by Liz Fielding
‘Look, Fizz, if you want to talk about rescheduling your loan I’m warning you now that you are wasting your time.’ He sounded genuinely sorry.
She tried to ignore the small cold spot in the pit of her stomach that the brandy couldn’t seem to reach and invested her voice with good humoured banter.
‘Before you’ve even heard what I have to say?’ He didn’t answer. She tried a small laugh. ‘Come on, Julian. You would have loaned Pavilion Radio twice as much when we originally came to you. Money in the bank you said.’
‘I know that.’
‘Three months delay starting repayments. Two even. It’s not much to ask. With Melanie on board the advertisers will be begging us for air time.’
‘But you could have it all. Devlin’s sponsorship and the advertising.’
‘Maybe I just don’t trust my luck. Maybe I just don’t trust him.’
‘I don’t understand why. The guy’s rock solid, gold-plated.’
‘I have this feeling. Nothing I can put my finger on.’
‘A gut reaction that there’s something up?’
‘I was going to say feminine intuition, but I suppose gut reaction will do just as well.’ But it was more complicated than that. She couldn’t trust her own judgement where Luke Devlin was concerned.
‘It’s human nature to distrust generosity from an unlikely source, something to do with having the story of the Trojan horse drummed into us at school, I expect. But the truth is, I can’t help you, Fizz. When I realised why you were coming I made some tentative moves to reschedule. They were blocked. Your first repayment is due next Friday and the bank won’t take no for an answer.’
‘You mean they had already decided? Before I even asked?’
He shrugged. ‘Harries were your major sponsor. It had to be a possibility that you’d come back to us.’
‘It’s still a bit quick off the mark isn’t it?’ He didn’t deny it. ‘What is it? Does someone on your board fancy starting his own media empire at a knock-down price?’
He stiffened. ‘I couldn’t say.’ Back in his banker’s hat, he was deeply affronted by such a suggestion. Perhaps she had gone a fraction over the mark, but she still couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘Oh, come on, Julian, don’t be pompous, it doesn’t suit you. I wasn’t really suggesting dirty work on high.’ She hadn’t expected Julian to leap with joy at the suggestion she reschedule the loan but although it was a lot of money to her, it must be peanuts to his bank; refusing to even discuss the possibility sounded, well, unusual.
‘I’m really sorry, Felicity. It’s been lovely having lunch with you, but there’s nothing I can do about the loan.’
‘At least you’re being honest with me.’
‘Tempting as it is to try, I’m not stupid enough to think you’d fall into bed with me if I promised to help.’ His smile reappeared. ‘And I prefer not to have my eye blacked for suggesting it.’
‘Oh, Julian!’ she declared, moved to laughter despite her worries.
‘Not all us City folk are as black as we’re painted,’ he said. And that, at least, gave her an opening to ask a favour.
‘There is one thing you can do for me. Nothing to do with money,’ she added, quickly. ‘Can you get me a full list of your directors?’
‘Why?’
She didn’t know. ‘It’s not a state secret, is it?’
‘We’re a private bank, Fizz.’
‘And I’m a customer. It must be on record somewhere, surely?’
‘If you know where to look. Oh, what the heck. I’ll get it for you and bring it when I meet you this evening. You are still coming to the theatre with me?’
‘Only if you’re paying,’ she said, as despite his protestations, she insisted on signing the credit card slip for lunch.
Claudia was in a foul mood and made no effort to hide it. She never bothered to put on an act for her sister, Fizz knew her too well to be fooled, but even she was surprised by such an open display of temper.
‘The man is a vertically challenged jerk,’ she declared, before Fizz had even drawn breath to ask what had upset her.
‘Who?’ she asked, barely managing to suppress a sigh and she followed her sister into her sitting room. Whenever Claudia had problems, she never accepted that she might bear some of the responsibility, preferring to load the entire blame onto someone else’s shoulders.
‘Who?’ Claudia turned to face her, throwing her hands dramatically in the direction of the ceiling and groaned. ‘Don’t you ever listen? Sean Deveraux. That’s who.’
