by Susan Lewis
‘Because you’re wrong, Nesta,’ Sandy replied fiercely. ‘You’re dead wrong. It will work out for me and Michael, I know it will.’
Nesta shook her head sadly. ‘What about this actress he’s been seeing?’ she said. ‘Is she still around?’
‘She won’t last,’ Sandy answered, ‘none of them ever do.’
‘But you’re different,’ Nesta said flatly.
Sandy averted her head. ‘You just don’t understand,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s not something you can put into words.’
‘Oh yes, you can,’ Nesta corrected, sliding down from the bed, ‘it’s called blind obsession, that’s what it’s called, and the worst part of it is that you could be having such a good time with us if you just forgot about him and threw all that precious energy into doing what you do best. Who are you seeing tonight?’
Sandy’s face was sour. ‘Marlene, actually,’ she answered.
‘What about the duke? Don’t you usually see him on Wednesdays?’
‘I cancelled.’
Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘That man would probably leave you his entire fortune if you gave him what he wanted and he’s got to be worth millions. For God’s sake, Sandy, he’s in his eighties, he can’t be much longer for this world, so why don’t you just do it? No one would ever know …’
‘The whole world would know if he left me his fortune,’ Sandy pointed out. ‘And he’s got two sons and three daughters who’d have plenty to say about it if he did. Besides, he doesn’t want to do it. He’s lonely. He wants to talk and reminisce and show me his mementoes from the war. That’s why I go there and no matter what you say, I can’t see anyone thinking there’s anything wrong in that, especially not Michael …’
‘All right, all right,’ Nesta said, holding up her hand. ‘You do it your way. All I’m saying is stop making out you’re whiter than white and butter wouldn’t melt, when we both know the truth. And I’m not talking about being paid for dates now, I’m talking about all those little stunts you’ve been pulling over at that office that have got you to where you are now.’
Sandy’s eyes flashed. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she snapped.
‘Maybe not to your way of thinking,’ Nesta conceded, ‘but there are others, if they knew about it, who might not agree,’ and picking up her coat she started to walk out.
‘The trouble with you, Nesta,’ Sandy called after her, ‘is that you don’t understand ambition or office politics or any of the things that go with a normal job. What I’m doing to get on in the world is nothing in comparison to the things you do.’
‘At least what I do is honest and up front,’ Nesta responded, turning back. ‘What you’re doing is lying to yourself and cheating on people who trust you. And do you know who’s going to end up getting hurt, Sandy? You, that’s who. And I don’t want to see that happen, because I know that deep down inside you’re a decent, caring and honest person, who for some unknown reason seems hell bent on destroying herself over a man who just isn’t worth it, because none of them ever are.’
Chapter 8
‘HAS ANYONE SEEN Michael?’ Jodi said, putting her head round the door of the meeting room where four out of the seven McCann Walsh agents were seated around the conference table, with Sandy at the far end ready to take the minutes.
‘We should be asking you that question,’ Zelda responded, looking at her watch. ‘Did you call his home?’
‘About fifty times,’ Jodi answered, avoiding Sandy’s eyes as Sandy stared across the room at her. ‘His mobile’s not on either and I’ve got Grungehart, or whatever his name is, on the line from Budapest. The man’s doing his nut.’
‘What’s the problem?’ Zelda asked, letting her half-spectacles slide down her nose as she looked at Jodi.
‘He says about six East European publishers are ready to do a deal on the Crazy Cult books, but he can’t finalize until he clears the figures with Michael.’
Zelda glanced over at Craig who was engrossed in the latest edition of Variety. ‘Did you hear that, duckie?’ she said.
‘What?’ he asked, as Diana nudged him.
Zelda repeated what Jodi had said. ‘So I thought,’ she continued, ‘as you claim to be our literary lunch ticket, that perhaps you might like to take the call.’
‘Where’s Michael?’ he asked.
‘Temporarily misplaced.’
‘I handled the TV series,’ Craig said. ‘Michael’s been dealing with the books.’
Zelda swivelled her chair back towards Jodi and peeled her spectacles from behind her ears. ‘Tell Grungehart, or whatever his name is,’ she said, ‘to add a third to the offer, then do the best he can and sign.’
