Page 3 of The Plot Twist

Allie…

Allie could detect the note of warning in Jess’s text voice.

Putting it away now, mingling as I type…

She put her phone away, wondering if the ‘find my’ function had sufficient accuracy for Jess to be able to tell if she did indeed just go hide in the toilet. But all that would do would be to prolong the inevitable, she did need to see Verity, and she did need to tell her.

Warding off her panic at these thoughts, Allie swiped a glass of champagne from a passing member of waitstaff and with her other hand crammed a canapé into her mouth. If this was the last publishing event she would ever attend she was going to make sure she left it drunk and full. She turned, looking for the next tray…

‘These ones have prawns in them.’

Allie felt a shiver snake up her spine. The voice was deep and warm, with a gravitas about it that suggested it belonged to an adult, not to a teenager who might be working part-time at the party. She looked up straight into sparkly grey eyes that seemed to be expecting some kind of response from her. Which she couldn’t deliver. Her mouth went dry and her brain scrambled, giving her the helpful message that this is what happens when you have gone too long without romance. It wasn’t normal for a voice to have this effect, but then there were those eyes, and that hint of a smile, a dimpling to the side of a mouth, cheekbones that looked like they could slice through your heart. Allie gulped in what she knew to be a cartoonish manner, and tried to clear her throat. The eyes sparkled more, as if laughing at the effect they were having on her.

‘Just thought I ought to warn you,’ the ridiculously well defined shoulders shrugged, ‘in case you’re allergic.’

‘Thanks,’ she managed to croak, trying and failing to drag her eyes away. He either didn’t seem to notice her very real struggle or was far too charming to comment on it. Instead, he flashed her a smile, which immediately made her fixate on his teeth. She smiled back, hoping that she didn’t have any of the last canapé she had scoffed trapped between her own teeth.

‘So, can I interest you?’

Allie flushed. ‘Excuse me?’ she stammered.

‘In one of these?’ He held out a tray of vol au vents towards her and Allie had to stop herself from willfully misunderstanding him and insisting that yes he definitely could interest her, very much so. Not in the vol au vents though, which looked too large and complicated to negotiate. But definitely in those beautiful eyes, and that smile. So far him and his cheekbones were the best thing about this party.

‘So? Do you want one?’ he asked. ‘Because otherwise I should go and see if those lot want to try them.’ He nodded off towards the centre of the courtyard where a crowd of increasingly rowdy people were congregating around the cocktail bar.

‘The last time I went over there they took the whole tray off me so this is your last chance.’ Allie looked down, not at the tray, but at his tanned arms and at the tendrils of a tattoo she could see creeping up under the sleeve of his shirt, and at how the toned muscles made his white shirt sleeves strain. She swallowed and gave herself a stern shake, forcing herself to concentrate instead on the prawn vol au vents.

‘Erm, OK thanks,’ Allie said, taking one and wondering how the hell she was going to eat this thing without spilling half of it down her dress. Or having to do something as inelegant as trying to shove the whole thing in her mouth in one go. Why on earth did they serve these things at a party? If she ever got to organise a party again, she would make damn sure that only one-mouthful canapés were served. Nothing that needed two mouthfuls, or god forbid, two hands. Or even worse, cutlery.

‘Let me know what you think,’ he said as he stepped away from her. ‘They’re a new recipe.’ He shot her another smile as he made his way off into the crowd.

Allie watched him go, hoping that he would come back although she wasn’t sure what she could tell him about her thoughts that wouldn’t have him running away in alarm. She shook her head a little. What was wrong with her? This was not normal behaviour, she needed to get a grip… on him…

She exhaled heavily and looked down at the vol au vent she was still clutching, feeling a sense of relief that the hot waiter wouldn’t be there to bear witness to her attempt to eat it. Not that it would matter how she ate it. Yes he was hot, yes he was easily the best-looking guy at the party, but she shouldn’t notice, much less care. This was a work event, she was a professional, here to network, not to pick up men. And anyway, she had Dominic, she remembered, almost as an afterthought.

Still, Allie allowed herself to watch him disappear into the crowd of people, his tray immediately picked clean by the seemingly starved partygoers. Allie contemplated the vol au vent and decided it would be much better off in the huge terracotta potted fern she was stood next to than in her mouth. She quickly shoved the whole thing under a leaf and then turned to brush her hands clean and looked back into the courtyard, hoping no one had spotted her. But no one had. In fact no one had paid her any attention at all, all evening, except for the cute waiter.

