by Mandy Baggot
There were no murmurs this time, just silence. Everyone was looking at Nicholas, unmoving, listening intently, observing his stance, waiting with bated breath, wondering what he was going to say next.
‘Testicular cancer is on the increase and this affects men usually between the ages of twenty five and forty five. Now you will understand that we’re talking about partners, sons, husbands and fathers at the prime of their lives. The treatment for testicular cancer is extremely effective if it’s diagnosed early enough. The death rates are falling, but they could be reduced more dramatically if men checked themselves on a regular basis. Before I had cancer I never examined myself and it was only by chance that my tumour was discovered. I was lucky. But I don’t want anyone here to leave themselves to chance. Which is why, apart from donating my fee from this film, I’m proposing to sell these rather intimate photographs of me to the highest bidder,’ Nicholas told the room.
Freya smiled. This was amazing. This was exactly how someone in his position, with all his wealth and fame, should be using his influence.
‘A million!’ a voice shouted from the back of the room, amongst the press pack.
‘Five million!’ another voice called.
‘Your generosity is appreciated but if you could just hold fire for the moment and place any bids with my PA Martha - she will be able to coordinate things,’ Nicholas spoke.
He took a deep breath and looked down at his notes.
‘Well, that’s about all I wanted to say. I have some leaflets about signs and symptoms if anyone would like one. It’s important to me that you don’t feel sorry for me. I’m not standing up here because I need a hug; I’m one of the survivors. The purpose of my telling you my story is to raise awareness and hopefully some money to go towards research and care. Gentlemen, I would like you all to check yourselves when you get home. Ladies, check your men. Let’s make sure that no one in this room, or anyone you know, dies from embarrassment. Thank you,’ Nicholas concluded and he stepped away from the lectern.
Freya was first to her feet, clapping wildly and soon the whole room was filled with applause as everyone rose to their feet in admiration.
Everyone wanted to shake Nicholas’ hand as he made his way back to the table and Martha was already being mobbed by people from newspapers and magazines as a bidding war on the photographs commenced.
‘Nick, I had no idea,’ Bob commented as Nicholas returned to the table.
‘Why would you? It’s fine,’ Nicholas remarked as he retook his seat next to Freya.
‘Hey,’ he said, greeting her with a smile.
‘I have a bone to pick with you. You didn’t tell me you would be exhibiting my work tonight,’ Freya replied, smiling back at him.
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Nicholas answered.
‘I don’t think I was the only one to get a surprise - Martha went white,’ Freya told him.
‘She looks kind of grey right now,’ Nicholas remarked, as he watched Martha frantically jotting things down on a pad of paper.
‘You were wonderful up there. And what you’re doing, it’s just amazing. I know what it must have felt like, getting up there in front of everyone and talking about it,’ Freya told him, taking hold of his hand.
‘It’s because of you Freya, that I found the courage to stand up there and tell people about it. You’ve faced your demons these past few days and I know how hard that was for you. I thought it was about time I cleared out my skeletons too - so that we can start with a clean closet,’ Nicholas told her seriously.
Freya smiled and squeezed his hand tightly.
‘Come back to America with me,’ Nicholas stated.
‘What?!’ Freya exclaimed.
‘Come back to America with me - live with me,’ Nicholas repeated.
‘I…’ Freya began.
‘Nicholas, could we just have some photographs of you holding up the leaflets?’
It was a shout from one of the many photographers standing around the table. Roger and the security team were trying desperately to keep everyone in order.
‘Freya?’
The questions continued, the interruption snowballed as everyone in the room wanted a piece of Nicholas. He gave in and turned to them, hastily smiling for the photographers.
She hadn’t had a chance to answer the question and, if she was honest, she was glad - she had no idea what her answer would have been.
Freya watched him, having photographs taken and charming reporters, looking so at ease.
‘Did you know? About the cancer?’ Hilary’s voice suddenly spoke.
Freya turned her head to look at the actress.
‘Yes,’ she answered.
‘Why didn’t he tell anyone?’ Hilary questioned.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps living in his world, where image and perfection seems to be so important to everyone, he felt he couldn’t tell anyone,’ Freya responded.
‘But that’s so sad,’ Hilary remarked.
‘It’s more than sad, it’s bloody tragic. And don’t you think your industry should change? I don’t want to get on my soap box here, but perhaps if people were more focussed on people’s personalities and not their appearance, Nicholas might have felt able to share what he was going through and been able to ask for support,’ Freya stated.
‘You can’t look at a personality,’ Hilary responded.
‘Not if you can’t see beyond the superficial exterior of people. We’re all in the same basic package Hilary. Granted some of us have bigger ones than others, but it’s what’s inside that sets us apart,’ Freya spoke.
‘I don’t really understand you,’ Hilary admitted.
‘No, I know you don’t. But take you for example. Great package, but wouldn’t it be nice to actually eat?’ Freya replied.
‘I do eat,’ Hilary responded defensively.
‘No you don’t. I’ve watched you. You take a bite and spit it into your napkin. Then you push the food around your plate a bit,’ Freya told her.
