She accepted the grape from Jonathan, parting her lips and allowing him to place it gently in her mouth. When she bit into it the flesh burst open and her tongue was bathed in sweetness. She raised her fingers to her mouth and covered it as she chewed the fruit. She did not want Jonathan to see her enjoyment so plainly, as if he had come into the room at the very moment she had stepped naked from the bath.
“Kelly,” Jane repeated, taking the proffered hand and feeling the strong fingers clasp hers. “Oh, no.”
“Is everything all right?” Kelly asked.
“No,” said Jane, blinking. “I mean yes. Everything’s fine. It’s just that I thought you were a woman.” Embarrassed, she spoke more quickly. “I don’t mean right now I thought you were a woman. I mean before I saw you. Because of your name. We’ve never spoken,” she concluded, feeling like an idiot. “May I just go out and come back in?” she asked.
Kelly laughed. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s not the first time someone has thought that. You should see how many query letters I get addressed to Ms. Littlejohn.” He glanced at her suitcase. “Let me take that for you,” he said.
“Oh, I can—” Jane began.
“I insist,” Kelly said, flashing a smile that lit up his whole face.
“All right,” Jane acquiesced, blushing as Kelly bent to take the case by the handle. Stop behaving like a schoolgirl, she scolded herself.
She followed Kelly as he held open the door. “After you,” he said, and again she couldn’t help thinking about how dashing he was. A true gentleman.
They walked down a hallway lined with offices. Inside each one an editor sat at a desk, peering at a computer screen. Jane glanced at their faces as she passed by. They all looked impossibly young, not at all like editors in her time, most of whom had been men well into the second half of their lives who peered out at the world from behind thick spectacles, their eyes ruined from years of reading in inadequate light, and their fingers perpetually ink-stained and chapped from constantly turning the pages of manuscripts.
“Here we are,” Kelly said, entering a corner office. “Welcome to my castle.”
The room was not terribly large. A desk, piled high with folders and what Jane assumed were manuscripts, sat in front of a bank of windows that looked out on the street. The floor too was covered with stacks of manuscripts, and one whole wall was taken up by shelves filled with books. Jane, relieved to see evidence of the publishing world she had always imagined, felt herself relax.
“It’s not much, but it’s all mine,” Kelly said. “Please, have a seat.”
Jane took one of the two chairs across from Kelly’s desk. She looked around the room, trying very hard not to stare at him. “Do you have to read all of these?” she asked, indicating the mountains of manuscripts.
“My assistant reads most of them first,” he answered. “But I try to look at everything. I like to make decisions for myself.”
Jane wondered if her manuscript had languished among the paper, and how Kelly had come to rescue it from the crowd.
“It’s something of a miracle that anything gets published at all,” said Kelly, as if reading her thoughts. “Especially an unsolicited manuscript such as yours. May I ask why you don’t use an agent?”
“It never occurred to me,” Jane answered truthfully.
Kelly laughed, shaking his head. “I must tell you, it’s refreshing to meet an author whose sole goal in life is to be published. Most authors come in here and I can tell that what they really want is to be famous. I don’t get that from you, or from your book.”
She wondered what Kelly would say if he knew that she was already one of the world’s most famous authors, was in fact arguably the most popular writer of all time. And that she very badly wanted to be published again.
“Most of them want to be Stephen King or Danielle Steele,” Kelly remarked. “I don’t know when authors went from being storytellers to being celebrities, but more and more I think we cast writers rather than publish them.”
Jane was nodding as she looked around the office. Then she noticed a book resting atop a pile on the corner of Kelly’s desk. Her heart sank.
Kelly’s eyes followed her gaze. “Oh, that,” he said, sighing. “This is exactly what I mean,” he added as he held up a copy of The Jane Austen Workout Book. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? But I guarantee you we’ll sell a hundred thousand copies.” He looked at the cover and snorted. “Austen would roll over in her grave,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Jane, chuckling with relief.
“You’re British,” Kelly said.
“Pardon?” said Jane. She was still staring at the image of herself on the book’s cover.
“Your accent,” Kelly said. “It’s British.”
“Oh,” said Jane. “Yes, it is.”
“How long have you lived in America?” Kelly asked.
Jane laughed lightly. “It seems like a hundred years. My parents moved here when I was quite young,” she added quickly.
