From London with Love

by Jemma Forte

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  From London with Love

  Jemma Forte has worked for many years in the television industry, including five years at the Disney Channel, as well as presenting on BBC, ITV and Channel 4. She lives with her husband and two children in London. This is her second novel. Her first novel, Me & Miss M, is also published by Penguin.

  From London with Love

  JEMMA FORTE

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  For Lily and Freddie

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA), Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published 2011

  Copyright © Jemma Forte, 2011

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All rights reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

  ISBN: 978-0-14-196205-4

  Contents

  Prologue

  Twenty-Six Years and Three Months Later (To Be Precise)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Two parents, that much we all have in common, at least at the point of conception anyway. Nothing’s guaranteed after that, of course, though thankfully most baby makers are keen to stick around to look after and enjoy the fruit of their loins. After all, the word ‘parent’ is a verb as well as a noun.

  Parenthood, it’s the club that’s easy to get into (fertility permitting) and yet such a privilege to be part of. The club which doesn’t offer money back, a trial run or any guarantees but entices us with the promise of untold joy and fulfilment. And which, for that reason, will always have people on the waiting list.

  One day, back in 1984, movie stars Edward Granger and Angelica Dupree didn’t know it yet but they were about to come off the waiting list and become fully paid-up members themselves, any second now …

  The famous couple were in London celebrating the royal première of Edward’s latest outing as James Bond and with two weeks to go until their due date they had the world at their feet (not that Angelica had seen hers for months). They were excited and nervous about the birth of their first child in equal measure, though admittedly Angelica was looking forward to getting the ‘shoving it out’ bit over and done with. After that, however, the couple assumed the rest would be plain sailing. Why would it not? They were rich, gorgeous and hugely successful at everything they did. The timing was a little off, but millions of people looked after babies every day. How hard could it be?

  ‘Are you all right, my darling?’ Edward asked Angelica. ‘Not too uncomfortable on that stool?’

  ‘I’m fine, just tired. Can we go soon?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, placing a protective hand on her burgeoning belly.

  Just then, Jill Cunningham, his agent, sidled up to them, breaking the spell. ‘The critics love you,’ she drawled with greedy relish. ‘This time tomorrow we’ll have signed another two-movie deal.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ replied Edward agreeably and was just about to ask what she wanted to drink when an excited-looking woman came charging into their eye line.

  Barging her way through the crowd, she looked overcome with excitement. ‘I can’t believe it’s really you,’ she squealed, clamping her hand over her mouth. ‘James Bond in the flesh and … oh my God! Sorry, it’s just I didn’t see you at first. Angelica Dupree! You’re even more stunning than in your pictures and … you’re expecting!’ she gabbled, pointing out the obvious.

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ said Edward chivalrously, sliding off his stool to greet his fan. ‘And what might your name be?’

  ‘Anita,’ she said coyly. ‘Or should I say, “Fletcher, Anita Fletcher”.’

  Edward flung his head back and laughed as though this was the most original thing he’d ever heard. Angelica smiled to herself.

  ‘So tell me, Anita Fletcher, what did you make of the film?’ Edward was saying now.

  ‘Loved it, really loved it. In fact, me and my sister who’s … somewhere … anyway, we’re huge Bond fans and we won a competition to come tonight, and it was just brilliant. The baddie was excellent and we loved the Bond girl … though she wasn’t as good as you were in the last one,’ she added hurriedly to Angelica.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ placated Angelica, despite the fact that a slightly sore point had been touched upon. Getting pregnant now, when she was on the cusp of a glittering career, hadn’t exactly been the plan. ‘Bond’s supposed to have different girls and, besides, I wouldn’t fit into my bikini at the moment anyway – though hopefully I’ll be back into it in time for the next one.’

  Jill Cunningham was dying to interject at this point, but held her tongue. As Edward’s agent, she’d always hated how ambitious his young wife was and wished she’d stop trying to compete.

  Anita Fletcher stared back gormlessly. She wasn’t sure where to look. Angelica’s silk maternity dress plunged into a low V, showing off to full effect her incredible bosoms and perfect décolletage. ‘You’re carrying beautifully,’ she said eventually. ‘What do you think you’re having? Apart from a baby obviously …’

  ‘I don’t know,’ interrupted Angelica.

  ‘Really? Gosh, when I was pregnant with my Paul, I knew it was a boy from the beginning. Didn’t stop kicking, for one thing.’

  ‘Right,’ Angelica replied faintly.

  ‘And what would y
ou have called him if he’d been a girl?’ asked Edward politely.

  ‘Lorraine.’

  The smile faded from Angelica’s face. ‘Mon Dieu,’ she wailed in her first language.

