by Susan Lewis
‘Now that’s what you call incentive,’ Forgon smiled getting to his feet and leaving her to pick up the tab, he strolled casually out of the room.
Chapter 7
‘SANDY? SANDY? ARE you OK?’
Sandy stirred and tried to open her eyes.
‘Sandy. Come on, wake up.’
Through the cloying layers of sleep Sandy could feel a hand on her shoulder and the strangely comforting presence of someone standing over her. She murmured softly and her eyelids fluttered again.
‘Sandy? Can you hear me?’
It took a moment, but when finally she recognized the voice her heart ground to a halt. His hand was still touching her, but she couldn’t think where she was. Very slowly she opened her eyes, afraid now that this was only a dream.
‘Are you OK?’ Michael asked, concern showing in his deep-blue eyes.
There was such a stiffness in her body that it hurt to lift her head.
‘Have you been here all night?’ Zelda asked.
Sandy frowned, then blinked her eyes. She was in her office, with Michael and Zelda standing over her. She felt terrible, her head was throbbing, her limbs were like lead and there was a ghastly taste in her mouth.
‘What time is it?’ she said.
‘Just after nine,’ Zelda answered, glancing at Michael. ‘Did you come in early?’ she asked. ‘Or have you been here all night?’
Sandy was still bemused.
‘She must have been here all night,’ Michael said. ‘The lamp’s still on and look at all these scripts.’
Sandy ran her hands quickly over her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I was working late and must have dropped off.’ She laughed and shrugged self-consciously. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.
Michael’s concern was still evident as his eyes searched her face. ‘You’re working too hard,’ he told her. ‘I’ll call a taxi to take you home so you can get some proper sleep.’
‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘There’s no need. I’ll be fine once I’ve showered and changed. I can be back here by lunch-time.’
Michael looked at Zelda.
‘Sandy,’ Zelda said gently, ‘we know how keen you are to get on and how hard you’re prepared to work to show us what you can do, but you can’t go on like this. You’re going to make yourself ill.’
Sandy looked at her, then returned her gaze to Michael as he said, ‘I want you to take the rest of the day off, then come and see me after the meeting tomorrow.’
Her eyes followed him as he left the room. His dark hair was still damp from the rain, his long leather coat had left a lingering aroma. Sandy turned her gaze to Zelda. ‘Is he angry?’ she asked, uncertainty and dishevelment making her look younger than her twenty-four years.
‘No, of course not,’ Zelda answered. ‘He’s concerned, like the rest of us.’
Sandy lowered her head, then, forcing a laugh she said, ‘It was such a shock to wake up and find him there.’ She stopped and blushing hard, brought her eyes back to Zelda’s.
Zelda’s smile was sardonic as turning to leave she said, ‘I’ll go downstairs and get you a coffee.’
‘Why do you think he wants to see me?’ Sandy asked, before the door closed.
‘I’d only be guessing,’ Zelda answered and left.
Sandy stared down at her cluttered desk and tried to stop her mind and heart racing. Zelda was right, she was working too hard and maybe she was going to make herself ill, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she learned as much as she could about McCann Walsh and about becoming an agent.
By now she was a fair way along that road, for she had a good working knowledge of how most of the agents operated, she knew the name of every actor, writer, director and producer on their books; she knew who was working and who wasn’t, whose prospects were good, how their talent was rated, she was even beginning to understand what made one actor stand out above another and what gave certain writers the edge that was needed to get his or her work on stage or screen. She watched, listened, helped out, enquired, researched and made notes constantly. She had gone out of her way to make herself popular with all the clients and had even been invited on to some film and TV sets or, on a couple of occasions, to rehearsals. The agents themselves were only too willing to give her as much advice as she wanted and she could but marvel at how generous they were with their knowledge and time. She had been to most of their homes now, had been taken along to business dinners and had even entertained once or twice herself. In fact, her life was so different now from what it had been six months ago when she’d started that she not only looked and behaved like a different person, she actually felt like one.
