Chapter Sampler – Fancy Meeting You Here by Ali Berg & Michelle Kalus

It gives me great pleasure today as part of Ali Berg and Michelle Kalus’ book tour for their latest release, Fancy Meeting You Here, to feature a very special chapter sampler. Hope you enjoy and remember, if you’re interested in picking up a copy of Fancy Meeting You Here you can do so via Allen & Unwin, or by visiting your local book retailer.

Evie Berry could recall the best kiss from just about every romantic film ever made. Just mention a title and she’d instantly describe it. 10 Things I Hate About You—Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger covered in paint and rolling in hay. Love Actually—Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon on stage at Natalie’s brother’s school play. Sixteen Candles—Molly Ringwald and Michael Schoeffling smooching over a birthday cake. But Evie’s all-time favourite on- screen kiss—the one that made all other romantic entanglements seem utterly under-whelming— was from the last scene of Henrietta’s Gift. The jaw- droppingly handsome and multi- talented author, screen-writer and star of  Henrietta’s Gift, Hugo Hearst, kisses Margot Gale in a forest after they’ve been separated for over a year. It is a kiss of passion, a kiss of unadulterated yearning, a kiss of reverence—and a kiss Evie desired with all her heart. That very kiss was one of the reasons Evie and her mate, Ben Feldman, were standing in front of an olive- green door to a run- down shopfront crammed inconspicuously between a bagel bakery and a souvlaki store on Brick Lane.

‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Ben asked.

Evie nodded, ignoring his clear skepticism. Evie and Ben had become friends while they were studying film at the University of London. It had only been a few years after Evie’s parents had ‘ruined her life’ by ripping her from her happy, sun- kissed life in Melbourne and moving to the UK. During her first two years in The Big Smoke, Evie had endured the ‘nightmare’ experience of studying for her A- levels at an all- girls college where friendships had long since been set in stone. So, Ben had been her first truly deep and meaningful London friend. She’d pegged him right away as an easy- going people person—a quality in her closest Aussie pals that she’d missed. So, when their lecturer had dropped a bag of pencils all over the floor and Ben had sprung up to help her collect them—rather than sniggering like all the other students—Evie had known she had to be friends with him. It wasn’t long before Evie discovered that everyone who came into contact with Ben was instantly drawn in by his warmth and kindness—or what his mother Brenda described as his ‘mensch- ness’. And though Evie had deferred her university studies after two years so she could concentrate on writing a romantic-comedy screenplay (which all these years later was still very much a work in progress), she and Ben had set up a podcast for film and food lovers they’d called ‘Pasta La Vista’. Evie was grateful they had, as she suspected that without the podcast, she and Ben would have drifted further apart than they had without the pull of daily lectures and their shared dream of working in film and TV.

Evie checked Google Maps on her phone again to confirm they were in the right place. ‘This has to be it.’ Ben reluctantly pressed the gold doorbell hanging lop-sidedly by a plaque engraved in fluid cursive with the word ‘Seer’. Evie had discovered Maximilian—clairvoyant and medium to the rich and famous—during what had recently become her hourly Hugo Hearst social media check- in. According to Hugo’s Instagram feed, last Wednesday at exactly 12.39pm he’d visited this mononymous psychic. Having pored over so many interviews with Hugo (she’d read them all), Evie had been surprised to read this: Hugo didn’t seem like a spiritual person at all. Intrigued, she’d decided to find out for herself what had motivated him to visit a medium.

When Evie had suggested to Ben that Maximilian would be a good person to interview for their podcast (without explaining the particulars of why she was so keen to do so), Ben had been hesitant.

Maximilian wasn’t exactly their typical guest, and Ben had thought it was unlikely he would have any ground- breaking insights into film. ‘Besides, why doesn’t he have a last name? Who does he think he is, the Madonna of the afterlife?’ he had asked dubiously.

But Evie had assured Ben that since so many film and TV stars consulted  Maximilian, he was totally eligible and, what’s more, he might provide the viral moment they needed to reach beyond the indie film community. Ben had eventually agreed, though it was clear he remained doubtful. A buzzer sounded to let them in and Evie pushed on the creaky door. Inside, the narrow hallway was lined with peeling wallpaper and had worn, yellowing parquetry floors. They made their way up some tired- looking stairs that heaved with each step, as if they were intensely bothered by the inconvenience of human feet. On the second floor, Evie knocked gently on the door. There was an almighty thud from inside, then a loud screech and the sound of slippered feet coming towards them.

After much chain jangling, the door opened a peep, and two large, heavily made- up eyes peered out.

‘Ms Berry?’

