by Jemma Forte
‘Edward, Pierre needs a decision on the lighting,’ said Clare, interrupting his reverie.
‘Let me show you,’ minced Pierre, waving his hands excitedly about in the air. ‘Let’s consult my mood board.’
‘Mood board?’ whispered Edward morosely to Clare while Pierre started barking instructions to his minions. ‘What will that say? Exuberant? Annoying? Faintly ridiculous?’
‘Here,’ said Pierre, as his beleaguered assistant set down an easel. He flung a huge sheet of A3 back. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, stabbing a heavily ornamented finger towards a picture of a room bathed in red and gold light.
Sensing that Edward was stumped again, Pierre turned to Betsey, who seemed a more willing conspirator.
‘I think it’s amazing,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it, Edward?’
‘What? Yes, I suppose so,’ he replied distractedly. ‘Though, in all truthfulness, I’m more concerned about the right people being here to share it with me.’
‘Like who?’ asked Betsey, narrowing her eyes.
‘Well, my daughter for one,’ said Edward plainly. ‘I mean, without the people you care about, does it matter what flowers you have? What music, what caterer, or invitations? Of course it doesn’t, because nothing else matters,’ he said, teetering on the verge of self-pitying tears. Quickly, he stuffed a fist in his mouth to prevent this potentially career-threatening debacle from occurring.
Pierre’s minions had stopped in their tracks, their faces a picture of surprise. Was James Bond crying about his party?
Edward steeled himself, gulped hard and recovered. Then, in a manner far more associated with a leading man, spoke up in a deep, composed voice. ‘Betsey, why don’t you take over the decision-making for a minute? Jill, may I have a word?’
‘Really?’ beamed Betsey, spotting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to finally express herself in this house before she left it. ‘Oh, Pierre, we are going to have so much fun.’ Betsey may have been dignified about the divorce but she didn’t see why she shouldn’t enjoy this opportunity to give Edward’s credit card a bit of a work-out. Pierre, who had quickly deduced that this meeting had most definitely ended up working in his favour, clapped his hands together.
Edward led Jill out of the study and towards the kitchen.
‘I’m going to London,’ he declared.
‘What? Not this again,’ sighed Jill. ‘I told you, Jessica is going to be home in a matter of days, so there’s no point.’
‘I’m not going there to see her. I need to see Angelica, and right away,’ he stated.
Jill’s jaw practically hit the ground. ‘Are you out of your mind, Edward? Why?’
‘Because we’re unfinished business. Always have been, always will be, and there are things I have to know or I will go to my grave a madman. She says she wrote me letters, Jill. Every week. Why would she say that?’
‘Because she’s ill,’ said Jill at once. ‘Don’t forget who you’re dealing with here, Edward. This is the woman who left you high and dry. The woman who nearly cost you your career.’
‘But what if there was a reason? What if she did explain why she left and I just didn’t get the letters?’
‘Why would you not have? She’s a liar, Edward, and as your agent of the last thirty years I strongly urge you not to do this, please. What’s got into you? This is madness.’
But Edward had made up his mind. ‘It’s too late, I’m going. Now where’s Clare? I need a flight.’
35
Jessica couldn’t believe her hastily thought of plan was actually coming together, albeit in a rather hectic, haphazard and reckless fashion.
She was at Heathrow Terminal One waiting for her father to appear. Special services were taking care of him, meaning he would be taken through passport control in a private room, but then he should be coming through Arrivals just like everybody else. The anticipation was excruciating. It was now or never for Edward and Angelica, and Jessica wished she could separate her own feelings from the situation, wished she could know for sure that her motives weren’t blurred by a deep-rooted desire simply to see her parents back together. Still, when she recalled Angelica trying to tell her that she didn’t care about Edward, the real answer was written all over her face, and her father was even easier to read. All her life Jessica had sensed how much it pained him to hear her mother’s name, and had always suspected that he carried a torch. Edward hadn’t had one girlfriend who wasn’t jealous of Angelica at one point or another, despite the fact they never even saw each other. So what did that tell you? As far as Jessica was concerned, Graydon was just a complication that needed addressing. There was no way her mother could seriously want to spend her life with someone so odious. And if she was right and her parents really were in love, then shouldn’t they be together for their sake and not just her own? At that moment she spotted Edward and the determined look on his face immediately told her she hadn’t been imagining things. Here was a man who had not got over his wife. A man who was on a mission.
‘Jessica!’ he yelled.
As her over-excited father bounded towards her like a happy Labrador, a tired-looking Clare bringing up the rear, any doubts Jessica had been experiencing were positively slung to one side for a second, chucked over her shoulder. Seeing him after all this time had the same effect as a triple espresso.
‘Daddy!’ Jessica called, forgetting herself entirely and propelling herself forward into his outstretched arms. After that it was chaos. First one photographer, then another, and then another, all of whom happened to be waiting for Victoria Beckham to arrive, spotted this gift of a photo opportunity at the same time, at which point all hell broke loose. Jessica was mortified. There was no way she wanted her face splashed all over the tabloids for all her office (and Paul) to see. Thinking quickly, she pulled her jacket up over her head, gripped on to Edward’s hand and hoped for the best.
