Understanding landed on Amy like a bucketful of ice-cold water. Somehow, Hugh had got wind of Sam’s involvement in the RomFest event– and it was clear he didn’t like the idea of Amy working so closely with another man. Really, it was almost laughable: Amy herself wasn’t thrilled about being thrown together with Sam Ainsworth, but Hugh’s dislike of the idea was almost enough to convince her of its merits.
‘Why don’t you take me through the fruits of your labours?’ Carolyn said. ‘Fill me in on what you discovered and how we can learn from it.’
Between them, and somewhat to Amy’s surprise, Sam and Amy effortlessly outlined their experiences in Robin Hood’s Bay, followed by their skeleton plan for RomFest. They embroidered this with ideas for the creative touches that would help to bring it alive– and as Amy had predicted, Carolyn practically squealed at Sam’s T-shirt suggestion.
‘This all sounds very expensive,’ Hugh said, sounding so snide that Amy almost felt embarrassed for him. ‘As finance director, I’m really not sure I can sign off on the kind of budget you’ll need for so much frou-frou and froth. Where’s the ROI?’
‘You won’t need to,’ Sam said smoothly. ‘Most of the cost is being met by Rowton Hall Estates, as per my earlier discussions with Carolyn. We’ll take on the majority of the risk, on the basis that we’ll profit from RomFest. H-K will get its costs back, plus a little more– but the primary benefit for Torch will be exposure, in line with your goal.’
At this, Hugh looked positively murderous. Carolyn’s face was lit up by the sort of grin Amy imagined she usually wore at the funerals or prison sentencings of her very worst enemies.
‘I did attempt to explain all this before our call today, Hugh,’ Carolyn said. ‘I think this leaves very little to chat through, so let’s regroup in a week or so and see where we are. Excellent work, Amy– and you, Samuel. I’m impressed you’ve come together so quickly as a team.’
This comment, Amy thought, was almost certainly for Hugh’s benefit: deliberately needling, designed to hit him where it hurt– and to show him that she fully understood why he’d chosen to turn up this morning.
‘Thank you, Carolyn,’ Sam said. ‘I rather wish we had a recording of you saying that, though– our old A level English teacher, who refereedmanyan argument about our set texts, would never have believed it of us. Can you imagine, Amy?’
Hugh’s usually pale complexion had turned puce. His light blue eyes were bulging. Evidently, he’d had no idea there was any kind of prior relationship between Amy and Sam– and the revelation was not welcome.
As Amy shook her head, she felt an odd blend of horror and hysteria rising inside her. On the one hand, this was all very amusing. On the other, it wasshewho’d have to deal with the fallout of Hugh’s inevitable meltdown– and she was suddenly sure that, whatever form it might take, a meltdown was definitely coming.
‘What,’ Sam said as Amy clicked her laptop’s trackpad to exit their meeting, ‘wasthatall about?’
Amy stared out of the window, pretending her attention had been caught by a blue tit perched on a nearby shrub. For a host of reasons she chose not to untangle, she really didn’t want to explain to Sam that Hugh was her ex-boyfriend. Nor did she want to admit that she’d refused a proposal of marriage from him; that she wasn’tonlyback in Rowton for the sake of spending time with Grace or that, in fact, her whole ‘romance book editor slash living with Gran again’ situation had arisen because she’d chosen to flee from a man she was suddenly mortified she’d ever dated in the first place.
Without actively deciding to lie, she allowed a series of half-truths out of her mouth. Hugh was well known at H-K for picking up and putting down pet projects at a moment’s notice; he took a keen interest in any changes of direction for the firm, since he expected to become CEO one day; there was no love lost between him and Carolyn, and Amy had recently heard from Kit that their difficult professional relationship was rockier than ever just lately.
This seemed to satisfy Sam’s curiosity, and Amy hoped that her relief at his acceptance of the story wasn’t visible on her face.