‘Oh.’ Sean Deveraux was the hottest thing in tight pants on the box, a cover pin up on every television magazine since a smouldering portrayal of Heathcliffe a few months earlier.
Claudia had been drooling on about him ad nauseam since she’d landed a plum part starring with him in a bodice ripper designed to show his tanned torso to its best effect. He was a little too self-conscious in his manliness for Fizz’s taste, but if he’d offended her sister, she pitied him.
‘You begin shooting in Spain in a couple of weeks, don’t you?’ She’d have to check the scheduling, make sure that the recordings for “Holiday Bay” were made before Claudia left the country. As if her life wasn’t complicated enough at the moment.
But Claudia was demanding her full attention. ‘I was shooting in Spain with Sean-bloody-Deveraux as my leading man,’ she said. ‘He still is shooting in Spain. With someone else as his leading lady. Some totally unknown, talentless trollop he’s fallen in bed with,’ she said, claws at full stretch.
‘But he can’t do that. What about your contract?’
‘There was a delay in signing. My agent wasn’t quite happy with one or two of the details.’ The defensive toss of the head spoke volumes. Claudia had probably been holding out until the last moment, hoping to squeeze a better deal when it was too late for the film company to change their minds. ‘Do you know what excuse he made? Why he’s insisting on a different leading lady?’
‘No.’
But she was going to be told. At length, with all the actions and for that she would need the fortification of a strong cup of coffee. As she filled the kettle, Fizz grinned. Luke Devlin had described her performance as melodramatic. If her sister ever stormed his office intent on making her opinion felt the man would discover the true meaning of the word.
She quickly straightened her face as Claudia loomed in the doorway. ‘He said ... he said ... I was too tall.’
‘Too tall?’ Fizz frowned. ‘But surely that’s not a problem? Sean Deveraux -’
‘You don’t think so?’ Claudia laughed, unpleasantly. ‘Everyone thinks he’s six foot two. It’s in all the press handouts. But he’s not an inch over five feet eleven. I swear it,’ she proclaimed, angrily, as Fizz looked doubtful. ‘He’s just been lucky so far. He’s had shrimps to play opposite. I’ll bet they’ve scoured the casting books looking for short men, too, just to make him look good.’
Then they had succeeded, but Fizz, who suspected there was more to the recasting than height, knew better than to say so. Claudia however, was waiting for some response.
‘Why doesn’t he just stand on a box?’ she suggested. Her sister stared at her. ‘Or get the rest of the cast to stand in a trench?’ Fizz enquired. ‘Isn’t that what they used to do in the good old days in Hollywood?’
‘You’re not taking this seriously, are you Fizz? Don’t you understand? I’ve lost twelve weeks of filming work. I turned down other roles just so that I could do this. It was going to be really big, a chance to break into feature films.’
She sat down quite suddenly on the kitchen stool and began to cry. Not noisy, unpleasant, eye reddening tears, but huge drops that rolled with controlled pathos down her cheeks and made one want to cry in sympathy. It was an effect she had used to stunning effect on many occasions and although Fizz should have been immune, she still found herself sniffing.
‘But surely everyone knew how tall you were when you were cast
?’
‘Of course. It’s just an excuse to get rid of me and get that woman on the set. Twelve weeks in sunny Spain, bonking at the expense of the production company.’
Fizz hid her exasperation. The last time she had been home Claudia had declared Sean Deveraux to be gay. It was, after all, the only possible reason why any man she set her cap at could resist her. Female pride as well as the damage to her professional career was fuelling this outburst.
‘Oh, Claudia, look I am sorry, truly. But there’ll be other parts. Better ones, you’ll see. Everything happens for a reason.’
‘Well this happened because that little prick didn’t want to be shown up for what he is.’ She stood up as suddenly as she had collapsed on the stool and turned off her tears with equal facility. ‘Oh, what do you know about it, Fizz? I can’t expect you to understand. You’ve never understood. It’s just a waste of time talking to you about the theatre.’ She swept into her bedroom to check her reflection, repair the damage. ‘All you’re interested in is that stupid little radio station.’ Satisfied with her appearance, she pulled a coat from the wardrobe. ‘At least David will understand.’
