“Right—it might work with what we’ve got, but we can’t be sure.And if it didn’t work and I put your old book back on the table, you might not come out again.”
“That is true, and I shouldn’t like being absent as you attempted to find a solution.But in addition to the question of the manuscript form,” Vronsky continued as he straightened to his full height, “we must also consider the time and effort you have invested in this project.Others should have the opportunity to read the beautiful chapters you have created.”
“Oh, thank you,” Aurelia said, feeling a little self-conscious about his compliment.“But… I should tell you, if we publish, I doubt if we could put your name down as a co-author.”
Aurelia could just imagine the puzzled looks of publishers and readers who wouldn’t understand why a fictional character was being credited for helping to write a book.
“The chapters may reflect our shared ideas, but you brought those ideas to life in a way I never could have done.It is just as well that your name alone should grace the cover of my sequel.”Vronsky wrinkled his nose, adding, “Publication was never an ambition of mine.I leave that to scholars and writers like you.”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment, on the brink of yet another experiment.
“Well: publication.I can’t guarantee that I can find a publisher—”
She stopped, realizing Vronsky might not appreciate hearing that the audience for his story could be small enough to keep publishers from banging down her door, and changed tack.
“I’ve never published a book before, so they may not want to meet with me.”
“I see.I know a handful of men who own publishing houses in Petersburg and Moscow, but that does nothing to avail us here.”
“Actually, I know someone in publishing,” Aurelia said, surprised she hadn’t thought of James before now.“My friend works for a small press.I’ll call him tomorrow.”
And just like that, it was settled.
35
Bynoonthenextday, the shop had grown quiet, giving Aurelia a free moment to call James.
“Is everything alright?”he asked once the receptionist had put Aurelia through.
“Yes, everything’s fine.How are you?”
“But… You never call me at work—you always text or call my mobile.”
“Well, this is a work-related call, since I’m calling about the book I’ve been writing.”
“Ah, the mystery project.How’s it going?”
“Really well!I’m almost finished with the first draft and starting to think about what to do with it.Would you be willing to give it a read?”
“Sure,” James said eagerly, then added, “Well, actually, I don’t think I should.”
“Oh, right.Okay.I understand—I’m sure you’re busy.”Aurelia suspected she hadn’t managed to hide the disappointment from her voice.
“No, it’s just that I don’t edit fiction very often.But Oliver does.”
“Oliver?”
“Mm-hmm,” James said, his smirk evident even over the phone.
“James, please!I thought David was the devious one, not you.”
“What?”he asked innocently.“Oliverdoesedit fiction.”
“I’m serious—I really want to talk to someone about my book,” Aurelia pleaded.
“I’m telling you, Oliver’s your man.”
“No, he isn’t.You and David have made a valiant effort, but he’snotmy man.”
