From London with Love

by Jemma Forte

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he said wearily, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender before exchanging his can of Coke for a Diet Coke instead and going to sit at the breakfast bar.

  ‘Look,’ said Jill, taking in his sullen expression. ‘I know you’re not happy with every aspect of this movie, but you have to trust me. Remember how concerned you were about the script for Fifty Guns and how did that turn out in the end?’

  ‘Pretty well,’ muttered Edward.

  ‘That’s right, so try not to worry. Leave Brendan to me. By the time I’ve finished, the script will be up to scratch, I promise. As for the Juliana issue, this is Hollywood, where a handsome man like you can be with whomever he likes. In fact, the younger and prettier the better as far as the audience is concerned. Even if we all know that in the real world a man’s far better off with a more mature woman,’ she finished, a touch flirtatiously, just as Edward let out the most enormous gassy burp, having knocked his soda back far too fast.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, not registering what she’d said as his phone had just started ringing.

  Consuela had heard, however, and as she delivered Edward’s sandwich to him, her shoulders were heaving. Jill’s cheeks flamed red.

  Oblivious to everything, Edward answered the phone crossly, irritated that a phone call was coming between him and what looked like a triumph of a sandwich.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Edward,’ said a familiar and yet distant voice from the past that he instantly recognized and yet couldn’t quite comprehend he was really hearing. ‘It’s me …’

  For a few seconds Edward simply stared gormlessly into space before sitting bolt upright as if he’d been stung. Then, offering no explanation to either Consuela or Jill, who were both staring at him, he leapt down from the breakfast bar, abandoning his snack altogether in order to take the call in another room.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ he managed as he raced through the house towards the privacy of his study, holding his phone aloft and staring at it in the same way Superman might regard a lump of Kryptonite. Finally, upon reaching his study, he locked the door behind him and cleared his throat. ‘Angelica, is that you?’

  ‘Oui, c’est moi,’ came the reply and Edward was instantly transported back in time, overwhelmed by memories, both good and bad.

  ‘How are you?’ he enquired, immediately feeling ridiculous for having done so.

  ‘I’m … OK,’ said Angelica. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, I suppose … but … look, what do you want?’ he asked bluntly, changing tack completely. Exchanging social niceties with someone who had caused him so much pain simply didn’t feel appropriate or natural, so he cut to the chase.

  ‘To talk … I don’t know, I’m sorry. I just wanted to try and talk about … everything.’

  Hearing her voice, something he’d once longed for, was agonizing and Edward felt as though someone had just lobbed a hand grenade into his life. Why now, he wondered, as his brain whirred away? Why after all this time was she ringing out of the blue when he’d prayed that she would do so for years and years?

  Just then, someone knocked hard at the door. It was obviously Jill coming to find out what was going on, but he ignored her. He swallowed, wishing he’d had some kind of warning that Angelica was going to ring. That way he could have figured out what to say, how to be. As it was, he felt utterly thrown. ‘Well, I’m not sure we really have anything to say,’ he stuttered. ‘I mean, it would have been nice to have talked about, ooh – twenty-odd years ago, but I think the moment may have passed now, don’t you?’

  ‘But at least I tried to …’

  ‘Tried to what?’ he demanded to know.

  ‘I should go,’ said Angelica, her voice almost a whisper and Edward felt an instant jolt of emotion. He didn’t want her to go, which was horribly unnerving given that he’d spent the last couple of decades convincing himself he loathed her. Yet suddenly it didn’t feel like that at all. In truth, it was unbelievably good to hear her voice. More than good. It was like coming home and reminded him not just of everything they’d once had together, but of everything she’d thrown away. What he had thought were old feelings of grief and rage began to unfurl in his belly and now he knew they’d never really gone away. All the hurt and regret had merely been lying dormant inside him, like a sleeping dragon, and he didn’t know if he was strong enough to handle dredging up all those feelings again.

  Jill banged on the door once more. ‘Edward, open up.’

  ‘I don’t think we can talk until you’ve reconciled things with Jessica properly,’ Edward said eventually. ‘She’s grown up not knowing why you left, but deserves to know, Ange. She deserves to know but only you can tell her.’

