Best of Friends (42 page)

twenty-three

T
he third series of
Declutter
was nearly finished filming by the end of July, and Abby was wildly grateful for the fact. The schedule had been hectic in order to finish the editing by the first broadcast at the end of August. Abby had been away from home all too frequently, with Tom looking after Jess in her absence.

Hanging over Abby like a dark cloud was the knowledge that, soon, she and Tom would have to face up to the financial implications of their separation. Lyonnais would have to be sold so that they could each buy a smaller home.

Strangely, Abby found that she didn’t care about selling her dream house. It wasn’t as important as she had believed. The family who lived inside was the important part and now that was shattered, the house ceased to matter. Bricks and mortar did not make a home and she’d have been happy back in Gartland Avenue, noisy neighbours included, if she and Tom could have made their marriage work.

If the
Declutter
filming schedule had been exhausting, working with the twins was not. Despite her misgivings, Abby found that she liked sharing screen time with other presenters, particularly ones for whom the expression
joie de vivre
could have been invented. They were simply great fun, and she and the twins had become unlikely allies. Mitzi and Linzi were clever and eager to learn about television, and they appreciated both Abby’s wisdom and her innate kindness. She’d begun by telling them that as she’d only worked on one TV show, she was hardly the best person to help them learn, but Linzi disagreed.

“You’re a natural on telly, Abby,” she said. “And you’ve learned the way we have to—by just doing it.”

“Yeah, learning on the job is the way to go,” Mitzi added.

Abby could tell the girls apart easily now. Linzi was the more serious of the two and her face was graver than Mitzi’s, while Mitzi was incapable of talking for any length of time without smiling. They were both good-humoured and good company. Neither of them liked Roxie, although they were shrewd enough to hide the fact.

“What I don’t understand is why Roxie doesn’t like you?” Linzi asked Abby.

Abby shrugged. Roxie’s opinion of her was unimportant in the grand scheme of things. “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“She’s dangerous,” Mitzi cautioned.

“Me too,” said Abby wickedly. She had an ace up her sleeve, and it was all thanks to Selina, Beech’s savvy publicity director …

“I know you’ve always felt you could handle your career yourself, Abby,” Selina had advised one day when they’d had a few moments together, “but not anymore, sweetie. You’re not a housewife with a fledgeling TV show. You’re a TV star and it’s time you got yourself an agent.”

When Abby had first got into show business, she hadn’t been keen on the idea of an agent, assuming she’d be able to manage her own career and hating the popular notion of the precious celeb who refused to so much as answer the phone without checking first with her agent. It was so
Absolutely Fabulous:
“Darling, I must call my agent!! Order us some more Bolly, while you’re at it.”

No, Abby didn’t want to be that sort of person, so during the two years she’d been working on
Declutter,
she’d had a lawyer friend of Tom’s check her contracts.

She pointed this out to Selina, who’d raised perfectly waxed eyebrows.

“That’s naïve,” Selina said firmly. “If you’d had an agent, Roxie wouldn’t have been able to ride roughshod all over you when she hired the twins.”

“But I like the twins,” Abby protested.

“I know you do, sweetie.” Selina had been amazed at that because most stars of her acquaintance would have thrown a queenie fit at having two young beauties unceremoniously added to their television show without their approval.

But then Abby wasn’t like most stars. She didn’t put on the down-to-earth act that came over when she was on camera: she was genuinely like that. But the friendly, girl-next-door charisma had certainly suffered because of the trauma of her separation from Tom, Selina thought. Not that Abby had breathed a word of this to anyone, but Selina hadn’t been in the business for twenty-nine years for nothing. She knew that Tom had moved out and she knew that soon the press would know it too. That was another thing she had to talk to poor Abby about, but another day, perhaps.

“Liking the twins isn’t the point,” Selina said more gently. “You need more power and you’re too nice to demand it yourself. I have just the person for you, Mike Horowitz.”

“He’s a superagent,” said Abby in awe. Mike Horowitz represented the biggest television celebrities, and she couldn’t imagine that he’d be interested in her.

