Zelda’s Cut. Philippa Gregory

a swimming pool company who will do it at a discount if we order within four months.’

      ‘Even so,’ she said, ‘£50,000 …’

      ‘I’ll show you the figures when you’ve finished work,’ he said, wanting to detain her. ‘But I think you’ll see that if we do it now we can get real value for money. We could always borrow the money, the house could be security for the loan.’

      Isobel nodded and went into her study, closing the door behind her. The ansaphone showed two calls. One had left no message, the other was an invitation to judge a minor literary prize. She noted for a moment the disproportionate sense of disappointment that swept her at the realisation that neither call was from Troy.

      She rested her head in her hands and looked at the telephone, willing it to ring. One part of her was fully conscious of the absurdity that she was a woman in her fifties, sitting by a telephone like a girl of thirteen waiting for a call from a boy. Another part of her mind revelled in the fact that she was treasuring a kiss, like a girl of thirteen, that the thought of him ringing her made her heart pound, that even Philip, who rarely noticed anything about her, had called her radiant.

      She realised that she could ring him. There was no convention that said that she could not initiate a call. She picked up the telephone and dialled the number of Troy’s office. They put her through to him straight away.

      ‘Isobel,’ he said. She listened intently for an undercurrent of extra warmth in his voice, and found she could not be sure. The uncertainty was as thrilling as if he had told her he loved her. ‘I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to call.’

      ‘I only just got in,’ she said breathlessly. ‘And then I had to talk to Philip.’

      ‘Sure. So. What do you think?’

      ‘Think?’

      For a moment she believed he was asking her about the kiss.

      ‘About the auction, about the book, about letting them sell it as survivor fiction?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem to decide. What do you think?’

      Troy felt the tense muscles of his shoulder blades suddenly blissfully uncurl. All afternoon he had been afraid that Isobel would stand on her principles, or stand on her pride and refuse to go ahead. Now, at the role of doubt in her voice, he warmed to her.

      ‘Oh, I think you would regret it all your life if you didn’t take this opportunity,’ he said. ‘It’s just a question of some minor editorial changes and a bit of extra acting. And we saw today how wonderful you are when you are Zelda Vere. It’s just all of that, only a little more.’

      ‘I don’t know that I can do it,’ she said.

      ‘I so want you to find the courage to do it,’ he said. ‘I feel like the whole idea is our creation, I feel so proud of you. Writing the book like that, and then creating Zelda Vere. And I do love the deception, it’s probably some terrible psychological flaw in me, but I just love it. I love that we have created her. I loved having her in my house. When you left today I felt quite …’

      She waited. ‘What?’ she whispered.

      ‘Bereft.’

      She drew in a sharp breath.

      He could sense her concentration on his words, the bright spotlight of her undivided intelligent attention. ‘I would be so disappointed if we didn’t go ahead,’ he said, dropping his voice to a low, seductive whisper. ‘I’ve enjoyed it so much this far. The shopping, and the dressing, and the …’

      ‘The?’

      ‘Warmth.’

      Her hand was at her mouth again, touching her lips. ‘All right,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll do it. But you must promise to be with me. I can’t do it on my own.’

      ‘I’ll be with you,’ he swore. ‘Every single step. I’ll be there. Every step of the way.’

      Troy heard her whispered ‘goodbye’ and put the telephone down. He was conscious that in that one telephone call he had earned £20,000 and who knew how much more? But he knew himself well enough to recognise that he was feeling more than an entrepreneur’s enthusiasm for a good deal. There was something about Zelda Vere and about Isobel’s transformation into Zelda which was pulling at him: some deep, genuine attraction.

      ‘She is sexy,’ he said softly to himself, thinking of Isobel in the blonde wig and the pink mules. ‘Who would have believed it? Who would have dreamed she could have walked like that and sat like that?’ He looked over at the silent phone. ‘Who would have believed she could kiss like that?’

      Troy took the opening call from the first publishing house at 9 a.m. prompt. They bid £200,000 as they had promised they would. Troy made a note of their bid and kept his voice calm and impersonal. When the second publishing house telephoned he told them the bid already made, and they went to £205,000. The third publishing house dropped out straight away but the fourth bidder went up another five thousand. The calls came in throughout the day but by two o’clock there were only two major publishers left in the bidding and the price was £335,000.

      ‘I tell you what I’ll do,’ said Susan Jarvis of Justin and Freeman. ‘I’ll offer £350,000 and you tell me yes or no. I can’t go higher than that.’

      ‘I’ll tell you “Yes” now,’ Troy said quickly, knowing that the rival publishers would not go over that. ‘Miss Vere liked you so much, I know that you would be her preferred publishers.’

      ‘It’s a deal then,’ Susan said with quiet pleasure. ‘Would you tell Miss Vere that we’re very happy. Can I telephone her?’

      ‘I’ll ask her to phone you,’ Troy said. ‘She’s very protective of her privacy, as you can understand.’

      ‘Oh yes,’ Susan said. ‘After all that she’s been through. I understand perfectly.’

      ‘Yes.’ Troy grasped at the straw. ‘She won’t take phone calls unless they’re cleared, and she won’t release her address, of course.’

      ‘So how are we going to do publicity?’ Susan queried. ‘We’ll need a big publicity tour.’

      ‘Get her a hotel room as her base,’ Troy said. ‘She can do everything from a hotel, and when you take her on tour she’ll need me to go with her. She needs support. She’s still quite fragile.’

      ‘She’s wonderful,’ Susan Jarvis said. ‘And how much of her story is actually true, d’you know?’

      ‘Certainly the Satanism, and the sex,’ Troy said happily. ‘And at least one of the revenge episodes. I know, because I saw the newspaper cutting. Someone else was prosecuted for it so there’s no danger of a police investigation. She got clean away with it.’

      ‘It’s remarkable. To endure all that and write so well. Is she working on a sequel?’

      ‘We’ll discuss it,’ Troy said. ‘What d’you think is going to be the next big genre?’

      ‘High living,’ the editor said without a second’s doubt. ‘We’ve had a whole load of novels about the dangers of sex and the misery of promiscuity. We’ve had a lot about simple joys. Now people want a bit of lightness in their lives again. Sex and shopping, but up the social scale. High living, fast cars. Think Hello magazine crossed with Playboy from the old days. And health too. Health stays big.’

      ‘Zelda could do that,’ Troy said delightedly. ‘That’s perfect for her.’

      ‘Just what I thought,’ Susan declared. ‘This is more than a one-book deal, this is the creation of a new star.’

      ‘We’ve done it,’ Troy whispered on the telephone to Isobel. ‘It’s £350,000,’

      There was a stunned silence.

      ‘How