On the same page, p.12
On the Same Page, page 12
***
I should really be working on Chapter 55 of Cupid’s Chariot, but something is bothering me about Chapter 18. I lie down on my bed when I get home, balance a cold pack on my head, and take another look.
Rupert had been waiting for Evangeline since midnight. Finally he saw her, climbing through the fence to the house gardens, overgrown with heather and thistle. A fleeting smile softened his mouth, chasing away the shadows in his hard blue eyes. Evangeline was coming home to her sisters.
When he heard her footsteps in the hallway he walked to the door, stopping mid-stride when she flung it open wide. Her face was ghostly white, her green eyes wild with fear.
‘The girls!’
He spoke quietly. ‘They are asleep, Evangeline. They are safe.’
She shuddered and closed her eyes, taking three ragged breaths before opening them again. She came to him willingly, leaned against him softly, rested her head on his chest. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, stroked the tendrils of auburn hair that escaped from her cap. He tentatively, gently, touched her neck near her ear …
Chapter 19
Adam and Lucinda look relieved when Pippy and I arrive at the Iconic conference room for our meeting. Pippy holds her short red skirt close to her bottom and looks warily at Billy as she sits next to me. Billy, flushing, keeps his eyes on the table.
‘I’ll start,’ Lucinda says, running her fingers through her neat blonde bob. She’s dressed in a lawyer suit—black with shiny silk lapels and an ivory shirt with a collar like a cravat. I peek under the table to examine her shoe choice. Patent black medium-heeled pumps with matt cream toes. It’s a very smart outfit.
‘Miles?’ Lucinda must have asked me something. Adam and Billy are staring.
‘Yes?’
‘How are you today?’
The swelling on my forehead has gone down, but the graze is red and dotty. Pippy elbows my arm and pushes her pad in front of me. The bloody bit doesn’t show when you blush.
‘I’m perfectly well, thank you, Lucinda.’
‘Good. Because you’re not going to like what Adam and I have to say.’
Adam sorts through his papers. ‘It’s September already. We can’t wait any longer for the Cupid’s Chariot manuscript. We want to release it in December in time for the Christmas market. Because of the delays in getting the backlist finalised, we’ll release Cupid’s Trap at the same time. Emma’s first novel, and her most recent—I think we can make it work from a marketing perspective.’
I’m still stuck on Chapter 55 of Cupid’s Chariot. Evangeline is standing at the base of the drainpipe in Rupert’s garden with the tiny parcel in her pocket. I’m concerned that even if she can get up to Rupert’s window, she’d be too sore from climbing the drainpipe to make love to him imaginatively. Missionary-position sex won’t do—it would not only disappoint Evangeline and Rupert, but Emma’s readers as well.
‘Emma is doing her best to finish,’ I tell Adam.
‘I sincerely hope so. And she will do the reading at the Historical Romance Readers’ Conference next month, won’t she? And host the workshop session, Writing Realistic Sex? We’re planning to set up a display.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ll be ordering Emma’s books yourself?’
Adam straightens his papers and clears his throat. ‘No … but I know someone who will. I only found out recently that my wife, Annie, is one of Emma’s fans. She’s busy as a music teacher, and with our children—we have a ten-year-old girl and a new baby boy—during the day, so she reads her ebooks at night. When I’m fast asleep, to be honest.’
‘Did you tell her about the idea you had in our last meeting, of making a wholesome version of Cupid’s Trap?’
‘I did. But she didn’t appreciate it at all.’ He grimaces. ‘Not one little bit.’
I nudge Pippy under the table, doing my best not to smile. ‘Emma will be delighted that Annie enjoys her novels.’
Lucinda clears her throat. ‘Book covers,’ she says. ‘They have to be finalised.’
‘Billy’s drawings for Cupid’s Trap will have to be done again,’ I say. ‘Emma will not allow Victoria to wear puce.’
‘Is there such a colour?’ Adam says.
‘Billy apparently thinks so.’
‘Maybe I could come to your office and be properly briefed?’ Billy says.
Pippy fidgets with her black matador jacket and looks beseechingly at me. ‘I could help him, Miles.’
‘No.’