‘Well, my money would be on Carolyn in any confrontation between them,’ Sam said, laughing. ‘She’d wipe the floor with him. He’d be reduced to a husk, which would please several of my old school friends, actually … When I first implied I remembered Hugh, I was fudging– but now I recall he was a pretty objectionable character.’
Amy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Oh. Really?’
‘Yes,’ Sam nodded. ‘Nothing physical, not that sort of a bully– but very single-minded, always willing to use his money and position to his advantage. And very much the sort who’d kick a nervous, homesick first-year when they were already down for the sake of impressing his friends.’
‘Urgh. That’s horrible,’ Amy said, feeling slightly sick. She didn’t doubt anything Sam had just said. In fact, she admitted to herself, schoolboy Hugh sounded a lot like H-K Hugh, if rather less subtle in his pursuit of popularity.
‘Well, hopefully he won’t bother coming along to any more meetings,’ said Sam. ‘Now he knows he hasn’t got to stump up the cash for amusingly named cocktails, hashtag T-shirts, Portaloos or public liability insurance, he’ll no doubt lose interest in RomFest. He certainly doesn’t strike me as the romantic type– more one of those sociopaths you meet in slasher fiction about bitter, jilted boyfriends.’
At this, Amy felt like her stomach was suddenly on a spin cycle.
‘Fingers crossed you’re right,’ she said, swallowing hard, ‘and that’s the last we’ll see of him.’
But even as she uttered the words, she knew she didn’t believe them for a moment.
In the fortnight that followed, Amy and Sam got together a couple of times a week to work on RomFest. She grew almost resigned to the physical side effects of this contact with him: the thumping of her heart, the prickling of her skin and the racing of her thoughts in delicious but dangerous directions she definitely hadn’t authorised.
The rest of the time, Amy was focused on her day job: editing manuscripts, meeting with agents and authors, liaising with cover designers, copy editors and audiobook producers, and helping to firm up marketing plans for Torch’s first releases.
When she wasn’t working, she spent time with Grace– provided she could catch her in between dates with Mr Bradley, whose refrain of ‘call me Ken!’ still hadn’t had the desired effect on Amy. She also continued bonding with Nisha and Meg over brunches, evenings in and even a shopping day in Birmingham– during which they met up with Carla, an old university friend Amy hadn’t seen in years.
It was novel for her to have female friends after a lifetime of being more comfortable with boys or men– a pattern that had started in part because, as a small child, she’d spent the majority of her time with her father.
As a little girl she’d felt more comfortable with the male of the species, while the workings of fellow females– not to mention their elaborate games and social hierarchies– seemed scary and mysterious. Nevertheless, Nisha and Meg had begun to fill the Kit-shaped hole in Amy’s day-to-day life, and she genuinely enjoyed spending time with them– even though they’d ribbed her relentlessly about her ‘night away’ with Sam.
While on the surface the three of them had little in common, Amy had discovered that their differences didn’t run as deep as the qualities that drew them together. Nisha’s rainbow-hued outfits and sweet hopefulness were undercut by a sharp mind and a surprisingly pragmatic view of the world. Meanwhile, Meg’s gentle calm belied the steely core that had seen her resist intense pressure from her overbearing parents, then ignore years of idle gossip about her status as a single mother.She was now a successful painter who exhibited regularly in small galleries throughout the country, and also ran free art classes for young people at local schools and colleges.
It turned out Pearl was a student at the village state primary– a source of endless fascination to Meg’s old school and university friends, many of whom already had their toddlers’ names down for Eton, Harrow or Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Amy couldn’t help being impressed by Meg’s determination to do things her own way– not because she felt it was any kind of sacrifice to eschew private schooling, but because she could admit that the decision had been difficult for Meg. She’d faced a barrage of criticism from Roger, Pamela and other extended family members, as well as the worry that Pearl might be treated differently from the other children– or even bullied by them– because of who her grandfather was. As it turned out, she was happy as a clam in Butterfly Class: thriving academically and popular with a mob of local friends who adored her.