by Susan Lewis
The mischievous look in his eyes made Angie laugh.
‘Oh no, not that old chestnut,’ a weary Scottish-sounding voice called back. ‘I take it you’ve got someone with you you’re trying to impress.’
Martin grinned and pushed open the door. ‘Good you’ve got your clothes on,’ he declared, ‘and very lovely you look too.’ He held out a hand to Angie and drew her into the room, which was crammed with books, papers, files, boxes, three desks, half a dozen computers and a large TV screen on one wall.
‘Martha, let me introduce you to your new assistant,’ he announced dramatically.
Martha’s eyes rounded in amazement. She was a short, stocky woman of around sixty with wavy salt and pepper hair, a small round face, blue-framed glasses, and such a fierce demeanour that Angie almost took a step back.
‘Since when do you choose my assistants?’ she enquired loftily of Martin.
‘Since today,’ he replied. ‘I had to snatch Angie up quick before someone else got her. She’s highly sought after …’
‘Cut the blather,’ she scolded, and returning her flinty eyes to Angie she gave her such a frank up-and-down that it was all Angie could do not to squirm. ‘So you’re Angie, are you?’ she said finally. ‘Do you have a surname?’
Before Angie could reply Martin said, ‘She’s Steve Watts’s wife.’
Martha’s rapid thaw was so visible it was almost comical. ‘You’re Watty’s wife,’ she said, in a tone that suggested this changed everything. ‘Then come in my dear, take off that wet coat for heaven’s sake and let’s talk about your duties. Can you use a computer?’
As Angie confirmed that she could, she glanced at Martin and found him grinning like Lewis Carroll’s satisfied cat.
‘What are you waiting for?’ Martha asked him. ‘You know where the kettle is. Angie, do you prefer tea or coffee?’
‘Uh, tea,’ Angie replied, feeling as though she’d walked into some kind of theatrical scene where all roles were reversed and she was yet to find out what hers was.
‘Same for me,’ Martha told Martin, ‘and put the milk in a jug and sugar in a bowl. We want Angie to think well of us before she finds out what we’re really like.’ Turning to Angie she said, ‘You haven’t taken that coat off yet, so come along, let’s be having it. How long can you spare today? I’m not expecting you to do any work, it’ll just be good for us to have a little chat about the kind of things I’ll be asking of you. Mostly filing and answering phones and trying to tidy this place up a bit. There you are now, sit yourself down at that desk. It’ll be yours when you’re here. The office over the other side of the hall is our lord and master’s when he’s here, and don’t be afraid to go in when he is, he’s usually on his own because he doesn’t have any friends.’
‘I heard that,’ Martin shouted out from the adjacent kitchen.
‘He was supposed to,’ she told Angie. ‘Now, when can you start?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Emma stared at Angie in stunned amazement, her mouth opening, closing, and opening again until she finally cried, ‘You are kidding me. Martin Stone – the Martin Stone – has given you a job and a place to live?’
‘To stay,’ Angie corrected with a smile. ‘It’s only temporary, and you’re talking about him as if he’s a celebrity or some kind of royalty …’
‘Around here he practically is.’ Emma threw out her hands, dumbstruck again until she broke into gales of laughter. ‘Only you, Angie Cross,’ she declared, using their maiden name, ‘could go out in the morning practically destitute and end up in a whole new world belonging to one of the richest and fittest blokes in town.’ She laughed again with pride and delight. ‘Yes, only you, my wonderful star-crossed sister, could pull off something like this.’
Angie wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not sure “pulling off” is the right way to put it,’ she objected. ‘It makes it sound as though I went into town with the intention of forcing myself on him – that wasn’t a good turn of phrase either. Anyway, what really matters is that I’m going to be paid fifteen quid an hour for twenty hours spread over five days, and before I left he told his PA to give me a hundred pounds as an advance.’
Emma almost fainted. ‘A hundred quid,’ she echoed incredulously. ‘A hundred. My God, someone’s looking out for you somewhere. Well, we know his name’s Martin Stone, but I can hardly get my head round it. We don’t even know him, so why should he …’
‘He knew Steve,’ Angie said, ‘I’m pretty sure he’s doing it for him, and, well … I know this is going to sound weird, but it was like Steve took me to him today. I think Steve knew he would help.’