‘Do I tell him the instruction came from you or Michael?’ Jodi asked, tucking her hair behind one ear as she noticed Harry looking her way.
Zelda rotated her head slowly in Harry’s direction, then, having got the measure of the subtext, said, ‘From me. Any word from Janey, before you go?’
‘Not that I know of,’ Jodi responded, with a quick last glance at Harry.
‘Was Michael at the Westlake party last night?’ Diana asked of no one in particular.
‘Didn’t see him,’ Craig answered.
‘He was going to Clinton Day’s preview, the last I heard,’ Harry chipped in. ‘Now, do you want to hear the rest of this joke, or don’t you?’
‘We’ve already heard it,’ Zelda responded. ‘Now, why don’t we get this meeting under way? Michael and Janey can pick up when they get here. Sandy, you’re taking the minutes?’
Sandy nodded and put a hand on the tape recorder ready to start it. She came to all the meetings now, not only to record what was said, but, because of the many extra duties she’d taken on of late, to contribute too.
This morning her sleek blonde hair was softly brushed into place behind her ears, with a full sweep across her forehead. Her shiny turquoise eyes were carefully circled in kohl and highlighted with a light Chanel shadow, her narrow cheeks were widened with blusher and her lips were darkly outlined with a fine bronze pencil. Her ear-rings and necklace were a matching Butler and Wilson set, and her Moschino tight-fitting black velvet suit contrived to be as sexy as it was businesslike. Beneath the table her slender, seam-stockinged legs were crossed at the ankles; beneath her impassive façade her heart was twisting with nerves. Michael had to come in today, he just had to. She’d gone to so much trouble to select her wardrobe and rehearse what she was going to say when he promoted her that she just couldn’t bear it if it didn’t happen now.
As the meeting got underway she returned her fingers to the keyboard of her lap-top, keeping her eyes lowered as the dread that he had overslept with a woman started wrenching at her heart. She swallowed hard and gazed blindly down at her crimson nails, thinking of all the things Nesta had said the night before. But then she forced herself past Nesta’s warnings and thought instead of what he had said yesterday about kissing her. Slowly the warmth of hope stole back into her heart.
‘Did Frank Rotter get back to you about the Christmas episodes of that terrible game show, whatever it’s called, Sandy?’ Zelda asked as the door opened and Janey McIntyre let herself apologetically into the room.
Sandy smiled as Janey edged past the others and laughed at their teasing. She hated Janey with a passion, for at five foot eleven she was at least seven inches taller than Sandy, and was so damned sexy and gorgeous it made Sandy want to puke. The woman had barely turned thirty and already she’d had three successful careers, as a photographic model, an actress and now as an agent. Her relationship with Bobby Mack, the musician, was supposed to be great, but if that were true then why did she flirt with Michael the way she did? And where had she been until now? Sandy’s heart lurched violenty with the sudden fear that she might have been with Michael. It was bad enough that he’d had seven dates with the actress Fiona Atkins, but were he to break his own rule of no office relationships with Janey, rather than with her, then Sandy didn’t even want to think about wha
t she would do.
‘Sandy?’ Zelda prompted, as Janey sat down in an empty chair and started to unpack her briefcase.
Sandy looked at Zelda. ‘You mean Hazard?’ she said. ‘They’re shooting fifteen episodes a week throughout November. I just need a list from everyone of the celebrities you’ve got who’ll be willing to do it.’ She glanced down at the pad beside her computer. ‘They’re paying two hundred and fifty an episode,’ she said. ‘No cars, no expenses, but make-up will be provided.’
‘Craig, did Bertie tell you that George Gordon is interested in directing the McInerny script?’ Diana said, noting down what Sandy had said and moving on.
‘Yeah,’ Craig answered. ‘That’s great news. I didn’t think he was free.’
‘If the BBC will agree to move it forward a month he will be,’ Diana told him. ‘Do you think there’s a chance?’
