“Can I sit in the front with you please, George?” Ben asked, knowing how to milk a situation.
George laughed, looking at Jess for affirmation before nodding his assent.
It was Saturday morning and Jess decided they would spend the rest of that day at the lovely Surrey house and return on Sunday to their own flat. Ben would re-start school on Monday and Jess wanted to ensure everything was normal and calm for him. Because she was working through a cabinet full of photographs, notebooks, clippings and reviews - which she was trying to catalogue and place into some semblance of order - she needed to spend time in Surrey and planned to occupy her days working there while Ben was at school and return to the flat in the evenings at the time she would normally get home from work.
She realised she was working against the clock to produce a detailed outline of Christian’s book for Melissa’s approval with so much memorabilia to sort through, but was determined to succeed and prove herself worthy – both to Melissa and Christian. As she sorted and sifted, she made notes of the gaps that needed filling, the questions to ask Christian and the people she wanted to interview - the details of many of whom Christian had provided before he left. Adam, the co-founder of Wishful and Amber Rayne were both high on that list, but Jess was reluctant to contact either of them without Christian being present. She felt that Amber at least could pose problems.
With Jacqui’s help, Jess managed to fill Saturday with both work and play to ensure that Ben enjoyed himself every minute of the day. When Sunday came, Jacqui begged her to remain behind. “I can get Ben to and from school – and you know that’s what Christian wanted – otherwise he wouldn’t have booked my services for the next fortnight.”
Jess was grateful but firm, insisting that the hour’s drive each way would be too much for Ben and unfair on Jacqui. “You deserve a break yourself, anyway. We’ll come back some evenings and at the weekend and I’ll be here working most days, so if you’re ever at a loose end, you can be my assistant.”
After dropping Ben off at school on Monday, Jess went into the local newsagents and stopped short as the faces of Christian and Amber smiled out at her from the cover of ‘My!’ magazine with the caption ‘Ring in the New’, depicting interlocking wedding rings. For the terminally stupid, Jess thought. She stared at the cover in anguish before reaching out for the glossy. They looked so sleek and perfect together. Hurriedly flicking through it to find the appropriate page, she was interrupted by the assistant asking her, with very little attempt at civility, to buy it before she tried it as this wasn’t a public library. Jess duly paid for the magazine but stood for a while, leaning on the freezer until her breathing became regular and her legs felt more solid and able to support her out of the shop.
There wasn’t a lot of copy in the article, mostly photos – complete with cheesy captions - of glamorous celebs, all in white for the themed New Year’s party at the luxury Surrey mansion of one of Britain’s most gorgeous eligible bachelors – though not for long (as the talentless journalist explained). The beautiful and talented Amber had finally agreed to tie the knot, it seemed, although a little later there was the merest hint that, in true Amber style and in keeping with leap year tradition, she might have been the one to pop the question to Christian. Either way, their radiant smiles, according to the journalist, ‘said it all’!
Jess felt nauseous after reading the sickly, clichéd nonsense and looking at all the photos of the party. Why hadn’t Christian told her? Even if it wasn’t true, he might have warned her that this story was coming out. Now she felt used and confused. What was going on between him and Amber? He had rushed away from his parents’ place to be with her, then brought her to his home and hired nurses to care for her. And Amber had acted like mistress of the manor, very much at home - too much at home. Okay, so they had a history – but it seemed they also had something going on very much in the present.
Her first instinct was to abandon the book and preserve her own dignity…not to mention her heart. Whatever strange game Christian might be playing, she wouldn’t allow him to use her and hurt her - and Ben - in the process. Could he be so cruel? She glanced again at the photographs of beautiful, gleaming people, the shining lights of society. They were all objects of admiration and adoration by countless millions and surely that must affect them adversely? It must make them think themselves inviolable and, as a consequence, make them insensitive. With the adoring masses throwing themselves at their feet, what did they need to care about some little individual’s feelings?
Perhaps Christian was using her to deflect attention away from his forthcoming wedding? She was just an acolyte. Maybe he thought that a couple of weeks spent in luxurious surroundings would be recompense enough for trampling on her heart? She blinked back angry tears, but the anger was directed at herself, not Christian. I’m the idiot, and an ungrateful one, too, she thought. He’s given me the opportunity to prove myself as a writer. I’ll get generous payment and hopefully some serious professional recognition if I make a good job of this. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
****
Christian’s car pulled out of the art deco gates of the film studios onto sunset Boulevard for the short journey to the TV studio in Beverly Hills. The morning’s sound work had been much easier than he had expected and he hoped the two television and radio interviews he had lined up would go as smoothly. He couldn’t say he especially looked forward to any of it now; he just wanted to be back home with Jess.
