The Out of Office Girl (17 page)

FIFTEEN

I’m in the water, ploughing up and down, swimming lengths just like I promised myself I would every morning. After thirty, I haul myself out and wrap up in a towel. In contrast to the brilliant mornings of the last few days, today’s a little overcast, but it’s still very warm. I dry my hair, looking out over the sea. I’m feeling calm. I know exactly what I’m going to do.

‘Ready for your
therapy session with Luther?’

Of course: Annabel. It would be too tempting to imagine that she would just shack up with her caveman and leave us all alone. However, I’ve come to a very pleasant decision about Annabel; I’m going to ignore her completely. I don’t say a word, but float past her towards the villa. To my surprise, she comes after me.

‘It’s become pretty boring here, you know,’ she
says. ‘Ever since you came. I’m going to stay with Nikos for a while.’

‘Who?’ I say, just to annoy her.

‘Nikos! My new guy. He’s got the most beautiful place on the other side of Catania. I’m really into Australian guys. They’re so much more macho than Americans, or English men. Or Italians—’

‘I thought you said he was South African?’

Annabel looks confused. ‘Well, he’s definitely
lived
there
. . .’

‘Never mind. I get it. He’s macho. Have a good time,’ I mutter.

What a bird-brain. I go into my room, quickly pull on the pink skirt and a black top, and twist my hair up into a bun. I want to look neat, but other than that, it doesn’t really matter what I look like. I go and knock on Luther’s door. I realise that by bearding him in his den, I’ll be catching him off guard and possibly
at a disadvantage, which is fine by me. Anyway it’s 10.30 a.m., a perfectly reasonable time for him to be awake. Sam’s already been up for hours, and has gone out with Marisa somewhere.

After a long pause, Luther calls, ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Alice.’

‘Come in.’

I walk inside. The blinds are half down and the room is pretty messy; I see several beer and wine bottles, and piles of laundry. Actually,
it’s like my flatmate Martin’s room though admittedly not as smelly. Luther’s in bed, shirtless, reading one of a pile of handwritten letters. I’m guessing this is his fan mail.

‘What’s up?’ Luther says. ‘Not that this isn’t a nice surprise.’ He’s looking very handsome and rumpled, but right at this moment, I don’t care. I find a free chair and sit down.

‘I need to talk to you.’

‘OK,’ he says,
staring at me. He lights a cigarette, and offers me one. I shake my head and take a deep breath. I’m going to be very cool and reasonable.

‘Listen, Luther. I know that the Children of God thing didn’t happen exactly the way you told me. Didn’t happen at all, in fact.’ He starts to protest, but I go on. ‘And neither did that story about the curtain call at the school play.’

‘Woah. Who says I
lied to you about the fucking Children of God?’

I can feel myself getting cross: I
hate
people swearing at me.

‘I know you did, because that actually happened to River Phoenix,’ I say as gently and calmly as possible. ‘And we spoke to someone from your high school who emailed us a photo of you taking that curtain call.’

‘How do you know it was the same play?’

‘You said it was
Our Town
, and
that’s what it looks like. Look, I don’t mind about the specifics. You’re free to take the odd bit of poetic licence if you want. But you need to decide, now, whether you want to do this book, or not.’

‘What’s in it for me?’ he says, sulkily.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘What’s in it for you?’ I repeat.

‘Yeah. Why should I do it?’

Something snaps. All my good intentions go out of the
window, and I lose it completely.

‘Luther,’ I say, ‘who do you think you are? We’re paying you a million pounds to write this book. I know that’s just spare change to you, but actually, to some people that’s a lot of money, not least me and my colleagues, who are hoping to get paid this year. We’ve put you up in this place, which is costing God knows how much, and sent you the best ghostwriter
in the business, who’s been kept dangling here, while his wife was waiting for the results of a biopsy, and you’ve refused to lift a finger. It’s up to you. All you have to do is lie by the pool and dictate ninety thousand words. If you don’t want to do that, just say so, and we can all go home. But if you do, you’re going to have to stop being such a selfish pig and
actually do some work
.’

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with his mouth slightly open, cigarette dangling. I stare back at him. I can’t believe I said all that.

‘So, let me know,’ I say finally, lamely. And I walk out of
the room and quietly shut the door behind me. My heart is hammering.

I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my career.

What the hell am I going to do now?

