Dreams
Have you ever dreamt of the day when the possibility of all your dreams (or at least one of them) could come to fruition?
Today was that day.
Well, technically it was the day before that day. My Mum accompanied me to London on a trip that I had looked forward to for three months since I received the telephone call from the Managing Editor of Armitage Books.
The long journey from Sydney was at times very monotonous, but the excitement of what was awaiting me took that feeling right away. It wasn’t every day that you were offered an all-expenses paid trip to London, staying at a luxurious hotel with spending money AND the opportunity of a life time to have your book published.
No, not at all ordinary. I would say it was very, very lucky. I was more than grateful for the opportunity and I could hardly wait to get to their offices.
Our experience began when we were escorted from Heathrow airport in a lovely, shiny black Bentley. Our driver, Alistair, told us that it was one of Mr Armitage’s favourites and he only used it on occasion. Boy did that make us feel special!
Feeling extremely spoiled, we sat back and enjoyed the ride, taking in all the countryside and familiar popular sights.
After an hour or so, our hotel was now in sight. I could hardly believe we were staying on The Strand at The Savoy Hotel. Honestly, I had to keep pinching myself because nothing I did helped me to think that I was actually living my dream.
After settling in to our luxurious room, we took in all the sights, did some shopping and soaked in the atmosphere of every coffee shop we visited.
The next day…
The taxi I ordered arrived on time, whisking me off to busy Piccadilly Circus. This particular ride was different as I passed Big Ben, The Tower of London and Houses of Parliament, I couldn’t help but wish today would go on and on. By tomorrow afternoon I may just have a different view of the world. I sat in the back seat; the smell of the recently polished interior seemed to take over my thoughts. ‘Isn’t it funny, I’ve never noticed the compartment for umbrella’s before’ I thought. Then suddenly an urge that had my stomach in a whirl for about a kilometre was thinking that ‘of course he wants to publish my book, why else would he pay for everything!’
The strange random thoughts ran through my mind as I appeared calm but apprehensive.
The thought of meeting Mr Armitage felt like I was preparing to meet the Queen of England, or the President of the United States of America, or Nelson Mandela or Mother Theresa. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a head of state, a president, a Nobel Peace Prize winner. The sheer enormity of his power to believe in me or not had taken its toll. My palms were now sweating.
Armitage publishing was a family owned business. Generations of the Armitage family had presided as Managing Editor spanning the last two hundred years. Mr Armitage wasn’t aware that I was related. I didn’t want that connection to be known – just yet.
I paid for my fare and swiftly walked to the glass revolving doors of the ‘Bolling House’ building, where John Armitage was situated on the 18th Floor.
My ears popped as the old elevator took me up to what seemed like the top of the city. The minimalistic reception area seemed clinical and the receptionist, who greeted me, dressed in a charcoal coloured skirt suit with makeup that suited a theatrical production, showed me to the lounge area to wait for Mr Armitage.
The magazines in the waiting room were not your usual three year old trash on celebrity gossip. The white and grey theme would normally make me feel cold, but in this case the splash of red accessories in varying textures seemed to warm up the place. It wasn’t at all like I had imagined. This seemed rather modern. I was expecting a look of timber walls with brown leather lounges, writers lamps and a slight musty smell. After a brisk five minutes waiting, the time had come.
Contrary to the reception and waiting room, Mr Armitage’s office felt inviting and warm. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined one wall. A chesterfield lounge, coffee table, beautiful lamp and Persian rug nestled one corner of the room. His desk with two black leather chairs occupied the opposite corner. Décor was quite grand, but minimal which made a statement. This was what I had in mind!
“Well, Ms Gibbon, I must say, your manuscript has certainly caught my attention.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, Mr Armitage.” Nothing like getting straight to the point, I thought.
I couldn’t help but notice how much he looked like my Grandfather. The strong jaw, slightly turned up nose and hazel eyes. I wondered if he could see any similarity in me. My family had always insisted how I had inherited the ‘Armitage jaw’.
“Armitage Publishing would like to publish your story.”
The slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes was warming. His hazel eyes were alight and for a brief moment, the anxiety building up in me had all but vanished.
