Now there’s an edginess to him, as if he has something on his mind. I’m miffed that he doesn’t seem to understand we’ve got a roomful of library members waiting for the guest of honour and for some inexplicable reason he wants to drag this out further.
‘We can talk later. We need to get this show started. I appreciate Lucy coming here, we all do, so let’s just get this over and done with.’ After this, I vow to go back to dodging parties and people. My safe little bubble is a nice quiet place, which is largely drama- and ego-free and I feel most comfortable there. There’s no drink-fetching and there’s no crowds. There’s no … whatever this is.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘I’ll get Lucy a glass of champagne so you can focus on your guests.’
‘That would be great.’ Right now, all I care about is getting this party to its culmination so I can escape. Did I mention parties aren’t my thing?
Lucy stands by the wrought-iron gate to Epeolatry, her expression downright frosty. Gone is the effusive, flirty persona of the day before. Could this be simply a case of stage fright and, like Posy, she has to steel herself to perform her role under the spotlight? Whatever the issue,thisLucy is markedly different from the one who swanned around yesterday, breathlessly laughing and touching everyone’s shoulders, posing coquettishly for photos.
There’s no way I’m quizzing her on the sudden demeanour change so I say, ‘Thanks again, Lucy. If you’re ready I’ll have Roxy introduce you and then you can make your grand entrance.’
‘I’m only staying an hour, tops,’ she spits the words like bullets. Whoa.
‘Umm, OK.’
Georgios scrubs his face while Lucy glares at me. What the hell is going on here? The friction in the air is palpable. My first instinct is to run, or to allow Lucy to speak to me in such a way – she is the talent after all – but in allowing her to do so, I’m setting a precedent of tolerating this intolerable behaviour when I’ve been nothing but accommodating to her.
I square my shoulders. ‘That wasn’t the agreement, Lucy. We’ve sold boatloads of your books to eager fans in the lead-up to this event; the very least you can do is keep your word. Now if you don’t mind, they’d like to meet you …’
With that I stride inside and find Roxy and Gran. ‘Slight problem. Lucy’s here and in amood.She’s announced she’s only staying an hour at most. I’ve reminded her of the promises she made but I’m not sure how this will go. Roxy, can you introduce her before she pikes out altogether?’
There’s a lot to worry about and, for one moment, I consider using the safe word – banana – until it dawns on me: I don’t need to. Why shouldIrun away? I’m not the one acting like a diva. I’m not the one going back on my promises. I only hope Lucy doesn’t ruin the evening for Gran and our guests, but whatever happens we’ll make the best of it, even if I have to get up on the bar and sing ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’. Tonight will be a success; I will make sure of it.
‘Lucy will only stay an hour, eh? I’ll see about that,’ Gran says mysteriously.
With great gusto as if the queen herself was visiting, Roxy introduces Lucy and reads out her bio. I see Georgios retreating, glass of champagne in hand. At least he’s happy to do her bidding and it saves me from doing it. My confidence has grown here but not enough to deal with a bestselling author whose shapewear must be cutting off the oxygen supply to her brain or something to provoke such sudden hostility. Or maybe it’s that I won’tallowmyself to be treated badly anymore – and that’s an improvement, right?
‘Without any further ado please welcome our guest of honour, Lucy Strike!’
The crowd claps and cheers as Lucy saunters in, her eyes aflame, her hair blowing out behind her like she’s a model in some kind of shampoo commercial. How does that even work? When I walked in my hair blew directly into my face and a few strands got caught in my lipstick, so I probably have what looks like little red slash marks all over my cheeks.
Lucy takes the microphone and shares the inspiration behind her latest book. All the while she’s batting her lashes and speaking in her husky voice. They’re eating it up and I exhale all the tension that’s been sitting somewhere around my ribs for the last few hours. Lucy takes them on a journey back to her humble roots; confides that she wasn’t able to make rent. Writing was an escape from the humdrum life she never imagined she’d be stuck in.
I take a glass of champagne from a tray and take a long swig. The bubbles burst on my tongue and produce an immediate calming effect. Beguiling Lucy is back, holding the crowd in the palm of her hand. What a relief!
I glance at my watch. Hopefully we’ll wrap the party up by eleven at the latest. It’s a library bar, not a pulsating nightclub, and patrons are words nerds, not fluoro-dressed ravers. Surely, like me, they’d be happier in bed with a book? Or is that wishful thinking?
The night continues on as I’m pulled away to solve minor dilemmas. We run out of clean martini glasses and have to wash by hand as the dishwashers are already cycling through. We run out of ouzo, so I dash to Gran’s villa and steal a couple of bottles from her very healthy stash. Our printer decides to shut itself off, as printers do, so we have to manually take membership details and make promises that the cards will be sent in the mail. All in all, I manage to extinguish most problems as they arise. The only niggle is running around on high heels. My feet protest with every passing step and I rue the fact I didn’t wear flats.
When I take a moment to check the time I find it’s almost midnight. The crowd hasn’t thinned out – if anything it’s thickened. Gah! I distribute yet another bowl of feta and olives and plates ofdolmadesfor Athena, when I spot Lucy with a small group of people. So much for only staying an hour! Her cheeks are ruddy as if she’s put away a fair amount of champagne. My jaw drops when she throws herself into the lap of a twenty-something man who pulls her in for long saucy kiss. What? Who is he?
Gran saunters over. ‘Problem solved, eh?’
‘You orchestrated – this?’ Lucy wraps her arm around the guy’s neck possessively as if warning others off.
Gran nods wisely like a sage. ‘Sure did. By my great powers of deduction and being somewhat man-mad too, I’m guessing Lucy got rejected by the Greek god. Her feelings were hurt. I introduced her to Stavros, not quite the prize Georgios is, but still, he’s a shipping magnate’s son with lots of zeros to his name. And voila! We’ve still got people signing up for memberships, and as for the sales of booze, well, let’s just say, we might be able to back pay most of the rent tomorrow.’ It takes a moment for me to process what Gran’s said. Yay for rent. But … Lucy got rejected by Georgios? What!
‘Wait – you think Georgios rejected an advance from her?’ Where is he? I haven’t seen much of him all evening, while I’ve been dashing here and there. Did she try it on after the button fiasco? Surely not? Perhaps that’s what he wanted to come clean with me about outside, but I’d been too concerned about our waiting guests to listen. He has been rather quiet since the airport pick-up, as if he’s got something on his mind.
‘Why else would she walk in wearing a sucked-lemon face and crow about leaving?’ Gran says.
‘I’ll ask him. How dare she, if she knows he’s in a committed – albeit fake – relationship. She spent half of yesterday joking about how sad she was that’s he’s “off the market” and what – she then took that as a personal challenge?!’
‘It comes from a lack of confidence, darling. Things aren’t always as they seem. Even the most confident people struggle with feelings of inadequacy. Remember that when you doubt yourself.’
Lucy Strike feels inadequate? Now I’ve heard it all. But I pause and ponder it for a moment. Like Posy struggles with stage fight, does Lucy Strike suffer as Gran says? It’s hard to fathom that this superstar author is anything but a sassy, confident siren. Goes to show we never really know what’s happening behind the curtain of a person’s heart and soul. With that in mind, I feel differently about her. More understanding.
Have I been living in a world feeling inferior this whole time, alongside so many others who feel exactly the same? Maybe I am perfect just the way I am, like Gran’s always telling me.
