Page 9 of The Plot Twist

Allie raised her eyebrows at him, and even in the dim light of the alleyway he noticed.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘this is exactly the reason my books are out of favour and why, I too, find it impossible to write.’

‘Oh, OK. Right.’ Allie didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t deny she was intrigued to meet Martin and to hear about his struggles, but at the same time she wasn’t really in the mood to offer champagne and sympathy to a rich, white man, who suddenly found his views and opinions a tad outdated. But the champagne from the party had obviously loosened his tongue.

‘I’m a dinosaur, Allie. Apparently, I’m completely out of touch with what the readers want. Not able to write anything even vaguely inclusive or diverse.’

Allie grimaced. Given what she knew about novelists of his era, and everything he had said so far, he was probably right. She hoped she wasn’t about to be asked to make him feel better about any previously questionable content he may have written.

‘And that’s just what my wife says about me.’

Allie couldn’t help herself, she let out a big chuckle. Which she immediately tried to cover. Martin flapped his hand at her, giving her permission to laugh, which set him off too. And then Allie couldn’t stop. She tried to remember the last time she had laughed so much and couldn’t.

‘Well, that’s cheered me up,’ she finally said when the laughter had subsided.

‘Glad my disastrous career can be of assistance to somebody,’ said Martin.

‘So, if that’s what your wife says, who by the way I like already, what does your editor think? Don’t they have any good ideas on how to update your content?’

‘I hate that word.’

‘What, content?’

Martin nodded.

Allie grinned. ‘Thought you would, that’s why I used it.’ She was beginning to enjoy baiting Martin.

Martin frowned at her. ‘Very funny. My editor retired five years ago, and I haven’t had a proper conversation with Brinkman’s since his retirement party. And then suddenly, out of the blue, I get an email from a Jake Matthews who is apparently now very interested in the fact that Brinkman’s still have a book under contract with me.’

Allie shuddered again, this time at the recollection of Jake’s icy blue stare. She was fairly sure that if Jake got it in mind to get a manuscript out of an author he would achieve it more readily than getting blood from a stone.

‘What about your agent?’

‘Dead.’

‘Dead?’ spluttered, Allie looking aghast at Martin. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It was a while ago, and it wasn’t exactly a surprise. He was the type to take enjoying a lunch out to a whole new extreme.’

Allie nodded her head, picturing exactly what Martin was describing.

‘Don’t think me callous, but we weren’t exactly close. I was useful to him when I made him some money, but he never seemed especially invested in my career or whether I was making wise professional decisions. My wife said I should have left him years ago, and then suddenly the decision was out of my hands. And as I haven’t actually written a book since he died, there seemed no point in bothering the nice young man who apparently took over most of his authors at the agency. What about yours?’ he asked.

‘Maternity leave,’ Allie said and then before Martin could respond she added, ‘and yes, I understand that for most women, career wise, it’s pretty much the same as what happened to your agent. And anyway, she seems to think I know what I’m doing and that she has higher priorities. Which I guess is understandable now that she’s responsible for actually keeping another human being alive. Have you met Jake Matthews?’ she asked, switching the subject quickly away from Mary Beth, because thinking about her agent just made her panic more real.

Martin nodded and took a drag on his cigarette, which made him double over and cough convulsively.

‘You know those are bad for you?’ Allie said sardonically.

‘Thanks for the advice,’ he shot back, not yet seeming able to straighten up. ‘You know I haven’t had one of these in fifteen years and then ten minutes after my first meeting with Jake Matthews and I find myself cadging one from the production director. Do you know him?’ Allie shook her head. ‘Great bloke,’ Martin said, ‘he’s about the last of the old guard.’

Allie watched Martin as he slowly began to stand upright again. She almost made a rude remark about the publishing old guard but decided against it. She’d never met Martin before, or the production director he was referring to, and really she shouldn’t bring her own prejudices to the party. Not that the publishing old guard had ever thought twice about bringing their own prejudices to the party, or the boardroom. Or indeed anywhere else they happened to be going.

‘And let me guess,’ Allie asked, ‘you haven’t written a single word of the novel you have under contract?’

Martin shook his head.

‘So, what’s your plan?’ she asked.

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