Watching Willow Watts: One Country Girl Is About to Discover That Fame Can Cost a Fortune

by Talli Roland

  ‘No, he went to the channel’s bureau in Slough after you left for London. Everything started dying down here, and his boss called him back.’

  ‘But you still keep in touch?’ Willow shot a curious look at her friend, noting for the first time she was the one blushing.

  ‘We’re just friends, Willow Watts,’ Paula said firmly, despite the spreading red on her face. ‘I can be friends with a man, you know.’

  Willow opened her mouth to probe more, but before she could say anything, Paula was dialling Matthias. ‘Hey, babes. Can you do a background check on Jay Bellamy? Yeah, Willow’s agent.’ She paused, putting her hand over the mobile. ‘He wants to know why. Can I tell him?’

  Willow hesitated then nodded, listening as Paula quickly filled him in on the details.

  ‘Great, thanks. Sure, I’ll send it over ASAP. Bye.’

  Paula hung up and turned toward Willow. ‘Matt wants us to scan the contract and email it through. He’ll pass it to the network’s legal expert to have a look and get back to us tomorrow, let us know what he’s found.’

  ‘Thanks, Paula.’ Willow smiled gratefully in her friend’s direction. ‘I guess now, all we can do is wait.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘MOM! I’M THIRSTY!’ THE whine in her daughter’s voice jerked Betts awake. She sat up on the pull-out sofa where she’d fallen asleep in Lucy’s tiny rented apartment. It was still dark outside and – squinting at her watch – Betts could see it was only three in the morning.

  Sighing, she heaved herself to her feet, grabbed a glass and ran the water for a few minutes to be certain it was cold. Gosh, she was so exhausted she could hardly stand. Although Lucy had made a full recovery, when she’d asked Betts to move in for a few days to help out, Betts couldn’t say no – especially not after her daughter had been so ill. But with Lucy’s constant demands for everything from a roast chicken dinner with Betts’s famous stuffing to freshly laundered sheets each day, even Betts was beginning to lose patience.

  A little appreciation wouldn’t go amiss occasionally, Betts thought as she carried the chilled glass to her daughter’s bed. ‘Here you go, honey,’ she said, handing it over.

  ‘It’s not cold enough,’ Lucy moaned.

  A flicker of irritation rustled through Betts. If her daughter wanted colder water, she should darn well get it herself.

  ‘Mom! I’m talking to you! I said it’s not cold enough. Oh, and if you’re up, can you iron my pink shirt? I’m meeting a friend tomorrow for lunch.’ Lucy’s impervious tone reminded Betts of a grizzling toddler. Betts could forgive it on a three year old, but not on a fully grown woman of twenty-seven. And for goodness’ sake, it was the middle of the night! How could her daughter expect her to iron something now? She spun around to face her offspring.

  ‘Dear, if you want cold water, the fridge is over there.’ Betts waved an arm in the direction of the kitchen. ‘And if you’re well enough to meet someone for lunch, you’re well enough to take care of yourself. I’ve had enough of this. I’m going home.’ That was exactly where she wanted to be. Not here, expected to jump each time her daughter snapped her fingers.

  Lucy’s mouth fell open. ‘But Mum, you can’t leave me. The doctor said –’

  ‘The doctor said you’re more than capable of being up and about,’ Betts answered calmly, trying to ignore the shock in her daughter’s eyes. Was it really so hard to believe Betts was standing up for herself? Probably, Betts thought grimly.

  ‘Now, you know you can call if there’s an emergency, and I’ll be back to check on you in a day or so. Goodbye.’ Leaning over the bed, Betts kissed her still-stunned daughter on the forehead, then marched back into the living room, gathered up her things, and went out into the hot, humid night. Climbing into her little Ford Escort, a feeling of pride flooded into her – the same way she’d felt back in Belcherton, after practically organising the whole festival.

  Perhaps she could take some of that spirit and make it work here, too.

  *

  The next morning, Willow smiled as Krusty’s caws jarred the silence of Belcherton. Call her crazy, but she’d actually missed that insane rooster. Now that Betts wasn’t around to subdue him into silence, Krusty was exercising his lungs with a whole new enthusiasm.