‘Yes, it’s Evie, we spoke on the phone, and this is my co—’ Evie’s introduction was cut short by the man reaching a long, bony hand through the crack in the door and gesturing for them to come in. They followed his retreating back into a small, window-less room that smelled distinctly of incense with undertones of mould. The room’s navy walls were covered with elaborate gilded mirrors and antique portraits of unsmiling aristocrats. The carpet was blood-red, dotted with threadbare patches.

‘Come, come, sit,’ said Maximilian, gesturing impatiently towards a round table illuminated by a dusty chandelier and surrounded by four shabby velvet stools. He was wearing a long, purple satin robe with a matching purple feather poking out of his grey topknot.

Sitting down, Evie and Ben expected Maximilian to join them. But instead he swirled around dramatically, held the tips of his fingers to his forehead and took long, exaggerated breaths in and out. Stifling a laugh, Evie removed their recording equipment from her backpack and set it up on the table. Ben took three thermos containers of pesto penne out of the insulated bag they’d invested in for their on the road interviews.

Evie tapped the microphone in front of Ben a couple of times to test the sound then gave him the nod to signal that they were ready.

Evie cleared her throat, looking nervously at the now- swaying medium. The purple feather in his hair quivered as he moved back and forward. With a swish of his robe, Maximilian turned around, his eyeliner- rimmed eyes wide as he muttered to some unknown presence, ‘Yes, yes, I understand. No need to elaborate. It’s great material.’

Evie and Ben looked at him expectantly, but he strode away to the kitchen, still murmuring into the air. After several awkward minutes, he returned with a flowery teapot, which he placed on the table along with three porcelain cups. ‘I have to go now,’ he said, presumably addressing his invisible companion.

Evie leaned forward eagerly. ‘Can you tell our listeners who you’ve been convening with?’ she asked.

‘Oh, just some unfinished business with Robin.’

‘Robin?’

‘Williams. He just won’t let up with the jokes. It’s joke, joke, joke, all day, every day,’ Maximilian replied, looking nonplussed.

Evie stole a glance at Ben, his mouth agape as he stared at Maximilian. ‘Well, let’s get on with it, shall we? I have my next appointment in an hour,’ Maximilian said. Evie opened the three pasta containers, releasing the rich aroma of garlic and parmesan. Then she shuffled through her notes, giving Ben stern, do- not laugh looks as he opened a separate container and dabbed some Napoli sauce on top of each serving.

‘Welcome to Pasta La Vista, your favourite film podcast, hosted by aspiring screenwriter, me, Evie Berry, and award- winning documentary filmmaker, Ben Feldman,’ Evie began. ‘As always, today we’ll discuss the latest and most topical cinema news over a bowl of pasta.’ ‘

And for today’s dish I’ve made a delicious pesto penne topped by a dab of Napoli to shake things up,’ said Ben. ‘So we’re calling this episode, “The Pesto is Yet to Come”.’

Evie gave a weak laugh, feeling uncharacteristically nervous in front of the frowning Maximilian.

‘Now today on the show we have a very special guest by the name of Maximilian. A self-described seer, Maximilian claims to be the clairvoyant to the stars. His clients include such luminaries as Judi Dench, Keira Knightley, Jude Law and Rowan Atkinson, to name but a few. Thanks so much for joining us today, Mr, uh, Maximilian.’

‘Please help yourself to the penne,’ said Ben with a smile. Maximilian crinkled his nose, pushed his pasta away and reached for the teapot.

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said in a tone that did not match his words. ‘So, can you tell us a little bit about how you got into the clairvoyant business?’ Ben asked.

‘I didn’t get into the “clairvoyant business”,’ Maximilian replied. ‘It’s not a profession you choose, like becoming a teacher or a lawyer. It’s a calling! I was born into it. The first time I knew I could communicate with actors and actresses on the other side was when Marilyn Monroe visited me at the tender age of three. She kissed me on the cheek and told me, “The Kennedys did it”.’

‘The Kennedys . . . You mean it was the Kennedys who killed her?’ Ben asked, nearly choking on his penne. ‘Yes.’ ‘Oh, okay, how fascinating,’ Ben said, glancing at his scribbled notes and jotting something down. ‘And why do you think clairvoyancy chose you?’

‘Well, even as a mere babe I spent hours watching television with my mother, and whenever she had the opportunity, she’d take me to the cinema. Naturally, I became a major film buff. They—the spirits—obviously know this and feel connected to me because of it. I think the stars just feel comfortable around me,’ Maximilian said, pouring thick brown tea into one of the cups in front of him. ‘My mother—’

‘But you don’t just speak to actors who have passed on, do you?’ Evie interrupted. This was her chance. ‘You have a lot of living celebrity clients, and you assist them in speaking to their loved ones, don’t you?’ ‘Yes. There are a lot of frauds out there, but the A- listers know I’m the real deal. I’ve been doing this for over thirty years, after all.’

