Seven months later…
Erin checked that she had everything ready for the meeting; jug of iced water
in the refrigerator, glasses ready on the kitchen bench, coffee percolator loaded—Jane Emerson, her agent, never drank anything else—Earl Grey tea for Richard Long, her very English editor, and a plate of assorted cookies that should please everyone. The living room was tidy, the curtains pulled back to showcase the view of Byron Bay —white sand and crystal clear turquoise water.
She had bought this beach house four years ago. It suited her, right away from the bustle of major cities, especially for writing. She didn’t care if the animated film people thought she was some prima donna author, insisting that they travel to her for the consultation on how her story was to be brought to the big
