Man vs. Socialite

by Charlotte Phillips

  She spoke in an audible whisper through her beaming teeth.

  ‘You could look a bit more enthusiastic. Chester manages to line up a prime TV interview exclusively about your kids’ courses and you look like you’re going to the gallows. Think of the publicity.’

  Since her chat with Chester he’d certainly stepped up to the plate with his publicity machine, generously lining up some promo for Jack alongside the work he did for her. She was along this morning to give her own take on the course content after the tasks she’d done on the joint TV show.

  ‘I’m not comfortable with this stuff, you know that,’ he hissed back.

  The interview began with a clip of the highlights of her own Survival Camp Extreme experience, laughably referred to as her ‘best bits’, followed by some footage of gleeful muddy eleven-year-olds taking part in one of Jack’s courses.

  ‘...and since the success of the Survival Camp TV shows, Jack Trent has recently launched a completely new initiative, run through schools, aimed at nine-to fourteen-year-olds. Looks like they’re having great fun there.’ The presenter laughed lightly. ‘Just give us an idea of the course content, Jack.’

  Evie watched him on the monitor as the camera zoomed in for a close-up, talking animatedly now he was talking about his passion. The blonde female presenter leaned in, piling on the praise, twinkling at him. She felt a burst of he’s mine exasperation. Of course no one knew he was hers, a situation he seemed in no rush to correct.

  ‘And what about you, Evie? What was your take on the skills these courses involve? You got to try them out firsthand.’

  The presenter beamed at her. Evie smiled, loving the opportunity to praise Jack up.

  ‘It was a challenge, I can’t deny that,’ she said. ‘But also terrific fun.’ How easy it was to fudge the truth. Parts of it had been a living hell. ‘We’re so used to being surrounded by technology these days...with social media, computer games, TV...that it’s great to take away all these trappings for once, learn some physical skills and enjoy the great outdoors. It’s hard at first but it’s very rewarding and it’s been a huge success so far, mainly down to Jack’s hard work.’

  She smiled sideways at him.

  The glossy presenter leaned back.

  ‘It must be great for Jack to have your support. You two seem very close,’ she purred at them. ‘There’s been a lot of rumours to that effect.’

  She smiled knowingly as a shot of Jack and Evie sitting shoulder to shoulder after the river crossing was flashed up. He had his arm around her and her head was leaned gently in against him. The body language was all there. A smile touched Evie’s lips before she could stop it. The natural response now would be to come clean to the viewing public. The perfect opportunity. They were a couple. The whole world knew it already anyway. She waited for Jack to give a you’ve-got-me laugh and confirm the rumours. The camera zoomed in for a close-up.

  ‘That picture was taken after a particularly gruelling river crossing,’ Jack said gruffly. He sat up straight-backed, his whole demeanour screaming defensive.

  She turned her head towards him as if in a dream.

  ‘So there’s no truth in the rumours that you two are a couple?’ the presenter cajoled, obviously desperate for the scoop on live TV.

  ‘We are absolutely not an item,’ he snapped. ‘We’ve worked together on one occasion and we share a production company. That’s all there is to it. We’re friends. I didn’t come on here to discuss my personal life.’

  ‘Whoa, OK,’ the presenter said, holding her hands up in mock defence. ‘Anything to add to that, Evie?’

  Jack glanced sideways at her and her stomach gave a miserable lurch. She could feel warmth climbing from the collar of the silk shirt she wore, undoubtedly turning her a shade of red that would clash horribly with the Hot Breakfast logo. He’d just denied her to the world.

  ‘We’re just friends,’ she corroborated dully. Her voice sounded somehow thick, as if she needed to swallow.

  It took five minutes more before the interview was wrapped up and she didn’t hear a word of it.

  * * *

  She somehow managed to keep her composure until they’d left the TV studios and made it back to her flat. The last thing she needed was a brand-new public scandal. She could just imagine the headline: Evie Staverton-Lynch in blazing public row with Jack Trent. Instead she tried her best to channel ice-cold not bothered when her heart felt as if it had been stamped on.

  He’d denied her. To the world on live TV. Could there be a worse denial than that?

  She could understand him not going out of his way to broadcast their relationship. After all, what did she expect him to do, issue a joint statement like some kind of sodding movie star? But this was him being put on the spot. And he’d given an active declaration to the very clear contrary. He didn’t need to confirm anything. He could have kept silent, although even that might have looked a bit odd, given the jovial tone of the interview. Instead he’d made it crystal clear that there was nothing going on between them.

  There was only one conclusion she could make: he was embarrassed to be dating her. Cold, miserable shame crept through her.

  As soon as they were in the hallway of her flat she closed the door on the prying outside world and turned to face him, forcing herself to speak naturally, as if she weren’t in agony inside. The bliss of finding him, someone at last who genuinely liked her, who didn’t care about any of the Staverton-Lynch rich connotations, who knew about her past and wanted her anyway. It had been the stuff of dreams. The only problem was he didn’t feel strongly enough about any of that to actually tell anyone.

