'She's in the bathroom,' whispered Rosie, closing the door. 'I think it's just dreadful. What right have newspapers to pry into somebody's private life? Mother has always thought Gabriella - Miss Wolfe - was wonderful. This will break her heart.' She checked her watch. 'Do you want me to stay? I should be in the studio preparing for the rehearsal.'
Philip shook his head. With a last sorrowful sniff, Rosie hurried out.
Gabriella emerged from the bathroom. Seeing Philip, she held out her arms and enveloped him.
'Philip darling, I knew you'd come to me in my time of trouble. You've always been there for me,' she said dramatically.
Philip freed himself from her embrace. 'Gabriella, I'm so sorry about all this, but whatever happens, you know you have my full and unconditional support.'
Gabriella sat down in front of the mirror and began retouching her make-up.
Philip sat on the edge of the bed and watched her, seeing her as he had first seen her all those years ago: a slim, pretty boy nursing the dregs of a shandy at the bar, a mixture of fear and daring in his large, black eyes. His hair had been long before it was fashionable, curling over his shoulders. George Fox as he was then, was just nineteen years old, fresh down from Nottingham where he felt the only escape from the mines was to work in a shoe factory.
Philip had been with two friends from Cambridge. They had all just passed their finals and were out to celebrate. Philip wanted to go somewhere smart and drink champagne, but Gerald and Mark wanted to go slumming, as they put it, so they headed for the wrong end of Notting Hill. They had been in four pubs already and had more than enough to drink by the time they stumbled into the one where George was drinking. Gerald and Mark were very raucous, and seemed unconcerned about the angry looks that their Cambridge accents and loud comments about the working classes were causing. Philip matched them drink for drink, but he was not too drunk to sense that their presence in the pub was not welcome. When Mark insisted on yet another round, he had been glad to escape their company for a moment and go to the less-crowded end of the bar to order some more drinks. It was there he first saw George, sitting apart from the other drinkers.
They made eye contact, but both looked quickly away. Not daring to believe what he had seen, Philip looked back. This time they held each other's gaze for a long time.
When he returned to the table with the drinks, Gerald looked across at him. 'Fancy a bit of rough, do you?' he asked in a voice that could be heard all over the bar. 'Well, he's certainly pretty enough, but I'd keep my socks on if I was you. You never know what you could catch in a dump like this.'
Disgusted and embarrassed, Philip got up to leave but found his way barred by two men. He was no fighter and backed away, but Gerald and Mark had been too drunk or maybe too arrogant to back down, and had lashed out at the men now surrounding them.
As the fight spilled across the bar, Philip felt a hand on his arm guiding him to a back exit. He had not stopped to think what might be out there, but when he stepped into a narrow side street, he was face to face with George.
Without speaking, they raced down the street together. Behind them they could hear the sound of approaching police sirens. They kept running until there was enough distance between themselves and the pub. George darted down an alleyway and Philip followed him. They both bent over, hands on knees, chest heaving as they fought to catch their breath.
Eventually Philip looked up to see George lighting a cigarette. He offered Philip the packet but Philip shook his head then straightened up. 'Thank you for rescuing me. Sorry about my friends.'
George took a long drag on his cigarette. 'They were right arses weren’t they? Hope they got a proper going over. As for rescuing you, it was nothing. If you grew up where I did, you had to be either very good at fighting or very good at ducking trouble, and I have no intention of getting my nose broken for the sake of a pint of beer. My name’s George by the way,' he added with a grin.
Philip felt his heart lurch.
He had not wanted George to have the operation, but when he realised that the boy was prepared to go to a cut-price, back street butcher, he had paid first for the hormone treatment and then for the best surgeon money could buy.
There had never been anyone else for him, and Gabriella knew that, but Philip could never love a woman in the way he could love a man.
It was George's dark eyes that now looked questioningly at him in the dressing room mirror.
'Are you going to go ahead with the recording?'