  A pounding on the door resonated through the cottage, and Willow pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, rushing down the stairs before whoever was there did it again and woke Dad. He’d been up late last night, pacing back and forth around the lounge.

  ‘What?’ she whispered as she opened the door to reveal a grubby-looking Jay. Although his wet hair was slicked back and he was freshly shaven, his prized suit was creased and dusty. Where had he been sleeping?

  Jay pushed past her into the lounge. ‘I’d like some coffee.’

  Willow stared at him incredulously. What did he think this was, a caf? ‘I’m sorry, but my contract doesn’t specify the need to provide you with hot drinks,’ she said, proud of herself for responding so pithily. Usually she only thought of comebacks after reanalysing the situation a million times.

  Jay raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, is it?’ He held her gaze but Willow didn’t back down.

  ‘Well, you better get everything packed up,’ he continued. ‘We leave tomorrow on a six-month tour around the UK and Ireland.’

  Willow’s stomach turned. Six-month tour? Tomorrow?

  Jay smirked down at her. ‘And make sure to get your hair redone. Your roots are showing, and it isn’t attractive. I’ll be here tomorrow morning at six to collect you.’ He shot her another triumphant look and turned, nearly colliding with Paula in the doorway.

  ‘Watch where you’re going, jerk-off!’ Paula hissed as Jay brushed off his lapel and marched away. ‘Ass-wipe,’ she muttered as she came inside. Her face dropped as she spotted Willow’s tense expression. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Please tell me Matthias has been able to find something,’ Willow said, biting a nail. There was no way she could go on a six-month tour with Jay!

  ‘Matt rang me this morning,’ Paula said slowly.

  ‘And?’ Willow crossed her fingers for a positive response, but the look on her friend’s face said it all.

  ‘I’m sorry, Wills. The lawyers say the contract is airtight. Harsh, but solid.’ Paula dug around in her pocket and drew out a paper. ‘I wrote it down to make sure I got it right. So, as long as he asks you to do the things defined as reasonable in the back, you have to do them, or pay up. The amount may be reduced to something more equitable, but you’ll still have to pay. If you don’t, he can sue you. It might be possible to argue you didn’t know what you were signing, but as your signature appears under a clause that says you agree you have read everything carefully, well . . .’

  Willow’s heart plunged. An invalid contract had been her last hope. ‘And did Matthias find anything on Jay?’ she asked in a faint voice. Not that it mattered, really. Regardless of what dirt there was on Jay, she’d still have to do the tour, unless she could come up with an obscene amount of money – and that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Sure, she could take off somewhere, but what would be the point? She’d done this Marilyn thing to keep her father’s health stable. Willow could only imagine the pressure Jay would put on Dad if she left. And if she stayed put and refused to go, Jay might sue, and that would cause even more money problems . . . not to mention extra stress on her father.

  Tears filled her eyes as she pictured sleeping in nameless places night after night, taking on the Marilyn persona for months at a time. Now that she wanted to be herself so desperately, it almost seemed unthinkable.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Paula said again, ‘but no. He said it’s really strange, because usually the researchers can come up with some dirt. But apparently, they said it was like Jay Bellamy from London didn’t exist. They couldn’t even find his birth certificate. They’ll keep looking, though.’ She squeezed Willow’s hand.

  Willow wiped her eyes before any tears coul
d fall, not wanting her friend to see how upset she really was. ‘Please thank Matthias for me. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Paula stood, looking worriedly down at her. ‘I’ve got to get to the salon, but I can cancel my morning appointments if you want me to stay?’

  ‘No, no, that’s okay.’ Willow needed some time alone to absorb the news that tomorrow, she’d be off on a six-month tour. And that was just the beginning. How would she endure ten years of this? A sense of dread so strong she almost couldn’t breathe pressed down on her.

  Paula gave her hug at the door. ‘I’ll come by tonight after work to see how you’re doing.’

  Willow nodded and closed the door with a thud. Then, she slipped on her trainers and an old knitted cardigan of her mother’s still hanging in the entrance. She had to get out – no way could she stay here, face her father when he got up, and pretend everything was okay. She went out the back door and dodged past Krusty, then headed along the lane, fury fuelling her steps. Hugging her arms around her, she breathed in her mother’s scent still clinging to the yarns. Tears streaked down her face and she rubbed them away.