“I thought there was a British sensibility to your writing,” said Kelly. “I think that’s what attracted me to it. I’m a bit of an Anglophile.” He smiled again. “Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century.”
“I know just what you mean,” Jane said.
“You must be hungry after your trip,” Kelly said. “Shall we have lunch?”
“That would be lovely,” Jane replied.
Kelly stood and retrieved his coat from the back of the office door. “You can leave your suitcase here,” he told Jane. “We’ll come back before I send you off to the hotel.”
They took the elevator down to the lobby, and as they walked outside Kelly said, “Is this your first time in New York?”
“I’ve been here once before,” Jane said. “But it was a long time ago.” Before there were cars on the streets, she thought. And long before you were born.
They walked several blocks until they arrived at a restaurant. Stepping inside, Jane found herself in a reasonable replica of a French bistro.
“Now then,” Kelly said after a waiter had brought them two glasses of merlot, “let’s talk about your book.”
“I’m very glad you like it,” said Jane.
“I don’t just like it,” Kelly replied. “I love it. In fact, I haven’t been this excited about a book in a long time.”
Jane felt herself blush with pride. “That’s kind of you to say.”
Kelly shook his head. “I mean it,” he said. “There’s something about it that’s timeless. People don’t write books like yours anymore. Especially for women. Now it’s all about middle-aged women going to Bermuda and falling in love with twenty-two-year-old surfing instructors, or young women working at fashion magazines and whatnot. I wonder sometimes if people would even recognize a quality book if they were given one.” He waved his hand around. “But your book is actually about something.”
“Thank you,” Jane said. She was slightly embarrassed by Kelly’s effusive praise, although hearing it was not at all unpleasant after so many years of disappointment. “I feel it’s important that a book make people think and feel.”
Kelly lifted his glass and said, “To your novel. May it stay atop the bestseller lists for many weeks.”
“Indeed,” Jane agreed. “And to you for your most excellent taste in literature.”
They both laughed. Jane took a sip of wine and set her glass down. “May I ask when you’re thinking of publishing the book?”
“I’m glad you brought that up,” Kelly said. “Normally we like a long lead time in order to pull together publicity. But I want your book out much sooner, preferably by summer.”
“Summer,” Jane repeated. That’s only five or six months from now, she thought.
“I want to get it out in time for vacation season,” Kelly explained. “I know it sounds crass, but it’s a reality of the industry that books for women sell best in the summer.”
Jane nodded, taking a long drink from her wineglass.
“And you’ll be selling it in your own store,” Kelly said. “When customers bring it to the register you can offer to sign it for them.”
Jane smiled broadly. She wanted to tell Kelly how many times she’d been tempted to take a customer’s copy of Pride and Prejudice and do exactly that. Now she could. But what if Lucy—or anyone—notices the similarities? she found herself thinking. What if they discover who I am? The thought dampened her joy.
“To get the book out so quickly, I need to get it to production immediately,” Kelly said, drawing her back to the moment. “The good news is that it needs very little editing. I know we haven’t even signed the contract, but I’ve taken the liberty of going through it and making a couple of suggestions. Nothing major. If you’re okay with my edits, then we can go right into production. We’ll do as much as we can while you’re here, and I’ll give you the manuscript to take back with you to finish up.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Jane said, speaking more to herself than to Kelly. Her worries about being found out were fading as she reassured herself that no one would possibly think to connect her to the Austen of old.
Kelly cocked his head. “Are you sure this is your first book?” he asked.
For a moment Jane panicked. Had she said too much? Had Kelly somehow seen through her act? “No,” she said hastily. “I mean yes, I’m sure. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just that you’re so calm about it all,” said Kelly. “Usually first-time authors are nervous wrecks.”
“If it helps, I’m a wreck on the inside,” Jane assured him. “But I’m British. We have no visible emotions, you know. They were bred out of us centuries ago.”
Kelly laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “So now that I’ve told you our big plans, I should probably tell you what our offer is.”
Jane listened as Kelly explained the terms of the contract. In truth, she didn’t really care about the advance or the royalty percentage or the subsidiary rights. But she pretended to listen intently, nodding at the appropriate points and even hesitating long enough at one point that Kelly increased the amount of her advance by 10 percent.
