There was something about Ned that made you a little indiscreet like that. Probably because he knew when to say nothing. Peter always said that was one of the characteristics of the best interviewers and it clearly came naturally to Ned. I was still going on.
‘I never wanted to write about bloody diamonds. I just ended up doing this by accident, and it is worth it to have a job here, but it’s not why I wanted to be a journalist.’
I smiled at him sheepishly. ‘I wanted to be Woodward and Bernstein.’
Ned barked with laughter.
‘I still do,’ he said. ‘I still want to be them. That’s why I’m here. Do you think I’ll end up writing about handbags too?’
‘No,’ I said, laughing with him. ‘But I’d watch yourself if you ever get asked to do anything for the motoring section.’
‘You’re not kidding,’ said Ned, still smiling, then those canny eyes narrowed again. ‘But if you don’t love the luxury world, Stella, you’re keeping some pretty swanky company.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.
He handed me a copy of Hot Stuff! magazine, a celebrity gossip trash weekly. It fell open at a page of paparazzi photographs and my eyes nearly popped out when I saw what was on them: pictures of me and Jay, arriving at Wonderland, and on the dance floor, in a tight clinch, mixed in with other shots of Jay with Jericho.
‘What the fuck?’ I said, but Ned had gone.
‘See you later, Stella,’ he was saying as he disappeared round the corner. ‘Don’t work too hard.’
I took a few deep breaths and looked down at the pictures again. I felt quite sick, just seeing them, it was such a shock. Jay was just as gorgeous as I remembered him, which was distressing in itself, but it got a whole lot weirder when I read the copy that went with the photos.
‘JAY’S CHOICE: POSH or SCARY?’ said the headline, in screaming red and pink type and then ‘SCARY?’ was repeated over Jericho’s picture and ‘POSH?’ over mine.
The copy that went with it was even more bewildering.
Poor little rich boy Jay Fisher found himself in a messy love triangle with two hot babes fighting for his attention at the French Riviera s hottest nightclub Wonderland recently.
The billion-heir playboy who stands to inherit the Fisher family fortune – reputed to be around a cool $10 billion – was seen arriving at the lavish club with It girl peer’s daughter the Hon. Stella Montecourt, eldest child of leading architect Lord Montecourt of Cliffe.
But while those two seemed pretty close on the dance floor, who should show up to claim Jay but megastar songstress Jericho – who had been seen getting cosy with the deliciously single billionaire in Aspen just a couple of weeks before.
Adding to the spice of it all, the famously hot-tempered Jericho stormed out of her press conference in a fury the next day – right after being asked a question by the Hon. Stella, who has a play job on the Daily Journal newspaper.
But it doesn’t look like either of these girls is going to be the one to bag this particular Mr Big. He was last seen in Buenos Aires, at the 25th birthday party of beautiful Argentinian heiress Patrizia Fernandez.
Tough luck, girls. This Jay has flown away.
I didn’t know which bit of the story to be most amazed about. I had certainly never been described as an It girl before and I was furious to have my career dismissed as a ‘play job’, but of course the part that really left me speechless was the revelation of who Jay really was.
I checked the date on the front of the magazine – it wasn’t due to come out until the next day – and then I turned back to the story and just kept going over it, almost unable to believe what I was reading.
But at the same time, it was all falling into place in my head. Everything that had been a bit weird about my time with Jay now made perfect sense. Including his absence.
An investment manager! That was what he’d said he did. He wasn’t kidding. His loose change was probably more than most people’s life savings – then I remembered the wad of notes he always carried. He always paid cash, I’d noticed that. I’d thought it was odd, but it must have been something to do with being so loaded. Who knew? That kind of money was another universe. And no wonder he’d gone all weird whenever I’d mentioned his family.
Then another thing struck me – it wasn’t surprising he knew all about my father. Ham had won the competition to design the Fisher Institute in Boston, a new museum commissioned to house some of the priceless works of art that the Fisher family – Jay’s family – had donated to the American nation, complete with the landmark building to house the collection.
