Best of Friends (57 page)

Abby had done her best to keep in touch with Steve but he’d become a virtual recluse since Sally’s death, never wanting to talk for more than a moment on the phone and clearly uncomfortable whenever Abby dropped by. The week before, when she’d phoned to ask if he, Delia and the boys would come over for lunch on Saturday, he’d said no. He’d hired a nanny for the boys, he’d told Abby, and he wanted to be with them as often as possible because they needed him.

“Since Sally died, Daniel has been very clingy,” he’d explained. “Every time I leave, he thinks I’m not coming back. Home provides some stability in their lives.”

“But you all need to get out,” Abby had said.

“I can’t cope with going out,” Steve had said tellingly.

Today at the salon, there was no sign of Erin, but Ruby was thrilled when Abby walked in.

“Long time no see,” roared Ruby across the salon floor. Instantly Abby felt guilty. Honestly, if only she could remove the amount of guilt in her system and replace it with self-confidence—then she’d be a fabulous person.

“Yes, sorry, Ruby,” she replied. “I haven’t had a chance to come in for ages but I need the works this morning. I’m going to do an interview with
Style
magazine and I want to be stunning or drop-dead gorgeous or both, if possible.”

Ruby beamed at her. “Drop-dead gorgeous is not a problem, honey,” she said.

“Is Erin around?” asked Abby.

“No, not today,” Ruby replied, then lowered her voice. “She’s off seeing her parents and sister. You did hear she got in touch with them, didn’t you?”

Abby felt even guiltier. She had no idea that Erin had caught up with her long-lost family. Vowing to contact her very soon, she sat down at a mirror in front of Ruby and sank back into the seat.

“Ruby,” she said, “do whatever it takes. And if it takes industrial sanding equipment and Polyfilla, then go for it.”

Two hours later, Abby left the salon feeling like a new woman. Her nails were manicured and glossy, her make-up was perfect. And her skin shone with a sort of luminous glow that could come only from either a lifetime of careful cleansing—or one of Ruby’s amazing half-hour facials. On the inside, Abby may not have felt like a top TV star, but she certainly looked it.

She was meeting Selina and Maria Carroll in a glamorous restaurant outside Cork city. The restaurant was newly opened and had been an instant success, thanks to fabulous food, exorbitant prices and the fascinating décor. Hollywood in the twenties and thirties was the theme, and the restaurant was decked out like a stage set from a majestic old movie. Abby had never been there but she had chosen it for the interview chiefly because it was reputed to be very dark—and the journalist wouldn’t be able to see her face when she blanched every time she had to talk about her marriage.

She was the first there, so she sat at their table and drank a double espresso, which she hoped would sharpen her wits so she would be ready for even the toughest questions.

Selina and Maria arrived together and there was a flurry of “Darling, how wonderful to meet you!” with lots of air-kissing and the fake bonhomie that Abby hated. Still, she went along with it. She knew that if she didn’t, Maria’s article would be bound to begin with something along the lines of, “On TV, she’s bubbly but, in real life, Abby Barton is one of television’s more taciturn presenters,” meaning that Abby was square and dull in the flesh instead of flamboyant.

Champagne was ordered because, as Maria said, “You can’t beat doing an interview while sipping champagne, particularly when someone else, like Beech, for example, is picking up the tab.”

Selina and Abby exchanged a glance when Maria said this. It was going to be a long lunch, Abby thought. But Selina was well prepared for this type of behaviour. Throwing champagne into people in exchange for favourable publicity was what she did best.

“Sweetie, darling,” she said to Maria, “champagne is the only way to go. What a clever idea.”

In the background Abby smiled as if she went along with this sentiment. Theoretically it would be easier to be interviewed by somebody guzzling booze, but Maria was probably not the sort of person to get legless after three glasses of Moët. Years at the coal face of journalism would have definitely upped her tolerance level and it would probably take three bottles to get her plastered. Even then, she was far too sharp to let anything slip by her, booze or no booze.

For the first twenty minutes, Maria, Abby and Selina chatted amiably about the industry and the latest gossip. They spoke as if they were best girlfriends having a slightly bitchy chat over lunch. But Abby was well aware of Maria’s small tape recorder lying like a serpent on the table with the red record light on. To outsiders, it might look as if they were enjoying a girlie lunch. But Abby knew every word she uttered would be fodder for Maria’s article.