Eventually airport security had to be called upon to break up the scrum, at which point Clare bundled Edward and Jessica towards their waiting taxi. Once they were safely inside and the crowd had been dispersed, Jessica laughed as Clare’s eyeballs almost took a running jump, so disapprovingly did she roll them at Edward. ‘I told you not to draw attention to yourself.’
‘Hee hee,’ laughed Edward gleefully. ‘Ah dear, bit of chaos now and again never harmed anyone, eh? Oh, stop looking so disapproving, Clare,’ he said dismissively as she frowned at him via the rear-view mirror. ‘You’ll give yourself wrinkles. And as for you,’ he said, turning his attentions to Jessica who was sitting next to him in the back, ‘give your old dad a hug.’ He enveloped her in his strong, familiar arms. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
‘Me too, Dad,’ said Jessica, only now realizing quite how much. ‘Shit, I hope no one did get a picture of me.’
‘They didn’t,’ reassured Clare. ‘You were too quick for them, though they’ll probably have you labelled as a mystery girlfriend.’
‘Gross,’ laughed Jessica.
‘Creepy,’ agreed Edward.
Once they’d pulled away and got going it didn’t take long for Edward to hit his daughter with a torrent of questions.
‘Now, you horror, I want to know everything. What have you been up to? Why do you think your mother’s going to speak to me? Did she say anything about the letters to you? Who’s this Paul character you keep mentioning? Would I approve and when are you coming home for good? What?’ he finished innocently as Jessica shook her head resignedly.
‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ he admonished. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve put your old pa through these last few months? I’ve barely bloody slept. I hate you being away and I hate not knowing what’s going on.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Jessica. ‘Look, all I know is that Mom can’t marry Graydon. She doesn’t love him. That much I know for sure. But right now we don’t have much time. It’s so annoying you couldn’t get an earlier flight. The wedding’s at three and we’ve got to get all the way to Chelsea. Mo
m’s already called me four times this morning and I had to make up some story about why I couldn’t get there before.’
‘OK,’ said Edward immediately, looking horribly nervous. ‘Oh, Christ, I’m still not sure. How do you know she’s not happy?’
‘Dad, the man’s an idiot. He can’t even take a crap without taking his clothes off and you saw the show, what does your instinct tell you?’
‘What do you mean, he can’t take a crap without –’
‘And Mom told me that he doesn’t make her laugh.’
‘Really?’ said Edward, his voice suddenly hopeful.
Traffic was excruciatingly slow but with all the pleasure of catching up it was a while before either of them noticed quite what terrible progress they were making. Eventually, however, it became rather obvious.
‘Oh my God, I’m not sure we’re going to make it,’ said Jessica, looking alarmed as they encountered yet another set of roadworks. It was twenty to three and they were still only at the beginning of the King’s Road.
Edward had ants in his pants. He hadn’t flown all this way for nothing. He simply had to see Angelica and ask her about the letters. Jessica was right, she couldn’t marry Graydon if there was even the smallest chance she was doing the wrong thing. He subtly adjusted his trousers. The thought of seeing her in the flesh after all these years was doing funny things to his insides and the blood kept rushing towards his groin. It was quite extraordinary. Ever since he’d spoken to Angelica on the phone it was as if parts of him had decided to come out of hibernation. As the lights turned red again, he couldn’t take it any longer.
‘I think I should get out,’ he said agitatedly.
‘And do what?’ asked Jessica, bewildered.
‘Run if I have to,’ said Edward.
The driver was unable to resist turning round. ‘Gosh, sir, never thought I’d hear James Bond saying something like that in my cab.’
‘Are you sure?’ interjected Clare. ‘You might get spotted and mobbed by fans and you’re wearing loafers.’
Edward was jet-lagged and the plane meal was repeating on him but he was also an actor with an ego that was still vaguely intact. The driver was right. He was James Bond for goodness’ sake, and since when would 007 sit in a taxi and allow the traffic to stop him from claiming back the love of his life? Graydon ‘hasn’t got a sense of humour, lavatorial issues’ Matthews wasn’t going to marry Angelica simply because he’d managed to be late. Yes, he was wearing loafers, but would James Bond let his footwear determine whether or not he could run?
‘Right,’ said Edward, trying to convince himself that tearing up the pavement was the right thing to do. Admittedly it would be tricky sprinting when the street was so densely packed with pedestrians. Worn out after his journey, he felt like running about as much as he felt like gouging his eyes out with a rusty nail, but needs must. Jessica and Clare watched anxiously as, having made up his mind, Edward decisively opened the door and dodged the oncoming traffic to make it on to the pavement.
‘Dad!’ Jessica called out of the window, not at all sure he was doing the right thing.