I need to get out of here and think.
Oh, how I wish I had a car and could drive somewhere, anywhere. I decide to take my phone down to the beach and call someone. Who, though? I don’t want to call Erica; she could give me legal advice, which might end up being helpful, but she has a tendency sometimes, if you mention a problem, to tell you to think of orphans in war-torn countries. I know she’s right but I don’t want to hear it
right now. I know! I’ll call Poppy. It’ll be expensive, but I don’t care.

‘Hello, editorial,’ she says after a few rings. Hearing her voice, I can just picture her sitting cross-legged at her desk, wearing one of her crazy outfits – it all seems so far away.

‘Poppy! It’s Alice.’

‘Alice! How’s it going?’

‘Is Olivia there? Can she hear you?’

‘No, she’s not back in the office yet,’ says Poppy.
‘How are you? How is the gorgeous Luther?’

‘Oh, well, you know. He’s charming, selfish, spoiled and, I think, a compulsive liar, and I just told him to either do the book or go to hell. And I’ve sent the ghostwriter home.’

‘What? You’ve sent the ghost
home
?’

‘Shhh! Someone might hear you.’

‘Oh, absolutely. No, in that case it does make sense. Of course. Very sensible. Gosh, the line’s very
bad. Just hang up for now and I’ll ring you from another line and see if that helps.’ I hang up and wait, praying she’ll get through. After a couple of minutes my phone rings, and Poppy hisses, ‘Alice? Hi. Claudine was out there with her ears flapping so I’ve gone into Ellen’s office. What’s happening? What do you mean, you told Luther to go to hell?’

I try and explain. ‘He’s being a nightmare.
He won’t do a thing, and he sort of –’ I decide not to go into the nightclub story. ‘He’s just not buckling down. He pretended to tell me some stuff but it turned out to be a total lie. So then I tried to have a calm chat with him this morning, but I slightly lost it and told him he was a—’

‘A what?’

‘A selfish pig,’ I say in a small voice.

‘Oh, boy, oh boy.’ There’s a silence. ‘Maybe it will
be like in
Anne of Green Gables
, when she beats the little boy and it reforms him.’

I close my eyes. Sometimes I think we all read too many books and watch too many films.

‘That’s a nice idea,’ I sigh down the phone. ‘You are so lucky with fiction, Poppy. Never, never leave it. These autobiographes are insane.’

‘I won’t. God, Alice, what are you going to do?’

‘I actually don’t know. I just
walked off afterwards and I haven’t seen him since. I’m too scared to think about it. I’ll have to wait and see what he does.’

‘Bloody hell,’ says Poppy. ‘And to think all I’ve been doing is going to my dressmaking class and watching
Mad Men
.’

It’s so nice to talk to her that I almost feel myself welling up again.

‘Tell me something to distract me,’ I say. ‘What’s up with you?’

Poppy pours
out soothing news and trivia: she’s read a great book and is taking it to the editorial meeting; she has a new bicycle; she’s making a hat. Her biggest news, though, is that her oddball ex-boyfriend, an artist called Crippo, is creating an installation inspired by their relationship.

‘He’s calling it – brace yourself –
Bitch Done Me Wrong
.’

‘
What
? That’s horrible! Are you upset?’

‘Yes, but
he says it’s meant to be ironic,’ says Poppy.
‘Whatever. I just hope he doesn’t end up winning a prize for it or something. Hey, would you like to hear the latest work gossip?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s a Claudine special. A great submission came in, and Ellen wanted me to read it, but Claudine kindly “offered” to read it instead because, she said, it was too literary for me. Honestly. Slap her, she’s
French.’

It’s all so brilliantly petty; I wish I was back there.

‘You know she’s angling for promotion,’ Poppy says. ‘She wants to be the next one they make editor.’

‘Well, of course she does. We all do.’

‘And . . . by the way, I don’t know if you want to know this, but – it’s probably not a big deal, but –’

‘Spit it out!’

‘She seems to be having some kind of thing with Simon. They met at
a book launch. I don’t think it’s romantic, but I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just a networking thing . . .’

Ouch. That does sting, but actually, not as much as I thought it would. ‘Poppy – that’s fine. I don’t care. She’s welcome to him.’

‘Good.’ Poppy sounds relieved. ‘Anyway, what else has been happening? Who else is there? Is it just a totally crazy set-up and is he on drugs the whole time, with
groupies? Spill.’

