by Jo Bartlett
Chapter Two
‘It’s all come out, Tom. I don’t know what to do.’ Chloe’s voice on the other end of the phone line was almost impossible to make out. She was doing that thing young children did when they were really upset, punctuating every few words with an intake of air that was half-breath, half shuddering sob.
‘Have you said anything to the press?’ Tom Rushworth was nothing if not calm in a crisis. Over a decade in celebrity PR had provided him with a thorough grounding in managing the drama that so frequently went hand-in-hand with his clients.
‘No, but they’re outside, in the bushes and everything. They keep shouting through the letter-box!’ Chloe sounded more fragile than ever. ‘I’m scared.’
‘I’ll send Shaun round with a couple of his heaviest side-kicks.’ Tom suppressed an urge to laugh at the mental image that conjured up. His head of security was a genius at recruiting shaven-headed, Neanderthal-types, who could put off even the most determined journalist with threats they’d be only too happy to carry out. ‘They’ll make sure no-one pushes it too far.’
‘Thanks, but maybe I should just let them in and get it over with. My career’s in ruins anyway.’ Chloe had given into crying and Tom wished he could go round there, but he was hemmed in by Susie-Anne’s plans for a pantomime of a photo-shoot to celebrate their engagement. Hemming him in seemed to be an unfortunate knack of hers.
‘Is your mum there, sweetheart?’ He paused and strained to hear Chloe’s response over the crying. What little control she’d had at the start of the call had disappeared, but he just managed to make out that Gilly was with her. ‘That’s good, Chloe. Listen to what she says to you and listen to me now.’ Her mother being there was the next best thing to being able to get round there. ‘Nothing is over. In a way this could be the making of your career, if we play it right. Which is why it’s really important that you don’t say anything to the press without me. Do you hear me? Not a thing.’
‘But what are you going to say, how are you going to fix things after this?’ Chloe sounded desperate, confirming that her speaking to the press would be an unmitigated disaster.
‘I don’t want you to worry about any of it, that’s my job.’ Tom paused and metaphorically crossed his fingers that he wasn’t about to break a promise. ‘All you need to know is that I will fix it and make sure you have the career that a talent like yours deserves.’ It was easy for him to be sincere with Chloe; a client with genuine talent motivated him more these days than his fifteen percent cut, not that he’d ever admit that in public of course.
‘Thank you, thank you! Oh, Tom, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’ Chloe’s relief was tangible, even from twenty miles away at the other end of a phone line.
‘You don’t have to. Just call me if you’re worried again, okay? Come in and see me tomorrow morning and we’ll work out what we’re going to do. It’s all going to be okay. Shaun will be with you within the hour and you can leave the rest to him.’
If only all his problems were as easily solved. The thought of the photo-shoot, and everything tied up with it, consumed his thoughts; fate was taking away the one woman he loved at the same time as he was getting more and more entrenched in a relationship with another woman he could barely stand.
‘You’re so sweet Tom, I really wouldn’t want anyone else looking after me.’ Chloe was calmer already.
‘Ssshh, for God’s sake don’t let the press hear that or it will be me who ends up being ruined.’ Tom was only half-joking, his public image a persona he’d almost forgotten how to turn off. Somehow he’d become a version of his father in his professional life and now his personal life was following suit. The idea of history repeating itself hemming him in more than ever.
****
‘Oh my God! How much did we have to drink last night?’ Ashleigh’s throat ached and her voice was so raspy that she figured she could make a good living on one of those sex-line numbers if it didn’t go back to normal.
‘I don’t know, but I feel like crap!’ Stevie stretched out and pushed her towards the edge of the futon on which they’d spent the night.
‘Why don’t you get a proper bed?’ Hauling herself to her feet, she already knew the answer. The flat was one room with a tiny corner partitioned off for the smallest wet room she’d ever seen.
‘It’s the only way that I can have something to sit on and sleep in.’ It was true. Stevie might well be in possession of West London’s tiniest flat. ‘I don’t think, if I ever meet my dream man, he’d be too impressed when I brought him back here to find we’re going to spend the night in bunk beds!’ He got up and poured black coffee the consistency of treacle into mismatched mugs. ‘Anyway, until Mr Right comes along for one of us, we get to collapse into bed without even having to move.’
