From London with Love

by Jemma Forte

  Edward, who’d been studying his daughter’s thoughtful face, got up from the sofa and came to sit down next to her on the bed. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Firstly, Jess, you have to understand that this idea about going to England has been rather sprung on me. So if my first reaction wasn’t the one that you were after, I apologize, though you must appreciate I’m still trying to get my head round it.’

  Jessica shrugged, but allowed Edward to put his arm around her and nestled in.

  ‘Secondly, I only want you to be happy, so if this desire to go to England is something that won’t go away, then so be it. Though I’d like to know more about your plans. Where were you planning on staying, for instance? Because, if I may make a suggestion, why don’t you stay with your auntie Pamela until you get settled? I could ring her now before she goes to bed. Sound her out. I know she’d love to have you and it’s high time you caught up anyway.’

  Jessica couldn’t resist a smile. She loved her auntie Pam, whom she’d missed over the years. Pamela had a phobia about flying so as far as she was concerned there wasn’t a sleeping pill strong enough that would ever get her to the States. Still, staying with her wasn’t the answer.

  ‘I don’t think so, Dad. As much as staying with Pam sounds great, I don’t want to take the easy option. I meant it when I said I wanted to do things properly so I’m going to do what normal people do when they go away.’

  ‘What’s that then?’ asked Edward, struggling with a vision of his daughter in a shitty bedsit or residing in a travel tavern.

  ‘Stay at a hotel. I’ll make a reservation at the Dorchester. Only not the penthouse, just a regular room,’ she said firmly, standing up and crossing the bedroom to skip the next song on her iPod.

  ‘Er, right,’ replied Edward faintly. ‘Well, I guess that would keep things “normal” … I mean, if that’s really what you want to do?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘OK,’ said Edward, concentrating hard on not looking amused. He hoped she was planning on taking her credit card. ‘So when were you planning on going?’

  ‘Soon. Tomorrow maybe?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ spluttered Edward. ‘Are you bloody joking? Jesus, Jess, when did you suddenly become so gung-ho?’

  Jessica didn’t know, but after months and months of malaise it felt so thrilling to have a plan that she just wanted to get on with it. She shrugged, trying to repress a grin.

  ‘Christ, what about all your friends – don’t you want to say goodbye?’ Edward continued, running his hands through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck, something he always did when he was stressed. ‘I know you two have had a tricky time lately, but Dulcie especially would be really upset if you just buggered off.’

  ‘OK, OK. Dulcie’s having “pre-hen” drinks anyway, so I should probably stay for those,’ said Jessica, trying not to giggle. Her dad seemed really rattled, which proved he was taking her plan seriously, which meant it was actually going to happen, which in turn made it all feel suddenly real and very exciting.

  ‘And what about my birthday party?’

  ‘That’s not until September, which is four whole months away, so obviously I’ll come back for that. But there is one other thing,’ Jessica continued, the smallest trace of defiance in her voice as she prepared to talk about something delicate.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I think Mom may be in London soon.’

  ‘Right,’ replied Edward steadily.

  ‘And I know I didn’t see her that long ago, but it might be good to see her on neutral territory for a change.’

  ‘Is that why you’re going?’

  ‘No,’ replied Jessica immediately. ‘Not at all. In fact, I only realized she’d be there just now when I checked her schedule. But seeing as she is going to be there, I thought – as long as you’re cool with it, of course – I should hook up with her. Though if you’d rather I didn’t then … you know, I don’t really care either way.’

  Edward swallowed. Watching his daughter struggling to seek permission to see her own mother made him feel so deeply sad it was as if the sun had just gone in behind a dark cloud. ‘Darling, you can see your mother whenever you like. You’re a grown woman and you don’t need to check with me anyway.’

  ‘But I want you to be OK about it,’ mumbled Jessica, torn as ever.

  ‘I am. I’m more than OK, I’m pleased,’ he added for good measure, though it practically choked him to do so.

  ‘Sure?’ checked Jessica suspiciously.

  ‘Completely,’ replied Edward, wondering how things had ever got to this point.

