as he harangued Nicola Ball, flaying the latest draft of her novel while simultaneously sorting through the mail, making one pile for bills and another for final demands. If he was honest his foul mood was largely down to the parlous state of the company's finances rather than Nicola's inappropriate semicolon on page eight.
Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘You can't talk to me likethat,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘I was voted one of Scotland's foremost novelists under the age of thirty …’
He brandished the manuscript. ‘And that's why I won't allow this piece of crap to be published with your name on it.’
She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. ‘You know what, Tom, you're even more of a bastard since you broke up with Jane Lockhart.’
Roddy stuck his head round the door and chimed in. ‘That's exactly what I said.’
‘Hey,’ Tom snapped. ‘We didn't split up. Because we were never together. It was a falling out. Got it? And, do we need to have another chat about your eavesdropping, Roddy?’
Roddy banged the wall. ‘Flimsy partition. Loud Frenchman.’ He sighed. ‘Now I am bound by the man-code to take your side in this, but what the hell, Tom? Seriously, what were you thinking? You changed the title of a book without consulting its author.’
‘You changed her title?!’ said Nicola, shaking her head in horrified disbelief.
‘I know,’ said Roddy. ‘Right?’
‘No wonder she dumped him.’
‘Uh. I am in the room. And she didn't dump me. Again, we were never
together
.’ He glowered at Roddy. ‘What about the man-code?’
‘Yes, yes, I know. I suppose we could put your behaviour down to an aberration—a temporary loss of facultiesas a result of having sex on a regular basis with the luscious Jane.’
‘You think she's luscious?’ inquired Nicola.
‘Luscious, foxy, a little bit naughty.’
‘Oh.’
Tom watched Roddy slowly comprehend.
‘Not that I fancy her,’ said Roddy quickly. ‘Not my type. My type's much more like … um … really looking forward to your book launch, Nicola. Have you seen the venue? It's a bus garage in Bridgeton. It's going to be a swanky affair.’ He paused. ‘I'm pretty confident that's the first time “swanky” and “Bridgeton” have been used in the same sentence.’
She giggled. ‘You're funny.’ Then she sniffed and wiped a hand across her damp cheek. ‘Roddy, why do I keep letting him do this to me?’ She jabbed a finger in Tom's general direction.
‘I don't know,’ said Roddy. ‘Maybe you're a masochist?’
She appeared to give it some thought. ‘No, I tried that a few times. I quite liked the being tied up part, but in the end it turns out I'm more of a sadist.’
Roddy gulped. ‘That's nice.’
She threw a dark look at Tom. ‘It's just him. He's the only one who can make me feel this …’
‘Vulnerable? Fragile? Waif-like?’
‘… Fucking furious.’
Tom had had enough. He flung a finger towards thedoor. ‘The two of you. Leave. Separately.’ He glowered at Nicola. ‘Why are you still here? Go and write!’
Faced with her boiling French editor, her lip began once more to tremble. She gathered the manuscript to her chest and scrambled out.
‘Get thee to a Costa Coffee!’ Tom half-chased her into the passageway. ‘And don't come back until every word sings from the page.’
‘Bye then, Nicola,’ said Roddy trailing after her rapidly disappearing figure. ‘See you at the launch.’
She banged open the front door and hurried out, almost colliding with a woman in a dark blue business suit marching across the courtyard. The square-shouldered suit gave her a purposeful air and she observed the crying girl depart, never once breaking stride in her far from sensible heels.
Tom watched her uneasily from the doorway of his office. Without waiting for an invitation the woman clipped along the corridor, pushed past him, placed her briefcase on his desk and made herself comfortable in his
Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘You can't talk to me likethat,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘I was voted one of Scotland's foremost novelists under the age of thirty …’
He brandished the manuscript. ‘And that's why I won't allow this piece of crap to be published with your name on it.’
She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. ‘You know what, Tom, you're even more of a bastard since you broke up with Jane Lockhart.’
Roddy stuck his head round the door and chimed in. ‘That's exactly what I said.’
‘Hey,’ Tom snapped. ‘We didn't split up. Because we were never together. It was a falling out. Got it? And, do we need to have another chat about your eavesdropping, Roddy?’
Roddy banged the wall. ‘Flimsy partition. Loud Frenchman.’ He sighed. ‘Now I am bound by the man-code to take your side in this, but what the hell, Tom? Seriously, what were you thinking? You changed the title of a book without consulting its author.’
‘You changed her title?!’ said Nicola, shaking her head in horrified disbelief.
‘I know,’ said Roddy. ‘Right?’
‘No wonder she dumped him.’
‘Uh. I am in the room. And she didn't dump me. Again, we were never
together
.’ He glowered at Roddy. ‘What about the man-code?’
‘Yes, yes, I know. I suppose we could put your behaviour down to an aberration—a temporary loss of facultiesas a result of having sex on a regular basis with the luscious Jane.’
‘You think she's luscious?’ inquired Nicola.
‘Luscious, foxy, a little bit naughty.’
‘Oh.’
Tom watched Roddy slowly comprehend.
‘Not that I fancy her,’ said Roddy quickly. ‘Not my type. My type's much more like … um … really looking forward to your book launch, Nicola. Have you seen the venue? It's a bus garage in Bridgeton. It's going to be a swanky affair.’ He paused. ‘I'm pretty confident that's the first time “swanky” and “Bridgeton” have been used in the same sentence.’
She giggled. ‘You're funny.’ Then she sniffed and wiped a hand across her damp cheek. ‘Roddy, why do I keep letting him do this to me?’ She jabbed a finger in Tom's general direction.
‘I don't know,’ said Roddy. ‘Maybe you're a masochist?’
She appeared to give it some thought. ‘No, I tried that a few times. I quite liked the being tied up part, but in the end it turns out I'm more of a sadist.’
Roddy gulped. ‘That's nice.’
She threw a dark look at Tom. ‘It's just him. He's the only one who can make me feel this …’
‘Vulnerable? Fragile? Waif-like?’
‘… Fucking furious.’
Tom had had enough. He flung a finger towards thedoor. ‘The two of you. Leave. Separately.’ He glowered at Nicola. ‘Why are you still here? Go and write!’
Faced with her boiling French editor, her lip began once more to tremble. She gathered the manuscript to her chest and scrambled out.
‘Get thee to a Costa Coffee!’ Tom half-chased her into the passageway. ‘And don't come back until every word sings from the page.’
‘Bye then, Nicola,’ said Roddy trailing after her rapidly disappearing figure. ‘See you at the launch.’
She banged open the front door and hurried out, almost colliding with a woman in a dark blue business suit marching across the courtyard. The square-shouldered suit gave her a purposeful air and she observed the crying girl depart, never once breaking stride in her far from sensible heels.
Tom watched her uneasily from the doorway of his office. Without waiting for an invitation the woman clipped along the corridor, pushed past him, placed her briefcase on his desk and made herself comfortable in his
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