‘We’ll do it here,’ Lucinda says, ‘under my supervision. In the meantime, Billy can show us the other covers.’
When Billy hands out copies of a picture he’s done for Cupid’s Revenge, Pippy picks it up between her thumb and index finger. She leans over me, opens her fingers wide, and drops it in front of Billy on the table.
‘It’s not right, is it, Miles?’
‘Edward is a rake,’ I say, placing my picture on top of Pippy’s. ‘Not a disgusting sleaze. He’s looking at Annabelle …’
‘Inappropriately,’ Lucinda says. ‘I agree.’
‘But he had sex with four women in the first few chapters,’ Billy says.
Adam polishes the lenses of his glasses. ‘Six women in the prologue.’
Lucinda frowns. ‘Surely not?’
‘Strangely enough,’ Adam says, ‘I found the prologue compelling. Edward was an English spy, you see. He worked undercover in France during the Napoleonic Wars, and I believe his sexual liaisons were partially motivated by that.’
‘He didn’t fall in love with Annabelle until Chapter 9,’ Pippy explains. ‘He needed to find the right girl.’
Lucinda sighs. ‘Billy, Pippy will brief you on Cupid’s Revenge. What have you got on Cupid’s Arrow?’
Billy hands out the pictures.
‘How could she ever trust Sebastian if he looked like that?’ Pippy says. ‘Check out his eyes.’
Sebastian’s eyes are much too close together, and he has a sly expression. I think Billy must have skimmed the text and mistaken Sebastian for Sir Anthony.
‘Pippy is quite right,’ I say. ‘And why is Violet so beautiful?’
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Billy asks.
‘Not this sort of beautiful.’ Violet—with a willowy body and delicate face—is reclining against Sebastian in the drawing. ‘She’s an athletic horsewoman and leader of a band of smugglers.’
‘And she doesn’t have a pink dress,’ Pippy says. ‘Or purple eyes.’
Billy’s hands shake as he collects the copies.
‘Next!’ Lucinda says.
Billy hands out folders labelled Cupid’s Chariot. ‘Because it’s the new release, I’ve done a series of drawings for this one. We’ll need a paperback cover, posters, stands, and other copy for the bookshops and website.’
I want to dislike the pictures, but the first image of Evangeline is striking. ‘She should be a little fatter,’ is all I can come up with. ‘She likes walking on the moor, and gymnastics.’
‘What?’ Lucinda says. ‘In the early eighteen-hundreds?’
‘The novel is set in Yorkshire. There are log bridges to traverse, stiles to vault and … branches to swing from.’
Lucinda rolls her eyes. ‘What do you think of the others?’
The next picture is of Evangeline and her three sisters. She’s watching over them lovingly. ‘This is beautiful,’ I say.
‘Maurice told me Evangeline looks after them,’ Billy says.
‘Did you draw the picture yourself?’
‘It’s based on a photo like all the others, but yeah, I sketched and coloured it.’
Lucinda whistles. ‘The next one’s even better.’
‘Miles?’ Pippy says.
‘Mmmm?’ I’m still admiring the sisters.
Pippy nudges me. ‘Miles!’ She pulls the sister image away and reveals the picture underneath.
Evangeline is looking into the distance while Rupert, wearing a ragged shirt, gazes possessively at her. There’s something compelling about him—the angle of his head, the set of his jaw, the expression in his eyes. Confusion? Anger? Vulnerability? It’s a wonderful picture. It’s … Fuck!
It’s Lars. Looking just as he did when Pippy took the photos in my office.
‘Pippy!’ I hiss, stabbing the picture with my finger. ‘What the …?’
She sucks in her breath. ‘Whoops,’ she says, cupping my ear with her hand and whispering, ‘Billy asked for photos we hadn’t used before, to give him ideas for his drawings, so I sent the ones of Lars.’
I clear my throat. ‘We can’t use this picture. It’s not suitable, I don’t like it.’
‘We’re using all of these pictures,’ Lucinda says, taking her Cupid’s Chariot folder in both hands and hugging it to her chest. ‘They have artistic merit!’