The grisly little bedsit in Barking was long gone, so were the second-hand clothes, the lingering Midlands accent and financial crisis. Now, thanks to her best friend, Nesta Haines, she lived in a smart, second-floor flat just off Sloane Avenue in Chelsea and shopped only in Harrods or Harvey Nichols for everything except food – for that she either went to Fortnums or phoned in her order and got them to deliver.
She’d met Nesta because Nesta’s grandmother had occupied the flat below hers in Barking. Nesta had been there checking on the old lady that terrible night when Sandy had arrived home from work not knowing how she would ever get back in the morning, or even how she was going to find enough funds to eat. Had the old lady not run out of milk and had Nesta not found the twenty-four-hour Indian shop on the corner closed, Sandy and Nesta might never have met. As it was, Nesta, who was the same age as Sandy with large hazel eyes, wide cheek-bones and a delicately pointed chin, had knocked on Sandy’s door to borrow some milk and finding Sandy in such a state of despair had immediately taken charge of the crisis.
It was Nesta who had answered the phone when Jodi had called that night and it was Nesta who had taken Sandy to the supermarket first thing the next morning, before going on to the station to purchase a three-month ticket. In less than a fortnight Sandy had been able to pay Nesta back, for by then she had been recruited by Isabelle Woodhurst, senior director of the exclusive service Nesta belonged to, which provided glamorous female escorts for out-of-town businessmen, politicians and all kinds of foreigners.
It was thanks to Maurice Trehearne, a property tycoon whom Sandy met through the agency and had become very good friends with, that she and Nesta, just before Christmas, had moved into a two-bedroomed flat in Chelsea, which had a wonderful art-deco entrance hall and stairway, and was furnished with the most elegant reproduction sofas, beds, bookcases, tables and desks. They never brought their official dates home and apart from the first couple of months when she had desperately needed the money, Sandy never slept with the men who paid to take her out. She only continued to date because she enjoyed the extra luxuries it provided and because she was learning so much from the men themselves, who had introduced her to a whole other world of top-class restaurants and hotels, exclusive night-clubs and a code of behaviour and dress that might otherwise have taken her years to learn. They were also easily persuaded to boast about the successful strategies and tactics they had employed to get to the top – a veritable wealth of information that was proving invaluable in her bid to get there herself and was almost unfailingly effective.
Nesta thought she was mad, turning down all the wildly extravagant incentives to get her into bed, but though she hadn’t had a problem sleeping with a man for money when she’d had to, she wasn’t a prostitute, nor was she going to allow them to turn her into one. In her heart she knew it was the way she felt about Michael that really kept her from going that route, for the temptation otherwise of shopping sprees in Paris, royal enclosures at Ascot or Henley, or luxury cruises on private yachts, would probably have been too great to resist. As it was, she slept only with Maurice, because she liked him, enjoyed her other dates, stored away her knowledge and devoted the rest of her time to furthering her career with McCann Walsh in the hope of one day showing Michael that she was worthy of someone like him.
Quite how well sh
e was doing in that area was hard to tell, though she’d definitely been getting a few vibes lately. She didn’t think she was the only one who’d noticed either, but apart from Jodi and Nesta she never talked about it to anyone. As far as the rest of the office was concerned, with the exception of Bertie, Janine and Frances, she got along great with everyone, especially Craig, the gay literary agent, who spent many of his weekends sharing the benefit of his agenting expertise with Sandy because his lover was married and he had nothing else to do.
Sandy watched Craig now as he leaned over his assistant’s shoulder to read the paper Bertie was holding. His thick, golden-blond hair and exquisite face had really got Nesta going the first time she’d met him, and Sandy had never failed to notice how many heads turned, both male and female, whenever she walked into a restaurant or wine bar on his arm. There was no question that with his looks Craig could get just about anyone he wanted, but not once had Sandy ever seen him show a single flicker of interest in anyone but the Under-Secretary of State with whom he was involved. They had been seeing each other for the past two and a half years, Craig had told her, and there was no doubt in Sandy’s mind that Craig was as deeply in love with the twinkly eyed sixty-year-old as she was with Michael. She knew, too, that apart from Michael and the Under-Secretary himself, she was the only other person who knew about the affair – with the possible exception of Zelda, as Zelda had that uncanny knack of knowing everything without even being told.
