"Please, Simon, look after her. Ronnie doesn't deserve this. Steeve has something against me. I get I left him, and he must feel resentful, but that's not a reason to take his frustrations out on my family and friends." I let out, trying to manage the panic inside me to know Steeve would go to such extreme lengths. "Please, there must be something you can do as a police officer."
"You know I would do anything for you, sister, but if she doesn't press charges against him, there's nothing I can do. He didn't harm her. And if there's an investigation, I don't think they'll find enough proof to convict him." My brother responds, being sorry and helpless.
"But what can we do?! Ronnie is clearly scared now. You know she's not the one to hide. She fights. But it's not the first time he causes a scene with her. Now, she is scared, Simon."
"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of her. She'll be under my protection." He reassures me because I know how much he cares for her. He will do anything it takes. And just as I thought our conversation was over, he thought of another important thing to talk about. "By the way, did you know Will is planning to move out?"
"He talked about it with me, yeah. But Si? Can we talk about this later? I'm at the office and working on something important at the moment." I look up at Marcel sitting behind his desk, his unfathomable expression on his face as he looks at the three printed graphic versions of what my book cover would look like for the book fair.
"Of course, Gracy. Call me when you can. Take care of yourself."
"You too. I love you, brother." I let out and hung up.
I looked down at my phone once I pressed the red circle and kept still for a long moment. I can't believe what happened. When Ronnie closed the restaurant last night with George, they were walking to their respective car when Ronnie saw that the word "WHORE" was engraved in capitals on the passenger side of her car.
She knows it's him because earlier during the night, he came in the restaurant for a take out and she refused to serve him because she had been warned the last time he was in there that if he were to come back and they would cause a scene she would be fired. She just preferred to ignore him. He didn't like that. He caused yet another scene. He finally left, calling her precisely that "whore". She is sure it's him.
On top of it all, she got fired. She was kind enough to end her shift but texted me as soon as she got to George's home just in case if Steeve showed up at her flat. I called her briefly this morning. She was utterly overwhelmed. And she had every reason to. To reassure her, I told her I would get Simon on the matter. I also told her to go back to her flat and to pack a suitcase. I invited her to come to Edinburgh with me. If she is going to be off work, let's make it worthwhile.
I sigh and hide my phone in my purse to try to hide my worries the same way. We have so much work to do, I need to get it done as quickly as possible to then be free to be there for my friends.
"I love this one." Marcel decides, and I simply agree with it without adding another word.
He leaves the room to head down to the graphic design department to add the synopsis and my picture to the whole draft. We've been waiting all day for Edith's reviews on my three first chapters. Still nothing. The big work is still to do, and it has to be ready Friday for my big debut. For Edith, it's not that big of a deal. It's only the launch of the programming that will happen at the big festival in August. I'm still delighted it's becoming real at all. For weeks and even months now, all I have been doing is sitting in front of Marcel to argue about my story. This weekend, other people will get a hint of what has lived in my head for years. It's terrifying but in a good way.
For the moment, I need to figure out what Edith thought of my story. That won't be easy either. And all I seem to be able to do since this morning when I read those texts is to wait for somebody to do something. I can't just stand there. I will do what I can, and now it starts by going to see Edith directly.
Before having dinner with her last night, I wouldn't have even thought of going to see her so bluntly. She has always intimidated me a bit. I saw her as an obstacle to Mace's career. Now, I feel like I know her. At least, I understand her more. I think having a common enemy, being Kate, rallies us. It gives us a common goal. I can feel how much I trust and like her now. Her opinion values me more than ever.
I walk straight to her office with confidence until I get to the closed door. I feel suddenly nervous and uneasy remembering her disliking in me, Grace. I feel incredibly sorry to have made her feel that way towards me. I should take advantage of this moment to change the air between us.
I take a deep breath in and knock two times on the large mahogany door. It takes a moment before hearing any response, so I look back at the floor's secretary. She's typing something until she looks up and nods my way. She immediately picks up the phone and calls Edith's office.
"Miss Hemingway is at your door. Should I send her in?" She asks, and I smile in return to thank her. "She's waiting for you."
"Thank you."
I take yet again a deep breath in and push the massive door. I immediately find Edith sitting at her desk. She seems to be composing herself back, sitting straighter on her chair, before her sight lays on me. Her expression is precisely how I know her to be. She is stone cold, but I would never expect her to look anything else other than that. Marcel is the very same on that point.
With a sign of her hand, she invites me to sit on the chairs in front of her. I oblige immediately. I don't know if I see correctly, but I think her stare softens on me. At least, I find comfort in thinking so. It makes me smile back at her.
"So, Grace? What brings you to my office?" She pushes her laptop away a few inches, so there's nothing between us.
"I was wondering if you were done reading the first three chapters Marcel has sent you. I would really like your feedback and make any changes you see fit. I just want to polish it as quickly as possible to give you the final version tomorrow to revise... if it's OK with you, of course..." I add as her stare has been very intense on me, almost intimidating, so I lost my train of thoughts and my confidence.
"Tell me, Grace... What do you think of your story?" She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table to give me her attention. Her eyes were on me, still very intensely analysing my every action and every word.
"I think it's great. I wouldn't have written something I wasn't proud of, or I would have changed things." I respond with confidence and pride. No matter what she thinks of the story, I love it, and so does Marcel, and that's really all that matters to me.
