The email came back on a Wednesday.
Six days after I sent it. Six days of ordinary life, breakfast and library and evening dinners and Damien's Wednesday call with my mother during which she apparently issued a full assessment of the reorganised bookshelf system and pronounced it improved but not yet complete.
Six days of trying not to think about an email sitting in someone's inbox being read or not read or filed or forgotten.
I was editing Nina's manuscript when it arrived.
The notification appeared at the top of my screen and I looked at the sender's name and sat very still for a moment.
Josephine Hale.
The publisher.
I set down my pen.
I opened the email.
It was short. Josephine wrote short emails. She had once told me that any editorial response longer than three paragraphs w
