Page 99 of Infamous

‘Eddie.’

‘Whatever. This is just .?.?. It’s wasted energy. We both worked on this novel. And not to be crass, but honestly .?.?. there’s nothing you can do about it now. Who would believe you? Ididmake some further changes to some of the language before I sent it to town – everyone will recognise my flair, my style. It is a change of direction for me, obviously, but there is enough of me in it to prove I was involved. I don’t say this to insult you, but .?.?. nobodyknowsyou. Everybody knows Nash Nicholson.’

‘Good God,’ Rose said faintly. ‘You didnotjust refer to yourself in the third person.’

‘Are you not embarrassed?’ Eddie demanded, impatiently wiping away the rain that was threatening to blur her vision. ‘Do you care so little about yourart, the thing I thought you valued above all else? That you would just .?.?. take mine, and make a few changes, and pass it off as your own?’

‘Listen,’ Nash said, his tone suddenly cotton-soft and confidential, reaching out to touch Eddie on the arm and then retracting his hand when she flinched away. ‘I know this is dreadful. Believe me, I had no desire to do it, but I was in a bit of a tight spot with my editor and this seemed the only solution .?.?. Youmustunderstand that people do things they would never normally consider, with the threat of financial ruin hanging over their heads .?.?. Look, Edie – Eddie. There is nothing I can say to fix this, but let us be practical and look forward, instead. This is just the first volume. We can work together on the rest, and I will make sure your credit is added; that we co-author the second and third. Your name will be everywhere – whatever you write next, my editor will be desperate to publish. Justthink, before you throw all of that away.’

Eddie could see it so clearly:The Gentleman, Volumes Two and Three, by Nash Nicholson and E. Miller.Her nom de plume stamped in gold, displayed in the window of every bookshop, just as she had always dreamed. She was a hair’s breadth away from being a real writer; she could have itnow, almost at once. The past two months of upheaval, sleepless nights, blood, ink and tears would be worth it.

Her name, however, would be inextricably linked to his. People would always assume that he was the real talent, and that she had been hisstudent, his protégée, only published at all because of the kindness he had shown in teaching her his craft. Everybody would think that he hadmadeher, when the truth was that here on this island with him, she felt that he had almost unmade her. She imagined having to go with him to dinners and parties; having to stand next to him and smile, always pretending.

It was unendurable. If she was going to do this, she would do itright. Even if the road was far more difficult. Even if it took her the rest of her life.

‘Eddie?’ Rose said uneasily; Eddie realised she hadn’t spoken a word for perhaps five long seconds. The rain was pummelling the surface of the lake.

‘Come,’ Nash said, relaxing now, already sure that things had gone his way. He held out a hand to help her off the dock and back onto the shore. ‘Come in out of the rain, and we will rest, and then we can start back to town tomorrow and work this out in a way that benefits us all.’

Itwastempting, for a moment. But only for a moment.

‘No,’ said Eddie. She was struck by the thought that he was not used to hearing that word. The appalled expression on his face made that clear. ‘And also .?.?. fuck you.’

Rose let out a single ‘Ha!’ of triumphant laughter behind her.

‘Damn it, Edie. You are .?.?. You are just feeling upset andreactionaryright now,’ Nash said, shaking his head. ‘It is entirely understandable, but just .?.?. Christ, just sleep on it, and you’ll see—’

‘No I won’t,’ said Eddie. ‘I have quite made up my mind. In fact, here—’ She reached impulsively into the pocket of Valentine’s coat and pulled out the rest of her manuscript. She took one last look at it, and then held it out to him. When he only stared at it, she gave it a little shake to encourage him, as one would a dog. ‘Take this. I do not need it any more. Frankly, you have ruined it for me .?.?. too many cooks, you know how it is .?.?. and I know you would struggle to finish it by yourself, as you have not a single original idea left in your head.’

Albert laughed from the boat and quickly turned it into a dignified cough. Nash stared at the manuscript for another few seconds, clearly torn between his desire to take it and the fact that doing so would mean accepting Eddie’s insult as fact, and then snatched it from her.

‘You are making a very childish decision,’ he said, trying to sound dignified even as he scrambled to tuck the pages away in his pocket out of the rain. ‘And you will live to regret it.’

‘Ah, well,’ Eddie said bracingly. ‘If it is childish to choose to be happy, then I suppose I am. Good luck with everything, Nash, really. You are certainly going to need it.’

She went to Rose and took her hand. They started down the jetty towards the boat, but Eddie found herself tugged to a stop as Rose broke away and turned back to Nash.

‘You are a miserable man,’ she said firmly. ‘And I’m glad to say that you will alwaysbemiserable, because all you see in other people is what you can take from them. I hope you never write another word, and your house falls down on you while you sleep, and .?.?. and that you realise that yourdogis worth a thousand of you. Come on, Eddie. Let’s go home.’

She took Eddie’s hand again, and Eddie squeezed it tight.

She didn’t stop squeezing it all the way back to London.

Chapter Thirty-four

The inaugural meeting of the Treehouse Society took place on a bright April afternoon; it was the first proper, hopeful day of spring, the cool breeze laced with the heady smell of hyacinths.

When Eddie pushed open the front door, she realised that the reason it had been so difficult to open was that there were two enormous rabbits on the other side of it, barely reacting as they were propelled across the floor. They blinked up at her, little noses twitching, but when she bent to give them a stroke they scattered.

‘Rose? Albert? I’m here!’ she shouted, hanging up her cloak and then adjusting her waistcoat in the hall mirror.

She’d had to bribe Lucy-Anne with all her puddings for a month when her sister had discovered the small collection of masculine tailoring hidden in the back of her wardrobe; Valentine had insisted that at some point she would be required to give them back, but had not yet come to claim them.

She heard from Valentine occasionally, Dayo often, and Kitty not at all – although one day she had received a small package sent anonymously in the post with a note to only open its contents in private. Eddie had unwrapped it to discover a small portrait that she had never sat for. In it, she was standing back to back with Rose, who was looking over her shoulder at Eddie with obvious yearning. Eddie simply looked clueless, gazing off into the distance, her thoughts anybody’s guess.

It was perfect. Rose had laughed for five minutes when she saw it, and then propped it up on the mantelpiece in her new parlour, in pride of place.

Eddie and Nash had not exchanged so much as a letter, although she saw him everywhere;The Gentlemanseemed to be selling very well, with volume two on its way any day now. Eddie tried to put her head down and walk very quickly past all the bookshop windows it dominated, but it was somewhat difficult to ignore. Occasionally, when she was feeling particularly content and charitable, Eddie told herself that it was good that it had done so well – she was a published writer, even if nobody else knew of it. People loved her book, even though they had no notion that it was hers.