by Ellen Berry
Marsha nodded. ‘Yes. I know her editor very well so I’ve managed to arrange for her to be released immediately. Time is of the essence here, I’m sure you understand …’
‘Of yes, of course,’ Roxanne said, wondering if she understood anything anymore. ‘So, er, is that all?’
Marsha nodded, her cheeks bulging like a hamster’s. ‘Yes, thank you for your time …’
‘Thank you,’ Roxanne exclaimed, polite to the last and willing herself to hold it together as she sprang up from the seat and strode out of Marsha’s glass box. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She would probably have expressed her gratitude if Marsha had kicked her in the teeth.
‘Roxanne? You forgot this!’ Marsha was standing up now, still chewing, bovine-like, waving her scrapbook and planting greasy fingerprints all over it. As Roxanne darted back to retrieve it, Marsha frowned and sniffed its appliquéd cover. ‘Does this smell of burning to you?’
Chapter Five
All eyes were upon Roxanne as she made her way back to her desk with her stupid old-school scrapbook wedged under her arm. At least, it felt that way. In a decade of working here, Roxanne had always regarded the office as her second home, with its scruffy old swivel chairs and temperamental toaster and dog-eared magazines piled everywhere. In some ways she preferred it to her real home as all the team were here, the lovely people who cared about magazines as much as she did and who were like family, really. Ibiza jaunt with Amanda aside, she had never been one for holidays. If she did force herself to go away – alone, usually, on some kind of ‘activity break’ where you were pretty much guaranteed to meet other single people – she tended to spend the second half of the week sketching ideas for shoots and itching to return to work.
Not today, though. Right now, she’d have given anything not to be here – to be magically transported back to her flat, with the door firmly locked. She was aware of Jacqui’s gaze following her as she lowered herself onto her chair back at her own desk. Zoe was staring openly, her mouth ajar. Yes, I’ve just been told some awful news, she wanted to announce, just to be done with it. Someone’s being brought in over my head, so I’m effectively demoted – but, hey, I’m fine with that because, apparently, I’m going to ‘love’ her!
She glanced back at Marsha, insulated from the rest of the team in her glass office. Her predecessor, Cathy, had never used it, preferring to have a desk out here in the main space, in the thick of things. Marsha was on the phone now, stuffing more pastry into her pursed little mouth.
‘Everything okay, Rox?’ Serena murmured from her own desk, which faced Roxanne’s.
‘Yes, it’s fine,’ she said briskly, catching Kate giving her a quizzical look.
‘Want to nip out?’ Serena whispered. ‘Get a coffee or something?’
‘No thanks.’ Avoiding eye contact, Roxanne shook her head.
‘Are you sure? You look awfully pale. Was it something she—’
‘I’m-fine-honestly,’ she barked, causing Tristan to spin his head around from the art department. Roxanne started rummaging in her top desk drawer, not because she needed anything but to give herself something to do. Like the top of her desk, it was a terrible tip. She delved amongst staplers, rolls of Sellotape, parcel labels, bulldog clips, cans of hairspray, notebooks and lip balms in a cacophony of flavours, willing Serena to stop giving her sympathetic glances, and wishing everyone would just leave her be.
Roxanne wasn’t sure she could handle anyone being kind to her right now. She thought again of that time with the fish slice, when her mother had smacked her upper arm: it wasn’t the actual event itself that had triggered her tears. It had been later, when she’d run out of Rosemary Cottage and up into the hills by herself, and had happened to come across Len from the garage with his wife, Pat, and their two young children. They were out with their dogs and had beckoned her over to join them.
Hey, what’s happened, Roxy? You look all upset!
People had called her ‘Roxy’ then. Not anymore; she had cast that off like an unwanted jacket when she’d moved to London. Pat had hugged her, and that’s when the tears had flowed.
Roxanne shut her desk drawer, delved into her bag and pulled out the small notebook in which she wrote copious to-do lists. There was tons to get on with, and keeping busy would at least get her through the rest of the day. She had a shoot coming up and she needed to call in clothes and accessories from fashion PRs, as well as trawling her favourite vintage shops for quirkier pieces. She wanted to book a new model – a fresh face – rather than one of her regular girls, which meant arranging a casting. Plus, there were Kate and Serena’s shoots to oversee, and a whole raft of product launches Roxanne should show her face at over the coming week.
