by Lucy Diamond
She left the room and Gemma heard her thudding upstairs to the bathroom. Just then Saffron’s mobile started ringing on the table. Caller unknown, it said on the display.
Gemma hesitated. ‘Your phone’s ringing!’ she called, but there was no answer. The walls in these stone cottages were so thick, the sound didn’t travel much at all. After three more rings, Gemma picked up the phone and answered it. ‘Hello, Saffron’s phone?’ she said politely.
‘At last!’ came a flustered voice. ‘I tried the office and they said you were ill, but I was so desperate to talk to you, I had to try. You won’t believe what Troy’s done now, the despicable little shit . . . ’
‘Oh. Excuse me? This isn’t actually Saffron,’ Gemma said over the garbled torrent. ‘Sorry, I just picked up her phone. She’s upstairs.’
‘In the flat? But I just tried ringing there. Where are you?’
‘I’m . . . ’ Gemma hesitated. ‘Well, in Suffolk. I live next door to the cottage where—’
‘Suffolk? She didn’t tell me she was going to Suffolk!’ The voice was familiar for some reason, shrill and indignant as it was. ‘So where are you? I’ll drive over.’
‘Um . . . ’ Gemma wished Saffron would hurry up and take over this call herself, but now she could hear the loo flushing and water running upstairs. ‘I . . . Look, who is this?’
‘It’s B—’ For a moment Gemma thought the line had gone dead, but then the woman said, ‘It’s her sister.’
‘Oh! Shall I get her to call you back?’
‘Tell you what, just give me the address and I’ll drive over. Chat about it with her in person. I could do with getting out of London.’
There was something odd about this conversation, but Gemma didn’t want to be rude or start quibbling, especially when Saffron had just said herself how nice her sister had been about offering to come to the amnio with her. Besides, judging by the state Saffron was in, a visit from her sister was probably exactly what she needed right now. ‘Okay,’ she said haltingly, then proceeded to give her directions to Larkmead and the cottage.
‘Splendid. Thank you! I’ll head off immediately. Tell her to put some wine in the fridge, for goodness’ sake!’
Gemma put the phone down, frowning. She hadn’t expected Saffron’s sister to sound quite so bossy. And why would she think Saffron had any wine, when she knew she was pregnant?
‘Sorry about that,’ Saffron said, coming back into the room a minute later. ‘My bladder – honestly, it thinks it’s a tap these days.’
Gemma smiled faintly. ‘I remember that, from being pregnant with my two.’ She nodded down at the phone. ‘I just took a call for you while you were upstairs, I hope that’s okay. I did try shouting to you, but I don’t think you heard.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Your sister. She said she’s going to get in her car and come straight over. I gave her the address.’ She paused. ‘It was a bit weird, really.’
Saffron’s pale-blue eyes had opened very wide. ‘Eloise? What does she want? How did she sound?’
‘Well . . . Kind of manic, really. She was saying something about Troy. Being a despicable little shit?’
‘Troy? But he’s . . . ’ Saffron’s jaw dropped and a few seconds ticked by while she stared in disbelief. ‘Oh no. She wouldn’t.’
‘What? I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?’
‘I’ve got two sisters – one’s in Australia, and the other’s not speaking to me right now. I think the woman you just spoke to is . . . ’ She groaned. ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘What? Who?’ Gemma felt absolutely mortified. She should never have answered that phone. Meanwhile Saffron looked as if she might be sick.
‘Bunty fucking Halsom, that’s who. My client from hell. The woman I’d love never to see again.’ She made a growl of frustration. ‘It must be her – she’s been seeing someone called Troy and is completely obsessed with him. Oh Christ!’
Gemma clapped a hand to her mouth. Bunty Halsom from the telly? ‘That’s why her voice was familiar,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m so sorry. She told me she was your sister, and I just thought . . . ’
‘That bloody woman. Of all the nerve. Honestly, I could throttle her, I really could. No idea about boundaries. No idea whatsoever!’ She grabbed her phone and began dialling. Gemma heard it ring a few times and then a voicemail kick in. ‘Bunty? This is Saffron Flint. Please do not come to Suffolk. I do not want to see you right now. I am on holiday and will not answer the door. Do you understand? I will not answer the door!’