Evie consulted her notes and, in an attempt to appear easy breezy, said, ‘Along with recent visits from Florence Pugh and Harry Styles, I read somewhere that just last week you were consulted by Hugo Hearst. Can you tell us a bit about that particular encounter?’

Ben swivelled around and glared at her, as if to say, How dare you trick me into coming here to find out more about Hugo bloody Hearst! Evie shrugged sheepishly and Ben rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t disclose information about what I discuss with my clients,’ Maximilian said archly.

Before Evie could ask a follow- up question, Ben dived back in. ‘We were rather fortunate to see you at work when we first arrived—which was an amazing sight to behold. Can you demonstrate for our listeners how it works?’ ‘How what works?’ ‘The, um . . . speaking- to dead people process,’ Ben said. ‘Our listeners would love to hear about the mechanics of it.’

Maximilian inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, his shoulders rising and falling, letting out the occasional shudder. Ben whispered a narration of what Maximilian was doing for the benefit of their listeners, finishing with, ‘It appears as though Mr Maximilian has crossed over to the other side.’

When they hadn’t heard anything from Maximilian for another full minute, Evie scribbled a note to Ben: I think you offended him! Ben frowned and gestured for the pen, writing: Don’t even start. I can’t believe you dragged me here to talk about your mad crush on Hugo Hearst! Impervious to their exchange, their interviewee’s eyes remained clamped shut. It wasn’t just that. That was just a by- product of this brilliant interview, Evie wrote back. Ben rolled his eyes again.

‘Ben, I know you think I’m an insane “stan”,’ Evie whispered, not bothering to write any more since they’d have to edit out this long silence of Maximilian’s anyway. ‘But I feel like Hugo and I are so well matched. And I can’t stop thinking that if I’d just met him all those years ago, before he was famous—when he was literally living around the corner from my work writing Henrietta’s Gift—there could have been something between us. And then maybe things could have been different for me. I might have pushed myself more with my writing, finished my screenplay, and had the good sense to go back to university.’

‘Evie, this is all getting out of hand. Your . . . infatuation with Hugo has become really unhealthy,’ Ben whispered back.

‘Are you there?’ Maximilian shouted suddenly, making the two of them jump. ‘Yep, we’re still here,’ Evie said. ‘I’m not talking to you, obviously,’ Maximilian said with intense exasperation, his eyes still shut. Composing himself, he rolled his shoulders back and tried again. ‘Yes, I can hear you now. I see . . . I see . . . Yes, I see . . .’ How can he see with his eyes closed? Ben wrote and shoved the paper towards Evie, who swatted at it while suppressing a giggle.

‘Exactly what I suspected,’ Maximilian continued, pausing for a moment before resuming his ‘I see’ routine. After a few more minutes of this, Maximilian opened his eyes and said, ‘Audrey would like it to be known that Mr Famous is okay and is with her now. In fact, he’s enjoying a bubble bath.’

‘Audrey?’ Evie asked.

‘Audrey Hepburn. Mr Famous was her Yorkshire Terrier. I thought you were some kind of cinephile?’

‘She—Audrey Hepburn—is communicating from the dead because she’d like us to know her dog is fine?’ asked Ben, battling to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

‘Exactly,’ Maximilian replied matter-of-factly.

‘Mr Maximilian, you recently made headlines for helping Nicholas Hoult speak to his dead dog, so it seems like pets are a bit of a theme for you. Can you tell us what draws you to these particular interactions?’ Ben asked smoothly.
Years of podcast recordings had made both Evie and Ben excellent interviewers. When they’d first started their podcast ten years ago, they’d bumbled their way through any interview they could scramble together, unable to veer from their pre- prepared questions.

Maximilian poured himself another generous cup of tea, looking thoroughly fed up with the two mere mortals before him, and then said, ‘Pets are incredibly easy for me to communicate with in the afterlife. In fact, in my experience, they come to me much more easily than humans, probably because they’ve always been so attached to human companionship.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Evie, leaning forward on her elbows. ‘So, just to draw you back to what we touched on earlier. During your meeting with Hugo Hearst last week, did he want to speak with his recently deceased cat, Bunny? Oh, and you don’t happen to know whether he really is dating that ex- Victoria Secret’s model?’ The medium raised an eyebrow and Ben coughed loudly.

Evie changed tack swiftly and asked Maximilian if he and Hugo had discussed his film adaptation of Henrietta’s Gift. Maximilian rolled his eyes. ‘We did discuss Henrietta’s Gift. However, as I said, I can’t talk to you about the details of my interactions with living clients.’