Kicking around under the desk for her shoes, she heard the lift doors open and turned to watch two of the agents, Harry and Diana, stroll down the steps to the inner circle. They stopped, still chatting, to check the message board, which reminded Sandy, she’d taken a call for Michael last night from an old girlfriend who was in town for a couple of days, but it wasn’t a message Sandy felt inclined to pass on, so she promptly dismissed it from her mind.
Catching Janine and Frances, the booking assistants, looking her way and making no attempt to hide the fact they were talking about her, Sandy smiled in the hope they might smile back. She’d tried hard to make friends with those two, but nothing she did ever seemed right and as far as Bertie was concerned she got the impression she was hardly worth speaking to at all. Of course, she couldn’t expect everyone to like her, but she was greatly looking forward to the day when she finally achieved her goal and became Michael’s partner, because then she would take immense pleasure in firing every one of them.
Yawning, she picked up her Smythson’s briefcase, stuffed a couple of scripts inside and rummaged around for her foolscap pad. Once she got home she’d probably sleep for the rest of the morning, then she wanted to get back to work on these scripts before going out to dinner at eight. A flicker of excitement suddenly lit up her heart as she recalled who she was having dinner with, and why. Marlene, Diana’s assistant, was about to go off on maternity leave and had, unofficially, for the past few weeks been grooming Sandy to take over while she was away. Tonight, she was treating Marlene to dinner out, because Marlene’s husband was in Manchester on business and Marlene got lonely without him. Though the woman herself was a bit of a bore, her knowledge and support were invaluable, so Sandy was more than willing to put up with her, as she would undoubtedly carry some sway when it came to recommending her replacement. In fact, Sandy thought with a sudden burst of elation, it could be what Michael wanted to talk to her about in the morning.
Hearing a bump behind her, she looked up to see Jodi struggling in through the door with a giant parcel.
‘What on earth’s that?’ Sandy laughed.
‘A birthday present for my niece,’ Jodi answered, dumping the parcel on her chair. ‘My God, you look like you’ve been here all night! Are you OK? Heavy date last night, was it?’
‘I wish,’ Sandy responded. ‘Oh, Zelda, thanks, you’re a life saver,’ she added, as Zelda came in behind Jodi with a fresh cup of coffee.
Jodi’s eyebrows went skywards. ‘How come you never bring me a coffee when I’ve got a hangover?’ she demanded of Zelda.
‘I haven’t got a hangover,’ Sandy told her, flinching as she burnt her lips on the coffee. ‘I fell asleep at my desk.’
Jodi gawped at her. ‘You mean you really have been here all night?’ she cried. ‘I was only kidding. What happened, did you get kicked out of your flat or something?’
Zelda gave a choke of laughter.
‘Why, are you offering to put me up?’ Sandy challenged.
Jodi shrugged. ‘You can have the sofa for a few nights if you’re stuck,’ she said generously.
Sandy was no longer listening. Michael was coming in the door behind Jodi. ‘Taxi should be here any minute,’ he said, looking at Zelda. Then turning to Sandy, ‘How are you feeling?’
Sandy smiled and silently prayed that she didn’t look as bad as she felt. ‘I’m OK,’ she said softly. ‘Thanks for ordering the taxi.’
Jodi’s head was swinging back and forth between Zelda and Michael. ‘Coffee? Taxis?’ she said. ‘Would someone mind explaining what’s going on here? I mean, what is she, Sleeping Beauty or something?’
Michael laughed. ‘It didn’t cross my mind to kiss her awake,’ he said and Sandy’s heart stopped beating as winking at her he added, ‘Maybe next time,’ and before she could respond he had gone.
Jodi’s eyes bulged as she looked at Sandy, and Zelda had barely left the room before she hissed, ‘Is there something going on here you’ve forgotten to tell me about?’
