by Fern Britton
‘Ben had work done? Really?’ Christie could hardly believe what she was hearing.
‘Yes. He was a lovely man, but he couldn’t say no to Julia and she encouraged him to look his best, whatever it took,’ Lily explained. ‘Anyway, as a result of those pictures appearing in the press, his exclusivity agreement was broken and Julia told him that OK! would halve his hundred-thousand-pound fee.’
‘What’s this got to do with us?’ Richard asked, as impatient as Christie.
‘Look at these.’ Lily pointed at the papers. ‘I’ve photocopied the agreement with OK!, the letters that accompanied the payments to Ben and the relevant pages from the White Management bank statements. If you compare them, you’ll see that OK! did in fact pay the full hundred thousand. It was banked by White Management three days later, but, in the end-of-month cheque run, Ben was only paid fifty thousand, as Julia had told him he would be.’
‘But how do you know that the balance wasn’t paid later?’ asked Richard, as he turned the papers round so he could read them for himself.
‘In the first place, any payment to a client is always made in full immediately, or within the month anyway, less the commission. But in the second, I looked through his file and there were no payments made between then and his death, a year later, to suggest that’s the case.’ She sat back, watching the effect as the couple grasped the implications of what she was telling them.
‘My God . . . So, given what Frank told me, Ben could have been going to confront Julia about all this,’ Christie suggested. ‘And, given how badly she’s reacted to me asking a few questions, we know she’ll have been more than furious.’
‘Easy, Chris,’ warned Richard. ‘Don’t get carried away.’
‘There’s one more thing that I’ve never told anyone,’ said Lily. ‘The night Ben died, I called Julia at home.’
Both Christie and Richard sat motionless, intent on Lily as she spoke.
‘I was panicking because the Sun had called me to say they were running a story about Lucy Smyth-Burton, an actress client of ours. They were claiming she’d been arrested on drug-related charges. I had no idea what to do. Julia took ages to pick up – that’s unusual in itself – and, when she did, she sounded incredibly distracted and upset. When I asked her what was wrong, she said she’d dropped her BlackBerry into the pool.’
‘Well, that’s enough to make anyone suicidal.’ Richard’s joke was meant to ease the tension between them but Christie just muttered at him to shut up. She could feel the intense gut excitement she remembered from the outset of her career when she was chasing a good story, and sensed she was close to the kill.
Lily carried on: ‘I didn’t speak to her again that evening and, of course, the next day, the news of Ben’s death was everywhere.’
‘What time did you call her? Christie asked, her investigative hackles rising. ‘I think I’m right in remembering that in Ben’s biography it said that although the police weren’t called until two thirty the next morning, Ben had been dead for several hours. Julia said she’d gone to bed early, leaving him to amuse himself.’
‘You’re not going to suggest she was up all the time and murdered him?’ Richard put his hand over Christie’s. ‘You don’t think the police might have worked that out for themselves?’
Christie took no notice. ‘As I read it, according to the inquest Ben died between ten thirty and eleven. Did the police know about your call?’ She looked at Lily.
‘Julia didn’t want me involved so she told me to forget we’d spoken since she’d dealt with the Sun – our conversation wasn’t important. Especially in the light of Ben’s death. I thought she was really generous to think of me like that, so I did what she said.’
‘But what time was it?’ insisted Christie, despite Richard’s nudge.
‘Well, late, I think . . .’ Lily hesitated. ‘I’m sure I’d had supper when the Sun called and I rang Julia straight afterwards. But if you really think it matters, I could check. Julia insists that I keep records of all calls. We keep the tapes and phone bills for five years, filed in the records office, and I keep my own bills at home too, just in case.’
‘But this is crucial,’ said Christie, rapidly adding two and two together. ‘If she was lying about being in bed, then perhaps she is implicated in his death, after all.’
‘And perhaps she’s not,’ Richard reminded her. ‘She could quite easily have spoken to Lily while she was in bed and dozed off afterwards.’
