“That’s understandable,” she says. “You’ve been writing a cozy mystery series through twelve books, with someone else no less, and now you’re moving on to a book with romantic elements. I’m guessing the weather up there has been as shit as it’s been down here.”
“The gloom helped with the Sleuths of Stockbridge,” I admit, peering out the window at the cemetery.
“Of course it did. Even with the lighthearted tone, it still dealt with murder, crime, and the noir-like atmosphere of Scotland. It fit the genre.”
“Well, it’s not like I can change the weather.”
I’m met with silence again.
Finally, Jana clears her throat. “Listen, I know we don’t know each other very well, not that I have a close personal relationship with any of my clients. I don’t believe it’s necessary to represent them, and actually, it lets me conduct business better. But I am empathetic to your predicament, Grace. I know what loss is like and I understand. However, we are both in this to make money and jumpstart your career, and I am getting concerned that this might be getting out of hand.”
My cheeks burn. I hate being talked down to like this. My father was a pro at reprimanding me. He still is.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m trying. It’s just, this is a creative process and—”
“Yes, yes, the creative process. You’re not a machine and you can’t switch it on or off,” she finishes, obviously mimicking what her other clients tell her. Writers, no matter the genre, are all peas in a pod. “But we can’t wait around for your process to start. If you can’t find the muse, we have to produce the muse.”
I frown. “What do you have in mind?”
“I think you need to get away,” she says. “Go somewhere hot and sunny where there’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about. Find inspiration somewhere other than dreary old Scotland, because I guarantee you’re not going to find it where you are. You’re haunted by ghosts, Grace, and they’re holding you back.”
“I don’t think I can afford it,” I tell her. The advance I got for this book was fifty thousand pounds, which sounds like a lot until you break it down. I got fifteen thousand for signing, then I’ll get another twenty when I hand in the book, then another fifteen when the book publishes, whenever that is. Jana takes ten percent of all that, so that amount has to last me until I hand the book in.
“I figured as much,” she says. “How about this? I have a house in Italy, in Tuscany, right outside the city of Lucca. You can use it for a month, free of charge, so long as you work on your book. I want at least twenty-five percent of it completed in that month and I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
I stare at the floor, trying to think. “I can’t … you have a house in Italy?”
A pause. “Yes. It’s a wonderful place. You’ll have it all to yourself. The only person you’ll see is Emilio. He tends to the olive orchard and the pool and gardens.”
It sounds like heaven, but still. “That’s far too generous.”
“I’m not doing this to be generous, Grace. I’m doing this because this is my ass on the line. Now, do you think this will help you get the book done?”
Say yes. Say yes, because if you say no, that might be the end of all this.
I swallow. “Yes.”
“Good. Then it’s settled,” Jana says with such finality that I know there’s no way I can go back on this. “Let’s see … how about June first to June twenty-eighth? That’s almost a month.”
I briefly wonder why the twenty-eighth, since wouldn’t it be easier to make it from the first to the first?
“Are you planning on using the house?” I ask her. “Maybe after me?”
“Ha,” she lets out a dry laugh. “You think I have time for a vacation? No, my dear. I work. Work is my vacation. And remember, this is work for you too. I’m not letting you stay there so you can lie by the pool all day and work on your tan.”
“No, of course not.”
“So, are you in? Does this all work for you?”
“Sure, that works,” I tell her. June was just a few days away, which made it very last minute. “Hopefully I can find a flight.”
“There are flights to Pisa all the time. It’ll be no problem. In fact, I’ll book them for you. Cheap.