Emma shook her head, not so much in disbelief as in wonder.
Angie started to speak again but found herself suddenly overwhelmed by tears. She had no idea if it was relief making her emotional, or the fear that it would all somehow go up in smoke and she’d end up worse off than before, or if she was simply exhausted. She swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. ‘You know that warning,’ she said. ‘If it looks too good to be true then it is too good to be true.’
‘I always hated that saying,’ Emma stated dismissively. ‘Now tell me about the flat.’ She grinned at her sister. ‘My God, I still can’t believe it. You’re only going to be living – staying – in a fancy pad overlooking the bay. Will you be allowed visitors?’
Angie choked on a laugh. ‘I’m sure I’ll be very happy to entertain you as soon as I’m in residence,’ she teased grandly.
‘Just listen to her,’ Emma chuckled. ‘So will you be there tonight?’
‘I’ve got the keys, but he wants me to wait until tomorrow so he’ll have time to pack some things and the cleaning lady can go in to change the sheets.’ It was still making her light-headed simply to think of someone going to so much trouble for her. It was embarrassing her too, worrying her even, for she should be doing the cleaning and sorting things out, not having it done for her.
Emma’s eyes were sparkling. ‘Cleaning lady, linens … Next thing we know you’ll have a chauffeur. So have you actually seen the flat yet?’
‘No, there wasn’t time, I had to get back here to the office, but if the downstairs rooms are anything to go by I think it’s probably quite large. You’ll know the building, it’s the big Georgian house at the end of the Promenade, close to the marina.’
‘Oh my God, of course I do. It’s amazing. I didn’t know it was offices though, I thought it was all flats. Is there enough room for the kids?’
‘To be honest I didn’t like to ask. He was already being so generous. I mean, it could be that he’s assuming they’ll be with me. I’ll have a better idea, I guess, when I find out how many bedrooms there are.’
‘Just as long as you know it’s fine for them to carry on staying with me – not that I see much of Grace, she’s been spending most nights at Lois’s lately. Actually, I think we should drop over a bag of fancy groceries to Lois’s mother now you’re in the money, because she’s been feeding Grace pretty regularly. You know, some artisan bread, marinated olives, sun-dried tomatoes, bottle of wine, that sort of thing.’
‘That was one of my first thoughts when Martha gave me the advance,’ Angie said. ‘They’ve been so good to her, it’s hard to think of a way to thank them enough.’
‘Well, they’ll be pretty certain that you’d do the same for Lois if anything ever happened to them, so don’t worry yourself too much on that score. Now, back to the job, exactly what will you be doing?’
Still faintly dazed by it, Angie said, ‘I’ll be the general office assistant working for Martha, the PA. She’s a scream, by the way, wait till you meet her, you’ll love her. Anyway, I’ll be filing, answering the phones and general emails, sorting out the thousands of box files she’s got piled up everywhere. Apparently there are other offices belonging to the company over in the business district where accountants, planners, architects, all sorts of other staff are based, so I’ll be ferrying stuff between the two when needed, and out to various
construction sites. Martin’s based at the house, as they call it, but apparently he’s not there much, because he’s pretty hands-on with the projects, to quote Martha.’
Emma gazed at her with more thrilled incredulity. ‘Seems your husband’s ability to make friends and influence people is turning out to be as good as an insurance policy,’ she commented fondly.
‘Almost,’ Angie agreed, ‘but we’re still technically homeless, and I’ve still got a mountain of debt to clear. Actually, Martin’s going to put me in touch with a lawyer so I’ll have someone to come to court with me next week.’ She was ludicrously close to tears again, and all because someone was actually going to be there to help her through that horrible ordeal. It was almost inconceivable after she’d felt so alone.
‘Oh Angie,’ Emma murmured, going to embrace her. ‘It’s beyond wonderful, what’s happened today, and you totally deserve a break, but I can see it’s a lot to take in.’
