Page 71 of It Takes Three To Tango

“Thank you,” I whisper, and she tightens her hold.

“We’re happy for you.” She pulls back slightly and looks pointedly at my father. “Aren’t we Reggie?”

I turn to him. I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t the bemused expression he has plastered on his face. I should be thankful it’s not disgust.

“Aren’t we Reggie?” she repeats a little louder.

“Yes, of course.” He still seems tickled by the idea. “How do you?” He makes a series of hand motions. “You know?”

“Reggie!” my mum shouts, and I can’t stop a giggle from escaping, as it was pretty much my first question too. “Go and make us all a cup of tea,” she orders him and he obeys. “I’m sorry about that. We can have a nice cup of tea, and you can tell us all about them.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, which is very short-lived.

“Buthowdo you?”

“Mum!”

I take a deep breath before I open the door to the office. When I first started out with Helen, she didn’t have her ownoffice, but now, with her impressive roster of authors, I guess it’s become more important for her. I called her a couple of days ago to set up the meeting, something I feel I need to do before returning to Spain.

“Rafe. How lovely to see you.” Her greeting is overly friendly, which grates on my nerves slightly.

“Helen,” I say before I sit down in the chair offered.

“You’re looking very . . . European.” Helen always was the master of conveying what she means while pretending to be pleasant, and I see nothing has changed.

“Que maleducada,”I utter under my breath, amusing myself that I can swear so easily in Spanish. But out loud I say, “It comes from living in Europe.” I enunciate the word deliberately. She narrows her eyes and sits back.

“You’ve changed,” she says icily. Yes, I have. I’m no longer going to allow myself to be pushed around. I can stand my ground. Love, respect, and support can do that for a person.

“And you haven’t,” I reply, proving her point. But I haven’t come here to do anything other than terminate our agreement, so I remove the letter my father helped me draw up last night and place it on the desk in front of us.

“I don’t have a lot of time as I have a plane to catch.” It’s not true—I don’t leave until tomorrow—but I want her to know I am going back. “But effective immediately, I’m no longer in need of your services. You’ve been paid up to the end of the month.”

She looks at it but doesn’t take it.

“How does it suit you to write the biographies of decrepit old stars no one’s ever heard of?”

“Very well, thank you.” I chuckle, not allowing her to bait me. I see her nostrils flare as she finally realises she can no longer affect me.

“It won’t sell,” she sells peevishly.

“We’ll see,” I say, rising from my chair. “But it’s not your problem anymore, is it?”

I don’t bother saying goodbye. That she didn’t use the Sloan Kennedy card raises her very slightly in my estimation, but only slightly. Helen, Loretta, Sloan, they’re all part of my past now, and I allow any last hold their influences have on me to be borne away on the breeze as I stroll to my next appointment, one I’m much more looking forward to.

I glance up at the impressive stone facade of the building. It’s a gentleman’s club. It oozes old money and looks as tight-lipped as the secrets it no doubt keeps. Not so long ago, the thought of entering a building like this would have intimidated me, but I’ve spent weeks living in a large mansion surrounded by almost priceless artworks and antiques. I think I can hold my own.

I say my name to the concierge on the door and am shown to a small room that looks like a library. The books make me feel at ease. The concierge announces my name, says he’ll arrange tea, and withdraws.

A dark-haired man who had been staring out the window turns round. He’s about my age and height, but I’m struck by two things: first, his pretty eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses, and second, he appears to be very nervous. Then he starts talking.

“Thank you for coming, Mr Alderson.” He crosses the room and holds out his hand, which I shake. “I hope you don’t mind me asking you to meet here.” He gestures round the room. “It’s my father’s club... Well, I suppose mine too, but I don’t have an office yet, and I thought it very amateurishto invite you to my house, or rather my parents' house, as I don’t have one of those of my own yet . . .” He stops with a grimace.

“I assume you’re Noah Ellington?” I enquire, as he hasn’t introduced himself, but I don’t really need to ask as he talks exactly like his email.

“Urgh, yes, sorry. I’m not good at this, but I want to be. Good at it, of course.”

“Greeting people?” I’m teasing him slightly, but I like him, and I think some gentle teasing might help him calm down a little.

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