by Fern Britton
‘The soup!’ Christie leaped to her feet. ‘I forgot all about it. Come into the kitchen while I heat it up.’ She picked up the Jiffy-bag to put it at the bottom of the stairs to take up to her study later.
As Lily got up to follow, she noticed the copy of Gone Too Soon that was lying on the side-table. She picked it up and flicked to the illustrated sections, looking at the pictures documenting Ben Chapman’s life. ‘Have you read this?’
Christie stood beside her, and Lily angled the book so they could look at Ben’s portrait together. He gazed back at them, relaxed, his arm around his golden retriever. ‘I’ve just about finished it. I stopped when I got to the police reports on the death, though, because I wanted to read them when I had enough time to concentrate properly.’
‘He was such a nice man,’ Lily murmured. ‘So sad.’
‘I don’t know why but I feel that he’s holding the key to something,’ Christie said. ‘I thought that maybe I’d get a bit closer to whatever it is if I read about him.’
‘And have you?’ Richard asked.
She could hear his sceptical amusement as he slipped an arm around her waist. ‘Not yet,’ she said.
‘Give it up, Chris. I’m sure you’re reading too much into all this.’
‘I don’t think so, and I don’t think Lily does either, do you?’
‘No, not really. I wish I did.’
‘I know you’re unhappy about all this,’ Christie said to her. ‘It’s going to make it difficult for you to go on working there, isn’t it?
‘Yes, it will.’ Lily was thoughtful. ‘But you’re right. I’m unhappy but I’m not surprised. I showed you the photos because I knew she shouldn’t have them. I can just about put up with her temper and her put-downs if I’m learning about the business from her, but I don’t want to work for someone who lies and cheats to line their own pocket.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Look for another job, I guess, but I can’t afford to quit without somewhere else to go. And, until I have, I’ll keep my ears and eyes open for you. I can’t promise I’ll find out anything more. You know what Julia’s like. But I will try.’
At that moment, Fred and Olly appeared at the door, demanding food. With their appearance, the subject of White Management’s dealings came to a welcome close and the five sat down to lunch.
Chapter 31
Waiting for Libby and Fred to come down to breakfast on Monday morning, Christie leafed through the Daily News. To her surprise, four or five pages in, she found a profile on Julia, fresh home from LA. God knew what strings she must have pulled to get into the paper so close to its going to press. The piece was accompanied by a large photograph shot in her office. Christie poured herself a second cup of tea, then con sidered her agent, noting her almost translucent complexion, the perfectly cut skirt and blouse that flattered her body (obviously no stranger to some eyewateringly expensive personal trainer), and the wide leather belt that cinched her waist. Her arms were folded, her sleeves pulled back to reveal a chunky gold bracelet, and she stared out at the reader, chin high, gaze challenging, with an indecipherable smile playing on her lipsticked lips. She was the image of a no-nonsense, professional woman who would take no prisoners. I want you on my side, she seemed to be saying, but if you’re not – beware.
With five minutes to go before she needed to start hurrying the children, Christie turned her attention to the article itself, in which Julia began by crowing about her successful US trip.
Über-agent Julia Keen has a new star shining in her galaxy. While in LA recently, she signed up Lola Nussbaum, co-presenter of Showbiz Daily. Known for her combative style and willingness to speak her mind, Lola has attracted a huge fan base and is thought to be responsible for making Showbiz Daily one of the most watched programmes on American TV. ‘She is an astonishing woman,’ confirmed Ms Keen. ‘Of course I had heard of her before coming to LA and I’d seen what a natural she is on screen. When we met, we instantly hit it off. I’m proud to be representing her. I think we have a great future together.’ Insiders say that Ms Keen is on course to make Nussbaum millions of dollars by turning her into a global superstar. She is said already to be in talks with Jack Bradbury, head honcho at TV7.