By the time the first course arrived, a full thirty minutes had elapsed and Maria began the interview proper. Abby hated doing interviews over lunch—she could never concentrate on what she was saying when she was trying to eat a mouthful of salad or drink some mineral water.

“Tell me,” cooed Maria, “about the latest additions to Beech’s stable. I haven’t met the twins but they sound just fabulous. Do you get on?”

Abby had just stuffed the last piece of butter-covered roll into her mouth.

“Well, yes,” she mumbled through the bread.

“You mean you don’t get on?” enquired Maria sweetly.

“No, no, that’s not what I mean at all,” Abby said when she managed to swallow the bread and butter. “I love Mitzi and Linzi, we’re the best of friends and I think we get on brilliantly. It’s just that I was eating.”

She knew this interview was going to be difficult, but she hadn’t imagined that Maria was out solely to stitch her up. Maria was shovelling mozzarella ravioli into her mouth, still waiting for a good answer. Abby realised there was no way she was going to be able to eat any of her starter.

“The thing is, Maria, I love the twins,” she said with a smile on her face that Jess would have recognised as false. “We get on fantastically well. In fact, the idea of getting new presenters into the show was mine,” she lied. “I thought
Declutter
was getting a bit stale, do you know what I mean?”

She smiled the fake smile at Maria and prayed that the other woman wouldn’t see through her. Abby did love the twins, that was true. But she’d originally hated the idea of them joining the team.

The true behind-the-scenes story would be an amazing scoop for Maria, but Abby had no intention of giving it to her.

“They’re naturals on television. Have you seen the footage?” she asked Maria innocently.

Now that wasn’t a lie. Abby really did believe that Linzi and Mitzi were brilliant on TV. But it was clear that Maria had expected a bitchfest, with Abby, the older television presenter scorned, subtly or not so subtly slagging off her co-stars the whole time. Well, Abby wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of that sort of interview. Maria would have to get her dirt elsewhere.

“No, I haven’t seen the footage but I believe a tape’s on its way to my desk,” Maria said. “It’s great that you all get on, though,” she added sharply, as though she didn’t quite buy all this Abby-and-the-twins-bonding stuff.

“Get on?” Abby beamed at her. “Honestly, we talk so much that the director says it’s impossible to get a word in edgeways on the set!” A deliciously wicked new lie struck her. “I’m going on holiday with my daughter soon and when I mentioned it to the girls, they were madly keen to come!”

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Maria, she thought with grim relish. However, Maria’s next question made her realise she’d gone a step too far.

“But what about your husband?” asked Maria with a glint in her eye. “I’ve heard you haven’t been seen together recently. Do you go on separate holidays?”

Abby felt muscles clench somewhere in her solar plexus. “It’s a girls’ holiday,” she explained hastily, as she tried to think of what would constitute a girls-only expedition and necessitate leaving her husband at home. “A health spa in Arizona, actually. I shouldn’t be telling you this, Maria,” she added, as though it was all of the utmost secrecy. “Well, I can tell
you,
” implying that Maria was special, “but we don’t want it splashed in the magazine so everyone goes there, it’s so exclusive.”

Selina, eating her green salad and out of Maria’s line of sight, raised perfect eyebrows. “A spa in Arizona? Not the one Sandra Bullock goes to, the one with the Native American healing ceremonies?” she enquired idly.

“That’s the very one,” Abby said. “The healing ceremonies are so soothing, I believe. And they’ve got this mud wrap they do at dawn that is the most incredible detox.” She was making this up as she was going along but Maria seemed to be buying it. “Men hate that sort of thing, so it’s strictly girls only but the twins are too busy to go.” She flashed a look at Selina that begged her to tell Mitzi and Linzi about this piece of fabrication to make sure they were all singing from the same hymn sheet.

After that, there was a lot of discussion of health spas. Maria had been to loads of them and Abby managed to hide the fact that she’d never set foot in one in her life.

From there, the interview segued into how hard it was to combine work with motherhood, and Abby—feeling like a total hypocrite—managed to talk about the difficulties without giving any of her real problems away.