  He’d known right away from her stricken expression back on the TV-show sofa what he’d done. She’d seemed fine with keeping their relationship quiet, never pushing things. Funny how easy it had been to slip into sharing someone else’s company. In the short few weeks after the joint-survival TV show had aired they’d grabbed time together whenever they could, but it hadn’t amounted to more than a couple of evenings because he’d been wrapped up in the launch of the kids’ courses. It suited him. From steadfastly single guarding your private life like a Rottweiler, it was an odd change to find yourself wanting to be with someone, wanting to share your time with them.

  They were taking it slowly and he liked that. He needed that. Keeping the relationship between the two of them somehow defused the sense of it being serious that made him so uneasy. On some subconscious level, it couldn’t be completely real and serious if no one knew about it. And that meant it was safe. No fear of getting close and then letting her down. They couldn’t be close when it was this casual—right? She seemed happy to keep things casual, fit them in around their other commitments. So far it was the best thing that had happened to him in years.

  And now it turned out that wasn’t enough. She’d obviously just been waiting for him to take the relationship to the next level. He wasn’t sure he was up to that.

  ‘You know how I feel about keeping out of the limelight,’ he said before she could speak, trying to defuse the situation. ‘The TV shows are one thing—that doesn’t give them the right to my private life.’

  She held his gaze steadily, her chin tilted up defiantly. It didn’t hide the crushed look in her eyes.

  ‘OK, you like your privacy,’ she managed. ‘I get that. I know you don’t want your past dredged up for whatever reason and that’s fine. But I never suggested we do a joint bloody photo shoot, for Pete’s sake.’ She held her hands up to highlight an imaginary banner headline. ‘“At home with Evie and Jack as they relax in Evie’s Chelsea apartment.” I didn’t want any of that.’

  She lowered her voice.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to shout it from the rooftops. I know that isn’t you. All I wanted was no denials.’

  ‘It wasn’t about denying you. Denying us.’

 
; She shook her head and laughed darkly.

  ‘What the hell was it about, then? Because it sounded an awful lot like a denial to me, Jack. I was there. I’d say it would be hard to be any more categorical.’

  ‘The presenter put me on the spot,’ he said. ‘I had no idea that question was coming. It was a split-second choice.’

  She held up a hand as he groped for an explanation that might actually sound a bit less crap without giving away the fact that as relationships went he was the worst choice on the planet.

  ‘Don’t you see? That’s exactly the problem,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t even need to make a split-second choice. The fact you needed to think about it at all is the problem. I wanted you to be happy with me. Proud to be with me.’

  Her voice cracked and he took a desperate step towards her, wanting to undo this, seeing that he’d tried to make this work on terms that would keep her safe and had ended up hurting her anyway. She took a compensatory step backwards.

  ‘I am proud to be with you,’ he said. It sounded so utterly lame now, when he’d demonstrated exactly the opposite on national television.

  She circled him in the hallway, walked the few steps back to the door and opened it.

  ‘I’d like you to leave,’ she said.

  ‘Evie, please—’

  She shook her head.

  ‘This isn’t what I want.’ Her voice was absolutely resolute. ‘I’ve had years of being denied, of feeling like I’m not good enough. I’m not doing this any more.’

  The urge to try and talk her round, to make her understand that this wasn’t about her, made him hesitate. The pain in her face made him go. With him, it seemed, getting hurt was inevitable. The only good thing he could do here was save her any more of that.

  TWELVE

  There was still the TV show. She could still get back her old life.

  She could pitch up at Purple Productions and with Chester talking the talk she was ninety-nine per cent certain that she could still secure a contract for Season Two of Miss Knightsbridge. Her life would be back to the way it was, almost as if the whole Jack Trent mobile-phone-tape scandal had never happened at all.

  She even got as far as debating what outfit to wear in order to channel Knightsbridge party girl with a bit more maturity. A lot had happened since the last season. Reality bit as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom, holding up a girly peach dress against her in one hand and wondering if it held its own against the I-know-my-own-mind sharply cut black suit she held in the other.

  She really thought the black suit had it. And what the hell was she doing?

  The churning in her stomach, so easy to dismiss as the general misery she’d become accustomed to since things had ended with Jack, was actually something more today. A sense of uneasiness mingled with the sadness and anger and she finally faced facts.

  Signing for Miss Knightsbridge again just felt plain wrong. Committing to another six months of being someone else instead of being true to who she really was. She’d spent so long doing all she could to seek the approval of others and, really, what the hell had it got her? Nothing but trouble. Nothing but misery. No wonder she never felt secure because she never valued herself, always judging herself by what everyone else thought of her, accepting their criticism at face value.

  Enough was enough.

  She tossed both outfits on the bed and headed back to the sitting room, pulling out all the paperwork for the jewellery line. The whole project was tied into the Miss K name.

  There must be some way she could get out of that.

  * * *

  Another weekend of running courses and he really ought to feel more positive about it than this.

