The Green Hills of Home (3 page)

"I’m Gwen by the way."

"John," was the only
reply.

Silence recommenced whilst Gwen
frantically searched for some other talking point. Her thoughts were broken by
the man clearing his throat and saying:

"You don’t sound like you
come from London."

"No, I’m from Wales. I’m just staying with my cousin for a few days."

She realised that she could have
asked him if he originated from London, but by the time it occurred to her too
much time had lapsed so Gwen was once again stuck with nothing to say.

Gwen was thankful to reach Sian’s building, although a little apprehensive as to what was going to happen now. She
wasn’t the sort of woman who’d invite a man she barely knew in for ‘coffee’,
especially as she was still a little shaken after what happened earlier at the
Bar, but she hoped he’d want to see her again, although she knew it would be
awkward to do so with her heading back to Wales. However, it most definitely
wasn’t the logical part of her in charge at the moment. His looks combined with
his sheer presence were enough to make her knees go quite wobbly.

"This is where I’m staying,"
she said, as she reached for her keys and looking up at him expectantly. "Thank
you again for earlier and for walking me home."

"My pleasure."

With a small, almost sorrowful,
smile and a nod of his head, the man turned to walk away. Disappointment coursed
through Gwen’s veins.

"Oh, your coat!" she
remembered suddenly.

She took the coat off her
shoulders and handed it to him. She missed the warmth and masculine scent
immediately. Their eyes met and their glances held. This is when he’ll ask to
see me again thought Gwen hopefully.

"Goodbye," said the man
with finality. He turned with slight hesitation and strode off down the street.

"Goodbye," answered
Gwen quietly with a sad tone to her usual Welsh lilt.

Gwen watched him go until he was
completely out of sight. Then she told herself sternly to get a grip; she had
far too much going on in her life for her to start wasting her thoughts on a
man who clearly wasn’t the slightest bit interested in her, no matter how good
his coat smelt.

At seven thirty a.m. precisely,
John strode proprietarily through the doors of Black Horse Publishing,
Starbucks double espresso in one hand, briefcase in the other. The security
guard didn’t even glance up from his doughnut. There was no need to: John
Thatcher, editor at Black Horse, arrived at exactly the same time every weekday
morning (and on a fair number of weekend ones as well), wearing the same closed
expression and walked straight across the foyer to the lift (always the one on
the right), before disappearing from the guard’s view. The only other time the
security guard would see him was if he had a business lunch booked. Otherwise
he ate a sandwich at his desk and usually left long after the day guard’s shift
had finished.

It was essential that John got in
before the company really awoke. Beyond his obvious job, it was paramount that
he kept his finger firmly on the pulse of the business if his future was to be
secured in the way he desired. At this time, he could log into the company
intranet using his administrator account rather than his official regular level
of access, surreptitiously monitoring the financial accounts, general activity
and staff itineraries, getting a feel for the employees’ plans for the day
ahead. Watch, evaluate and wait, ready for when the time came. He disliked
being duplicitous but, for the moment, it was necessary.

This was John’s favourite part of
the day: a period where he could focus without the usual distractions of the
busy office building. And yet today he was preoccupied with thoughts of Gwen.
She really was beautiful. And so trusting when she’d looked up at him with her
big, tear-stained eyes. He’d actually been a little startled by the strength of
his attraction to her and had been impressed by his own self-control when he’d walked
away from her the night before. In reality all he’d wanted to do was take her
in his arms and kiss away the memories of the vile animal he’d dragged off her
at the Bar.

At any other point in his life
John would have freely gone ahead with his desires upon meeting such a woman,
but not now. Now he needed to focus; if he became diverted from his strategy
all his hard work would be for nothing.

An hour or so later, John was
pulled from his reverie by a knock on his office door.

Paul Worthing, for now John’s
superior, poked his head into the room before John could call him in. Paul had
a portly form, rounded by expense account three course lunches, and his right
hand never strayed far from his thinning hair, futilely preening the little he
had left. His suit was expensive and the shine from his Ralph Lauren shoes
could blind if you looked directly at them.

