by Susan Lewis
Her pale, translucent skin seemed to shine in the darkness, her breath was warm on his face, but though he desired her, he didn’t want to make love to her again in the car. He wanted to lie down with her, in the bed that smelt of her, the bed that contained all their secrets and absorbed their love.
Her mouth trembled as he told her that.
‘But I have to go back to Allyson,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Of course.’ Then she whispered, ‘I don’t want you to hurt her. I don’t want either of us ever to hurt her, but I think we will, won’t we? In the end.’
It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it, but he found he couldn’t, so all he said was, ‘Don’t let’s think about it now.’
Chapter 3
THE SOIRÉE OFFICES and studios were in a specially converted warehouse in Fulham. Though the programme was owned by one of the large network companies, independent premises had been found to accommodate the many staff and freelancers it took to service a show with four transmissions a week, and to house the various technical resources required.
The studio, editing suites, dubbing theatres, dressing rooms, make-up department, hospitality quarters and kitchen were all on the ground floor of the warehouse. The open-plan offices, meeting rooms and production gallery occupied the floor above. The windows looked out on to yet more warehouses, and two straight rows of terraced houses at the end of the street. It could hardly be deemed a glamorous location, but its great bonus was the three-level car park underneath the building, and its proximity to Central London, which, though not good, was certainly better than some of their rivals.
Allyson and Shelley had their own offices, next door to each other at the top end of the production level. Allyson also had her own private dressing room that was fitted out like a luxury hotel suite. She was the show’s main presenter, therefore she got most of the perks, which included a white Mercedes saloon car, a generous expense account and a say in who replaced her when she was sick or on leave. Her and Shelley’s personal assistants had desks right outside the executive offices, part of the open-plan space, but set slightly apart to show the seniority of their positions. It was a happy and successful team that thrived as much on gossip as any other, which meant that this morning it was buzzing furiously with yesterday’s story in the News of the World.
It was after eleven thirty when Allyson sailed in, causing an immediate hush which she pretended not to notice and they quickly covered. She stopped en route to her office to talk to Jerry Milne, that night’s director, and Jocelyn West, one of the production assistants. As they took a brief look through the opening links, she knew everyone was dying to see how she dealt with Tessa, probably not realizing she’d already seen her the day before at the cricket match. Or maybe Tessa had told them, and they were all feeling a bit fed up now at being deprived of the histrionics and fireworks the story should have produced. Of course, there was a chance they’d known for ages about the rumoured affair, which would mean she was now either an object of pity, or a laughing stock because it had taken her so long to find out.
‘You know, I think these last couple of sentences don’t quite flow,’ she said, pointing them out on the script.
‘We’ll take it back to the subs,’ Jerry told her.
‘Are you going to be free at some point for some timings?’ Jocelyn asked.
‘Grab me after the meeting,’ Allyson said, moving on through the random arrangement of desks, ‘I should be in my dressing room. Hi Alan. Are you doing Wednesday’s show? Great. I’d like to talk about it when you’ve got a minute. Morning Edmund. How was Scotland?’
‘Bloody freezing,’ the researcher replied. ‘Got some good stuff though. I’ll bring it up at the meeting. Karen’s got Phyllis Reed for tomorrow night. Did she tell you?’
‘Phyllis who?’
‘Reed. She’s conducting the London Philharmonic at some royal extravaganza on Thursday.’
‘Which reminds me,’ Shelley said, coming out of her office, ‘we need to get a crew out to the rehearsals.’
‘Already done,’ one of the production managers piped up. ‘They’re shooting this afternoon.’
Shelley’s lips smiled her approval, then she embraced Allyson, who, she thought, was looking rather good this morning, considering, and even seemed quite remarkably cheerful. ‘Are we making a regular thing out of the humanitarian angle on Wednesdays?’ Shelley wanted to know.
Allyson’s blue eyes were eager. ‘It wasn’t an intention I set out with,’ she responded, ‘but I think it could be good.’