‘Talk to Michael,’ he said. ‘He’s the only one who can move mountains around here. Do you think he’s going to put in an appearance today? I need his thoughts on the rewrites Jill Allinson’s just submitted.’ He looked at Sandy and winked. ‘I’ll get you a copy,’ he told her.
‘Thanks,’ Sandy smiled. ‘I spoke to Jill yesterday, by the way. She’s telling everyone that the rewrites are mostly down to you and that you’re in the wrong job.’
Craig laughed, though he was obviously pleased by the compliment and Sandy knew that it would never even occur to him that she had just made it up.
‘Uh, Sandy,’ Janey said, slipping on a pair of Dior-framed glasses as she scanned the notes in front of her, ‘I just popped in on the EastEnders set, and Theo Jacks asked me to pass on his thanks.’ She looked up at Sandy and treated her to a dazzling smile. ‘I didn’t even know he was up for the part,’ she said, ‘so thanks from me too. When did you hear about it?’
‘Two or three days ago,’ Sandy answered. ‘I just happened to be speaking to one of their casting people and she asked me if I had any news on Theo. She said a script had been sent over, marked for your attention, and the part was his if he wanted it and she was surprised no one had got back to her. It’s only a couple of episodes I think, isn’t it?’
Janey nodded. ‘But he would have missed them if you hadn’t been on the ball,’ she said. ‘I can’t think what I must have done with that script. I don’t even remember seeing it.’
Sandy shook her head. ‘Me neither,’ she said. ‘But I got them to bike a copy straight to Theo, that way there was no more time wasted. The contract’s on its way, apparently.’
‘Well, thanks again,’ Janey said. ‘Further proof, I think, that I need to find myself an assistant.’
‘Speaking of the BBC and contracts,’ Freda, the contracts manager, piped up, ‘I’ve found a problem with the royalty clause on Gillian Peachey’s renewal. She’s yours, isn’t she, Diana? I’ll speak to you about it after.’
‘Next item,’ Harry declared. ‘The Cannes Film Festival. Seb Johnson’s offering us his house for the duration, but he needs an answer by the end of next week. So anyone who needs to go should speak to my personal Rottweiler, Thea. Apparently, Just Waiting is being nominated so …’ He stopped as the door opened and Michael walked in.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, kicking the door to behind him. ‘My mother arrived with breakfast and I don’t have to tell you what she’s like when her mind’s made up.’
‘Clodagh, God bless her,’ Craig responded in an Irish accent.
Laughing and ruffling Craig’s shock of fair hair as he passed, Michael edged his way round the room to the only empty chair left and sat down next to Sandy. He was wearing a dark Armani suit, white shirt and an unknotted burgundy tie. The gold watch he always wore hung loosely over the back of his hand, the keys to his Mercedes jangled as they hit the table in front of him.
‘So where were we?’ he asked, opening his briefcase and taking out a wad of papers.
Sandy rewound the tape and played back the meeting so far. It was amazing, she was thinking, how different the room suddenly felt now he was in it. It was as though the ubiquitous humour in his deep-blue eyes had brought a new light into their surroundings, upping the mood, increasing the pace and relaxing any hidden tensions.
Sensing her eyes on him, he glanced briefly in her direction. She smiled politely, then returned her gaze to the tape.
‘OK,’ he said when it had finished. He was scanning the documents in front of him. ‘Janey, speak to me after about an assistant and Freda, have the Peachey contract on my desk by the end of the day. Now, Dan’s just given me the figures for the second half of last year and you’ll all be happy to hear next year’s Christmas bonus is already looking safe. We’re getting a touch heavy on the entertaining, though, so try to keep it down folks, eh? One bottle of champagne instead of two maybe; Joe Allen’s occasionally, instead of the Ivy. Reece Hawthorne called me this morning,’ he said, looking over at Craig. ‘He read your guy’s script, remind me of the name?’
‘It’s a woman,’ Craig answered with a quick glance at Sandy. This was a script they’d done a lot of work on together. ‘Molly Footman.’
‘That’s her. Hawthorne’s interested to meet her. He’s expecting your call to set up a time.’