It was Dad’s most prestigious project by far, and he’d won it by designing a public building specifically to have the feeling of a family home, to reflect the dynastic nature of the Fisher Trust.
What was even odder was that Ham hadn’t made that connection himself, but then when I looked back at the day Jay came to Willow Barn, I didn’t think I’d ever mentioned Jay’s full name, so why would he? Ham didn’t read the gossip mags any more than I did, so he probably wouldn’t have known what Jay looked like either.
I felt so stupid, I just wanted to go and hide myself away. I slunk out of the office and went home, but I’d only been back at my place for a few minutes when the phone rang. So few people had that number I answered immediately. It was Ham.
‘I saw your light on,’ he said, in a rather strained voice. ‘Can you come over?’
It was such an unusual request, I said I’d be right there.
Ham was sitting at the kitchen table, with a large glass of whisky, looking at a magazine – it was Hot Stuff!.
‘Have you seen this?’ he said, holding it up by a corner, like it was a rather smelly dead fish.
I nodded, sitting down. ‘About an hour ago,’ I said.
‘Why didn’t you tell me he was Jay Fisher?’ said Ham. He sounded really hurt.
‘I didn’t know, Ham,’ I said. ‘Well, I knew that was his name, but I didn’t make the connection with the Fisher banking family, I just thought he was a guy called Jay Fisher. I didn’t know he was a multibillionaire called Jay Fisher.’
Ham looked incredulous.
‘Hadn’t you heard of him?’ he said.
‘I think I had,’ I said, slowly. ‘But I just didn’t make the connection. He told me he was an investment manager and I thought he was just another overpaid New York/London banker-wanker boy. I meet a lot of them, doing what I do, and normally I’m not that keen, but I really liked Jay, from the moment I laid eyes on him and the penny just didn’t drop. And he certainly didn’t spell it out to me. Anyway, what’s the big deal?’
He was rubbing his jaw and frowning. I nodded at his glass.
‘Can I have one of those, please?’ I asked in a small voice.
‘Of course you can, number one duckling,’ said Ham, clearly relenting a little about whatever had upset him, and he got up and poured me a large shot of single malt.
‘I’m really sorry, Ham,’ I said, when he sat down again. ‘But I wasn’t being sneaky not telling you, I’m just incredibly stupid.’
‘You certainly are not, but I would have thought that with what you write about, you would be a little more au fait with all those silly jet-set socialite types.’
I pulled a face.
‘That’s the part of it I can’t stand,’ I said.
‘But you love going out to fancy restaurants and staying in five-star hotels, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘But on my own terms. I like visiting that world as a kind of lifestyle tourist, but I certainly don’t aspire to dwell in it all the time. The people who do are mostly utter twats.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Ham, smiling broadly, but then a frown settled on his brows again. ‘And that leads to my other concern with regard to your friend, Mr Fisher.’
‘I don’t think he is my friend any more,’ I said, my voice wobbling slightly as I fought tears.
Ham’s bear-like hand reached o
ut across the table and covered mine.
‘Has he dumped you?’ he asked, gently.
I nodded. My eyes were now fully teared up. One slid down my cheek.
‘He hasn’t called me for over a week,’ I whispered.
‘Had you slept with him?’ said Ham, very quietly.
I screwed my eyes up and nodded. Then I burst into tears.
Ham came round the table and enveloped me in his huge arms, while I sobbed uncontrollably on to his shoulder until I had let all the pent-up sadness and anger pour out and was just hiccupping a bit.
He dried my eyes on his shirtsleeve and then pulled a chair over, so he could sit with one arm round me.
‘My poor little poppet,’ he said. ‘God! Men are frightful. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘That’s what makes it so awful,’ I said. ‘I knew what to do and I messed it all up.’
I looked up into Ham’s big craggy, kind face.
‘No,’ he said. ‘He did.’