‘And we wonder why we’re both still single!’ Ashleigh grinned, it was a good job they had each other. Glancing at her watch, it was later than she’d thought. ‘We’d better get a move on. I read somewhere that Rushworth sacked a member of staff for being late the day after her mum’s funeral.’
‘Sounds like a right charmer. Although I do quite like them mean.’ Winking he squeezed past her with all the ease of an airline attendant wedging past the duty free trolley in the narrow aisle of an airbus. ‘Bagsy first in the shower, there may not be enough hot water to go round!’
‘Just as well neither is out to impress, then.’
‘That’s as maybe, honey.’ Stevie dropped another casual wink. ‘But I’m going to put my lucky pants on just in case.’
****
Dashing across London to Tom Rushworth’s office on the banks of the Thames, Ashleigh and Stevie called in to grab some equipment and a bag of accessories from the Glitz offices. Tom Rushworth had insisted on the smallest team that Glitz could send. He absolutely refused to have a make-up artist present and was evidently only tolerating Stevie’s attendance under duress.
With ten minutes to spare they managed to make a pit stop at Costa for a second injection of caffeine and a Danish and, by the time they reached their destination, Ashleigh felt almost ready for the challenge she suspected was coming.
The offices of Rushworth Associates were every inch the steely, modern, glass fronted environment that she’d expected them to be. Tom’s reputation as head of the PR firm, which had celebrities queuing round the block to join his client list, had made him almost as famous as some of them. He had a reputation as the King of Spin and it seemed there was nothing he couldn’t turn around. From the glamour model caught snorting cocaine, to the movie star caught with his pants down in a seedy Soho club, Tom Rushworth had spun them all. Somehow these celebs not only held onto their careers, but had turned the exposure, in some cases literally, to their advantage. Over the years, Zac Starr, a Glitz magazine favourite, had given Rushworth Associates plenty of action to spin.
‘We’re here to see Tom Rushworth. Ashleigh Hayes and Stevie Smith from Glitz magazine.’
The receptionist looked them up and down and smiled at Stevie.
‘I’ll ring through to Mr Rushworth’s PA and let them know that you’re here.’ She gestured towards the plush waiting area and gave Stevie a coy smile, passing him a business card. ‘My personal number is on here, just in case you need me when I’m not at the reception desk.’
‘She’s cheerful. I might even give her a call, we could go out on the pull together.’ Stevie grinned at Ashleigh, when he was out of earshot of the reception desk, and slumped on to one of the squashy sofas, flanked by huge arrangements of very modern and somewhat lethal looking flowers.
Not trusting herself to speak, Ashleigh had that sense of foreboding that normally only accompanied a trip to the dentist or one of those appointments with a doctor that forced you to leave your dignity in the waiting room with the back issues of Good Housekeeping and Gardeners World.
A click clack of heels signalled the arrival
of Tom’s PA.
‘Glitz Magazine?’ Francine, who had a “balls of steel” reputation and was widely regarded as the super efficient backbone of Rushworth Associates, apparently didn’t bother with names unless she was addressing someone she considered important. Not waiting for a response, she turned and walked back along the corridor with Ashleigh and Stevie having to half run to catch up. ‘Tom and Susie-Anne are ready for you now, but I warn you, we’ve only got twenty minutes, he’s got a meeting with Chloe Nicholas at eleven.’
Chloe Nicholas was the latest winner of the UK’s most successful TV talent show and her squeaky clean image had just been blown apart by the revelation that she’d given a baby up for adoption at age fifteen. It had been on the front of every newspaper in Costa, with the headlines and speculation about the girl with the “voice of an angel” being devoured as hungrily as the chocolate muffins.
‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that one!’ Stevie spoke in a loud stage whisper and Francine shot him a look that could curdle milk.