Sandy was smiling as she looked at Craig. His pleasure, on behalf of his client, was both genuine and touching. And why shouldn’t he feel proud? Reece Hawthorne was one of the country’s leading film directors and one of the exclusive names whom Michael handled personally. And knowing Craig as well as she did now, Sandy was sure he would tell Michael how much she had contributed to the script. At least Craig thought she had, but all she’d done really was listen to his ideas, then field them back to him as though they were hers. It was a technique that was proving almost as effective as the system she had developed for rescuing situations that no one ever seemed to suspect she had created herself. In fact, some of them didn’t even exist, but they were still just as successful in bringing her to the attention of the actors, or putting agents in her debt.
‘Chantal Debussy’s coming over from Paris next week,’ Michael continued. ‘She’s sending a pile of the Cherchez la femme scripts over by courier …’
‘They arrived this morning,’ Zelda told him.
He nodded. ‘OK. The producers and a couple of the directors are coming with Chantal for the British casting. We need to be lined up ready for auditions by next Tuesday. Sandy, you’re co-ordinating it for us?’
‘Yes,’ Sandy answered. He was still looking at the notes in front of him, he could have spoken to anyone, but she understood that he would never flirt with her during a meeting like this.
‘This is a twenty-six-part series,’ he went on, sounding surprised. ‘Did you know that?’ he asked, looking up at Zelda.
‘I knew there was talk of it,’ she answered. ‘Lysette Hopkins is interested in playing the mother, by the way.’
Michael pulled a face. ‘They don’t have that kind of budget,’ he said. ‘But talk to Chantal, maybe they can come to an agreement. Harry, did you get anywhere with Pete Dawes?’ He looked up as the door opened and Jodi came in with his coffee.
‘There’s a call for you,’ she said, as she set the cup down next to him. ‘Do you want to take it in your office?’
Michael looked at her quizzically. He didn’t normally take calls when he was in a meeting. Jodi stared back and a flash of impatience crossed Michael’s face as her silence gave him a clue who was on the line. ‘Tell them I’ll get back to them,’ he said tersely and returned his attention to Harry.
‘They said to tell you it was urgent,’ Jodi persisted.
Janey was laughing. ‘Very discreet,’ she told Jodi, ‘but we’re none of us fooled, honey. Michael, there’s a woman on the line for you and it seems like she’s pretty desperate, so do the decent thing for once in your life and go put her out of her misery.’
Sandy looked at her and hated her more than ever.
Michael was laughing. ‘Wrong,’ he told her. ‘It’s someone from E
squire who, while inspired by the benevolence of bourbon at some party last week, I half-promised to give an interview to.’
Now everyone was laughing as they all knew how much Michael hated publicity and how often he managed to get himself into these situations.
‘The guy’s obviously on some kind of deadline, if he’s saying it’s urgent,’ Craig decided. ‘So give him a break. Give him his interview.’
‘I might if it were me he was interested in,’ Michael protested.
Zelda chuckled. ‘Fiona upstaging you, is she?’ she said. Michael’s eyebrows went up in a way that made them all laugh again.
‘So, is it serious between you two?’ Harry asked.
Sandy’s tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth as her insides turned hot.
‘Zelda would never forgive me,’ Michael responded.
‘Clodagh would,’ Zelda said with a grin.
‘Michael, what are you going to do about this interview?’ Jodi persisted.
‘Tell him to call me mother,’ Michael replied, in a broad Irish accent. ‘She’ll be happy to talk, so she will. She’s an expert at it.’
Laughing and shaking her head in exasperation, Jodi left the room.
‘Where were we?’ Michael said, looking around for enlightenment.
‘I think you were about to ask if I’d got anywhere with Pete Dawes,’ Harry reminded him.
The meeting rumbled on for the rest of the morning, with items of business being tossed randomly into the arena, while the rain outside drizzled down the windows. It wasn’t until everyone was getting up to leave that Michael addressed Sandy again.
‘We have a meeting scheduled for now, don’t we?’ he said. Sandy’s heart skipped and she kept her eyes lowered, not wanting anyone to see her reaction. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Shall I come straight in?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Give me half an hour,’ he said, ‘I should have cleared the more urgent calls by then.’