‘We’ll discuss it in more depth later.’ Shelley was already heading off towards the stairs. ‘We’re recording at four this afternoon, by the way, instead of three thirty, and transmission’s been put back fifteen minutes because of an extended news.’
‘Jerry told me. Hi Tessa,’ she said, knowing that every eye in the room was on her now that she’d reached her own office. ‘Did you call my mother about the donation?’
Tessa was her usual efficient self. Only a touch of nervousness, which was normal, and the vaguest hint of a deepening colour in her plump, healthy cheeks, which was also normal. ‘I spoke to her an hour ago,’ she answered. ‘She’s sending it over.’
‘Good.’ Allyson was smiling. She must call her mother and find out if she’d said anything about yesterday’s story. She hoped not. Then, leaning in a little, she put a twinkle in her eye and said softly, ‘Everyone’s watching us now, so we can either make ourselves look foolish, or them. I say we make it them.’
Tessa’s eyes reflected the twinkle. ‘How do we do that?’ she whispered.
‘Just laugh, and make it look as though we’re the great chums we’ve always been. Which we are, I hope.’
Tessa laughed as though she’d just been told a hilarious joke. A bit overdone, Allyson thought, but it would do.
Allyson was still close. ‘If I was horrible to you at all yesterday, then I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘You weren’t,’ Tessa assured her. ‘Though you had every right to be, if you believed the paper.’
Allyson’s smile froze. Picking up her briefcase, she walked into her office and closed the door behind her.
‘If you believed the paper!’ Just what was that supposed to mean? Why would she believe the paper? It was all lies! Everyone was agreed on that, so why say something like that? And why say it in that kind of tone! And before she could stop herself she was hurtling off down the road to outrage and fury, throwing aside perspective and getting herself into a right royal state. But just who did the girl think she was, coming out with statements like that? It was offensive, the way she’d said it, and arrogant. At least it had sounded that way. Well, maybe not offensive exactly, and perhaps arrogant was a bit strong too, but she’d given Allyson something of a shock coming out from behind her submissive demeanour like that. Except she wasn’t always submissive, agreeable would probably be a better way to describe her, and that, really, was all she had done, agree with Allyson. And now here was Allyson firing off like a lunatic as though the girl had no right to breathe, never mind speak.
‘Looks like a fun day ahead,’ she trilled lightly to herself, and taking a steadying breath she crossed to her desk and put down her briefcase. Scripts and videotapes were stacked up on the blue leather sofas, and her chair was occupied by a sack of mail.
‘Tessa,’ she said into the intercom. ‘Could you come in, please?’
The door opened and Tessa was there in all her girlish, tousle-haired splendour and black leather boots.
‘Could you get rid of that mailbag,’ Allyson said, going to hang up her coat. ‘We’ll go through it later.’
Tessa did as she was told. At the door she said, ‘I’ve just made some fresh coffee, I’ll bring a cup in as soon as it’s ready.’
‘Great.’ Allyson was watching her computer screen as it blinked and whirred into life. ‘Are there many emails?’ she asked.
‘Quite a lot. I’ve already dealt with those I can. The phone
messages are on your desk.’
Allyson looked up, then smiling her famously captivating smile she said, ‘Give it five minutes, then buzz me through and tell me my husband’s on the line.’
Tessa looked confused. ‘Uh, does that mean you want me to get him on the line, or just pretend he’s on the line?’
Allyson was already regretting such a fatuous request. ‘Pretend,’ she said, unable to get herself out of it. ‘We’re supposed to be carrying on as normal, remember? We both know you’re not sleeping with Bob, but out there, they don’t know what to believe. Unless you’ve told them something you’re not telling me.’
Tessa shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘Good. OK, you can go now.’
Allyson could feel the colour burning in her cheeks. Why had she done that? It was pathetic, stupid and bloody undignified. She was handling this all wrong. She was making a fool of herself and if she’d just calm down she’d remember that she believed Bob when he said he wasn’t having an affair. And the way he’d made love to her last night … OK, he was tired after the hectic day, so was she, which would account for why neither of them came, but the way he held her, kissing her and teasing her for the way she’d got him going on the phone, and then how quickly he fell asleep – a guilty conscience would never have permitted such an easy release.