  The familiarity of him calling her ‘Ange’ made Angelica’s heart expand and contract as she experienced a dull ache of longing for the whole sorry situation to be different, but she understood what he was saying. What she didn’t understand, however, was why he himself couldn’t have helped their daughter to try and make sense of things. ‘OK,’ she said simply. ‘I will talk to Jessica. You are right.’

  ‘Right,’ said Edward, blinking furiously. ‘And then, you know … maybe …’

  ‘Maybe … what?’

  ‘You know – we could speak … maybe …’

  ‘Goodbye,’ said Angelica before putting down the phone.

  Edward shut his eyes, inhaled deeply and put everything he was feeling into a little box somewhere deep inside him. He would be having a good look at it all later on, but not while Jill was there, demanding to know what was going on.

  ‘Edward, what’s happening? Let me in.’

  As he unlocked the door, an irate Jill practically fell into the room. Having taken one look at Edward’s ashen face, however, her tone switched from affronted to one of concern.

  ‘What is it? Tell me, Edward.’

  ‘You won’t believe who that was.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Angelica.’

  Jill gasped. It was a shock all right and yet, funnily enough, she could believe it only too well.

  16

  Jessica had always known her first show day would be a big day to get through, but could never have anticipated quite how much would be riding on it. It was half tempting not to show up at all, but she knew she would, if only to avoid letting Kerry down. Though if Helena Davies was a disaster, she might be on her way home whether she liked it or not. However, this was still only her fourth day of gainful employment so she sincerely hoped not because she wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. She willed things to go well.

  Kerry had decided on the running order for the day. Alan Carr would be on first, followed by Helena Davies and finally Kate Templeton.

  With Mike away, it was especially important that the day ran smoothly and by three o’ clock in the afternoon, when all the guests had arrived and were ensconced safely in their dressing rooms, it was starting to look like it might. Helena Davies had turned out to be far more beautiful in the flesh than she was in photographs and Kerry had already commented that underneath the lights her fantastic bone structure, porcelain skin and auburn hair should make for a pretty devastating combination. Having spent time chatting with her and briefing her about the show, Kerry and Jessica were also delighted and relieved to confirm that, as suspected, there was a lot more to Helena Davies than met the eye.

  In the studio, which had been a hive of rehearsal activity all day, they were finally ready to shoot Alan Carr’s segment. The four cameramen had their headphones on and were manning their cameras, which meant the director, vision mixer, engineers and sound guys were all in position in the gallery, the nerve centre where it all happened. Once the audience had been revved up into a frenzy by the warm-up man and floor manager, the show got underway. The first interview went very smoothly. Alan Carr was hilarious and as Jessica got into the swing of the day she was surprised to find herself enjoying the chaos. It was only when she suddenly found herself on her way to fe
tch and escort Helena back to the studio that her nerves returned.

  As they walked down the corridor together, Jessica smiled reassuringly at Helena, pleased to see how remarkably calm she looked, though when she went to look again she noticed that her hands were clenched tightly into fists. Paul walked past just at that moment, on his way to the gallery. Without prior warning he tapped Jessica on the shoulder before pulling her towards him so he could whisper in her ear: ‘How’s Lady Muck then?’

  Jessica replied with a filthy look and prayed even harder that Helena Davies would acquit herself well. Paul whispering into her ear in such an intimate way had evoked another feeling too and if she didn’t know better she would say she’d got some kind of cheap thrill out of it. She gave herself a shake. It had been a while, that was her problem.

  They reached the set with minutes to spare and soon Jessica could hear in her headphones that cameras were ready, Julian was ready and Bradley Mackintosh was good to go. The floor manager started signalling for the studio audience to cheer, which they did with gusto, and then Bradley started reading the introduction that Paul had penned for him.

  ‘And now to my next guest. You will all have heard of course of Damien Davies but you may not be so familiar with his daughter Helena … I’ll take it from that awkward silence I’m right, so let’s get her on so we can ask her where on earth she’s been hiding and what it’s like to be the only daughter of one of the richest men in the country. It’s a tough non-job but someone’s got to do it. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Helena Davies.’

