|Carruthers' Demise, Chapters two and three (standard:drama, 3510 words) [2/24] show all parts|
|Author: Brian Cross||Added: Mar 21 2011||Views/Reads: 1260/1031||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Carruthers' wife, a best selling novelist as just suffered rejection. They take a short holiday as a pick-me-up, but all is not getting off to a good start.|
Chapter Two Carruthers' mobile phone rang. He yawned, reached across the basin to answer it and was greeted by Casey Jennings' throaty voice. ‘Marty – any chance we could meet up today? I've got great hopes for my new effort – I'm naming it Stapleton's Demise. I have a feeling this could be my biggest ever, I'd really appreciate running through the outline with you...' Carruthers placed his razor back in the cabinet and sighed. ‘Look Casey, this isn't the best of times...' ‘Oh come on, Marty. Where's your enthusiasm? You stand to gain from it as well...' ‘It's not all about money, Casey.' Carruthers caught Casey's impatient exhalation. ‘Dammit – if I didn't know you better I'd say that was exactly what it was – that right now your finances are balancing just fine; that you don't need...' ‘Stop. Stop right there Casey. Don't go down that road. You know I wouldn't use you as a cash cow. As a matter of fact Chelsey and I are...' Carruthers hesitated. Perhaps he was being unfair – Casey was, after all, both a client and friend, and Chelsey, perhaps on account of the mood she was in, seemed nowhere near ready; when all said and done it was only a fifteen minute drive to her house. It couldn't do any harm. ‘Okay, I'll be over shortly – but I'll need to be quick. I'll explain when I see you.' Carruthers towelled his face dry and strode to the landing. ‘I'm just popping out,' he said, sticking his head around the bathroom door. ‘A few loose ends to tie up.' ‘Let me guess what they are...' but Chelsey's tone was sarcastic rather than malicious as she slipped off her night gown, and Carruthers avoiding comment covered the short journey to Casey's Ealing Common home in a little over ten minutes. Pulling up at Casey's neat, ivy adorned cottage on the east side of the common, Carruthers saw her door was ajar. He gave a quiet tap and walked through. ‘In here, Marty,' Casey called from her study, which she'd created from a small subsidiary lounge. ‘Be a dear and shut the front door will you? It seems to have got cooler all of a sudden.' Carruthers retraced his steps and duly obliged, Casey having slipped off her reading spectacles as he joined her in the study. Holding them between thumb and forefinger she gave him a long, questioning look. ‘So what's the big development that you can't find time for your bestselling author?' Carruthers raised his eyes to the ceiling fleetingly. ‘That's just what I am doing,' he said in a voice of tested patience. He sat opposite her desk, slapping his hands on thighs. ‘As a matter of fact I'm taking Chelsey on a few days' break. She's been a bit under the weather of late.' Casey curved her full face into a sympathetic, though knowing smile, fingering her long dark hair. ‘Looking to cheer her up a bit are you? I heard that her latest effort got rejected...' ‘How the hell have you got wind of that?' Carruthers spurted, astonished at the speed at which she'd come by Goldhawk's decision. ‘Oh come on, Marty,' Casey leaned forward, patted Carruthers' arm. ‘Nothing's sacred in this business, now you should know that; news travels with the speed of a neuron cell. Now I thought you'd like to spend a few moments of your precious time with me, going through the Click here to read the rest of this story (359 more lines)
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