Death of a Publisher

Gerard Etienne, son of Jean-Philippe Etienne, the hero of French Resistance, the brilliant new managing director of a publishing house, whose ruthless ambition has made him many enemies, wants to introduce some unpopular changes in the firm: half the publishing list, refuse a number of authors, sack two-thirds of the staff, cut the salaries by 30%, move to new premises and sell the Peverell family house, where the firm has been based for over sixty years.

He loves fame, success, himself, the Peverell Press, music: Beethoven and Wagner in particular, mountaineering, is a pianist. It's a pity his touch with people isn't as sensitive. He is engaged to an Earl's daughter, who he does not love.

 

Claudia Etienne, his sister and partner in the company.

Frances Peverell, daughter of her late father and the last of the Peverells. Her father Henry Peverell ran the publishing house until his death a few months ago. Gerard's discarded mistress, Frances will declare at the nearest Board meeting, in despair, that her family's house will only be sold over her dead body or Gerard's.

James de Witt, a young man, editor and partner in the company, in love with Frances.

Gabriel Dauntsey, war veteran, loner, who lost his wife and two daughters in the nazi-occupied France, poet, works on archives, partner in Peverell Press; attached to Frances.

Miss FitzGerald and Miss Blackett, Etienne's Personal Assistants (PA).

Esmé Carling, rejected author.

George Copeland, an aging receptionist, being planned for redundancy, as Gerard Etienne believes the receptionist is to be a charming young girl to epitomise the publishing house for the first-time visitor or caller. George is family's only breadwinner and his daughter's only source of support.

Mrs Demery, tea-lady and cleaner.

Mandy, temporary typist.

 

Mandy's first four weeks at Innocent House, which began discouragingly now seemed in retrospect one of the happiest months of her working life. As always, she adapted quickly to the daily routine of the office and with a few exceptions liked her fellow workers. She was given plenty to do, which suited her, and the work was more varied and more interesting than that which normally came her way.

She had rapidly become accepted at Innocent House; youth and vitality combined with high efficiency are seldom resented for long. Miss Blackett, after a week of staring across at her with repressive severity, had apparently decided that she had known worse temps. Mandy treated Miss Blackett with a flattering mixture of deference and confidence. She asked her advice and accepted some of the duller routine tasks with cheerful goodwill. Privately she thought the poor old thing was pathetic; you had to be sorry for her. It was obvious that Mr Gerard couldn't stand the sight of her, and no wonder. Mandy's private opinion was that Miss Blackett was to be replaced.

Mandy had spent the last two days in the publicity department helping to organize a couple of publicity tours and was introduced to the foibles of authors, those unpre­dictable and oversensitive creatures on whom, as Maggie reluctantly conceded, the fortunes of Peverell Press ulti­mately depended. There were the frighteners, who were best left to Miss Claudia to cope with, the timid and insecure, who needed constant reassurance before they could utter even one word on a BBC chat-show and for whom the prospect of a literary luncheon induced a mixture of inarticulate terror and indigestion. Equally hard to handle were the aggressively overconfident who, if not restrained, would turn the carefully worked out publicity schedule into chaos. But the worst, Maggie confided, were the conceited, usually those whose books sold the least well, but who demanded first-class fares, five-star hotels, a limousine and a senior member of staff to escort them and who wrote furious letters of complaint if their books didn't attract a queue round the block.

In the secretaries' office Mandy looked up as Blackie entered, walked over red-faced to her desk, sat down at her word processor and began typing. After a minute curiosity overcame discretion and Mandy asked: 'What's up? I thought you always took notes at the partners' meeting.'

Blackie's voice was strange, at once harsh but with a small note of triumphant justification: 'Not any more apparently. They're sweeping away everything Mr Peverell worked for, cared for, stood for, for over thirty years. They're planning to sell Innocent House. Mr Peverell loved this house. It's been in the family for over a hundred and sixty years. Mr Gerard's been plan­ning to get rid of it. And now he's taken over and there's no one to stop him. They don't care anyway. Miss Frances won't like it but she's in love with him, and no one takes much notice of Miss Frances. Miss Claudia is his sister and Mr de Witt hasn't the guts to stop him. No one has. Mr Dauntsey might, but he's too old now and past caring. None of them can stand up to Mr Gerard. But he knows what I think. That's why he didn't want me there. He knows I dis­agree. He knows I'd stop him if I could.'

'What about some coffee, then?' Mandy said, 'I could make it now.' She was hardly on her feet when the telephone on her desk rang and she heard George's worried voice, but speaking with such conspiratorial quietness that she could hardly hear.

'Mandy, do you know where Miss FitzGerald is? I can't get Blackie out of a partners' meeting and I've got Mrs Carling here. She's demanding to see Mr Gerard and I don't think I can hold her much longer.'

'It's OK, Miss Blackett's here.' Mandy handed over the instrument. 'It's George. Mrs Carling is in reception screaming to see Mr Gerard.'

'Well, she can't.' Blackie took the instrument, but before she could speak the door was flung open and Mrs Carling burst in, thrust Mandy aside and strode straight through to the front office.

'Well, where is he? Where's Gerard Etienne?'

Blackie, attempting dignity, flipped open her desk diary. 'I don't think you have an appointment, Mrs Carling.'

'Of course I haven't a bloody appointment! After thirty years with the firm I don't need an appointment to see my publisher. I'm not a rep trying to sell him advertising space. Where is he?'

'He's in the partners' meeting, Mrs Carling.'

'Then they'll have to interrupt it. They're in the boardroom I suppose.'

She made for the door, but Blackie was quicker and, slipping past her, stood with her back against it.

'You can't go up, Mrs Carling. Partners' meetings are never interrupted. I have instructions that even urgent telephone calls have to be held.'