Sandy laughed, then laughed again as a surge of euphoria took her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I mean, no there isn’t, but it’s not the first time he’s said something like that. Oh God, Jodi,’ she groaned, slumping into her chair, ‘do you think he’s actually starting to notice me at last?’
‘Well, if that was anything to go by …’ Jodi responded. Sandy peered at her from under lowered lashes and wanted to hug her, for just those few short words had instilled such a sense of joy and hope in her she could quite happily have hugged the world.
‘So why did you sleep here?’ Jodi asked. ‘Don’t tell me you were poring over more of those scripts Craig keeps throwing your way. You don’t have to read them, you know. I mean, it’s not as if you’re getting paid for it.’
‘I want to do it,’ Sandy told her. ‘And Craig’s got a meeting at Channel 4 on Friday, so he wants to make sure no little gems have been missed before he goes.’
Jodi tutted. ‘Well, if just now is anything to go by,’ she said, hooking her coat on the stand beside Sandy’s, ‘your hard work seems to be paying off.’
Sandy was on her feet. ‘I’m going home,’ she said. ‘He wants to see me after the meeting tomorrow.’
Jodi’s eyebrows went up. ‘No kidding,’ she said. ‘What about, did he say?’
Sandy shook her head. ‘I’m going to go insane thinking about it all day, but I can hardly ask, can I? I take it you don’t know.’
‘This is the first I’ve heard of it,’ Jodi answered. ‘But I’ll lay money it’s about Marlene’s job. She goes next Friday.’ Sandy’s heart somersaulted. ‘Jodi, you’re speaking the language of my wildest dreams,’ she said, quoting from one of the scripts she’d read the night before. ‘But after just six months even I wouldn’t hold out that much hope.’
‘Sandy Paull! This is me you’re talking to,’ Jodi cried. ‘It’s exactly what you want and we both know it. What’s more, you deserve it.’
Sandy was so touched that for a moment she didn’t respond. In the end she said, ‘You’re a great friend, Jodi. Thanks.’
‘Oh, get out of here,’ Jodi chuckled, embarrassed but none the less pleased. ‘Oh look, the Christmas fairy missed his cue again,’ she said as Bertie, Craig’s assistant, came waltzing into their office.
‘I just had a call from security,’ he said, running an affected finger to the corner of his mouth. ‘They say there’s a taxi waiting downstairs for Miss Paull. Going somewhere special, are we?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose as he gave Sandy the once-over.
>
‘Yes,’ she answered.
Bertie waited, but Sandy merely picked up her bag and coat, said goodbye to Jodi and left.
‘You should look out for that one,’ Bertie warned as he and Jodi watched her walk over to the lift. ‘She’s got more bad news about her than ITN.’
‘So you keep saying,’ Jodi reminded him.
‘I’m telling you, don’t trust the woman.’
‘Bertie,’ Jodi said, smiling sweetly, ‘whatever problem you have with Sandy is all yours. I don’t want to know, OK?’
His top lip puckered as his nostrils flared. ‘That’s right, Jodi,’ he said scathingly, ‘stay on her good side, because with the way she’s sucking up to the management around here there’s every chance she’ll end up your boss one of these days.’
‘Really?’ Jodi responded with mild interest. ‘Do you know something I don’t, by any chance?’
‘What I know is what I see,’ he replied. ‘And if you’ve had your eyes open lately, Jodi Webb, you’ll have seen the way our lord and master has been looking at Ms Paull, and if you ask me there’s a whole lot more interest going on behind those looks than merely the professional.’
‘Then I guess you’d better start mending your ways, Bertie boy,’ Jodi told him, tweaking his tie as she passed and before he could say any more she picked up the phone to take a call that turned out to be yet another attempt by the Hollywood agent, Ellen Shelby, to get through to Michael.
Jodi looked at her watch. It was past two in the morning LA time, so it seemed the woman was starting to lose sleep over this. And if what Jodi had heard was true, that Ted Forgon had fired the previous three agents who had failed to hook Michael, she had reason to. Jodi liked the sound of the woman and wished there were something she could do to help, but Michael’s instructions had been clear: if anyone called from ATI, anyone at all, he didn’t even want to know about it.