‘Oh my gosh! Did he say what I think he just said? I wasn’t expecting that at all!’
Those random thoughts reared their ugly heads again.
“I’m very happy about that Sir.” I said, establishing my composure.
He was aware of my nervousness and calling him sir, but kindly made me feel at ease, in his very English way.
“I expect you would be!’ he laughed. ‘Now, I shall ask my secretary to set you up with the contract to sign and we will be in touch. I wish you a pleasant stay in London. Good day Ms Gibbon.”
“Thank you Mr Armitage. I appreciate your time and your generosity.”
My heart was all but popping out of my chest. I’m sure my face was as red as a beetroot.
His firm handshake and warm eyes had the power to instil in me, a sense of many emotions. This time though, I felt more at ease and extremely happy!
The taxi ride was a blur. My head was spinning. ‘Did he really say that he wanted to publish MY story?’ A smile radiated through me. The familiar sites en route to the hotel would normally catch my attention, but today was different. I didn’t notice a thing. The feint sound of a police siren, the honking of a horn and the sounds of Bob Marley from a nearby car all seemed like a million miles away.
‘I can’t wait to tell Mum…’ I thought, as I relaxed into the slippery, vinyl seat of the taxi grinning from ear to ear.
Having reached The Savoy, I met my Mum in the foyer who was waiting patiently for me. As she was asking me all sorts of questions about my meeting with Mr Armitage, I could see in my peripheral vision, a tall figure of a man walking towards me. Glancing sideways at him, while my Mum was still firing questions, I could see he was heading straight for me. What could this tall, tanned, good looking man have to say to me?
“Excuse me, I couldn’t help noticing it was you and I wondered if you would like me to take a picture of you and your mother in the foyer here for The Savoy Hotel’s weekly news hub?”
“Oh! News hub?” I looked at my Mum with a questioning look.
“Yes, Mr Armitage confirmed just now that you will be featuring in his upcoming ‘New and Inspiring Authors’ event.
Mum and I must have looked a sight. All we could do was look at each other opened mouthed, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets and not really saying a thing.
I was getting used to squashing my unruly emotions and regaining my composure now, ‘Thank you. That would be great thank you. Could we tidy ourselves up a little first please?”
“Take all the time you need. I will be here when you are ready.” His gentle, polite voice was melodious and very alluring at the same time.
With that said, he smiled, turned around and walked back to his laptop, which was set up in the far corner of the grand foyer. His blue linen shirt seemed to drape over his lean, muscular frame and his after shave left a lingering manly trail. Strange was not the word here. It was more like; Mysterious, Cinematic, Dramatic…Surely, this must be a dream! Another pinch on the arm and I am back to reality.
Mum and I walked through the grand hotel looking for a coffee shop to mull over the events of the meeting and also the photo shoot. Finding a cosy one on the far side of the hotel, we sat ourselves down and enjoyed a hot cup of English Twining’s tea. The exciting news of the meeting needed more celebration than a cup of tea, but the champagne would have to come later. Once we were satisfied with going over just what Mr Armitage had said and every little detail in between, we took the lift up to our room and tidied our hair and makeup.
I had my black, scoop necked dress with black patent heels. Mum was in her blue, silk skirt with matching jacket.
Walking back to the foyer, I wondered whether the tall, tanned, handsome stranger would still be there to take our photo, or whether this was merely a passing comment by a stranger (albeit a stranger that knew Mr Armitage)
Just as we reached the entrance to the main reception area, he approached us from behind, startling me.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there…” I should have known he was close by, as his scent seemed to follow him like a cloud.
I was quite embarrassed as my face went a shade of red I don’t care to think too much about.
“I was waiting for you…” he led us to the Western side of the foyer where the beautiful grand piano occupied a space which was drenched in the afternoon sunlight….
We walked as gracefully as we could manage, given the excitement running through our bodies. All this news and frivolity was very nerve-wracking – in a good way of course!
“Perfect.” He said as he looked deep into my eyes. “This will be perfect for the next Best Selling Author.” He winked at me, and I could have died a thousand deaths as my face betrayed me again, turning a bright shade of crimson.