  ‘Lorraine’s not that bad,’ Edward said.

  ‘No!’ cried a mortified-looking Angelica. ‘I’ve had an accident, look.’

  Edward followed her gaze downwards. A huge wet patch was emerging through the pistachio silk of her dress. ‘Angie darling,’ he said, blue eyes twinkling ‘That’s not wee. I think your water’s have broken. We’re going to have a baby.’

  Angelica stared blankly at him for a second and then she gasped, and in years to come Edward Granger would always remember that moment. For it was the moment his life changed for ever. The moment that marked both a joyful new beginning and a sorrowful end, and the last time Edward would feel absolutely sure about anything for a very long time to come.

  Twenty-Six Years and Three Months Later (To Be Precise)

  1

  Jessica Granger was sitting behind her desk at work, trying to figure out what on earth was going on. For nearly a month now she’d been working as a receptionist at one of the most prestigious art galleries in Los Angeles and, while manning the phones wasn’t the most stimulating of jobs, she liked it. It was something to get up for in the morning and lent a comforting sense of normality to her otherwise abnormal life.

  The vast white space, located a few blocks from Rodeo Drive, was a magnet for wealthy residents and tourists alike and Jessica’s desk was situated right in the middle, at the back. The atmosphere inside the air-conditioned gallery was sombre, quiet and still, and – as in a library or a church – visitors spoke in hushed, reverential tones. Though in the case of the current exhibition, if they’d run from the building screaming Jessica wouldn’t have blamed them.

  On the walls was the work of a hip new German artist. The show comprised eight huge canvases, which were smothered in fluorescent blotches, bright splatters of primary-coloured paint and speckles of gold and silver. Not content with the cacophony of colour he’d created, the artist, for some reason Jessica had yet to grasp, had also smeared the finished pieces with buffalo dung. So they smelled, as one would expect, very unpleasant. To be more precise, they smelled of shit.

  Having lived with the paintings for the last few weeks, Jessica had grown to hate them. They made her feel anxious, gave her a headache and offended her senses. Passers-by recoiled in horror as they took the full impact and when one of her colleagues described them as offensive Jessica couldn’t have agreed more. But then what did she know? Christopher, their boss, obviously thought they were good enough to grace the gallery’s walls, and now, as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one.

  ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ said financial controller Nick, one of several members of staff who had gathered round Jessica’s desk to gaze in wonder at the red dots that were stuck next to every single piece.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ agreed Jessica wholeheartedly, as she looked around the room warily, half-expecting Ashton Kutcher to spring out from behind a pillar yelling ‘You’ve been Punk’d!’

  Just then, Christopher himself arrived. ‘Morning everybody, and good morning Jessica, how are you today?’ he enquired, striding in triumphantly.

  ‘Er – great, thanks, Mr Starkey,’ Jessica replied, surprised to have been singled out.

  ‘Look,’ he said dramatically, ‘sold, sold, sold.’

  ‘Huge congratulations,’ said Kate, who as head of sales was immensely relieved she could finally stop risking her reputation by pretending to like them. ‘So who bought them then? Did they all go to the same client?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Christopher, grinning smugly, his eyes flitting to Jessica once more. She blushed, panicking in case someone had told him what she’d said about the paintings.

  ‘Was it Stevie Wonder by any chance?’ laughed Kate, confident that now the paintings were finally off their hands, a joke might be permitted.

  Several people spluttered with laughter. Unfortunately Christopher wasn’t one of them. ‘Well, thank goodness not everybody shares your narrow view of what is, and what isn’t, great art, Kate,’ he snapped, before storming off to the back offices, leaving an embarrassed silence in his wake. One by one, everyone shuffled back to work, but Kate marched after Christopher, looking like she wanted to pick a fight.

  Minutes later, however, she reappeared. ‘I may have been wrong about these paintings, you know?’ she said tentatively, hovering round Jessica’s desk. ‘They’re really pretty amazing when you think about the amount of work that’s gone into them.’

  Jessica looked up from the mailing list she was updating and tucked her fair hair behind her ears. ‘Um … sure, I suppose.’ Privately, she was disappointed by Kate’s lack of backbone. Just because one insane individual had decided to buy the paintings didn’t mean anything had changed. They were still an eyesore.

  Still, at least Christopher’s mood had reverted to one of friendliness and joy, and when he reappeared a little later he even offered to pop to Starbucks to get Jessica a coffee. On the one hand she was delighted her conscientiousness and eagerness to please was finally being recognized; on the other, it was unnerving. Then, when he laughed like a drain at something she said as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, a sixth sense suddenly made her feel horribly wary. As soon as he’d left again Jessica dialled best friend Dulcie’s number.

