by Anita Notaro
‘I wish.’ Libby beamed. ‘No, actually I don’t. I’ve enjoyed every minute of this one.’
Annie grinned at her. ‘Well, not many things confound me but you’ve left me speechless this time.’ She took a long look at Libby. ‘You look different. You’ve lost weight and the . . . tiredness has gone from your eyes.’
‘You mean puffiness. Go on, say it.’ They laughed and linked arms and went inside.
The hall was Libby’s favourite room. Annie’s mouth was that of a goldfish. The wood panelling gleamed following many hours of TLC. The banisters that had been enclosed in the cheapest MDF were now liberated and had rewarded Libby with elegant, hand-turned spirals and a little squiggly bit at the top and bottom. The walls, paintwork, ceiling – everything had been painted in an old Regency rich cream, in order to maximize the space and height and show off the gleaming woodwork. But the star feature was the newly exposed fireplace, carefully restored and home tonight to a mound of logs that sputtered and glowed in the soft lamplight. Above it was a bevelled mirror and a row of fat candles on the mantel. The furniture was simple, an old chair that had belonged to Libby’s grandmother, a Victorian gateleg table with a pitcher of flowers on top and an antique rug in shades of warm rust, biscuit and chocolate.
Annie just kept looking around, taking it all in.
‘My God, girl, whatever style is, you’ve got it in buckets.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Like it? It’s incredible. If you can do this in a couple of weeks then there’s hope for everyone else on the planet. And I want you to promise to help me with mine when the time comes. I’m getting in early, ’cause I’d say you’ll be in big demand.’
‘Of course, don’t be stupid. Now, come on up and see your smelly old room.’
Annie wandered around the rest of the house in a dream and when she saw the kitchen her expression made Libby laugh out loud.
‘Have a drink,’ she offered.
‘I tell you I need one, or else I’ll need smelling salts to revive me. This is fab. It’s all so amazing. I have never seen anything like it in my life.’
They settled in and had a great chat and every scrap of food was eaten and only a little wine drunk.
‘How come you’re looking so well?’ Annie wanted to know as they sat in front of the fire later.
‘Well, I’ve been so busy here and I only got the cooker a couple of days ago, so I’ve been living on soup and fruit and vegetables and in the evenings I’ve been so tired that I’ve fallen into bed in Mum’s house, not even stopping to pour myself a drink in case we got stuck into another heart-to-heart.’
‘How are things on that front?’
‘Just about OK. David’s father has been phoning her a lot and they’re both asking questions about the business. He’s coming home in a few weeks and I know I’m going to have to sit down and explain at least some of it then. I suppose I’m afraid they’ll rush in and try to help, although at that stage it will be too late. I signed most of the papers yesterday and the company’s no longer operational.’
‘Are you OK about all of this?’
‘Yes, I’m relieved in a way. It’s another chapter closed. And that’s why it’s been so important to get my base here set up. It’ll keep me grounded. It’s what I need right now.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
NEXT MORNING THEY went for a long walk after a breakfast of juice and pancakes and coffee.
‘You haven’t said much about you. What’s happening?’ Libby asked as she pulled on her jacket against the breeze.
‘Do you know something, everything’s so good I’m starting to get scared. The upcoming scripts are really great, my personal profile has increased dramatically and my agent rings me every other day with some sort of offer.’
‘Yeah, I keep reading about you every time I open a newspaper or magazine and it’s all good.’ Libby put her arm around Annie. ‘It’s great having a famous friend.’
‘What about some of the rubbish I’ve been reading about you this week?’ They’d already talked about it a lot but it wasn’t dying down.
‘Now that’s what’s really worrying Mum, I think. Since the series has done so badly the papers have really turned, as you well know. Funny, isn’t it? I suppose I thought it would never happen to me. And maybe with David around it wouldn’t have. He was sort of untouchable. People didn’t mess with him easily. He was too powerful, I guess. Now it’s open season, with all sorts of innuendo and speculation about the business, even about our relationship. Most of it I don’t read. But it kind of gets me down now and then, which is a pity because otherwise I feel calm and peaceful and more in control since I stopped using alcohol as a crutch.’ She shuddered. ‘It makes me really scared to realize how near I came to having a real problem. I was becoming very dependent.’
‘No news from Andrew?’
Libby shook her head. ‘And now that I’ve moved he doesn’t know where I am.’
‘He’d find you.’ Annie was gentle in her usual forthright way.
‘I know that.’ Libby squeezed her arm. ‘I still get lonely for him sometimes but I can cope with it. Anyway, I’m old enough not to believe in fairytales.’
‘We all need our dreams. Let’s never stop making each other believe in movie endings. OK?’
‘Deal.’
‘And for me, having you as my best friend is just like in the movies. Remember that one with Bette Midler about the two best friends and a cat called Pouncer?’
‘Please – didn’t one of them die?’ Libby was horrified.
‘That wasn’t important. It was all about their relationship. They were lucky to have each other. And that’s what I feel about you.’
‘Me too.’ They stood and looked out to sea with their arms around each other, causing a few kettles to boil dry in the neighbourhood as speculation about their celebrity neighbour intensified.