“Oh, I know, it’s difficult, isn’t it, when you get home after a long day in the office and have to do laundry and everything?” sighed Maria.

Abby would have bet a month’s salary that Maria had help coming out her ears and wouldn’t know how to find the low-temperature wash on her machine, but she nodded gravely and said yes, wasn’t it tough? People just didn’t appreciate working women.

It hit her then that she’d been utterly convinced that Tom didn’t appreciate her, and look how that had turned out.

Finally, it was over. Maria was nicely high on two bottles of champagne, Selina had that contented look that told Abby she felt it had all gone well, and Abby was relieved that she could escape.

“Bye,” she said, sounding suitably regretful, as if she’d have done anything to stay for the whole day, drinking champagne and gossiping.

Outside the restaurant, Abby left a message on Mike Horowitz’s mobile.

“Mike, I need to talk to you. I’ve just done an interview with
Style
magazine. Maria Carroll, do you know her? She came very close to asking about me and Tom.” Abby paused. She hated talking about this, even to Mike, who had proved to be a tower of strength since she’d hired him as her agent. “I’m scared the break-up’s going to come out soon. Please phone me back. I need to talk about what we’re going to do.” She hung up.

It was weird how Mike had become her confidant. Once upon a time, when she had any work problems, she would talk about them with Tom. Yes, he resented her career and he certainly resented the fact that she earned more money than he did, but he was always there to talk calmly and intelligently about whatever was bothering her. Sometimes he’d annoy her with his laid-back attitude. “It’s only television,” he’d say with a laugh. “Come on, Abby, it’s not that serious; it’s not the end of the world.”

Mike Horowitz was a great person to talk to about show business because he had been in the industry for so long and he knew everyone and everything. Mike didn’t just know where the bodies had been buried—he’d been there
while
they were being buried. But inside knowledge wasn’t the same as love. Tom had talked things over with her because he loved her.

She was on the way back to Dunmore when the car phone rang. It was Mike.

“Hiya, Abby,” he said cheerfully. “So, the journalist from
Style
got a bit near to the knuckle. I hate to tell you I told you so but, well, I told you so.”

“Mike, don’t,” groaned Abby. “Please don’t. I knew it was going to come out some day but I didn’t think it would be this quickly. I mean, those journalists seem to know everything.”

“But she didn’t know everything, did she?” said Mike with irrefutable logic, once she’d explained. “She was just probing, that’s all. Until they have some piece of concrete evidence that you and Tom have broken up, they won’t print anything. But when they are sure, they’ll phone you and ask straight out. You’ve got to be ready for when that happens. We’ve got to take action—action about your TV career as well as your personal publicity. You need to move on career-wise before Beech move you on. It’s easier to look for a new job when you still have the old one.”

Abby sighed audibly. “Oh, Mike, I’ve too much going on at the moment. I don’t want to think about leaving
Declutter
or Beech. They have been good to me, honestly, they have—”

“No, they haven’t been good to you,” Mike interrupted her forcibly. He’d been negotiating with Beech about the distressing rough cut of the series, but he’d wisely said that all-out war would be a mistake. “You don’t want to leave under a cloud,” he pointed out.

Secretly, Abby would have loved Mike to go to war with Roxie and Brian, but she had to trust his judgement.

“You’ve been good to Beech,” he said now. “You gave them a hit TV series and it was all your own idea. Now they’re ready to throw you on the scrap heap, if you let them. Trust me, Roxie didn’t bring in the twins for fun. And that interview you did today, the journalist was a friend of Roxie’s, wasn’t she?”

“Was she?” said Abby. “How do you know that?”

She could almost hear Mike smiling over the phone.

“I’m your agent,” he said. “I know these things. Abby, I didn’t want to tell you beforehand and neither did Selina. We didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, thanks a bunch,” said Abby furiously. “I could have really put my foot in it. She shocked me when she asked about Tom. I could have messed up by blurting that we had split up.”

“She didn’t know anything,” Mike insisted. “Nobody knows for definite, not even Roxie. I wouldn’t let you walk into an interview like that. That would be like throwing a Christian to the lions. But I bet Roxie had primed her to ask about how you got on with the twins.”