by Susan Lewis
Reaching for the jug of freshly brewed coffee, she was about to help herself when Polly said, ‘Actually, that’s mine.’
Susannah managed to stop before spilling a drop, and putting the jug down again she went to fill the kettle. There was no point getting into something so petty, and anyway, she’d prefer to have tea.
Several minutes ticked by as Polly continued studying the script and Susannah brushed her hair while gazing out at the beautiful sun-drenched valley. She thought about opening the window to absorb the fresh, grassy air, but decided against it in case it provided Polly with another reason to object.
Once the kettle had boiled she dropped a tea bag in her mug, covered it with hot water, then pulled open her cupboard to take down her share of the welcome pack chocolate chips.
‘Would you like one?’ she offered.
Polly merely turned over a page and carried on reading.
‘I’ll take that as a no thank you,’ Susannah said with a smile, and helping herself to one she put the packet away again.
After a while, still keeping her head down, Polly said, ‘Tell me, how does it feel to know you were cast for your looks rather than your talent?’
Susannah became very still. She couldn’t even begin to think how to answer that without sounding defensive, or aggressive, or, God forbid, pathetic.
‘I was just wondering, that was all,’ Polly said affably.
Still Susannah said nothing. Even if she were able to come up with a suitable rejoinder, which it seemed she couldn’t, the last thing she wanted was to end up in the kind of slanging match that Polly, being such a practised bitch, would no doubt win hands down. In the end she decided to take her tea upstairs out of the way.
‘What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?’ Polly said as she passed. ‘Or no, I’m forgetting, you need a writer to give you the lines.’
Susannah reeled. She could hardly believe Polly was being so insulting, and never having dealt with anything like it before, she remained flummoxed for a reply. In the end, managing to muster what mettle she could, she said, very calmly, ‘Polly, I’m sorry if you feel cheated on your friend’s behalf that I got the part of Marianne, but please can we try to move past it? We have to work together, and share this house …’
‘Oh, as for that,’ Polly broke in, ‘I’m sure you already know they’re moving me to one of the cottages with Wendy Shilton.’
Susannah frowned. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ she said, ‘but frankly I think it’s a pity, because being here together might have given us the opportunity to get to know one another a bit better.’
Polly’s cynicism cast her lips in an unpleasant curl. ‘Why don’t we cut the crap,’ she sneered. ‘We both know you want me out of here so you can have this place to yourself for when Michael Grafton drops in.’
Susannah almost gasped, but somehow managing to stay calm she said, ‘You can tell yourself whatever you like, Polly, but spreading rumours about me and Michael Grafton isn’t clever. To begin with …’
‘I’m finished here,’ Polly said, standing up.
‘Well, that’s a shame, because I’m not,’ Susannah told her. ‘As far as I’m aware I’ve done nothing to make you …’
‘Let me pass,’ Polly said, white-faced.
‘Why? What are you running away from?’
‘I have a make-up call,’ Polly replied tightly.
‘Really? You didn’t seem in such a hurry a moment ago, so maybe …’
‘You are in my way. Please move.’
‘What are you afraid of, Polly?’
Polly’s eyes widened incredulously.
‘Look,’ Susannah said, ‘I really don’t want to fall out with you. We’re going to be working together …’
‘More’s the pity, but at least I wasn’t cast on my back …’
‘Stop!’ Susannah broke in angrily. ‘Why are you doing this? I have no grudge against you, we hardly even know one another …’
‘Oh puhlease! This Miss Innocent act might fool everyone else, but …’
‘Polly! What the hell have I done to upset you? Is it something from when we worked together before?’
‘Oh give me a break. You always have everyone falling at your feet. You never even know what’s going on around you, you’re so up yourself.’
‘That’s not an answer,’ Susannah cried, as Polly pushed by and started up the stairs. ‘If I’ve done something, at least give me the chance to apologise.’
‘This conversation is over,’ Polly shouted, and slammed into her room.
Susannah, barely able to contain her anger, was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she came down again.
‘If you don’t want to tell me what your problem is, Polly,’ she said, ‘then perhaps you’d like to tell me if you’re responsible for an anonymous email I received at the beginning of the week.’
The look that came over Polly’s face told her instantly that her suspicion was wrong.
‘Do you know what, I really don’t have time for all this crap,’ Polly hissed, ‘but before I go I’ll tell you this much …’
‘No, don’t tell me anything,’ Susannah cut in over her. ‘Even though you barely know me, you’ve decided to spread malicious rumours about me, and behave in a hostile way whenever you can. Whatever reason you have for doing that is your business, but I hope for your sake that you get over it, because carrying that much resentment inside will end up causing you far more damage than it ever will me. It’s already starting to show on your face, so unless you want to end up looking like a bitter middle-aged woman, I’d do something about it now,’ and grabbing her towel she stormed up the stairs, leaving Polly gaping much like Penelope at the end of a showdown with Marianne.