The central courtyard of the V&A Museum on a summer’s evening was an incredibly beautiful place with the brick red building catching the setting sun, the fountains sparkling and the gorgeous glittery party attendees laughing as if none of them had persistent, painful writers block, it was the stuff of magazine spreads. Allie really was trying to appreciate it, but when the point of this party was to celebrate all the brilliant authors Brinkman’s were publishing that year, and she had yet to produce a new title page, let alone a full manuscript, the gorgeous setting was beginning to set her teeth on edge. It was a tricky tightrope Allie was navigating, she needed to be seen at this party, but on the other hand, she really didn’t want to be noticed. Especially not by Verity Montagu-Forbes, Allie’s very brilliant, very ambitious editor.

Verity was the editor who had plucked Allie’s first, unsolicited manuscript from the so-called slush pile and propelled her onto the bestseller lists. And for that Allie would remain forever grateful to her. Verity had been an incredibly supportive editor, always happy to talk through plot line challenges or agree to a short deadline extension. But recently Allie was getting the impression that Verity might have been losing her patience with Allie and she had her suspicions that a combination of Verity’s ambition and her newly loved up status might be more than a little to blame.

Allie had first noticed something might be up when she kept getting Verity’s out of office and began wondering just how many doctor’s appointments one seemingly healthy, early-thirty-something woman could need before it became obvious that the doctor was a cover for something else – most likely job interviews. So far nothing had been confirmed but Allie was sure it wouldn’t be long before Verity would be announcing her departure for a promotion several rungs up the career ladder at a rival publisher. And then Allie would be in the unfavorable position of having to ingratiate herself with a new editor at Brinkman’s, one who hadn’t acquired her and when Allie was four months behind on an already stretched deadline and still had nothing to share, even she realised she was not an attractive inheritance.

Allie knew it wasn’t Verity’s fault – she had her own career to think of. Plus, she had dropped enough hints that Allie ought not to leave it too long to send in her new manuscript, probably hoping to get Allie her delivery advance before she left. But Allie hadn’t been able to write a single word, her seemingly endless source of romantic meet cutes had dried up just as Verity had got herself a new rich boyfriend. For all the years that Allie had known Verity, she had never known her to even date, and now, suddenly, she was practically getting married. And so, while Verity was in the throes of a whirlwind romance and just in the mood for another bestselling romantic comedy, Allie was left staring into her own personal Room 101 – a publishing party with no book to publish.

As if conjured from Allie’s own fevered angst she heard Verity’s tones ring out from the columned doorway of the museum.

‘Allie! There you are.’ Allie suddenly found herself engulfed in one of Verity’s signature floaty floral dresses and partially asphyxiated by the scent of verbena.

‘Hey Verity!’ Allie did her best to put on her most upbeat, partyish tone and came off more first night out after suffering a severe bout of the norovirus, her voice sounding all scratchy and dry. Apparently, four glasses of champagne couldn’t undo the croakiness caused by not speaking to anyone apart from a cute waiter for two hours.

‘I’m SO pleased you made it,’ gushed Verity. ‘I was just telling Monica here,’ Verity waved at the stern-looking woman on her left-hand side, ‘how I just HAD to find my star author, and Monica decided to come with me!’ Verity’s eyes widened at Allie, just as a hostage’s might while trying to deliver a secret message without their captor realising.

Allie was tempted to make a joke and pretend to look behind her to see exactly which star author Verity was referring to. She felt about as far from a star author as it was possible to feel right now and being called that made her feel uncomfortable and itchy. Allie tugged at the hem of her dress and wished she had gone for something more breathable; manmade fabrics and inauthentic social situations were not a good combination, and she was beginning to sweat.

‘So tell me how the new bestseller is coming along?’ demanded Verity. ‘I am DYING to read it. I know your NEW new delivery date isn’t that far off, but if you have a sneak peek I can see before then please send it.’

Verity’s emphasis on the first ‘new’ didn’t escape Allie. Allie knew exactly when her NEW new delivery date was – four weeks, three days and nineteen hours away. And if she could read the look correctly on Verity’s face, Verity knew this too, and her desire to have a preview might have had something to do with the fact that this was the first novel where Allie hadn’t yet shared anything with Verity, nothing at all. Not a brief outline, an elevator pitch, not even a mumbled, incoherent statement of intent. And this wasn’t out of an abundance of secrecy, it was because there really was nothing at all to share.

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