More deep breaths, and a cheery affirmation that she’d get past this in a day or two. It would all blow over and no-one would even remember.
She was at her computer, going through the email, when Tessa buzzed through. ‘Ally, Bob’s on the line,’ she said.
Allyson’s shame crawled through her. ‘OK, thanks,’ she said.
‘No, I mean he really is,’ Tessa said. ‘No pretence.’
Allyson turned hot. Had anyone heard her say that? ‘Put him through,’ she said, and picked up the receiver.
‘Darling?’ his voice came down the line.
‘Hi. Did you get to the office on time?’
‘Yep. Sorry if I woke you when I left.’
‘It doesn’t matter. We’re going into the meeting in a minute.’
‘Then I won’t keep you. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been invited to host this year’s Sportsman of the Year awards. Isn’t that great?’
‘Oh darling. It’s wonderful. I’m glad you called to tell me. I was just thinking about you and feeling stupidly insecure over that newspaper thing again.’
‘Then I’m glad I called too. Do we have any commitments tonight?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So why don’t we rent a video and have dinner at home, just the two of us? We can send out for something.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘OK, got to go. Just wanted to give you my news.’
‘Love you,’ but he was gone.
‘Coffee,’ Tessa said, coming in the door.
Allyson looked up and smiled. ‘Thanks. And sorry about asking you to carry out that silly pretence, even though you didn’t have to.’
‘Oh, that’s all right.’ Tessa put the coffee down and was just about to leave when she said, ‘Isn’t that great news about the Sportsman of the Year awards?’
Allyson’s smile was gone, so was her heartbeat. ‘He told you?’ she said.
Tessa flushed deeply and suddenly appeared so flustered and frightened she could hardly speak. ‘No, uh … No, I …’
Allyson watched her, then a horrible suspicion dawned. ‘Don’t tell me you were listening in to our conversation,’ she said.
‘Allyson! You ready for the meeting?’ Shelley called out.
Allyson was still looking at Tessa. ‘Coming,’ she called back. And to Tessa, ‘We’ll continue this later.’
Allyson’s powers of concentration were giving her a rough time as the meeting got going. There were about twenty of them in the room, all with their own agendas, and all in need of green lights, no gos, or further discussion. The stories they ran with were usually decided on by her and Shelley, though today Shelley was taking most of the decisions. If anyone noticed they didn’t let on, though obviously there would be no hiding it from Shelley.
For a while, though, Allyson managed to wrench herself out of her inner confusion to take part in the discussion on that night’s show. Each episode was set up with Cocktails for the first part, a commercial break, then a filmed insert from one of the reporters, followed by a Night Cap to end with. The most important section was Cocktails. Her guests that night, at the cocktail bar, were a leading Labour politician and his wife. The filmed report was from Colin Quinlan, who’d been following the rehearsals of a new West End show.
‘Terry Black’s taken over the lead,’ Colin informed them. ‘He’s agreed to come in for the Night Cap slot. I’d like to have got him for Cocktails, but he can’t get here in time. My sources tell me there’s some dirt to be dished on why Stafford Lawrence backed out. I need to do a bit more background, I’ll fill you in, Ally, before we record. We’re invited to the opening night, by the way. By we, I mean me, Allyson and Shelley. For Allyson, read Allyson and Bob.’
‘When is it?’ Allyson asked.
Colin’s handsome black face showed his surprise. ‘Tonight,’ he answered.
Shelley arched a humorous eyebrow. Clearly Allyson wasn’t paying attention. Allyson looked at her and mirrored the expression.
‘Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff tonight,’ Shelley declared. ‘Nothing too testing. I’m pencilling in Gordon the Gorgeous Gardener for tomorrow’s Night Cap. Has anyone checked to make sure he’s free? And by free, I mean he doesn’t want paying.’
