by Lucy Parker
Freddy tensed, but Sabrina didn’t hesitate. “Call for your car,” she said, her voice flat. “And go back to London. I’ll have anything you left at my flat sent over.”
He didn’t move, his gaze fixed on her, his jaw jerking. “Sabrina. I’m sorry.”
A hint of fire returned to Sabrina’s eyes then. “For years of messing me about? For fucking your co-star? Or for almost hitting my family with a stolen car? Get out, Joe.”
Everybody around them was quiet. Freddy could hear breaths and rustling, but nobody spoke.
When Ferren turned on his heel and left, Sabrina closed her eyes.
“Well, we can’t say we weren’t warned.” Charlie’s voice was refreshingly normal above her ear as he tried to alleviate the tension. “Invite the West End over and the drama is inevitable.”
Freddy looked at her father, who was watching Sabrina with a conflicted expression. “Are you sure you’re okay, Dad?”
Rupert made a dismissive gesture with his stick. “I’ll do a heat treatment on my back and it’ll be right as—Well. Right as it ever is.”
Her feelings must have shown on her face because, with a decisive movement, he reached out and took her hand. “Freddy. What happened twenty years ago was an accident. An unfortunate accident. I—” His throat moved. “I do have a lot of regrets and...bitterness about the circumstances and the consequences, but none of that was ever directed at you. I would do it again in a heartbeat.” Muscles twitched around his eyes. “I didn’t intend to make you unhappy. I didn’t ever intend that.”
Behind her back, Freddy reached out her free hand and felt Griff’s fingers close around it firmly.
“And yet you’ve made such a bang-up job of it.” Sabrina’s words were heavily caustic. Her green eyes sparked as she looked at their father. “For years, you’ve tried to control Freddy, and you’ve made me feel like nothing I did was worth anything, and all this time, you’ve been living this massive lie—”
“Sabrina,” Freddy cut in warningly, her eyes on the tabloid reporters present. Her sister was shaking with residual shock and adrenaline—so was Freddy—and had lost her professional caution, and right now she looked capable of relaying the whole story to everyone present.
“I’m afraid it’s a little late to be discreet,” a new voice said ominously, and Freddy turned as her agent joined them.
Lisa was holding an iPad, and she flipped it around to show them the screen.
Freddy took one look at the headline and her heart dropped towards her toes.
Chapter Twenty
In the Highbrook library, away from the crowds and noise in the reception room, Sabrina scanned through the latest news article, and spots of red burned bright in her high cheekbones. “That fucking—” She seemed to be beyond words.
No mystery about the subject of her ire. Sadie might have blabbed, but it was Nick Davenport who’d chosen to sneak outside The Henry after the pre-show interview and broadcast the revelation about Henrietta and The Velvet Room. An exclusive scoop for The Davenport Report.
Apparently the story of the Great British Plagiariser was more newsworthy than the life-saving puppy.
While Freddy had been onstage, thoroughly enjoying herself as Lydia, her reputation, and Sabrina’s, and certainly Rupert’s, had been systematically trashed in the media, and it was spreading like wildfire. She didn’t know exactly what Nick had said in his initial report, but the online outlets were strongly implying that all three of them had been complicit in the con. Ironically, it seemed to have given a massive boost to The Austen Playbook viewership. Small silver linings.
Freddy looked over Sabrina’s shoulder as a photograph of her and Griff kissing appeared. She winced. Speculation was running rampant.
“I’ll kill him,” Sabrina said between her teeth. “That treacherous, selfish—”
“Get in line.” At Freddy’s side, Griff looked equally furious. Nick was a friend of his, Freddy recollected belatedly, her mind chugging back into gear, and this situation heavily involved Griff’s family as well.
Nick had broadcasted it to the nation, in the least sympathetic light possible, while on Griff’s property.
She laid her hand on Griff’s stomach, spreading her fingers there, and his arm tightened around her shoulders.
