‘How are the boys?’ she asked.
‘They’re grand – they’ve started a band. It’s called Baked Beans.’
‘The band is called Baked Beans?’ Eve laughed.
‘They said it’s their favourite food and they are one bean turned into two.’
Eve expected nothing less of her kooky younger brothers.
‘I don’t hate it as a name. It certainly sets them apart,’ she said.
‘Nick is on vocals and piano, and Gabe is on drums. They’re looking for a guitarist now. You played guitar at school – you could come back and join them. Then it would be three baked beans.’
‘Those days are over.’ She laughed. Hilditch walked past and peered in the doorway. She looked at Flora sitting on the floor and frowned.
‘I have to go, Mum, I’ll call you later,’ she said.
‘If Flora is bothering you, tell her to go to her room,’ said Hilditch.
‘She’s not bothering me at all. It’s nice to have company.’
Hilditch snorted and left Eve alone with Flora, who seemed to be her only friend at Cranberry Cross.
11
Eve was ready to eat beans on toast in the kitchen for dinner when Edward told her that that wouldn’t do, as though she was bringing down the family’s reputation within the area.
He insisted on eating in the dining room with Eve, which she thought was ridiculous, but he was the eccentric author and since he had actually delivered sixteen hundred words for the day, she wasn’t about to argue with him.
Hilditch had left a chicken pie and salad and Flora had already eaten and was in bed by the time Eve had finished reviewing his pages.
She was surprised to learn Edward had organised Flora’s dinner and had got her to have a bath and had read her a book. She assumed that Hilditch did it all and felt guilty for the assumption; but then again, Edward didn’t come across as a naturally paternal figure.
Flora had spent most of the afternoon in Eve’s small snug, bringing in baby doll bedding and clothes and some small cots. There was soon an orphanage set up, and Flora had asked Eve to write a sign to hang over the mantel that read,Flora’s Baby House.
Flora was used to being quiet, Eve realised as she worked. The perils of being the child of an author, she thought.
Flora was a good child, a little strange at times, a little morbid but she was sweet.
When Eve was still working, Edward had come and taken Flora to get ready for dinner.
And then when Flora came down from her bath and was all shiny with damp hair and new nightgown and red bathroom slippers, she told Eve that her dad was reading herDanny the Champion of the Worldand Eve again wondered why Amber Priest would want to miss out on any part of this little girl growing up.
And now she was eating a very good chicken pie, opposite Edward Priest in a dining room that was lined with oak panels and a chandelier hanging over the table.
‘Tell me your sad story as to why you ended up in publishing, Miss Pilkins,’ he said.
‘I don’t have a sad story,’ said Eve. ‘I played guitar throughout school but wasn’t committed enough to do anything with it, and besides playing music, I liked reading so I found a job that allowed me to read all day.’
‘And do you read all day?’ he asked.
Eve sighed. ‘I used to when I started as a hired reader for the slush pile but then I was promoted to work as an assistant to Serena and now it seems the only things I read are emails and texts from her.’ She shrugged. ‘I know she’s busy. It’s fine, I will eventually get a proper editor role. I know I can do it.’
Edward put down his fork. ‘You’re not an editor already?’
‘No, I’m Serena’s assistant but I do edit work. I just don’t have the title yet.’
‘And the wage? Are you paid as an editor or as an assistant?’
