by Liz Fielding
'When I want my rivets loosened, I'll consider it. In the meantime-'
'Straight to the Metropole. Hands to myself,' he repeated her instructions. 'This time.'
She hesitated. 'It never hurts to play the gentleman, Andy.'
He grinned. 'Leave them guessing, eh? Is that what works with you?' She knew he was puzzled by the fact that she found him utterly resistible, but this time he was nearer to the truth than he knew.
Once. Just once it had worked with her. Patrick March had been a lot like Andy. A little taller perhaps, his eyes meltingly dark. That first morning on the set, when she was eighteen and with a part any young actress would die for, a bundle of nerves that she might make a fool of herself, ruin her career before it had even begun, that first morning he had played the gentleman to perfection.
He was broodingly handsome.
Heathcliffe, Romeo, Mr Darcy, with his dark good looks, tousled curls, he could have played any one of them.
At twenty-six he was almost too old to play the part of an out of control youth, living off petty crime who had lost his heart to the young daughter of the most powerful family in town, but he had appeared in a film made in America and had been noticed. The company making the low budget adaptation of Romeo and Juliet to be filmed in modern Verona had wanted to cash in on his moment of fame before he was forgotten, or became too expensive.
Fizz had seen the film. And she had recognised the talent that had simmered just below the surface, contained by the knowledge that the actor/director starring in the film would make certain anything that outshone his own performance would end up on the cutting room floor. But Patrick had still been noticed. And now he was noticing her. The knowledge went to her head faster than champagne.
On her arrival in Verona it hadn't taken her an hour to discover that the rest of the cast assumed she had been given the part because of her illustrious family connections. A few of them were openly hostile, more fawned all over her, neither of them comfortable experiences.
Patrick had simply taken her hand, held it briefly, given it the smallest squeeze, a reassuring smile. She hadn't so much melted as dissolved.
He spent time explaining what would happen so she didn't feel quite so lost and confused. He went out of his way to make her look good for the camera, never stealing a scene. And when they kissed for the camera he broke away the minute the director called a halt. Leaving her wanting more.
A perfect gentleman.
A very clever gentleman.
He had rehearsed her in the evening, when the crew and the rest of the cast were out having a good time. He took her to see the galleries and the museums, holding her hand as they walked through the city, taking her through the film script, comparing it knowledgeably with Shakespeare's play.
He’d seemed oblivious to her family, oblivious to her melting desire for him until she began to wonder if he was gay. How different her life might be now if that had been the case.
'Fizz?' She jumped. 'You were miles away. I said we're just going.'
She stared at Andy and Melanie. 'Oh, yes. Take care, both of you.'
She could see them making their way down the pier from her office window. They were followed by the faithful band of fans who had stuck it out despite the cold and the dark. Melanie was laughing, Fizz could see her breath, little puffs of vapour, her hair a golden nimbus in the glow of the lamps as she signed the last of the autograph books thrust out to her, not hurrying, all charm. And Andy waited patiently.
Then Melanie slipped her hand under his arm and still chatting to the girls who had waited so long to meet her, they walked slowly off the pier together.
She sat down, her cold hands stuffed hard into her pockets. Why had she told Andy to play the gentleman? She, of all people, knew that any actor worth his salt could play the gentleman if you gave him a script. It took more than a script to make the genuine article. The problem was, it could be hard to tell the difference.
There was a tap at her door and she looked up to see her father watching from the doorway. 'Can I come in?'
'Of course, if you can stand the cold. I really will have to do something about the heating up here. It's not fair on Susie.'
'I understand that snow has been forecast.'
She nodded. 'I heard. We don't usually get it down here on the coast though.'
'Is everything all right, Fizz? You looked somewhat distant.'
'Fine.' She found a smile for him. 'Mr Devlin has agreed to carry on sponsoring us provided we find a part for a young actress he knows in Holiday Bay.'
'Really?' He sounded pleased. 'Well, that shouldn't prove to much of a problem.'