‘True,’ she conceded, almost disappointed that her theory might not work. ‘Either way, I don’t like any of this. And one thing’s for sure, I don’t want her as my agent any more. I know too much. I’d rather lose the money I’m owed and start again with someone else.’
‘At last,’ sighed Richard. ‘I thought you’d never make the decision. Will you write to her tonight? Please?’
‘No.’ Of one thing Christie was certain. ‘I have to do this face-to-face. Don’t look so dubious. Nick always said you shouldn’t shy away from the conversations you dread most. He was right. I’d feel I’d let myself down if I didn’t do this.’
‘In that case,’ Richard could see that her mind was made up, ‘after all I’ve heard, I insist on coming along as moral support. Besides, I’m dying to meet this monster for myself.’
They agreed with Lily that she would check her phone records for the exact time of her call. Meanwhile Christie would call Julia and ask if she could meet her after work the following day. The last few days had made her certain that she didn’t want Julia in her life any longer than was necessary. But before she got rid of her for good, she had to sort what business she had left with her. More than that, she was determined to find out, with Lily’s help, what had really happened the night Ben Chapman died. The journalist and crime-fiction addict in her had to know. The sooner she straightened this out, the sooner she could get on with her new life.
Chapter 32
Hearing Julia’s smooth, unsuspecting tones had made Christie’s insides turn to jelly. To think that this was the woman who had once so impressed her, for whom she would have rolled over hot coals to win a coveted place on her talent roster. She had believed that being represented by someone with such a reputation could only be good for her. How things had changed. She had learned so much. She had tried to keep her own voice pleasantly neutral as she requested a meeting for that evening.
‘Ah, darling! I wondered when you’d call,’ Julia had replied. ‘We need to talk, don’t we?’
Christie was shaken by Julia’s directness but had kept her voice under control. ‘Yes, we do. Seven thirty tonight, Julia.’ She hung up.
Now, here they were, Richard and Christie, walking from where he’d parked the Land Rover to the White Management office. Even though she was wearing her red coat and Richard’s arm was around her waist, pulling her into him, the night air was chilly against her face. As they turned the corner, the familiar glass-fronted office building loomed ahead. They halted outside the front door, looking at the uniformed doorman who was deep in a book.
‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’ Richard asked, dropping his arm and turning to face Christie.
‘Positive.’ She took a step towards him, so their bodies just touched. ‘I’ve got to finish this off properly. Thank you for coming.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘Well then, let’s put this show on the road.’ He pushed the door open, stood back so she could go first and sign them in at the desk, then walked with her to the lift.
Although she appreciated the sense of security having him at her side gave her, Christie was slipping into a zone of her own as she braced herself for the meeting ahead. She couldn’t get the call Lily had made to her that afternoon out of her head. She now knew that Lily had spoken to Julia at 10.43 p.m. on the evening of Ben’s death. That meant Julia had almost certainly been awake when Ben died. Whether she was in bed or by the poolside, or somewhere else in the house, it looked as if she had lied to the police. Why do that, un
less she had something to hide?
The front office was empty, the receptionists’ desks tidied and the magazines straightened on the table in the waiting area. Christie led the way down the corridor without a word, rapped twice on Julia’s door and opened it.
Christie heard Richard gasp as they walked in. Julia, resplendent in a tight lavender dress, was rousing herself from the sofa and slipping on a pair of vertiginous black peep-toe Louboutins. Slightly flustered to see that Christie hadn’t come alone, she recovered herself to offer them a drink. They refused but she went ahead to pour herself a vodka-tonic before walking across the room to greet them.
‘You didn’t tell me you were bringing company, darling,’ she remarked, extending her hand for Richard to shake.
‘This is Richard, Julia,’ Christie introduced them. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind if he came with me.’
‘Delighted to meet you at last. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to something?’ She looked up at Richard through heavily mascaraed eyelashes.
‘Nothing, thanks. I’m afraid I’m driving.’