“Mike and I go way back,” Selina said. Way, way back, in fact, but she wasn’t going to tell Abby that. Selina had remained forty-five for several years now and had no intention of getting any older. Botox was wonderful at holding back the years.

“He’s asked me about you once or twice but I knew you weren’t interested. Now you need to think about it.” Selina knew that as a Beech employee, her loyalty was supposed to be with the company, but she liked Abby and didn’t want to see her shafted by the deviousness of someone like Roxie. She decided to spill the beans. “There’s nothing to stop Beech from firing you and running the next series with just the twins,” she said. “They’re cheaper and their contracts tie them up for the next two years to do every show Brian feels like, not to mention meaning that they have to show up to the opening of an envelope if Brian—or Roxie, more to the point—feels their presence might help.”

Abby stared at Selina in shock. “They wouldn’t fire me,” she said.

“They could,” Selina repeated. “That’s all I’m saying. The show is successful now, but if the ratings slip they could revamp it totally and you’d be out. You need someone to watch your interests. Mike is a brilliant agent and he’s a rarity—he’s honest, straight and decent. You’ll love him. I hope.”

She’d set up a meeting between Abby and Mike Horowitz in his Dublin office on a day when Abby was filming in the capital.

Tom had arrived with his familiar overnight bag just as Abby was leaving for the airport that morning.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he replied shortly, and went inside.

Abby sighed and put her own suitcase into the Jeep, aware yet again of the huge gap in her life since the separation. Once, she and Tom would have talked about this meeting with Mike Horowitz. She’d accused Tom of not being that interested in her career, but that wasn’t strictly true. He may not have been able to deal with the changes her success brought to their relationship, but he would have cared enough to have gone with her to meet the agent if things had been normal. If she and Tom had dealt with their differences better. If only they had worked harder at trying to understand one another’s point of view. She would have loved him to be coming with her today.

Mike Horowitz’s office was a suite in a plush glass monolith in the trendy docklands area of Dublin. Being a successful TV agent must pay well, Abby thought as she was ushered through thickly carpeted corridors to a huge office with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides. Mike himself was not the cigar-chomping mogul in a white suit she’d expected, but instead a tall, casually dressed man with a bald head. Abby couldn’t quite work out what age he was but he could have been anything from forty to sixty. He didn’t look the type to pander to celebrity whims. In fact, he looked a bit like Abby’s bank manager, with the same thoughtful stare. And there wasn’t a bottle of Bollinger in sight.

“Good to meet you at last,” Mike said, shaking her hand and showing her to a very comfortable chair beside one of the stunning windows. He sat opposite, a low table between them. “I’ve been following your career with interest.”

“Is it going up or down?” Abby asked deadpan.

Her joke broke the ice and soon they were talking rapidly, discussing Beech,
Declutter
and what the future could hold for Abby.

As they spoke, Abby realised that Selina had been right and Mike was just the man to sort out her career. She’d planned on being cool and reserved but now that she’d met him, she found herself warming to his straightforward manner.

Mike pointed out that most of the best-known TV stars had succeeded by knowing when to move on or to change direction. “I think Beech have a very one-dimensional approach to your career and they haven’t realised your potential. To be honest, I don’t see you working on
Declutter
for ever,” he said bluntly.

“But that’s what I know how to do,” protested Abby.

“That’s true on one level,” he replied. “You could have a whole spin-off career with books and TV specials about decluttering, but what made the show work in the first place is you. You have a warm and friendly screen presence and that’s your USP. Unique selling point,” he added. “That would shine through no matter what sort of show you were doing and, to be honest, I can see you being fantastic on a chat show.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Abby said. “I couldn’t do that.”

Mike shrugged. “Yes, you could. You should have more faith in yourself, Abby. Just because Beech don’t see your skills because they’re caught up in the youth-is-everything kick, doesn’t mean everyone will feel the same way. But that’s in the future. Right now, you have to go away and think about whether you want me as your agent.”

Abby, who’d planned to make no decisions today, changed her mind. “I don’t need to go away and think about it. I’d like you to take me on.”

