The First Guests

by Cathy Bramley

  ‘Well, this is cosy,’ I said tightly. ‘I hear congratulations are in order. To both of you.’

  He glanced at the iPad on his desk and gave a bark of nervous laughter.

  ‘She can’t come in here,’ Cecily said through gritted teeth whilst still managing to maintain a dazzling smile. ‘This is my moment.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Nina, give me two ticks, old thing, and I’ll be right with you.’ Sebastian got to his feet, giving me his best crinkly-eyed smile.

  In three strides I reached the desk and prodded him in the chest. He wasn’t a tall man and as I’d caught him off guard he plopped back into his seat.

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’ I folded my arms and glared at him.

  ‘Whoops,’ Cecily murmured, sipping her champagne. ‘Do I smell sour grapes?’

  ‘Tonight.’ Sebastian ran a finger around his collar. ‘Honestly. It all happened so fast, my hands were tied – look, can we talk about this outside?’ He jerked his head towards his desk, or Cecily, I couldn’t be quite sure.

  Perhaps if Cecily hadn’t been looking at me with such smug satisfaction I might have done as he suggested, but suddenly the emotional tension and disappointment of the day got the better of me.

  ‘Why do this to me, Sebastian?’ I said with a trembly voice. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that Nurse Elsie is dead? Without my whole acting career being dead too?’

  Overreact? Moi? Possibly, but I had been banking on the Mary Queen of Scots thing. It had been in the bag. Even Sebastian had said so. And now I’d have to face the pitying looks when I turned up to my first day as temporary receptionist somewhere. An actress? Would I have seen you in anything? I could have wept.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Nina, be quiet!’ He sprang up again and clapped a hand across my mouth.

  I bit his finger and he yelped. Cecily swung her silky hair around dramatically and gasped.

  ‘I will not!’ I cried, dodging away from him. ‘I loved being in Victory Road and the only consolation was that I’d be moving straight on to the role of Eve, and now mysteriously that part is Cecily’s. It’s just not right.’

  Cecily glared at me. ‘Look, darling, you’re rather raining on my parade; can’t you have your tantrum somewhere else?’

  At which point I lost it totally, picked up the ice bucket and dumped it on her head.

  Cecily screamed. So did I; I couldn’t believe what I’d done.

  ‘Sorry, so sorry,’ I stammered, flicking ice cubes from her lovely blonde hair.

  ‘Get off me,’ she yelled, batting me away.

  ‘Ladies, please!’ Sebastian begged.

  ‘This is meant to be MY exclusive for Entertainer’s News!’ she fumed. She scooped up her bag and flounced, dripping wet, from the room, shouting over her shoulder, ‘Daddy is not going to be pleased about this. Not at all.’

  ‘Wait! Come back!’ Sebastian darted to the door but Cecily’s heels continued to stab their way down the wooden stairs.

  ‘She’s forgotten her flowers,’ I said, looking at the pretty bunch of scented stocks and roses.

  ‘Your flowers,’ Sebastian muttered darkly, pressing a hanky to his clammy face. ‘Arrived this afternoon. You have made a big mistake, Nina, why you couldn’t—’

  I tuned him out and plucked the card from the centre of the arrangement, holding my breath that this time the sender had revealed their identity.

  Congratulations on the episode of Victory Road when you saved the little girl’s life, you were brilliant!

  My heart squeezed. How lovely! It was a good episode, I had to admit, and the little ego boost was so timely too. Anonymous again, sadly. I wished I knew who was sending these mystery bouquets. I turned the card over in my fingers, looking for clues. The first had arrived a year ago at Sebastian’s office after he’d announced to the press that he was representing me. Since then flowers arrived every time I had something to celebrate: a new role, a tiny mention in the press, even my birthday. But never with the sender’s name.

  A deep-throated chuckle filled the room and I dragged my gaze away from the card.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ came a voice from Sebastian’s desk. ‘I think it’s my lucky day. Nurse Elsie is dead, is she? Do I smell a spoiler, Miss Penhaligon?’

  The blood drained from my face as I peered at Sebastian’s iPad propped up on the desk; a man’s face grinned back from the FaceTime screen.

