Page 106 of Mistaken Impression

I can hear the excitement in his voice, although I find it hard to raise as much enthusiasm myself. The thought of twenty weeks of recordings is still too ominous to contemplate.

My phone sparks into life. I’ve got no calls or text messages, which is a relief. It seems I haven’t missed anything important, and I quickly go onto my email app, just to check if I’ve heard anything from the studio. I haven’t, and I’m just closing the app again, when I hear Mac’s phone beep, and then beep again, and again, over and over.

“What the hell?” he says and I look up. He’s at the top of the stairs, his packing clearly abandoned as he stares down at his phone, which is still beeping away.

“Someone obviously wanted to get hold of you.”

“Yeah… Delilah. She’s tried calling me twenty-three times since yesterday morning… and she’s left fourteen messages.”

Fourteen?I feel a shudder of fear creep up my spine.

“Who’s Delilah?”

He comes down the stairs and walks straight over to me.

“She’s my agent.”

I sigh out my relief and he smiles, although his face clouds again as he looks back at his phone.

“What does she want?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe she’s found someone who wants to publish your book.”

He shakes his head. “I doubt it. She’s not even looking… and besides, I’ve got a re-write to do now.”

His phone seems to have stopped beeping. “Have you heard anything from the studio?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“God knows.”

“I haven’t. I checked my mail.”

“In that case, I doubt I will have done. But it’s early days. Kennedy only told us about the new season on Friday.”

“Yeah… I guess.” He looks down at his phone. “Are you going to listen to your messages?” I ask.

“No. I’m going to call Delilah. It’ll be quicker.”

“Would you like me to go wait in the car?”

He frowns. “No, of course not.” He presses on the screen a few times and holds it out in front of him, making it clear he’s taking the call on speaker. I’m surprised by that, but then I realize he’s doing it because he wants to reassure me, and I move closer, nestling against him. He puts his arm around me just as the call connects.

“Blake? Where the hell are you?”

I notice her harsh New York accent, and that she doesn’t get to call him Mac, which makes me smile.

“I’m at home. Why?”

“Where have you been all weekend?”

“In Vermont… and again… why?”

“Have you looked at the Internet in the last twenty-four hours?”

“For Christ’s sake, Delilah…” He lets me go and steps away. “I think it’s fairly bloody obvious I’ve had my phone switched off, so will you stop asking me questions and tell me why you’ve been trying to get hold of me?”

“Because your name is all over the goddamn web… and in the tabloids.”

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