“No, think about it,” Mike advised. “Never make decisions quickly: that’s my first bit of professional advice.”

“I don’t,” Abby said, “but I want you to represent me, OK?”

“OK. Welcome to the team,” he said, shaking her hand and smiling. He looked down at some papers on the table on which he’d jotted some notes. “There’s something we ought to talk about then. Something Beech could easily use against you in the future, both as publicity material and as a way to get you out.” He paused and Abby felt a twinge of worry. “I know it’s very personal but I’m talking about your marriage break-up,” Mike continued.

Abby felt her stomach lurch. “What?” she breathed.

“Sorry,” he apologised. “I know it’s a tough time for you but people are beginning to work it out, Abby. Selina told me, and although she’s very sharp and discovers things long before other people, this is a piece of news you’ll find hard to hide.”

“Selina knows?”

The look Mike gave her was sympathetic. “You’re famous, Abby. People notice you. People notice if your husband is living somewhere else and never accompanies you anywhere.”

“But we don’t live that sort of famous life,” Abby whispered.

“I know,” Mike said, “and that’s good. You can be very famous and very successful and never put a Blahniked foot near a première or a celebrity party. Lots of my clients live normal lives but they’re still on the TV and people see them, even if they’re only popping into their local shop for milk and a loaf of bread.”

Mike got up and opened the walnut cabinet where he kept supplies of booze, both for celebrations and as shock absorbers. “As you’re my client, it’s my job to tell you where the next problem is coming from and try and protect you from that. When the new series of Declutter goes out next month, I bet you my first year’s commission that Roxie O’Halloran will have primed some journalist with the news that you and your husband have split up. So she won’t just have to rely on the twins to publicise the show, she’ll have you as the sacrificial lamb. I can see the headline on every interview you do: ‘The private tragedy behind television’s warmest star,’ ‘How Abby Barton’s meteoric TV career ruined her marriage.’ Do you see what I mean?”

Sitting in the opulence of Mike Horowitz’s office, Abby burst into tears.

Instantly, Mike handed her a box of tissues and the brandy he’d already poured into a crystal balloon glass. He’d learned a long time ago that in the entertainment business, timing was everything.

“Drink this,” he said gently. “That’s the worst-case scenario, Abby. You’ve got to be ready for it. We’ve got to be ready for it. And we will be. In fact, we can turn this to our advantage.”

“How?” sobbed Abby piteously, her mascara running down her face. “How can we turn Tom leaving me into anything but a disaster?”

Mike allowed himself to smile. “By letting you be you, Abby. What would you say if an interviewer asked you about it now?”

Abby blew her nose. “I’d say it was a private matter; that neither I nor Tom would discuss our marriage.”

“Anything else?” probed Mike.

“I wouldn’t hurt Tom or Jess by speaking about it,” Abby insisted furiously. “You can’t make me talk about it.”

“That’s it!” Mike was pleased. “Some television stars would have sex with their partners on live TV if it would get them any more coverage. You’re not like that. That’s what people relate to: Abby Barton being Abby Barton, not Abby Barton turning into a kiss-and-tell madam. You don’t want to talk about it but you’ll be ready when they start to ask you. Nobody is going to launch a surprise attack on you.”

“It’s so painful,” Abby said quietly.

“I know.” Mike nodded. “Been there. Twice. Which is why there will never be a third Horowitz nuptial ceremony.” He sat on the edge of Abby’s armchair and patted her shoulder in an avuncular manner. “You can get through it, you know. But you’ve got to stop thinking you’re a bad person because your marriage has ended. You’re normal, that’s all. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out.”

But it could have, Abby thought miserably, if only she hadn’t slept with Jay Garnier. She might just be able to live with herself if only she hadn’t caused the split.

“Come on, don’t be so down on yourself,” Mike said.

“I had a wonderful friend who died recently and she was a good person. Compared to her, I’m a screw-up.” Abby threw back the rest of her brandy.

“Never compare yourself with anyone.” Mike sloshed more brandy into her glass. “Learn from her and move on. You can’t be like your friend because you’ve had different experiences in life. You can only be you.”