David Hart, a lovely man with a private income that allowed him to play at being an actor without having to worry about where the next meal was coming from, glowed in the reflected glory of Claudia’s friendship and never failed to provide her with a sympathetic ear when she needed her ego massaged. She used him shamelessly. And he loved it.
Now, having apparently forgotten that she had begged Fizz to stay overnight so that they could have a good long talk, she waved in the direction of the kitchen.
‘You don’t mind if I leave you do you? I expect there’s a yoghurt or something in the fridge if you’re hungry.’
‘But Claudia I wanted to ask -’
‘Help yourself to a drink. Anything,’ she said, impatiently. ‘Don’t wait up for me.’
‘I won’t,’ Fizz replied, quietly, but the front door banged behind Claudia and even if she had been listening she would not have heard. ‘And don’t worry about this evening. Fortunately I’ve made other plans.’ So much for feeling guilty about accepting Julian’s invitation.
She wandered back to the kitchen, picked up her mug and began to sip her coffee.
‘Well, this is cosy,’ she said, addressing her sister’s vacated stool. ‘I do love these long sisterly heart-to-hearts.’ A mischievous grin teased the corners of her lips as she recalled her sister’s parting remarks. ‘Let me tell you all about my date this evening. Yes, I knew you’d be surprised. Me with a date. He’s not Prince Charming of course, but he’s kind, good looking and well mannered. So, I wanted to ask you - but please don’t be afraid to say no - could I borrow your black dress, you know, the Herve Leger that you prize above rubies? After all, you did say anything, didn’t you? I’d give my fairy godmother a ring, but she’s still appearing somewhere in panto.’ She took another sip of her coffee half expecting the very walls to vibrate at such an outrageous suggestion. But nothing happened. ‘Well, that is kind. I knew I could rely on sisterly devotion to see me through.’
In the end she settled for something a little less revealing. It would be unkind to put too much strain on Julian’s good intentions in a dress apparently held together by safety pins.
As promised, he didn’t put a hand or word out of place all evening. He treated her like a Dresden shepherdess, making her feel fragile, valuable and very desirable and, at the end of the evening, when he had seen her to her sister’s door in a taxi, he produced an envelope.
Fizz hooked her thumb beneath the flap, but Julian stopped her. ‘Don’t. Not now, Fizz. Let me pretend that at least some of today was just for me.’
She looked up, surprising him with a smile of real warmth. ‘I can’t remember when I last had such a lovely evening. Truly.’
‘Then why don’t you kiss me goodnight?’ he said, his voice not quite steady. She stiffened slightly. ‘I don’t bite, Fizz.’
No. He didn’t bite. He was a thoroughly nice young man who deserved a great deal better than the way she had used him today. A kiss was a small enough price to pay for his kindness, yet ... She looked up at him, hoping that she could explain and surprised such a look of such tenderness that before she could change her mind she nodded in mute agreement. Maybe, just maybe.
As he took her into his arms, lowered his head to kiss her lightly on her mouth, she held her breath, waited for something, some reaction, a repeat of the lightning strike she had experienced in Luke Devlin’s office. But there was nothing.
Curious at her own lack of response she obediently opened her mouth when, encouraged by her acceptance of his embrace he deepened his kiss. But when his hand strayed to her breast and still nothing happened she pulled away. To allow such an intimate touch was to encourage him to hope when there was none, for either of them.
‘I’m sorry, Julian.’
‘That was just an experiment, wasn’t it?’ he said, staring down at her. ‘God, I thought for a minute -’ he broke off, as a tear began to slide down the side of her nose. She put up her hand to dash it away, only too aware that she had never learned to cry as prettily as Claudia.
‘I’m sorry, Julian. I thought perhaps...’
