“No, but I like you already, and that’s always a good sign.”
“How do you know him? ”
Edie smiled. “I was his . . . well, not assistant, exactly . . . more like his Girl Friday. Oh it was hundreds of years ago, when he and his wife, gorgeous thing, first moved to Highfield. I used to cook for them, do a spot of cleaning, and even go on movie sets with him. It was quite the life.”
“It sounds amazing. Did you do it for long? ”
A look of sadness came into Edie’s eyes. “A while. Until Penelope died. You know the story? ”
Kit nodded. Everyone in town knew the story.
“Robert was a changed man when he came back. He went into hiding for a while, hence that ridiculous reputation he has as a recluse.”
“You mean he’s not? ”
“Robert! ” Edie barked with laughter. “He loves people! He’s just private. There’s a big difference. He couldn’t stand the attention after Penelope’s death, and refused to let anyone help him. Including me. That’s when I decided to get my realtor’s license instead.”
“But you’re still in touch? ”
“Of course! I shall ring him tonight when I get home.”
Kit chose her clothes carefully, but it all went horribly wrong at the last minute. You’re going for an interview to be an assistant to a novelist, she told herself, as she glared at her black skirt suit in the mirror, not an accountant.
She whipped off her suit and put on black pants and a blue shirt, then tore the pants off and pulled her chinos on. Too casual. Oh God. What on earth was she supposed to wear? She wanted to be professional, but not too professional. Casual, but not too casual.
In the end she settled on brown pants and a blue cashmere sweater with a pretty scarf, and all the way over to Robert McClore’s house she fought the urge to run home and change.
“You will be fine.” Edie was driving, and kept chuckling to herself about how nervous Kit was. “He’s terribly nice, and you’ll charm him. You’ll see.”
But as soon as they pulled through the gates and Kit saw, for the first time, the grandeur of the house, she almost went to pieces.
Edie bypassed the front door and marched straight in the back—“He never keeps it locked,” she whispered to Kit, “but don’t tell anyone”—striding through the kitchen and calling out a loud, “Hellooo? ”
“Edie! ” It was slightly surreal, this man who was so famous suddenly standing before her. He gave Edie a huge hug, then turned to Kit with a warm smile on his face.
“I’m Robert,” he said. “You must be Kit.”
She was instantly disarmed by his warmth, although now, eight months later, she knows that it is only because of Edie that he was relaxed; more often, with strangers, he is polite and always gracious, but distant—the price of fame meaning he has to truly trust before he can let anyone get close.
And so, for the past eight months, Kit has been his assistant. Initially, she went in three days a week, just for three hours, to tidy up, answer fan mail, sort out his bills. Robert McClore wasn’t around much while she was there. She’d be in the large office downstairs, while he was in his writing office, a former sunroom attached to the side of the house.
She would knock tentatively when she needed him, intimidated by his greatness, but slowly they began to chat, slowly they began to relax with one another, and now he brings her coffee when he makes his, and sits in the 1920s art deco armchair in her office, chatting to her about life.
Three hours a day became five hours a day, four days a week, and Robert told her, just the other day, he didn’t know what he did before she came along. Her chest swelled with pride.
Finally, for the first time since the divorce, it feels like everything in life is in place. Her kids are settled, her home is calm, she loves her job. She wakes up every morning and cannot believe how lucky she is.
Chapter Two
Robert McClore wanders in and places a mug of coffee on the desk to one side of Kit’s computer. She looks up and smiles gratefully, reaching over for the mug and sliding her chair slightly away from the desk so she can sit more comfortably.