  My mouth was completely dry but I managed to squeeze out some words. ‘Ross! Hello.’

  Ross Whittaker was the editor of Entertainer’s News, a man who’d sell his firstborn child for a scoop. He was licking his lips and edging closer to the screen.

  It was April the first, I remembered. Please let this just be some sort of April Fool’s prank. Maybe I hadn’t lost two acting jobs, tipped ice over Sebastian’s new client and leaked Victory Road’s most cliffhangery storyline to a journalist all in the space of one day? I looked at Sebastian. His face had gone so white his skin was translucent.

  Okay, maybe I had.

  ‘So, Nina Penhaligon, tell me more—’

  I didn’t get a chance to tell him anything because Sebastian lurched forward and ended the call with a jab of his finger.

  ‘Do you realize what you’ve done?’ He paced the office, raking his hands through his limp brown hair. Patches of sweat appeared under his arms. ‘You have broken the sacred code of acting. Actors never reveal plotlines. To anyone. You know that.’

  I dropped into Cecily’s chair and pressed my hands to my face.

  ‘I don’t know what came over me; attacking her like that!’ I said shakily. Only an hour ago Maxine was praising me for being professional. I shuddered. ‘Maxine is going to do her nut.’

  ‘So is the entire cast and crew.’ He sank into the other chair and swore under his breath.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ I said hoarsely.

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, and fixed me with very fierce eyes.

  ‘I’m going to tell you to do something that I can truly say is a first in all my years of agenting.’

  ‘I’m listening.’ I nodded. He might have just morphed into the most disloyal agent ever, but he still knew more about dealing with a crisis than I did. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Firstly turn off your phone. Secondly talk to no one.’

  ‘Right, good idea.’ I did as I was told. ‘What else?’

  ‘Go away.’

  I blinked uncertainly at him. ‘Go where?’

  ‘Somewhere. Anywhere that’s not London.’ He shrugged impatiently and then got to his feet and walked to the door, holding it open for me. I followed him on autopilot, trailing the bouquet behind me. ‘Frankly, I don’t care. Just keep a low profile, okay? I’ve got a feeling your name could be mud for a very long time.’

  Me? Low profile? And not London? How could I hope to land another part if I wasn’t around to audition? Also, what happened to all publicity being good publicity?

  I gulped. ‘Don’t you think you should issue a press release, apologize on my behalf?’

  He laughed. ‘Nope. You’ve put me in a very difficult position. Cecily’s father is not a man to be crossed. I need to rescue the situation immediately.’

  ‘What about me?’ I said in a small voice.

  ‘I’ve done my best with you, but let’s face it, you’re not exactly leading lady material. Cecily might not have your experience, but she has potential. I think I’ve taken you as far as you’re going to go.’ He looked down at me pityingly and I felt my eyes burn. There was one thing not having total confidence in myself, but it was quite another to have the news confirmed by the person supposedly responsible for bigging me up. ‘You’re toast, as far as I’m concerned. You’ll have to fight your own battles.’

  ‘I think I just did that, don’t you?’ I folded my arms and looked him squarely in the eye.

  He exhaled impatiently. ‘You did. Very publicly. Ross Whittaker will have tweeted the hell out of your confidential
storyline already. The news will circle the earth quicker than the International Space Station. And isn’t it Jessie May’s birthday party tonight? Guess what everyone will be talking about, or should I say who?’

  I shuddered, imagining the disappointment on Maxine’s face. ‘I feel sick at the thought.’

  ‘Hard cheese.’ The phone on his desk started to ring and he shot me an admonishing look. ‘See, word has already spread. I’m afraid you have to roll with the punches in this game.’

  It was that final comment that tipped it for me; I was officially livid.

  No apology for giving my part to Cecily. No accepting responsibility for his part in my downfall. He was washing his hands of me, feeding me to the lions. The absolute snake.

  ‘Thank you for the advice; you’re absolutely right,’ I said with a tight smile. And I swung my fist as hard as I could into his stomach.