  The roll-out of the kids’ courses had been a huge success. Fully booked within a few weeks of the airing of Survival Camp Meets Miss Knightsbridge, and so many enquiries continued to roll in that his admin team were holding a waiting list. He couldn’t help referring back to the comment from Evie’s insane PR right back at the start of all this. No publicity is bad publicity. The press interest in his are-they-or-aren’t-they? relationship with Evie seemed to have increased his appeal, and never mind the fact that he’d refused to so much as comment on any of the stories.

  He shoved that thought away. Left undiverted, his mind kept drifting towards her at a moment’s notice. To counteract that, he’d upped his contact with Helen, her progress and well-being always on his mind, only to find that she was increasingly hard to get hold of. When he did track her down she was always on her way to college, or out to meet friends, or looking into this or that job opportunity. With sudden clarity he saw that he’d been so wrapped up in his own guilt at letting her down that he’d failed to see she’d moved on long ago. He was still in the same place, still beating himself up, still trying to make up for the past. Four years down the line he felt more directionless than ever.

  He lay back on the Highlands hotel single bed and pointed the remote control at the tiny television. Down in the bar he had no doubt that his team were in full-on swing with snacks and drinks. Sunday evening, weekend courses done and dusted, the full contingent of children taking part having departed that afternoon after loving every moment of the course he’d run.

  It was all a bit too déjà vu for him here now. Same hotel room. Same tasks. Camping out in the forest with all the survival demonstrations. No Evie along any more. The success felt vaguely hollow without her. She’d made his successes feel all the more worthwhile. She’d made him feel better about himself than he’d felt in years.

  The news headlines finished and his stomach performed a miserable lurch. Unmistakeable. The groovy über-hip title music for none other than Miss Knightsbridge. The brand-new series. Payback for all that hard publicity work Evie had put in. He pressed the button to switch channels and nothing happened. Great—was there anything in this hotel that actually worked? He smacked the remote control against his palm and pressed random buttons madly. Nothing. He swung off the bed and headed over to the TV set to switch channels manually. The screen showed a glossy bar in Knightsbridge as his finger hovered over the off switch.

  Why the hell was he torturing himself? He did not wish to be reminded of his monumental mistake yet part of him couldn’t help wanting a glimpse of her. Possibly in the hope that she wouldn’t be as utterly gorgeous as his memory insisted she was. Perhaps if he could see she really wasn’t all that it might help him to finally get over this.

  Minutes passed. His hand returned to his side and he sat down on the end of the bed. All the way to the first ad break he watched. She was the star of the show—right? The central character. So why were the rest of the moronic bunch there but not her? It became gradually clear that a skinny girl with a cut-glass accent and a sheet of dark hair, which she kept tossing back, was the central character. She was in every scene, the camera practically winking at her.

  What the hell? Where was Evie?

  He picked up his mobile phone, angry with himself for his curiosity, which told him he was nowhere near close to moving on. The PR manager at Purple Productions was delighted to hear from him.

  ‘Jack! Darling! Just the person—it’s so good to hear from you! Have you spoken to your agent about renewing your contract? We’re thinking a select few more Survival Camp Extreme shows with celebrity guests, capitalising on the success of the Miss Knightsbridge tie-in...’

  Over his dead body.

  ‘Why is Evie Staverton-Lynch missing from Miss Knightsbridge?’ he snapped, talking over her as he continued to stare at the TV. ‘I’m watching the show right now and there’s some bohemian madwoman in the central role. Annabel Something-or-other. Calls everyone “sweetie”.’

  ‘You mean Annabel Sutton,’ the PR said patiently. ‘We increased her role when Evie left. Pity really. The rankings aren’t rallying so far. Evie had
a more universal appeal. Annabel seems to put people’s backs up.’

  No shit. His mind screeched to a halt.

  ‘Evie left? You sacked her after all? Even after she did the survival show and it was a success?’

  His mind was reeling.

  ‘Chill, darling,’ she said soothingly. ‘Of course we didn’t sack her. The news that you two were an item was a gift publicity-wise. We were actually hoping you might consider guesting on her show, get even more crossover with the fans.’

  He was speechless for a moment. To appear on Miss Knightsbridge he would have to be drugged or dead.

  ‘But then she didn’t renew her contract,’ she carried on. ‘Her choice, not ours. We tried to talk her round, but Evie was having none of it.’

  ‘We’re not an item,’ he said automatically, his mind working overtime. Hadn’t the whole reason for her doing his survival show in the first place been so that she could keep her TV contract? Why do it, all the outdoor tasks, only to turn the contract down herself?

  ‘I thought she was going to launch some jewellery shop?’ he said, his mind groping for some foothold.

  ‘She was. Such a pain, we’d even filmed her finding the right premises. The brand was a TV tie-in—she’d paid for the rights to use the Miss Knightsbridge name. All that’s been dropped too now. Jack? Jack?’

  He clicked the phone off and stared at the TV screen. Annabel was now in a swanky salon having her hair done. What the hell was going on?

  * * *

  Chester Smith was all apologies.

  ‘I can’t speak for Evie any more, I’m afraid. She no longer uses my services. However, should you be in the market for representation...’ he tapped Jack in the centre of the chest with one finger and gave him a wink ‘....look no further.’