I felt all teary again, just talking about Jay.
‘I really liked him, Ham,’ I said eventually, in a tiny voice. ‘I had no idea he was stupidly rich, I just really liked him. Not just because he’s good-looking, and I didn’t even like the flashy car and all that nonsense. It’s just that he has such a gentle side to him and he’s so kind and funny and interesting and he always knows what to do – the way you do. I felt safe with Jay. He’s lovely.’
I had another little bout of sobbing, with Ham saying, ‘There there,’ and patting my head, until I finally recovered enough to ask him what he had been about to say before I’d broken down.
‘Ham, you said that you had another concern about Jay. What was it?’
‘Ah,’ said Ham, looking uneasy. ‘That. Well, surely you must remember I have a connection with that family.’
I nodded. ‘The museum in Boston. I did finally figure out that was how Jay knew all about you.’
‘Yes,’ said Ham, sighing deeply. ‘I did the Fisher Institute and it was the most painful project I have ever worked on.’
I blinked at him. ‘Why?’
‘His family are an utter nightmare,’ said Ham. ‘I cannot tell you the crap I had to put up with from them over that building. I wouldn’t care if it burned down tomorrow, they made it such an unpleasant experience.’
‘Not Jay?’ I said, horrified.
‘No,’ said Ham. ‘He had nothing to do with it. I’d never seen him until he turned up at Willow Barn, although he did look vaguely familiar, now I come to think of it. It’s the rest of them. The generation above him. His father! Don’t start me. He’s as cold as a sphinx. His mother wasn’t involved with the institute – they’re divorced – but his father is married again to a woman so avaricious she makes Kristy look like Mother Teresa. And then there are the truly terrible uncles. The Fishers are a huge clan of sociopathic fuckwits. They’re messed up in a way that only the inherited megarich can be. Those people scare me.’
I just gawped at him.
‘But Jay’s not like that,’ I said, after a moment.
‘Well, he seemed very nice, I must say, but I can’t imagine where that comes from, because the rest of them are completely appalling. Greedy, paranoid, ungenerous, petty… it just goes on.’
He leaned forwards.
‘Do you know what his Uncle Edward did? He’s the obsessive-compulsive pederast, by the way, as opposed to Michael, the masochistic dipsomaniac drug addict. Anyway, he went through every single receipt in my personal expenses claim from the project and refused to reimburse any mineral water that was on restaurant bills. He said I should have had good American tap water. True story. It amounted to about fifty pounds – in a project that was costing over two hundred million dollars.’
I shook my head in disbelief.
‘But if they’re that mean,’ I said, ‘how come they were giving away such an amazingly valuable art collection to the American people? Why didn’t they just keep it all? Uncle Edward could have had the Renoirs in his loo.’
Ham rolled his eyes.
‘Tax break,’ he said. ‘No, the Fishers really are as vile and mean-minded as only several generations of inherited wealth can make people, and the thought of you being involved with a family like that is simply horrendous to me. They are poison.’
I put my face in my hands and groaned. I didn’t know what to be more upset about. That Jay had dumped me, right after I had slept with him? That I had been stupid enough not to realize who he was? Or that the only man I had ever had proper adult romantic feelings for, had turned out to be from a tribe of money-obsessed psychomonsters?
Then I was distracted by another thought.
‘But how on earth did you come to see Hot Stuff! magazine, Ham. It’s certainly not your normal kind of a read. Or Chloe’s, I’m happy to say, and it’s not even out until tomorrow.’
His eyes creased up into a wry smile.
‘Kristy told me about it. It’s her favourite magazine –she’s a subscriber, so she gets it a day early. This is her copy. She dropped by with it earlier and to say she’s very keen for Venezia to see Jay again. And she’s looking forward to meeting him herself as well.’
We looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.