She made a barrage of calls until lunchtime rolled around, at which point she grabbed her bag and darted out of the office before anyone could ask to join her.
On a bench in Golden Square, clutching a chicken sandwich she didn’t want, she called Sean.
‘Oh, darling,’ he said, when she’d splurged what had happened. ‘Tina Court! She’s meant to be a bit of a terrier …’
‘You know her?’
‘Just in passing. We haven’t worked together. So, what’re you going to do?’
‘Nothing. I mean, what can I do? Marsha’s within her rights to bring in whoever she wants …’
Sean sighed. ‘Just sit tight, darling, and see how things pan out.’
‘Yes, I will. Sorry to land all of this on you. I know you’re busy shooting today—’
‘Hey, I’m okay for a couple of minutes,’ he said gently.
She cleared her throat. ‘Pringles all ready?’
‘Huh?’
‘For the party,’ she prompted him.
‘Oh. Haha – well, Louie’s been onto the caterers. Foie gras lollipops! I don’t think so …’
‘Let me know if you need anything,’ she added, before they finished the call – knowing, of course, that he wouldn’t, and that this was hardly a casual flat party where one might expect friends to bring a bottle of wine. No, this was an extravaganza with waiting staff, a seafood bar and a budget of thousands, and right now she couldn’t wait to slick on her red lipstick and get her hands on that first glass of wine.
The office announcement about Tina’s arrival was brisk and to the point. Jacqui had rounded everyone up, in the manner of an eager sheepdog, and now the whole team stood around stiffly while Marsha, who was perched with exaggerated casualness on the edge of Jacqui’s desk, enthused over Tina Court’s imminent arrival.
‘I know she’s going to fit in so well here. You’re all going to adore her. She’s such a breath of fresh air …’ Implying what? Roxanne mused. That they were currently stale? ‘She’ll shake everything up!’ Marsha wittered on, seemingly oblivious to the cloud of gloom now hanging heavily above them as she babbled on about figure-fixing fashion, page after page of cheap knickers that promised to squish in one’s tum.
‘How depressing,’ Tristan mouthed at Roxanne, with a horrified look. She nodded and shrugged. At least her colleagues seemed to share her view. Roxanne had assumed a non-committal expression, and was trying to keep her gaze firmly on Marsha as she spoke. However, it was impossible not to register the quick looks of alarm and sympathy her colleagues were giving her. She knew what they were all thinking: Poor Rox! How must she feel, being effectively demoted? Is this a sneaky way of trying to force her out?
Then Marsha was thanking everyone for their time – ‘We’re heading into such an exciting new chapter!’ she trilled – and everyone was trying to check out Roxanne’s face as she scuttled back to her desk. Before anyone could accost her, she scooted out of the office and along the short corridor to the ladies’ loo.
As she tried to collect her thoughts at the basins, Serena and Kate arrived in pursuit. ‘My God, Rox, what’s going on?’ Serena exclaimed.
‘You heard,’ Roxanne replied with a grimace.
‘Fashion-director-in-chief? We’ve never had
one before. I’ve never even heard it used as a job title …’
‘No, that’s because Marsha probably made it up.’
Kate ran a hand through her short coppery hair. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means she’ll be running our department and changing the style of our pages beyond all recognition,’ Roxanne muttered.
‘But why?’
‘Because that’s what Marsha wants, and she and Tina go way back, apparently. They’ve worked together before. Marsha said they’re quite the team …’
‘Well, that’s complete nepotism!’ Kate gasped.
Roxanne murmured in agreement, once again visualising the chilled glass of wine she would soon be clutching at Sean’s party. Usually she was happy to work late, but she was now experiencing a strong desire to escape from the building as soon as possible. ‘Everyone hires people they know,’ she said, trying to remain professional rather than letting rip with how she really felt. ‘Cathy brought me in, remember? We’d worked together before too. It’s natural to want people you trust.’
