Chapter 39. Strategy
When she opened the front door at Norfolk Crescent the delicious scent of roasting lamb assailed her nostrils at the same time as laughter struck her ears.
In the kitchen, she was surprised to encounter a mini-cocktail party – Enid chopping vegetables while Miss Bottomley looked on, enjoying a glass of red wine. Her withered-apple face glowed.
“I hope you had success?” she enquired. “Enid’s been regaling me with tales about Morocco.”
“There’s just a bit of hummus left,” said Enid. “Really you must try it.”
Scarlet was more interested in the wine.
“Sawditch is ordering couscous!” Miss Bottomley said. “Enid promises to cook us a mush-wee!”
“A meshwi,” Enid corrected, handing Scarlet a glass of wine. “How did your publishing encounter go?”
“Sadly, the man is a complete dunderhead,” said Scarlet, throwing the books on the table. “THIS is the sort of thing they publish! They expect us to accommodate ourselves to this ghastly drivel!”
Enid looked thoughtful but Miss Bottomley seemed so crestfallen Scarlet sat right down to comfort her before taking a single sip.
“They’re doing it for money,” she said. “They are on their beam ends – the place looks desperate – and remember, you are a very rich woman!”
Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. “Buy the series back? Of course!”
“These wonderful books deserve republishing, but I’m suggesting a lot more than that. What if you buy the publisher?”
Miss Bottomley looked appalled.
“Buy a PUBLISHER?”
“Your money is currently all in property, which you’ve stated you don’t really care that much about.”
“That’s true enough,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “But what if these dunderheads – as you call them – are correct and my books are such old hat no one will want them?”
“Impossible!” roared Enid and Scarlet enthusiastically together.
Scarlet said, ‘This Mr. Mountjoy is overlooking an entire market of mature women. They are the most enthusiastic readers of books, and Miss Clew has so much to offer them. Isn’t there a revival going on of the Golden Age of Crime?”
“But buying a whole publishing company – “
“Or you could simply become an investor. Bob Thomas will know how to set it up.”
Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. Obviously “Bob Thomas” had become a magic name for her.
“You’re right,” nodded Miss Bottomley. “Bob Thomas will know. Let’s call him.”
“Call him tomorrow,” said Enid, spilling wine on Rod the Spy as she swept him off the table.
“Dinner’s ready!”
The dinner was delicious enough, but for some reason Scarlet had trouble sleeping, and Nick, too was wakeful. Enid seemed to sleep like a rock – at least Scarlet didn’t hear her or encounter her on the way to the bathroom. That’s all right, thought Scarlet stolidly, I can handle the nights if Enid can handle the days. But she was worried. How did she know Enid was who she said she was? Even if her past was impeccable, what if she was, say, an alcoholic? Who had she really brought into Miss Bottomley’s home? She was surprised – shocked wouldn’t be too much to say – at the vulnerability of this old lady. She had handled the hiring of an editor much more expertly – though of course I think so, Scarlet admitted, because she hired me. Obviously, others might quibble.
Enid put Scarlet’s fears to rest in the morning with her vigor and drive. She made crepes with fresh fruit for breakfast – Miss Bottomley sat at the table expectant and eager as a child. Enid managed Nick and the cooking effortlessly enough, Scarlet had to admit. A pile of clean diapers was already whizzing around the modern dryer.
“Could you pick up a copy of Dr. Spock’s childcare book while you’re out?” Enid requested. “It had a wonderful recipe for infant’s milk I seem to remember. Probably get one at Foyle’s.”
Any excuse to go to Foyle’s was welcome.
“I’ll take the afternoon,” Scarlet promised. “Pelham D’Arcy has an appointment available for you at three-fifteen.”
“That would be suitable,” Enid agreed. “I most concerned to protect the children from knowledge of – er – their father.”
“I’m sure your husband wants that too,” Scarlet comforted her, hoping it was true. Enid, who knew her husband best, didn’t argue.
Scarlet phoned Bob Thomas and asked if she could have a short word with him – he suggested she join him for his “elevenses.”
Scarlet dressed carefully, called, “See you later!” from the door and found herself out on a fashionable London street on a brisk winter’s day with the most blissful sense of freedom she had experienced since Nick’s birth.
Alysse Aallyn 
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