'In that case I'll wait until they're through.'

Blackie, still standing, found her typing chair firmly occupied, but remained calm.

'I don't know when that will be. They could send down for sandwiches. I'll let Mr Gerard know that you called and no doubt he'll get in touch with you when he has a free moment.'

Mrs Carling rose from the chair at a speed, which set it spinning and stood so that her face was almost touching Blackie's. She was three inches shorter but it seemed to Mandy that this difference made her more, not less, terrifying. The muscles of the stretched neck stood out like cords, the eyes blazed upwards and beneath the slightly hooked nose the mean little mouth, like a red gash, spat out its venom.

'When he has a free moment! You arrogant, conceited little fool! Who do you think you're talking to? It's my talent that has paid your wages for the last twenty-odd years and don't you forget it. It's time you realized just how unimportant you are in this firm. Just because you worked for Mr Peverell, and he indulged you and tolerated you and made you feel wanted, you think you can queen it over people who were part of Peverell Press when you were still a snotty-nosed school kid. Old Henry spoiled you, of course, but I can tell you what he really thought of you. And why? Because he told me, that's why. He was sick of you hanging about and gazing at him like a moonstruck cow. He was sick and tired of your devotion. He wanted you out, but he hadn't the guts to sack you. If he'd had guts Gerard Etienne wouldn't be in charge now. Tell him I want to see him, and it had better be at my convenience, not his.' The door banged. Mrs Carling had swept out.

Blackie said again: 'It's a lie. It's all lies. She doesn't know anything about it.'

In came Mrs Demery with mail: 'These came in the second post so I thought I'd bring them in. What's wrong with her?'

Mandy said: 'She's upset. The partners didn't want her at the meeting and then Mrs Carling arrived demanding to see Mr Gerard and Blackie stopped her.'

Mrs Demery folded her arms and leaned against Blackie's desk. 'I expect she got the letter this morning telling her that they don't want her new novel.'

'If it's not good enough why doesn't she revise it or write another?'

'Because she doesn't think she can, that's why. That's what happens to authors when they get rejected.

When Mandy and Mrs Demery were alone brewing coffee and afternoon tea for the staff, they could catch up on the latest news.

'We thought Mr Gerard and Miss Frances would marry. That's what she thought too, the poor kid. And then there's Miss Claudia and her toy boy.'

'Miss Claudia with a toy boy! Come off it, Mrs D.'

'Well, maybe not a toy boy exactly, although he's young enough. Younger than her anyway. I saw him when he came to Mr Gerard's engagement party. He's good-looking, I'll say that for him. Miss Claudia always had an eye for a good-looking chap. He's in antiques. They're sup­posed to be engaged but I notice she don't wear a ring.'

After the meeting Claudia went into her brother's office. They were the last two people in the building. Gerard invariably worked late on Thursdays, but it was the night when most of the staff planned to leave early and take advantage of Thursday late-night shopping. He was sitting at his desk in the pool of light from his lamp, but stood up as she entered. His manners to her were always formal, always impeccable. She used to wonder if this was one small ploy to discourage intimacy.

She seated herself opposite him and said without pre­amble: 'Look, I'll support you about selling Innocent House. I'll go along with all your other plans, come to that. With my support you can easily outvote the others. But I need cash: £350,000. I want you to buy half of my shares, all of them if you like.'

'I can't afford to.'

'You can when Innocent House is sold. Once the contracts are exchanged you can raise a million or so. With my shares you'll have a permanent overall majority. That will give you absolute power. It's worth paying for. I'll stay on in the firm but with fewer shares, or none.'

He said quietly: 'It's certainly worth thinking about, but not now. And I can't use the money from the sale. That belongs to the partnership. I'll need it anyway for the relocation and my other plans. But you could raise it yourself in some time.'

'Not as easily. Not without a great deal of trouble and delay. And I need it urgently. I need it by the end of the month.'

'What for? What are you going to do?'

'Invest in the antique business with Declan Cartwright. He's got the chance of buying the business from old Simon: £350,000 for the four-storey freehold property and all stock. It's a very good price. But he can't wait to sell. He's old, he's sick and he's in a hurry.'

'Cartwright's a pretty boy, but at £350,000, isn't he pricing himself rather high?'

'I'm not a fool. The money isn't going to be handed over. It will still be my money invested in a joint business. Declan isn't a fool either. He knows what he's doing. And what about you and Lucinda? Are you so sure you're doing the right thing — for you I mean? I'm not worried about her. She can take care of herself all right. Anyway, her class always do.'

'I mean to marry her.'

'Frankly, Gerard, I don't see what you expect to get out of it, except a beautiful wife eighteen years younger than you with a title.'

'Most people would think that was enough.'

'Only the naive. It's a recipe for disaster. You aren't royal, you don't have to marry a totally unsuitable virgin just to continue a dynasty. Frankly, I think you'd have been better off with Frances.'

'That was never a possibility.'

I can see how it happened, of course. But it was a mistake. You've made an enemy of James de Witt and you can't afford that.'

'He's never spoken to me about it.'

'Of course he hasn't. That isn't how James operates. He's a doer not a talker. A word of advice. Don't stand too near the balcony of the upper storeys of Innocent House.

He said calmly: 'Thank you for the warning, but I'm not sure James de Witt would be the chief suspect. After all, if anything happens to me before I marry and make a new will, you'll get my shares, my flat and my life insurance money. You can buy quite a lot of antiques for the best part of two and a half million.'

Claudia said grimly: 'And on account of Esmé Carling. You can dislike her, despise her or pity her but don't underesti­mate her. She could prove a more dangerous enemy than you imagine.'