‘Actually, Ed, this isn’t really a social call. I’m ringing up because I’m a bit concerned about James. I’m getting the oddest letters from him. He keeps asking for money.’
There’s a deathly silence at the end of the line, apart from a faint grinding, which is possibly the sound of the cogs in Ed’s brain turning. ‘Ah,’ he says at last. ‘There’s a bit of a story there, old girl. The thing is… gosh, Katy, this is dashed awkward. James doesn’t work here any more.’
I experience a sudden stab of guilt. ‘Is that because of the dinner party?’ If it is, no wonder James feels entitled to my money.
‘Dinner party?’
‘You must remember?’ I can’t believe I have to remind him; it’s seared on my memory for life. ‘Lobsters? Cactus? Red setter in the office?’
‘Oh yes!’ Ed chortles. ‘Tremendous fun! Julius still laughs about it.’
I’m glad somebody does.
‘But no, it’s nothing to do with the dinner party.’ Ed lowers his voice so that it’s slightly less booming. People in Australia will have to strain their ears now to hear. ‘The problem is that James got involved in some stuff.’
‘Stuff? What, drugs, you mean?’ And I thought I was the one with a Nurofen addiction.
‘No!’ Ed says quickly, almost as quickly as Mads is running along the quay after the minibus. ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s financial stuff. He was a bit of an idiot, got involved in some insider business.’ I can practically see him tapping his nose. ‘He had some tips from an insider source about a takeover and took some pretty heavy losses. You know how it is.’
Erm. No, I don’t actually. All I know about the world of high finance comes from watching Wall Street in the Eighties. Red braces, Greed is Good and Lunch is for Wimps is about the extent of my knowledge.
‘Is that bad?’
‘About as bad as it gets,’ Ed says. ‘It’s illegal, Katy. And it wasn’t a recent thing either. James had got himself into a right state. He owes hundreds of thousands, and that’s a conservative estimate, I’m afraid. The speculations go back years.’
My mouth is dry. ‘How many years?’
‘It’s hard to say, but at least four I should think. It got worse about the time you two got together, actually. He said you had a rich aunt who was on her last legs. She was going to bung you guys some cash as a wedding present?’
I know I don’t love James any more, maybe never did if I’m painfully honest, but it’s never nice to have your worst suspicions confirmed, is it? Nobody likes to be used.
What an idiot. He must have seen me coming. And I was a pushover; no, I was worse than a pushover, because I was grateful, pathetically grateful, that someone so successful and who was the antithesis of all that my crazy parents stood for was actually interested in me.
It had seemed too good to be true and it was.
Ollie was right. James must have thought all his birthdays and Christmases has come at once. No wonder he couldn’t wait to get that ring on my finger.
‘Thanks, Ed,’ I say. ‘I think I’ve heard enough.’
‘Sorry, old bean.’ Ed coughs awkwardly. ‘Unpleasant business, I know. Julius had to let him go, less negative publicity for the firm and all that. Malcolm Saville was furious and of course Alice dropped him like a hot brick. I think poor old James is pretty desperate. Rumour has it that he hasn’t got long to settle his debts.’
We say goodbye and I sit for a moment nursing the phone and chewing my bottom lip. There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach like a pack of hyenas are having a good old gnaw. You don’t live with someone for several years without learning something about them, and one thing I know about James is that he can be pretty ruthless when pushed. I think Jake and Millandra can safely vouch for that.
Maybe now is a good time to take up nail-biting again? It’s either that or get Richard to shove a few prayers into the ether, but judging from the speed Mads is now haring up the path, I think he may need all the prayers for himself.
I think it’s time to make myself scarce and head off to Smuggler’s Rest. Hopefully by the time I’ve hiked up there I won’t be feeling quite so savage towards Seb and Gabriel.
Otherwise they may need more than prayers to help them.
The walk up to Smuggler’s Rest is far from soothing, and with every stride my blood boils and my head pounds. By the time I push the front door open I’m seething so much it’s a miracle I don’t combust there and then and leave a smoking pair of wellies on the Delabole slate floor. How dare Seb and Gabriel decide who I can and can’t speak to? That was never in our agreement!