“Before anyone breaks out the cyanide,” Lisa said briskly from her position perched on the edge of the desk, “I suggest we move into damage control. Quickly.”
There was a sudden tap on the door, and Akiko pushed it open, her pretty face troubled. “Sorry, guys, but there’s a lady here who wants to speak to Fred—”
The lady in question pushed firmly past her, and Freddy tensed against Griff.
“Forgive the intrusion,” Fiona Gallagher said, surveying the occupants of the room. “But I have to get back to London and I think it’s best we wrap this up quickly.”
Not an auspicious opening. A sick feeling started to roil between Freddy’s ribs.
“I won’t beat about the bush. I don’t care to dwell on disappointments.” Fiona’s attention flickered over to Lisa before she focused on Freddy. “Ms. Carlton. Lisa will have told you that we’re in the process of casting for the first run of Anathorn. I had high hopes for you in the role of Quinn.”
Had.
Freddy’s hand closed into a fist against Griff’s ribs, and his own fingers came up to cover hers, warm and strong.
“I’m afraid I won’t be pursuing that possibility.”
Cool, collected words that hit her like a physical blow.
“We’ll be strongly refuting the allegation that Freddy was complicit in this...incident,” Lisa said, her voice as brisk as Fiona’s, “and an unsubstantiated rumour is hardly cause to bar her from auditioning.”
Fiona coughed, a discreet clearing of her throat. “You’ll recall that when Allegra’s first novel was published, a member of her family made a claim that was later proven to be false, that the initial idea for the series had been his. Allegra is retaining a great deal of control over this adaptation, and she won’t want the latest literary scandal associated with this production. Her own situation would inevitably be raked up in the press.”
To Freddy, with the first faint hint of sympathy, she said, “You did a very good job tonight, but I’m sorry, I won’t be considering you for Anathorn.”
“Fiona—” Lisa sounded furious, but Fiona lifted a hand.
“It’s not open for discussion.” She firmly blocked Lisa’s move towards her, and her demeanour was closed-off and adamant as she left the room.
When the door had closed behind her, Sabrina slipped her hand into Freddy’s and squeezed. “This is ridiculous,” she snapped. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Why should you be penalised? It’s so unfair.”
Freddy let herself feel the intensity of her disappointment, then determinedly, she shoved it down. She straightened her shoulders. “There’ll be other productions.” Her eyes met Griff’s. “Still feel blessed,” she whispered. “No matter what.”
Her breath went shallow at the depth of feeling in his usually inscrutable face.
“But that’s the role you want.” Rupert spoke for the first time since they’d come back to the house. He’d been sitting on the couch looking a hundred years old, seeming to retreat further and further into himself with every passing word, but he stood now.
Stood tall. He suddenly smacked down the end of his stick, and the bang as it connected with the wooden floor echoed through the room.
“You’re right,” he said to Sabrina. “It is unfair. And enough is enough.” His jaw moved sideways in a nervous gesture, but his eyes didn’t waver from her. “I believe you’re going up against Davenport in this studio merger. You’re in contention for the headline role?”
“I was,” Sabrina said coolly. “As he’s now informed the whole of Britain that I knowingly profited fr
om fraud, I’ll be lucky if I end up with any job at all.”
The footage of her punching Ferren in the nose wouldn’t aid the cause, either.
“You’re going to get the job you want.” Rupert came forward. Freddy realised how much effort he was expending to walk without a limp. He held his head high, and there was a dignity to his body language that had been missing since she’d first confronted him, in this room, over his dishonesty. “And so should Freddy. You’ve both worked incredibly hard for your careers, and you deserve your success. I won’t let you suffer for your grandmother’s mistakes.” His chin rose just a little farther. “Or for the choices I made wilfully.”
Sabrina looked understandably sceptical. “And what exactly do you intend to do about it?”
“You get your biggest audience share on Monday nights.” Rupert still spoke steadily. “Yes?”
“Yes.” Everything about Sabrina screamed hostility. “I’m surprised you know that.”