Chapter Twenty
Saffron could not believe the brass neck of Bunty. To lie like that, so outrageously, pretending to be her sister in order to weasel out her whereabouts . . . It was an atrocious way to behave. What was this woman on? And of all the times for her to turn up unwanted, this was definitely the worst. Saffron could hardly cope with living inside her own head right now, let alone gear up to deal with Bunty in any kind of professional manner. In the space of two minutes her place of refuge had become a trap, with the clock now ticking down to the arrival of her uninvited and decidedly unwelcome guest. Incandescent with fury, it was only Gemma’s utterly stricken expression that prevented Saffron from going nuclear.
‘I did think there was something strange about the conversation,’ Gemma gulped, wringing her hands. ‘But I thought: I can’t start arguing with your sister and refusing to tell her anything. I’m so sorry, though. I’m really, really sorry. You can hide at my house if you want. I’ll deal with her and send her packing when she gets here.’
Saffron’s rage cooled a fraction at the sincerity in Gemma’s brown eyes. She had only acted as any other normal person would, in assuming that the ‘sister’ on the other end of the phone was kosher. It wasn’t Gemma’s fault that Bunty was a complete bloody lunatic. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘If I had an ounce more energy, I’d just drive back to London right now, but I’ll stay and face the music.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’ll probably turn the air around Pear Tree Lane blue by the time I finish with her, though.’
‘I’d drive you back myself, but I’ve got a ton of sewing to do, and then I’m working in the pub,’ Gemma said, still with that anxious look. ‘I could juggle things around, though, if you really want to go.’
Saffron heaved a sigh. It had taken her an hour and a half to get here; she couldn’t ask Gemma to do such a thing. ‘No. You’re all right. Tell me about this sewing then: what are you making?’
She drank her tea and listened as Gemma described the pale-pink organza dresses she had designed, and her anger subsided a little more. Privately she couldn’t get over how different Gemma looked, since she’d been the hostess-with-the-mostest back at the New Year party, with that divine blue dress, her hair coiffed, lashings of lippy. She hadn’t stopped laughing and teasing everyone the whole evening. Now her face was sunken and her eyes had lost all their humour and sparkle.
‘Talking of which, I’d better go,’ Gemma said eventually, glancing up at the clock. ‘I meant it, by the way, about that awful Bunty woman. If you can’t face dealing with her, I’ll put a flea in her ear and send her packing. Or I’ll threaten her with one of Spencer’s crutches. Okay?’
‘Okay. And thanks for earlier – listening to me going on, I mean. I swear I didn’t invite you over just to burst into tears on you.’
Gemma patted her arm comfortingly. ‘Any time. Seriously. And hey, thanks for listening to me, too. Cheaper than therapy, right? I feel much better for having a bit of a moan.’ She paused at the front door, then surprised Saffron with a hug. ‘Take care of yourself,’ she said. ‘Pop round if you want some company, all right?’
‘Thanks. I will do. Bye, Gemma.’
After she’d gone, Saffron sank onto the sofa feeling wearied by the prospect of Bunty’s imminent arrival and wishing she knew what to do. Her friend Kate would probably tell her to see Bunty off the premises with a shotgun, which was tempting, but perhaps not advisable. In the past, her boss Charlott
e had assured her she could take any gripes about Bunty straight to her desk, but Saffron had always preferred to tough it out, rather than admit defeat. Anyway she could hardly phone the office for advice now, because as far as Charlotte was concerned, Saffron was at home, puking over the toilet bowl, rather than in a holiday cottage in Suffolk.
She shut her eyes and put her feet up, too tired to think any more. She would keep her cool, she vowed, and be polite, yet firm. Whatever happened, though, she would not let Bunty Halsom step one foot over the threshold, and that was that.
‘Cooee! Anyone home?’
Saffron jolted awake at the sound of the voice. The room was dark. How long had she been asleep? She rubbed her eyes and wiped what felt suspiciously like dribble from her mouth, then sat up straighter as she heard footsteps.
‘Saffron? Are you in here?’ came the voice again. A voice that sounded suspiciously like . . . oh no. Already? So much for warding Bunty off at the threshold.
