Just the Way You Are Read online

  “Maybe we should stop talking about men. Otherwise we’ll have to hit the wine again.”

  “Agreed. So what else is happening?”

  Victoria looked thoughtful and bit her lip before speaking.

  “Well I didn’t want to say anything before everything was done and dusted but I’ve decided to apply for university. It’s for English Literature, at Birkbeck.”

  Gemma widened her eyes in surprise rather than alarm.

  “That’s great news. What’s made you apply?”

  “Dad has been giving me various books to read over the past six months or so and I’ve been increasingly devouring them. You two may not be the only bookworms in the family now… Modelling cut short my education. I envy you Gem, doing something worthy and creative. I also admire you, more than you might realise. During my time studying I can hopefully think about doing something worthy and creative too.”

  “Have you not ever thought about going back into modelling?” Gemma had envied and admired her sister for her success in the industry.

  “God no! Modelling is a gilded cage but a gilded cage is still a prison. And it’s a prison where the wardens of all the photographers, agents and fashion houses force starve, rather than force feed, the inmates… You may not believe it but I was one of the nicer people I knew in the industry. Not that I had a great deal of competition, unfortunately… But my aim now is to be Britain’s next top student, as opposed to Britain’s next top model.”

  Gemma looked at her sister in a new light. She was proud of her. It was a strange, but welcome, sensation.

  “I’m proud of you. Happy for you,” Gemma said – and then went over to Victoria to hug her. She didn’t quite know where they had come from but Gemma had tears in her eyes.

  “Thanks. Of course I’m also telling you now because I’ll probably need your help at some point Gem. This is more your world. Do you have any initial advice?”

  Gemma needed but a second to think and reply.

  “Just keep reading.”

  22.

  “Julian Smythe is as oily as Greek food – and due to the books he signs from his agent friends Bradley House may soon be as debt-ridden as the Greek economy,” Sara Sharpe said at lunch, as she discussed various editors and publishing gossip with Gemma. They were sitting outside the Carluccio’s in the Brunswick Centre. Summer dresses and jugs of Pimm’s were out in full force. The sun was shining but they were shaded beneath a large umbrella. The staff were personable and proficient, the food and gin and tonics delicious. “If ever you need to deal with anyone at Bradley House I’d recommend you contact Charlotte Hurst. She improves any manuscript she works on and, unlike Julian, will look you in the eye rather than just stare at your breasts whilst she has a conversation with you.”

  Gemma laughed. Sara Sharpe was one of the nicest and funniest people she knew in publishing. Sara was a former fashion model, although not as successful and glamorous as Victoria. Gemma thought her pretty and stylish, although she admired her friend more for her good nature and intelligence than her blonde bob and hourglass figure. The two had hit it off immediately when they met at a publishing event, sharing a love of Regency fiction, romantic poetry and Cosmopolitans. Sara worked as a commissioning editor at Falcon Publications, having previously worked as a publicity assistant for Bradley House. Falcon were a highly thought of independent press based in Russell Square. Sara was engaged to the bestselling military thriller writer Adam Cooper. Gemma remembered Thomas mentioning Adam Cooper as being an old friend. “Adam is a good man and good writer. We’ve given quite a few talks together at festivals over the years. Adam’s an ex-soldier and people ask about his tour in Afghanistan. He was shot one time. Unfortunately I can then only talk about receiving paper cuts in the line of duty.”

  “But enough about Julian Smythe. I’d much prefer to talk about Thomas Silver and Daylight. It was a shame what happened to him,” Sara Sharpe remarked, creasing her face up in sadness.

  “Do you mean the fallout of leaving his agent?” Gemma replied, still hoping to help fix Thomas’ professional life, as opposed to love life.

  “No, I mean what happened in regards to his wife passing away last year.”

