New Beginnings

by Fern Britton

  Chapter 10

  ‘So what I’m saying is . . .’ Julia seemed not to have drawn breath since they’d begun lunch. They were in Le Caprice, just around the corner from the Ritz, at her ‘usual table’. Prominently positioned in the corner to the right of the bar, she could see everyone entering the restaurant and, more importantly, they could see her and her guest. From the moment Christie had sat down, Julia had taken control of the conversation. This was the first time since their working arrangement had been established that her agent had invited Christie to anything remotely social. Not that this was remotely social, as it turned out. They had discussed the minutiae of Christie’s presenting style and one or two other media opportunities that Julia might pursue on her behalf.

  Christie surreptitiously nudged at the sleeve of her cardigan so that she could see her watch. As she suspected, the time had whizzed by. If she didn’t leave soon, she would never get to Libby’s school in time for the meeting with Mrs Snell, the head teacher. Although she was listening to Julia, her mind was already on its way there. She had no idea why she had been asked to come in. It was still early in the new term and Libby hadn’t mentioned any difficulties at school. Mrs Snell had been irritatingly circumspect, insisting that it was better they talked face to face. ‘And perhaps it would be wise not to mention to Libby that you’re coming to see me,’ she’d added, as an afterthought, yet still wouldn’t be drawn on the reason. Why not? Questions had been racing through Christie’s mind since the call two days ago, but she had failed to come up with any answers.

  ‘. . . you’ve got great on-screen chemistry with Sam,’ Julia carried on. ‘And you really do connect with the viewer. You’re one of those presenters who can see right down the bottle of that camera lens to reach your audience. Your confidence is building and you’re getting into your stride.’ She leaned across the table. ‘Your interview technique is interesting too. You make it all appear warm and friendly but, when need be, you’re not afraid to ask the tough question. And . . .’ she paused ‘. . . since the dress fiasco, you haven’t looked too bad either.’

  Christie was annoyed that her agent still insisted on referring to her first appearance in those terms. Julia had phoned her after each show during the subsequent two weeks, pronouncing herself satisfied or not with what she had seen. Meanwhile, Frank and Mel both took every comment personally until Christie stopped reporting back.

  Having Julia’s watchful eye had both reassured Christie and put her more on edge. She had breathed a huge sigh of relief when Julia had eventually pronounced herself satisfied. Her confidence had also grown because, since Gilly had introduced her to the nation, they hadn’t crossed paths. Christie worked from Wednesday to Friday, happy in the knowledge that the other woman wouldn’t be there to undermine her.

  ‘There is one thing that I wanted to ask you about, Julia.’ She twisted her wedding ring around her finger.

  ‘Ask away.’ Her agent gestured with a manicured hand that the floor was hers.

  ‘I’ve just checked my bank account and I’m a bit concerned that I haven’t been paid as much as we agreed. It’s probably a mistake but I wanted to check.’ Her shopping had made a nasty, guilt-inducing hole that hadn’t been filled as promptly as she’d anticipated.

  ‘Of course, darling. I quite understand. However, I think you’ll find that Lenny, our accountant, doesn’t make mistakes. We receive the payments from TV7, on the first of the month as usual, then deduct our fifteen per cent commission before forwarding the rest . . .’

  ‘Fifteen per cent! But I thought you said you took ten, like most other agents.’

  ‘But I’m not most other agents, darling.’ Julia’s smile definitely had something of the piranha about it. She ran her fingers over her hair, tucking the right side behind her ear. ‘You’ve passed the probationary period, you see.’

  ‘What probationary period?’ Christie was mystified.

  ‘Don’t you remember, darling? We discussed it at our first meeting.’ Julia looked straight across the table, almost challenging Christie to contradict her. ‘You’re paying for the best and that’s what you’re getting.’

  Christie was almost certain they hadn’t discussed any such thing, but Julia seemed so sure. Perhaps she hadn’t registered this detail in her excitement at being taken on. What was said at that meeting had become a bit of a blur as soon as she’d left the room, however hard she tried to piece it together. She snapped to. ‘I don’t doubt that and, of course, that’s why I came to you, but I hadn’t realised. You never did send me the letter detailing your terms.’

