Page 8 of A Cornish Winter's Kiss

‘What don’t you come and meet Sophia in person? If you’re struggling, she might be able to give you some useful advice.’

‘I don’t think that?—’

‘We need those revisions, Jude. It’s not up for debate.’ Marty had sighed deeply and for a moment neither of them had spoken, but then his editor’s usual upbeat demeanour made a swift reappearance. ‘Look, come along and have a chat. What’s the worst that can happen? There’s a private reception at the 5th View bar after the meet and greet with Sophia’s fans. There’ll be champagne and some of those fancy canapes I know you’ve got a taste for.’

‘Why don’t I just come for that bit?’ Even that had felt like a compromise that Jude didn’t want to make.

‘Because I think you’ll get more out of it if you have some interaction with Sophia’s readers. I think it might help you get over this snobbery you have about romance writers, which could help you embrace the changes you need to make too.’

Jude had been about to argue that it wasn’t snobbery that made him dislike romance, more a matter of taste, but he could hardly say that when more than half of his publisher’s revenue came from those kinds of books. He’d had his share of people looking down their noses at the kind of popular fiction he wrote too, as if it was somehow a less worthwhile way for him or his readers to spend their time. But he knew his stories had helped people escape into another world during difficult times; he’d had lots of messages telling him so, and he had no doubt Sophia’s books did the same. He realised he’d probably come across as a bit of a dick about it all and in the end it had been easier to agree and get the phone call over with.

It also meant Marty couldn’t question him further, probing just why he found it so hard to write about love. Jude didn’twant any speculation about why he was so convinced it didn’t exist. Now here he was, heading to an event he didn’t want to go to, which he suspected was going to serve no purpose other than to waste time he could have spent writing. If only he could remember how to do that.

His irritation grew more intense the closer he’d got to the venue. He’d got off the Tube at Oxford Circus, just to get away from the guy with the bad breath who’d pressed even closer to him as the carriage had become more and more crowded. It had been a relief to get outside at first, but he’d ended up jostling with tourists who stopped dead in front of him to take photographs of the Christmas lights high above Regent Street. Some people were already wearing Christmas jumpers, and it was still only early November, for Christ’s sake. Why the hell they needed to start celebrating Christmas so early he’d never know. The logical part of Jude could accept those people weren’t hurting anyone, but he could happily have written a murder plot for the group of women who’d walked in front of him, blocking any attempt to overtake them, who’d shrieked with delight every time they so much as spotted a fairy light. A red double-decker bus could so easily have careered out of control, driven by the vengeful ex-partner of one of the women. The words flowed in his head as he followed them down the road, how their squeals of delight had suddenly turned to screams of terror, before a horrific bang finally gave way to an eerie silence, amongst the mangled bodies left on the pavement. Those were the sorts of scenes he could write without hesitation, but he still couldn’t get DCI McGuigan and his pathologist to exchange more than a few words of flirty banter.

‘Glad you made it, Jude.’ Marty slapped Jude on the back the moment he spotted him, scuppering his plans to turn around and pretend he’d never made it. The venue was packed with a crowd of Sophia Wainwright’s hardcore fans. Quite a few ofthem were wearing sweatshirts with pictures of her book covers on them, and in some cases ‘I love Sophia Wainwright’ was emblazoned across the front instead. Jude had his fair share of diehard fans, but they mostly stuck to online discussion forums that lobbied for his books to be made into a TV series. He’d never seen anything like this before and he wasn’t sure how it made him feel. Part of him wanted to believe that the kind of people who enjoyed books like Sophia’s were bound to be drawn to over-the-top displays of love for their favourite author. But there was a tiny part of him that wondered what it was like to have that kind of adoration, and whether that helped Sophia on the days she was struggling to get words on the page or if it just piled on more pressure. Not that he was ever likely to find out; crime readers weren’t usually quite so adoring.

‘You didn’t really give me much choice about coming, Marty.’

‘Now don’t be like that. You know it’s only because I want the best for you.’ Marty waggled his eyebrows, and Jude’s shoulders relaxed slightly, because he knew it was true. Jude had been very lucky that he’d been partnered with an editor like Marty so early on, and he knew not every author was as fortunate. Forcing a smile, he nodded.

‘I know you do.’

‘Good man.’ Marty slapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Right then, let’s get you and Sophia together before she speaks to this lot, because you won’t get near her after that.’ Marty gestured towards the crowd, and Jude did his best to keep the smile on his face, despite it getting tighter by the moment. It took them a few minutes to make it through the throng and, even after that, they’d had to wait until Sophia could extricate herself from the conversation she’d been having when they reached her.