"Ah, John glad to find you
here, have you got a minute?"

"Yes, of course, come in,"
said John, turning away from his computer screen, "What can I help you
with?"

"I’ve got some good news for
you," said Paul ominously.

"Oh yes?" said John,
immediately suspicious. Good news for Paul usually meant more work for everyone
else.

"We’ve just signed a new
author, three book deal, really great, fresh voice, and you’re going to edit
her."

Bemused and frustrated by this
latest example of ineptitude, John took a moment to formulate a suitably
diplomatic response. Taking opportunist advantage of the brief silence, Paul
made a swift exit, calling out, "She’ll be popping in at ten to have a
chat with you" before the door closed behind him.

John had good reason to be
surprised by Paul’s news. The whole country was tightening their belts, and
this included money spent on books. This combined with all the many bad
decisions made since Joseph Thomas, the founder of Black Horse, sadly died four
years before, meant the company was in real financial trouble. Redundancies had
already been made and those who had so far managed to hold on to their jobs had
more work than they could handle – John currently had twice the number of
authors under his wing than was usual. This was completely the wrong time for
Black Horse to be taking on a new, unheard of author.

A very grumpy and hung-over Sian had left for work at seven, mumbling a good bye to Gwen as she grabbed her bag and
hurried out of the door. She hadn’t got back until after two and had woken Gwen
to fill her in on all she’d missed. Gwen had taken the opportunity to warn Sian as gently as she could about Demetrius. Sian had been suitably indignant on Gwen’s
behalf and had sworn that she would have nothing else to do with ‘that
disgusting excuse for a man’ as she now called him.

 Gwen felt far more confident
getting ready for her meeting than she had the day before. She didn't take
nearly as long preparing and had plenty of time to finish her packing. She
still felt some butterflies in her tummy, but nothing like on her first visit
to Black Horse. She’d been told that they liked her work and they’d accepted
her, so whilst she wouldn't be completely confident going in, she felt happier
than previously. She hoped she’d come across as more professional now that she
wasn’t so nervous, less like the country girl turning up in the big city with
her little manuscript.

She had her bags all packed as
she didn't know how long her meeting would last; this way she could go straight
to Paddington station when it finished and fill in any spare time with a bit of
retail therapy if needed.

Gwen was extremely curious to
meet her editor. She was a member of several online writers' forums and knew
enough to be aware that the relationship between author and editor could make
or break a book. She'd heard a couple of horror stories, but most of the
authors she’d chatted to seemed more than happy with their editors. A lot of
them were just so grateful to be published that they'd agree to anything their
editor suggested. Gwen was a little worried she’d dig her heels in if hers made
suggestions she wasn't happy with. She was well aware that she had a tendency to
be obstinate, but with her family home in jeopardy and her mother so reliant on
her, Gwen knew that now wasn’t the time to be too assertive.

The only real concern Gwen had
was where to put her bags. She actually had quite a lot of stuff considering
she‘d only been in London for a couple of days. She'd been apprehensive about
the meeting and unsure about what she’d be doing with her cousin, so had packed
a ridiculous amount of clothes. Of course none of them had proved to be right
and Gwen had ended up buying or borrowing different outfits. Which meant that
she actually had more stuff with her now than on her arrival in the city. She'd
had to sit and bounce up and down on her case just to get it to shut. It
wouldn't add to her appearance of professionalism if she turned up to the
meeting with a bulging suitcase in tow, but she didn’t know anywhere she could
store it.

