Maybe he's having a midlife crisis.' She shrugged.

'You don't sound like you believe any of those reasons.'

She rested her chin in her hand and sighed. 'I don't know what to believe.'

'And you've been feeling down.'

'Down, sad, hopeless — the usual things you'd expect of a woman who's just been dumped.' Dana laughed weakly.

Dr Corcoran nodded thoughtfully. 'You know, I remember you telling me that you never suffered from writer's block. You told me that, no matter what happened, you could always write. Until now.'

'Gus was the love of my life. His leaving has knocked me for six.'

'I'm sure, but you've suffered more traumatic experiences in your life and they didn't affect your writing.'

She said nothing.

'And you're having problems sleeping?'

'Yes. I feel exhausted when I go to bed but then I just lie there thinking. So now I get up again and work.'

He looked up from his notes. 'But I thought you couldn't write?'

Dana felt the colour rise in her cheeks. 'I can't write fiction,' she explained. 'Instead I've been working on something else.'

He put down his pen and looked at her. 'Are you writing about your own experiences, by any chance?'

She nodded. 'How did you know?'

He smiled. 'Just a guess. So why do you think you felt the need to write about your life?'

'Isn't it obvious? My husband has left me. I'm at a turning point. I'm depressed.'

'So you're writing about your marriage?'

She sighed. 'No.'

'I see.' He picked up his pen again and wrote some-thing down.

'What do you see?' she said irritably. 'The only reason I'm here is because my marriage has broken up and I need some help to get over it. Just write me a prescription, and I'll let you get on with your work.'

He sat back, folding his hands in his lap. 'I have plenty of time.'

Dana stared at him. If he thought she was going to spill her guts, he had another think coming.

Dr Corcoran smiled, as if she'd spoken the words aloud. 'Did you tell your husband about what happened to you when you were young?'

Dana stiffened. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a good idea after all. 'Why would I?'

'You said you loved him.'

'I did.' She sighed. 'I do.'

'And didn't you want to tell him everything that happened?'

She looked away. 'I talked to you about my problems. That's why I came to you. Why bother him with something that was part of my past? It was all over, finished.'

'Some people cannot understand the point of therapists,' the doctor told her. 'They think that's what a family is for. It's a good point.'

'Yes, well, I haven't had much experience of that,' Dana muttered.

'And what about your husband? Is he close to his family?'

'His parents are dead and he has one sister. They're close but she lives abroad. They don't see that much of each other.'

'So you became his family and he yours,' Dr Corcoran mused.

'What's your point?'

'I was just thinking that maybe when he married you, he thought he was getting a family. But in your head, you've really stayed single.'

'No, I haven't!'

'Dana, husbands and wives are supposed to share.

Granted, we don't tell our partners everything about our past but it is rather unusual to be as mysterious as you've been.'

'It hasn't been an issue.' She was adamant. 'He knows I had a problem with my father. He knows my brother left home at a young age. He knows about Mum. And he knows about you and the fact that I suffered from depression. So I don't think you can say I was mysterious.' She shook her head and smiled.

'So you told him exactly what everyone else already knows about Conal O'Carroll and his daughter. And he accepted that?'

Dana studied her hands. He made it sound so bad. 'He pushed it a little,' she admitted. 'But I told him that I needed to put the past behind me.'

'And he left it at that?'

'He's asked questions from time to time.'

'And did you avoid answering or tell him that you didn't want to talk about it?'

'I usually distracted him or changed the subject.' She sighed. 'It's all so long ago. And the longer I left it, the harder it was to say something. Anyway, if he wanted answers he should have just asked the questions outright,' she said angrily and dropped her head in her hands.

He frowned. 'Dana, I think we should resume our monthly sessions.'

She shook her head. 'No, there's no need for that. I just need the tablets.'

'I'm sorry, Dana, but I'm not happy to prescribe medicine unless you continue with the therapy.'

'But this is just a temporary glitch. I'll be fine.'

'When did your husband leave you?' he asked suddenly.

'A few weeks ago. Why?'

'Why has it taken you so long to come and see me?'

'Well, I don't know ...'

'You're not here because your husband left, Dana. You're here because you've started to write your story. And it's difficult.'

She looked at him, tears in her eyes. 'It's so difficult. It drains and upsets me — and I've only just started. I wish I could stop.'