Annie left later for a date with Gary.
‘How’s it all going?’ Libby wanted to know everything.
‘Great. We kiss and hug and snog, sort of like teenagers. For now at least he seems content with that. And I know I am.’
‘Good girl. You have it all sussed.’
Annie’s mobile rang. After a short conversation she turned to Libby with shining eyes. ‘That was the estate agent. He’s found me a place that he thinks is ideal.’
They jumped up and down like kids. ‘Perfect timing. I’m ready for a new project.’ They went on the Internet to look at the property and it seemed ideal, a stylish, modern two-bedroomed apartment in a beautifully proportioned building with fabulous facilities. It had two terraces and a decent bathroom and the kitchen was ‘ideal for advanced lessons’, according to Libby. ‘And the rooms are a good size, so we’ll be able to go to town on the décor and some of the stuff you took from me will look great there too. I can’t wait.’
They made an arrangement to go and see it together, then Annie left, asking Libby about work on her way out the door.
‘I’ve nothing lined up, but I need to get something soon. I’ve been putting a few ideas on paper. Leo Morgan promised me another series but Melanie’s been trying to get a commitment out of him for ages, with no success. I’m more difficult to sell now that I have a dud on my hands.’
‘Don’t give up.’
‘I won’t’.
When Annie had gone, Libby tidied up. Her pottering was interrupted by a whining noise at the front door. Outside in the rain sat the saddest little dog she’d ever seen. It was a mongrel, clearly, roughly the shape and size of a cocker spaniel. Its paws were thick and padded and its wheaten coat was a cross between a poodle and the Dulux dog, which made it long and shaggy and extremely matted.
‘Go away. Shoo.’ Libby, who didn’t like dogs, was freaked. It refused to budge. Sitting there, it stared up at her with a face that would make even a boxer pup look cheerful.
She closed the door but kept her eye on him or her and about an hour later a middle-aged man came and tried to coax the ani
mal away.
‘Hello.’ Libby felt she’d better make an effort.
‘I’m very sorry. I’m afraid he wants to come back here. Every time we open the door he bounds out and hides when we try and get him to come back home. He always sits at this door.’
‘But who is he?’ Libby didn’t like this story one bit.
‘He was owned by Eleanor, the lady who’s now in the nursing home. She wouldn’t give him up so we offered to take him. We have two other dogs so it didn’t really matter. But he won’t settle and we keep finding him here, usually hiding from us. We’ve been down every day but I didn’t realize you’d moved in until just now. I’m Alan O’Rourke, by the way. Welcome.’
‘Libby Marlowe.’ She shook hands. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
He shook his head. ‘Not unless you fancy a pet?’
‘Afraid not. I’m allergic.’ She smiled as he dragged a very stubborn animal down the path.
‘What’s his name, by the way?’ she called.
‘Cookie Monster.’ He looked mortified.
She was still laughing as she settled down to do some work at the computer. It was tough, trying to put together ideas to get Leo Morgan to commit. The clock had just struck five, almost knocking-off time, when she decided to call him and bully him into a meeting. He agreed, very reluctantly she thought, and she printed off pages of notes to bring with her the following day.
‘Look, Leo, I know what we should be doing.’ The idea had come to her at six o’clock that morning and she’d been working on it ever since. ‘We need a series that gives people at home all the tips that professional chefs use. Most punters don’t have the kitchens, or equipment, or “essential” ingredients that we use. I want to show the audience how to build up a basic cooking repertoire – how to make a simple gravy, a good loaf, a couple of easy sauces for pasta and some of the best salad dressings I’ve ever come across.’
‘I don’t know, Libby. Maybe we should wait a year or so till all this stuff dies down.’ He smiled at her. ‘Right now you’re up there with Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden in the popularity stakes.’ He saw her flinch and could have kicked himself. ‘Only joking,’ he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
‘I can’t afford to wait twelve months. I need to work, both financially and for my own sanity.’ Libby played her best card. ‘You owe me, Leo. I was unsure about this series from the beginning, you know that. I only agreed to get the station out of a hole. It was the worst possible time for me personally and now I need to work for reasons you know nothing about.’
He looked uncomfortable. ‘Give me a day or two. I’ll see what I can do.’
When she told Annie, her friend was thrilled. ‘Good for you. That son-of-a-bitch. He owes you bigtime. So, tell me about the new series.’
Libby started to fill her in and Annie interrupted her. ‘That’s it, Libby. Teach them what you’re teaching me. OK, not all your fans are as bad as I am but we all want the tips, the shortcuts, the stripped-down versions of the classics.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes I do.’
‘The problem is, who do I get to produce it?’
‘Do it yourself.’
‘What?’
‘Produce it yourself. That way you avoid the pitfalls. Take a cut in salary, put together a team and do it.’
Libby’s mind was going into overdrive. ‘You know something? You just might be right. All I’d need is a good director, a researcher, a PA and a food stylist. I have my own company.’
‘I’ll help, for free. In fact, maybe we could do an episode together. You could bring me on as the classic example of someone who couldn’t boil an egg before they met you.’
Libby was immensely touched by her offer, knowing that Annie’s appearance would make the series infinitely more appealing to the station.
