Page 46 of A Cornish Love Story
‘With the large front gardens and gable dormers?’
‘Gable dormers?’
‘A little window protruding from the roof, with sloped sides.’ He demonstrated with his arms, doing the universal sign for Pizza Hut.
‘Right, one of those. I knocked on the door, and at first I thought nobody was coming, that the email to the paper had been kids playing a prank and they were watching me from somewhere, ready to egg me or something. But then, eventually, the door opened and there was this old woman, and I knew themomentI saw her: I knew exactly who she was.’
‘Who was it?’ He was frowning, looking wary rather than interested, and I realized his thoughts might have been going down a different route: to prom night and police cars, to the end of us.
‘It was S. E. Artemis. Spence.’
Ethan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘Your author? The Cornish Sands series?’
‘Exactly.’ The excitement from that moment filtered into my voice. ‘And I didnotplay it cool. I babbled about how much I loved her books as she led me into her living room, to a table where there was a pot of tea and a perfect, bouncy Victoria sponge. She listened to me patiently, and then, when I’d finished rambling, she told me she hadn’t seen the Alperwick Mermaid at all, but she wanted a PA.’
‘What?’ Ethan said with a laugh. ‘She could have put an advert online – or in the paper if she’s not tech savvy.’
‘She said a journalist had the skills she needed. Good at writing, tenacity chasing things down. She didn’t want to pay for an advert, so she decided she would phone the paper, get journalists to visit her house under the guise of her having a story, until she found the person she wanted.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘I amsoserious. She is shameless, Ethan. She’s funny and bright, and I’ve been working for her for two years.’
‘She wanted you to come here?’
I nodded. ‘Her mobility isn’t great, so I’ve been her eyes and ears in lots of ways since I started, and this time …’ Nobody else knew what she’d offered me; I hadn’t even told Kira about it – or Mum. ‘She wants to write another book in the Cornish Sandsseries, to give Amelie and Connor their happy ending, after allthese years. She said I could help her – that we could write it together.’
My heart was in my throat, because now I’d spent time with Ethan again, I was desperate for him to approve of this plan. It was a chance to be creative, to write something beyond the stories I’d started then discarded on my laptop.
‘Ethan?’
He was staring at his knee, as if the blue cotton was the most fascinating thing he’d seen. After a moment, he looked up. ‘Why don’t you write something of your own?’
My hope dimmed. ‘This is Amelie and Connor, Ethan. You know how much I wanted them to be together. I read you some of their letters.’
‘I do,’ he said cautiously. ‘But you’re their reader, not their creator. You’re good enough to write something original, something that’s entirely yours, and Spencer …?’
‘Spence,’ I corrected.
‘Spence could help you with that. She was well known, well loved. She must still have contacts in publishing, especially if she’s thinking of resurrecting her career. If she really wanted to help you, then she’d support you writing whatyouwant to write, not use you for something that will help her reputation and bank balance.’
‘She said we’d be equally credited.’
‘But will readers notice?’ He pursed his lips. ‘If it gets published, then will anyone notice the nameGeorgie Monroe on the cover, or will they be focused on S. E. Artemis? Are you sure she even intends to finish it, or is it this supposed prize she’s enticing you with, so you’ll keep working for her, keep giving into her requests?’
I sat back, surprise making me mute for a second. ‘But you … you were always so supportive of me – of my writing. Even when you couldn’t—’
‘I was, and I still want to be,’ he said. ‘You’re a great writer. I loved the stories you showed me. And I was hoping that, one day, I’d see news about you publishing your first book. But is this it, Georgie? A rehash of someone else’s old characters? Is it what you want?’
‘It’s a great opportunity.’
‘That sounds like a sentence someone else has put in your head.’ He downed his water, then poured more into his glass, his movements jerky, some spilling onto the rug. ‘You need to do things foryou, not for someone else.’
‘Iamdoing things—’
‘It sounds like Spence is taking advantage of your good nature,’ he barrelled on. ‘And I know it was hard with your mum, that she didn’t always give you the freedom to be fully yourself. This seems similar.’
‘Ethan.’