  What was she going to do? Well, it didn’t look like she had a choice, did it? Tomorrow she’d leave on a tour where she’d be like a prisoner, with Jay watching her every move. But it didn’t matter, she told herself, filling up with determination. Jay could padlock her in a closet; dress her up in Marilyn gear and ram ten-year contracts down her throat.

  But he couldn’t touch what made her her, and she was going to cling to that now as tightly as she could.

  *

  Cissy watched from her bedroom window as Willow marched up the lane that passed by the house. Even though the girl was still some distance away, Cissy could tell by the angry strides that Willow wasn’t too pleased about something. Not surprising, given the agent was in charge of her life now. He’d probably arranged to have her stripping for soldiers in Libya, or something equally tasteless. For a split of a second, Cissy felt a wave of sympathy for poor Willow. The girl probably hadn’t a clue what she’d let herself in for when she’d signed with that man.

  Cissy lowered herself onto the bed. It was funny: she should feel triumphant that she’d ruined things for the man on an epic scale. And for one brief moment, she had. But the fact of the matter was, ultimately, he was still going to rake in loads off some unfortunate hopeful’s back. If not Willow, there’d be someone else.

  Maybe . . . maybe she should talk to Willow; warn her just what that man was capable of, before it got too late. Cissy couldn’t fix the disastrous events of her own past. But if she could stop something similar happening to Willow, that would be a small victory.

  Cissy patted her hair into place, then descended the stairs and unlocked the front door. Willow was just a few feet from the house now. ‘Willow. Willow Watts!’

  Willow’s head swung around.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Cissy beckoned her forward. Lord, the girl was in a state, clad in sloppy clothing with tumbled blonde curls flying everywhere. ‘I’m Cecelia Havering. I don’t believe we’ve met before.’

  Willow held out a hand. ‘No, I don’t think we have. Willow Watts.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Cissy paused, hesitation sweeping over her. Did she really want to tell this girl the humiliations she had suffered? Her lips tightened as she recalled how the agent had handled her like a disposable item, and the anger returned. That man would not get away with victimising anyone else! ‘Would you like to come inside? I need to have a few words with you about your agent.’

  ‘My agent?’ Willow’s eyes widened. ‘Do you know something about him?’

  Did she ever. ‘Come in, and we can talk.’ Cissy ushered Willow through the door, smiling at the stunned reaction as Willow spotted her collection of photos.

  ‘You knew Laurence Olivier? And Jimmy Stewart?’ Willow moved along the frames on the wall. ‘Elizabeth Taylor, and’ – her voice dropped to a whisper – ‘Marilyn Monroe?’

  ‘Well, Marilyn and I weren’t that close,’ Cissy explained. ‘She went on to become very famous, you see, and I . . . well, let’s just say I often got Marilyn’s leftovers.’ She motioned Willow to take a seat.

  ‘You’re a film star.’ Willow was obviously still trying to absorb the information. ‘But why are you living here?’ She gestured around the run-down house. ‘And how do you know my agent?’

  ‘Lewis used to be my agent, too,’ Cissy said.

  Willow’s brow furrowed. ‘Lewis? I think you must be mistaken,’ she said, looking at Cissy like she was touched in the head. ‘My agent’s name is Jay. Jay Bellamy. Not Lewis.’

  Cissy had been right to think Willow hadn’t any idea what she’d signed up with; the man had obviously given the poor girl a false identity to hide his thievery. ‘I think you’ll find his real name is Lewis, dear.’ Cissy shuffled over to the cabinet where she kept all her clippings. Where was that one with the two of them together, right after Lewis had taken her on? He’d had his tart of a secretary snap a photo for the wall of his office, he’d said, although he’d never thought Cissy important enough to go up there. Lord knows why she’d kept the copy he’d sent.