‘How nice. Your very own chauffeur, darling. What I wouldn’t give for one.’ She smiled slowly at him, then turned her attention to Christie, who was alarmed to see Richard succumbing to Julia’s charms. He was staring at her like a rabbit caught in headlights. Not part of their plan at all.
‘Now, perhaps we should let Richard sit in Reception while we discuss this little bit of business?’
Christie’s resolve strengthened. ‘Actually I’d prefer him to stay and listen, if it’s all the same to you.’ She was relieved that, at the sound of her voice, Richard’s attention had returned to her.
Julia inclined her head, not quite disguising her surprise. ‘Of course. Come and sit down. I don’t think you’ve been here at night?’
Christie shook her head as she and Richard took the sofa. The view was the best she’d seen it as the lights of London twinkled before them, a glittering carpet that stretched into the growing darkness. But this was not what she’d come for. She waited while Julia placed her ice-laden drink on a glass coaster then sat in the chair, kicking off her shoes again and tucking her feet underneath her before straightening her dress and gazing at them. Kittenish was the word that came unbidden to Christie’s mind.
Before anyone else spoke, Christie took the initiative and began, just as she and Richard had agreed she would. They had decided that she shouldn’t waste time by mincing her words but come straight to the point. She could feel her middle fingernail digging into her thumb, distracting her from her nerves, as she spoke. ‘Julia, I’ve seen the contents of my White Management file.’ She spoke over Julia’s perplexed ‘How?’. ‘I’m afraid they prove that someone at White Management has been defrauding me. Drink-a-Vit paid me thirty-five thousand pounds in November. That’s ten thousand more than you told me I was getting. You’ve only paid me a fraction of that sum while all the time, when I’ve been asking you where the money was, it’s been sitting in your account. Apart from that, you told me you were signing contracts on my behalf but in fact some-one’s been forging my signature.’ She stopped for a second to take in the effect this was having on Julia, who was sitting absolutely rigid in front of her. Gaining confidence, Christie continued, ‘I don’t know what’s been going on but I’d like you to assure me that you’ll be paying me the full sum owed to me. My accountant will be in touch tomorrow. I know that I’m not the only client you’ve treated in this way. I’ve got evidence that you defrauded Ben Chapman too.’
There was no masking the shock in Julia’s eyes that swiftly transformed into fury, as she muttered, ‘Lily!’ under her breath.
Richard’s attention was now one hundred per cent on Christie. She could feel him willing her on. ‘And I can only assume from the jpegs of me on your computer – the ones that Lenny broke into my house and took back yesterday morning – that you must have been supplying them with stories to the press. Why? Why would you do that to one of your own clients?’
Julia seemed to be picking at a spot on her skirt, buying herself thinking time. Then she took a large swig of her drink. ‘Sure you won’t have one, darling?’
Christie shook her head.
‘Pity.’ She took a sip. ‘Of course I knew you had prints of the jpegs. It wasn’t hard to work out that Lily had found and copied them. And what would she do with them, except show them to you? I’m not an idiot. But, yes, you’re right, I did give them to the press. Being a partner in Star Features has always worked to my and my clients’ advantage, on the whole. But if you’re looking terrible and you come out of places where you’d be wiser not to be seen, you’ve no one but yourself to blame. And you’ve got to admit that your profile is much higher as a result.’
Christie couldn’t believe that Julia would even try to justify her behaviour. Although she had rattled her cage, the other woman had regained charge of herself as she went on smoothly, ‘As for the accounts, this is terrible news to me. I’ve nothing to do with them. That’s Lenny’s gig. The contracts are sent direct to him. He signs them and organises the payments. All I see is the receipts.’
That couldn’t be true. Julia was too much of a control freak to let anything go by without her sanctioning it. But without evidence Christie could hardly argue the point. Despite Richard’s warning cough, she couldn’t keep quiet. ‘I haven’t come here to listen to you blame your staff. I wanted you to represent me in good faith, but you’ve cheated and betrayed me. You won’t be surprised to hear that I’m going to find someone else to represent me.’
‘At last!’ Julia unfolded her legs and sat straight, smoothing her skirt. ‘That’s music to my ears. I’ve had the best out of you anyway.’
