by Jane Lythell
‘Have a good bank holiday,’ I said and headed gratefully for the staircase and the exit.
Chalk Farm flat, Saturday afternoon
I’m so pleased to have Flo back and she has been more affectionate than usual. Last night as we ate pizza and watched rubbish telly she told me she’d had a good time in Portsmouth but had felt ready to come home a couple of days before. We snuggled up on the sofa with Mr Crooks between us. She was stroking him and I looked at her face in profile, my beloved daughter. She had scraped her hair back into a ponytail and seemed less obsessed with its colour. She fumbled in her tote bag.
‘Oh, and Granny gave me this.’
She held out a brooch and I took it from her. It was a vintage brooch, diamond in shape, with three dried orange flowers embalmed in plastic.
‘They’re real flowers,’ she said.
To my eyes it looked old-fashioned; the sort of brooch grannies wore decades ago.
‘That was kind of her.’
‘She said to look through her jewellery box and pick something. It’s from the nineteen seventies. Isn’t it great?’
Flo is out now, with Rosie, and she went out without tying a scarf over her hair, which is progress. I’m planning an afternoon of cooking but I can’t stop thinking about how Julius is getting on with Fizzy in Burnley. What excuse would he have given for driving up to see her? Surely she would have suspected something if he told her in advance. But would he pitch up unannounced at her parents’ house? I did not envy him his task and he had seemed genuinely rattled about it.
I decided to make apple crumble with cinnamon and sultanas. I had bought a large bag of cooking apples from the market and was peeling these and listening to a play on the radio when my mobile buzzed. It was a text from Fizzy and my heart gave a weird tumble as I read:
I’m in pieces. Please call me now. Fx
I washed my hands and called her and she answered on the first ring.
‘How long have you known about this?’
‘They told me on Thursday,’ I said.
‘They? Who’s they?’
‘Julius, Saul, Lori Kerwell...’
‘That evil bitch! I hear this is her big idea.’
She sounded furious rather than tearful and that was a relief because I felt I could handle her anger better than her sadness.
‘He’s just gone. Drives up here and tells me my career is on the skids and then buggers off. Treacherous bastard...’
‘Your career is not on the skids,’ I said.
‘Liz, we’re friends, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, we are.’
‘Well, don’t bullshit me then. You know how this will play in the industry: Fizzy Wentworth no longer able to carry a show on her own. I feel so insulted.’
I wondered what words Julius had used to break the news to her.
‘But you know it’s purely about money, about advertising,’ I said.
‘That’s the line he used. But no one will believe it’s about that. They’ll all think it’s because I’m not as good as I was. I told you this would happen if I had a baby. The total bastard! I wanted to slap his face and I nearly did.’
This conjured up a vivid image and part of me wished she had slapped him.
‘From what they said to me they’re desperate to get more advertising and Ledley’s there purely to bring in male product advertising,’ I said.
‘That talentless, disloyal creep! He’s so vain. Thinks he’s the cat’s whiskers these days. He’s a bloody chef, for chrissakes.’ Her voice wobbled as she said: ‘Granny’s dying and Zac is teething and Julius ruined my birthday get-together. I’m devastated.’
‘Oh, Fizzy, I’m so sorry. When are you back in London?’
I heard her blow her nose and when she resumed her voice had hardened.
‘On Monday, and I’m seeing my agent the minute I’m back. We’re going to play hard ball on this.’
We all knew Fizzy’s agent Jonny Hammond. He had a lot of clout and was feared in the business because he had been known to pull his clients out of deals when he didn’t get his way.
‘Can I do anything to help you?’
‘You can ring that bastard Julius and tell him that he’ll be hearing from Jonny,’ she said.
‘OK. Keep in touch. I can come over to yours Monday afternoon if that would be any help.’
After she had hung up I went back to peeling and coring the apples. I was relieved that she hadn’t blamed me for the decision. After all, I was the one who had suggested that Ledley sit in for her. I’d said Ledley was a chef and what he cared about was building up his food business. I had been wrong on that score. I was grateful that Julius had said the idea came from Lori. She was now the arch-villain in Fizzy’s eyes but in truth it was Julius and Saul who had been the ones to make the final decision. What cowards men are. Fizzy needed an ally at the station and I was going to be that. My mobile rang and Fizzy’s number flashed up again.
‘A quick one: does Bob know?’ she asked.
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘And Martine?’
‘No, Julius was adamant we keep it confidential.’
‘OK, thanks. I’ll call you soon.’
Would she be back on the StoryWorld sofa on Thursday? I couldn’t call it.
Chalk Farm flat, Saturday evening
Flo and Rosie had spent three hours going through the stalls at Camden Market and arrived home hot and happy. I invited Rosie to stay the night and fed them omelettes and apple crumble. They each had two helpings of the crumble which was gratifying. It was after nine when my mobile went again and this time it was Julius.
‘Has Fizzy been in touch?’
‘Yes, she called me.’
‘How was she?’
‘Devastated. And furious. Did you give her any warning you were coming?’
‘I said I was on my way to a football match, that I was passing through and wanted a word.’
‘I see. It must have been difficult.’