As she closed the door to her room, Susannah was shaking, as much with anger as regret at having lost her temper. The last word might have felt satisfying in the short term, but it wasn’t going to help improve things, and in truth she’d far rather try to make friends with Polly than let the sun set on an angry exchange. Having already done that once in her life, with her brother, she never wanted to suffer for her temper again, even though Polly might have deserved it.
‘She just really wound me up,’ she told Pats a while later as she walked towards the Centre, ‘but I’m going to try to put it right if I can.’
‘That makes you a lot bigger than most of us,’ Patsy commented drily. ‘If it were me, I’d probably have clocked her one. Damn nerve of the woman, suggesting you were cast for your looks, not your talent.’
‘Apparently she’s moving out of the lodge,’ Susannah said, ‘which is fine by me, even though it might be better if she stayed. At least then she’d see for herself that Michael Grafton isn’t dropping in whenever he feels like it.’
‘Who cares what she thinks?’ Patsy cried. ‘Get rid of her, is what I say. You know what, you’re too nice, that’s your trouble.’
Susannah laughed. ‘I’ll try to do something about it,’ she promised. ‘Anyway, you didn’t ring to hear all this, so tell me how things are at your end. Oh, by the way, I received a huge box of your Cachet range to review yesterday. Did you send it?’
Sounding surprised, Patsy said, ‘Not me, but it proves someone in our UK office is on the ball. I think you’d better pass on it, though. They obviously don’t know we’re friends, and if it comes out that we are, and you rave about it, we’d both end up losing our cred.’
‘OK, will do. So what’s new with Fronk? Have you found out where he took off to on Wednesday night yet?’
‘No, I haven’t. In fact, I’ve barely seen him since. He breezed in yesterday for a budget meeting, then disappeared again straight after, and whether or not he puts in an appearance today still remains to be seen.’
‘How extraordinary,’ Susannah commented, waving out to a couple of grooms who were leading their charges from the stables over to the horse-walker. ‘When does Claudia arrive, so you can start getting some kind of lowdown?’
‘It should ha
ve been today, but she’s put it off till Sunday week, so I won’t actually see her until she comes in for a meeting on the Monday. At which point I may, or may not, gain some insight into the peculiar species called Fronk, depending on how forthcoming she decides to be, or how much she actually knows.’
‘Remember to send her my love when you see her, won’t you? And to your parents too when you call to tell them that the series is probably going to be sold to Australia.’
‘Are you kidding? That’s fantastic news. They’ll be over the moon. It might even help my mother to forgive me for disgracing her. Now, back to you. What are you doing for the weekend?’
‘I’m not sure what Alan’s arranged, but whatever it is I hope it includes Neve. I’ve really missed her this week. Now, I’m afraid I have to go. I’ve just walked into my dressing room and I’m already running late. Call and let me know the instant you have any news about Fronk.’
It was only a matter of seconds after she’d rung off that Becky turned up with her first costume of the day, and ten minutes later she was sitting in the make-up chair going over her lines. That morning’s scenes were dialogue-heavy, and she could see from the corner of her eye that George was intent on his own. By the time they walked through to the study to take up positions for their first scene of the day, word had reached her that George had fallen off the wagon the night before, which would account for how anxious he seemed. Taking hold of his hand she gave it a squeeze of encouragement, and received a rather pathetic look of gratitude in return.
The morning soon turned into something of a trial, thanks to the problems George was having with his memory. Jane, the director, was doing her best to be patient with him, but the first assistant was constantly watching the time. No one wanted to fall behind today, when they’d done so well all week and were now looking forward to going home for the weekend.
In the event, they did manage to finish George’s scenes by lunchtime, but only just, and George was so relieved that he pressed Susannah and Jane to accompany him to the bar for a drink. In an attempt to discourage him Jane gently suggested they eat instead, which he happily agreed to, and after promising to join them in ten minutes Susannah returned to her dressing room to check her mobile phone for messages. Finding a handful of texts from Neve suggesting all kinds of outings and events for the weekend, she felt a warming swell of pleasure. They were going to have so much to talk about after being apart all week, and the Sunday papers were likely to prove a real trip for them both. According to the publicists the programme had front- or centre-page spreads in at least three of the tabloids, which were bound to feature shots of Susannah, which Neve could add to the scrapbook she’d started.
It wasn’t until she’d finished texting Neve back that she realised there was a voicemail waiting, and after going through to messages she was pleasantly surprised to hear Michael Grafton saying, ‘I know from Marlene that you’ve had a successful first week, so you’ll be taking off as soon as you’ve wrapped. Have a great weekend, try to relax and you have a rain check for dinner.’
After disconnecting she sat down on an arm of the sofa, still holding the phone as she wondered whether or not she ought to ring him back. He hadn’t asked her to, so she guessed there was no need.
Jumping as the phone suddenly rang, she saw it was Alan and clicked on right away. ‘Hi darling,’ she said. ‘On a lunch break?’
‘I am. I guess you are too. How was your morning?’
‘Oh, fine … Well, actually, not as great as it should have been. Poor George had some trouble remembering his lines.’
‘Booze?’
