As though summoned from the dark side, her phone buzzed and Serena’s name flashed on her screen.
Eve groaned and then answered the phone.
‘Any progress with Edward?’ Serena was always straight to the point, like an assassin.
‘Not yet, but I told him to move his desk around,’ Eve said, then wished she hadn’t spoken about such a pedestrian topic to Serena.
‘Move his desk around? You’re editing, coaching, coaxing, not interior designing.’
Eve thought of explaining about a new perspective and outlook but knew Serena didn’t care about anything but the final word count.
‘I’m at the lounge, about to fly to New York. Tell Edward I need that book or else. And make sure my Christmas tree is set up in my suite. I’m having guests for drinks from Trident Media.’
‘Or else what?’ asked Eve without thinking. She didn’t answer Serena back very often but this situation was truly becoming unreasonable. Besides, she needed some sort of carrot and stick to get him to sit down and write.
‘Or else you lose your job,’ Serena stated and then the line went dead.
Eve lay back on the bed and stared at the light fitting, which was in the shape of a lantern and looked like it cost more than her entire wage for the year.
If Edward didn’t deliver the book, she’d lose her job. Serena had restated her ultimatum without any consultation between them. Of course, she had, because she was truly the evil queen in this story.
What did that make Eve? The helpless heroine? The naïve ingenue? The bookish beauty? All of them made her feel pathetic.
She was a good editor but was stuck being Serena’s assistant. But she could tell what a great story was and right now, she didn’t want to be a part of whatever drama Edward and Serena were co-writing.
This was ridiculous, she thought, and got up from the bed. She would find Edward and tell him that she needed him to work and focus. That he had to be professional and that his readers deserved a new book from him. Writers loved their readers didn’t they? She would remind him that his readers were waiting. They needed to escape, to have Edward help them explore the worlds he created just for them.
Eve took off her coat and instantly regretted the decision, but she couldn’t walk around the house in hat and coat without drawing unwanted attention.
She went through the house, desperate for a snoop of the rooms but mindful she wasn’t a guest, she was an employee of Henshaw and Carlson.
She followed the scent of roasting meat and found her way to the kitchen where Hilditch was chopping turnips with a ferocity that made Eve step backwards.
‘You can chop very quickly,’ Eve noted.
‘I was a chef in the armed forces,’ Hilditch said.
‘Oh? Amazing. Was it the army?’
Hilditch looked her in the eye and kept chopping but didn’t look at her hands as she worked.
‘No, it was a classified organisation.’
Eve wasn’t sure what to say in reply. Was this woman for real or some sort of British Walter Mitty?
She decided not to pursue that line of questioning any further.
‘Is Mr Priest around?’ she asked.
‘He’s with friends. They’re here for dinner.’
‘Friends? He’s supposed to be writing,’ Eve exclaimed.
Hilditch shrugged, as though shaking any responsibility from her shoulders.
A cupboard behind Hilditch opened and a small face peered out at Eve.
‘Who are you?’ The child was obviously Flora, but she was tiny. Her face had an elfin quality about it and her voice was high-pitched.