  Gemma was stunned. Her mouth hung open in shock and confusion. The air was sucked out of her lungs and she was unable to speak. Her insides felt like they were tying themselves up in knots – or untying themselves. Gemma tried to remember snippets of conversation which involved Thomas’ wife. She remembered at dinner how George Fuller had mentioned that Thomas had not had the best couple of years. Gemma pictured all the looks of discomfort or despondency on Thomas’ face. Now she knew why he only ever half smiled.

  He was – is – grieving.

  “I’m sorry Gemma, I thought you knew. Thomas’ wife, Christina, died after a long battle with cancer. Adam knew her a little. He said she was a remarkable woman and that Thomas loved her dearly. There are instances I think in the novel where, instead of Rachel, he’s writing about Christina.”

  “He still wears his wedding ring. He’s still in love with her,” Gemma said pensively, as much to herself as Sara. Everything was now falling into place – how devastated Thomas must have been. And was still now.

  “The greater the love the greater the grief, I suppose.” Sara refrained from telling her friend how Adam told her how he thought that Thomas had been suicidal for a while. “Adam said that work saved Thomas. But for a time he became a ghost of himself, still in love with the ghost of his wife.”

  Gemma’s heart flooded with sadness and sympathy. She had been innocent of knowing about Thomas’ wife’s death but she still somehow felt guilty in regards to the way she had treated him. She had been cold, heaped sins upon him which he hadn’t committed. Did her heart not also flood with hope though? He was free. He wasn’t a “love rat”. At the very least she could now be his friend, as well as agent. Is there still a chance? No sooner did Gemma’s hopes rise however when her heart sank, recalling Veronica Philby’s email.

  He’s leaving.

  It hurt. Life hurts. Love hurts. Everything seemed to be one step forwards, two step backs. She shuddered, imagining how much Thomas – and his wife – must have suffered. All love stories are tragic.

  “Are you okay Gemma? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just come as a bit of a shock, that’s all. One minute you think you know someone and then you don’t. Or one minute you think you don’t know someone and then you do.” A thousand thoughts buzzed around in Gemma’s mind – but they all flew in the same direction. Towards Thomas.

  “Well the good news, for both of you, is that I’d like to make an offer on the book. I’ll send over a formal proposal once I get back to the office. We may not be able to pay as much as some of the major publishers but I can put some extra incentives and escalator clauses into the contract. Adam has already said that he’d endorse the novel. I’ll also fight for the book to be our lead title for month of publication. I know that there are plenty of people in the trade who think that it’s all going to hell in a handcart but I don’t want to lose out on the novel because there’s a climate of anxiety in the industry at the moment. It’ll be fun working with you too. It shouldn’t just be the likes of the Julian Smythes of this world who get to ruin the book trade. We should get the opportunity to do so too.”

  Gemma’s face broke into a smile, or half-smile, at her friend’s joke. She realised that she should be pleased. She was about to sell her first book as a literary agent, all things being equal. She had at least done right by her author on that front. Amanda Williams and the senior partners had also given their staff added incentive by promising a week’s holiday at Amanda’s house in Normandy to the person who could nail down the next book deal for the company.

  I thought I’d be happier, doing my first deal.

  Sara ordered a couple of glasses of champagne but Gemma didn’t much feel like celebrating and only drank half of hers.

  23.r />
  Gemma invited her sister over for dinner that evening. Abbie had gone out on a date, hoping that this one would be boyfriend material rather just date material. “I don’t want him to be after one thing. I want him to want lots of things from me,” Abbie remarked to her flatmate, unsure about her chances of success. He was after all called Jason, worked in tele-marketing and she had met him at an ill-lit club where the music drowned out most of his conversation. Jason would take Abbie out to Pizza Express tonight, as he had been given some vouchers from a contact at work which entitled him to half-priced drinks. Gemma said to Abbie “be careful and have fun,” unsure about her chances of success.