‘Jude Cavendish, I never thought I’d see you at one of my readings.’ Sophia’s mouth twitched as she looked at him, and it took everything he had not to tell her the truth – that he’drather be almost anywhere else – but his smile never wavered as he held out his hand. They didn’t really need an introduction, despite the fact they’d never met in person. Their profiles were both plastered all over any kind of online presence Foster and Friedmann had, even if Sophia’s face was often partly obscured, like it was on the image used for her cardboard cutout. He had a feeling that despite her huge fanbase, she tried to keep a reasonably low profile, although it was probably next to impossible these days. He’d passed advertising hoardings for both their latest releases when he’d taken the Tube. They were at the top of their game, but Sophia was ever so slightly higher, and the look on her face told him she knew that.

‘Always happy to support a fellow F&F author.’ Jude knew he was making it sound as though he was doing her a favour, and her mouth twitched again.

‘Well, thank you, I’m honoured.’ Sophia sounded as though she genuinely meant it, but the icy look in her eyes said otherwise, and she turned towards Marty. ‘Have you met Emily Anderson, my brilliant narrator? She’s the best I’ve ever worked with, and I absolutely refuse to have anyone else narrate my books now.’

‘Great to meet you, Emily.’ Marty shook the hand of the woman standing next to Sophia, who had long, wavy blonde hair, making her look like she should have been stepping out of the surf on a beach somewhere rather than standing in the middle of a crowded bookstore. She had the most amazing blue-grey eyes, like the sea on a stormy day, and they were regarding him with interest as Marty gestured towards him. ‘This is Jude Cavendish, and he’s here to discover just how powerful a love story can be as a storytelling device.’

‘Nice to meet you both.’ Emily shook Jude’s hand. ‘You’ve come to the right place to learn about love stories. Sophia is the best in the business.’

‘So I’ve heard.’ For some unfathomable reason, he was finding it hard to drag his eyes away from her face, but then Sophia interjected.

‘I had you pegged as the sort of person who looks down their nose at romance novels, Jude. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of switching genres?’

‘God no.’ He hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt, but the words were out before he could stop them, and Sophia didn’t give him a chance to try and rescue the situation.

‘Good, because it’s a lot harder than it looks.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Jude met her gaze.

‘Ah, but you do, don’t you?’ He had to hand it to Sophia – she was unrelenting, her gaze never wavering from his, and he could tell that Marty and Emily were hanging on their every word.

‘I’m not saying it’s easy, it’s just…’ There was no real way to get out of this now that she’d put him on the spot, so he may as well tell the truth. Jude always found it easier to defend his position if he was being honest about how he felt, so he might as well tell it how he saw it. ‘I’m not suggesting they’re easy to write, but they are predictable. They follow a formula and the reader knows what’s going to happen right from the start.’

The look Sophia gave him could have frozen water, and even Emily, who up until now had appeared to never stop smiling, regarded him with something close to disdain. It was Emily who responded first.

‘You could say the same about a murder novel, though, couldn’t you? You know someone is going to get killed, and that someone else is going to solve the crime. There’s a formula of sorts to that too.’

‘It’s not quite the same, though, is it? You don’t know who the murderer is from the start, at least not if the author has done a half decent job.’ His smile this time was genuine, but it wasn’t reciprocated by either of the women standing in front of him.

‘I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, haven’t you, Mr Cavendish, that only two things in life are certain? Death and taxes?’ In that moment, Sophia looked as though she could happily hasten the first outcome for Jude, and he nodded. ‘In that case, by your reasoning, life itself is predictable, because we’re all going to suffer the same fate in the end. What makes life exciting isn’t the outcome, it’s the journey we go on to get there, and I would argue it’s the same with a romance novel. It doesn’t matter if the reader already knows the outcome; in fact, in an uncertain world there’s a joy in that certainty. The real pleasure comes from losing themselves in the story that unfolds along the way.’

‘It’s an argument you’ve won as far as I’m concerned.’ Marty shot Jude a look that needed no words, but even if he’d wanted to continue the debate, he didn’t think he could have done a convincing job. He already knew from bitter experience that writing romance was far from easy. Sophia had made a good point about the joy of predictability in an uncertain world too, knowing that at least one thing was going to end well. In Jude’s novels it happened when justice was served; that was what made the ending satisfactory for readers. Maybe McGuigan having something going well in his personal life was an extension of that. Jude had never thought about it that way before, but perhaps that was what his readers needed in order to feel they could identify with the character; something they could rely on in every new story that would make them want to come back for more. If he’d underestimated Sophia’s insight, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, but she’d clearly given him all the time she was willing to spare.

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