Out Of Control. Janice Macdonald

what. It’s having a rather debilitating effect on me.”

      “Maybe I shouldn’t read the review of your Bongiovanni book, then,” Valerie said, a note of hesitation in her voice. “It ran in this morning’s Times.”

      Nick stared, unseeing now, at the TV. He steeled himself. “Favorable?”

      “Shall I read it?”

      “Broad strokes will do.”

      “You’ll get angry…”

      “I won’t get angry, damn it. Do you have the review there?”

      “I’m looking at it right now. It’s not bad exactly.”

      “For God’s sake—”

      “It just says that you…it, the biography, doesn’t add anything to what we already know about Bongiovanni. That was a quote. It also said you held him, Bongiovanni, at arm’s length, that you never really got to the heart of who he was. Inconclusive, that’s another quote and, hold on, here it is. Shallow and superfici—

      “Right.”

      “More?”

      “No.”

      He carried the phone into the kitchen, took a carton of orange juice from the fridge and set it on the counter. He’d had his hopes set on definitive. Wynne has written the definitive biography of Bongiovanni. In this uncompromisingly honest work, Wynne has captured the soul of the tenor. He decided he didn’t want orange juice after all. He went back into the living room and collapsed on the couch.

      “Nick?”

      “What?”

      “You’re not sulking, are you?”

      “Don’t be so stupid,” he said sulkily. “Sulking about what?”

      “The review.”

      “Already forgotten about it.” Already mentally composing the vituperative letter he would write to the Times railing about the sheer idiocy of the reviewer who…or maybe biting sarcasm would be more the ticket. He’d think about it later.

      “How’s the current project?” she asked.

      “The daughter could prove to be something of a roadblock. I sense resistance.”

      “The daughter?”

      “Daisy. The child in the pictures, except she’s now about forty, has a daughter and runs a restaurant here in Laguna with her ex-husband.”

      “Why is she resisting?”

      “Well, I’d have to ask her, wouldn’t I? Which I would if she’d answer her bloody phone. I’ve lost count of the messages I’ve left. Ignored every one of them. Apparently she lives in a wooden cabin on the outskirts of town and keeps goats.”

      “Goats?”

      “Hires them out to homeowners who live in the hills.” He’d learned this from Martin, who had called earlier to check on his progress. “The goats eat the brush, which works to keep the fire danger down. That’s how Truman died. Burned to death in his home.”

      “How ghastly. Maybe that’s why the daughter doesn’t want to talk. Maybe it’s all too painful for her.”

      Nick considered. “It’s been fourteen years.”

      “It was her father, Nick,” Valerie said reprovingly.

      He sneezed again and blew his nose. He felt like hell.

      “Would it be better if I booked to San Diego?” Valerie was asking.

      “Sorry?”

      “When I come over. Would it be better if I book into L.A. or San Diego?”

      “I thought you were talking about going to your sister’s in Kent.”

      “Which sister?”

      “How many sisters do you have?”

      “Two. Neither of them lives in Kent.” She sighed. “Do you ever listen to anything I say?”

      “I heard you say you needed to get away.”

      “You said I needed to get away. That was your suggestion.”

      “My suggestion?”

      “Nick, have you been drinking? You sound…odd.”

      “I’m unwell.” The television was showing pictures of orange flame rolling like molten lava down a hillside. The sight momentarily distracted him. “You should see this,” he told Valerie. “Houses burning all over the place, sheets of flame shooting up into the sky. It’s incredible. They’re showing someone leading horses down a hillside, and the fires look as though they’re just a few feet away.”

      “That happens in California, doesn’t it?” Valerie asked. “It seems there’s always one disaster or another. The price of living in paradise, I suppose.” She paused. “Still, at least it’s warm. And it’s not raining, is it? There’s a lot to be said for nice weather. What are the beaches like?”

      “Covered in ash.”

      “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

      “Look Val,” he said. “I told Bella she couldn’t come because I needed to work, and I’m telling you the same thing. I’m trying not to be superstitious, but I get here on the day Truman’s widow lands in hospital, so obviously I can’t talk to her for a while. Then the daughter, who’s central to the whole book, is proving difficult…..” He sneezed. “Excuse me. Let’s talk about something else, all right?”

      But there wasn’t much else that Valerie wanted to talk about, and after they’d said their goodbyes Nick picked up the phone and punched in Daisy’s number again.

      “My mom?” a young girl asked. “Sorry, she’s not here.”

      Of course she isn’t. “I’ve left several messages,” he said. “She must be very busy.”

      “Yeah, she is, kind of.”

      “You must be…”

      “Emily. Except everyone calls me Emmy.”

      “And you’ve attained the ripe old age of fourteen.”

      A beat of silence. “How d’you know that?”

      “I’m omniscient,” he said. “It just came to me in a flash of lavender-colored smoke.”

      “Seriously.”

      “I’m a biographer. I snoop for a living.”

      She laughed. “I’ll tell my mom you called.”

      “Thank you, Emily. I enjoyed our little chat.”

      “Me, too,” she said. “Bye.”

      Nick was smiling as he hung up. He called Bella but got her mother.

      “She’s next door at her friend’s,” Avril said.

      “Isn’t it past her bedtime?”

      “Not for a couple of hours. Anything else about your daughter I can fill you in on?”

      Ran out of mood stabilizers, did you? “Just tell her I called, please. I’ll try again tomorrow, or she can call me here.”

      “Actually, while I have you on the phone, Bella’s in love with this little cottage in Devon. We took the train down there last week just to get away from the city for a bit and—well, her disappointment about you know what—and lo and behold, there it was. A sweet cottage that we could use on weekends and school holidays…I did put in an offer, but now I’m having second thoughts. I haven’t broken the news to Bella yet, she’ll be devastated.”

      Nick’s left eye had