‘Hang on a minute . . .’ Richard cut in.
‘Darling, tell your muscle man to butt out. This has nothing whatsoever to do with him. Now, unless I’m mistaken, I think we’ve finished.’ She slipped on her shoes, stood up and began to walk to the door, confident in having had the last word.
‘Not quite. First, I shan’t be leaving until I have your assurance that I’ll be paid everything I’m owed – and there’s just one more thing.’ She had to ask it. ‘What really happened the night Ben Chapman died?’
Julia stopped dead. She turned to them, a fleeting expression of alarm crossing her face. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘Exactly what I said. What happened?’
‘I have no idea. I was asleep . . . it all came out at the inquest.’
Christie could see Julia’s mind ticking over as she tried to work out the reason behind the question, so she took her advantage and delivered her final blow. ‘Indeed. But you seem to have omitted to tell the inquest about the call you took from Lily at ten forty-three, when you told her your BlackBerry had fallen in the pool. Unless, of course, you were sleep-talking.’
Julia laughed uneasily at the poor joke and swept her hair back in a gesture to cover her discomfort, but her top lip had begun to glisten. Christie felt a glimmer of satisfaction at having caught her out at last.
‘Yes, I got a call.’ Julia went to stare out of the window.
The other two held their breath.
‘He was dead.’ Her voice changed. She sounded distant, almost as if she had forgotten they were there and was talking to herself. ‘But his death was nothing to do with me. He slipped. I couldn’t do anything . . .’ She turned as if she’d remembered their presence, regretting having said too much, then turned away again.
Christie was shocked to realise that Julia was struggling to master tears. She pressed home her advantage. ‘So you were there?’
‘I was in the pool, yes.’ Julia pressed her forehead against the window, her body sagging. ‘We’d had a lovely dinner but I could see he had something on his mind,’ she said, in the same faraway tone as before. ‘I suggested he needed to relax in the Jacuzzi. We went to the pool and changed, but decided to swim first. I was first in but he stood by the side of the pool, looking down at me. He started asking
awkward questions about a silly magazine deal. What a moment to choose. He was so handsome and I know I could have done so much for him. We could have been great together. I stroked his feet and kissed his toes. He laughed at me – he gazed down at me and laughed. As he turned away, I grabbed his ankle and he slipped. I’ll never forget the crack of his head on the edge of the pool. Blood everywhere. That was it. There was nothing I could do.’ She paused as she brought herself back to the present. Then she spoke again, as self-possessed as ever: ‘I’m not a murderer. It was an accident, just as they found at the inquest.’
‘Then why wait four hours before calling the police?’ Richard was as mystified and shocked as Christie by this unexpected confession. They had both imagined that Julia would deny the call or at least try to defend herself. Instead she had buckled immediately. If anything, she’d seemed almost relieved at being able to release what she must have kept bottled up since that night.
But as they watched her, the old Julia reasserted herself. She took another drink before she answered.
‘I would have rung them straight away, of course, but I had to think of all my clients, not just Ben. It was for their sake. Do you think I wanted him lying there all night? You have to understand,’ she appealed to Richard, with an automatic flutter of her eyelashes, ‘many of them would still be waiting tables, waiting for their big break, if it weren’t for me. They need me. Unlike Ben, who turned out to be just plain greedy. I’d made him plenty of money. Why did he need more?’ She asked the question as if hoping one of them would give her the answer. She closed her eyes. ‘What does it matter when I called the police? He was dead. That’s why I’m telling you what happened.’
‘How can you be so certain nothing could be done?’ Richard insisted.
At last Julia crumpled, sniffing into the Kleenex that she ripped from the box on the table. ‘I’ve lived with the sight of him falling ever since. The stupid boy could have had everything but he rejected me . . .’ She paused as she took herself back, then cleared her throat, remembering once again where she was. ‘But you don’t need to tell anyone any of this. Knowing won’t make any difference now. Raking it up again will only upset his family.’