by Mandy Baggot
“Autumn! I’m serious.”
“So am I. I can barely breathe as it is. I don’t need another pack of people stifling me. And that’s what they do, they stifle me. They smother the creativity right out of me. Is that what you want?” Autumn snapped, waiting for the poisonous reaction.
Alison’s eyes narrowed, her expression stony. “Better to be stifled than in danger.”
“You think?”
“I’ve spoken to MI5,” Alison informed matter-of-factly.
“What!”
“You’re in the limelight, and I’m an important figure in government, Autumn. That makes you all the more interesting to people who might like to harm me through you.”
“Oh, I see. Here I was thinking you were actually concerned about my safety.” Autumn removed her gloves and took hold of her martini glass.
“I am concerned for your safety,” Alison stated.
“Because it might affect your career?”
“You’re being absurd. That isn’t what I meant at all.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I wish you wouldn’t be like this.” Alison put down her glass and folded her hands together on her lap.
Autumn knew she didn’t like it when the pawn found its voice and decided to use it. She didn’t like confrontation. She liked that less than when Autumn was indifferent. When she was in full vicious flow, she often blamed Autumn’s father for passing on his argumentative genes. When she was really mad, she accused him of passing on his argumentative Irish genes, as if reminding Autumn of his nationality would lessen her opinion of him. It didn’t work, because Autumn loved hearing his name spoken in whatever context. It meant he hadn’t been forgotten. Alison would like to forget him, but that just wasn’t an option. Autumn had seen the photos, the red hair, the full lips, and the pale skin. Her likeness to him was uncanny.
“How am I being, Mother? Why don’t you tell me?”
“Disdainful…ungrateful…irritable…obnoxious…” Alison began.
Color rose in Autumn’s cheeks. “Don’t leave anything out,” she snapped.
“I’ve employed someone,” Alison stated, pouring herself a glass of water.
“What! Someone from MI5?”
“Not exactly. Someone they recommended.” Alison’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone who’s done work for them before…unofficially you might say.”
The whispering in public was very annoying. Almost as annoying as when Alison got out a pad and pen and wrote notes instead of speaking. Autumn always wondered if her mother had to burn the notes after their conversations, or, at the very least, eat them. She hoped the latter. The thought of her mother chewing up Basildon Bond’s finest gave her a secret thrill.
“Are you completely insane?” Autumn exclaimed.
“I’m being practical.”
“You’re being over-the-top. I do not need a bodyguard or whatever this unofficial MI5 psycho is supposed to be.”
“I would disagree.” A deep, male voice interjected into their conversation.
Autumn’s purse fell off her knee and onto the floor as she turned to look at the voice’s owner. He smiled at her and picked her purse up, replacing it on her lap. He was tall, with short, glossy, black hair, and he had so much stubble on his face, it was on the verge of being called a beard. Autumn couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to get so close to their table without their noticing.
“Do you mind? This is a private conversation,” Autumn said, glaring up at him.
He was good-looking, but his clothes were a style disaster. He was wearing an off-the-peg charcoal suit, a white shirt open at the neck, and on his feet were very cheap shoes. He wasn’t the hotel’s usual clientele. He looked like he might be more at home selling mobile phones.
“Can I join you?” he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
“No, you most certainly may not. Georgio! We need security over here.” Alison screeched like an irritated parrot.
“I am security. Nathan Regan.” He offered his hand to Autumn.
She looked at the hand. It had long fingers, a red scar down the length of its middle finger, and there was the edge of a tattoo just visible on his wrist because of the too-short sleeves of the jacket. She didn’t know whether to shake it or offer him some antibacterial gel and the phone number of someone on Savile Row. His accent suggested he came from the north of England. She’d worked with Sean Bean on a commercial once.
“Oh! I didn’t realize,” Alison said, dismissing the doorman who had eagerly bounded over to assist them with a shake of one hand.
“Didn’t realize what?” Autumn asked her mother.
“This is the chap I was talking about,” Alison whispered. “The one recommended by MI—”
“I was recommended by a friend. No need to elaborate in public,” Nathan spoke. He picked up a handful of cashew nuts from the glass dish on the table.
He had interrupted her mother. Broken into her conversation without thinking about the consequences, and now, he was eating bar snacks. Nuts that had been handled by every person who had sat at that table that day. Highly important people, granted, but everyone visits the toilet and sometimes neglects to wash their hands. Public nuts were a health hazard. Everyone knew that. Except him, it seemed.
Autumn watched him expertly pour the nuts into his mouth and grind them up, salt and crumbs speckling his lips.
“I’m Alison Raine, and this is my daughter, Autumn.”
Nathan fixed his eyes on Autumn. “I know who you both are. You wore a dress made entirely of magazine cuttings of yourself to that film premiere last week.”
Autumn felt uncomfortable. His eyes were a pale blue, flecked with gold she noticed, and the way he was setting them on her made her feel as if he could see right inside her. She gripped her purse tighter.
“Classy,” Nathan stated with a laugh as he helped himself to more cashews.
Autumn glared at him. “Are you insulting me?” she asked.
“Why aren’t you sure?” Nathan challenged.