  The flicker of satisfaction I’d had at seeing Sebastian winded lasted as far as my walk to the tube station. So now I could add assault to the list of my crimes of the day. There was no way I could attend the Victory Road party in Soho; I dragged my sorry carcass home instead. I spent the evening in the flat with Trudy and after I’d told her the full story and left a wobbly apology on Maxine’s answerphone and sent a cryptically repentant text to Becky Burton, I turned off my phone for the rest of the night and we formed a plan: I would follow Sebastian’s orders and leave London in the morning, in disguise. That last bit was Trudy’s idea.

  This fiasco was going to take a few days to blow over. My best option was to disappear, lick my wounds and wait for some other poor unfortunate to make an even bigger mistake than me, at which point the media would have something new to talk about.

  Which was why the next morning, after dying my caramel hair black and shoving as many clothes as I could into a case, I was standing in the ticket line at Paddington Station with Trudy.

  ‘Are you totally sure about doing what your agent says and running off?’ said Trudy, yawning; she wasn’t a morning person. ‘I mean, Exeter is, like, miles away.’

  ‘I’m not really sure about anything, but his is the only advice I’ve got,’ I said in a low voice. I had my hood pulled up and was trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t often spotted, but today I wasn’t willing to take any chances. ‘And right now being miles away and having a few days with my big brother is just what I need.’

  Trudy nodded. She knew how close I was to Archie, my only family. I’d spoken to him last night, asking if he’d put me up for a while. I’d been a bit light on the truth, just saying I’d got a break in my schedule. The details could wait until he met me from the train later today.

  I caught sight of myself in the plate-glass window of the ticket office and recoiled with shock. Trudy had volunteered to do my face for me this morning so that I could travel incognito. She’d been a bit heavy-handed with the fake tan and I looked like the love-child of Donald Trump and a satsuma.

  She tapped my forehead with a long nail. ‘Stop frowning, you’ll get permanent wrinkles.’

  Make that an old satsuma.

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Come back soon, won’t you?’ she added. ‘I love having an actress as my lodger. You’re my claim to fame. I’ll miss you.’ She blinked her heavily kohled eyelashes at me and I felt a rush of warmth for her.

  ‘Thank you, Trudy, I’ll miss you too,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘But after last night’s mammoth mistake, I’m just hoping I’m not your claim to infamy.’

  ‘Also, my customers love gossip,’ she continued blithely.

  There’d be plenty of that, I thought with a pang.

  ‘Next please!’ yelled someone from behind the ticket counter.

  I moved towards the cashier.

  ‘A ticket to Exeter please.’

  The cashier tapped at his screen. ‘Single or return?’

  London was where I needed to be: the flat, the press, future auditions … not to mention the Victory Road cast to whom I owed a massive apology. Was I doing the right thing by running away? Sebastian’s angry words echoed through my head: keep a low profile … you’re toast, as far as I’m concerned …

  I handed over my credit card and sighed. ‘Single, please.’

  Chapter 3

  As the train pulled away from the platform, I waved until I couldn’t see Trudy any more and then settled back against my seat. A couple of teenagers sat opposite, heads touching and sharing a set of earphones and a tube of Pringles. I reached into my bag for my phone automatically and then dropped it again.

  I mustn’t turn it on; if I looked at it I’d only feel worse. There’d be texts and messages from other cast members, not to mention umpteen Twitter and Facebook mentions from the entertainment media. I’d have to face the music at some point, perhaps issue a statement – my first one without Sebastian’s help – but now was not the time. First I needed to put some serious miles between me and my problems. The journey to Exeter would take about three hours; I closed my eyes and tried to visualize my next move …

  I must have nodded off because when I opened my eyes the teenagers had gone. The sprawl of London had given way to motorways and towns and fields and villages and the chalky blue sky had expanded to fill the gaps. It was the colour of hope and happiness and I felt my spirits begin to lift. This was more like it. It was Sunday, spring was starting to bloom and I was going to visit my brother Archie, who I adored. Things would work out fine. Probably.

  I bought a bottle of water from the snacks trolley and took a sip.