'No. None whatever. She's a delightful girl. She's something of a celebrity in fact and I'm sure listening figures will rocket. Having her in the town should be good for local trade too.'
Edward Beaumont beamed. 'There now,' he said, delighted with the world. 'I said you could handle it without me.' Then he shivered. 'Why don't you come down to my office and have a glass of sherry to celebrate.'
'I'll leave it until the weekend if you don't mind. Is Claudia coming home do you know? I'd like to talk to her, explain what's happening.' Before she picked up some second hand gossip.
'I am expecting her. She 'phoned earlier, still sounding thoroughly fed up about losing this film. We really ought to do something to cheer her up. A little party, perhaps? You haven't had an official opening of the restaurant yet -'
Fizz suddenly realised that her father's visit was to discuss Claudia's problems not hers. 'Dad, would you mind if we talk about this tomorrow? I really have a million things to do.'
He hesitated for just a moment, then gave a little shrug. 'Of course. I'll see you tomorrow.'
She waited until the door had closed behind him and then quickly checked a number in her book and taking a deep breath, she reached for the 'phone.
'Julian? It's Fizz. I need to sell some quite valuable jewellery quickly,' she rushed on, before he could say anything. 'Will you help me?'
Rather to her surprise he said yes.
*****
Just over an hour later Julian met her at Victoria, standing at the end of the platform, waiting while she walked down the platform, his expression guarded.
'I'm sorry,' she said, quite simply. 'I didn't know who else to ask.'
'I guessed that. Although I can't say I'm flattered by your assumption that I would know where to pop the family jewels.'
'Pop?'
'Pop, pledge, pawn.' He turned her away from the station leading her to where his car was parked. 'Don't look so shocked. Even the best people do it. And its tricky to get a good price for jewellery unless you can wait for the right buyer. This is your mother's stuff right?'
'Yes.'
'Then I'd recommend an auction. She still has an army of adoring fans, you know, middle-aged men who would fork out a mint just to possess a necklace that had adorned the neck of the great Elaine French.' He looked at her, slightly baffled. 'I'm still not sure why you feel you have to do this. If Devlin has agreed to sponsor you?'
'I'd rather be in charge of my own destiny.'
He shrugged. 'In that case pawning it will cover your immediate problems.'
'Will it?' She was horrified by the idea. 'But could just one pawn broker handle something like this?' Fizz had a sudden terrible vision of trailing around the back streets of London hocking a necklace here, a bracelet there in dingy little shops.
'Don't worry about that, just tell me where we have to go to pick the stuff up.'
Fizz gave him the address of the depository where, at the insistence of the insurance company, her mother's jewels were kept in a safety deposit box. They were stored in London for Claudia's convenience. Her sister wore hers frequently but Fizz scarcely ever took hers out except to wear at one of her father's rare first nights, or to one of the media award dinners. She certainly wouldn't miss them. The fact that it had taken her so long to come up with such a simple solution to her problem was ample ev
idence of how rarely she even thought of them.
She showed her identification to the guard, went through a complicated checking procedure with the clerk and then she and Julian were taken to a small room and the safety deposit box was brought to them. She opened it.
'Good grief.' Julian's expression said it all.
'There is rather a lot isn't there? My mother liked beautiful things. Of course it isn't all mine, half of it belongs to Claudia. Mother made a list of who was to get what so we shouldn't quarrel.' She had never quite been able to shake off the feeling that if her mother had known she wasn't going to make it on the stage she would have left all of it to Claudia.
Julian opened one of the boxes to reveal a diamond pendant and earrings. 'I can't think of another girl I know who would part with this without throwing hysterics. Are you really so certain that it's necessary? Devlin can't possibly want to take Pavilion Radio from you.'
'I keep telling myself that. Then I keep asking myself what he does want.'
'Tell me about it.' She told him and afterwards he sat back, deep in thought.
'Well, what do you think?'
