Graham Westbury had emailed Jo to tell her he would call her at 4 p.m., so there was still an hour to wait until she spoke to him. Noah, Libby and Lorcan were trying to help her keep her cool. They weren’t being particularly successful, despite their best intentions.
Moments later, her phone beeped and five sets of eyes, including Paddy’s, darted to the kitchen table where her phone sat. Jo picked it up and saw, with more than a pang of unease, who the message was from.
‘It’s Ewan,’ she said. Her hand shaking, she unlocked the phone and clicked on the message icon.
All I can say is that I’m sorry for any distress I have caused you, or will cause you. It won’t be long until it’s all out. You have to know that I never lied about your writing. You have a great talent.
She read the message out loud, unsure of what to take from it.
‘What the holy hell is that supposed to mean?’ Noah asked. ‘“Distress I have caused you or will cause you?” What the hell? Call him back. He’s clearly at his phone, so call him back and ask him to explain.’
Jo read the message again and she did contemplate calling Ewan, but she realised she didn’t want to hear his voice. She didn’t want to hear any platitudes from him. He could’ve explained everything to her in a message, but he hadn’t. He had tried to butter her up with his talk of her talent.
She wondered how many other people, other writers, he was softening up at that moment. His text could’ve been a copy and paste of a message he’d sent to countless others for all she knew. He wasn’t genuine. Even when he had talked about his son, his life and his inspirations. It hadn’t been genuine and she didn’t want to give him any more of her time.
‘I’ll speak to him if you want,’ Noah said. ‘It wouldn’t take a wrinkle out of me to put him in his place.’
Jo just shook her head. As much as she was thankful for his offer, the thought of him going in all guns blazing made her cringe. He was loyal to the extreme and would take no prisoners. ‘No, it’s fine, Noah. Honest. I’ll talk to Graham and see what he has to say. I’ll make my decision about what to do as regards Ewan then.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,’ Libby said. ‘I’m going downstairs and I’m taking all of his books off the shelves. He’ll not be selling any more titles through Once Upon A Book.’
Jo thought of the table display of Ewan’s books, from his first novel to the latest, that was still well stocked after the reading. The thought that Libby was willing to remove them all from sale made Jo want to give her a huge hug. ‘You don’t have to,’ she said. ‘But I appreciate the sentiment.’
‘Oh, I do have to,’ Libby announced. ‘If these rumours are true, I don’t want anything to do with him. I’m just so sorry I interfered.’
Jo shook her head. She didn’t want Libby to beat herself up. ‘Libby, if you hadn’t interfered, I wouldn’t be waiting for a call from one of the best agents in the industry, who, as far as I know, still wants to represent me. So please don’t feel bad about this.’
Libby nodded and Jo went back to waiting for her phone to ring with the explanation she desperately needed.
The call came at exactly 4 p.m. Even though she had been waiting for it, Jo still jumped when the shrill ring sounded out. Noah and Libby had gone back to work – and it was just Lorcan who sat with her and had kept her teacup well topped up.
When the phone rang, he smiled at her. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘I’m going to wait downstairs and give you the privacy you need to talk.’
While Jo wouldn’t have minded him staying by her side, she was touched by his thoughtfulness. That feeling of gratitude buoyed her as she answered the phone to hear a refined English accent on the other end.
‘Jo? This is Graham Westbury. Thank you for taking my call,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry this isn’t under the circumstances we both hoped for – but, first of all, I just want to let you know that offer for representation still stands.’
A tidal wave of relief washed over Jo and she muttered a ‘thank you very much’ before Graham continued talking.
‘As you may know, the Westbury Agency will no longer be representing Ewan McLachlan and I can let you know in confidence that Ewan has been dropped, with immediate effect, by his publishing house. I want to reassure you that your material has not been compromised in any way or disseminated widely. I, of course, have seen it and Ewan’s former editor received a synopsis, but it has not gone any further than that.’
Jo listened and tried to take in what Graham was telling her. She also tried to make sense of it, because while she knew Ewan’s career had imploded, she wasn’t entirely sure how her work factored into it.
‘Mr Westbury…’ she said.
‘Please, call me Graham,’ he answered.
‘Erm… Graham. I think I need you to talk me through this a bit. I have seen the reports, but I’m not aware of where I fit in the picture.’
‘Oh…’ he said. ‘You don’t know?’
‘I’m pretty sure I don’t,’ she said, now desperate to know every detail.
She heard Graham take a large intake of breath. ‘Well, as you know, your colleague Ms Quinn sent me a copy of your wonderful manuscript for consideration last week, and I read it, and loved it. That still stands. It’s a wonderfully original piece of work.’
Jo nodded at her phone, before muttering an ‘okay’ and waiting for whatever bomb was going to land next.
‘Your book is so original, in fact, that when early on Sunday morning, Ewan emailed me a very detailed synopsis of his next work, along with the opening three chapters, I immediately recognised that the work was yours and not his. There was a change to one of the character names, but, apart from that, it was almost verbatim what you had written.’
‘Shit,’ Jo muttered before she immediately apologised. ‘Really?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Graham told her.
‘And when did he send you this?’ she asked, trying to put together all the pieces of the very strange events in the hotel at breakfast.
‘Early. Really early,’ Graham said. ‘But I didn’t see it until later. I contacted him immediately to ask what was going on.’
‘And what did he say?’
She listened as Graham cleared his throat. ‘Well, first of all, he, erm, said that maybe you had stolen the work from him.’
‘The bastard!’ Jo said, immediately embarrassed at her outburst.
‘Quite,’ said Graham. ‘Look, I’ve represented Ewan for a long time. I know his writing style. I’ve been badgering him for weeks for some of his new material, and he fed me a line about a new book, something about a photographer. Even if I hadn’t just read and loved your submission, I’d have known something was off with what Ewan had sent me. It’s a completely different style and, dare I say, the writing is of a higher quality.’
Jo allowed herself a moment of smugness at this comment before her anger returned. ‘The internet is filled with reports that this isn’t the first time he’s done this,’ she said. ‘Did you know something was up before?’