  Whilst waiting for her sister Gemma was struck by the thought of how she often listed her sister’s bad traits. Victoria could be nosy and judgemental, “always putting her oar in” as her gran used to say. Victoria also liked playing the great provider and reminding her and her family of her wealth and success. Yet Gemma flirted with the idea that the problem with her sister wasn’t her sister, the fault lied in herself. Cynicism had spread throughout her thoughts, like a disease. When Victoria had sent the text the night of the party asking if she was okay perhaps she was showing concern instead of being nosy. When she paid for lunches or a cab home for Gemma, or treated her parents, perhaps she was being generous and kind. If her sister could be vindictive, and judged women just by how they looked and dressed, then Victoria wasn’t alone in the world. Naomi Campbell might not be the most pleasant human being on the planet. There was the possibility that Kate McCann was guilty. But her sister wasn’t a monster, Gemma realised.

  After thinking about Victoria Gemma thought about her conversation with Sara Sharpe that afternoon. They had been toasting Sara’s engagement. Gemma asked Sara how she knew that Adam was “the one” for her. Any advice on helping Gemma find her own intended was more than welcome. There was a thoughtfulness and glow surrounding the bride to be as she replied.

  “Adam’s worth getting up in the morning for – and next to. I still find out something new and likeable about him every day. We laugh about the same things… We play Scrabble together. Sometimes he wins. Sometimes I win… He still holds the door open for me. But what I like about him more is that he does that for everyone… We still have our disagreements. Sometimes I win. Sometimes he wins… He’s not perfect, but who is? Whether because of him being a writer or ex-soldier Adam can be introverted, distant. There’s still a part of him that I don’t know. I’ll always be in the dark somewhat as to what happened to him in Afghanistan. He shares a little with me, but not everything… Every day is a slightly better day for having him in it. I think you feel less alone, less unhappy and less scared when you have someone to love and someone who genuinely loves you in return… I’m lucky, I know. I’m getting to marry my best friend.”

  Daniel wasn’t “the one”. She knew that even before meeting Sara. Gemma chatted to him on the phone and said that it was best if they didn’t try and re-live the past. It was over. She wished him well though and they gave a vague commitment to one another to meet up at the end of the summer. Gemma sensed a certain amount of disappointment in Daniel’s voice but shortly after hanging up the phone he philosophically thought how he could do a lot worse than Jasmine. Perhaps she’s proper girlfriend material too.

  When Victoria arrived at the flat she told Gemma that she had let Oliver know that it was all over too. They had spoken on the phone.

  “When he realised that I wasn’t bluffing he promised that he would leave his wife again. But that he just needed to talk to his accountant and lawyer first. I found myself laughing – and then happily said goodbye and hung up. A large income is not always the best recipe for happiness. Not even Jane Austen could get it right all the time.”

  The two sisters consciously tried not to chat about men and their relationships for the remainder of the evening however. Over a bottle of Prosecco and a seafood risotto Gemma helped Victoria with her university application form and personal statement.

  “Do you think I’ll get in? Do you think I’m good enough?” the former model asked, with a rare lack of self-confidence.

  “You’re good enough, don’t worry. Also, your money will be good enough, which is mostly what most universities care about nowadays unfortunately. But everything is going to be alright,” Gemma said, affectionately squeezing her sister’s forearm, to give her some encouragement.

  “For both of us,” Victoria replied.

  She deserves to find someone special and be happy.

  *

  Stars peeped through the cloudy night sky. Thomas Silver sat out in his garden. He scratched his bearded face, promising himself that he would shave. But he would do so tomorrow. He closed his laptop and unscrewed a bottle of water. The smell of cut grass filled his nostrils. Music from his iPod played on, unobtrusively, in the background. His well-thumbed copy of The Plague lay open on the table. Thomas had marked a quote out with his pen, which had resonated for him, thinking that he might cite it in one of his own books one day. “How hard it must be to live only with what one knows and what one remembers, cut off from what one hopes for!”