Saffron scrambled to her feet as the living-room door opened and Bunty came in and switched the light on. ‘Ah! There you are. The door was on the latch, so I let myself in. Lovely place! Shall I pour us an aperitif, or do you have wine? Did you get my message about Troy, by the way? He has been unspeakably vile, you know. You’ll never guess—’
It was like being in a nightmare. Saffron immediately forgot all her plans to be calm and professional. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ she snapped.
Her curt unfriendliness stopped Bunty mid-sentence. ‘I . . . Sorry, what?’
‘Lying that you were my sister so as to get my address. I have come here to convalesce,’ she said angrily – not strictly true, but Bunty didn’t need to know that – ‘and you have the nerve to invite yourself over to tell me about Troy sodding Blake? Have you lost the plot? How dare you? And how, in any way, do you think this is a good idea?’
Bunty’s froggy blue eyes looked even moister and more bulging than usual. ‘Well . . . ’ she stammered, floundering for words in a most un-Bunty-like way. ‘Well, because you’re my adviser on these things.’
Her adviser on crap tabloid-stunt boyfriends? Er, no. Actually not. Honestly, for a well-educated, middle-aged woman with a good career record and pots of money in the bank, Bunty was like a child sometimes. A helpless, needy child who couldn’t do a single bloody thing for herself. Saffron took a deep breath. ‘With the greatest respect’ – ha! – ‘I am not at your beck and call, especially when I’ve taken time off work to . . . to recover. Besides, listening to you banging on about your airhead boyfriend is not part of my job description. Okay? You can save all that shit for your friends, not me, because I don’t want to hear it!’
Bunty’s pastel-pink mouth quivered and she seemed to shrink in height. ‘I . . . I . . . ’ she began, blinking a few times. ‘I thought you were my friend.’
What? Since when? And how on earth was Saffron supposed to respond to that, without mortally offending her client?
‘Well . . . ’ Deep breaths, Saffron. Grit your teeth. ‘Ours is first and foremost a business relationship, isn’t it?’ she replied; a polite way of saying No. ‘And of course it’s great that we get on so well’ – she’d be struck down with lightning, telling such porkies – ‘but it’s important we both respect our positions here. My job is to help boost your career, to tell the world about your talents, Bunty.’ Come and zap me, lightning, I deserve the full frazzling for that. ‘It’s not my job to . . . ’
Then she broke off, noticing that her client had tears streaming down her face, glistening tracks through her makeup.
‘I thought he loved me,’ Bunty sobbed, choking on each word.
Saffron opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. Oh, help. She wasn’t used to seeing Bunty as anything other than brash and bombastic. Now she seemed an absolute wreck.
‘He said he loved me,’ Bunty wept, shoulders shaking. ‘And now he’s gone to the Daily M-M-Mail. Some nasty little K-K-Kiss and T-T-Tell story!’
She buried her face in her hands and Saffron suppressed a groan. No. Not now, Bunty. Why, oh why, was she even listening to this? Why was Bunty still on the premises at all? She pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to put her hands around her client’s fat neck. Much as she wanted to, she could not push Bunty away when she was in this state, though.
‘Go on then,’ she said resignedly. ‘You might as well sit down and tell me the worst. Let’s hear it.’ Ten minutes, she thought. Ten minutes and then she would politely but firmly show her client the door.
Bunty lowered herself onto the far end of the sofa and clasped her hands in her lap. ‘There’s a sex tape,’ she said shakily, not meeting Saffron’s gaze.
Saffron’s mouth fell open, and she closed it with a snap. Oh, great. And now her brain had gone on strike at the terrible images this announcement prompted. ‘Right,’ she said, her heart sinking. It was already obvious this would take a lot longer than ten little minutes to sort out. ‘And is he enough of a bastard to go public with it?’
‘Probably.’ That parping nose-blow again. ‘I’ve had a journalist from the Mail ringing up, wanting to know if it’s true about my love-eggs. If he didn’t tell them that, then who did?’