Adam frowns. ‘Lucinda does have a point, Miles. And this material has potential in other contexts as well.’ He rummages through his folder and holds up a poster. Lars is standing, shirt open, in front of Rupert’s ancestral home. He’s wearing skin-tight buckskin breeches and long black boots. ‘I think my wife would like to hang this, for example, in the room where she does her cello practice.’
I’m having trouble breathing, so I sit back in my chair and count slowly to ten. Then I look at Lucinda again. She knows Lars well. How can she not recognise him?
‘What exactly is your problem?’ she asks.
She’s a lawyer, so am I. I’ll speak in terms she’ll understand. ‘I’m not sure the model consented to the use of his image in this particular way.’
‘Surely he knew what you were planning when the photos were taken?’
‘You told him,’ Pippy says, patting my arm reassuringly, ‘that Emma wanted him to show her his passion for romance.’
Lucinda peers at the images. ‘Well, there’s a lot of passion here. And it’s not as if you can see his face that clearly. Most of them are in profile. Jawline, aquiline nose, shoulders, look at those pectoral and abdominal muscles …’ She tears her gaze away. ‘Was there a contract?’
‘Sort of.’
‘You made an offer and he accepted it?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Consideration provided by both parties? You both paid a price for the other party’s promise?’
Your tit for her tat. ‘I guess so.’
‘Contractual capacity? Over eighteen? Of sound mind?’
‘He was over eighteen. And of sound mind … at the time. But—’
‘Sounds like a contract to me.’
I still can’t believe no one recognises Lars as Rupert.
Lucinda taps the end of her silver pen on the table three times. ‘I find in favour of Billy. He,’ she gestures to the poster, ‘is Rupert.’
***
I’m doing my nightly two am worry shift and imagining correspondence.
Me: Lars, Iconic has incriminating pictures in its possession. The destruction of these images is imperative. Rendezvous at my bench at Centennial Park to discuss appropriate strategies.
Lars: Miles, Iconic will have no use for the pictures Trevor took of Emma, providing she supplies alternative images.
Me: Not those pictures, you idiot!
Lars: You are failing to make sense.
Me: It has come to my attention that pictures of you, naked above the waist, have been forwarded to Iconic. These pictures will be in general worldwide circulation shortly. Thought you might like to know.
Lars: You will be sorry.
Chapter 20
Tom insisted I have a Saturday strengthening session to complement Friday night’s pole dancing. I refused to leave my apartment until I’d cooled down properly, so we arrive late to Mum’s dinner party. When Tom beams at her she smiles back a greeting, insisting her agent move to the far side of the table next to me, so Tom can take his place.
‘I rarely meet my daughter’s …’ She turns to me. ‘Is Tom your friend or lover, Miles? How do I introduce him?’
‘I’m her personal trainer,’ Tom says. ‘She’s my tutor. The rest is private, hey, Milo-girl?’ He gives me a suggestive wink and everyone laughs, even Mum.
Tom is a great success. Literary pretensions dissipate in the face of discussions about blood pressure, prostates and finding the inner voice through Tai Chi. One author is writing a novel set in a prisoner-of-war camp and he questions Tom about dietary deprivations. Tom gives pointers about high-altitude climbing to a woman writing a non-fiction piece about the Andes. Drugs are a popular topic. Tom has learned all about illegal substances as part of his training—heroin, crack cocaine and ice. He knows how to obtain and administer them and the short- and long-term health implications. And he knows about legal substances too, so he tells us about the health risks of steroids and benzos like Valium and Xanax. The author who writes contemporary crime fiction cross-examines him about drug gangs; the two poets sitting at the end of the table chat him up, telling him they’re in an open relationship.
Mum is happy because Tom is a hit with her guests, so she leaves me alone. She even asks us to stay on when the other guests leave. When I dig my fingernails into his arm, Tom gets the message.
‘Have to be up early for my harbour swim,’ he says.
Even though Tom really is doing a harbour swim, he’s keen to come up to my apartment and I can hardly refuse when he’s spent the evening at Mum’s. My apartment is even messier than usual—the lounge room, kitchen and my bedroom are littered with books and clothes. I herd Tom into the kitchen and do a sweep, picking up notebooks and scraps of paper. I read as I collect: The scent of rosemary. Highwaymen in Yorkshire. When does Rupert see the grazes on Evangeline’s inner thighs?