  ‘It’s me,’ she whispered into her headset. ‘I’m having a really strange day so I need you to tell me that I’m going crazy for having the thoughts I’m having.’

  ‘Tell me in a second because I’m so glad you’ve called,’ came the reply. ‘I’ve just booked my next dress fitting, so put July twentieth in your diary and, oh my God, you will not believe who Kevin wants to invite …’

  Five minutes later and Jessica was beginning to regret calling. Her friend was in full bridal flow, she hadn’t got a word in edgeways and there was a call coming through that she needed to answer.

  ‘Dulcie …’

  ‘… anyway, it’s such a relief about the chairs, I knew you’d be pleased, and next time I go to check out the venue you should come because –’

  ‘Dulcie …’

  ‘That way we can decide together –’

  ‘DULCIE!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got to go.’

  A few minutes later, Rob, the gallery technician, turned up complete with ladder.

  ‘Morning, Jess,’ he said. ‘Just to let you know, the new paintings for the next exhibition have arrived and Christopher said to feel free to look at them in the viewing room.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jessica, who didn’t know quite what to make of that. ‘That’s cool of him.’

  ‘I guess,’ said Rob.

  Jessica watched thoughtfully as he climbed the ladder, which he’d positioned underneath one of the lighting rigs. ‘So, only a couple of weeks to go and we don’t have to see these any more, eh?’ she said conspiratorially.

  From his lofty position, Rob looked at her with a bemused expression. ‘You mean because we’ll see them somewhere else?’ he said and then he winked.

  Jessica’s hackles immediately went up. ‘Who bought the paintings?’ she asked impulsively.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Rob quickly. Too quickly. He was lying.

  Thinking swiftly, Jessica changed tactics. She had a hunch, a hideous one that she simply had to eradicate. ‘It’s all right,’ she stage-whispered, going for a bluff. ‘I know.’

  ‘Really?’ he replied, concentrating just a little too hard on his light bulb.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jessica in a blasé voice, which belied the fact that her pulse was accelerating by the second.

  ‘Who told you?’ asked Rob as he climbed back down.

  ‘Oh, you know,’ said Jessica, as if he ought to.

  ‘It’s just that Christopher said we shouldn’t say anything,’ he replied, looking flustered, ‘because I think he thoug
ht you didn’t want us to know about who … you know … though I have to admit,’ he said, looking pained, ‘I’ve been feeling really bad ever since I found out. I want you to know that when I called them monstrosities the other day I was only joking.’

  Jessica’s heart fell into her stomach. ‘Oh, sure,’ she said weakly. ‘Anyway, don’t worry about it. Obviously I know that he … my –’ She stopped, still hoping she might have got it wrong. Maybe she was being paranoid, fishing in the wrong pond?

  ‘Your … dad?’ offered Rob hesitantly.

  ‘My dad …’ Right pond then.

  ‘O-K,’ said Rob, suddenly looking anxious in case he’d said the wrong thing. ‘So, anyway, I need to go out now, Jess, but …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t take any notice of what anyone else thinks, yeah? At the end of the day, art is entirely subjective,’ he added kindly.

  Jessica nodded faintly and forced a smile. She didn’t know where to begin so she just didn’t bother and as she waved goodbye to Rob she suspected she was waving goodbye for good, because how could she possibly stay at the gallery now? She sat there despairing for a while, feeling utterly humiliated and more than a little stupid. Yet another job had just hit the dust, been taken away from her, and now she needed some lunch, to resign and to work out what on earth to do about her interfering dad, only not necessarily in that order.

  2

  Jessica was anxiously nibbling on a breadstick when her phone vibrated.

  ‘Dulcie,’ she muttered, ‘I can’t talk. I’m at Spago waiting for Shawn.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Dulcie, ‘everyone talks on their phones there. What did you want to tell me earlier?’

  Jessica glanced around the Beverly Hills restaurant. ‘Well …’

  ‘Actually, before you tell me, Jess, I need to pick your brains about which magazines to approach about the wedding. I mean, they’re going to be interested, right?’

  From nowhere Jessica found herself battling with an overwhelming urge to scream ‘NO ONE IS INTERESTED! Even I, your best friend, would rather impale myself on a rusty sword than see or hear anything else about your wedding right now because, as astounding as this may sound, I actually have other things to think about. And, by the way, who are you and what have you done with my friend? ’ This flood of pent-up emotion took Jessica quite by surprise. Until this very second, she hadn’t realized just how much Dulcie’s perpetual wedding chatter had been bothering her. Still, she opted for a less controversial reply.