Christie guessed that they must have tacked this bit to the beginning of a feature that had otherwise been ready to go before Julia left for LA. How hell-bent she must be to prove she was back in the game, having kept a respectfully lowish profile since Ben’s death. And how familiar her words about Ms Nussbaum were. Only a year ago, she had been saying the same sort of thing to Christie, and now look. The piece went on to talk about Julia’s stellar career, how her work was her life – ‘I live, breathe and dream it’ – and then she went on to dismiss the clients who had left her and to big up those who had stayed with her since the ‘dreadful tragedy’ of Ben. Most notable, of course, was
‘. . . darling Gilly. She has always been a total star. It’s been such a pleasure to work with her particularly in contrast with one or two newer clients who are still so insecure that they find it difficult to let go and trust me completely. That’s so essential for a good working relationship. Of course it’s usually just a question of time until they let go. It’s only the rare one or two who don’t, and then, sadly, we have to part company.’
Christie shuddered, as if Julia was issuing some kind of warning directly to her. She had already skimmed over the break-out box in which were listed Julia’s most high-profile clients, with a few words summarising each one – no surprises there. Now she glanced down, reading more carefully, until she found herself at the bottom.
Christie Lynch – latest signing whose unstable home life is reported to be in conflict with the demands of her TV career.
She stared at it, fuming. Julia would never have let this page go to press without having copy approval. She must have let this description go through unchanged, yet again confirming that Christie was some sort of loose cannon whose future was uncertain. Once her contract with TV7 was up, who would want to employ someone so notoriously unreliable? The statement confirmed to her that Julia was waging some inexplicable personal vendetta against her. She looked up at the clock. Seven forty-five. She folded the paper, put it into the recycling (best place for it), then went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, ‘Libby! Fred! If you don’t get down here right now, there’ll be no breakfast. And, Fred, don’t forget your football kit. It’s in the bottom of your wardrobe.’
She returned to the kitchen as what sounded like a herd of elephants clattered down the stairs. She heard the rat-tat-tat of things being dropped onto the hall floor, then footsteps, and Fred came in, bright-eyed, to pull out a chair with a screech before he hopped up onto it. Libby was right behind him, blurry with sleep, pillow creases still visible on her cheek, her tie hanging loose round her neck. Slowly, she parked herself opposite her mother.
‘Did anybody have a shower?’ Christie knew the answer but asked anyway.
‘No point before football and then we have one at school. One’s enough in a day, I think,’ said Fred, matter-of-factly, emptying almost half of the packet of Sugar Puffs into his bowl.
‘Fred! Don’t be so greedy,’ objected Libby, as she took some for herself. ‘I’m having one tonight. I’m quite clean,’ she protested, in response to Christie’s look of doubt. ‘I am. And I’ve done my teeth – which is more than he has.’
Breakfast was eaten in minutes, then Fred was dispatched to reacquaint himself with his toothbrush, and all the bags and coats and shoes were retrieved from where they’d been dumped. After one false start, when Libby had to run back in to get the history textbook she’d left in the sitting room, they were ready to go.
Arriving at the school, Christie was alert to the possible presence of snappers but saw no one: no light glinting off a camera lens, no car drawing up near hers and no one jumping out to follow them. In other words, if she put Julia to the back of her mind, a good start to the day.
She took the lon
g way home, avoiding the main roads and detouring along the country lanes. Although the roadside was puddled, the sun had come through, and even with puffs of cloud being chased across it, the sky seemed bluer and the grass greener than they had for weeks. Fields were crowded with sheep, lambs suckling their mothers, romping by their side or standing, leggy and lost, baaing for rescue. The blackthorn was beginning to stud the hedgerows with tiny white flowers.
She was so engrossed in the beauty of her surroundings that, as she turned into her lane, she narrowly avoided a car speeding towards her. She pulled in close to the hedge and stopped as it edged past. The sun was in her eyes but she caught a glimpse of the driver, a youngish man with slick dark hair. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him. As he slid past without acknowledging her, he raised his hand to lower his sun visor. She noticed his bitten fingernails. Idiot! What did he think he was doing? She turned to catch his number plate but he had turned the corner and disappeared.