The thought of sneaky Seb manipulating me by screening my calls makes me wild, and I know this had to have been his idea because quite frankly Gabriel doesn’t have the intelligence to think up such a nasty little scheme. He might be beautiful, but when God gave out brains Gabe was far too busy preening in a mirror to turn up and collect his share. But this doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. No way! From now on he can fend for himself, because as far as I’m concerned my summer job’s well and truly over. I’d rather babysit Luke and Leia for the next six months than spend another second pretending to be Gabriel’s girlfriend.
Maybe Richard has a point, I admit grudgingly, as I slam the front door so hard that one of Gabe’s BAFTAs falls off the dresser. There’s a lot to be said for honesty in relationships and it certainly makes life easier. Maybe it’s time I sent Richard to have a chat with his famous neighbour and Seb.
A lecture from Richard is the least they deserve.
Luckily for Gabriel he’s in the shower when I arrive, and Seb’s cloistered in the office deep in conversation on his mobile, which gives me a few moments to get my breath back and simmer down a little. It probably won’t help matters if they both end up wearing their bollocks as earrings, even if it makes me feel better. I need to be calm and in control, don’t I? I’m shored up by justifiable anger and icy fury because I’m in the right, for heaven’s sake!
Or at least as much in the right as a girl who’s lied to most of Britain for three months can be.
While I wait for Gabriel to appear — which may take some time if past experience is anything to go by, because he could teach Marie Antoinette a thing or two about doing her toilette — I stomp around the kitchen oblivious to the beautiful views and the golden sunshine bouncing off the solid oak surfaces. The place is a pit: plates are piled in the butler’s sink, a week’s worth of grease festers in the grill pan and the surfaces are speckled with coffee granules. Gabriel might look divine but he lives like a pig, and good luck to Frankie if they ever move in together. Even though cleaning up after him isn’t part of my official role as his girlfriend, I vent my bad temper on the mess, crashing plates into the dishwasher and slamming pans into cupboards while poor Mufty cowers in his basket and wonders what’s got into the madwoman in the kitchen.
‘Fury, that’s what!’ I tell him, flinging a bin bag out of the kitchen door and almost taking out a seagull. ‘How dare Gabriel and Seb think they can run my life? Who the hell do they think they are?’
It’s strange that only a few months ago James totally ran my life and, feeble and apathetic as it was, I let him. So maybe I did believe he knew best and that he was only guiding me for my own good. That turned out to be total rubbish at best and emotional abuse at worst.
Thank God I got out when I did.
‘If Gabriel dares to try and pull the same stunt he’ll be wearing one of these pans,’ I tell the worried-looking Mufty as I heave another one out of the sink. ‘No more Mrs Nice Katy!’
I catch a glimpse of myself in the stainless-steel fridge; it isn’t just the sleek hair and slimmer frame that are different, but the steely glint in my eyes and the determined set to my chin.
Chubster has left the building. If only Jewell was here to watch!
‘If you sit in the passenger seat too long, you forget how to drive,’ I point out to the bemused poodle. ‘And I’m a great driver, no matter what James s
aid. I was a legend in Ollie’s Beetle. No one else I’ve ever met could paint their nails and get round the Hanger Lane Gyratory System at the same time.’
‘Who are you talking to?’ Snapping his mobile shut, Seb strolls into the kitchen and flicks the switch on the kettle. He’s grown a goatee since he was last down and it makes his already thin face even more weasel-like.
‘Interesting you should ask,’ I say, glaring at him. ‘Who would you like me to be talking to? Or maybe I should rephrase that and ask who you’d rather I didn’t talk to.’
Seb eyes me suspiciously. ‘Have you been drinking? It’s only nine a.m.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Please don’t go all Kerry Katona on me. I can do without having to fight to book you into the Priory when I know for a fact they’re full.’
Seb’s lucky that the kitchen island, more of a continent actually, separates us, otherwise he’d have been booking himself in to the local A&E.
I take a deep breath. Calm and cool, remember?
‘Would you like to explain why you’ve been screening my calls?’
‘Ah.’ His gaze slides from mine like butter from warm crumpets. ‘That.’