‘Yes, but that’s because you’re the best,’ Serena declared, ‘and this is different. Tina’s pages are a mess, more like a tatty old catalogue than proper fashion – and come on, we’ve all heard what she’s like to work with. She’s had her assistants and interns in tears. No one seems to last there more than a couple of months …’
‘I’ve heard all that too,’ Roxanne remarked, touched by her friends’ loyalty, ‘but we haven’t actually worked with her ourselves. We should just keep an open mind …’
‘Oh, stop being so reasonable!’ Serena exclaimed. ‘If it was me, I’d be having a complete meltdown.’
Roxanne forced a brave smile, pulling out her topknot and shaking her hair loose to signify that they had given the matter of Tina’s imminent arrival quite enough of their attention for now. ‘Don’t worry,’ she remarked dryly, ‘I’m saving that for Sean’s party so as many people as possible are there to witness it.’
And now she was extracting her make-up pouch from her bag, plus the original 60s black dress she had earmarked to wear tonight, and which was ideal for this kind of office-to-party scenario as it simply didn’t crease, even after being scrunched in the bottom of a shoulder bag.
She turned to Kate and Serena, who were still looking mournful in the wake of the day’s news. ‘Come on, you two,’ Roxanne said briskly. ‘Let’s get ready and off to this party. Anyone would think we weren’t desperate for a drink.’
Chapter Six
Sean’s studio occupied the entire second floor of a canal-side warehouse close to King’s Cross. All white-painted brickwork with a glossy concrete floor, tonight it had been filled with silver helium balloons which were bobbing up at the rafters. The biggest, tethered above the huge metal-framed windows, read SEAN50. When Roxanne, Serena and Kate arrived, the room was already bustling.
There was a pop-up bar, manned by almost laughably handsome young men. Roxanne recognised them as new faces at one of the model agencies she used regularly, and Serena and Kate scuttled over to say hello. Other fledgling male models patrolled the studio, joking and flirting and carrying trays laden with glasses of champagne. At the far end of the room, a DJ was playing mellow tracks.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ Sean said, having made his way towards Roxanne and given her a heartfelt hug. ‘Sorry about your awful day. Are you okay?’
‘Oh, I’m fine – don’t worry about that now. It’s your party! It looks fantastic in here …’
He grinned. ‘I’ll give Louie his due, he pulled out all the stops.’ Sean paused and appraised Roxanne’s appearance. ‘You look drop-dead gorgeous tonight, babe—’
‘Thanks, darling,’ she said, glowing now as Serena strode over to greet him, followed by Kate. Soon a cluster of new arrivals were descending upon him too.
‘Let me grab you girls some champagne,’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t worry about us,’ Roxanne said quickly, feeling buoyed up already by the jovial atmosphere. ‘We can sort ourselves out, can’t we, girls?’
‘We sure can,’ Kate chuckled, indicating the stunning young waiter who was gliding towards them.
‘See you in a little while, birthday boy.’ Roxanne kissed his cheek and stepped away, leaving him to welcome the stream of newcomers, and accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter gratefully. Naturally, Sean would be busy playing host tonight, which was fine by Roxanne; she was used to them each doing their own thing whenever they were at parties together. She could hold her own in social situations and had no desire to cling to him, limpet-like.
With Serena and Kate at her side, she milled around the studio in a flurry of kisses and hugs; Sean’s crowd were an affectionate and demonstrative bunch, forever greeting each other with cries of delight. As Roxanne had expected, she knew almost everyone here. ‘Daniella, hi! Sadie, hi, sweetheart! Angelo – so lovely to see you …’
‘Oh, you look stunning, Roxanne,’ enthused Jarek, a hairdresser she worked with regularly on shoots. ‘What a fabulous dress! Is it vintage?’
‘It is, yes …’
‘You always find the most perfect thing …’
She thanked him and moved on. Make-up artists, hairdressers, models, photographers, stylists, PRs and agents … they were all out in force, filling the studio with chatter and boisterous laughter as the music grew louder and more champagne was swigged. It wasn’t long before Roxanne began to feel quite light-headed. She was drinking too quickly, trying to shake off the stress of her meeting with Marsha. She really needed to slow down. One more glass wouldn’t hurt, though, and she’d be sure to eat plenty and drink some water.