“You are the rudest man I’ve ever met. There is no way you are going to be part of my security team,” Autumn stated. She picked up her martini and downed it in one swallow.
“I agree. I’m not going to be part of anything. I don’t do teams. I have my own way of doing things.”
“Mr. Regan, I’ve been told you’re the best at what you do, and I’m afraid if I don’t take the first step to tighten up Autumn’s circle of protection then—” Alison started.
“Mother! Circle of protection! You’ve been watching too much Law & Order. I don’t need protecting!”
The idea that this rough-looking person, in the worst suit imaginable, was going to start running her security detail was horrendous.
“You leave your apartment at the same time every morning, your usual car, normally driven by Ed. You always take coffee in the little Italian place on the corner of Penny Road. You have a long black and a carrot cake, sometimes a chocolate muffin, but you pick out the chocolate chips, and you count them, and if there isn’t a multiple of five, you have to order another one. Your assistant, Janey, drives you to Oxford Street most days so you can try on the latest collections from whoever’s in fashion at the moment. You get your hair styled every Wednesday at Frisson, usually at three, and you’re really in need of a manicure because you cancelled your last appointment so you could feed lumpfish to your boyfriend, Juan, at the opening of an art gallery,” Nathan reeled off, grabbing another handful of nuts and watching for Autumn’s reaction.
“You’ve been following me! What are you? Some sort of professional stalker?” Autumn asked.
“If you like,” he said with a shrug.
“Mother! Are you hearing this? He’s been following me around! What sort of person does that?”
“I know your routine. I know what you do twenty-four hours a day,” Nathan told her.
“Well done! What do you want? A Blue Peter badge?”
“He can
protect you when you go to America,” Alison spoke up.
“I’m singing at the International Music Awards, not joining Al-Qaeda,” she responded.
Nathan’s gaze immediately fell to Alison. Autumn looked to her mother and saw she had gripped her glass of water a little tighter and sucked her lips into her mouth.
“You haven’t told her,” Nathan said, flatness in his tone.
Autumn kept her eyes on her mother. Her face was strained, and Autumn watched as Alison swallowed and took a sip of water. Her polished, professional demeanor slipped for just a second. Then the gates went up again, and she gave her daughter a wide, glossy-lipped smile.
“It’s probably nothing. I mean, I’ve had this sort of thing in the past, and nothing ever came of it,” Alison gabbled.
“Nothing ever came of what?” Autumn wanted to know.
Her mother was a professional liar, and an accomplished one, but she was making a very poor attempt at sounding convincing now.
“Your mother has been receiving threats for the last month. Levels have escalated, and the indication is that something could happen at the awards, maybe before,” Nathan said.
He’d uttered the words like he was giving out a news report. The information was important, but it was just that, information. Where were the details? She needed details. You couldn’t just say something like that and not elaborate.
Autumn looked at her mother then at the dark-haired stranger in the ill-fitting suit. What were they telling her exactly?
“We don’t want your safety compromised,” Alison said as if she were ordering a hit on a disliked opposite number.
“The threats are directed at you,” Nathan stated.
Those words left no doubt.
Chapter Two
“I’ll order some more drinks. Waiter!” She held her hand in the air and clicked her fingers. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Regan?” Alison offered.
“No thanks,” Nathan responded.
His eyes were trained on Autumn’s ghostly pale face.
She was slipping her gloves on and off, looking into space, jerking her knees up and down so the clasp on her purse made a noise. This was insane. She was a singer. People didn’t threaten singers. Well, apart from John Lennon, and, yes, that had ended badly, but that was years ago.
Apparently, according to joint responses from her mother and Nathan Regan, someone had threatened to kidnap her. It was some terrorist organization, all beige fatigues and balaclavas and a symbolic flag from a part of the world she had never heard of, let alone been to. She could almost see it now. Someone would grab her on her way out of the coffee shop on Penny Road, put a sack over her head, and bundle her into a van. They would talk in some ancient language or Arabic code, quickly and loudly, and everything would be dark until they reached some filthy warehouse on the Smithfield Estate. That’s when she would see the flag she didn’t know the origin of and more men in terrorist dress. There would be a video camera all set up, and she would be forced to tell the world that this group was going to show Westerners the way and how, because of our evil forefathers, sacrifices would be made.
Her make-up would have run all over her face, even the usually indestructible eyeliner and twenty-four-hour pout lipstick, and her hair would be frizzy like Orphan Annie from the film of the musical. She would say whatever they wanted her to say, knowing that the large saber the quiet one of the group was sharpening was destined for her neck. Because of her mother. Not because she sang songs, not because she spoke out about the fur trade, but because of her mother’s political role.
“Hey.” Nathan clicked his fingers in front of her face and brought her back into the room.
Autumn looked at him, trying to maintain her composure, trying to practice all her mother’s “I’m-in-control” moves but failing. Her heart was racing. She was almost considering asking her mother for some magic pills, the ones that would give her visions of hot actors.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Nathan spoke again, as if reading her thoughts.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m due at the record company—now in fact. My car’s waiting for a call.” Autumn reached for her powder compact.