© Gillian Du Caurroy 2016
Have you ever dreamt of the day when the possibility of all your dreams (or at least one of them) could come to fruition?
Today was that day.
Well, technically it was the day before that day. My Mum accompanied me to London on a trip that I had looked forward to for three months since I received the telephone call from the Managing Editor of Armitage Books.
The long journey from Sydney was at times very monotonous, but the excitement of what was awaiting me took that feeling right away. It wasn’t every day that you were offered an all-expenses paid trip to London, staying at a luxurious hotel with spending money AND the opportunity of a life time to have your book published.
No, not at all ordinary. I would say it was very, very lucky. I was more than grateful for the opportunity and I could hardly wait to get to their offices.
Our experience began when we were escorted from Heathrow airport in a lovely, shiny black Bentley. Our driver, Alistair, told us that it was one of Mr Armitage’s favourites and he only used it on occasion. Boy did that make us feel special!
Feeling extremely spoiled, we sat back and enjoyed the ride, taking in all the countryside and familiar popular sights.
After an hour or so, our hotel was now in sight. I could hardly believe we were staying on The Strand at The Savoy Hotel. Honestly, I had to keep pinching myself because nothing I did helped me to think that I was actually living my dream.
After settling in to our luxurious room, we took in all the sights, did some shopping and soaked in the atmosphere of every coffee shop we visited.
The next day…
The taxi I ordered arrived on time, whisking me off to busy Piccadilly Circus. This particular ride was different as I passed Big Ben, The Tower of London and Houses of Parliament, I couldn’t help but wish today would go on and on. By tomorrow afternoon I may just have a different view of the world. I sat in the back seat; the smell of the recently polished interior seemed to take over my thoughts. ‘Isn’t it funny, I’ve never noticed the compartment for umbrella’s before’ I thought. Then suddenly an urge that had my stomach in a whirl for about a kilometre was thinking that ‘of course he wants to publish my book, why else would he pay for everything!’
The strange random thoughts ran through my mind as I appeared calm but apprehensive.
The thought of meeting Mr Armitage felt like I was preparing to meet the Queen of England, or the President of the United States of America, or Nelson Mandela or Mother Theresa. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a head of state, a president, a Nobel Peace Prize winner. The sheer enormity of his power to believe in me or not had taken its toll. My palms were now sweating.
Armitage publishing was a family owned business. Generations of the Armitage family had presided as Managing Editor spanning the last two hundred years. Mr Armitage wasn’t aware that I was related. I didn’t want that connection to be known – just yet.
I paid for my fare and swiftly walked to the glass revolving doors of the ‘Bolling House’ building, where John Armitage was situated on the 18th Floor.
My ears popped as the old elevator took me up to what seemed like the top of the city. The minimalistic reception area seemed clinical and the receptionist, who greeted me, dressed in a charcoal coloured skirt suit with makeup that suited a theatrical production, showed me to the lounge area to wait for Mr Armitage.
The magazines in the waiting room were not your usual three year old trash on celebrity gossip. The white and grey theme would normally make me feel cold, but in this case the splash of red accessories in varying textures seemed to warm up the place. It wasn’t at all like I had imagined. This seemed rather modern. I was expecting a look of timber walls with brown leather lounges, writers lamps and a slight musty smell. After a brisk five minutes waiting, the time had come.
Contrary to the reception and waiting room, Mr Armitage’s office felt inviting and warm. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined one wall. A chesterfield lounge, coffee table, beautiful lamp and Persian rug nestled one corner of the room. His desk with two black leather chairs occupied the opposite corner. Décor was quite grand, but minimal which made a statement. This was what I had in mind!
“Well, Ms Gibbon, I must say, your manuscript has certainly caught my attention.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, Mr Armitage.” Nothing like getting straight to the point, I thought.
I couldn’t help but notice how much he looked like my Grandfather. The strong jaw, slightly turned up nose and hazel eyes. I wondered if he could see any similarity in me. My family had always insisted how I had inherited the ‘Armitage jaw’.
“Armitage Publishing would like to publish your story.”
The slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes was warming. His hazel eyes were alight and for a brief moment, the anxiety building up in me had all but vanished.