“I’ve been...deficient where you’re concerned.” He shaped the words tautly. “But I do care, Sabrina.” His jaw worked again. “And more to the point, I watch.”
Sabrina lifted her head.
“You’re an excellent presenter. Charismatic. Personable. Honest.” His voice wrapped ironically around that one, intensely self-condemning. “The public has a good deal of trust in you.”
“They did.” The sardonic edge was strong in Sabrina’s reply, as well.
“On Monday night, you go live with the truth. The whole story.” He was very pale. “We go live. You set the record straight—and you take back the upper hand from Davenport.”
Freddy was still holding on to Griff, and as her arms flexed around him instinctively, she felt his body shift. “The truth?” he queried, the heel of his hand rubbing against the small of her back. “Are you referring to the PR-friendly, edited version of the truth?”
“Everything. Violet. Henrietta. And my own role in it.” Rupert looked squarely at Freddy and Sabrina. “And more importantly—your roles in it. Or lack thereof.”
His face and body were very still, but his hands were shaking on the handle of his stick.
Oh, Dad.
“I hate to throw cold water on the grand gesture.” Charlie suddenly spoke up from his armchair by the bookcase, where he was sitting with a pensive face, one long leg bent and propped on his opposite knee. “But you won’t be able to wipe off all the muck with one interview. People prefer to believe the worst.”
“True.” Lisa stroked her thumb along her chin, her eyes narrowed. “But both Freddy and Sabrina are popular with their audiences. And they’re very media-savvy. I think if we play this right, we can push a lot of sympathy back on their side.”
And paint her father as the villain of the piece.
“I don’t think—” Freddy began, and Rupert cut her off, gently but firmly.
“Freddy. You were right.” He reached out hesitantly, and she took his hand. “It was wrong, baby. All of it. And it’s time to put it right.”
She looked at him, troubled, and his grip tightened. “It’s time, Fred.”
Somehow, she thought he was referring to more than the situation with The Velvet Room.
After a few more breaths, they let each other go.
“It sucks about that audition,” Charlie said sympathetically, and Freddy felt Griff’s mouth dust against her temple again.
As she struggled with a complex mix of emotions, her gaze slipped around the perimeter of the library, taking her usual weird solace just from the sight of the books—and stopped on the object in the corner. One of James and Carolina’s smaller Anathorn structures had proved vulnerable to the rain, and had been moved in here this afternoon.
It was, very fittingly, a stage, where marketplace magicians showed off their spells to potential purchasers.
She stared at it for so long that Griff nudged her.
She glanced at him. Then she lifted a brow at Sabrina. “What did I say earlier?” she said, and a tiny smile started to lift the corners of her eyes. “Watch the Carltons bounce back.”
* * *
The Sunset Britain studio buzzed with noise and anticipation. The rivalry between this show and The Davenport Report was not limited to the presenters. Sabrina was popular with the crew, and everybody was furious about what TDR had done so covertly on Friday. It was a battle of the ratings, and Freddy strongly suspected that on this occasion, SB was going to crush the competition.
She watched proudly as Sabrina stood with the producer, conferring over a clipboard. Every red curl was perfectly in place, her sister’s makeup was immaculate, and her demeanour was that of a lioness ready to fight.
Nick Davenport probably thought Sadie had handed him the golden ticket where the new presenter role was concerned. He was about to hit a major setback.
Freddy’s smile faded slightly as her gaze moved to her father, who was waiting tensely off set, standing alone, not moving.
Instinctively, she looked around for Griff. He’d texted twenty minutes ago, stuck in traffic, but he should be here any moment. He and Sabrina were equally unenthused about doing another interview together, but they’d all agreed that it was wise if he joined them for the broadcast. A public display of unity between the Carlton and Ford families. It also wouldn’t hurt to push the relationship angle between Griff and Freddy, Sabrina had added, ignoring Griff’s scowl. “People are always more interested in sex than theft.”