Their editor, Angus, had regaled them with the juiciest of gossip after he blagged an invite to the Rushworth Associates Christmas party. He’d told them one of the secretaries, who couldn’t stand Francine, had decided to spike her drink. Inhibitions to the wind, she’d made a blatant pass at Tom, which had gone down as one of the most embarrassing rejections in history. Ashleigh might have felt sorry for her if she wasn’t so hateful.
Francine led them into Tom’s office, which was dominated by a huge desk, but was also home to another group of luxurious suede sofas and more huge futuristic flower arrangements. The view of the Thames was spectacular and would make a fantastic backdrop for the photos of the happy couple. Glitz would make it official for all those who doubted that Tom Rushworth really had got engaged to TV weather girl, former Miss Texas runner up and all round Southern Belle, Susie-Anne Summers. If he was glass and steel, she was candyfloss; the most unlikely pairing since curry ice cream and to many people every bit as unpalatable.
Susie-Anne burst into the room and Stevie’s jaw almost hit the floor. She was wearing a bubble gum pink mini dress, that looked as though it had been shrink wrapped to fit, and her white blonde hair vied against her magnificent cleavage to be the first to catch the eye.
‘Christ, it’s Dolly Parton’s granddaughter!’ Stevie seemed determined to rock the boat but, as luck would have it, Susie-Anne was far too busy air kissing Ashleigh to overhear.
‘I’m Ashleigh Hayes, the photographer.’ She barely caught her breath to speak in the haze of the other woman’s perfume.
‘I thought you’d be a man.’ Susie-Anne took a step back and regarded her with an air of disappointment. ‘Quite deceptive having a name like Ashley.’
‘I’ll mention it to my mother next time I see her.’ The sarcasm went over Susie-Anne’s head, which was probably just as well.
‘Okay, how quickly can we get this over with?’ As soon as Tom Rushworth came in to the room he dominated the space. He was well over six feet tall and an air of no-nonsense matched his strong features. His coal black hair was flecked with just a dusting of grey at the temples and he had the sort of navy blue eyes you couldn’t help staring at.
‘I understand you’ve agreed to just one publicity shot to announce your engagement?’ Ashleigh tried and failed to hold his gaze.
‘That’s right, just one and I’m only doing that because Glitz has done us a lot a favours over the years and there’s a chance we might work together even more in the future. I hope they told you we’re not being dressed up by some slave-to-fashion stylist to look like a couple of shop window dummies?’ Tom looked horrified as Stevie removed his coat, revealing an orange sleeveless vest top and lime green skinny jeans – yet, somehow, pulled off the look. Admittedly, a similar outfit would have been ludicrous on Tom Rushworth, who looked much more at home in his Armani suit.
‘That’s right and no make-up either, I prefer to do my own.’ Susie-Anne’s slow drawl was already starting to irritate Ashleigh and the make-up she was so determined to show off looked like it had been sprayed on. The glow from her fake tan reminded Ashleigh of the first car she’d owned, a bright orange Ford Fiesta.
‘Okay, well this shouldn’t take long, I know you’re both very busy.’ Ashleigh adjusted the settings on the camera and Stevie tried to justify his existence by making some small tweaks to Susie-Anne’s hair and attempting to straighten Tom’s tie, before being batted away like an irritating insect. The bag of accessories he’d bought with him, hoping to dress up their outfits, sat redundantly in the corner of the room. The shoot was over within the allotted twenty minutes and might have been quicker still, had Tom managed to drag up a smile from somewhere.
‘Thanks, that’s great,’ Ashleigh lied, packing up her equipment, keen to make a quick get away. ‘Is one of the journalists interviewing you for the article?’
‘We’ve written our own press release.’ Tom ran a hand through his dark hair and didn’t bother looking in Ashleigh’s direction. ‘I’ve told your Editor to use that.’
‘I’m real disappointed though.’ Susie-Anne lent forward to give Stevie the full benefit of her cleavage as she spoke, not realising how wasted it was on him. ‘I so wanted to talk about the baby, how excited we are and how Tom can’t keep his hands off me since the pregnancy has made my boobs even bigger!’
Ashleigh doubted that pregnancy hormones could do anything to Susie-Anne’s breasts that silicone hadn’t already taken care of.