  ‘OK,’ said Jessica, trying to sound blasé. ‘Well, we’ll see.’

  Just then Betsey poked her head round the door.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, bestowing Jessica with a quick, fake smile before turning to Edward. ‘Honey, could I see you for a few minutes … in our room?’

  As she said this, she raised one eyebrow and beckoned him to her with a long pink talon.

  Oh, gross, thought Jessica, as she tried not to retch. She knew full well what her stepmother was after. Despite having spent the last twenty-six years yearning for a little brother or sister, she wasn’t sure she was ready for the spawn of Betsey, especially when she could see a mile off how reluctant her father was. Still, it was nothing to do with her and she didn’t want to be caught up in his personal life any more. Another good reason to get away.

  ‘In a minute, Betsey,’ replied Edward forcibly, causing his wife to flounce out in a rage, slamming the door behind her in frustration. Edward seemed to deflate before Jessica’s eyes, suddenly looking crestfallen and rather old. She went to give him a hug. She’d miss him terribly.

  As Edward hugged his daughter back, he cleared his throat. ‘So if you’re not going to be Jessica Granger in England, what name are you going to use?’

  Jessica grinned. As the daughter of an A-list movie star she had learned the art of discretion from a young age. ‘I thought I’d use your real last name. Meet Bender, Jessica Bender,’ she said cheekily.

  ‘Right,’ mused Edward. ‘Well, just to warn you, Bender’s not the easiest name to get by on in the UK. It has slightly different connotations over there.’

  But Jessica wasn’t listening. She was too busy prancing around her room and, besides, she really didn’t care what name she used, so long as it wasn’t Granger.

  7

  One transatlantic flight and several days later, Jessica opened first one sleep-filled eye and then the other. Waking up from a deep night’s sleep meant she was groggy and not entirely sure where she was, until gradually things swam into place and started making sense. Of course, she was in her room, at the Dorchester, in England.

  She stretched. She loved this hotel. It might not be quite as ‘rock and roll’ as somewhere like the Sanderson or the Mayfair, but it was quintessentially English and unapologetically luxurious, harking back to the glamour of the twenties which was reflected in the art-deco-influenced interior. She’d never stayed in one of the regular rooms before, which wasn’t as spacious as the suites she was used to. There was barely enough wardrobe space to fit in all her luggage, but the bed was unbelievably comfy and the view of Hyde Park was amazing. In fact, the only thing making her stay less than comfortable were the prickles of doubt and guilt that kept needling her. As soon as she’d arrived it had struck her that the majority of the hotel’s clientele were either much older than her, blatantly wealthy and/or on business, which had made her wonder if staying here really was quite such a ‘normal’ thing to do after all.

  She recalled the novelty of having flown economy, something she’d insisted upon to demonstrate how serious she was about eschewing her privileged lifestyle. As the wheels had been lowered ready for landing, she’d gazed out of the window at the unseasonal blanket of grey, rain-filled cloud that was waiting at Heathrow. The impending gloom had made the other passengers feel like getting on the first plane back out the minute they landed. Jessica, however, had been flooded with undilut
ed excitement and the feeling that this adventure was absolutely the right thing to do. It wasn’t just her dad she needed a breather from, but Los Angeles too. LA was an unforgiving city, all about ‘making it’, so if you hadn’t worked out which ladder you wanted to climb, let alone got a foot on the first rung, it was a tricky place to be. In London, though, nobody but herself would be in charge and the albatross of her identity could be unwrapped from around her neck. She’d already felt as though she were chipping away at the years of guilt-ridden privilege that was stuck to her like lime scale. Though, admittedly, she’d missed the leg room …

  It was just a shame she hadn’t been able to tell Dulcie face to face that she was leaving. She’d tried on numerous occasions, but simply hadn’t managed to get a non-wedding-related word in edgeways, even at her ‘pre-hen’ drinks. Their friendship had definitely taken a weird turn for the worse and, though it made her miserable, Jessica didn’t know what she could do about it; short of tying Dulcie to a chair and forcing her to listen. Not something she wanted to resort to. No, Dulcie would have to find out she’d left the hard way. Next time she phoned Jessica for a quick bore, she’d be getting a foreign dialling tone.