Gwen had been so anxious walking
to the publishers the day before, worried that although she'd left lots of
time, she might not be able to find the building and would still end up late.
Today she was able to relax and enjoy the sights as she walked, having decided
she’d rather go on foot than risk getting lost on the buses or the tube. Gwen
found she appreciated London more than she thought she would. Part of her
relished the feeling of anonymity. Although Gwen's house was quite isolated,
whenever she went down into the town she felt everyone noticed her. They’d all
known her since she was a baby: she'd gone to the local school, and though left
briefly for university, was soon back in Tonnadulais and now worked in the town
tea rooms. Usually she didn’t mind stopping to chat, but there were times when
she felt it would be nice to go out for a newspaper without having to discuss
the weather, how her mother was doing, and what she was up to at the moment.

Gwen arrived a little early and
so wandered around outside the building until five minutes before her
appointment. She gave her name at reception and was immediately directed to her
new editor’s office. She found the room easily and knocked on the impressive
mahogany door carefully to avoid dropping everything she was holding in her
arms. Having never had a meeting with an editor before, Gwen hadn’t been quite
sure what she should take with her. She eventually decided to err on the side
of caution and so ended up bringing practically everything she’d ever written,
as well as her rather heavy laptop and strained suitcase.

Gwen entered the office and her
eyes immediately locked with those of John Thatcher, her new editor, and none
other than the man who had helped her the night before. She was shocked and
thrilled to see him again, but recovered quickly to smile and was about to
comment on the coincidence of his being her editor when John spoke.

"Miss Jones I presume."

Gwen thought she saw a flicker of
recognition cross John’s face before he looked away swiftly, turning back to
his computer screen. He kept his eyes resolutely fixed on it.

"Yes, good morning"
replied Gwen confused; did he really not recognise her?

"I’ve got a copy of your
manuscript. I’ll be in touch soon with a list of what needs changing."

Gwen was taken aback by John’s
abruptness but was determined to remain businesslike.

"I’ve got some of my other
work here if you wanted to take a look?" she replied inquiringly.

"That won’t be necessary."

"Oh."

There was silence. Gwen wondered
whether to sit down, she felt like an idiot standing mutely with all her
luggage around her as John stared at his computer. She was about to ask if she
could take a seat when John spoke again:

 "Well, if that’s all then I
must get on. You’ll hear from me when I need to arrange our first proper
meeting. Of course Paul told you he wants your book on the shelves as soon as
possible, so we’ll have to work quickly."

"Um, did Paul explain that I
won’t be able to travel to London to work on the manuscript? My Mam’s very
sick. He said we should be able to do everything via telephone and email."

"Fine," replied John. "Anything
else?"

"No. Thank you for your time,"
said Gwen, who was by now so grateful to be leaving that she was opening the
door before John had finished speaking.

"Goodbye" said John
firmly, still remaining seated, still facing his monitor.

John waited until the door was
securely closed behind Gwen before he stood and began pacing the floor of his
office. This was all he needed; she was even more beautiful than he remembered.
He’d had to force himself to focus on his screen; he couldn’t let her see the
effect she had on him. There was no way he could risk everything by having an
affair with an author; anyway, she’d made it clear she had no interest in him
whatsoever when he’d needed to practically coerce her into letting him escort
her home the night before. And what on Earth was that about her not being able
to come to London to work with him? He could more than understand the
obligations of filial duty, he really could, but as harsh as he knew he
sounded, she had to be realistic. He had his job to do and she would need to do
hers. His plans had been meticulously laid, and nothing could be permitted to
disrupt the timing. He had his own charge to fulfil and as callous as that made
him feel, that had to be his priority.

Once again Gwen found herself
coming out through the imposing doors of her publisher’s offices, but how
differently she felt now. Yesterday she’d been jubilant; today she was confused
and deflated. She’d never imagined that her first meeting with her editor would
be like that. He seemed to have no interest in her or her work at all. He must
have recognised her from the night before, so why hadn’t he said anything? Gwen
was hurt by the coldness of his reaction; she could only assume she’d somehow
offended him, but she had no idea how. During the previous evening there were
times she’d been sure he’d felt attracted to her, but then he left without
wanting to see her again, and now he was acting like he didn’t even know her.
She really didn’t understand him at all.