Her emphasis on the first word was light but unmistakable. "Ben and Ellen Sterling," Ellen said.
"Of course, the husband and wife team," Alice Carroll said briskly. "What can I do for you?"
"We were wondering what happened to Kerys."
"We decided I should take over now so that Ember can move forward."
Ellen wondered if "we" included Kerys. "When are you next in town?" Alice Carroll wanted to know. "We should meet and talk about directions you might take."
"From whom?"
"Not that kind of direction," Alice Carroll said with a token laugh. "Avenues for exploration. Ideas in keeping with Ember's new image."
"Our books aren't, you mean."
"I like your snowflake book. I think that could point you the way you might want to go."
"Which is?"
"Developing the ecological theme which you were hinting at there. I felt you could have foregrounded that more, made your concern about it plainer. No need to be afraid of alienating your readers, if that was your problem. Today's children want relevance."
"You think so?"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't. Have you talked to your readers lately?"
"Some of them."
"Let's hope we can make contact with many more. You've the talent. All it should take is an awareness of their needs," Alice Carroll said more briskly than ever. "We'll be putting out the book you delivered to Kerys Thorn, of course, assuming that you don't have second thoughts, but I really think we should get together for a drink and a chat before you start work on your next. How's your diary looking?"
"Kerys said we'd be wanted in London to help promote The Boy Who Caught The Snowflakes."
"That's up to Publicity. I'll have you put through to them and then you can let me know your plans."
The line went dead, which presumably meant she was having the call transferred. Ellen sat up, massaging her arms, which had stiffened with tension, but Ben stayed as he was. "Can you hear?" she said.
"What?" He seemed startled by her question until he glanced at her. "Yes, don't worry. You're doing fine."
She wondered fleetingly if he'd thought she was asking about something other than the conversation, but what else could he have heard? "Publicity," a voice said. "Cynth speaking."
"Could I have a word with Mark Matthews?"
"What's it concerning, please?"
"The Boy Who Caught The Snowflakes. This is Ellen Sterling."
"Who do you review for?"
"Not for anyone. I'm the artist."
"You'll want the art department, then. Hold on."
As Ellen drew breath to protest, Ben jerked his head towards the mouthpiece, so roughly that his cheekbone bruised her cheek. "This is Ben and Ellen Sterling. We wrote and illustrated the book. We want you to connect us with Mark Matthews while you've still got a job. Regard this call as a valuable lesson. One day you may be grateful."
"Don't take it all out on the poor girl," Ellen murmured as he withdrew from the mouthpiece. He blinked at her as if he didn't understand why she was rubbing her cheek, then gave it an apologetic kiss. She was turning her mouth to his when another voice separated them. "Mrs Sterling?"
"I'm here."
"Mark Matthews. Sorry if Cynth got it wrong. She's new here, like me. How can I help you?"
"We were wondering about publicity for our new book."
"Let me just find the publication date." She heard pages turning, and then he said cheerfully "End of November. One of our Christmas books. I'm sure it will sell itself."
Though he wasn't infuriating her as Alice Carroll had, Ellen still felt vulnerable, unsure how important she and Ben and their books were. "Can't we give it a push?" she said.
"What do you feel singles it out from the rest of the season's books?"
"The advertising, I hope."
"Spoken like a true writer. We're holding over most of our advertising budget to relaunch Ember next year. I'm sure we'll have point-of-sale advertising for your next book."
"Aren't we supposed to be helping to promote this one?"
"Will you be free around the publication date?"
"One or both of us."
"I'll make sure our reps and the press know." He cleared his throat. "Sorry if I seem at all vague. I'll be in touch nearer publication, scout's honour."
His pleasantness seemed to have left her no honest response. She handed Ben the receiver in case he had anything to add, but he let it drop onto the cradle. "It sounds to me as if they're going to leave us on our own out there," she said.
"They must know how good we are."
"Are we really, though?"
"Believe it," Ben said, his eyes glittering fiercely. "If they don't know yet, they will when they hear my story. I'd like to see Alice Carroll turn this one into her kind of ideological sermon. The unimaginative always want to reduce imagination to a level they can cope with."
"Are you going to tell me the story?"
He turned back to the window. True night had fallen; it had seemed to spread out from the forest and across the landscape. "I need to spend more time on it," he said. "I don't want to write it until I've got it clear."
"Don't tell me if you aren't ready to."
"No, I want you to hear. Telling it to you and the children may help me see what I'm conjuring up." He gazed ahead as if the dark might show it to him, and said "Suppose that in the coldest places on earth the spirits of the ice age are still there in the snow and ice, waiting to rise again."
"Not much chance of that, the way the climate's going."
"It isn't the climate that keeps them dormant, it's the sun."
"I expect it would."
"The midnight sun, I mean. It shines so many nights each year that they can never build up enough power to leave the ice.
"So how do they, if they do?"
"They do, I promise you. I'm not quite sure how, but I know I've something in here," he said, tapping his forehead. "If I can just bring it out into the open…"
"I know you will. It sounds a wonderful idea. Do you think it might be best to save it until we've done our second book for Alice Carroll? Then we could make sure it goes somewhere it'll be appreciated. Or you could write it and then do something else for her. Your walk in the woods was productive, anyway," she added to cheer him up.
"It's started something. I only wish it would be a bit quicker taking shape."
"Had you just come out of the woods when I met you? How far did you walk?"
"I can't remember." He frowned as if she had distracted him unnecessarily. "I really don't know. I must have been too deep in my story. What does it matter? I came back."
"That's all that matters," she assured him. She gave him a long hug and stood up. "I'd better feed the starving before they realise they are."
She wasn't sure if he heard her. When she reached the door he had shifted onto the chair and was crouched over the desk, his face close to the window. "Turn the light off," he muttered, and she did so, hoping that would help him bring his tale alive. She'd sensed how much it meant to him, and she thought his passion for the idea meant it could be their best book.
When dinner was ready she sent Margaret to fetch him. The girl ran downstairs almost at once, looking unhappy and refusing to say why. Soon Ben appeared, narrowing his eyes at the light, opening them determinedly wide and smiling. "Sorry if 1 made you jump, Peg. I didn't realise you were there until you touched me. I must have been far away."
During the meal he retold the story which had been her favourite when she was little, about the boy lost in the mountains who had to venture to the very edge of what appeared to be a sheer drop in order to be rescued by a girl who turned into a cloud once he was safe, and then he told an ideologically corrected version in which the girl proved to be a member of the local mountain rescue team and lectured the boy on do's and don'ts for climbers. The children laughed so much that Johnny choked and had to be thumped on the back, and Ellen stuck out her tongue at the new version. "Looks as if there are still children whose minds haven't been sewn up by Alice Carroll and her kind," Ben said.