‘Yes, that.’ I advance around the island, passing the Sabatier knives on my way. As I pause by their wooden block Seb looks distinctly uneasy, and so he should, because cool and collected doesn’t actually seem to be my forte.
I knew there was a reason I have red hair.
‘What gave you the right to decide who I’m allowed to talk to?’ I snarl.
He shrugs. ‘I’m your manager. It’s part of my job.’
‘It’s part of your job to screen calls from my friends? That was never in the arrangement I made with Gabriel. Besides, you’re not my manager.’
‘I have Gabriel’s image to consider. As do you, seeing as he pays you enough for this whole charade. You were risking everything by allowing male friends to call and turn up unannounced. One of us had to think logically.’
‘Don’t you dare try to blame me! I agreed to be Gabe’s official girlfriend, not to live in a police state!’
‘I presume we’re talking about your persistent mate Ollie?’ Seb sighs. ‘OK, I’m not going to deny it. I may have put him off a few times.’
‘A few? More like every time he called!’
‘So it’s my fault he’s a telephone stalker? How was I to know you wanted to speak to him? If he was so keen he could have called your mobile or the rectory.’
‘He’d lost his phone so he didn’t have my mobile number. And why would he ring the rectory when you’d given him the impression I didn’t want to talk to him?’ My shrill voice echoes and bounces off the shiny surfaces. When I quit my role as Gabriel’s girlfriend I can probably be employed straight away as a fishwife.
‘Look,’ says Seb, sidling away, one eye fixed nervously on the knives, ‘my job is to manage Gabriel and his image, and we both know exactly what makes that so difficult. The last thing I needed was a lovesick friend of yours turning up and wrecking all the hard work. It made sense to keep him off the scene.’
‘Maybe I didn’t want him off the scene?’
He fixes me with his beady ferret’s eyes. ‘That was exactly what I was afraid of. The last thing Gabriel needs is his so-called girlfriend leaving him for another man. Just imagine the headlines if that had happened; it would have been a disaster. Call it damage limitation if you like, Katy, but it really wasn’t personal. I was just doing my job.’
‘Damage limitation?’ I echo. Is this guy for real or did someone amputate his emotions at birth? ‘Have you any idea just how unhappy I’ve been? You were playing with people’s lives, Seb, and it isn’t on. I love Ollie and you’ve led him to think I didn’t want to know him. You’ve probably ruined everything. How could you?’
‘Calm down!’ Seb raises his hands and starts to back away from me. I’m just congratulating myself on not losing my teacherly ability to terrify people when I realise I’ve plucked the biggest, meanest knife from the block and am brandishing it in time with my words. Blimey. I put it down quickly; tempting as it is to make Seb into a doily, he isn’t worth doing time for. Perhaps I should revisit my anger management training.
‘Look, I’m sorry!’ Seb insists, backing into the corner by the fridge. ‘Calm down and we can talk about it, OK?’
‘I’m not feeling very calm. In fact I’m feeling quite the opposite. So sod this stupid job. Find someone else to manipulate. I quit!’
Seb turns the exact hue of the snowy-white robe that Gabe is wearing as he saunters into the kitchen.
‘You can’t quit now. Not with the launch of Pirate Passion. It’ll ruin everything.’
I glower at him. ‘And I’m supposed to be bothered?’
‘You should be. You agreed to all this.’
I fold my arms across my chest. ‘I never agreed to my entire life being controlled. I’m not the one who’s moved the goalposts, Seb.’
‘Hey, what are you guys rowing about? I’m trying to meditate and you’ve totally broken my concentration,’ complains Gabriel, sloshing orange juice into a glass. He would be scowling but he’s just had Botox and looks rather like a startled hard-boiled egg.
‘I know about Ollie’s calls and how they were screened,’ I say, so coldly that I’m amazed a few penguins don’t waddle past in an arctic blast. ‘I’m through with people controlling my life, Gabriel. Find yourself another pretend girlfriend. I’d rather do supply at Tregowan Comp than put up with this farce a second longer.’
‘What’s she on about?’ Gabriel asks his manager. ‘What calls have been screened? What the hell’s been going on?’