By the time she arrived home, Christie’s breath had more or less returned to normal. But as she got out of the car, she was immediately aware that something was wrong. The miniature conifers (much easier than those annuals that insisted on dying) in the pots by the door stood to attention, but the door was very slightly open. Hadn’t she watched, and heard, Libby slam it shut? She remembered biting back a telling-off about how the glass in the ox-eye window would break. In which case, Richard must be paying a surprise visit or Maureen had arrived early and whoever it was had let themselves in. Of course, that must be it, she told herself. Except their cars weren’t here. Neither was anyone else’s.
The door swung open at her touch. ‘Hallo!’ she called, putting one foot over the threshold, then hesitating. ‘Anybody there?’
Silence.
She armed herself with an umbrella from the coat stand and, feeling a little more confident, edged towards the kitchen, keeping her back against the wall. Everything was exactly as they had left it, except that Smudge was on the table licking the milk out of Fred’s bowl. She shooed him away – he hopped between the untouched yoghurts and fruit and over the open jars of Nutella and peanut butter, knocking a spoon onto the table. The noise echoed round the room.
‘Hallo!’ she tried again.
Still silence.
Feeling braver, she checked the other downstairs rooms where, as far as she could see, there was no evidence that anyone had been into them. The only possible explanation was that Libby hadn’t slammed the door as firmly as she’d thought. However, even though she had convinced herself the house was empty, she needed to muster a bit more courage before she went upstairs. She’d seen too many movies with intruders looming on landings and bodies falling backwards, lying in crumpled heaps at the bottom of staircases. She decided to make herself a cup of coffee first.
Still armed with the umbrella – just in case – she took the paper and her coffee to the study. She pushed the door open and stood there. Had she really left her desk like that? She would readily admit to not being the tidiest of people, but even she . . . Smudge! The kitten must have got shut in there – but he was downstairs now, and no one had opened this door since she’d left the room last night. One of the children, she thought. Libby or Fred must have come in, even though they’d had it drilled into them that, without her permission, they did so on pain of death. No, they wouldn’t. She went over to the desk. And then she saw.
Lily’s Jiffy-bag containing the photos was missing.
She took her mobile and rang Richard who picked up immediately. ‘Morning, my love. What can I do for you?’
‘You didn’t take Lily’s photos home with you last night, did you?’
‘No. Why would I?’
She explained what had happened and, for the second time in a week, he advised her to call the police. She assured him she could cope and that he needn’t drop everything to run to her side again. Despite himself, he couldn’t hide his relief that he didn’t need to leave Tom to cope with the day’s business.
When she hung up, she slumped down in the old leather chair, slopping some coffee onto her jeans and cursing as she rubbed her leg. If Richard hadn’t taken the photos, then who had? Who else had known they were there? And why would they want them?
Before she got any further in her deliberations, the phone rang. She answered, thinking it would be Richard calling back. Instead it was Lily. Christie could barely distinguish what she was saying between the sobs and sniffs, although she gathered it had something to do with Julia.
‘Take your time,’ she encouraged the girl, and sipped some coffee. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’
Lily managed to compose herself before hiccuping and gulping through a description of her morning. ‘I wanted to be in first, to make absolutely sure everything was in order, but Julia was already here when I got in at eight thirty. She was sitting at my desk, logged on to my computer, going through all my work. I could see she was furious. She didn’t say good morning but blasted straight into a criticism of the way I’d booked Jed Cleaver for a speaking engagement. Him arriving late was nothing to do with me: the organiser gave me the wrong time. But she wouldn’t listen. She started saying she couldn’t trust me, that she didn’t like the way I handled the clients in her absence, that I wasn’t professional enough. That was so out of order. I’ve worked really hard to prove I can handle the responsibility while she’s away and nothing’s gone wrong. I thought she’d be pleased with what I’d done but she couldn’t even bring herself to say thank you. In the end, she said that as hard as she’d tried – she’d tried! – it wasn’t working out any more, so she wants me to put everything in order and clear my desk.’