  Thomas had just written an email to George Fuller. He first sent his friend details of the flight that he was due to come over on. He would touch down in Los Angeles in a week. He also mentioned how George’s parents had recently visited – and his mum had cooked him a late supper. George’s parents had offered to kindly look after the house and garden, while Thomas was away working on the script.

  Are you running towards or away from something? Could I have given myself to her? Is there anything left of me to give? I miss you so much Christina. I still love you, so much. You said that I should try and find someone else. I promised you I wouldn’t. But…

  Her illness and death had killed something inside of him. And grief was its own cancer. But…

  24.

  “Hello,” Thomas remarked, with an endearing mixture of warmth and awkwardness. The door to Amanda Williams’ office was open. The office was being used by her assistant for the day however. The author tentatively half smiled and squinted from the light of the midday June sun shining through the large windows.

  Gemma looked up, misspelling the word she was typing on the computer. She was stunned, and speechless. Her heart stopped, but in a good way.

  He’s here. Why is he here?

  Thomas was clean shaven. He wore a freshly ironed shirt.

  The breathless young literary agent stood up – and knocked over a mug of pens on the desk as she did so.

  Fuck!

  Gemma, flustered, looked to pick the pens up from the glass desk and put them back in their place. Thomas, more calmly, picked up the two pens which had fallen on the carpet. When he handed them back to the agent their fingers momentarily touched.

  “I’m sorry Gemma, I hope I’m not disturbing you. Libby said just to come through.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s good to see you. Really good.”

  If only she was looking really good, Gemma told herself. She wasn’t wearing any make-up. And she was wearing a barely ironed cotton blouse and a pair of old jeans that not even Charlize Theron could look attractive in. Thomas thought she looked, or rather was, beautiful though.

  Her author stood rather than sat down. With one hand he clutched a paperback book under his arm – and with the other he fidgeted. Thomas brushed imaginary crumbs off his jeans, scratched his head and then leaned on the desk as if he needed the support to remain upright. He took a deep breath and then spoke.

  “I didn’t want to leave Gemma – not before first giving myself a reason to stay. I know that you don’t owe me anything but I’d just ask you to give me half an hour of your time. I didn’t want to call or email you. I needed to speak to you face to face, for what I have to say. See the light, or otherwise, in your eyes. Would it be possible to take you to lunch, or for a coffee? Or just sit somewhere? Or we could just chat in your office. Whatever you want. Although I fear that I’m starting to
babble and I may need some air.”

  Gemma paused, taking in the slightly breathless, slightly perspiring, writer. He was hopeful, desperately so, that she would say yes. She was not sure whether she had been happier to see anyone in her entire life.

  “You had me before hello.”

  *

  There was a feel good factor in the air due to the weather, or maybe it was due to Gemma feeling so good. In a small park, tucked away from the aluminium office blocks, workers soaked up the sun and sprawled themselves and their lunches out on the grass. Flowers and laughter bloomed in the air. People chatted to each other instead of just staring into their phones, zombie-like.

  Thomas and Gemma sat on a bench, beneath the shade on an old birch tree. Gemma mentioned that she was due to receive an offer on the novel and that she would forward it on. He nodded and thanked her, but he had other, more important, things on his mind. Thomas didn’t say too much immediately after leaving the office. He would half-smile at his agent – and then when he thought that Gemma wasn’t looking there would be a pensive or pained expression on his face. The breeze blew through the leaves of the tree, shushing everyone almost, before Thomas spoke.

  “I’m not sure how much you know Gemma about my marriage. I was happy for a long time. We were on a rollercoaster ride that looped the loop. But then things turned into a house of horrors. It was hard when my wife, Christina, passed away. It was hard before that too, when she was suffering from liver cancer. Sometimes the cruellest thing you felt was hope, when the oncologist said that she was getting better… There were long days, where we both felt like life was stretching us out upon its wrack. In some ways Christina was stronger than me, for me. I tried to be strong for her, but in private I was angry and depressed. But no matter how bad I felt I knew that my wife must be feeling worse, which in turn made me feel worse…