She shook her head in answer to Bert’s question. “We broke up,” she said simply. “It wasn’t right.”
“What does that mean?” Bert asked as he studied her intently. He didn’t think she seemed unhappy, just tired, and he knew she’d been writing diligently. “Did he dump you, or did you dump him?” He hoped the latter, from what he’d heard before. “Should I kick his ass? I will if he broke your heart. It’s fine with me, if you broke his. He probably deserved it.” She laughed at her mentor’s loyalty.
“I ended it. He was angry all the time and jealous of everything I did, and he didn’t even know about the books. I never told him.”
“I hope not.” Bert was relieved. “I told you to stay away from writers.”
“He wasn’t. He claimed he wants to write a book one day, but he’s too lazy to even try. He just wants the glory and the money. He’s an editor, theoretically, but he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Basically, he’s just a low-level assistant.”
“Jesus, he would have really hated you if he knew about the Green books.”
“I told him I did ghostwriting on the side. He saw a check once on my desk, and I had to tell him something to explain the money. I’m not sure he believed me. It didn’t help that I was lying to him and he sensed it. But anyway, he cheated on me, so that did it. I should have ended it sooner, or not started with him at all.”
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Bert said with feeling. That was two relationships that had gone awry, and this one had obviously been more serious, more involved, and lasted longer. “Are you heartbroken?” He hoped not, she didn’t look it.
“It’s kind of a relief,” she said sheepishly. “He was interfering with my work, and I hate that. I need a boyfriend who doesn’t want all my time and isn’t jealous of everything I do or accomplish.”
“That would be nice.” He smiled at her, happy to see her again. He had missed her fiercely, even though they spoke on the phone a lot and had continued working together for the past eleven months, but it was different than being in the same room, face-to-face, and talking out a change or a problem. It would be much easier working now in London for the next week. “So where’s our book?”
She picked the manuscript up from the desk and handed it to him. He set down his glass of wine, put on his glasses, and started glancing through the pages. He glanced up at her a couple of times and smiled, then alternately nodded and frowned while he was reading, and looked up at her once in surprise.
“A sex scene?” She blushed as he nodded. “My, my.” But he didn’t object to it, and then he looked up and told her to go play while he got down to work and read it carefully. He’d liked the glimpses he’d had so far in the pages she’d sent him, and she had tightened it a lot since. Her style was stronger than ever, her voice clear, the language beautifully handled with skillful turns of phrase, and he already knew the plot and liked it.
She cleaned up the kitchen, put some clothes away, and read some papers on her desk while Bert read, and she put the bottle of red wine next to him. But he was totally sober when he put the first few chapters down after three and a half hours. He made a few notations in pencil on the manuscript, but very few so far. She was nervous when she sat down across from him after he called her back into the living room.
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s your best book so far. And the sex is nicely handled. It’s just masculine enough not to blow your cover, but actually quite elegantly done. And the plot development is dynamite. You already have me confused and I know the story.” She looked at where he was and nodded.
“The murder is in the next chapter. But there are two of them, there’s another one later on. I added it. It makes the book more exciting.”
“Same murderer?” he inquired.
“Of course not. That would be boring.” He laughed at her comment, and went on reading after a short break. He had been reading for seven hours when he stopped and said his eyes were tired and he needed more wine. He had finished the bottle, but showed no sign of being drunk.
She had bought dinner for them while he was reading, shepherd’s pie, and she warmed it in the microwave while they talked about the changes he thought she should make, but there weren’t many. It sounded like an easy fix for now.
They went over the plot again during dinner, and two new characters he thought she should add, and one he felt served no purpose and preferred that she eliminate, or make bigger and more important to give him a raison d’être in the story. His suggestions always improved the books, and she knew they would this time too.
He went back to his hotel after dinner, and she got to work, executing the changes he had outlined to her, and she stopped work at two A.M., pleased with the results.
She fell into bed, and he was back at nine the next morning, with a bag of scones and croissants, and she set out jam on the table and clotted cream for the scones, which was very British but she’d grown used to it. And she made coffee for both of them, and showed him what she’d done the night before.
“I like it,” he said, nodding approval, with croissant crumbs in his beard. He looked more like Einstein than ever, with his wild, unruly mane of white hair.
They worked diligently for the entire week, and by the end of it, Bert had come up with more changes, which sparked more ideas for Alex and inspired her, and they were both delighted with the end result.
“I stand by what I said when I got here. It’s your best book yet.”
“I hope the publisher thinks so,” she said, always nervous about it. She drove herself hard, and never assumed anything. She was afraid each time that they wouldn’t like it, which kept her on her toes, and it was one of those things that Bert loved about her, and that she was willing to work hard.