‘Oh,’ he added. ‘And then Venezia called a bit later to say – and I quote – “There is so, no way Stella’s an It girl…” ’
That just set me off again, until I was nearly crying with laughter. It was a welcome release, but it wasn’t quite the end of it. We chatted about other things for a while and then I told Ham I was going home to bed.
I started to stand up, when he put his hand on my arm.
‘There’s one more thing, Stella,’ he said, looking serious.
I sat down again.
‘You’re a very sensible girl,’ he continued. ‘Which is pretty amazing considering what silly flighty parents you had, but I need you to promise me something about all this.’
I looked back at him. It wasn’t his usual style, but these weren’t usual circumstances.
‘What is it?’ I asked him.
‘Promise me you won’t see Jay Fisher any more. From what you’ve told me it’s already over, but if he does get back in touch with you, promise me you will have nothing more to do with him.’
I stared at him, in surprise.
‘He won’t make you happy, Stella,’ Ham said, earnestly. ‘None of that family are capable of being happy and I don’t want to see them ruin your life along with all of theirs. They’re noxious. Deadly. So I want you to promise me that. Will you?’
It was strong stuff and I was really taken aback, but Ham had never asked me to promise anything before and although I felt a bit uncomfortable, I agreed.
I mean, I wasn’t going to see Jay Fisher again anyway, was I?
*
My head was still spinning with it all when I fell into bed that night.
It was just too much to compute and after an hour or so of lying there, going over every moment I had spent with Jay and analysing all the little things he had said and done which could have tipped me off to his true identity, I started to feel like my brain was coming out of my ears.
In the end I decided there was only one way to cope with it. I’d just throw myself back into my work more than ever and I wouldn’t give Jay Fisher another thought.
That proved rather hard when I got into the office the next day. The article from Hot Stuff! had been blown up to A3 size on the colour photocopier and was plastered all over the noticeboard above my desk.
Just to make it even worse, the photo of me and Jay in an intimate clinch had been enlarged separately, so I could see every detail of his beautiful face and how happy I had looked gazing into it.
‘Hello, Posh Spice,’ called out Rita, as I walked past the subs’ desks on my way to make a cup of tea in the staff kitchen.
‘Oooh, it’s our very own It girl,’ said another. ‘Give us a loan, Mrs Fisher.’
‘Y
ou’d better watch out,’ said a third. ‘I think I saw Jericho lurking near your desk, with a stiletto shoe in her hand…’
They all shrieked with laughter. I smiled weakly and stepped into the kitchen, only to see that the article had been pinned up on the noticeboard in there too. Rita followed me in.
‘How exciting, Stella,’ she said, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of it. ‘What’s it like dating a billionaire? He’s really cute, I must say. Has he bought you any good presents?’
I just looked at her. I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but I couldn’t blame her. As office gossip went, it was pretty hot stuff. I tried to smile ruefully. I probably looked like I had wind, but I knew I had to make an effort. Being a good sport was all part of being a success on a newspaper. If you showed the teasing bothered you, you’d be torn to pieces.
‘Oh, only a new Mercedes,’ I joked.
‘Has he really?’ said Rita, clearly ready to believe anything in her keenness to get hold of some juicy details to share around.
‘No, you noggin,’ I said, playfully punching her arm. ‘And I’m not dating him. I just met him at the Jericho launch and a whole gang of us went out that night and I just danced with him and somehow they got those stupid pictures. God knows how, I didn’t even see a flash go off. It’s a classic trash mag beat-up. They must have been desperate for a story.’
Rita’s face hardened a little.
‘So how come you had a romantic dinner with him at the River Café as well?’
I just looked at her. That hadn’t been in the piece in Hot Stuff! How did she know about that? But I couldn’t ask – I couldn’t let my guard down.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ I said and winked. Then I got out of the kitchen. It was getting a little too hot in there.
When I got back to my desk Tim was waiting there for me, keenly examining the article on the noticeboard. I reached past him, tore it down, screwed it up and threw it in the bin.
Cents and Sensibility Page 12