‘You guessed. I had a bit of a showdown with Polly, this morning,’ she went on. ‘I’d like to try to repair that before we all take off this evening.’
‘I see,’ he said darkly. ‘Does that mean you won’t make the six o’clock?’
‘That’s not what I said …’
‘And what do I tell Neve? That she has to stay at Lola’s or Sasha’s again, or can she come home?’
‘Of course she can come home. I just said, I’ll be back.’
‘Good, because we’ve missed you.’
‘I’ve missed you too.’ Then with a sigh, ‘Please don’t let’s fall out now. I’ve been looking forward to the weekend …’
After a pause he said, ‘Me too, and here I am threatening to spoil it, because I can’t wait to see you. How perverse is that? I’m sorry. If you need to make up with Polly …’
‘No, I don’t. It can wait till next week. I’ll be home on the six o’clock.’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘FRANK? IS THAT you?’ Patsy said, stopping on the way into her office as she spotted someone on their hands and knees in his. Yes, it was him all right, with a score of documents spread out over the floor in front of him. ‘It’s Sunday morning,’ she informed him as if he might not have known. ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than crawl around here?’
Looking a little ragged around the edges, in spite of his usual debonair grin, he clambered to his feet saying, ‘I am here since seven o’clock, because I have many things to catch up on. And you are here because …?’
Flashing him a look through the partition glass, she went to stand in his doorway. ‘Actually, I’ve popped in to pick up my laptop,’ she told him, ‘but I’m glad to have this opportunity to speak to you at last.’
From his expression it was clear he already knew what it was going to be about, and he wasn’t exactly welcoming it.
‘So,’ she said, folding her arms, ‘I’m dying to hear your excuse.’
‘Oui,’ he said.
‘Well, are you in the habit of abandoning people halfway through dinner? Or is it just me?’
‘Ah,’ he said solemnly, ‘I am afraid it is just you.’
Since she’d walked right into that one she narrowed her eyes in a menacing sort of way and said, quite firmly, ‘You owe me an explanation.’
He nodded agreement. ‘This is very possible,’ he conceded.
She leaned against the door frame and waited.
Drawing in his breath, he scratched his stubbly jaw as he thought. ‘This is very difficult,’ he confessed.
‘I can’t imagine what could be so difficult, or bad, or outrageous that I won’t be able to understand, or perhaps even excuse it,’ she insisted.
‘I think you probably can excuse it, no, I am sure you can, but I cannot excuse myself to discuss it at this time. I am very sorry, Patreesha. I do not wish to make you angry, or to ask you to make allowances for me because of my position …’
‘Frank, the allowances are already happening, because I sure as heck wouldn’t be letting anyone else get away with showing up late to meetings, or absenting themselves for a day or more without some kind of explanation. So now, I’d like a straight answer please.’
He looked down at the files spread out around his feet. ‘Do you know this woman?’ he asked, pointing her to the stunningly beautiful face of an actress who’d endorsed the Cachet range a few years ago.
‘Not personally, no,’ she answered, wondering how this little tangent might be connected to the main issue, if it was at all. ‘Do you?’
‘Mais bien sûr,’ he replied.
Of course he would, the campaign had been run from Paris, and to her dismay she felt a dull sort of spinning in her head that surely couldn’t be the first stirrings of jealousy.
‘She would like very much to be the face for Cachet again,’ he said, ‘but it is not possible.’
He was right about that, because apart from the actress being too old by now, with something of a blighted reputation, it was never a good idea to go back. However, she felt sure there was more to it than age, scandal or timing. ‘Why are you going through these files?’ she enquired.
‘Because she ask me to. She is desiring of some of the photographs and I am interested to see if there is a strategy we did not use back then that might work for a new campaign.’
‘I see.’ Why was she so te
nse? And what did it matter that he knew the woman personally and was apparently still in touch with her? ‘I still don’t seem to be getting a whole lot of straight answers, Frank.’
His eyes came to hers. ‘No,’ he said softly.
Again she waited. ‘Is that it?’ she prompted.
He nodded. ‘Oh, except I receive the email you send to all directors about the teenage cosmetics. I agree it is a very good idea to embark upon a nationwide search for an ordinary girl who has the beauty to become the face. So you can count on my support.’
With no little irony she said, ‘Without which I probably wouldn’t get it through, but we’ll leave that for another time. Now, as you’re obviously intent on resisting me at every turn, perhaps you’ll consider making an exception for lunch. I was about to go and get some, so will you join me?’
His expression turned to regret. ‘I am very sorry, because I would love nothing more than to eat with you, but I am afraid I have to go home as soon as I finish here.’
Shaking her head in an effort to cover the smart of rejection, she said, ‘Frank, you’ve either got a mistress, a gay lover, or some kind of habit I probably don’t want to know anything about. Whatever. I’m not going to press you any more over your reasons for disappearing on at least three occasions this past couple of weeks, I’m simply going to leave it to your conscience and sense of integrity to decide when to tell me the truth,’ and having collected her laptop from her office, she left without another word.