She took another glass of champagne from a tray and went in search of food to soak up the fizz. Bypassing the seafood bar, where piles of oysters glistened on ice, she made her way to the Indian street food stall where a glamorous young woman with her hair tucked into a crisp white hat was handing out paper cones of puffed rice. ‘This is bhel puri,’ she explained. ‘Would you like some?’
‘Ooh, yes please – it looks delicious.’ Roxanne tucked into her cone with a wooden fork, noting that the light and spicy rice was proving especially pleasing to the fashion crowd, most of whom tended towards the determinedly skinny. Roxanne, who had settled at around a size twelve, feared for their bones sometimes. Sean’s agent, Britt Jordan, looked as if she might snap. Even her back – which was entirely visible in a tiny grey sheath of a dress – looked starved, with all the nodules visible. You could actually count the vertebrae. Roxanne was sick to death of carb-avoiding these days. She tucked into a second cone of bhel puri and washed it down with her champagne. Who could blame her? It had been a horrible day, the sort that needs its rough edges smoothed by something chilled and delicious, and this particular vintage was doing the job extremely well.
‘Hey, Rox, you’re looking good, darling!’ Britt had glided over towards her.
‘Thanks, Britt. So are you. Isn’t this great? I hear you had quite a hand in the organising …’
‘Oh yes, I had to, or we’d have been sitting in the pub with a dish of dry-roasted nuts.’ She laughed huskily. ‘But he’s loving it, isn’t he?’
The two women glanced over to where Sean was holding court with a group of younger men and women by the DJ booth. Everyone was laughing and sipping champagne. ‘I think he is,’ Roxanne said with a smile, genuinely happy to see him enjoying himself.
Britt turned to her. ‘All that not wanting a big fuss … it’s all show, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t want a gorgeous party like this?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Roxanne said, surprised that Britt was spending time with her. A notorious networker, she usually flitted from one potential client to another, eager to make contacts that might benefit her roster of fashion photographers. Roxanne booked Sean regularly, as she had before they were seeing each other, so there was no need for any schmoozing where she was concerned.
Britt’s expression turned serious. ‘Um, I hope you don’t mind me sa
ying, but I’ve just heard your news …’ Roxanne frowned, uncomprehending for a moment. ‘About Tina Court being brought in over you,’ she clarified.
Oh, right, cheers for that! ‘It’s not really like that,’ Roxanne said quickly, trying to take a sip from her glass before realising it was empty.
‘Isn’t it? Because Sean said—’
‘No, it’s just a sort of restructuring,’ she explained, prickling at the fact that they had discussed it at all. Of course, they were friends; Britt had represented Sean for many years. But, still, Roxanne wasn’t thrilled at the thought of being gossiped about.
‘Really? Why are they doing that?’
‘Erm, I guess Marsha wants to bring in someone with a strong fashion background as hers is more, er …’ Roxanne trailed off. What was Marsha’s area of expertise again? Diets. Celebrity diets, at that. All made up, of course; Roxanne knew from inter-office gossip that she used to harangue her interns into writing any old tosh. ‘She’s more health-focused,’ she added carefully.
‘But she has you to produce the fashion pages,’ Britt was insisting now. ‘Oh, it’s awful, Roxanne. So insulting. Everyone’s gutted for you—’
‘Everyone?’ Roxanne’s face seemed to freeze as Louie, Sean’s assistant, landed beside them clutching a large glass of red wine.
‘Yeah, we can’t believe it, Rox,’ he said, glancing around as they were joined by Johnny, a make-up artist who was also clearly in the know.
‘I admire you, I really do,’ he announced, enveloping Roxanne in a hug.
‘I don’t know what for, Johnny,’ she said with a tight laugh, disentangling herself and grabbing another glass of champagne as a waiter glided past.
‘For putting on a brave face tonight,’ he exclaimed.
‘Oh, I’m not being brave – I’m fine, really. I’m having a great time—’
‘We’re all amazed you’re here at all!’ added Dinny, a fashion editor from another magazine who had popped up seemingly from nowhere. She clamped a hand around Roxanne’s wrist. ‘If it was me, I’d probably go into hiding …’