‘I do not,’ Hilary answered.
‘Yes you do. Why? To stay thin?’ Freya wanted to know.
‘I do eat. I’ve just never been a big eater that’s all,’ Hilary responded.
‘You keep telling yourself that,’ Freya replied, taking a roll from the basket on the table and taking a bite of it.
‘I wouldn’t get very many film roles if I looked like you,’ Hilary told her, taking a sip of her water.
‘So you don’t eat because you think you should conform to some ideal the industry’s set for you, where you have to look like a Barbie doll? That’s what I’m trying to say. It was the same for Nicholas, the all-American action hero. He was so terrified of what people would think he didn’t confide in anyone about his cancer,’ Freya spoke.
‘That’s just the way things are,’ Hilary answered, still nervously sipping at her tonic water.
‘Well, I think it’s wrong,’ Freya stated defiantly.
‘Freya, the car’s waiting for you to take you around the city,’ Roger spoke, appearing at her shoulder.
‘Oh, OK,’ she replied.
She picked up her bag and let Roger lead her to the entrance of the Plaza Hall.
The flashbulbs went off one after another as Freya stepped out of the building and Roger walked her to the car.
‘Nick’s going to meet you back at the hotel. He said he’ll hopefully be done by one. The driver’s going to take you wherever you want to go,’ Roger informed her.
‘Thanks. Listen Roger, when all the madness is over I’d really like to meet your wife. Maybe we could have a drink or something sometime,’ Freya suggested.
‘I think she would like that,’ he agreed.
‘See you,’ Freya spoke and she got into the car.
Thirty Three
Freya knew exactly where she wanted to go and that was the Parthenon. When she arrived at the monument it was lit up with warm yellow and orange light that filtered onto the ancient stones.
It had been b
uilt some two thousand five hundred years ago as a temple to the goddess Athena and had also been the Church of the Virgin Mary and a mosque, until it became an archaeological ruin after a gunpowder explosion blew the roof from the building.
Freya had last visited the site many years ago, but she annually visited the British Museum which still housed the Elgin marbles. It was a beautiful sight and she was glad she had Claude to capture the scene.
She looked down onto the city from her position by the monument and took a deep breath, drinking in its beauty.
What was she going to do? Everything in her life had changed in the space of a week, but how did she feel about the change? Was it a change for the better? How happy had she really been before this week? Was she truly happy now? And, if she was happy then what had made her happy? The location? Being back in Greece had always made her happy. Was it being with Emma again? The faultless friend who was the only person she felt she could rely on? Or was it Nicholas? Sensitive, kind, refreshingly different Nicholas who treated her with respect, valued her as a person and made love to her like she was a Greek goddess. She had never felt that way with anyone before. She didn’t really know the answer.
But what about his world? He came from a place she thought she would never have to revisit. The wealth, the luxury and the pompous people in it. It came as part of his profession she knew and she also knew that he loved what he did. But did he care about her enough to understand that she really couldn’t live under a microscope or in some gold covered, diamond encrusted cage of scrutiny.
He’d said he understood, on countless occasions, and he had shown tonight that he now truly realised the money could be used for so much more than buying flashiness.
But did he mean it? She wouldn’t want him to give up being an actor, because that was what he was. But in reality could he really separate himself from the celebrity lifestyle? Would he be happy eating out at a burger bar or a drive through? Would they ever be able to go to the mall or to the cinema without having Roger go with them?
And what was America like to live in? She had never been there and she didn’t even know whereabouts Nicholas lived.
And what about her business? It had taken all her guts and determination to build it up. It had taken a long time to acquire her good reputation and client base and, providing neither had been hampered by recent events, she didn’t know whether she wanted to start all over again somewhere else.
She focussed Claude at the city scene below and took another photograph.
Her mobile phone rang from inside her bag. Freya put Claude around her neck and reached into her bag to answer it. The display was flashing with an unknown number.
‘Hello,’ Freya answered.
‘Hello Jane.’
The sound of his voice sent chills right through her, paralysing her to the spot. It was Eric Lawson-Peck, her father.
Freya couldn’t bring herself to speak. She tried to get something out but her voice was lost, disabled.
‘I’ve been watching you on the news at the party in Athens. I must say you’ve turned into quite the performer. Perhaps some of the social skills coaching paid off after all,’ Eric spoke.
‘What do you want?’ Freya managed to say once she had caught her breath and swallowed the knot of nerves which had sprung up to her throat.
‘What do you imagine I want Jane?’ he asked her.
‘This is about the magazine article,’ Freya guessed.
‘How perceptive of you. Yes, the magazine article and the various exerts of that article in every newspaper. The lies you told to this Russell Buchanan, whoever he might be,’ Eric continued.
‘I haven’t told anyone any lies,’ Freya stated simply.
‘I think you have Jane. You don’t really think I had the maid assaulted do you? Kind, sweet Gloria who always had time for you?’ Eric spoke.
‘You paid one of your heavies to beat her up,’ Freya said bravely.
‘You heard me sanction this did you? Heard me tell someone to hurt her?’ Eric questioned.