‘Isn’t Henrietta’s Gift just the most romantic, beautifully crafted film you’ve ever seen?’ Evie said dreamily. ‘I’d give anything to find out more about how Hugo manages to write novels, screenplays and act. He’s so elusive about the nitty gritty of his work.’

‘You sound like his publicist rather than a podcast inter-viewer,’ Maximilian said.

‘God, I wish,’ Evie said, blushing. She had, in fact, applied to be Hugo’s personal shopper when the job had popped up on his official Facebook page. Sadly, she’d never heard back.

‘You have an interesting energy,’ Maximilian said to Evie, looking at her more closely.

‘Ah, thank you . . .’ she replied.

Keen to get the interview back on track, Ben rattled off the rest of the questions they’d prepared, to which Maximilian name-dropped dead celebrities like it was nobody’s business. From passing on messages to Elvis Presley’s loved ones to helping Emma Watson speak to her great grandmother, he made it sound like he was indispensable to every star in the UK, not to mention numerous visiting Hollywood icons. ‘Well, it’s been fascinating, Mr Maximilian,’ said Ben, gathering their equipment to put in the backpack. ‘And very . . . enlightening. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with us.’ As they got up to leave, Evie told Ben she still had a couple of questions she wanted to ask Maximilian and that she’d meet him outside the bagel shop. Ben sighed wearily, but he nodded, said goodbye to Maximilian and showed himself out.

After watching Ben leave, Maximilian looked at Evie curiously. ‘It’s about the writer, isn’t it?’ ‘I know it must sound silly,’ said Evie, ‘but I just can’t stop thinking about him.’ Maximilian seemed to soften slightly. ‘All I can say is there are a lot of distractions in your life.’

‘Like Instagram?’ Evie asked.

‘No, like preoccupations with no foreseeable outlet,’ said Maximilian. ‘Like everyone else these days, you’re juggling so many aspects of your life you’re not focusing on the most important things—or people.’ Evie nodded in agreement.

She was so busy trying to make ends meet with her shifts at the Ad Lib Cinema that she wasn’t making any headway with the things she actually cared about: most notably, the screenplay she’d left film school to focus on. And despite a couple of meaningless dalliances, and a friends- with benefits agreement with a guy she didn’t even like that much, she was yet to meet anyone she could see herself settling down with.

Maximilian stood up, his silk robe rippling. ‘Please tell me what to do,’ Evie said softly.

Maximilian sighed and put a reassuring arm around her shoulder. ‘You need to work out what you want in life and concentrate on achieving that which is closest to your heart. You should only settle for somebody worthy of your love.’

‘But how am I supposed to even meet a man, let alone decide whether they’re worthy of my love?’ asked Evie, exasperated. ‘Do you know how many women in their thirties are trying to meet a nice guy? There’s an entire industry capitalising off it. I’ve tried Hinge, Bumble, Tinder . . .’

‘I can feel that a lot of things are going to change for you, though perhaps not in the way you expect,’ interrupted Maximilian. ‘Really?’ asked Evie. ‘Really. But you need to think about your priorities. Fulfilling your creative ambitions is going to require hard work, determination and—most of all—bravery. And finding someone worthy of your love might involve some major false starts.’

‘So, what should I do?’ Evie asked.

‘Show some persistence with that screenplay you dropped out of film school for, and—’ Evie’s eyes widened. Maybe he was a bona fide psychic after all.

Maximilian smiled. ‘Yes, I do have psychic powers, but I also read. The bio on your podcast website says you’ve been working on a screenplay for over seven years.’ Evie sighed. ‘Okay, so what about finally falling in love with the “man of my dreams”?’

Maximilian paused, gazing behind her, then said, ‘The next time you experience intense, unadulterated pleasure—’

‘You mean—?’ ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’

Evie nodded, blushing despite herself. ‘You need to shout out the chorus of “Somebody to Love”.’

‘By Queen?’ asked Evie, frowning.

‘Who else?’ he replied with utter seriousness.

‘But—’

‘Look I’ve recommended this technique to all my clients seeking a serious relationship.’

‘Okay,’ Evie said slowly, wondering how she could possibly have believed in this nonsense. ‘You’ll see.’ Maximilian stepped closer and stared deep into Evie’s eyes.

‘Ah, thank you . . .’ Evie replied, thoroughly unsettled and regretting her decision to stay behind. She made her way to the door, repeating her thanks to Maximilian for the interview. Back on the landing, feeling bereft and stupid, Evie was surprised when Maximilian reached out and took her by the hand. ‘Remember,’ he said gently. ‘“Somebody to Love”.’