As she spoke, Christie could hear indignation bringing strength to Lily’s voice. ‘So where are you now?’ she asked.
‘In my office, with the door shut. I’m the only one here, apart from Julia. Even Lenny’s not in yet and he’s usually first.’
Christie immediately pictured Lenny: young, gelled black hair, smart but with badly chewed fingernails. The driver she’d met in the lane? Could it have been him who’d broken into her house to reclaim the photos?
Lily blew her nose. ‘I’d pretty much decided to hand in my notice anyway, but her getting there first makes me feel as if I’m not in charge of my life – and I hate that. That’s why I’m so upset. That and the fact that she’s finding fault where there isn’t any. But I’ll get another job, something better.’
‘Of course you will.’ Christie had no doubt that a girl as enthusiastic and efficient as Lily would land on her feet. ‘Has anyone said anything about the photos you gave me?’
‘Why would she?’
‘Well, someone’s stolen them,’ said Christie. ‘Someone must have been watching the house and broken in when I took the kids to school.’
Lily gasped. ‘You’re joking?’
‘I wish I was, but no, they’ve gone.’ She heard the door open in Lily’s office and Julia’s voice, imperious as ever: ‘I need to see you, Lily. Now.’ The door slammed.
‘I’m sorry – you heard that – I can’t talk now. But could I come over this evening? I may have more to show you both.’
‘Of course. Come about eight thirty. I’ll be back from work by then, Fred’ll probably be in bed, and Rich will have had time to get over here too. And, Lily, do be careful.’
*
Lily arrived half an hour after Christie had walked through the door. She was tired, having spent an afternoon of frantic preparation for a last-minute story on the mystery shooting of a businesswoman in a supermarket car park. But the show had gone well. To her surprise, Lily was not the crushed and miserable soul she had been expecting. On the contrary, there was a definite purpose in the younger woman’s stride, and determination in her expression. During the course of the day, she had obviously gained strength from somewhere. She was carrying an A4 manila envelope. Christie looked at it, but all Lily said was, ‘You’ll see.’ She laid it on the kitchen table.
‘I’ve agr
eed to stay with Julia until close of business tomorrow on the condition that she gives me a reference,’ she said. ‘I know she only needs me there while she finds a replacement but there are one or two things I want to finish off, so it suits me too. She’s making a mistake by underestimating me. I talked to Dad, who explained exactly what my rights are – not that I really have any.’ She shrugged. ‘But he gave me the confidence to face up to her. I wish I’d talked to him sooner.’
‘I know that feeling,’ Christie empathised. Just as they sat down, Richard came through the door.
‘Just in time.’ Christie smiled. ‘Lily’s got something to show us.’
Lily put her hand on top of the envelope she’d brought. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about on Saturday. At least I know that I absolutely don’t want to work for someone who I now realise hasn’t got one ethical bone in her body.’
Christie was surprised to hear Lily condemn Julia so wholeheartedly. Until Saturday, she had given the impression that she would go to the stake for her employer, for the sake of her own career. This was quite a turn-around.
But she hadn’t finished. ‘What you told me reminded me of something that happened to Ben, so I decided to do a little research of my own while Lenny and Julia were out of the office. I went in yesterday and photocopied some stuff that I think you may find interesting.’
Christie was willing her to get to the point of her visit as Lily slipped some sheets of paper from the envelope and laid them out so they could all see them. ‘I remembered hearing that he was unhappy over a payment he hadn’t received for an exclusive shoot with OK! that Julia had set up for him.’
Richard tutted with mild disapproval. Christie shushed him and leaned forward, interested.
‘But I also remembered that someone had tipped off the paps so that Ben was photographed when he came out of a private clinic after having some liposculpture. That broke the exclusivity deal – no other photos were to appear in the press that month.’