'I know it's hard, Dana, but it will help. Do you remember what I asked you to do when you first came to see me?'

She nodded slowly. 'You said I should write my father a letter. You said I should write down everything that I'd ever wanted to say to him. You said I didn't have to send it to him — just writing it all down would be cathartic enough.'

'And did you do it?'

She nodded.

'And did it help?'

She nodded again.

'Maybe you should write to your husband too. But this time, maybe you should post the letter.'

Walter Grimes fixed his tie and combed his hair, so that the thin patch in the centre wasn't as obvious. He eyed himself sternly in the small mirror. 'Okay, Wally, show time.' A final spray of cologne and he went back into his office to collect his Paul Smith jacket.

He was meeting Gretta Knight for lunch at one, and he felt uncharacteristically nervous. When she had called to invite him, he had been immediately suspicious. Usually the editor's trips to Britain were planned weeks, if not months, in advance. The first he'd heard of this visit was last Friday. The fact that she was bringing along her opposite number at Peyton UK made him more uncomfortable. Of course it might be just a courtesy. Angela Wiseman would be responsible for the Passion imprint, and maybe she just wanted to discuss the launch of
The Mile High Club.
Given the events of the last few weeks, though, it seemed unlikely. Gretta's calls had become more frequent and more abrasive as time passed and still Dana wouldn't talk to her. He had done his best to placate the editor, but Gretta had a nose for trouble.

Walter would be happier dealing with anyone other than Gretta Knight. She was a hard-nosed, thick-skinned businesswoman who parked her heart outside when she went into negotiations. She and Dana had always had a good relationship, but Walter knew that meant nothing. If Dana didn't come up with the goods, he knew Gretta would drop the author, without a second thought.

Dana's recent behaviour could affect her whole future with Peyton, but she didn't seem to realize that. Or, if she did, she didn't care. It didn't help that there were a couple of new authors on the block snapping at Dana's heels. Walter had tried a couple of times to explain this to Dana, in the gentlest possible terms, but he doubted she'd even heard him. And now that she had started writing again, he didn't want to do or say anything that might send her off the rails.

Walter checked he had his wallet and phone, and hurried out into the busy London streets. Dining at the Ivy usually filled him with delightful anticipation. He loved the food, he loved people-watching, but most of all he loved to be seen. Not because he had a huge ego, but because it was important in this business. He was one of the top agents in the country and he'd worked long and hard to achieve that. But it wasn't enough to be at the top. You had to be
seen
to be at the top. It was all part of the game. He sighed as he crossed the road, zigzagging his way between cars. But he wasn't in the mood for games today. He had to convince Gretta that everything was okay. Dana might be a client but she was also his friend. He couldn't let her down.

He paused for a moment outside the door of the famous restaurant and took a few deep breaths. Sadly, his nerves were directly linked to his stomach. The thought of eating as much as a lettuce leaf made him feel nauseous. A large drink, however, would be most welcome.

The two women were already seated when he was shown to the table. His heart sank at the sight of the large bottle of sparkling water they were sharing. Bloody Americans, he thought miserably. Alcohol-free lunches were so uncivilized.

He smiled widely as Gretta stood to greet him. She was a small, round woman who could be mistaken for someone's beloved mother — until she opened her mouth. She had a distinct and sharp nasal twang that grated on Walter's nerves. Her personality didn't redeem her. Gretta was abrupt and tactless and didn't believe in wasting time on pleasantries when there was business to do, and money to make.

'Gretta, you look marvellous,' he gushed, as he held out his arms to embrace her. Gretta wasn't the demonstrative sort and she endured the hug with obvious discomfort. He kissed her cheek for good measure.

Gretta pulled away as soon as politeness allowed and gestured to the other woman. 'Walter, this is Angela Wiseman. Angela, meet Walter Grimes.'

Walter shook the other woman's hand. 'Delighted.'

Angela nodded, her smile friendly and her hand firm in his. He took to her instantly. She was everything Gretta was not. Tall and slender, she wore a beautifully tailored dark-green trouser suit that suited her fair colouring and brought out the green in her eyes. Her jewellery was as tasteful as Gretta's was loud, and she held herself with grace and poise. If I were straight, Walter thought, this is the kind of woman I'd fancy.