'Well, you know what they say about show business,' Philip said, summoning up a wan smile. 'And as long as this is my show, I say it must go on.'
Gabriella looked concerned. 'You mean there's a chance you might no longer be in charge?'
'No, of course not, this is my company.'
'But what about your backers and that awful moral majority lot, the committee for whatever?'
'They don't have legal sanction over who appears on television, at least not yet,' Philip said, 'and my backers will keep backing me as long as I earn them profits. The awful irony is, although I don't sanction Vanessa's terminology, she's right you know. People will now turn on in their millions to see you.'
Gabriella turned to look directly at Philip. 'Then I'll give them a show to remember. I'm not ashamed of who I am. The only freak was that boy George, a woman trapped inside a man's body. But he's gone and I'm who I really should be. How many people can say they've been to hell and back and survived? And I've done more than just survive. I've become a successful and beautiful woman, desired by some of the richest and most powerful men in the world and a role model for other women. Not bad for little old George from Nottingham, eh?'
She turned back to the mirror.
'Run along now, Philip darling, I want to make sure I look my best, even if it is only for the rehearsal.'
Philip stood behind Gabriella, his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then he kissed her lightly on the cheek.
'I know what you're going to say, darling,' Gabriella said, 'you still love me. I know. Off you go and tell Rosie to make sure wardrobe is ready for me directly after the rehearsal. I intend to knock everyone's little cotton socks off, now shoo.'
Outside the door, Philip hastily wiped away a tear as Heather walked past clutching an armful of wine bottles.
'What are those for?'
'Miss High and Mighty is having an impromptu press conference in hospitality. She sent me out to buy some more wine. The gentlemen of the press have already drunk what was there. Can't you stop her?' Heather appealed.
Philip considered this. Yes, he could, but what good would that do? The situation couldn't get any worse.
'Tell Vanessa to keep it short as we have to rehearse,' he said wearily. 'I'll see her in the gallery.'
Heather watched Philip walk away. His shoulders were stooped and he looked as though he had lead weights in his shoes. As bosses went, he wasn't so bad, she thought, gripping the wine bottles tightly and kicking open the door to the hospitality room with her Doc Martens. Inside, Vanessa was trying to speak.
'Ladies and gentlemen, please.'
The noise slowly subsided.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' Vanessa began again. 'I would like to introduce myself. I am Vanessa Swift, producer and originator of Forbidden Fruit, the new television series which will break every television taboo, give Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells a heart attack and make your hair, and a lot more besides, stand on end.'
There were hoots of loud laughter.
'For a start, how many TV programmes are presented by glamorous transsexuals, or at least, how many are presented by people who admit they are?'
The laughter was even louder at this.
'Now, I know you have all come to meet Gabriella Wolfe, but she will not be giving any interviews until after the show. However, there are seats available for all of you if you would like to watch the recording, although I must insist that no-one takes any photos while they are in the studio.
I promise you, anyone doing so will be forcibly ejected.'
'By gorgeous George?' someone shouted.
There was general laughter again.
'Now before I go, are there any questions?'
'When will the series be broadcast?' asked someone.
'In the very near future. We are in negotiation with all the major networks at the moment.' Or at least we will be after this, Vanessa thought, looking around the room.
'Did you know about Gabriella before you hired her as a presenter?' someone called.
'Of course,' Vanessa lied smoothly. 'Her past in no way detracts from her professionalism. If the entertainment industry started discriminating on the grounds of who had submitted themselves to the surgeon's knife in search of beauty, we'd have to get rid of an awful lot of people.'
'Did you plant the story to get publicity for your show?' a voice called from the back.
'Absolutely not. Gabriella's gender has never been an issue. Since I first conceived and developed the idea for Forbidden Fruit, I have always known that the show would generate more than enough publicity on its own merits, as I am sure you will see in approximately an hour's time. So if you will excuse me, I must go and prepare for the rehearsal. In the meantime, please avail yourselves of our hospitality.'