'Honestly?'
'Honestly.'
'I think you've got yourself worked up over nothing. But ...' He hesitated and she looked at him. 'Well, sometimes when I'm negotiating a loan, when everything seems perfect and common sense tells you that nothing could go wrong, you know?' She nodded. 'For no reason at all you get this feeling. A gut instinct suddenly tells you that you're being had.' Fizz waited. 'I suppose what I'm saying is, if your gut instinct is telling you that Devlin is up to something and if this stuff really doesn't matter to you...'
'It doesn't.' He shrugged and Fizz produced a plastic carrier bag from her handbag, loading in the leather covered boxes that belonged to her, double checking the contents as she went, with about as much interest as she loaded her shopping each week at the supermarket. 'Right. Where now?'
London traffic was chaotic with road works, and late shoppers adding to the rush hour bedlam. And with every foot of ground covered Fizz wound herself up just a little tighter for the coming ordeal.
It was nearly half an hour before Julian parked in front of a surprisingly modern, brightly lit building. It was a far cry from Charles Dickens, although the traditional three balls of the pawn broker were plainly visible.
'Is this it?' Fizz demanded.
Julian grinned. 'What did you expect? Some dark back alley and a pawnbroker in fingerless gloves and a greasy hat?'
'You know I did. I was dreading...' She laughed as the tension flowed from her. 'You're a rat, Julian.' She looked up at the building. 'This doesn't look so bad, more like a bank.'
'The most basic kind. You hand over your jewels and they hand over some money in exchange and when you want your jewels back they ask for their money, plus interest.'
'And if you don't come back?'
'They keep the jewels.'
'I see. Well, I never wear them anyway.'
'This is only a short term solution,' he warned. 'They won't give you anything like the full market value and the interest rate will be high.' He looked at her. 'I wouldn't have brought you here, but you sounded so desperate when you phoned. It's still not too late to change your mind.'
'I know, but if I can raise the money to pay off the loan, I shall never have to go to anyone cap in hand again.'
'And you can tell Luke Devlin what to do with his sponsorship.'
'I wouldn't be that rude. I'm hoping that Melanie will still join Holiday Bay.'
'In other words you want to have your cake and eat it.'
'It would be nice just for once, but I don't want to be greedy. To be honest if I can just get my life and my radio station back under control it'll be enough.'
'Go for the cake, Fizz,' he advised her, gravely. 'You might just end up with the crumbs, but always go for the cake.' He climbed out of the car and opened her door. 'Do you want me to come in with you?'
'Would you mind?'
A quarter of an hour later they were both sitting in a small office, the glittering collection of Elaine French's jewellery laid out before them on a desk. The broker picked up each piece in turn and examined it carefully, looking at the stones through a jewellers eyeglass. Finally he sat back and looked at Fizz. 'How much do you hope to raise on these pieces?' he asked.
'Well, I'm not sure-'
'As much as possible,' Julian intervened.
'Well, they're very nice sets. A bit old-fashioned perhaps. If they were genuine stones of course they could be re-set, but it would hardly be worth it for paste.'
'Paste? They’re genuine!' She threw an anguished glance at Julian. 'They were my mother's... She was Elaine French and I can assure you that she wouldn't have been seen dead in fake anything!'
'Elaine French?' The man's face lit up. 'Good lord, I saw her in Private Lives with Edward Beaumont the year before she retired. What a wonderful actress. She illuminated the theatre.' He came back from his memories and looked at Fizz. 'I'm really very sorry, but I imagine the insurance company insisted on copies. They wouldn't be keen to cover them when she was travelling. Even the copies have a value of course, especially because of their connection with your mother...'
He continued talking. Fizz was aware of his voice a long way off, but it didn't matter. She just had to get out of that claustrophobic little office before she fainted. She was vaguely aware of Julian packing the jewellers boxes into the carrier bag as she began to rise.