He found himself constantly checking his watch and trying to visualise what she would be doing at that moment. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so obsessed about a girl. He’d tried numerous times to call her, but only succeeded in speaking to her twice and then there were other people around at either end. For the rest of the time his calls went either directly or eventually to voicemail when she didn’t answer. He’d had to resort to text messages, like a lovesick schoolboy. He knew she habitually forgot to recharge her phone – which wasn’t the best example of mobile phone technology anyway – and cursed himself for not setting up a better line of communication. He should have insisted on buying her a new phone or pre-arranged times for calls. As it was, he had called the house on Sunday afternoon only to hear that she had left for London. That wasn’t part of the plan. Of course she couldn’t answer her mobile whilst driving and the chances were that Ben would be sleeping in the back seat and not even hear it so his call would go unanswered.
He had imagined that they would chat to each other twenty times a day and looked forward to it - whenever he could escape the bustle and glitz and put in a quick call. He’d envisioned them whispering endearments to each other to share the pain of their separation, thereby making it more tolerable. Instead he had had to make do with one call late on Saturday and another shorter call early on Monday morning – UK time. He tried again now and Jess’s phone was off, or dead – how could he tell? He called the house and found she hadn’t arrived and then called her flat but received no answer. It was frustrating beyond description to think that in this age of instant communication, he couldn’t speak to the one person he wanted to reach!
He tapped in a quick text before relinquishing himself into the ministering hands of the studio staff, ready to meet the curiously named host of the chat show, Maya Tamburlaine, and start behaving like some Hollywood Hot-lister.
****
It was late on Monday afternoon and time for Jess to leave to collect Ben from Maeve’s house when she received the call from Amber.
“I’ll be on the road again next week for my tour and I’m pretty tied up later this week, but I gather you’ve got some questions you want to ask me for Christian’s book. There will be certain areas which are off limits. My manager thought we should get together before I leave so that he can vet everything before it gets to the final draft. What do you say we have lunch tomorrow so we can discuss it? It’s probably the only free time I have this week.”
It took Jess a moment to dige
st the information and consider how to respond. “That would be…good, Amber. Thank you. Where would you like to meet?”
“Oh nowhere in London - it’s probably best if you come here; more discreet.” Amber said with an air of superiority.
“That’s fine. Could you give me the address?”
Amber chuckled only it sounded to Jess’s ears like the sweet tinkling of bells. “You’ll never find it - it’s far too well concealed. I’ll send a car for you at midday. Are you still at Christian’s house?”
Jess worked feverishly all that night writing and rewriting questions both to inform the book and to inform herself about the true nature of Amber’s relationship with Christian. She had a strong feeling that Amber was going to take control of the questioning and run rings around Jess in the process.
Amber’s car turned out to be a silver Rolls Royce which, once again, provided entertainment value for her neighbours when it pulled up outside her little block of flats. Jess could see several of them peering out of their windows as the elegant car left the forecourt of her building. She was thankful it wasn’t pink or purple or something equally outrageous, which she’d somehow expected from Amber.
After ensuring she was comfortable, the chauffeur demonstrated the console in front of her, showing her how she could communicate with him, should she wish to and how to access the TV and mini-bar – which was fully-stocked with a range of chilled drinks and snacks. Jess could only shake her head at the sheer excess of it all.
Throughout the journey, she continually scanned her notes, tweaking a question here, adding a suggestion there and still feeling desperately ill-prepared for her interview with the formidable Amber. By the time the car reached Docklands, she had abandoned her notes and simply sat back to enjoy the remainder of the drive in silent but comfortable despair.
The car wove in and out of newly developed mews and avenues of converted warehouses, lofty hotels and gleaming glass structures. She had never been deep into the area before and was surprised at its calm ambience and understated elegance. When they finally drew to a halt outside Amber’s building, Jess was unsure at first what lay behind the rather ambiguous and unassuming façade. But the interior was absolutely stunning! It was like walking into a converted temple or one of those wonderful Italian courtyards where tier upon tier of sumptuous elegance revealed themselves to the eye. Can she possibly own this entire building? Jess wondered as she gazed speechlessly up into the light and airy heights. The place had an abundance of what appeared to be matt white marble which seemed to both diffuse and reflect the light, giving it a cloudlike quality.
But there was one curiously incongruous element to all this, and upon which Jess focused as Amber floated like an angel down her sumptuous staircase to greet her visitor. In the pristine ground-floor hallway and reaching up to the first or second floor, was a towering Christmas tree, still fully and lavishly decorated and with its needles still green and fresh-looking.
“Hello Jess, I’m glad you could make it. Come on upstairs.”
“Umm…that’s a very lovely tree,” Jess said. And big! Trust you to go into competition with Trafalgar Square. “But, umm, a bit of a surprise to see it still there – aren’t you superstitious?”
“What? Twelfth night, you mean? That’s not even a superstition! The decorating people couldn’t come and remove it on the day I wanted, so I told them to come back after I left. I hate having to put up with domestic disruption when I’m at home, don’t you?”
