Friend of the Family

by Tasmina Perry

  Amy: urgent. Douglas would like to see you as soon as you get in today. Please come straight up. J.

  ‘What, no kiss-kiss at the end?’ muttered Amy, clicking off and reaching for her bag.

  As the lift doors opened, Josie’s face was the first thing Amy saw. She was expecting a sly smirk, but instead Josie gave her a warm smile.

  ‘Thanks for coming, wasn’t sure if you’d got the message.’ She tilted her head sympathetically. ‘Sorry to hear about last night.’

  Amy tried to remain calm and professional.

  ‘I believe the party on the train has gone viral, so you can’t call it a complete disaster.’

  ‘You can go in,’ said Josie, ignoring her comment and motioning towards Douglas’s office.

  Amy hated that she had to get permission from Josie for anything, and didn’t look back as she rapped twice on the door and went inside. Immediately she knew it was going to be a bad morning. Douglas’s face was stony. The overall atmosphere of the room was sub-zero.

  ‘Take a seat, Amy,’ he said. Whichever version of events he had absorbed, it clearly hadn’t pleased him. He looked at her for a moment, as if he was deciding how to start. ‘Not the result we were hoping for, was it?’ he said finally.

  Amy couldn’t help smiling, though clearly Douglas hadn’t been aiming for irony or gallows humour.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t exactly a triumph. But not a total train wreck either. If you’ll excuse the pun.’

  Douglas, however, didn’t crack his totem-pole face.

  ‘Yes, I have seen the digital coverage, but I think we can all agree that is down to chance rather than planning. Certainly not what you and your team have spent the last six months preparing for.’

  ‘Douglas, the most important thing was getting Louisa to hospital. Everyone accepts that. The car on the crossing was a freak incident we couldn’t plan for. Given the circumstances, I think we’ve got decent PR out of it. Money can’t buy publicity, actually.’

  ‘None of this would have happened if you hadn’t insisted on transporting most of the guest list by luxury train. What was wrong with “make your own way there”?’

  ‘Douglas, we needed to tempt people to the party.’

  ‘Tempt? If the idea of a Verve party was good enough in the first place, surely people wouldn’t have to be tempted.’ He tapped one stubby finger on the desk in front of him. ‘Look, you should know that in the light of this and other recent developments, we’ve decided we just can’t take your Mode application any further. It’s a big job, attracting the very best candidates . . .’

  Amy was determined not to let this slip through her fingers. ‘Douglas, I can do incredible things with that magazine. If you’ve read my vision, you’ll know I can. Don’t let what happened on the train last night detract from the fact that I am the best person for Mode.’

  ‘It’s not just the party,’ he said flatly.

  Amy felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. They had simply gone for another candidate.

  ‘Have you spoken to Marv Schultz? I saw him in New York. He wants me to present my strategy for Mode—’

  ‘Amy, please. Just leave it.’

  Amy nodded, struggling to stop the hot tears from flowing. ‘Well thank you, Douglas, for considering me,’ she said. ‘I would have relished the opportunity, but I’m sure you’ll find the right candidate for the position.’

  She glanced up, expecting him to stutter out a few platitudes: ‘your application was strong’, ‘a fine candidate’, ‘moving in another direction’, all the usual flannel. Instead, he looked at her unflinchingly.

  ‘We think you should take some time off, Amy,’ he said. ‘It’s clear you’re overworked and that fatigue is having a negative impact on the magazine and your staff.’

  Now Amy felt the breath catch in her throat. What?

  ‘I can’t, it’s Milan,’ she said. ‘I’m flying out on Tuesday.’

  ‘I’ve already had Josie cancel the flights. Janice will still go to represent the magazine, of course.’

  ‘Janice? You can’t send her alone. The editor has to go to Milan. The advertisers will think—’

  ‘You should probably keep a low profile with the advertisers right now.’

  ‘Is this about the Miranda thing, then? That was a storm in a teacup and the ad team assures me—’

  ‘It’s you, Amy,’ said Douglas suddenly. ‘Not the magazine, not the brand. You, you’re the problem.’

