‘Phillip, don’t hound her,’ Edward said.
‘I’m not hounding, I’m sleuthing – it’s different. Besides, I want to understand writer’s block. What’s your take on it, Eve? Sanjeev was giving us his psychiatric perspective but I think I would like to hear what you think from an editor’s perspective.’
Eve was about to correct him and explain she wasn’t a real editor but then decided she couldn’t be bothered to explain Serena and the whole mess as to why she was here.
‘Writer’s block? You want to know what I think it is?’ she asked and looked at the faces around her who all nodded and encouraged her in different ways.
She took a breath and then let it out slowly and looked at the fire jumping in the grate.
‘I think writers get blocked when they don’t know enough about who or what they are writing about. They need to do more character work and explore the motivation of the characters and the backstory as to why they are making the decisions they are, or I think some writers…’ she paused and looked at Edward ‘…are bored of their own work. They are formulaic and can probably write the book in their sleep. They know what the reader wants and they give it to them, but it’s a compromise because they used to deliver something exceptional and the reader would be in shock if they did anything differently. Now the reader knows the twist is coming and they spend all the time waiting for it. That’s why some writers can’t finish. They are stuck in their own shit.’
Sanjeev clapped his hands. ‘You are utterly brilliant. I love that – I’m going to steal it and use it as my own but tell people it came from my friend Eve, the editor. I’ll boast about you for years to come.’
‘You used to boast about me.’ Edward pretended to sulk.
‘You’re old news, my friend. We have all moved on with the young people now. Eve is the leader and we are her followers.’
Eve laughed and so did Edward as Hil came to tell them dinner was ready.
Edward grabbed the wine and ushered the guests from the library, urging them to follow Hil to be seated for dinner.
‘Thank you for coming downstairs,’ said Edward to Eve as she stood up.
‘That’s okay – your friends are funny.’
‘They’re good to me. They know the real me,’ he said looking around.
Eve looked at him; his face was anxious. He seemed worried.
‘I didn’t mean you were bored of your own shit,’ she said. ‘When I was talking about writer’s block.’
Edward gave a small laugh. ‘Yes you did, but it was deserved and it was also correct. I am bored but that’s a conversation for tomorrow. Now we will drink wine and talk about other things with some of the smartest people I know, and you can pretend I wasn’t a complete idiot earlier and hopefully forgive me.’
Eve took her wine glass and followed him up to the dining room. Everything was an act with this man and she wondered if she would ever see the real Edward Priest.
As they came to the dining room, Edward turned to Eve.
‘They knew Amber, all of them. They stayed with me because they saw what it was like. Sanjeev has been my anchor. They’re all my chosen logical family – more than my biological family.’
Eve nodded. ‘Okay. I get it.’
‘Do you like your family, Eve?’
What a strange question, she thought, but he seemed to really want to know the answer.
‘I do, I love them,’ she said.
‘Then you’re very lucky, Eve Pilkins,’ he said and he walked in and lifted the wine bottles up above his head. ‘Now let’s eat.’
*
When the evening finished, Eve was slightly drunk and very full of food and smart conversation and hilarious laughter. When Eve was ready to make her way to bed, Hilditch told her she had moved her things to a new room.
‘Come on, I’ll show you before I head home,’ she said.
Eve’s new bedroom was much warmer and larger. Another huge four-poster bed carved with oak leaves stood in the centre of the room, draped with green silk brocade curtains tied back with large purple-tasselled ropes. There was a tapestry on one wall of four women in a garden of orange trees and some quail or peacocks scattered about. It was as old as the house, she thought as she unwrapped her scarf and touched her neck. It was all a bit too Anne Boleyn for her liking.
Hilditch walked in behind her and looked around.