Thought perhaps he could wake her body from the coma, the little death by betrayal into which it had slipped so long ago. She hadn’t realised how completely her senses had been numbed until her unexpected, almost shocking reaction to Luke Devlin. Hadn’t been aware of what she was missing. And now she was and apparently there was only one man could help her.
The wrong man.
Julian pulled her gently into his arms and held her briefly. ‘No, sweetheart, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry that I can’t fix it for you, whatever it is. But someone will, one day, you’ll see. Don’t give up.’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Goodbye, Fizz. Good luck.’ Then he released her and turned to walk swiftly away.
‘Oh, Julian.’ She leaned heavily against the door arch. ‘Don’t you know you mustn’t ever say good luck,’ she murmured to his retreating back. ‘Don’t you know that it’s tempting fate?’ It was one of the first things she remembered her father telling her. Even before she had properly understood what a performance was, she had known that she must never say good luck before one. You had to say “break a leg”…
*****
‘Break a leg, Fizz.’ Her father had risen with her long before dawn, insisting on seeing his little girl off on her first exciting job, filming in Italy. There were tears in his eyes as he hugged her, holding onto to her for a moment.
‘I just hope I don’t make a fool of myself,’ she said, anxiously. Plucked untried from RADA, the responsibility of such a major role was a daunting responsibility. ‘Suppose I can’t do it?’
‘Of course you can do it. You’re a Beaumont. And you’ll be a star,’ he said. ‘I know it.’ Then he walked her down the path and hugged her again. ‘Ring to let me know you’ve arrived safely,’ he instructed, ‘and stick to mineral water. Too much wine will show in your skin and the camera is never kind. And stay out of the sun. You won’t be popular in make-up if your skin keeps changing colour.’
‘I know,’ she said, standing on her dignity. ‘I’m eighteen, not a child.’ Then she grinned, realising that her father was winding her up, jolting her out of her uncertainty.
She had been chosen over dozens of other girls with more experience for a major film role and no director would risk that if he wasn’t convinced she could deliver the goods. Of course everyone was saying that she got the part because of her name, because she was a Beaumont. It was to be expected.
Claudia had been through it before her. And like Claudia she would just have to prove them wrong.
‘Eighteen and she thinks she’s all grown up,’ Edward Beaumont remarked to no one in particular before looking down at his youngest daughter. ‘You’re a baby and I must be mad to let you out of the country with a bunch of randy actors and technicians with
out me or your sister to look after you.’
‘You’re both working and I’ll be fine,’ she said, threw her arms about him. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Will you?’
‘You said it. I’m going to be star.’ She laughed, delightedly, her fears for a moment forgotten.
‘Well just, you know, be careful,’ he said, meaningfully as she climbed into the car.
‘Don’t worry! Claudia’s given me a huge packet of condoms and a major lecture about safe sex,’ she giggled, paying him back in kind.
‘Your sister...’ But the car began to slide away from the kerb. ‘Don’t forget to ring me,’ he called as she leaned out of the window to wave.
She didn’t forget. Not at first. But then for a while she forgot everything.
*****
Fizz sat in her office and for the tenth time that day studied the sheet of paper on which Julian had listed all the directors of his bank.
It was a surprisingly long list of names but she hadn’t needed to look far to find what she was looking for. One name leapt off the page at her. Julian had underlined it as if it meant something.
Luke Devlin.
The new owner of Harries Industries. It certainly meant something. But what? She had been trying to work it out ever since she had first seen it last night.
She had tried telling herself that it could just be chance, but she was forced to acknowledge an uneasy feeling that it would be stretching the long arm of coincidence just a little beyond credibility.
Luke Devlin was very neatly placed to push Pavilion Radio off the air if that was what he wanted and Julian’s underscoring suggested that he had used his position at the bank to ensure that the station wasn’t helped out of its financial difficulties.
She wanted to pick up the telephone and ring him, ask him. But he had done more than enough.
The trouble was, nothing about Luke Devlin’s interest in Pavilion Radio made any real sense. If he wanted to take over the station all he had to do was to cut off sponsorship and wait. But he had written a personal cheque, offered her a way out.