  She gaped at him. ‘Me?’

  Douglas nodded, looking as awkward as she’d ever seen him. ‘It’s been brought to my attention that you have a problem.’

  She was speechless for a second.

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘The drugs, Amy. We know.’

  Amy actually laughed. ‘I’ve never touched drugs in my life!’

  Douglas pressed his lips together in what she presumed was supposed to resemble a pained look.

  ‘Last night, a cleaner found some paraphernalia in your office. Needles, Amy.’

  She dropped her head back, letting out a groan of relief.

  ‘Oh that,’ she said. ‘It’s not drugs, it’s a booster shot. Amino acids.’

  Douglas was shaking his head sadly. ‘The first step to getting well is admitting you have a problem. We’ll give you all the support we can; we’ve already been in touch with a clinic . . .’

  ‘It’s not drugs!’ she snapped, pulling up her sleeve to show him her inner arm. ‘Do I look like a junkie? It’s vitamin shots! It’s like Botox or fillers.’

  ‘Amy, this isn’t a suggestion.’

  ‘You’re firing me?’

  ‘Asking you to step back. There will be a cash incentive. Plus we will pay for a stay in a facility for you. Never let it be said that Genesis doesn’t support its employees.’

  ‘Douglas, I don’t want to step back and I don’t want to go to a facility, whether you pay for it or otherwise.’

  He was leaning forward, making a patting motion with his hand, as if he was trying to calm a snapping Dobermann.

  ‘There’s no shame, Amy, honestly. We’re here to help in any way we can. And obviously no one outside this room will hear a hint of it until you’re better. Tracey can step up in the short term.’

  ‘Douglas, this is total rubbish, you have to believe me.’

  His stony face had returned. ‘You’re suspended pending investigation and/or treatment,’ he said. ‘HR will send you the paperwork.’

  ‘I’m not a drug addict!’

  ‘Frankly, Amy, it doesn’t matter. The rumour is out there, and the one thing the industry won’t tolerate is drugs. You know that. It’s a multi-billion-dollar industry; we can’t have even a whiff of it attached to us. Advertisers are fickle and advertising is our lifeblood. Apparently Dolce & Gabbana have already got wind of it.’

  Amy stood up so suddenly that Douglas shrank back in his seat. Perhaps he didn’t like drama after all.

  ‘It’s always about money, isn’t it?’ she said, her voice low, tight. ‘It’s never about people. That’s why this company is going under.’

  ‘I think it’s time to leave, Amy.’

  ‘But I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she said, her voice trembling.

  ‘We don’t want to have to call security.’

  ‘Security? Douglas, listen to yourself. I am not a drug addict. I have never touched drugs.’

  An image flashed into her mind. That afternoon she had come back from Dr Al Saraf’s. Josie sitting in Chrissie’s chair, a phone call, a flurry, a knocked bag spilling its contents on the floor. She’d let Josie pick it up and the girl had obviously seen a stray syringe.

  ‘It’s Josie, isn’t it?’ she said, pointing towards the door. ‘Josie told you I was on drugs. She saw a syringe and made up a story to discredit
me.’

  Douglas raised a hand. ‘Amy, listen to yourself. I know you’re upset, but there’s no need to start throwing accusations around.’

  ‘That little tramp seduced my husband. Did you know that?’ She was pointing at Douglas himself now. Her heart was hammering hard and she could feel sweat beading at her temples.

  Douglas had got up from his desk and had walked round to her side. Now he put a hand on her shoulder to direct her out of the room. She spun away.

  ‘Get off me,’ she hissed.

  As he opened the door, she could see Josie standing there holding a mug of tea. She couldn’t hold her anger and frustration in any longer.

  ‘Are you happy now?’ she screamed. ‘I have only ever tried to help you, and you do this to me. You want my life, is that it? And if you can’t have it, you want to destroy me.’

  Douglas was now openly restraining her. Denton Scoles had appeared out of his office eating a biscuit.

  ‘Watch her, just watch her,’ Amy said, trying to wriggle out of Douglas’s grasp.