  Ah yes, here it was. Lifting the photo from the drawer, she turned to face Willow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  WATCHING CISSY RUMMAGE AROUND in a cabinet across the room, Willow tried desperately to take in everything that was happening. This woman was a former film star who not only had hob-nobbed with legends of the day, but who actually knew Marilyn? Willow never would have believed it but for the photos lining the walls. She pressed her fingers to her temples. Could this woman know Jay, somehow, too? And why did she call him Lewis?

  ‘This is him, yes?’ Cissy showed the photo to Willow.

  ‘Yes.’ Willow nodded. ‘But he calls himself Jay Bellamy now, not Lewis–’ She stopped. ‘What did you say his surname was?’

  ‘Smelter,’ Cissy answered. ‘And I’m not surprised he changed his name, after what happened.’

  ‘What?’ Willow’s heart pounded.

  ‘Well, he was a big-shot agent,’ Cissy began, sitting down next to Willow. ‘Up in Scotland.’

  Willow’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Scotland! He told me London.’

  Cissy didn’t look surprised at his deception. ‘But when one of his biggest clients, the singer Jorgie, busted him for something to do with a fraudulent contract, he couldn’t cover his costs.’

  Willow sucked in her breath. ‘Fraudulent contract?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cissy crossed her legs. ‘I don’t recall all the particulars, but I do know there was some kind of settlement and the next thing I heard, Lewis had declared bankruptcy and taken off – with all the money he earned me, too.’

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry.’ Willow reached out to touch Cissy’s arm, noticing how the woman stiffened in response.

  ‘I didn’t see him again until a couple weeks ago, at your concert on the green. I expect you were to be the key to his comeback, or something along those lines.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Willow said. ‘I guess I am, but I don’t want to be. I’m through with being Marilyn but apparently my contract is pretty solid. He’s locked me in for ten years . . .’ Her voice trailed off as a thought entered her head. He’d signed the contract as Jay, not Lewis. If he put a false name, did it still count?

  ‘That man should be shot,’ Cissy declared, thumping her cane on the floor with conviction.

  Willow’s breath was coming fast and she sprang to her feet. Could this be it – the out she was looking for? She had to speak to Matthias again.

  ‘Thank you so much for talking to me.’ Willow looked down at Cissy. The woman seemed so frail, sunk in amongst the cushions of the threadbare sofa. ‘You’ve really helped.’

  ‘Please let me know how it all comes out,’ Cissy said, her delicate features relaxing into a calm expression.

  Willow nodded. ‘I will.’ She waved goodbye and forced herself to walk slowly to the door. Once outs
ide, she quickened her pace until she was practically running. She burst through the doors of Paula’s salon, chest heaving.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Paula looked up from where she was slathering Mr Naughton’s comb-over with a horrible aubergine colour.

  ‘I need to talk to Matthias!’ Willow panted. ‘I’ll explain in a sec.’

  ‘His number’s on the contact list by the phone.’ Paula gestured toward the reception desk.

  Willow raced over and punched in the number, holding her breath as she listened to the phone ringing.

  ‘Hiya,’ Matthias voice boomed. ‘How’re things at the salon today?’

  ‘It’s not Paula,’ Willow said quickly. ‘It’s Willow.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Willow. Listen, I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you with that contract. Our legal expert said it was airtight. That’s a difficult situation, I know, but I’ve been thinking . . . it would make a fantastic story. Twenty-First Century Marilyn and the Trappings of Fame. You know, Marilyn had her fair share of people trying to get a piece of her, too.’

  Willow rolled her eyes. When would Matthias stop trying to compare her to Marilyn?

  ‘And you could make sure to expose Jay Bellamy, so that he’ll never be able to take advantage of anyone else,’ he continued.

  Willow turned Matthias’s words over in her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was another interview, but if it stopped others falling victim to Jay’s scheming, then she was all for it. ‘Matthias, if what I’ve just found out is true, I’ll have an even bigger story for you,’ she said. ‘I need you to ask your legal expert: if someone signs a contract under a fake name to hide the fact he’s dodgy, does it make the contract invalid?’ She could hear the clacking of keys as Matthias noted it down.

  ‘Sure, I’ll check, but I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be,’ Matthias said. ‘Listen, I’ll be up in Belcherton later today to talk to you about the interview, but I should be able to get back to you within the hour.’