Angie sniffed away the tears. ‘I’m an emotional wreck,’ she groaned, her voice muffled by her sleeve. She was aware of how her thoughts kept going back to the moment when, standing in the rain, she’d asked Steve to tell her what to do. It seemed crazy to think he’d been watching and listening and then guiding her footsteps to where she’d needed to go, but it really was how it felt. So if her husband was near, was it any wonder she felt emotional?
Dabbing her eyes, she said, ‘Let’s take a detour to Waitrose on the way home. We can pick up some lovely things there for Becky, Lois’s mum, and we’ll also get something scrumptious for our tea – on me.’
‘It’s a deal, just as long as you keep back at least fifty quid, so you don’t end up with nothing any sooner than you have to.’
Angie was reaching for her phone. ‘I’ll text Grace and tell her I’ll definitely be at yours tonight. I should also email the ghastly Shalik to confirm that my furniture will be gone on Friday. Is it still OK with Melvin?’ she added worriedly.
‘Of course. He’s going to ask a couple of the warehouse guys to come and help us, so it should be done quite quickly.’
Angie’s smile of gratitude was weak; although the tide might be turning on her luck in some ways, the thought of moving everything out of Willow Close still felt as though she was turning away from Steve …
‘Oh, hello, I’m glad you’re both here.’
It was Ivan coming through the door in his smart grey overcoat, collar up to his ears and a tartan cap keeping his balding head dry.
Emma quickly removed their bags from the only comfy chair, while throwing a glance at Angie underlining what a rare honour this was.
‘Oh, no, thanks,’ Ivan replied when Emma offered him some tea. ‘I know you’ll be wanting to get off soon so I’ll try not to keep you.’ He removed his cap and clasped it between both hands as he perched on the edge of the armchair.
‘Is everything all right?’ Angie asked, getting a coldly distinct feeling that it wasn’t. Surely he hadn’t found out that she was the rough sleeper in the storeroom?
‘I’m afraid not,’ he admitted gravely. ‘We had some very sad news today. Our benefactress, Mrs Masters – Carlene Masters – passed away last night.’
Angie and Emma looked at each other, their minds leaping to what this might mean for them and the residences.
‘Was it sudden?’ Emma thought to ask.
‘I’m not sure of the details yet,’ he replied, ‘but as you know, she was quite elderly. The vicar is in touch with her family. She has two nieces who live in London.’
Angie recalled the vicar’s wife once telling her how the nieces never went to visit the old lady, apparently a source of great sadness for their aunt.
Emma asked bluntly, ‘Is this going to affect Bridging the Gap?’
Ivan sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure about that either, but of course we’re hoping it won’t, at least not in a negative way. It’s my understanding – the vicar’s too – that the properties are bequeathed to St Mary’s, and if that proves the case the church will naturally want to keep them going.’ His eyes drifted off to the middle distance, as though he was still trying to process the news himself.
‘Are you OK?’ Angie asked. ‘Are you sure we can’t get you something?’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ he assured them. He attempted a smile. ‘I knew her, a long time ago … She was a special lady.’
Having no problem believing that, considering her generosity, Angie put a comforting hand on his arm.
Collecting himself, he said, ‘This means, of course, that we probably shouldn’t bring anyone else into the houses for the time being, not until we’re clearer about the way things are going. It would be awful, wouldn’t it, to offer some poor chap a place only to have to tell him … Well, I’m sure it won’t come to that.’
As the door closed behind him Emma said, ‘I haven’t had chance to tell you yet, but I spoke to Hamish earlier and apparently Mark Fields has done a moonlight.’
Angie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned.
‘He cleaned out the food cupboards before he left,’ Emma continued, ‘and poor Hamish had only just done a shop.’
Making a mental note to replace the groceries from BtG funds, Angie said, ‘If those houses don’t end up belonging to the church then I’m already worrying about what will happen to Hamish. The others are young enough, strong enough … He doesn’t have anyone. No family at all to take him in, and we know he can’t work …’
‘Stop,’ Emma interrupted firmly, ‘let’s worry about it when we know we have to, because we probably won’t. What you need to do now is focus on the good fortune that’s come your way today.’