Saffron did not want to think about Bunty in relation to love-eggs or any other kind of sex toys. ‘I see,’ she said. Working in PR did throw up these nasty little surprises now and then. Last year the agency had had to put a gloss on a story about one of their footballer clients being caught with his pants down during a brothel raid. Then there had been Charlotte’s famous actress client with the squeaky-clean, wholesome reputation, who’d been done for possession of some truly filthy pornography; and the restaurateur beloved of the gossip mags for his fiery relationship with his wife, who’d been stitched up by not one but two mistresses, both of whom were expecting his babies. They were all at it.
She gazed blankly around the dingy room, wondering if she could possibly shape this predicament into something positive. Should she advise Bunty to maintain a dignified silence until the storm blew over, or use the opportunity to gather support instead, cast Bunty as the betrayed victim and maybe sell an exclusive story to a journalist from another paper? Her mind leapt from one option to another. This could even be a new avenue of work for Bunty, she realized: a consultant on magazine sex-columns, or articles about sexual experimentation for the over-fifties . . .
Her brain ached. How she wished this hadn’t come to her door today. She wasn’t in any fit state to start assembling a press strategy. ‘Bunty, perhaps we should pass you on to Charlotte,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to this at the moment, whereas she’s had a lot of experience with this kind of thing.’
Bunty’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘But I don’t like Charlotte,’ she confessed. ‘She looks down her nose at me, like I’m not good enough for her. Lady Muck.’ She rummaged in her handbag for a monogrammed hip flask and brandished it in the air. ‘Shag it all, darling, let’s just get sloshed. Maybe I’ll send some heavies round to kneecap Troy instead. That’ll shut him up.’ She unscrewed the lid and took a hefty slug. ‘Can I tempt you?’ she asked, holding it out towards Saffron.
Saffron’s stomach curdled at the smell and she recoiled, shaking her head. ‘I can’t,’ she said when Bunty raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘I mean . . . I’m not drinking. Because I’m ill, remember. Ill, and on the wagon. Allergic.’
A look of perplexity crossed Bunty’s face at this torrent of rambling, one lie after another. Then her eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
Shit. She must have guessed about the pregnancy. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You said you were ill. Is it contagious?’ Bunty was up on her feet again and backing away. ‘Because my immune system is already in tatters with all this stress. I’m taking extra vitamins and wheatgrass supplements, but I can’t cope with any more strain. I’m supposed to be auditioning for Wanna Be A Dancer? next week, darling. I’ve got to be at the top of my game
, health-wise.’
Saffron’s sympathy evaporated in a flash, swiftly followed by the last dregs of her patience. That would teach her to be a sucker for a sob story. ‘Oh right, because it’s all about you, isn’t it?’ she said, breathing hard as she stood up to face this dreadful, horrible, shallow person who’d invaded her space without a second thought. ‘Well, I’ve had enough. I quit. Do you hear me? I’m through with trying to help you and look after you. So you can just bugger off back to London and leave me alone. Find some other sap to put up with you, because I can’t bear it a minute longer!’
Bunty stared at her open-mouthed, eyes boggling. ‘You can’t quit, just like that,’ she said, taken aback. ‘What about Troy, and the tape?’
‘I couldn’t care less about Troy and your mucky little tape,’ Saffron said, her voice rising in pitch. Sod it, she might as well go for broke. ‘You have absolutely no idea, do you? You turn up here, uninvited, and expect me to drop everything for you. Then, when I tell you I’m ill, you immediately think of yourself. You don’t even bother to ask how I am, or why I’m here. Well, I’ll tell you, shall I? I’m waiting for a test to see if my baby’s okay. Is that good enough for you? Will that do? Now get out!’
Bunty looked stunned. A full five seconds passed before she spoke. ‘I’m . . . I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything, because I don’t want to hear it.’ Saffron pointed magisterially at the door. ‘Please just go. I’ll ask Charlotte to find someone else to represent you.’
Bunty didn’t take any notice of the pointing. In fact she sat right back down again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t know you were pregnant.’
‘Yes, well,’ Saffron said, already wishing she had kept her mouth buttoned. She lowered her arm, feeling spent.
‘And you’re right, I shouldn’t have turned up like this, expecting you to drop everything for me. Bad habit of mine.’ She pulled out a plastic cigarette and sucked hard on it. ‘Do you want to talk about the baby?’ she asked hesitantly.