Jess bit her lip and neglected to reply. Fortunately Amber didn’t seem to notice. She led the way into a stunning first floor sitting room area which was again predominantly white, bright and airy but softened by cloudy pastels and without the harshness associated with so much light. The sofas were upholstered in soft, white suede but the cushions were of the palest shades of oyster and muted pink. The floor, which Jess could immediately tell was heated from underneath, was made of something resembling silvery wood, but could have been anything. Low level pastel lighting, the exact origin of which Jess was unable to identify, enhanced its glowing softness. She wanted nothing more than to kick off her shoes and feel the smooth, sheeny surface beneath her toes, just as she did when visiting the beach as a child. The wall of tinted windows afforded an uninterrupted vista of Canary Wharf and the River Thames, lending to the seaside feel and Jess felt she could happily stand there in this hazy pastel paradise gazing out at the view all day. It irritated Jess to think that people who possessed the means to surround themselves with so much beauty could still be so dissatisfied with their lives.
As they sat down, Amber raised her right arm and gently fluttered her fingers. Within seconds a waiter appeared and deftly opened a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice at the side of the table. Once again Jess had to look away in order not to betray her disapproval at such decadence as the cork popped out with a subdued thud. Two petite and identical-looking maids came out from the kitchen carrying trays of dainty morsels which they set down on the table.
Jess pulled out her notepad. “These are the questions I’m thinking about pursuing relating to your early experiences with the group Wishful – they’re just about your first reactions and experiences.”
Amber set down the glass from which she had barely managed to wet her lips and glanced towards the pale light emanating through the dusky glass surround which helped give the room its soft glow. “Oh, yes, those early days when we were all so young! Can you imagine what it must have been like for someone like me? To meet talented people like Christian and Adam and be invited to share in their dreams? To turn my life upside-down and actually make those dreams come true? When I joined Wishful, that’s exactly what we all were. Wishful thinkers! We had such hopes, such dreams.”
But they evidently did come true, Jess thought glancing around her and then at Amber. “Was your childhood very difficult? I meant what were you hoping for when you auditioned with Wishful?”
Amber sipped her champagne, again barely even wetting her lips. “I was hoping for the world, Jess. That’s what Christian was promising me. I’ll tell you a bit about my childhood since you ask. But first let me guess what your childhood Christmases were like. I expect every year you wrote a letter to Santa in the comfortable certainty that you’d get most of what you’d written on your list? And every Christmas you’d put up your tree and day after day more presents would magically appear beneath it. I saw you looking at my tree when you came in and thinking I must be weird for still having it up. I expect you took yours down on twelfth night, or possibly sooner, and packed everything neatly away for another year, didn’t you? Family baubles too, I expect - small bundles of precious memories which you bring out every year and tell your little boy the magic stories. And every year you know there’ll be another Christmas next year – bigger, maybe even better – and you’ll tell him bigger and even better stories.” Amber had finished her champagne and the waiter stepped forward seemingly from nowhere to replenish her glass, but Amber dismissed him with the merest flutter of her fingers and helped herself.
“Well my childhood Christmases were shit, Jess,” she went on. “Do you remember that song by Judy Garland from that film they show every Christmas practically all over the world – at least I think I’ve seen it in about fifty different countries! Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas the song goes. Well, as a child – you know how you mishear things – I thought the words were ‘Have yourself a very little Christmas’. I grew up hearing that in my head every Christmas. And it seemed perfectly normal to me because all my Christmases were very little ones. Very little ones indeed. When I told Christian, he vowed that in the future, all our Christmases would be very big ones. And that’s why I get the biggest tree I can find and why I hate to part with it too soon. There, Jess. I will allow you to put that in your little book – it’s a side of Amber that my fans don’t know about.”
Jess had not written anything down and sat with her hands primly folded across the notepad on her knee as she w
atched Amber’s dramatic performance. A part of her felt sympathetic. She didn’t doubt that Amber’s childhood must have been very difficult, but she couldn’t think why Amber would choose to tell her this now. There was clearly more to be revealed. Amber was priming her for bigger things to come.
“Shall we eat? These little canapés don’t look at all appealing to me.” Amber gave the slightest movement of her wrist and her two little maids scurried out to whip them away. Jess couldn’t help feeling disappointed because she thought they looked quite delicious, but had been too embarrassed to start eating while Amber was talking. However the maids reappeared almost instantly with plates and bowls which they set down on a small dining table that had been prepared nearby. One ladled out creamy soup from a tureen while the other set tiny bread rolls onto small side plates as Amber and Jess took their seats.
“You don’t mind eating in here, I hope? I thought it would be cosier than the dining room as it’s just the two of us. Soup is so comforting in winter, don’t you think?” Amber twittered with false chirpiness as she picked up her spoon.
Jess watched her bring two tiny drops to her lips before replacing her spoon in the bowl. She wondered if Amber ever actually ate anything. For her part, she thought the soup tasted delicious and happily allowed the maid to help her to more.
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