‘That’s just it though, isn’t it,’ Angie sighed. ‘As one person is saved another goes under, and actually far more go under than ever get …’
‘Angie,’ Emma cut in darkly. ‘Right now, tonight, you, Hamish and all the other residents have roofs over your heads, and you will for the foreseeable future. So I say it’s time to get ourselves to the supermarket and then we can go home and really whoop it up as we sort out what needs to be taken to the launderette tomorrow, because the washing machine has broken down again.’
Angie had to smile. Of course Emma was right – scaring herself over things that might never happen wasn’t only ludicrous, it was a waste of energy. She needed to be positive and thankful and to find a way of texting Martin without gushing.
In the end she said, It’s hard to find the words to thank you without going too far and embarrassing us both, but I’m sure you know how much your help means to me and my family. Angie
His answer came back a few minutes later. Glad to be of help. Hope you’ll be able to cope with Martha. :D
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘There it is, over there,’ Grace said, looking up from iMaps on her phone to a small rank of shops on the other side of the street. Just past it on the right was a large gateway with a sign over it welcoming visitors to WCA – WEST CENTRE FOR CREATIVE ARTS.
They’d cut school early and caught the number 46 bus here from the centre of town, just as Anya had instructed, and even though they’d visited the centre before on a school trip it was quite a while ago, so they’d looked up the address and postcode in case they got lost.
As they turned in through the gates, apprehensive and not a little overawed by the size of the place, they took in the vast grey stone building spread grandly across the back of a large car park, with a huge sign across the front advertising office and studio space for rent. They knew it had been a factory years ago, but with its tall barred windows and yellow iron staircases on the outside it looked more like a prison.
‘There don’t seem to be many people here,’ Lois remarked as they passed a handful of cars looking vaguely abandoned in a space that could have accommodated hundreds of vehicles.
Grace pointed to a truck close to the entrance; on its side were emblazoned the words TRC Film and TV Lighting Hire.
They giggled as they collided with one
another in the revolving entrance doors, and half stepped, half spilled into a high-ceilinged lobby with red plush bench seats, low-hanging lamps suspended over black wood tables and a large, semicircular reception desk at the centre of the back wall. A security guard was behind it talking on the phone, and barely looked up as they approached.
‘Oh my God,’ Lois muttered.
Grace followed her eyes to the felt board displaying names of the companies that were based here. Although Grace didn’t recognize any of them, she was just as impressed, for in spite of the missing letters in some cases they were clearly all film companies, or photographic studios, or music-recording suites.
‘Can I help you?’ the security guard asked gruffly as he ended his call.
‘We’re here to see Anya,’ Grace informed him, realizing too late that they should have found out her surname.
Before he could respond lift doors opened in an alcove to the left, and a blonde woman dressed in a tight black skirt and high-heeled ankle boots stepped out. It took Grace a moment to realize it was Anya, for she looked different to the way she did on WhatsApp, not as sparkly-eyed, nor as tall as she’d imagined her to be. Her hair was kind of stringy and her complexion badly pocked, and in spite of her smile she wasn’t giving off the same sort of friendly vibe.
‘Grace,’ she pronounced, taking Grace’s hands and holding them out to get a good look at her. ‘Lovely. He’ll be pleased,’ and turning an arch gaze on Lois she drawled, ‘And who do we have here?’
‘Lois is my best friend,’ Grace told her. ‘She’s been helping me to learn the scenes you sent.’
Lois said, ‘Acting’s not really my thing. I want to get into the production side, if I can.’
Anya looked her up and down, and her manner was far from welcoming. ‘OK, follow me,’ she said, and turning back to the lift she ushered them in ahead of her.
As they rose to the second floor Grace and Lois exchanged anxious glances. This definitely wasn’t starting off the way they’d expected it to. Why was Anya behaving so strangely? She’d been so lovely in the message she’d sent earlier: Really looking forward to meeting you. I have a feeling things will go very well. A Now she wasn’t saying anything at all, in fact she seemed a bit cross.