‘Will you pay our driver, Jess, or do you need me to do it?’ he said, having broken into a trot by now. The lights had turned green, so in effect he was running alongside the taxi, which was still crawling along slowly. Now Edward felt really torn. Maybe he should get back in the car? It would be bloody sod’s law if the traffic cleared and the cab ended up going faster than him. As he picked up the pace a little he belched softly and wished he’d thought to chew on a Rennie. A small fart also escaped due to the exertion. Then another and another, like a machine gun that was loaded with wind. ‘Maybe I should get back in?’ he yelled at Jessica.
‘No, just go,’ she yelled back, having noticed that up ahead the traffic was grinding to a halt again.
Right, thought Edward, ignoring the looks he was getting from a few people who had clearly recognized him. Ten to three. Time to get serious. Just then a bus whizzed down the empty bus lane before stopping at the bus stop, which was one hundred metres or so away. It was a number 14 and if Edward’s memory served him correctly it would be heading straight down the road and ultimately past the town hall. ‘Wait for me!’ called Edward, breaking into a sprint. The last passenger was just getting on.
‘W-a-a-a-a-a-i-t!’ he yelled, but to no avail. Just as he was drawing up to it, the bus started to pull away.
‘Bugger it,’ Edward cursed, his chest heaving with exertion, but he wasn’t giving up. Instead, summoning all his strength, he gave chase. The bus hadn’t got far, as it was still easing itself into the flow of traffic. With an almighty effort Edward came within a hair’s breadth of the white pole at the back of the old fashioned Routemaster, but then it was off again. If he could … just … reach … Stretching out his fingertips, he nearly made it. He was so close, so nearly there. With one last supreme effort Edward finally managed to make contact with and grasp the pole, yet just as he was wrapping his fist firmly round it, to his horror, the bus accelerated. Instead of managing to swing himself up and on to the bus, he ended up being dragged along by it, his side scraping on the road.
‘Aaaeeeeeuehgh!’ he yelled in pain, to the alarm of passengers who were taking their ride in a more traditional manner. That is to say, they were sitting on the bus, as opposed to being dragged by it.
Meanwhile, Jessica, who was only a few metres behind in the taxi, could see everything that was unfolding and was horrified. Her poor dad. How … embarrassing. By now their taxi was only fractionally behind the bus and fast catching up, so the whole thing was unnecessary too. Clare, it seemed, had gone into shock so it was left to Jessica to scream out of the window, ‘Somebody stop that bus! My dad, my dad!’
No one could hear but, thankfully, an old lady had the wherewithal to finally alert the driver to the fact he was essentially pulling a man up the bus lane. The horrified driver slammed on the brakes, at which point a bruised and battered Edward skidded to a halt – at such a pace that he swung right underneath the bus. Jessica, Clare, their driver, the passengers on the bus and hundreds of passers-by held their breath, some covering their faces in horror with their hands as they waited to see if the poor man would emerge.
‘Oh my God, Dad,’ whispered Jessica. Her driver pulled over in the bus lane and Jessica leapt out of the car. As she ran towards the bus, Clare hot on her heels, she prayed harder than she ever had before and thankfully someone answered. When she was about thirty feet away, suddenly from underneath the bus she could see Edward’s familiar hands appearing, somehow managing to pull himself back out from under the bus. Staggering slightly, he got to his feet and a large cheer went up. Ever the pro, Edward nodded and played to the crowd, holding his grazed hands up as if to say ‘it was nothing’. At this point people started to recognize who they were staring at and inevitably a jolt of something like electricity darted through the crowd.
Meanwhile, the entire right-hand side of Edward’s body was covered in dirt, his shirt was torn and his torso was horribly grazed. He felt like he’d backed into a bacon slicer, but more alarming than the pain was the slow realization that he might be out of time to halt the wedding.
‘Are you all right, mate?’ asked the concerned bus driver, who had clambered down and come round the bus to investigate, terrified that he might be sued.
‘I’m fine,’ lied Edward, brushing himself down, wincing in pain as he did so.
‘Bloody hell, it’s Pierce Brosnan! What are you doing trying to get the bus anyway? Nice to meet you, mate. Can I have your autograph?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have a pen on me and besides I’m not … I mean, great to meet you too,’ Edward corrected himself. Pierce could take this one for him. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have some business to attend to.’
‘All right then, well good luck and you know we’re all right behind you.’
A cheer went up from the rest of the bus. People were squashed against the windows, filming events on their p
hones. As Clare finally caught up with her, Jessica heard her groan heavily and she knew why. It would be all over YouTube by the afternoon. Meanwhile, Edward had more pressing things on his mind so – mustering up what little dignity he had left – he limped across the pavement and up the stairs of the town hall. (The only upside of the whole debacle was that rather conveniently his ‘journey’ had come to a stop right outside their destination.) Could he really see Angelica for the first time in twenty years in this state? Still, there was no time to be thinking about that now.
Jessica buttoned her jacket up over her head once more and, leaving Clare to deal with the chaos, made a run for it.
‘Probably should have stayed in the car then. Are you OK?’ she panted, her face wreathed in concern (not that anyone could see it).
‘Truthfully?’ said Edward. ‘No, I’m in more pain than I’ve ever been in my life and I’m not entirely sure my ribs aren’t broken. Worse still, I think our efforts may have been in vain. Look at the time.’