She made it to the pavement before she sank down onto the cold, concrete step and she flopped forward, her head between her knees. Then Julian came and helped her back to the car.
'Oh, lord. What an idiot. What a fool. I'm just so sorry to have involved you, Julian.'
'Oh, my dear Fizz. Don't you know that I'd rather make a fool of myself over you than anyone else.' And he gathered her into his arms and let her cry.
It felt so comfortable to be held like that, to feel her cheek against the soft, dark wool of his overcoat, for once not to have to pretend that everything was all right. But to hang on too long would be self-indulgent and after a while she pulled away and took the handkerchief Julian offered without a word.
'Sorry. I'm making rather a habit of this. Shock, I suppose.'
'You've had a bad week.'
She sniffed, tried a smile, found it wasn't so difficult provided she concentrated very hard. 'I'll survive. I always have.' He looked doubtful. She tried even harder. 'But no cake this week. Not even crumbs.'
'What do you suppose happened to the original jewels, Fizz? Could they have been switched by someone? You know, stolen?'
'Oh, no.' She shrugged. 'They were probably sold when my mother was so ill.'
'Ill?'
'She didn't just retire. She had a bad car accident but she wanted everyone to remember her as she had been. Dad looked after her. He couldn't work for a long time.' She shrugged. 'He sold the house in London quite soon after the accident and took her home to Broomhill. I always assumed he had lived on that money, but my mother was an expensive woman. If I'd thought about it I suppose it was obvious that the jewels would have to go too. He probably didn't even tell her.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Because he would have known how upset she'd be.' And if he had told her, everyone within a half mile radius would have known it too.
'I'm sorry. Really sorry.'
'Oh, well. It was just a thought. Nothing's changed after all.'
'That's very philosophical of you. I don't think I'd be quite so calm under the circumstances.'
Calm? She wasn't calm. Not because she didn't have her bagful of precious jewels. They were just the same. She could still wear them and no one would ever know the difference. The only difference was that she wouldn't bother putting them back in the vault, she could at least save herself the cost of that. She wondered briefly if Claudia knew. What her reaction would be when she discovered her beloved sparklies were fake.
But it would ha
ve been wonderful not to worry any more. To be back in control.
'Oh, Julian, I'm sure you're right about Devlin. I've just got an overactive imagination. Everything will be just fine.'
'Of course it will. Come on, I'll take you home.'
'You've done more than enough already. I can get a taxi back to Victoria.'
But Julian was insistent. 'You're not going back to Broomhill tonight, Fizz.'
'I can't stay-'
'You can, my dear. In fact, I insist. You're being very brave but you've had a shock and you need looking after. So I'm going to take you back to my place and cook you supper.'
'But-'
'If I can't be anything else, I'm happy to be your friend, Fizz. I think you could do with one right now.'
She subsided. 'I really don't deserve you.'
'Probably not.' She giggled. 'That's better. Now settle down and be quiet while I concentrate on getting through this traffic.'
It was a blessed relief to have someone else making decisions for her, just for a while. So she did as she was told and said very little at all until Julian placed her supper on the table. She stared at it.
'Baked beans on toast!'
'Comfort food. There's nothing to beat it.' Julian grinned. 'And when you've eaten all that, I'll make you some cocoa. Then you can have a warm bath, borrow a pair of my pyjamas and fall into bed.' He intercepted her look. 'I'll take the sofa.'
*****
Friday arrived with unnecessary haste it seemed to Fizz. And yet it was just as well. After the nightmare of the jewellery fiasco, Thursday had offered no comfort.
She had spent the day contacting advertising agencies, hoping that when they heard about Melanie they would buy some extra time. She had high hopes after the good result on the phone-in programme, but this time the reaction had been disappointing.
Worse, she had received confirmation that one of the station's regular advertisers would not be renewing their contract.
So, there were no other options open to her. And once the agreement with Luke Devlin was signed it would be over and she could stop worrying about some totally imaginary threat. What could he do, after all?