"And what do you think of your work with my son?" Her eyes narrow a little bit more, and I see her lips purse into a weird expression of judgment. I can't quite figure her out...
"It was a roller coaster, to say the least, but we made it work, and we did something beautiful together. Something I would say I am proud of." I answer with confidence. I really don't want her to get the wrong idea of her son or our work.
"How would you qualify Marcel's work?"
"What do you mean?"
"Was he stubborn or attentive? Was he driven or lazy? Did he have good ideas? Was he confident in his work, or did he seem lost?"
For the first time in this meeting, I think I see her wanting to hold on to something. I think she wants proof that would justify that Marcel really does a good job, and he doesn't have the job just because of his name.
I decide to be blunt and truthful. I don't think anyone has stood up for Marcel in his life. That's what has made him so hardworking. He needs somebody on his side and what I'm going to make clear with his mum, once and for all, is that he deserves the credit he finally has.
"I'll be frank with you... Marcel and I had a rocky road together, but no matter the obstacles we were facing, we were always getting along because we were both passionate about making my story the best it could be. He didn't know how to approach the work, yes, but we got to the finish line despite the roads we took. I am happy I had to work with him. He understands my story, he relates to the characters, and it was wonderful to see him in action. We disagreed lots of times, but that's what pushed our reflections deeper. That's what made our book so great. So, to answer your questions, Marcel was very attentive. He was so attentive that he drove to Manchester to help me move out. He got emotionally invested in my life. He helped me get out of the toxic relationship I had with my ex-boyfriend. Marcel was not only driven by my story. He went to great lengths to make sure I was safe and happy. Marcel is hard and cold at times, but he showed me, maybe despite himself, how warm and loving he was."
I need to stop myself because I realise just how emotionally invested I seem in this monologue. Marcel clearly specified that his mother, more than anyone else, mustn't know about our relationship. I respect that because I really don't want our work to be dragged down or seem less worthy because Marcel and I fell in love with each other.
I take a deep breath and steady myself, composing my spirit. I dive my gaze back into hers and hold it until I reach the end of what I have to say to her.
"You have raised a wonderful son and a worthy editor, Ms Wright. I feel incredibly blessed to have had the opportunity to have worked with him in your publishing house."
She takes her time, considering me with her uptight and cold stare, but I think I see through it now. I am not intimidated anymore. I am proud of my work and confident about my story. I am prepared to show her our worth as a team. Him and I.
"Thank you, Grace. You have told me more than enough about what I needed to know."
"You know, Ms Wright... We have always been very candid with each other. It even, at times, came across as arrogant, and for that, I apologise. But we have so much more in common than you might want to believe. And you have so much more in common with your son than you want to show. Stop being scared. You have nothing to prove to anyone in this company. It is yours. But I seem to notice that for years you have projected your insecurities on your son. He never feels like he's good enough. And even worse, he doesn't feel good enough for you. He has a PhD in literature. He spent literally half of his life in school to prove to you that he is enough. And he is! I'm just sad it took my stubborn self to make you give him a chance."
"Miss. Hemingway, you have no idea--" She responds in a fury, but I stop her short. I don't want to pick a fight, so I continue in my calm tone, getting ready to leave just as soon as my message comes across.
"I know. I know nothing. But I stand by what I do know because I am confident for the first time in my life! I have Marcel to thank for that. I have him to thank for a lot of things, Ms Wright. I didn't come here to lecture you. I would never. I esteem you too much. I just wanted to know what you thought about my first three chapters so I could get to work... But if I could add just one more thing..."
I slide on the tip of my chair and look at her with all the tenderness in me. Like her son, she seems to have created a shell for her to hide behind because of all her insecurities. I, more than anyone, understand that feeling.
"Just remember that before you were the head of this company, you were a mother to Marcel. He should be your priority. He might be older now, but inside he is still that frightened and grieving little fifteen-year-old boy."
I get up and give her the most genuine and sympathetic smile. I am sorry for their loss. It seems to have shaken both of their lives to lose touch with reality and their priorities.
My heart is big and racing with all the emotions Marcel has ever made me feel, from love to exhaustion to madness to amazement. However, I feel today, my love for him is true and so deep within my soul. I think this bond between us, like I have never felt before. Not even with my brothers.
I walk my way to the door when Edith's voice calls for me in a tone I didn't know of her. She almost seems worried, but yet is she really?
"Why did you do that, Grace?" She looks at me, but she suddenly seems awkward. She doesn't know how to stand correctly, nor does she know where to rest her hands. I think I really hit it about her insecurities. She doesn't seem like I know her to be at all.
"First, I just want to know if you read the first three chapters."
Her stare pierces my soul with a new side to her, a depth and genuine care. I seem to have another woman in front of me, one without any walls. I get incredibly moved to see her this way, so rarely have I seen her son like this.
"I did. I read the whole story." She only says before a big silence builds between us, but I can read so many emotions in her eyes. "It reminded me why I started writing in the first place. I loved it. Every page, every definition was beautifully written. You both did amazing work."
A smile draws itself bigger and brighter with each of her words. We succeeded, we did! My heart seems to overflow with excitement and love. I feel so proud.
"Thank you. It means the world coming from you."
"You both deserve to be told the truth... and so do I." She seems to compose herself in a quarter second, and she asks me with confidence, "why, Grace?"
"I'm simply painting the canvas."