  ‘I’m quite sure I did. I wouldn’t forget something like that. I’ll have a word with Lily. She must have missed it or it’s got lost in the post.’ She pulled out a wafer-thin leather-backed notepad and scribbled herself a reminder. ‘Are you saying you want to go to someone else? You’re quite free to. But, of course, they won’t have my contacts and they won’t work so hard on your behalf.’ Julia remained quite cool, unperturbed by Christie’s reaction, and sailed on. ‘I was going to save this till I had definite news, but since we’re talking frankly . . . This morning I had a breakfast meeting with the marketing team from Drink-a-Vit.’

  Christie looked blank.

  ‘The vitamin drink for women,’ Julia explained. ‘Gilly’s the new face of the brand but, for obvious reasons, she couldn’t complete their nationwide advertising campaign. She did all the filmed ads before she got too big but now we don’t think she can do the press campaign. She must look after herself and rest as much as possible. So I suggested they use you instead. You’re ideal. To be honest, you’re not a big enough name to stand a chance of getting such a high-profile gig on your own. So this would be a huge break for you. They’re paying the earth too.’ Julia studied the nails of her left hand, running the pad of her right thumb along the top of them. ‘Now that’s what you’re paying me for. The “jam” – remember? If it’s not what you want, then by all means go elsewhere.’ She looked up at Christie, her gaze completely steady. ‘My ex-husband, Max Keen, might even take you on. In the past he’s done a reasonable job with one or two people I’ve let go. At the percentage you want.’

  Christie was appalled by the unintended turn the conversation had taken and hurried to get it back on track. ‘You know that’s not what I want. You’re marvellous, Julia. I just hadn’t fully understood your commission rates.’ She knew that leaving Julia now would be a mistake. A big mistake. Others might easily misinterpret such a rapid falling out between them to mean that she was a difficult or under-performing client. That was not the reputation she wanted. ‘So how much will you be deducting for the commercial work now?’ she asked, as the fifteen per cent she remembered vanished in a puff of smoke.

  ‘Twenty per cent. I did explain to you, darling, when I took you on.’ Julia was calmness itself. ‘At the time I did wonder whether you’d taken all our terms on board, but you assured me you had.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I misunderstood, that’s all. But if you could put it all in that letter . . .’ Christie let the sentence hang in the air. She was stunned by this hike in Julia’s charges but thought it better to remain calm rather than make a fool of herself by overreacting. Maybe this was the way it worked, the price she had to pay for being with the best.

  Julia waved away the waiter who had arrived with the dessert menu and smiled. ‘Well, that’s sorted out, then. Coffee?’

  Christie glanced at her watch again. If she left in the next fifteen minutes, she would just get to the school on time. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Coffee. Thank you.’

  After Julia had paid the bill, the two women got to their feet, Christie trying not to look as if she was hurrying to get away. She put the jacket she had bought with Frank and Mel over her arm as Julia shrugged into an expensive cheetah-print coat. On the pavement, they air-kissed.

  Christie hailed a cab to rush her to the station but, as it pulled up, Julia edged in front of her and took the door handle. She climbed in, rolled down the wind
ow and leaned out. ‘Lovely to see you, darling,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear from Drink-a-Vit.’ With that, and a barked instruction to the cabbie, she had gone, leaving Christie open-mouthed on the pavement. There wasn’t another empty cab for five minutes by which time she knew she had definitely missed the three o’clock train.

  Sitting at Marylebone station, watching the ‘delayed’ signs on the departures board, she had plenty of time to think. She had unintentionally put herself in the position of having to make up ground in her relationship with Julia. If only she had paid closer attention when they first met, she would have known about the percentages. So, fifteen per cent went to Julia and forty per cent to the taxman. Suddenly her excitingly vast salary had been decimated. Everything she had been planning to spend it on was almost as far away as ever. Her face burned as she thought how stupid she had been. She had been too insecure and easily flattered when they had met, but Julia’s reputation made her a formidable person to have on-side – whatever Frank said. However, she was beginning to recognise her agent for who she was: a woman who cared about her clients but for her own reasons. Their relationship existed on a purely professional footing for what Julia could get out of it. Nothing more. This was business. The reverence, admiration and respect that Julia received from her clients was her life blood. The deal was everything to her. Her cut was everything else. She was supportive, generous when necessary, there when required, but she wasn’t and would never be a mate. Christie felt a pang of anxiety and loneliness.