“Freddy Carlton?” The voice behind Freddy was soft and almost delicate, definitely not Griff’s deep, sardonic tones, and when she turned, for a second she thought it was coming from a child.
The girl who’d just come into the studio was small, with thin arms and legs, a pointed, freckled face and enormous hazel eyes, and she looked about fifteen. However, Freddy had seen that face numerous times on the back covers of her favourite books.
Allegra Hawthorne was young, but she wasn’t a child. And from the determined light in her eyes and the firm set of her chin, she looked like a woman who knew her own mind.
“You’re Freddy Carlton,” she said again, a statement of fact, not a query, and Freddy blinked out of her preoccupation.
“Yes, I am. And you’re Allegra Hawthorne.” Whom she’d been planning to track down in a couple of days if she didn’t receive a reply to her email, but had not been expecting to see here tonight. “Were you...looking for me?”
Coming closer, Allegra pulled her handbag from her shoulder and opened it. “I’ve just been doing an interview upstairs with Greta French.” She made a face. “It was like trying to claw my way out of a spider’s web, avoiding her nosier questions. And the makeup guy mentioned you were here tonight.”
Digging around inside her bag, she pulled out a sheaf of papers and held them up.
It was a computer print-out of the images Freddy had sent her over the weekend, after Charlie had managed to track down Allegra’s email address in about half an hour. He was a very useful person to have around.
The pictures were a beautifully photographed—if she did say so herself—catalogue of James and Carolina’s miniature Anathorn, from the full spectacle to the tiniest details.
“It’s wonderful,” Allegra said simply, a pink flush warming her pale face as she looked at the pictures again. “I adore it. I can’t believe someone would take so much trouble over something I’ve written; it’s still very surreal. It’s like they’ve pulled my dreams right out of my head and turned them into reality. And I definitely want it for the show.”
Freddy released the breath she was holding. “Good.”
“I also want you for the show.” Allegra grinned suddenly as Freddy made an audible surprised squeak.
It had been a long shot, but she’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to win back the opportunity to audition. She hadn’t thought—
“Ballsy, to inc
lude the audition tape with your email.” Allegra saluted Freddy with a flick of her fingers to her forehead. “Exactly the sort of thing Quinn would do in the books, in fact.”
“I love her,” Freddy said sincerely. “I get her.”
“Yes, I think you would.” Allegra was studying her. It was disconcerting, such insightful eyes in such a baby face, but Freddy was the last person who would underestimate someone in that respect. “I’ll talk to the team.”
A crew member called out across the studio. Five minutes until they went live and laid out their family secrets before the nation.
Freddy hesitated. “Fiona Gallagher ruled me out of the running for a reason. You’ll know...about my grandmother.”
The entire world seemed to know about Henrietta Carlton at this point.
Henrietta had wanted enduring fame, but this probably wasn’t what she’d intended.
“And I believe you had a...um, situation yourself with your first manuscript that I expect you’d rather forget.” Freddy tried to put it tactfully.
Shadows flickered over Allegra’s face as she looked across the studio at Sabrina, and then at Rupert, before that shrewd hazel gaze returned to Freddy. “I know what it’s like to take a public fall because of someone else’s mistake. And I know what it takes to rise above it. In my head, you’re my Quinn. I’ll throw my backing behind you.”
Freddy couldn’t find the right words. Eventually, she just said, “Thank you.”
As Sabrina waved Freddy over, Allegra turned at the studio door. “The miniatures—They’re fantastic as they are, but we’ll need more. A lot more. Do you think the artists—”
Drily, Freddy said, “If you need extravagance and excess, you’ve come to the right place.”
An assistant bustled around her with a powder brush, removing the sweat that had sprung up on her forehead during the past few extraordinary, exhilarating minutes, and Freddy joined Sabrina and her father on the studio couch.
As she smoothed her skirt repeatedly and then tucked her nervously fidgeting hands under her knees, she looked at Rupert. “Are you sure about this, Dad?”