‘Oh my gosh! Did he say what I think he just said? I wasn’t expecting that at all!’
Those random thoughts reared their ugly heads again.
“I’m very happy about that Sir.” I said, establishing my composure.
He was aware of my nervousness and calling him sir, but kindly made me feel at ease, in his very English way.
“I expect you would be!’ he laughed. ‘Now, I shall ask my secretary to set you up with the contract to sign and we will be in touch. I wish you a pleasant stay in London. Good day Ms Gibbon.”
“Thank you Mr Armitage. I appreciate your time and your generosity.”
My heart was all but popping out of my chest. I’m sure my face was as red as a beetroot.
His firm handshake and warm eyes had the power to instil in me, a sense of many emotions. This time though, I felt more at ease and extremely happy!
The taxi ride was a blur. My head was spinning. ‘Did he really say that he wanted to publish MY story?’ A smile radiated through me. The familiar sites en route to the hotel would normally catch my attention, but today was different. I didn’t notice a thing. The feint sound of a police siren, the honking of a horn and the sounds of Bob Marley from a nearby car all seemed like a million miles away.
‘I can’t wait to tell Mum…’ I thought, as I relaxed into the slippery, vinyl seat of the taxi grinning from ear to ear.
Having reached The Savoy, I met my Mum in the foyer who was waiting patiently for me. As she was asking me all sorts of questions about my meeting with Mr Armitage, I could see in my peripheral vision, a tall figure of a man walking towards me. Glancing sideways at him, while my Mum was still firing questions, I could see he was heading straight for me. What could this tall, tanned, good looking man have to say to me?
“Excuse me, I couldn’t help noticing it was you and I wondered if you would like me to take a picture of you and your mother in the foyer here for The Savoy Hotel’s weekly news hub?”
“Oh! News hub?” I looked at my Mum with a questioning look.
“Yes, Mr Armitage confirmed just now that you will be featuring in his upcoming ‘New and Inspiring Authors’ event.
Mum and I must have looked a sight. All we could do was look at each other opened mouthed, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets and not really saying a thing.
I was getting used to squashing my unruly emotions and regaining my composure now, ‘Thank you. That would be great thank you. Could we tidy ourselves up a little first please?”
“Take all the time you need. I will be here when you are ready.” His gentle, polite voice was melodious and very alluring at the same time.
With that said, he smiled, turned around and walked back to his laptop, which was set up in the far corner of the grand foyer. His blue linen shirt seemed to drape over his lean, muscular frame and his after shave left a lingering manly trail. Strange was not the word here. It was more like; Mysterious, Cinematic, Dramatic…Surely, this must be a dream! Another pinch on the arm and I am back to reality.
Mum and I walked through the grand hotel looking for a coffee shop to mull over the events of the meeting and also the photo shoot. Finding a cosy one on the far side of the hotel, we sat ourselves down and enjoyed a hot cup of English Twining’s tea. The exciting news of the meeting needed more celebration than a cup of tea, but the champagne would have to come later. Once we were satisfied with going over just what Mr Armitage had said and every little detail in between, we took the lift up to our room and tidied our hair and makeup.
I had my black, scoop necked dress with black patent heels. Mum was in her blue, silk skirt with matching jacket.
Walking back to the foyer, I wondered whether the tall, tanned, handsome stranger would still be there to take our photo, or whether this was merely a passing comment by a stranger (albeit a stranger that knew Mr Armitage)
Just as we reached the entrance to the main reception area, he approached us from behind, startling me.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there…” I should have known he was close by, as his scent seemed to follow him like a cloud.
I was quite embarrassed as my face went a shade of red I don’t care to think too much about.
“I was waiting for you…” he led us to the Western side of the foyer where the beautiful grand piano occupied a space which was drenched in the afternoon sunlight….
We walked as gracefully as we could manage, given the excitement running through our bodies. All this news and frivolity was very nerve-wracking – in a good way of course!
“Perfect.” He said as he looked deep into my eyes. “This will be perfect for the next Best Selling Author.” He winked at me, and I could have died a thousand deaths as my face betrayed me again, turning a bright shade of crimson.
© Gillian Du Caurroy 2016