  In the meantime, first and foremost she needed a job. London was proving to be a tougher nut to crack than she’d anticipated. She’d applied herself to finding a job with zeal, but so far hundreds of phone calls and emails to temping agencies and recruitment companies had yielded nothing and she wondered if her scattergun approach was to blame. Still, she was determined not to give up, so today she and Pam (her moral support) would be hitting the streets to find a job that way. As soon as she’d had breakfast. Reaching one arm out from under the covers, she picked up the phone. ‘Room service, please? Hi, can I get an omelette, some coffee, the fruit plate and some orange juice? It’s room number … oh, you know. OK, thank you.’

  Forty-five minutes later, Jessica left her room and headed for the elevators, ready to face the world, feeling confident in her black trouser suit that she looked presentable, smart and, above all else, employable. Punctual as ever, Pam was waiting for her in the lobby. Jessica smiled as she strode purposefully across to greet her.

  ‘Morning, love, you look nice.’

  Jessica grinned and took her by the arm. ‘So do you. Thanks so much for saying you’d come with me.’

  ‘Ooh, pleasure, treasure.’

  May was drawing to a close and as they emerged from the hotel into warm sunshine Jessica felt grateful, not for the first time, of Pam’s company. Her aunt was every bit as warm and lovely as Jessica remembered, and provided her with a comforting sense of home in a foreign place. In fact, from the minute they’d met at the airport it had struck Jessica that here was where the majority of her genes derived from. Their resemblance to one another was something she must have been too young to have appreciated before, but now it came almost as a relief, as if a mystery had been cleared up.

  Pamela was what one would describe as a handsome woman. She exuded a smart kind of glamour, aided and abetted by a good quality wardrobe, and today was wearing a lilac skirt suit, Russell and Bromley navy shoes and a matching handbag. Her nails were painted in her trademark shade of pink and her silvery hair was blow dried and immaculate as ever. It glinted in the sunshine as they hit Park Lane. The combination of a husband who had left his affairs in order before he died, and a well-off and generous brother, meant Pam hadn’t had to worry too much about money. Just as well, for when Bernard had passed away she’d been too grief-stricken to do much more than merely function.

  ‘Right, where to?’ Pam asked as the doorman lifted his arm to hail them a taxi. ‘What’s first on the agenda?’

  ‘It’s OK, thanks,’ said Jessica to the doorman. ‘Today we’re doing things the London way and walking,’ she added, feeling really buoyed-up and positive. ‘So we’ll just keep going till we see somewhere that we like the look of.’

  ‘Right you are then,’ Pam said pragmatically. ‘I suppose that’s as good a plan as any. Somewhere we like the look of.’

  Two hours later, however, as Jessica emerged from yet another shop, tired, dejected and disillusioned, her enthusiasm was waning. Pam, who was waiting for her outside on the pavement, raised her eyebrows questioningly. ‘Well?’

  Jessica just shook her head.

  ‘Right,’ said Pam, pointing at a coffee shop. ‘In there.’

  ‘Can we give that one a miss? I bet they don’t have any jobs going and I need a break,’ said Jessica.

  ‘And I need a latte and a big fat Danish pastry,’ puffed her aunt.

  ‘Oh,’ replied Jessica, dolefully following after her.

  With two rejuvenating cups of coffee in front of them, Jessica and Pam regrouped.

  ‘I’m just not convinced that aimlessly wandering the streets is the right way to go about finding a job, love,’ said Pam. ‘Maybe you need a bit more of a proper game plan, as it were.’

  ‘I guess I was naive,’ said Jessica, ‘but I didn’t expect people to be so dismissive. The man in that café was horrid and there was me thinking everybody in London would be really friendly. Those girls who worked in that clothes shop were so bitchy about my name too.’

  ‘Well, you had that coming,’ laughed Pam. ‘Why you’ve gone and saddled yourself with the name Bender I shall never know. When I met my Bernard I was so happy to get shot of it. Bernard Anderson, I thought. What a perfect name. And it was, until that wretched Baywatch came out, at which point being Pamela Anderson took on a whole new meaning.’

