Susanna Loves London by Mary Hogan

Author:Mary Hogan [Hogan, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857077240
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

‘Susanna!’

My head whips around.

‘That’s your name, right?’

‘Right.’

‘How lovely to meet you! Welcome. I’m Delia. The editor-in-chief here. Nell has told me so much about you. Can I get you some coffee?’

I blink. Then I look down to make sure I’m not still in my pyjamas. Not only did Delia get my name right on the first try, but she’s totally nice, too. Her brown hair is short – almost a boy-cut. Her skin is freckled, her hips actually belong to a woman, and – most surprising – she’s American. Well, let me take that back. The most surprising thing about my London boss is that she offered to get me coffee. Am I in a parallel universe? Am I being punk’d?

‘The meeting will start in a few minutes,’ Delia says. ‘Make yourself comfortable in the conference room.’

I walk into the conference room, sit down and take out my notepad and pen. Whatever this meeting is about, I, Susanna Barringer, will be prepared for it.

The conference room is huge – the kind of space you see on a television lawyer show. One wall is all glass, the other, all windows. We’re on the top floor, high enough to feel like we’re floating. A giant oval table in the centre of the room looks like a visiting spaceship.

I’m all alone at first. But staff members eventually file in, most carrying coffee or tea. They chatter with one another, say hi to me. Everyone is so nice. Not a Francesca in the bunch!

‘Good morning, all. Cheers.’

Delia enters breezily and sits at one end of the large table. She says, ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

My nerves return in a flash flood. Is Francesca expecting me to cover for her? Is that what she said on the phone last night? Where did she say she was going this morning? Some kind of errand?

‘Susanna?’ Delia says.

Both eyes fly open.

‘Uh,’ I sputter, ‘Francesca will be—’

At that exact moment, Francesca bustles in.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she says, breathless.

I exhale audibly. Francesca squeezes a chair in next to mine and sits. Her cheeks are pink and her hair is mussed up. Her lipstick looks funny, too. Thank goodness she’s here to cover for herself.

Delia repeats, ‘Susanna?’

‘Here,’ I say.

The staff laughs. She says to me, ‘Ready when you are.’

‘Ready for what?’

Again, the entire staff chuckles. Francesca glares at me and whispers, ‘Stand up.’

Stand? Francesca elbows me and I stand, even more wobbly on my Frankenstein’s monster shoes than I was on the cobblestone streets of Ashton. All of a sudden, the bright sunlight from the wall of windows burns my face. My heart is going berserk. My chest actually hurts because of the thumping. Can a ventricle get bruised? I wonder. Can a teenager’s heart pump so furiously that it explodes? And, most importantly, is there any possibility that some of this surging blood might nourish enough brain cells to help me figure out what I’m supposed to be doing?

‘Just fill us in on your progress so far, Susanna,’ Delia says.

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