‘It was awful. I draw up outside this row of terrace houses and Fizzy was standing there, waiting for me on the doorstep. She looked glamorous and out of place in that funny little street. She knew something big was up. She said they were going out for a big family meal and I had only just caught her. Then she ordered her parents to take Zachary out in his pram and we went into the living room. She wouldn’t sit down so I had to tell her standing there like a cop with bad news.’
It was unlike Julius to go into this much detail. I wondered if he was finding it cathartic to talk it out.
‘Anyway, I told her this had nothing whatever to do with you. I took your point that she needs someone at the station she feels is completely on her side.’
‘She does.’
‘So what did she say about it?’
He expected me to be the go-between between Fizzy and him. It felt disloyal to be talking to him about our conversation but she had asked me to pass a message on.
‘She’s angry and insulted. She’s seeing her agent on Monday and said you should expect to hear from him.’
‘Jonny Hammond. He’s a right bastard. But she’s not leaving?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What’s your hunch?’
‘She didn’t say she’d go to the media or take on StoryWorld legally,’ I said.
‘The nuclear option,’ he said.
‘My hunch is that she’ll stay on, but you can’t always predict how Fizzy will behave.’
I knew this from bitter experience. Last December I had moved from being her confidante to being seen as her enemy in the space of a weekend.
‘We can’t afford to lose her,’ he said.
It was the Bank Holiday weekend but he would be working, trying to manage the fallout. He was the one who discovered Fizzy and moulded her into the queen of morning TV and this must have made his task even more difficult today. He and Fizzy come from similar modest backgrounds. His parents had run a small post office in Essex and he was born and rais
ed Nigel Jones. He only invented himself as Julius Jones when he got into television. Well, he’s the director of programmes and he gets paid a great deal more than me. I had two more days off and I intended to make the most of them. I ran myself a bath, adding my favourite rose oil, lit two candles and slid into the fragrant water.
16
StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge
Martine knows. She caught me on my way into the station and she looked tired and miserable.
‘You need to get Simon to watch the show from the gallery and do the morning meeting. You’re needed off-site at a breakfast meeting with Julius and Jonny Hammond.’
‘OK, where is this meeting?’
‘At Soho House; you’d better get a taxi – Julius wants you there asap.’
We looked at each other for a long moment and she shook her head sadly.
‘Has Fizzy spoken to you?’ I asked.
‘Yes. She called me on Sunday. She’s devastated and my bank holiday was ruined. I’d planned to take Milo for a long walk in the country. Instead I’ve been holed up at Julius’s place the whole time going through bloody contract clauses and typing papers for the board!’
I had expected her to take the news about Fizzy hard but it was the first time I had ever heard Martine complain about Julius.
‘That Lori Kerwell was there too, throwing her weight around. She expected me to make her a coffee but I didn’t budge,’ she said.
I took a taxi to Soho House thinking that Lori had alienated Martine as well as me and that wasn’t a wise move. We reached the club and I was shown into a private room upstairs. Julius was already sitting in there. It’s the club where Jonny Hammond hangs out so we were meeting on his territory.
‘I’ll do the talking. You’re here to be the friendly face of StoryWorld,’ Julius said.
‘Is Fizzy coming?’
‘No. And it’s better that she isn’t here.’
I sat down next to Julius at a table with a tall salt and pepper mill and a menu stuck between them. It was hot and stuffy in there and the thought of eating anything did not appeal at all. I was feeling nervous and slightly sick.
‘Can we open a window?’ I asked.
Julius stood up and pushed the sash window as far as the locks would allow. No breeze stirred the curtains. The door opened and Jonny Hammond came in. He’s an old Etonian, the sort of man who would say ‘Were you at school?’ and that could only mean ‘Were you at Eton?’ No other school mattered. Julius, the grammar school boy, despised him. Jonny was wearing a sharp black suit and pale grey suede brogues. He is known for his impeccable manners, his drawling voice and his killer instinct when it comes to securing deals.
‘You’ve met Liz before, I think,’ Julius said.
‘Indeed, hello, Liz.’
We shook hands.
‘They do good smoked salmon and scrambled egg here if you’re minded?’ he said.
‘Nothing for me to eat, thanks,’ I said.
‘Julius?’
‘Coffee and water would be good.’
Jonny placed the order and sat down opposite us.
‘I have an unhappy client,’ he said.
‘Then we need to address her key issues and make her feel better about this change. It in no way reflects any less esteem from us for Fizzy and her many talents. It is driven by commercial need alone,’ Julius said.
‘You are fixed on making Ledley her co-host?’
‘We are.’
‘No room for negotiation?’
‘None,’ Julius said.
The coffee arrived, a cafetière for six, jugs of hot and cold milk and sparkling water. We waited while the waiter moved everything from his tray to the table and exited the room. None of us spoke while we did the business of pouring the coffee and adding the milk. Jonny Hammond drank his coffee black and he let the silence build. I filled a glass with water and gulped it. I looked down at Jonny’s shoes. They looked expensive; they looked handmade. I was glad that I was not required to take part in this duel between the two men.