‘Still waiting to hear back from his agent,’ Camille, one of the researchers, answered. ‘He’s promoting a new book, so I doubt he’s going to charge.’
‘If he does, we’ll put in one of the standby Caps,’ Shelley said. ‘Edmund and Debbie, over to you for Scotland.’
Somewhere during Edmund’s brief on what was in the works for Scotland Allyson found her mind straining back towards Tessa. She tried desperately to resist it, but she just couldn’t stop going over what it might mean if Bob had told her himself about the Sportsman of the Year Awards. Except he wouldn’t have. He’d called to tell her, his wife, and Tessa had listened in. But even Tessa’s eavesdropping was ominous … After all, why would she do that?
‘Ally? Are you OK?’
Allyson blinked, then found herself looking at Shelley. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was miles away. What were we saying?’
‘That the meeting’s over unless anyone has anything to add,’ Shelley replied.
‘No, I’m done,’ Allyson said, smiling.
By the time Allyson got back to her office Tessa had gone out for lunch, and the rest of the team were either working through, or had disappeared down to the wine bar. Allyson stayed long enough to make a couple of calls that couldn’t wait, then went downstairs to her dressing room where Shelley joined her a few minutes later.
‘I’m worried about you,’ Shelley said bluntly. ‘You lost it in there today and that’s just not like you.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Allyson responded. ‘I don’t know where the hell my mind was. No, that’s not true, I know exactly where it was.’ She looked anxiously into Shelley’s face. ‘I hate to admit it,’ she said, ‘but this is really getting to me.’
‘I can see that.’
‘I honestly don’t think it’s true,’ Allyson continued, ‘the trouble is, it’s been put there now, and it’s stuck, like a great big ugly stain that I can’t get rid of.’
Shelley walked over to the bar and poured them both a soft drink. No alcohol before a recording, and, contrary to what the audience were led to believe, no alcohol on the show either. All glasses contained coloured water, or, at the very strongest, a lemonade shandy.
Allyson curled up in a corner of one of the canary yellow sofas. There was a bank of TV monitors on the wall opposite her revealing static images from the studio, or on-air transmissions. The sound was muted. Behind he
r was a twelve-foot rack of clothes, all for the show. Most were on loan from designers, whose names were to be credited at the end of the programme.
Shelley handed her a drink and went to sit in an armchair. Allyson watched as she crossed her silk-stockinged legs and let one of her black suede Ferragamo shoes dangle. It was probably impossible, she was thinking, for Shelley to look anything other than supremely elegant, which was great for Shelley, but a pain for her, when she could do with some of that perfect poise right now. ‘Tell me honestly, Shell,’ she said, unconsciously attempting to tidy up her hair, ‘do you think it’s true? Do you think he’s sleeping with her?’
Shelley drank.
Allyson watched her and felt the cold burn of dread enclosing her heart. ‘Oh my God, you do, don’t you?’ she said. The words opened up a giant void inside her.
‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ Shelley said. ‘Have you checked whether it’s true about Danny living in the same building?’
Allyson shook her head.
‘Is there any other evidence?’
‘Not really. Bob treats it all as a joke.’
Shelley’s lips tightened at that.
‘What?’ Allyson said. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘That it doesn’t seem much of a joke to me, when it’s tearing you up like this.’
‘I was thinking,’ Allyson said, after a pause. ‘The guy who wrote the story, what story there was …’
‘There wasn’t a story,’ Shelley reminded her. ‘There was just a sequence of lewdly posed rhetoric and sly innuendo.’
‘I know. Which is why I’m not convinced it’s true. But the guy who wrote it, do you know him?’
Shelley shook her head. ‘His name’s new to me.’
‘But you do know the editor,’ Allyson pointed out.
‘So do you.’
‘Yes, but it would be easier for you to talk to him, find out if this guy has any more.’
‘I could, but we’re talking the News of the World here, so you can rest assured that if he did have more he’d have printed it. Unless it’s uncorroborated of course, but I don’t think there was much about yesterday’s that was corroborated, and that didn’t stop him.’