He seems so genuinely perplexed that I realise he hasn’t a clue what Seb’s been up to. Gabe’s not that good an actor, especially with a frozen face.
‘I may have not passed on some messages from her friend Ollie,’ Seb mutters sulkily.
‘He ignored them all,’ I spit. ‘He let Ollie think I didn’t want to speak to him.’
‘And now she’s quitting,’ Seb continues. ‘Just when you need her most for the TV awards and the launch of the new movie, she’s decided to leave you in the lurch and declare her love for another man. Angela Andrews will have a field day and the game will be well and truly up.’
‘You can’t!’ Gabe’s hands fly to his mouth in horror. ‘This week’s crucial. It could be the start of my Hollywood career. If everything comes out now, I’m finished. Seb, tell her she can’t. Katy, please, you can’t do this.’
I glare at them both. ‘I bloody well can. Watch me!’
‘I was wrong to lie to your friend,’ says Seb swiftly. ‘I can see that now, Katy. I should never have done it. It was stupid. And wrong. I’ll call him myself and tell him what I did, if it will help. But please don’t quit now. Gabriel needs you.’
Gabe nods his golden head and his sapphire eyes sparkle with tears. ‘If the truth comes out, nobody will take the new movie seriously and the studio will lose millions. I’ll probably never work again.’ He reaches out and clutches my hands. ‘Please, Katy, I’m begging you. Don’t walk out on me now. I’ll double your wages, I’ll pay anything!’
‘It’s not about money, Gabe. It’s because I can’t lie any more.’
‘You don’t need to,’ says Seb swiftly. ‘Just give me a week to put a story together and see if I can find a soap star to attend the premiere with Gabriel, then you can go. I’ll call Ollie and explain everything, I promise, but please give us a week.’
I shake my head. ‘I need to see Ollie now. I can’t wait a whole week.’
‘We’re going to London tomorrow for the TV awards. Can you give me two days?’ Seb is tapping frantically at his BlackBerry. ‘Sienna owes me a favour, so maybe she’ll do the premiere, but we have to have you at the awards tomorrow. The Dagger journalists are all over that like flies on crap, and if you don’t show they’ll never leave Gabriel alone. They’ll dig up something.’
‘It’s true,’ wails Gabriel. ‘Please, Katy, just a few days? You ca
n invite Ollie over if you really must, but don’t leave me and Frankie in the lurch. You know your being there is the only way we can be together without worrying. Please, just this one last weekend? So Frankie and I can have some time?’
It’s a masterstroke mentioning Frankie. I know just how much it’s meant to him having me around so that he has the freedom to be with Gabe. Frankie’s my gay best pal, or so the gossip rags think, and this gives him total freedom to come and go from whatever smart venue Gabriel and I happen to be staying in. I also know Frankie has been touring solidly for three weeks and is desperate to see Gabe. He’ll be broken-hearted if he can’t.
Oh crap. I may be the strong new Katy Carter, but I think I still have some work to do on the old guilt thing.
‘Please?’ Seeing me weakening, Gabriel fixes me with huge tear-filled eyes. ‘If not for me, then for Frankie? Just this one last weekend?’
‘And after that you can do whatever you like,’ chips in Seb. ‘Go and be with this Ollie if you must. I’ll see to the press and make a statement about your split. There’ll be nothing to stop you. Come on, what’s one weekend in the general scheme of things?’
I bite my lip. I’ve already arranged to see Ollie at Jewell’s party, where hopefully we can salvage our friendship, so I suppose one last weekend as Gabriel’s girlfriend can’t hurt. It’ll be something to tell the grandchildren — if I ever get round to having any, which at this point in time seems pretty unlikely.
‘One weekend,’ I say firmly, ‘and then that really is it.’
‘You angel!’ Gabriel smiles so widely that I’m almost blinded by his veneers, while Seb visibly heaves a sigh of relief. ‘You won’t regret this, I promise!’
‘I hope not,’ I say, because already I’m wondering if I should have just walked out and left them to it. But then what about poor Frankie? He’d have been devastated if he hadn’t been able to see Gabriel.
So one last weekend it is.
Surely that can’t hurt?
Katy Carter Wants a Hero Page 30
