Page 145 of The Honeymoon Affair

‘Brilliant, I suspect.’

‘Josh, you don’t have to keep bigging me up.’ I laugh. ‘You were amazing at that meeting, throwing financial projections at them whenever there was a pause and making me seem like an absolute genius talent-spotter.’

‘Well you weren’t doing enough of it yourself,’ he points out. ‘My aim is to make sure you get the best possible deal.’

‘We do almost the same job,’ I remark. ‘Except in this case I’m the client.’

‘And a very gorgeous client you are too,’ he says.

‘Josh . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘The other night . . .’

‘I guess we should clear the air about that,’ he says.

‘It was absolutely lovely, and you’ve no need to worry. I’m not looking for anything meaningful.’

‘Dearest Ariel, I’m not worried, and nor do I need anything meaningful, although if I did, you’d be an excellent choice. But I’m in the middle of a messy divorce, remember?’

‘Well, exactly. And I’ve a lot on my plate. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.’

‘There’s no wrong idea to get,’ he assures me. ‘Nothing needs to be said. It was great, though,’ he adds. ‘I really enjoyed it. And I’d like to do it again sometime if you would. But strictly no strings.’

‘Strictly no strings,’ I agree.

We finish our Prosecco and go back to the hotel.

Despite hoping I’d get to see some other publishers on our visit, or at least Maya or Ekene, I only managed to arrange an hour with Sydney Travers, who’s coming to the hotel later. Maya is in Birmingham doing a publicity tour, but I take out my phone and text Ekene in case she’s suddenly become free for the evening. She replies to say that she can’t get out of the business dinner she’s going to, but that the next time I’m in London we’ll definitely meet.

So with Josh out and about, meeting an old friend, I’ll be on my own tonight. I can’t help feeling it’s a bit sad to be alone when I’m about to sign a major deal that will bring me a lot of financial freedom. A few months ago I would have celebrated with Charles, and although I accept now that Charles and I are over, it feels odd that he’s not the one I’m texting with my news.

It occurs to me, as I refresh my make-up, that after my split with him, I never really considered he might find someone else to marry. I never thought of any of his relationships since I left as consequential in any way, just as mine have never been consequential either. I wonder if that’s because we didn’t get divorced. Because deep down I always saw myself as a married woman, even if I was a married woman who was no longer living with her husband. Somehow it wasn’t the actual fact of our separation that mattered. It was how I perceived it. How he perceived it too, I think. We were a husband and wife who didn’t live together but were still a husband and wife. And now we’re not.

There’s a sense of freedom in that thought, even if I feel slightly like a hot air balloon that’s been released into the sky. Nobody has a grip on me any more. I can go wherever I like.

Which right now is downstairs to meet Sydney to find out how the publication plans are coming along and make sure that no matter what happens, A Caribbean Calypso is Charles’s most successful book yet.

The meeting with Sydney is fun. Beneath her rather severe exterior is a smart, witty woman who takes no prisoners. She says she thinks the work Charles has done has improved the book a thousand per cent and she’s eager to make it a massive success. It is, she says, a privilege to work with him and she’s glad he’s had enough faith in her to fall in with her suggestions. I don’t say that I made sure I echoed all of them in my own notes to him to reinforce the message. Her suggestions were excellent, even if they drove him to distraction.

When we finish talking about Charles, she asks if I’ve ever considered expanding the agency or moving back to London. I look at her anxiously in case news of the Denton-Marr offer has leaked.

‘Not immediately, but you never know,’ is my non-committal answer.

‘I admire that you run your own business,’ she says. ‘It’s something I’d like to do myself one day.’

‘Oh? As a publisher?’

‘I know there are niche publishers, but it’s hard to be up against the big guys. I might move into agenting.’ She gives me a grin. ‘Though I don’t think you have to worry about me as competition.’

‘I’d worry a lot about you as competition,’ I assure her.

She smiles, and we chat a little more about authors we’ve worked with and the choices we’ve made. She’s so enthusiastic and positive about her career that it rubs off on me, and when she leaves, I sit back in the banquette seat of the hotel bar and remind myself that nothing ever stays the same. Why should it? Life moves on. The trick is moving with it. Being open to change. Accepting what happens and making the most of it.

Like an amazing offer to buy my business.

Like not having to answer to anyone.