  Right now, she would have given anything to be able to share all this with Nick. He would have known the best way to handle Julia. When he was alive, they would sit up long after the children had gone to bed and chew the fat together, catching each other up on their separate days. Even though they’d only met one or two of each other’s colleagues, they both felt as if they knew them all intimately. No detail was spared as they discussed their problems and tried to help each other solve them, commiserating when things went wrong and celebrating their successes. They delighted in hating each other’s enemies and toasting each other’s small victories. They could boast to each other about their triumphs at work in a way they couldn’t and wouldn’t to colleagues and friends. How she still missed that togetherness. Nick would have been able to help her see what she wanted from the new life she had chosen. Their marriage had been a gift.

  Their wedding day was perfect. Christie refused all Mel’s fashion ideas, along with all Maureen’s catering ones. She went for a simple cream hip-skimming sheath of duchess satin that flattered her shape, and lunch for twelve at their favourite understated Italian restaurant. The day was exactly how she and Nick wanted it. The only person missing was her beloved dad.

  After their three-week honeymoon, driving Nick’s old MGB through France, then down the Adriatic coast to Portofino and back, they took up residence in a small Victorian two-up two-down terraced cottage in Acton. Nick’s career as a solicitor and Christie’s as a consumer journalist on the Daily News, and occasionally on TV as a consumer pundit, kept them in a peaceful comfort. The following year little Libby was born, and three years later, Fred. Nick and Christie revelled in their family life. Of course there were rows, especially when the children were small and sleep deficit kicked in, but life was good. And it got better. In his mid-thirties, Nick was given a senior partnership in his law firm and the big salary increase bought them a mews house in Chelsea, closer to Nick’s central London office.

  Maureen often came up to town from her house in Buckinghamshire. She enjoyed showing off to her bridge friends about the brilliant marriage her daughter had made. Of course, she never told Christie this. She only tutted about how untidy the children’s bedrooms were and why there wasn’t a three-course, home-cooked meal on the table for Nick when he came home. ‘Men like to be fed, darling. It makes them feel loved. I’m quite surprised you’ve hung on to him for so long.’

  Christie would smile at her mother but shed tears of frustration in private. Nick held her and advised her to ‘take no notice of the old bat’.

  One night when Fred was coming up for six and they were lying in bed in each other’s arms, having just made love, Nick murmured, ‘Chris, I’d love us to have another baby. Shall we give it a go?’

  ‘I thought we just had!’ Then, seeing his expression so serious, she asked, ‘Are you sure? It’ll put us right back to square one in terms of sleep, potty training and everything else.’

  ‘But in another few years we might regret it if we don’t at least try. I promise I’ll massage your back and brush your hair whenever you want.’ He put his lips on her neck and started to kiss her.

  ‘Mmm.’ She wriggled appreciatively. ‘Can I have that in writing?’

  ‘I’ll get a contract ready to sign in the morning.’

  ‘In that case, Mr Lynch, you have a deal. Shall we get on with the preliminary negotiations?’

  Chapter 11

  Running from the train to the car park and battling through the local traffic, Christie finally pulled up outside the school at five o’clock. She had tried to phone to say she was running late, but no one was answering the main switchboard. The tall wrought-iron gates were padlocked. Lights shone through the windows of the gym and along the corridor that led to the classrooms. She rang the bell, hoping that Mrs Snell might have waited.

  ‘Hello?’ She recognised the voice of the school caretaker quavering through the loudspeaker.

  ‘It’s Mrs Lynch. I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment with Mrs Snell. Is she there?’