  Despite her mood, Jessica couldn’t help but grin. Pam regarded her niece thoughtfully.

  ‘Look, it’s tough times out there at the moment, love, so you shouldn’t be too surprised not to have found a job yet. Without your dad here to help you it’s going to be a lot harder for you, but think of the freedom you have now to try and work out what you really want to do.’

  ‘But that’s just it,’ said Jessica helplessly. ‘This is why I needed to get away from LA in the first place, precisely because I don’t know what I want to do. I kinda hoped things would be different here.’

  ‘And they will be,’ said Pam convincingly, ‘but you have to give fate a helping hand. Bernard always used to say that “you get back from life what you put in”, so don’t go giving up, love. Stick with it and something will crop up eventually. And, in the meantime, having you here has been a tonic. It really has.’

  Jessica managed a smile. She knew her aunt wasn’t just saying it, so at least she was doing something right. ‘I wish I could remember Bernard. He sounds like such a lovely man.’

  ‘He was,’ Pam answered simply.

  A silence followed and the two women were left to their own thoughts while Pam made inroads into her pastry.

  ‘Dad ringing every five minutes to find out if I’ve got something yet isn’t exactly helping,’ said Jessica eventually.

  ‘Oh, I know,’ agreed Pam vehemently, dabbing icing sugar off her mouth with a napkin. ‘He rings me every day to make sure you’re OK, usually when I’m trying to watch Come Dine With Me. Honestly, I can see why you needed to get away, love – one parent does far too much interfering, while the other one doesn’t do nearly enough.’

  Jessica flinched at this rather barbed reference to her mother and her mind started working overtime as she debated whether or not to mention to Pam that she had in fact arranged to meet with the object of her contempt for breakfast the next day. Probably best not to. Judging by Pam’s expression, it would only give her indigestion.

  8

  The next morning Jessica walked into the hotel’s opulent dining room where breakfast was served every day, though this would be the first time she hadn’t taken it in her room. Angelica was due to arrive at nine thirty and Jessica automatically found herself looking around at the other guests. How many of them would react when her mother walked in? How many would whisper behind their hands? How many would be bold or interested enough to approach her at the table? Questions she’d been asking
her entire life.

  ‘Good morning, Ms Bender. Table for one?’ asked the head waiter.

  ‘Er, no, actually I’m meeting my … I’m meeting someone at nine thirty.’

  ‘Very well,’ he replied, ‘then perhaps you would like this table over here next to …’ He trailed off, distracted by the sound of a huge commotion that was coming from the lobby.

  Jessica followed his gaze. ‘That’ll be my guest now,’ she said resignedly. She could only imagine that the paparazzi must have spotted Angelica’s arrival and caused a disturbance big enough to have spilled into the hotel. Why couldn’t breakfast ever just mean breakfast?

  ‘Sorry, madame,’ the waiter continued. ‘I’m not sure what’s going on out there, but if you’d like to take your table then I’ll –’

  Once again he failed to finish, for just then a cluster of hotel staff appeared in the doorway, making a huge fuss of whomever was in their midst. Eventually, one by one, the staff members were dismissed by the person they were flapping over and gradually they all seemed to melt away until only the cause of all the fuss remained. By now everyone in the dining room was straining to see what was going on. It was an entrance and a half and, as ever, Jessica couldn’t blame anyone for staring.

  At forty-eight years old, Angelica Dupree was still extraordinarily beautiful. Her hair tumbled down her back, still brown and lustrous, elegantly highlighted with copper hues to cover the inevitable grey (hair dye was one of Angelica’s few concessions towards trying to prevent the ageing process). Despite immense pressure to do so, she’d never gone down the surgery route. No needles had ever touched her exquisite face either, which ultimately looked all the better for it. It was certainly more expressive, which may have had something to do with how well her acting had been received recently. Now, as she strode into the dining room looking eagerly around for her daughter, stunning as ever and dressed immaculately in a white silk blouse, a skirt made of the softest caramel suede and cream Jimmy Choo boots, Jessica felt a strange mixture of pride, misery and something akin to awe.