‘Why don’t you just put a poster up at Piccadilly Circus?’ Tom might have been teasing Susie-Anne, but his tone wasn’t what you’d call affectionate. Sensing an atmosphere, and keen not to get on the wrong side of Tom Rushworth, Stevie and Ashleigh beat a hasty retreat.
****
‘So are we still going out to lunch to celebrate?’ Susie-Anne draped herself across Tom’s lap, as the photographer and stylist from Glitz shot out of his office like two kids desperate to escape at the sound of the school bell. ‘You did promise.’
‘Did I?’ Tom barely resisted the urge to tip her off his lap. He couldn’t think when she clung to him, in fact he could barely breathe. It was like the walls were closing in on him, as if the instinct just to survive was taking over.
‘Don’t be mean, you know you did!’ She stood up and put her hands on her hips. ‘Isn’t it bad enough that we’re doing this engagement as though we’re ashamed of it?’
‘I never pretended that I was going to go in for a big show of this. I think I made that clear when I asked if you wanted to get married.’ Irritation at having to go through it all again gave an edge to his voice, although she didn’t seem to have noticed.
‘Sugar, you made that real clear, but I never realised just how low-key you wanted to make it. Not even family in the photos?’ She looked at him almost pityingly. ‘I mean I know things are a bit tricky, but it wouldn’t have killed your mum to come up for the shoot. My mum would have got on a plane like a shot if you’d said the word.’
‘Not everyone’s as fame hungry.’ Tom couldn’t keep the disdain out of his voice. Susie-Anne’s selfishness took his breath away at times. If only she knew how instrumental his mother had been in bringing about the proposal, she might well have been more gracious to the older woman. Although, knowing Susie-Anne, possibly not. How a drunken one-night stand had led to this he’d never know. If his clients hadn’t swept the board at the People’s Choice awards, and he hadn’t been at the hospital that morning for the devastating diagnosis, he doubted very much that they would have got together. After all, she was hardly his type. The astronomical bar bill he’d had to settle, and his raging hangover the next morning, had been the least costly consequences of that night.
‘You can get photographed wherever you go, but it would have been a treat for my family.’ Finally seeming to sense that she was in a losing battle, she changed tack. ‘So, having denied me that,
doesn’t the mother of your baby at least deserve a little celebration lunch out?’
‘Anywhere you want.’ Something in the corner of the room caught Tom’s eye and he felt like a drowning man having just spotted a life raft. His excuse to get out of there, rather than face an enforced celebration lunch at whatever celebrity hotspot Susie-Anne had her heart set on. ‘Only I won’t be able to join you. Something’s come up.’
‘Now, hang on a God damn minute!’ She was about to launch into a tirade, but he took hold of her hand.
‘It’s business and I really need to see to it. You know how important all this is and I’m doing it for the baby’s future. Don’t forget your career is part of all this too.’ Feeling her relax somewhat, he smiled. He was an experienced negotiator and Susie-Anne was easy to read, her motivation for almost everything came back to her quest for fame. ‘I’ll get Francine to book a table, anywhere you want, for you and Janey and any other friends you want to take out and celebrate with.’
‘Nobu or The Ivy?’ Susie-Anne was smiling as she stood up, probably imagining the celebrities she might rub shoulders with, not to mention the press. No doubt she’d be only too pleased to regale them with news of their engagement, to make up for the lack of fanfare on Tom’s part.
‘That’s fine, wherever. I’ll tell Francine to organise it on my way out, but there’s something I’ve got to sort.’ Stopping to grab what he’d spotted from the corner of the room, Tom rushed past without so much as a kiss goodbye. She was right. It hadn’t been the world’s most romantic engagement announcement and it wasn’t the best sign when the groom-to-be took the slightest excuse to escape. It wouldn’t be forever though, that was his mantra. The extensive legal advice he’d sought before the proposal had convinced him that his parental rights would be enhanced if they were married, at least until after the baby arrived. There was no need for guilt though; Susie-Anne didn’t love him either, what she loved was his profile and connections. He just hoped she’d love his baby.