Vanessa pushed her way to the drinks table, where a harassed Heather was trying to open bottles of wine and pour drinks at the same time.
'Keep them drinking,' Vanessa hissed in her ear. 'I want them happy as little skylarks when they write their reviews.'
Outside the door she saw Vijay's back disappearing down the corridor. Vanessa yelled after him.
He reluctantly turned round.
'Where have you been all morning?' she demanded. 'You certainly know how to make yourself scarce when there's work to be done.'
'I've been looking after our guests,' Vijay protested.
'Guests?' Vanessa said blankly.
'You know - the little people without whom we would have no show.' Vijay made quote marks in the air with his fingers when he said little people. 'The postman from Sheen who wants to do a banana split, the couple from Dartford who want to play master and pupil, and then there's …'
'All right, all right, you've made your point,' Vanessa interrupted irritably. Vijay seemed less cowed than usual, and if she was not mistaken, there had been a touch of sarcasm in his voice. 'Are they all here and ready to rehearse?'
'Oh, they're all here. It's Fergus we're missing.'
'But I told Heather to look after him,' Vanessa said angrily.
'You also told her to look after thirty tabloid journalists.'
Vanessa glared at Vijay. She was right. There was something openly defiant about his manner.
She jabbed a finger at him. 'Now look here…'
Just at that moment, Rosie rushed past, a clipboard in one hand and a stopwatch in the other.
'Have you seen Fergus?' Vanessa called after her.
'No, sorry,' she called over her shoulder. 'And Hugo says can everyone get to the studio immediately, we're running very late.'
Vijay plunged his hands in his pockets and strolled off.
'You could try the pub over the road. I think I heard him muttering something about having a quick one before the rehearsal,' he said, before disappearing round the corner.
'Shit,' said Vanessa, and tore off after Rosie.
In the gallery, Hugo and Rosie were busy checking the monitors and giving instructions to the studio floor.
Philip was sitting behind them. He tapped his watch as Vanessa came in. She shrugged.
'Someone had to do some damage limitation with the press,' she said, sitting next to him.
'Is everything under control?' Philip asked anxiously.
'No problem,' Vanessa said firmly. 'I've left Heather oiling the wheels of publicity so to speak, and then we'll just roll them into the studio for the recording. I've promised them Gabriella afterwards, so I hope she'll be able to hack it.'
Philip bridled. 'Gabriella is a trooper, she'll deliver the goods.'
'Can we get everyone on the studio floor, ready to rehearse pronto,' Hugo barked into his microphone. 'And please remember, the guests keep their clothes on this time, this is just a run-through for autocue and positions.'
Rosie looked across at him. 'The floor manager says they can't find Dr Archibald.'
'Then get a bloody search party out,' snapped Hugo angrily. 'If he's not here in two minutes then we'll go without him. Gabriella will just have to cover for him. We do know where she is, don't we?'
There was the sound of applause from the studio and one of the monitors showed Gabriella smiling graciously. As she walked across the set, studio technicians patted her on the back or shook her hand.
'Bloody marvellous,' snorted Hugo, 'they love her.'
The phone chirruped softly and Rosie picked it up. She listened for a moment and then turned to Vanessa, one hand over the mouthpiece. 'Reception says there's a drunk making a fuss down there. Claim's he's part of the show. Should they get security to throw him out?'
'Why bother me with stupid details, of course they should throw him out,' snapped Vanessa. Then an unpleasant thought struck her. 'No wait, I think I'd better go down.'
'I'm going to begin this rehearsal in two minutes, whether or not you're here,' warned Hugo, as Vanessa went out.
Swearing under her breath, Vanessa stopped at the doors leading into the reception area and peered through the glass panel. A dishevelled-looking Fergus was standing like a prisoner between two nervous security guards. She pushed open the doors. 'It's all right, you can let him go. I'll vouch for him,' she ordered.