‘Fizzy is concerned how this will play with the media. If she is to agree to stay with StoryWorld she and I will want to draft the wording of any press statement,’ Jonny Hammond said at last.
‘Of course.’
‘She requires that she sit on the left-hand side of the sofa,’ he continued.
Julius looked over at me and I gave a tiny nod. I understood Fizzy’s demand. The left-hand side of the sofa is seen as the power side. In most dual set-ups in TV news and features it is the male presenter who gets the prestigious left-hand spot. There had been a row about this very issue six months before when an inexperienced male presenter had joined an established female presenter on the BBC. He had automatically been given the left-hand spot and this has generated charges of sexism.
‘Agreed,’ Julius said.
‘She also requires that all interviews of the day be conducted by her,’ Jonny said.
This was more difficult. Ledley would be sidelined if Fizzy got to do all the big interviews and it would make the show look one-sided too.
‘Liz, what is your view on that?’ Julius asked.
He had said I was not to say anything so the only reason he could have been asking me this now was because he wanted me to argue against this demand. I put my glass down on the table.
‘While this would not be a problem in the majority of cases and we would be happy for Fizzy to interview our major guests, there will arise situations where Ledley would be the more appropriate interviewer,’ I said, knowing I sounded verbose.
‘Such as?’ Jonny queried.
‘Such as a top chef, for instance. Ledley would be better equipped to ask questions in that area and we would like to retain the freedom for him to do that,’ I said.
Jonny Hammond moved his eyes from my face to Julius’s and his drawl got slower. He has what people describe as a cut-glass accent and he oozes effortless public school boy poise.
‘Julius, your argument is that Ledley is there in order to generate male product advertising. He does not have the presenting and interviewing track record of Fizzy, or anything like her profile. He is therefore there in a supporting role. We would be fine with him interviewing a top chef but Fizzy gets to do the big interviews.’
‘Don’t push it, we’re the programme makers,’ Julius said.
‘We see this as a key point to agree and we would like to use the words “supporting role” in the press release,’ Jonny said.
Julius agreed to this wording. We had little choice. But Jonny Hammond was not finished. For the first time in the meeting he consulted a small Moleskine notebook, flicking it open and reading a page of tiny writing.
‘If you agree the above, Fizzy is prepared to return this Thursday the first of September, as always envisaged. She would like the opening item to be an interview with the photographer who took the portrait shot of her and Zachary and she will allow StoryWorld to use this shot in subsequent publicity.’
Jonny addressed me.
‘I believe you were consulted on this item, Liz?’
‘Yes, I was. And that’s fine.’
Fizzy had not managed to secure the royal photographer but she had commissioned a celebrity photographer to do the shot and he would make a perfectly reasonable guest for her first day back. Jonny Hammond returned to his notebook.
‘The next item is Guy Browne’s weekly fashion slot and Fizzy will conduct this interview.’
Fizzy was getting him to tie our hands. It is usual for presenters to alternate interviews. However, I knew that Fizzy would want to hang on to the fashion slot. I would have to think of a short item to sandwich before it which Ledley could do. I hoped Jonny Hammond wasn’t going to go over our entire running order, stipulating which slots Fizzy would do. As Julius had said, we were the programme makers and that would be a concession too far.
Julius and I shared a taxi back to the TV station.
‘That shit Hammond. He’s obsessed with wealth and
celebrity and power but what does his job really entail? He does contracts. That’s his only output,’ Julius said.
He stared moodily out of the window. There’s a saying, ‘If you spot it you’ve got it’, and I wondered if the reason Julius hated Jonny Hammond was because both men were chasing the same things. Julius likes power and hates having it taken away from him and Jonny Hammond had got the better of the encounter. Our taxi got too close to a cyclist who wobbled on his wheels. At the next red light the cyclist drew up, banged on the window and shouted abuse at our driver. Julius and I exchanged glances.
‘Nothing would induce me to be a cyclist in London,’ I said.
Guy Browne came to mind. He goes everywhere on his racing bike. We were drawing up outside the station when Julius spoke again.
‘I need to put a statement out to staff by the end of today; same time as the press release. Can you draft it for me? You’ll have to clear it with that shit Hammond.’
‘I’ll get on to it at once. Shall I use that “supporting role” phrase he insisted on?’
‘Yes,’ Julius growled.
I was holed up in my room drafting the press release and the statement to staff for the rest of the day. I worked hard to get the wording right but predictably this had to go through multiple drafts from Jonny Hammond and Fizzy poring over every single word and nuance. Julius had finally conceded that we would have to announce the change on Wednesday morning. This was giving staff like Ellen in make-up, Henry the floor manager and the technical crew only twenty-four hours to prepare for the change in camera settings and lighting that having two presenters on the sofa would entail. It was late afternoon by the time Simon finally got into my office and briefed me on what else had been going on.
‘Ledley’s gone all Hollywood on us,’ he declared.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked with a guilty start. Could news of Ledley’s promotion have got out?
‘He’s had his teeth done, the full orthodontist works. God, he must have spent the whole bank holiday in the dentist’s chair. You should see him, Liz. When he smiles the light pings off his teeth and ricochets around the room!’