Alisha: A dark Romance Ch. 02

By the time Henry arrived, we had a roughly edited version of the first chapter under our belts. It was amazing the difference there was between the two versions.

"It still needs a lot of polishing, but it's a good start," Betty said.

Sophie introduced us to her cousin Henry, a tall man in his late 30's.

"Yes, I represent several authors," he replied to my question. "The firm I work for concentrates on French actors, but I mainly deal with the writers."

Betty and I explained the situation to him, and he thumbed through the manuscript and then had a look at the revised first chapter.

"If the book is offered to them, will your company publish this?" he asked Betty.

"We'd like to; I've shown the draft to my boss, and we both think it has a lot going for it. Sure it needs a lot of editing, but even like this the story is bloody good."

Henry nodded and pulled out a contract from his case, "It's a standard contract, but you should get an 'Avocat' (solicitor) to check it over."

"Or I could," Sophie said.

I looked at her in surprise. Pete said, "Oh, you can trust her, I met her at the local solicitors when I needed help sorting out the purchase of this place. She is an 'Avocat'!"

I hadn't realized; just shows how much I knew. I was aware Sophie worked part-time in the local town, but I'd thought she was a secretary.

Sophie took the proffered contract from her cousin and carefully checked through it. She took a pen and made a couple of changes. "You will both need to initial these changes, and then I believe it's a fair contract." She'd halved the fee I'd pay Henry's agency and replaced 'an agent' with Henry's name.

Henry gave one of those shrugs of which the French seem to be such masters.

Sophie seemed annoyed and said, "Ben is a friend, and I won't have you take advantage of him. You know that's a fair management charge, and I only trust you to look after him."

Henry shrugged again and then murmured his agreement. He initialed and signed, and with Sophie's nod of encouragement, I did the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm sorry, Henry, what's the point of me using a pen name if then you go and book me on a chat show to promote the damn thing? It's not going to happen!"

It was a year and a half later, and the book had been published four months earlier. I'd called it 'Of Love Lost!', and I had used the pen name Xander Morton instead of my own. I'm still not sure where I'd dragged up that name, but the publisher seemed happy with it.

Just like my relationship with Ali, the book initially seemed destined to slip into obscurity despite the best efforts of the publisher's publicity team. I briefly considered letting it go to its final literary resting place, but I'd put too much of my life into it to want it to fail.

I knew that the publisher always sent out copies of all their new titles to the various literary critics, including those at the papers that still ran my column in their Sunday supplements. I was aware that they got countless books sent to them each month, so I'd pulled in a few favors, called and got them to agree to take a look at mine. All I asked was for them to give an honest opinion, and an honest one is what I got.

Fortunately, their reviews were all positive. One even added it to her influential '5 to read this summer', book list. The initial printing of 10,000 hardback books was soon followed, by a second, much larger printing, of paperback books. The US arm of the publishing house was quick to see the potential, and the book was soon moving up the bestseller lists on both sides of the Atlantic.

Henry's voice crackled from my phone. "Ben, please, you've got to understand, the show is offering a lot of money for this interview. The publicity will be amazing, and you'll sell a lot more books."

"I told you right at the start, no interviews, no photos and no public events."

"Merde," he swore. Then he asked, "What if I can arrange an anonymous interview for a magazine, no names or any photos of you?"

I was about to say no again, then I paused and considered my options. Sooner or later it looked like I was going to have to agree to at least one of Henry's incessant requests. It would be a lot easier if I was able to set the ground rules and choose the interviewer.

"One interview," I said, raising a single finger to enforce the point, not that he could see it. "I pick the interviewer and no speculation on if the characters are based, on real people."

Henry agreed immediately; I guess that this was more than he'd been hoping. "When and where?" was his only question.

"How about next week, I'll see if Pete is okay with us using his place. I'll ask Devin James from the Guardian if he'll do the piece." Devin was the art correspondent, and I'd met him several times over the last couple of years.

Devin was quick to agree my conditions and arrived the following Friday.

"So, no pictures that can identify you and I'm to use your pen name," Devin said. Anything else?"

No, I'm only interested in keeping my identity private."

He nodded in agreement, "It's a good book, not my style but the wife loves it. Any chance I can get a signed copy for her? I'll earn a lot of brownie points if I do."

I laughed, and he said, "Let's get started then."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The interview was syndicated around the world and the book sold multiple copies in all forms. It never reached number one, but for the best part of a year, it sat in the top 20.

The royalty cheques had a lot of zeros on them and the one the film studio sent me two years later, for the film option, was obscene.

I thought about buying a farm like Pete and Sophie's, but I'd grown comfortable with my life afloat. I found a 12-year-old replica Dutch barge on a yacht chandler's website. The 'Never Again' was a 22-metre category B boat with a 150 hp engine. She was in good condition and cost me just over £200,000.

Inside there were three cabins, two bathrooms, a large open plan salon and a galley. I had her pulled out of the water, the interior refurbished and exterior repainted. The engine and electrics were overhauled, and solar panels, extra batteries, and a wind generator installed. With the addition of a water filter system that could convert both salt and fresh water into clean drinkable water, I was ready to live off the grid.

My final expensive indulgence, a satellite internet dish, meant I could stay in touch with the rest of the world.

For a couple of years I roamed the waterways of Europe and island hopped across the Aegean Sea, keeping in touch with my friends by email. Then I headed back to the south of France and the Canal du Midi. I found a property with a permanent mooring close by Pete and Sophie's farm and enjoyed myself pampering his daughter, Abigail, and their two new children, twin girls, my goddaughters.

Ali had become a distant but still bitter memory. It hadn't taken the press long to speculate that Alison, the book's main female character was based on Ali. Ali wouldn't confirm it, and they were never able to find me. Then other names appeared in the frame taking the heat off.

Ali had achieved her goal. She had become one of the most recognizable faces in the world. I no longer cringed if I saw her photograph; it was odd, photos I'd taken of her didn't affect me the same way. Only those from after that fateful trip.

I even read an interview with her in Vogue. Okay, it was the only magazine in English in the dentist's waiting room, and I needed something to distract me from the ominous sounds emanating from the surgery.

The interviewer described her as a very private person, which, as he'd pointed out, had to feed the rumor mills. He suggested that she had been linked romantically to several Hollywood stars and a minor royal from Europe, something she was quick to deny.

"They are just friends," she was quoted as saying.

I'd expected that our marriage would have been brought up, but I didn't see any mention of it. In fact, there was nothing much about her early career. When asked about her favorite image of herself she described one of the woodland dell images that had been taken by a 'friend.' I stopped reading at that point, so I'd been relegated to the role of a friend. A sad end to an almost six-year relationship.

I hadn't had a serious relationship since that trip. It wasn't until the book was published that I felt I'd purged my soul enough even to consider a date. Afterwards, the odd woman joined me on my travels, but I can't even remember some of their names.

In a roundabout way that brings us full circle back to the young girl stepping on the Never

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To be continued