“Of course, you’ll probably want to talk to your lawyer before agreeing,” he concluded. “But I hope you’ll say yes.”
“Yes,” Jane said.
Kelly seemed to be holding his breath. “You’re sure?” he asked. “You don’t want to discuss it with anyone first?”
“Are you saying I should be worried?” Jane said. “I took you for a most trustworthy man, but perhaps I should rethink my opinion.” She was teasing him, but Kelly apparently mistook her remark for hesitation.
“I’ll increase the royalty to fifteen percent,” he said. “But that’s as high as I can go. Honestly.”
Jane reached out and patted his hand. His nervousness was charming, particularly as until then he’d seemed unflappable. “Relax,” she said. “You sound like a first-time publisher.”
Kelly chuckled and shook his head. “You had me worried for a second,” he admitted.
“Just to be clear, I’ll sign the contract,” Jane said. “We have a deal.”
“Good,” said Kelly. “Now I can eat.”
Jane scanned the menu. As usual, she wasn’t hungry, but she knew she had to order something. She considered the chocolate mousse, but settled on French onion soup and a small salad. There was no sense in airing all her peculiarities to Kelly at once.
The waiter arrived, they placed their orders, and their conversation resumed. With the book talk out of the way, Kelly asked Jane questions about herself, all of which she answered with as little detail as possible. As soon as she was able to she turned the topic around to him. By the time their food arrived, she’d learned that he had grown up in Pennsylvania, attended school in Chicago, and moved to New York immediately upon graduating to work in publishing.
“My parents were very disappointed,” he told Jane. “They were hoping I’d become an investment banker or, as my father once put it, something useful. I’m afraid books are not held in much esteem in the Littlejohn house.”
Jane wanted to ask him more questions, but she felt it wasn’t fair to pry too much when she was keeping so much of herself from him. It was a situation with which she was more than familiar after two hundred years of practicing the art of evasion. Instead, she asked about the other authors Kelly worked with. She recognized several of the names he mentioned, although she had read none of their books. She made a mental note to do so as soon as she was home.
When lunch was over she and Kelly returned to the office, where Kelly presented her with four copies of a contract. After once again reminding Jane that she was free to have someone look them over, he watched anxiously as she signed the final page of each copy. When she handed them back to him, he beamed.
“Do you want to go over the manuscript?” Jane asked.
Kelly nodded. “But first I have a little surprise.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Joanna, I have Jane Fairfax here. Could you come in, please?”
He hung up. “I think you’ll love this,” he told Jane. “At least I hope so.”
A moment later a young woman walked into the office carrying a large piece of cardboard.
“Jane, this is Joanna Clarke. Joanna is the head of the design department.”
Joanna and Jane exchanged greetings. Then Kelly said, “I was so excited about your book that I emailed Joanna from Paris so she could work on this.”
He nodded at Joanna, who turned the piece of cardboard around, revealing a mock-up cover for Jane’s book. It featured a photograph of a farmhouse at twilight. In one of the upstairs windows a light glowed, and through the open curtains a woman was visible, her back to the window. From the lower right-hand corner of the cover a man stood looking up at her, holding a bouquet of daisies in his hand.
“Constance,” Jane read the title. “Jane Fairfax.”
“I wasn’t sure what name you wanted to use, so I went with what you used on your letter,” Kelly said. “Do you like it?”
Jane continued to stare at the cover. That’s my book, she told herself. She was so used to the drab covers publishers put on her older novels—boring paintings of English cottages and girls in white dresses—that she’d expected the same thing. But this cover was different. It was modern yet timeless.
“I do like it,” she said. “I think it’s lovely.”
Joanna smiled. “I’m pretty pleased with it myself. Of course there will be some tweaking once marketing puts their two cents in, but I think this is pretty much it.”
“Would you like a copy to take home with you?” Kelly asked Jane. “We can have one printed out.”
“Really?” Jane asked. “Of course I’d love one.”
“I’ll go get one for you,” said Joanna.
“Thank you,” Jane said as Joanna left the office. “I really do love it.”
She looked at Kelly. “I can hardly believe this is happening,” she said. “It’s all a bit like a dream.”
“We’ll see if you think so once we’ve gone through my editing suggestions,” Kelly said. “Shall we begin?”
Jane hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Yes, let’s,” she said as Kelly turned over the first page.