  ‘Amy, are you all right?’ said Josie in a smooth, calm voice. ‘Do you want me to call David?’

  ‘I don’t want you going anywhere near my husband,’ she screamed.

  She watched Josie and Douglas exchange glances.

  ‘I’ve called security,’ said Denton, not looking Amy in the eye.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she spat. ‘I’m leaving. This business, Douglas. It isn’t about magazines. It’s about people.’ She flashed a look at Josie. ‘And the moment you make the wrong pick is the moment you find it all unravelling.’

  Chapter 31

  Max’s Holland Park house was big. No real surprise there; everything about Max was big, overblown. Maybe he’s overcompensating for something, thought Amy, then immediately regretted it, not wanting to think about Max’s endowment, large or otherwise.

  She stood outside the shiny black door, psyching herself for a minute before she went in.

  Max Quinn wasn’t the ideal shoulder to cry on, but David was locked in a key meeting with Japanese investors all morning and she didn’t want to disturb him, not when she felt so hysterical. Besides, when it came to fighting back against Douglas Proctor, who better to call than the ruthless snake himself.

  Rehab. It was just more corporate arse-covering of the worst kind. Even if she really had been hooked on heroin, did anyone seriously believe that Douglas was committed to getting her off the black tar and into recovery? And once she was whole again, was he really going to let her back in charge of Genesis Media’s number one cash cow? Was he hell. All they had to do was make the right noises, pretend to be sympathetic to her ‘issues’, then scoot her off with whatever token redundancy payment would keep her quiet. No, Amy knew her career was over – at Genesis certainly; possibly in the media as a whole, depending on how much of the story the gossips swallowed.

  She took a deep breath and pressed the bell.

  It might be over for Amy, but that didn’t mean she was going to let this go. Not in a million years. Because someone had created that story, fabricated it and spread it. She had seen through it immediately.

  According to Douglas, a cleaner had found the needles the previous night, yet in the next breath he was telling her that Dolce & Gabbana already knew about the rumours. Yeah, right. Either the cleaner had immediately rung Milan, or someone was lying. More than that: someone had decided to use the lie to bring her down. And Amy was going to find out who.

  ‘Amy!’ said Claire, opening the door. ‘Such a surprise. What on earth are you doing on a social call at this time?’

  ‘It was actually Max I wanted to speak to. I called his office. His PA said he was straight off a flight from New York but was stopping off at home first.’

  ‘He’s just in the shower freshening up. He’s gutted to have missed the Blenheim party.’

  ‘I assume you’ve read the papers today.’

  Claire nodded and looked down. ‘It was unlucky.’

  ‘You could say that. They’ve fired me.’

  Claire wrapped her friend in a hug. ‘Oh honey,’ she said, pulling away. ‘I’ll make tea.’

  Amy followed her through the spotless house into the kitchen. It was like a spread from Vogue Living magazine: endless white marble with sparkling copper pans hanging from the central island. There was a neatly squared-off pile of letters on the counter, and a single coffee mug stood on the gleaming stainless-steel sink.

  ‘Max!’ shouted Claire. ‘Amy’s here!’

  She rolled her eyes at Amy as she directed her to a sun-trap conservatory off the kitchen. ‘He announced he’s working from home today, but it’s no coincidence that Pog is in town. Apparently they’ve made plans for dinner and drinks. I assume they’re starting early.’

  ‘Not too early, I hope,’ said Amy, flipping through her phone to look at her schedule. ‘I’m supposed to be seeing him for lunch.’

  She perched on the edge of a cream sofa as Claire fussed around arranging coasters for their tea, smiling inwardly and wondering as she always did whether this was what Claire had imagined when she had set her sights on Max Quinn, millionaire. Was it satisfying staying at home all day making sure the cleaners kept the taps polished, or popping out to get a blow-dry? Amy had never even considered this way of life; to her, forging her own career, earning her own money was the only possible route, but as she’d got older, marriage and children had made her wonder. What was so wrong with a life of leisure and luxury, especially if you got to spend time with your child and husband instead of stuck in meetings or fighting through traffic every day?