The immaculate blonde receptionist wrinkled her nose. 'He was extremely rude when I asked him for his security pass, and I have orders not to let anyone in unless they have a proper accreditation.'
'I'll take full responsibility for him,' Vanessa interrupted impatiently. 'He does have a pass. He's already been through here once today.'
'That doesn't make any difference. I can't be expected to remember every face that comes through those doors,' the receptionist said primly. 'My orders…'
Vanessa held up a hand to silence her and went over to Fergus who was swaying from side to side.
'Bloody Gestapo, it's a bloody police state, that's what it is,' he muttered at one of the guards with the pimply skin of late adolescence and whose skinny body barely filled his cheap uniform.
Fergus saw Vanessa and tried to straighten up. 'Tell these storm troopers I'm all right. That wine young Heather was serving was piss awful, so I just popped out for a decent dram of whisky.'
Vanessa stood in front of him, hands on her hips. Fergus had drunk more than one dram of whisky by the look in his eyes. 'You no good son-of-a-bitch. If you ruin my big chance, I'll…'
But before she could continue, a large, middle-aged woman in a loud black and white check suit marched up to reception. Obediently following her sensible court heels were a heavy-footed man in a pin-striped suit, and a tall, thin man with an apologetic smile.
The woman planted her large handbag down on the reception desk as though claiming it for some imperial power. 'I am Mrs Mildred Proudfoot, and this is Sir Norman Fluck and the Reverend Basil Grimshaw. We are here to see Philip Pryce,' she announced in a voice born to command.
'Look at the behind on that one,' said Fergus loudly. 'Have you ever seen such a magnificent pair of buttocks?'
Before Vanessa could stop him, Fergus had lurched forward and grasped a handful of outraged female flesh.
Thirty-One
Vijay slunk round the corner of the building and into the alleyway where he had arranged to meet Alicia and Jeremy. It was the same alley in which they had met the evening before. He was late for the rendezvous because his way out through reception had been barred by the irate figures of Vanessa, Sir Norman Fluck and a man and woman he had not recognised. An unusually subdued Fergus had not been part of the altercation. He was standing to one side nursing what appe
ared to be an injured eye.
Peering through the glass-panelled door which led into reception, Vijay had not been able to catch everything that was going on, but he had a hunch that Fergus's wounded eye had been inflicted by the handbag which the woman in the loudly checked suit was clutching to her formidable bosom, and not by the rather large fist Sir Norman kept flourishing.
Vijay had been forced to retreat into the ladies’ toilet when the still vociferous Sir Norman and his party had been shepherded past by a harassed looking Heather, closely followed by a stony-faced Vanessa and a moaning Fergus. He waited several more minutes before putting his head round the door to check that everyone had gone. He was meant to be looking after the guests during the rehearsal, but as they were already running nearly half an hour late, he was hoping that in the confusion, no one would notice he was missing for a few minutes.
Now Vijay felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief as he looked up and down the alley and saw that there was no-one there. They had all had far too much to drink the night before and had made some crazy plans, and he was sure that like him, Alicia and Jeremy must have woken up this morning and realised they had been foolish. However, at least he could say that had kept his side of the bargain and turned up - they could not accuse him of letting the side down.
Feeling almost light-hearted, Vijay turned to go back into the studios, but he found the end of the alley barred by two figures. His heart did not so much sink, as go into freefall without a parachute.
As the figures advanced towards him, Vijay backed against a wall.
'You came,' he said lamely, as they stood in front of him.
Alicia held out the videotape. Vijay stared at it for a moment, his hands still in his pockets, then he looked up, a mute appeal in his eyes. But he saw no mercy in the hazel green eyes that gazed back into his, only implacable determination. He reluctantly took his right hand out of his pocket and held it out.
'Have you got us tickets for the show?' demanded Alicia, as Vijay tucked the tape inside his shirt.
Acquired Tastes Page 30