Would Tom care about my writing if he ever discovered it? No, but it’s easier to protect Emma if hardly anyone knows about her. I call out to Tom. ‘Put the kettle on. Herbal teas are in the canisters above the stove.’
By the time I’ve dumped an armful of ironing in the spare room, Tom is pouring boiling water onto the tea leaves. He rests the teapot on the sink bench and faces me.
‘It’ll take ten minutes to brew,’ he says, holding out his arms.
A few years ago I wouldn’t have cared that I wasn’t in love with Tom—it would have been enough to have sex with an attractive man that I liked. And I like Tom much more than I did self-centred surfer-boy, or the footballer who didn’t understand why I’d choose to read rather than go to the pub. And Anthony? I didn’t realise how unhappy I’d been until we broke up.
Tom pulls me close while I’m contemplating my former lovers. He kisses me, puts his hands inside my dress and touches my breasts through my bra. I stroke the muscles under his shirt. His chest is smooth and broad and his arms are strong, but I don’t feel anything much—unlike Violet when she dances with Sebastian. Or me when I touch Lars’s hand.
When I pull back, Tom winks. ‘Bedroom?’
‘I’m sorry, but … I don’t think friends do this.’
He takes his hands from my breasts. ‘Don’t see why they couldn’t, once in a while.’
‘It doesn’t feel right.’
Tom follows me into the lounge room. ‘Your mum told me Anthony cheated on you.’
When I slop tea onto the side table, he fetches a cloth from the kitchen, wipes up the tea and throws the cloth across the lounge room, straight into the sink. I’m still staring at him as he sits on the sofa and pats the place next to him.
‘She reckons your attachment style is fearful-avoidant,’ he says. ‘You want intimacy, but you’re afraid of it.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘That you should have stuck with Anthony because he was good for you.’
I pick up my mug and wrap my hands around it, blowing on the steam. Anthony was intelligent, self-assured and acceptable to my parents. I was young and foolish enough to let him tell me what to think and how to behave.
‘Anthony didn’t accept me as I am, Tom.’ When I put down the mug and take the scraps of paper from my pocket and lay them out on the table, Tom reads the snippets. ‘When I read romances, I spend a lot of time thinking about the characters, hoping they’ll support, respect and love each other, and live happily-ever-after. Anthony never understood that’s what I want in real life too.’
He puts his arm along the back of the sofa. ‘Gotta get this straight, Milo-girl. No sex?’
I pat his leg. ‘Just friends. I hope that’s okay.’
‘Guess it’ll have to be.’ He looks around. ‘Where’s the remote?’
When we were in the park, and Lars ran his hand up my arm, he set off tingling sensations I didn’t want to stop. I liked the feel of his leg pressed against mine. I have no reason to like him, but I desire him. I squeeze my eyes shut. Does he know about the images of Rupert yet? Should I tell him before he finds out?
Chapter 21
‘You’re very pale, Georgiana,’ Effie says.
I drop my bag into the corner of the pole-dancing room. ‘I’ve been working until midnight most nights. I’ve had a lot of stress with work.’
She smiles. ‘This is the perfect opportunity for you to have some fun.’
Effie demonstrates the Showgirl Spin after we’ve done our stretches. She stands next to the pole, grips it with her inside arm, and hooks it behind the knee of her inside leg. Then she holds the pole with her other arm—rigidly, so she won’t crash into it when she starts spinning—and pushes off with her other leg. This leg stays in the air for the spin, bent at the knee, so it matches up with the inside leg that’s hooked onto the pole. I’ve tried it a few times, but have only made it halfway around the pole.
Effie tightens her ponytail as she walks towards me. ‘Try to remember to arch your back, Georgiana, instead of sticking out your stomach.’ She runs one hand up my front and one down my back, correcting my posture. ‘You have nice breasts. Put your shoulders back and show them to the world. They need to stay up high.’
‘But…’ I still have no idea how Evangeline can get up the drainpipe. ‘Do you think you could demonstrate a climbing move? So I have something to work towards?’