  I’d always acted. As a little girl, I’d loved making up plays and stories, putting on shows for my mum. It was my way of securing her attention for a few minutes. Joining a drama club had opened even more possibilities; those two hours were the highlight of the week. I took to the stage like a swallow to the sky: soaring higher and higher as my dreams got bigger and bigger, spending every spare minute with the drama teacher, Mrs Figgis. I loved everything about acting, from rehearsals to set-design to selling tickets. Acting was my escapism; a world away from my cheerless Manchester home.

  That home wasn’t there any more. Mum passed away after a series of strokes when I was nineteen while I was studying drama at The Arts University in Bournemouth. Clearing the house she’d rented for years was one of the most depressing things I’d ever done and I was glad to have Archie to share the task with. When I left university a couple of years later, I moved to London, determined to make it as an actress. The last seven years had been tough going, and I’d supplemented my income with office temping jobs, but gradually my roles had been getting bigger and more frequent, my résumé more impressive. And when Sebastian rang me to confirm my role as Nurse Elsie on Victory Road, I thought all my Christmases had come at once.

  The train was slowing down again and we pulled into a tiny station. The stop after this one was Exeter.

  ‘These seats free?’ said a woman breathlessly. The man beside her was wheezing too.

  I nodded. The woman set her bag down on the table. I couldn’t take my eyes off her cardigan; it depicted an entire Lowry painting – a woolly reminder of the streets where I grew up. Her husband took an unlit cigarette from his lips and tucked it in his breast pocket.

  They stowed their luggage and sat down opposite me.

  ‘What a palaver,’ said the woman. ‘Bus was late and we nearly missed the train.’

  I pulled a sympathetic face from under my hood.

  ‘Had to run, we did. Pass us the paper, love,’ said the man, taking a pen from his pocket.

  She tugged it from her handbag and smacked him playfully with it. ‘You and your blinkin’ newspaper.’

  The man pretended to cower and winked at me. ‘I haven’t missed the Daily News crossword for six years. It’s my claim to fame.’

  He flapped it to smooth out the creases and then opened it to page three.

  ‘Look at her!’ The woman tapped the paper and tutted. ‘What behaviour. Celebri
ties. Worse than animals, some of them.’

  ‘Who is she?’ her husband asked.

  ‘Nina Penhaligon from Victory Road.’ The woman scanned down the page. ‘Almost didn’t recognize her pulling all those faces.’

  My chest tightened and I surreptitiously tugged my hood further over my burning face. Firstly: awkward. Secondly: how on earth had my tiny faux pas made the national press?

  ‘Says here that she assaulted her agent and Cecily Carmichael, and Cecily’s dad’s considering pressing charges.’

  So, that was how. I bit back a squeak.

  ‘Blimey,’ said the man. ‘She looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’

  Would Campion Carmichael really take me to court? I’d only tipped ice on his daughter’s head. She’d probably be angrier about me gate-crashing her interview with Ross Whittaker. This must be a stunt to eke out as much publicity from the incident as possible. I wondered if Sebastian was behind it. That thought made my head spin.

  ‘Could I see dat, please?’ I said, putting on the world’s worst Irish accent. I don’t know why; it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.

  The man lowered the paper to the table with a sigh.

  ‘Tank yew,’ I said, channelling Marian Keyes.

  Oh no …

  My heart battered against my ribs. Even looking at it upside down I could see it was bad. The headline had managed to sum up all my sins in one sentence: Penhaligon drops the bomb on Victory Road and commits ice attack on rival Cecily Carmichael!

  A lump appeared in my throat; until yesterday afternoon everything had been going swimmingly. How had my life taken such a nosedive?

  ‘May I?’ I murmured distractedly, forgetting to do the accent as I tweaked the paper out of his hand.

  He tutted, but let me keep it.

  ‘That’s really koind of you,’ I said with a big smile.

  Maxine Pearce, director of TV show Victory Road wasn’t available for comment, but Freddie Major, who plays Nina Penhaligon’s love interest, Constable Ron Hardy, says, ‘She always had a chip on her shoulder about my acting pedigree, but to ruin the show for our millions of viewers is a hollow victory indeed.’