‘You organised it. You made it happen and that’s as good as doing it yourself,’ Freya told him.
‘And you have proof of this of course. I mean you wouldn’t be so stupid as to accuse someone of something so serious and not have anything to back you up,’ Eric continued.
‘I’m not listening to any of this. You beat me, you hurt Gloria and you did countless vile and hideous things that I don’t want to think about,’ Freya told him.
‘You will listen to this and you will listen well. Your behaviour has again been completely unacceptable to me and I will not stand for it,’ Eric began.
‘What are you going to do? Send me back to prison?’ Freya asked him.
‘You are going to print a retraction. You are going to say that this Russell character has misquoted you and you are going to set the record straight, exonerating me and telling everyone the truth. You will tell them that I was a perfect father, a fine moral role model and that your “breakdown” and prison episode was due to an upset when your boyfriend cruelly left you,’ Eric continued.
‘You paid Jonathan to go away, just like you pay everyone to go away. I won’t do it,’ Freya responded firmly.
‘I would think a little more carefully about your reply,’ Eric spoke.
‘I won’t do it,’ Freya repeated, trying to sound unfazed by his threatening tone.
‘Then you leave me with no choice. It’s a shame really; he’s actually quite a decent actor. I’ve seen a few of his films and I’ve also met that charming PA of his,’ Eric carried on.
‘What are you talking about?’ Freya questioned.
‘Your boyfriend, Nicholas Kaden. It would be a shame for him to topple from that pedestal the world seems to have him on, particularly in the light of this news of his cancer. Cancer’s a terrible disease, once you’ve had it it never really goes away,’ Eric continued.
‘I have nothing left to say to you.’
‘It wouldn’t take much to put a fly in the ointment. We are, as you know, a world obsessed by scandal. A rumour here, a rumour there - caught in possession of class A,’ Eric spoke.
‘You don’t scare me,’ Freya responded bravely.
‘Oh but I do Jane and I always have. That’s how it should be with father and daughter. You should have been in awe of me, you should have shown me the respect I deserved,’ Eric told her.
‘You are sick,’ Freya said as her eyes filled with frightened tears.
‘And you know what I am capable of,’ Eric stated coolly.
‘What’s Nicholas done to deserve any of this?’ Freya wanted to know.
‘It isn’t about him, it’s about you. I learnt a long time ago that the way to hurt you is to hurt those you care about. Perhaps I’ve chosen the wrong target, maybe I would do better focussing on Emma,’ Eric replied.
‘You leave Emma alone,’ Freya hissed.
‘Come on Jane, I don’t have time for this. What’s it to be? A retraction? Or perhaps I could get someone to do a “Gloria” on your boyfriend,’ Eric suggested.
‘I’ve heard enough,’ Freya replied.
‘I don’t think you’re listening to me you stupid little bitch! If you don’t print a retraction I will have him hurt, really hurt. You think that pathetic bodyguard of his will keep him safe? I know more people in more places that he’s had leading ladies. I will find him one night, on his own, and I will finish him,’ Eric stated viciously.
Freya didn’t reply. She knew he meant it and she knew he could do it.
‘We’ve broken up,’ she said as matter of factly as she could.
‘Oh Jane, I admire your attempt but I have eyes. I saw you on television with him, you were so close it made me want to vomit,’ Eric told her.
‘It’s true; he’s been screwing his leading lady. I just found out,’ Freya stated.
‘Fine, if that’s how you want to play it, then its Emma - makes no difference to me,’ Eric spoke.
‘No! Not Em
ma! Look please, don’t do this,’ Freya begged in despair.
‘A retraction Jane, by the end of next week,’ Eric ordered and he ended the call.
Freya was shaking as she looked at her mobile phone and realised what had happened. Her heart was racing, her head was spinning. There was only one option open to her now. She looked at her watch and decided it was time to go.
Freya got into the back of the car and shut the door behind her.
‘Could you take me to the airport please?’ she requested of the driver.
Thirty Four
Freya certainly felt overdressed to be sat in Athens airport. Some people had pointed and stared at her earlier at the check-in desk but, now she was away from the main area, it was almost solitary. There was a flight to London at 2.30am and she was running away again.
It had been wonderful while it lasted, being close to someone who seemed to really care, feeling beautiful inside and out, but it wouldn’t have been like that forever. It had been a dream. A strange dream, some good bits some bad bits, but now she had woken up and it was time to return to her reality - her flat in Clapham and her business. Her things, the life she had built for herself.
Freya swallowed. Less than an hour ago she had had a choice, now she was being made to choose. What would she had chosen for herself? Perhaps she would never really know.
As she contemplated what she would have decided, her mobile phone began to ring. It was Nicholas.
She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to say to him but, after everything, in particular his bravery on stage tonight, she knew she couldn’t ignore him. He deserved more than that.
‘Hello.’
‘Freya! Where are you? The driver said he took you to the airport. What’s going on?’ he asked, almost frantically.
‘I can’t live with you,’ Freya said, the words nearly choking her.