  Though of course, if your husband was Max, she thought as he entered the room, maybe you’d be making excuses to stay longer at the office.

  ‘Darling!’ he cried, throwing his arms wide and scooping Amy into a bear hug. ‘My day – no, my week is complete! Fuck Call of Duty,’ he added, vaulting over the back of a sofa and landing fully prone, arms behind head. ‘This is more important. Tell me everything: how can we help?’

  Amy blinked at him, then glanced across at Claire, who gave a shrug.

  ‘Well, I assume something’s gone pretty badly wrong if you’re coming out here in the middle of the day. In fact it must be totally fucked up if you’re turning to Maxie for help.’

  Amy couldn’t help but smile at that.

  ‘What’s happened? David finally run off with that wotsit – Josie?’

  She closed her eyes, in no mood for his flippancy.

  ‘Oh come on,’ said Max. ‘I may be stupid, but I’m not deaf. It was hard to miss you and David having a screaming match at the villa. Then you bugger off to London and Juliet’s herding the poppet in the bikini into the back of a cab. I’ve seen enough episodes of Falcon Crest to work out the rest.’

  Amy snapped her eyes back open.

  ‘No, Max, David hasn’t run off with anyone. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. And yes, we’ve been having . . . a few problems, but this is something different.’

  Max waited patiently. He clearly wasn’t going to take the hint.

  ‘If you must know, I’ve been fired. Well, as good as. Suspended pending investigation.’ Sighing, she related the events of the morning. To her irritation, Max started laughing.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said. ‘Just the idea of you as a drug addict is hilarious. A Notting Hill Lou Reed you are not.’

  ‘I’m glad it’s so amusing to you that my career is over.’

  ‘Bollocks it is,’ he said dismissively, fishing a phone from his pocket. ‘These tinpot media outfits only bully you because they know you’ll roll over and take it.’

  He held up a hand to stifle Amy’s protests and put the phone to his ear.

  ‘Seriously, Amy, there’s no way anyone would try to pull this shit in banking.’

  He began barking instructions into the phone. ‘Yeah, it�
�s me, put him on. I’m not paying you to dick me about. Here’s what we’ve got . . .’ The conversation then descended into legalese: phrases like ‘constructive dismissal’, ‘outrageous hearsay’ and ‘a load of libellous cockwash’. He finished with ‘Just get it sorted, I want these fuckers to pay.’

  He clicked off, then looked at Amy.

  ‘Right, I’ve got James Callen all over this like leprosy.’

  ‘James Callen?’

  ‘Top employment lawyer on the planet,’ he said. ‘Guy makes Wolverine look restrained. I know for a fact he’s got enough dirt on Marvin Schultz to bury that weasel six feet under.’

  ‘Max,’ said Amy nervously, ‘it’s good of you, but it’s not going to change anything. And to be fair, Marv Schultz hasn’t really done anything . . .’

  ‘Maybe not, but it’ll scare the Christ out of those buggers. No one screws with my friends and comes away with all their fingers.’

  Amy softened. She’d always thought of Max as a slightly irritating buffoon, just one of the gang who was always there making a mess at parties, but she supposed to the outside world he was a force to be reckoned with – and it was heart-warming to see him outraged on her behalf.

  ‘I’m going to make some more calls, lob over a few more grenades. You may be right, maybe it won’t change anything, but I’m going to find out who’s been fucking with you. Leave it to me.’

  He kissed her on the cheek and was gone. Claire just stood there awkwardly, fiddling with the strainer. While Max obviously enjoyed a crisis, she was reduced to pouring tea.

  ‘I totally embarrassed myself today,’ said Amy after a moment.

  ‘How?’

  ‘You know Josie is Douglas’s PA now?’

  ‘No way.’

  Amy nodded. ‘She impressed him before Provence. There was a job opening, she got it.’

  ‘Sounds a bit convenient.’

  Claire had a point. It was Josie who had found William’s humidor and saved the day. Grace had been fired for her ineptitude, but what if Josie had planned it that way? The more she thought about the young woman, the more her stomach seemed to twist inside.