“Darling,” Alison started, “we need to talk about this. I know I should have told you before but—”
“It has to be a hoax,” Autumn said. “I mean, what could I give these people? It will be some sad, little loner with time on his hands and nothing better to do than rub the government the wrong way. There are plenty of people who would like to do that at the moment. In fact, almost everybody.”
“The threats have been authenticated,” Alison told her.
Was that emotion she had heard? Had there been a slight trace of feeling in her mother’s words just then?
“What does that mean?” Autumn snapped back, ignoring any element of fondness.
“It means they’re real,” Nathan answered. He dipped his hand back into the snack bowl.
“Will you stop eating the nuts! You may as well be swallowing e-coli!” Autumn shrieked.
“Autumn, there’s no need to panic. This is why Mr. Regan is here.”
“I am not panicking! Because there is nothing to panic about! I’m going to call my driver and wait in the foyer.”
She stood up from her seat, brushed some imaginary dust off the front of her jacket, and reached into her purse for her phone. She pressed a button for speed dial.
“That isn’t how things are going to work.” Nathan’s voice was cool but held authority.
“What?” Autumn inquired, staring at him for an answer.
“From now on, you don’t go anywhere without me,” Nathan told her.
She let out a laugh and put her gloved hand to her mouth. Who did this awfully dressed individual think he was exactly? No one ordered her around. Her mother tried to, but no one else dared tell her what was going to happen next, not even her record company. Well, not all the time.
Nathan smiled back at her.
“Mother, where did you find this man? He thinks he’s playing Kevin Costner to my Whitney Houston,” Autumn laughed.
“Autumn, you need to listen to what he says. He’s a professional.”
“A professional what exactly? Comedian? Psychopath? A psychopathic comedian?” Autumn suggested.
“I apologize, Mr. Regan, for my daughter’s lack of manners. Despite her career in the public eye, she has yet to fully grasp the responsibility and need for diplomacy. I can only put that down to the fact that she has paparazzi and fans clawing at her every day. Being on show all the time sometimes numbs your ability to remember how things work in the real world.”
“Apology accepted,” Nathan replied.
“Apology accepted? There was no need for an apology, Mother, and you do not do anything on my behalf! No apologizing, no hiring weirdo security guys, no—”
“Telephoning the tabloids, begging them not to print pictures of you topless and drunk at a nightclub in Italy,” Nathan concluded.
Autumn’s cheeks blazed, and she felt herself shrink almost right down into her new shoes. No one was supposed to know about that. She tightened up her mouth and bit the inside of her cheek until she was sure it was bleeding. Only then did she breathe. She’d done some very stupid things and that had been one of them. She’d drunk herself into a state, encouraged by a very charming, very good-looking Italian man she had only just met, because she craved the company. He’d listened to her and he’d topped up her glass, on her account obviously, and then he’d encouraged her to dance even though the room was spinning like a fairground ride for her. People didn’t want to know her, they only wanted to be seen with her. Sometimes, when her face ached from smiling, that knowledge hurt.
“Your phone at home’s been tapped,” Nathan stated. “We have to assume the group knows your itinerary and all your associates. You’re moving out.”
“Do you think that’s absolutely necessary?” Alison queried.
“I never suggest anything that isn
’t absolutely necessary,” he replied.
“Moving out,” Autumn said in a whisper.
Her throat tightened as that thought rolled up to her mind. She couldn’t move out of her apartment. She’d only moved in six months ago. It was luxury in brick form. It had four bedrooms, one for her, one for Janey, and two others with floor-to-ceiling wardrobes for her clothes. She had a balcony overlooking the Thames, a sauna in the bathroom, and a cyber dog called Diamante on her sixty inch plasma. The walls were white, the floor was oak, and in the kitchen, there was a coffee machine that made thirty-five different flavors.
“Autumn, they know where you live. They know what you do and who you do it with. We need to start minimizing that list,” Nathan told her.
“I live with my friend Janey,” Autumn said through trembling lips.
“Not anymore,” Nathan said.
“Mother.” Autumn looked to Alison with wide, frightened eyes.
“I know this isn’t how you want things to be right before the most important night of your career, but this isn’t an everyday situation,” Alison said.
Her words provided no comfort.
“I’m taking you somewhere safe until the awards,” Nathan informed. “No one’s going to know where you live. It’ll be just you and me.”
“And me, of course. I’ll know, darling.” Alison smiled at Autumn.
Autumn watched her change her expression to something resembling consolation.
“No, you won’t,” Nathan said, taking a breath and rising from his chair.
Alison looked like he had reached out and burned her with a hot poker.
“I apologize, Foreign Secretary, for my tone, but we don’t know where the leak is. The more people who know Autumn’s location, the greater the chance of the group finding out,” Nathan said.
“Mr. Regan, are you suggesting there could be someone on the inside? In my office?” Alison asked.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I just like to thin down the possibilities.”
Now he sounded as diplomatic as a well-seasoned politician. Someone brave enough to play her mother at her own game. That was a novelty.
“My car’s here,” Autumn announced, noticing the black SUV arriving outside the entrance and the photographers stationed outside repositioning their cameras in anticipation of her exit.