‘Not really. He’s being very lazy, but actually pretty tame, I suppose. But just – maddening.’ I tell her about stupid Annabel, and losing my luggage, and Marisa and Federico, and the yacht, and Sam.

‘Oh ho,’ says Poppy. ‘A hot young agent?’

‘Only if you like the clean-cut, angry type. He doesn’t want Luther to do the book, so he’s a fly in my sunscreen.’ I realise I don’t
quite know how to explain Sam to her. She’ll get the wrong idea if I tell her about how he drove
Brian to the airport, and saved my face with Olivia. ‘He’s very arrogant and controlling. He throws his weight around all the time. This morning I was in the pool and he decided I was drowning, and nearly gave me a heart attack dragging me out.’

‘He saved your life? That’s romantic! But what about
Luther? I thought he was the man of your dreams.’

‘Not any more. He’s – I don’t know, he’s not how I expected he’d be.’ I hadn’t really realised this was the case until I said it to her. ‘Anyway, I might be going home after today, if he decides to take me up on my ultimatum.’

There’s a silence on the other end of the line, then Poppy says, ‘Yes, that was a bit of a gamble.’

‘A bad gamble?’
I ask her tentatively.

‘Well . . . I don’t know. Perhaps. But look, Alice, no matter what happens, nobody is going to die.’

I think of Brian’s wife, and shiver. ‘No, of course not.’

‘And if all else fails, I’m sure Claudine will give you some freelance work, if you ask nicely.’

‘Shut up!’ I shriek, and we both laugh. I haven’t laughed like this in days. I forgot how good it feels. We chat
for a while more, my phone starts to burn my ear.

‘I’d better go,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I don’t want to get you into trouble with the phone bill.’

‘Alice, would you listen to yourself?’

I can guess what she’s about to say:
You’ve potentially just lost us a multimillion-pound book and you’re worried about the cost of a phone call?
But because she is a nice person, and my friend, she says, ‘You’re
out there slaving twenty-four hours a day, even if you are in a beautiful villa full of hot men. The least they can do is spot you a phone call from HQ.’

‘You’re right. Poppy, it was so great to talk to you. Would you like anything from Italy? I forgot to ask you.’

‘Maybe some olive oil,’ says Poppy musingly. ‘I’m doing a lot of cooking at the moment. Listen, chin up. I’ll cross my fingers that
Luther makes you the happiest girl on earth and says, “Yes, Alice, I will do your book.”’

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘We’ll see.’

After we’ve hung up, I sit on the beach for a minute and listen to the waves. So: Simon and Claudine. It’s so clichéd of him to pick her up at a book launch.
I
met him at a book launch, for God’s sake. Weirdly, I’m not as devastated as I would have been even a few days ago.
In fact, I’ve hardly thought of Simon at all since my night out with Luther. Correction: my disastrous, drunken night out with Luther. I think of the first day I was here, of how dazzled I was by him. I didn’t even question the fact that we went sailing instead of working on the book. It turns out I didn’t even need to worry about people finding out about the contents clause; I’ve managed to mess
everything up all by myself.

Something else is occurring to me. I’m not sure I was right to blow up at Luther about Brian. I was so self-righteous that I didn’t stop to think about it from his point of view. He didn’t even know about Brian until last night. And I could have tried harder to make him get down to work. It’s not his fault that I wasn’t able to be firm with him. Now I’m toast. It’s
even more overcast now, and I’m starting to get chilly. I walk slowly back up to the house.

SIXTEEN

I find Marisa and Sam on the terrace, deep in conversation; they almost don’t notice me until I’m right on top of them.

‘
Ciao, carissima
,’ says Marisa. I can never get over hearing her say things like that – it makes me feel like I’m in a film.

‘Hi there,’ I say. I get the feeling that I’ve just interrupted something. ‘Um, where’s Luther?’

‘We thought he was with you,’ says Sam.

‘His
car is gone,’ says Marisa. ‘He’s not with Annabel either – she’s gone out with Nikos.’

‘I’ll try his cell,’ says Sam.

It’s a little disconcerting – but he can’t have run away, can he? I’m sure he’s just gone to clear his head, or something. I hope so, anyway.

‘Do you mind if we have lunch instead of dinner, Alice?’ says Marisa. ‘I don’t want to get back too late tonight. Federico said he might
be able to come home early.’