  Jessica just had time to wish Helena ‘good luck’ before it was time for her to stride on to set to be judged and assessed by millions of people. Kerry rushed over to join Jessica so they could watch her performance together on a monitor behind the set.

  ‘So, Helena, welcome to the show,’ began Bradley once the applause had faded. ‘And firstly, may I just say that you are a very beautiful young lady, not that I mean to sound surprised, but if we can just get a picture up of Helena’s dad, please?’

  In the gallery, Penny, the vision mixer, pressed the appropriate button to bring up a particularly unflattering picture of Helena’s father.

  Helena laughed. ‘Aw, that’s a bit mean, Bradley.’

  ‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘It’s not the best, is it? And he’s a proper ginger, isn’t he, whereas you appear to be more auburn, but then you probably colour your hair a bit, don’t you? In fact, I think many of our viewers will be wondering what you do apart from go to the hairdressers.’

  This got a cheap laugh from the audience, which only encouraged Bradley further. ‘Obviously there’s manicures to fit in and probably facials too but, let’s face it, other than your “charidee work” you don’t actually do anything, do you? Not that I would if I were you either!’

  Helena blushed but heroically managed to continue smiling, though Kerry was fuming and Jessica felt equally horrified. Fortunately, however, Helena – having spent her whole life defying expectations – could look after herself.

  ‘Actually, I have been to the hairdressers,’ she replied, ‘but only because I knew I was coming on telly for the first time ever. Also, I’ve spent so much of the past year in Africa that my hair had the longest split ends known to man, so it was kind of necessary.’

  Jessica exhaled. Now surely Bradley had no other choice than to at least enquire about what she was doing in Africa? She hoped so because Helena was looking like she was seriously regretting coming on at all.

  ‘Right,’ said Bradley. ‘Africa, of course. Tell us about that then.’

  ‘Well, as you mentioned earlier, I do work with a charity, which probably sounds as if it’s a little hobby to give me something to do, but actually it’s much, much more to me than that so I just wanted to talk about Namibia and what’s going on there really,’ she said almost apologetically.

  ‘And we will,’ said Bradley. ‘It does sound really interesting, and it will probably project you into the limelight. If it does, would you fancy becoming a reality TV star and if so what kind? Could we be seeing you in the jungle soon, or ballroom dancing maybe?’

  Helena laughed, albeit through gritted teeth. ‘Neither, thanks. I’ve never wanted to be on telly. I’d be totally rubbish and not entertaining at all.’

  ‘We-ell …’ said Bradley, intimating that she wasn’t exactly being riveting right this second and getting another cheap laugh out of the audience.

  ‘Look,’ said Helena resignedly. She’d already had enough of the vacuous direction this interview was headed. ‘I know what people probably think about me. That I’m a spoiled airhead with nothing to say for myself who has never had to work or struggle for anything, but my dad is a down-to-earth northern man who has done his best to keep me grounded. I get the fact that receiving an amazing education and growing up in the lap of luxury is a huge privilege, but I honestly don’t want to be on TV just for the sake of it. I really don’t.’

  Jessica felt a strong pang of empathy for her and prayed that Bradley would start giving her some credit.

  ‘OK,’ said Bradley, holding his hands up. ‘Maybe you should tell us why you’re really here then.’

  Helena took a deep breath and Jessica noticed her unclench her hands for the first time since the interview had begun. ‘I’m here because the first time I travelled to Namibia I spent the first four days crying so much I could barely think straight. Then, once my initial shock at the poverty and disease I was witnessing had subsided, I realized maybe I should stop feeling guilty about everything I was born into and start trying to do something with it. So that’s why I’m here, to raise awareness so that as much money as possible can be raised, specifically for a charity who are trying to reduce the mortality rate of mothers and their newborn babies. It’s literally a case of the more people I can reach, the more money we can raise and the more lives we can save.’

  Her passionate tone seemed to have won Bradley over and, as he nodded seriously, someone in the audience started to clap slowly. Then someone else joined in and before they knew it the whole front section was wolf-whistling and cheering loudly.

  ‘Wow,’ said Bradley. ‘So tell us more about this charity of yours then.’