  ‘Gone home fifteen minutes ago. Sorry.’ There was a click as the phone was hung up.

  Oh, shit, shit, shit. What would Mrs Snell think of her? She would never understand how impossible it had been to make a getaway from lunch. In the head teacher’s eyes, the welfare of the school’s pupils took precedence over everything. She was right, of course. Why hadn’t Christie made her excuses and left on time? Despite her initial determination not to, she had allowed Julia to take full control of their relationship. Feeling the guilt of being the least responsible mother in the world, Christie rammed the key into the ignition and drove home very slowly indeed.

  *

  Maureen was waiting for her. As soon as she could, she took Christie into the sitting room where she could talk to her without Libby overhearing. ‘Well? What did Mrs Snell have to say?’ She’d never had much time for the head teacher who, she felt, had risen too far above her station. Something to do with her broad northern accent and her generous waistline, and nothing to do with the praise Christie often gave her for being so good at her job.

  ‘Nothing. I got there too late and she’d gone.’ Christie sank into a chair as if all the strength had gone from her legs.

  ‘Gone? She should have waited. Why didn’t she wait?’

  ‘Because I was nearly an hour late. Don’t say a thing,’ Christie warned, aware that she might say something she’d regret in response.

  But Maureen couldn’t stop herself. ‘An hour!’ she gasped, disbelieving that anyone could be so tardy. ‘Oh, Christine, really.’

  ‘Yes, an hour. And before you say any more, I know I should have made my excuses and left lunch earlier but it was impossible. Julia wouldn’t understand and I don’t want to get on the wrong side of her. Not when things are going so well. I left as quickly as I could. There were no taxis and then the trains were delayed.’ Despairing, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

  Maureen put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘But it was for Libby,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I know it was for Libby!’ Christie exploded. ‘Why do you think I rushed there as quickly as I could? There must be a problem and I’ve no idea what it is so I can’t even begin to try to put it right. How do you think that makes me feel?’

  Affronted by her daughter’s outburst, Maureen took a step back. ‘Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to make things better.’

  ‘I sho
uld never have taken the bloody job,’ Christie muttered, ignoring her mother. She glanced at the photo of Nick. Seeing him strengthened her resolve. ‘But I did, so I’m just going to have to make the best of it. I’ll go into school in the morning and see if I can catch her then.’

  ‘I think you should,’ Maureen agreed. ‘Actually, have you noticed something’s not quite right with Libby?’

  ‘If there was something wrong, I’d know.’ Of that Christie was absolutely certain.

  ‘Would you? You’ve been so preoccupied for the last few months. I know this “new career”,’ Maureen rolled her tongue around the words, ‘means a lot to you, but you mustn’t forget your family.’

  ‘Forget? What do you mean? How dare you insinuate that I’ve forgotten the kids? I’m not just doing this for me. I’m doing it for us. Remember that, Mum. For all of us.’ Christie banged her fist on the arm of the chair, simultaneously freeing a little cloud of dust that rose up between them.

  ‘If you say so, dear.’ Maureen pursed her lips. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t mention anything.’ She walked to the door and turned as she opened it. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow when you get home. I’ve left supper in the fridge for you.’

  Christie didn’t try to stop her leaving although she was ashamed of her loss of control. Maureen was doing her best to help her and all she’d done was shout. This was not how it was meant to be. She unclenched her fists, noticing that the pressure of her nails had left little half-moon prints in her palm. Why is life so bloody difficult? she wondered. I’m just trying to have a life and a family. Is that too much to ask?

  She felt guilty for not being at home by the end of Libby and Fred’s school day when they emerged full of stories about what they’d been up to and what their friends and teachers had said or done; guilty that by the time she got home, they’d moved on to other things and barely responded to her questions about their day; guilty that, if she was honest, when she was in the studio, she didn’t have a second to think about them. Being there took up all her energy and concentration. A live daily news show was exhilarating, like riding a tiger, and it made her feel alive again. The print journalism she’d done since Nick had died now seemed like coasting. At last she was doing something that stimulated and fulfilled her.