‘I might hold you to that. Sometimes it’s great having a name on the first running order.’
‘Well, I’m all yours. Just give me dates as soon as you have them. I could probably rope in one or two others from the show if that would help? Oops, gotta go. They’ve just called my next scene.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘I’m getting too old for six-inch stilettos and minis no wider than an elastic band.’
‘You should try being forty. I’ve just got a bunion. My dentist tells me my gums are shrinking with age. I need glasses but I’m too proud and all I have the energy to do these nights is flop into bed at nine-thirty. Buy me a flannelette nightie, please.’
‘When’s your birthday? Not for ages yet?’
‘A couple of months. And stop laughing, it’ll come to you, too. Just wait for that cellulite to appear overnight.’
‘Ouch. You bitch. Talk later.’ She blew a kiss and was gone.
Leo Morgan rang the next day. ‘I think I can sell them the idea, Libby. But they’re worried about all this negative publicity. There’ve been rumours about your business affairs now for months and they’re not going away.’
‘What can I do? And it’s David’s affairs they’re hinting at, not mine. You think I need this?’
‘What about doing one major interview? On one of the big chat shows?’
‘I was on the Late Late a while ago. They won’t want me back.’
‘Leave that to me. Will you do it?’
‘I don’t know, Leo.’
‘Libby, I always try and advise you in the best way I can. I think it’s the only way to start afresh.’
‘Oh Libby, I really don’t know.’ Annie didn’t like the idea.
‘That’s what I thought at first. But, thinking about it, maybe he’s right.’
‘What would you talk about?’
‘David’s death. How it changed my life.’
‘What about the business?’
‘I’d say enough to let them know that it wasn’t all plain sailing. But they’ve nothing on me, nothing on him either and I’d put an end to it once and for all, that’s for sure.’
‘And the series?’
‘I think I’d have to be honest about it.’
‘Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ll come in with you on the night.’
‘Thanks.’
The only thing left to do was to talk to her mother and David’s father beforehand. First, she rang John Simpson.
‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while, Libby. The rumours aren’t going to go away and they’re beginning to damage you. I think your instinct is right.’
‘I would need to have a session with you first, though, just so I know what I should and shouldn’t say.’
‘Of course.’
‘And I’m determined not to say anything that would tarnish his reputation.’ Another thought occurred to her. ‘How are things your end?’
‘Fine. Alex is just preparing a final set of accounts. That’s it. The office has been closed as you wanted and everyone’s been well looked after.’
‘And all the clients are all right?’
‘Yes, we’ve had a meeting with every one of them.’
‘That’s great, John. Thanks.’
‘It was all your doing, Libby.’ He admired the way she’d taken control of a very difficult situation.
‘I’m just glad it’s over. Now I can really move on.’
‘Let me know when you finally make up your mind about the show.’
‘I think I already have.’
Libby decided to send an e-mail to Charles English. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to write. She didn’t tell him everything, just enough to let him know that she’d done what she had to do.
Talking to her mother was less easy.
‘I can’t believe what you’re telling me, Elizabeth.’
‘I know. It’s a lot to take in.’
‘But he was one of the top financial brains in the country. How could he leave you so badly provided for?’
‘He
didn’t think he was going to die. He thought he had years and years to sort it out. So did I. So did John Simpson, who was advising him.’
‘So that’s why you sold the house and all the paintings that you loved so much.’
‘Actually Mum, I didn’t need them. And do you want to know something I couldn’t have said six months ago?’ She gave a sad little smile. ‘I’m glad it’s turned out like this. Not his . . . dying or anything. It’s just that I think I was becoming a very large pain in the arse.’ She grinned. Bits of Annie were beginning to rub off on her.
‘You know that all this is yours when I die. And there’s money invested for you as well. I’ll do anything I can – sell the house now, if necessary.’
Libby wanted to cry and run to her mummy, as she had done many times as a little girl. ‘I appreciate it, Mum, but I’m fine. I won’t starve.’
‘What about your future?’
‘I have a good pension, thanks to him. My own business account couldn’t be touched. I have my cottage, my friends . . .’ She smiled, just thinking about Annie. ‘And most of all I have my health.’
‘Any new men friends?’ It was a question she wouldn’t have dared ask the old Libby.
An image of Andrew came into her head. It was the only cloud on her horizon. She shook her head and looked away. ‘I’m luckier than most, Mum. So don’t worry about me. I’m content with my lot.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
THE LATE LATE Show was delighted to have her as a guest and showtime came around again much too soon for the frightened has-been that Libby felt she had become. She was relieved to at least be looking better than on her last outing.
This time she was determined to keep it simple. Her hair was hand-dried and waxed and left untidy and natural. She’d decided on the absolute minimum make-up possible and her old friend Janey offered to stay back and ensure she didn’t go overboard. What to wear was easy: a long dark blue linen pinafore that she’d seen in a local boutique. It was sleeveless, fitted at the top with a super cut and an unusual detail at the hips. Young and trendy, it flattered her curvy figure and made her eyes look even darker. Libby decided to team it with high leather boots and to wear no jewellery.