  ‘Well, three years ago, much to my dad’s utter horror, I decided to get involved with this charity full time so I moved to Namibia for nine months of the year to live in a village where …’

  As Helena got into her stride you could have heard a pin drop, both on the studio floor and in the gallery. Kerry breathed a huge sigh of relief before turning to Jessica to give her a conspiratorial wink, at which point she was dismayed to note that her assistant was filling up.

  ‘You OK?’ said Kerry.

  ‘Oh, ignore me,’ said Jessica, determinedly keeping any tears at bay by blinking hard. ‘I’m just being a softie.’

  ‘She is bloody amazing. I can see why she’s got to you.’

  However, Jessica wasn’t so sure she could, for she was feeling both deeply humbled and utterly impressed by Helena Davies. A girl who, like Jessica, had been born into wealth, and yet, unlike Jessica, had chosen to spend both her time and money doing something positive, inspiring and downright useful with it. Yes, Helena Davies had certainly given her a lot to think about, though such introspection would have to wait, for at that moment Jessica noticed Paul lurking in the wings, along with her opportunity to get one up on him. Quickly she composed herself, then headed over in his direction.

  What she didn’t know, of course, was that Paul, who had already spotted Jessica marching towards him with an unmistakeably triumphant glint in her eye, was also experiencing a pang of something that felt a bit like guilt, only his was for having judged Helena so harshly.

  ‘So,’ Jessica said, as she strode up to him, trying hard not to look too victorious. ‘Slightly ruins your theory, eh?’

  ‘What theory?’ he said, flashing her a reluctant grin.

  ‘The theory that if someone has a rich dad, they must automatically be a d
readful person.’

  Paul wrinkled his nose before appraising Jessica coolly for what felt like an age. ‘She was a good guest and no one’s more surprised than me. Is that enough, or do you really want to make the most of your victory?’

  ‘So it was a battle then, was it?’ asked Jessica.

  Paul opened his mouth to reply, but just then Kerry appeared. ‘She was bloody brilliant, wasn’t she? Now, Jessica, I’m going to see Helena to her car and then I’ll go and make sure everything’s OK with Kate Templeton.’

  ‘I’d better leave you guys to it,’ said Paul as he sloped off.

  Jessica felt rather sorry to see him go. ‘So how’s Kate?’ she asked Kerry, still watching him leave. ‘Is she nice?’

  ‘Surprisingly nice, actually,’ said Kerry.

  ‘Oh, she is,’ said Jessica. ‘I mean, people say she is …’ she added hurriedly, having realized what she was saying.

  ‘Right,’ said Kerry, grinning. ‘Well, in my experience, actresses are often lovely until something goes wrong, which is when you discover what they’re really all about, so let’s hope everything continues to run smoothly.

  Jessica kept quiet. There was no point in reassuring Kerry that Kate Templeton was definitely one of the good guys. Her dad had described her as a sweet girl who could hardly believe her own luck at having made it. ‘Why don’t I see Helena off?’ she suggested. ‘Then you’d be free to go back and see Kate.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Kerry. ‘I keep forgetting I have an assistant. You do make life a lot easier for me.’

  Jessica blushed at the compliment.

  ‘OK, well, I’d better dash,’ said Kerry, breaking into an urgent sprint.

  ‘No worries,’ said Jessica, trying to smother a smile. What could possibly have happened to Kate Templeton in the last ten minutes that her PA and manager couldn’t handle, she wondered? And why did everything have to be communicated with such an air of panic? Kerry was by no means the only offender. At one stage she’d heard Luke saying (and for once he wasn’t being sarcastic) ‘Running all the way’ as he’d raced down to the studio floor from the office with some new script pages. While Jessica appreciated that in TV and film time was precious, she could never work out why crews got so worked up about the smallest of things, something she’d first noticed as a child, when visiting her dad on set. One minute she’d be mentioning casually to her dad, or nanny, that she wanted a glass of milk and suddenly the most unbelievable game of Chinese whispers would ensue, with people barking into their Motorolas, panicking. ‘Mr Granger’s daughter wants some milk. Can we get some milk to set ASAP!’ She was still enjoying this unexpected memory when suddenly her own walkie-talkie started going berserk.