The Ghost Writer Page #3

Sign here.

And here.

And here.

Wow, quite a place.

Don't you get Ionely at night?

It's my husband I miss the most.

Are you married?

I noticed you don't wear a wedding ring.

I can't, sadly. It's far too large.

- It bleeps when I go through airport security.

- Oh.

Here we are.

The manuscript is not to be removed

from this room. It's not to be copied.

You have six hours

before Adam gets in from New York.

- Can you finish by then?

- I'll try.

I'll ask Dep to bring you up

a sandwich for lunch.

Thanks.

Have fun.

"Langs are Scottish folk,

originally, and proud of it.

"Our name is a derivation of 'long,'

the Old English word for 'tall,'

"and it is from north of the border

that my forefathers hail."

F***.

"My great-grandfather, Ebenezer Lang,

"was born in 1862 in Pitlochry, Scotland.

"One of nine children, seven of them boys."

"The American President

was much taller than I had expected."

"This year's European summit

was particularly interesting."

"I always found the Queen, in private,

to have a delightful sense of humor."

Thanks.

"I've always been an optimist.

The present is where we live.

"Ruth and I look forward to the future,

whatever it may hold."

As bad as that?

Oh, hello.

Well? How bad is it?

You haven't read it?

Not all of it.

- Well, let's just say it needs some work.

- How much work?

Well, all the words are there.

They're just in the wrong order.

Come on. You look like you need a break.

You were my idea.

I was?

You wrote Christy Costello's memoirs,

didn't you?

You read those?

We stayed at his house in Mustique,

last winter.

The book was beside the bed.

- I'm embarrassed.

- No, why?

It was brilliant, in a horrible sort of way.

How you turned his ramblings

into something vaguely coherent.

I said to Adam, "Here's the guy

to write your book, not Mike."

God, I miss home.

It's like being married

to Napoleon on St. Helena.

- Why don't you go back to London?

- I don't feel I can leave him alone.

There's something not quite right

with him at the moment.

Amelia told me he was very upset

at the death of Michael McAra.

Oh, she did, did she?

Quite when Mrs. Bly became the expert

on my husband's emotions, I'm not sure.

Losing Mike was a blow, of course,

but it's not just that.

It's having to relive everything,

year by year, for this bloody book.

Oh, dear.

You must be wondering

what you've let yourself in for.

Fine, fine. I'll tell him.

They're just about to land.

On Thursday, he's in Chicago.

Actually, I think I'll go and meet him.

Amelia can stay here

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