Millie's Game Plan (21 page)

‘Why wouldn’t I? I was worried about you.’

She glanced briefly at me. ‘I fucked up the show, didn’I?’

‘Erm…’ she had a point. ‘Well, it was certainly different without you.’

‘What happened?’ she mumbled.

‘You mean you haven’t heard?’

She shook her head. ‘My
phone’s at the theatre, and Mum didn’t know anything.’

‘Well, as a result of your accident, Millie Carmichael made a brief and unexpected return to the stage.’

She looked up. ‘How d’ya mean?’

‘I went on as Rizzo.’

‘What? You did my lines and sang and everything?’

‘Wore a rather naff dress in a foul shade of tomato ketchup, too.
It could have done with ironing.’

‘Did you really do it? And it was alright?’

‘Well, they had to make an announcement before I went on – you know – didn’t want the audience thinking they’d stumbled on the stage version of
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
. But yes, I think we got away with it.’

‘So, nobody asked for their money back?’

‘Not that I’ve heard.’

Her head dropped onto the pillow. After a moment, she looked at me. ‘Were you scared?’

‘Didn’t have much time to think about it. I quite enjoyed it, actually.’

‘You did my solo okay?’

‘Nowhere near as well as you. But it wasn’t a howler.’

Her head lolled away from me and it didn’t take a PhD in Body Language to know she was upset. I reached my hand out to hold hers and was relieved she didn’t snatch
it away. ‘Lulu, it was an accident. Nobody’s mad at you.’ After hearing her grunt in response, I said, ‘How did it happen, anyway?’

Silence.
I waited. Would she blame someone else or actually own up to being drunk? After a moment, she removed her hand from mine and rolled away – as much as her leg would allow. Some people might have taken it as a hint to leave. Not me. That wouldn’t have solved anything. Instead, I walked around the bed to face her.

‘Lulu, you made a brilliant Rizzo. It’s such a shame you couldn’t finish the last show. But I definitely want you back for the Variety Show in September.’

Silence.

‘Will you think about it?’

She shrugged. We were making progress.

‘I’ll come and see you again.
If that’s okay with you?’

She glanced in my direction without making eye contact.

‘I could ring your mum to check when you’re coming out.’

Grunt.

‘Was she very upset?’ I asked, bracing myself for an impending lawsuit.

‘Reckons it served me right, dinnit?’

‘Oh. And is that what you think?’

Another shrug.
‘Must be. Everything’s my fault, according to ’er.’

‘That’s just mums, isn’t it? They get stressed about everything when you’re a teenager.’

‘Did your mum threaten to chuck you out when you were my age?’

I thought before I answered. ‘She was always telling me I would test the patience of a saint.’

‘S’not the same as being chucked out, is it?’

‘Your mum’s just upset at the moment.’

‘Whatever.’ After a pause, she looked straight at me. ‘Millie, I hope you don’t mind but I’m dead tired. Thanks for coming.’

And that was it. She settled back and closed her eyes.

I couldn’t think of anything helpful to say so I just patted her shoulder and said, ‘Sweet dreams,’ before leaving.

My In-box on Monday morning contained an email from Charles. Please would I make a meeting with Marshal & Crowe – asap – to review F.A.B. Marketing’s proposals for the campaign? My heart thudded.

This was the ideal opportunity to put my business relationship with Lex onto the professional footing it deserved. So at four o’clock the following day, I was accepting a glass of water from Bronwen and taking measured breaths. Today she wore a mother-of-the-bride suit; coral pink with a cream, lacy blouse and cream and coral court shoes. Strands of pearls were sitting in the creases of her throat and the boulders on her fingers were the same as before. ‘Lex was telling me you had a bit of a drama the other weekend. Locked in a church, he says.’

I nodded and gave her my well-worn synopsis.

‘Did you get a look at the guys who did it?’ she asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

‘Nope. No idea.’

‘What about the vicar?’

‘I don’t think so.’

She shook her head. ‘Terrible, isn’t it? You poor girl, you must’ve been scared out of your wits. And I don’t imagine it was much fun being locked up with a vicar, was it?’

‘Actually, he was really nice. Good company.’

‘Ohhh?
Young fellow according to Lex. Were you tempted?’ she winked. ‘Or perhaps he was, eh?’ Her beady eyes gleamed with prurient curiosity. ‘Did you have to fight him off?’

Normally, I don’t mind gossipy receptionists but I didn’t appreciate the innuendo.
‘Not at all. I’m just glad I wasn’t locked up on my own.’

‘Of course.
I expect you got to know each other pretty well, though. I mean, it’s a long time to be locked up with somebody, isn’t it?’

‘It is.’

‘So, what did you learn about the vicar? Got any racy secrets?’

How had I missed what an odious woman she was? ‘He has a nice singing voice.’

She nodded, clearly disappointed at the lack of scandal. Charles came swaggering towards us, jacket off, expensive but tasteless cuff-links glistening as he stretched a hand out to shake mine. ‘Millie, how are ya?’

Bronwen cut in with, ‘I’m just marvelling at how well she is.
Especially after that awful business at the church. You heard about it didn’t you, Charles?’

He nodded and frowned before looking about the office. Like most men in business, I guessed he wasn’t up for small talk.

Bronwen continued. ‘Terrible. Didn’t even get a look at them, she didn’t. Must have been terrifying, poor love.’ She stroked one of her bejewelled hands across my back.

‘It could have been worse,’ I said, hoping to close the topic. ‘At least they didn’t damage the church. It’s such a beautiful building.’

Charles sniffed. ‘Not been there since Piers Marshal’s funeral, that’s a few years ago. Can’t really remember it meself. Right,’ he gestured to the conference room. ‘Shall we?’

There was no sign of Lex – still pretending to be in
France, I guessed, and my heart lifted at the prospect of not seeing him, but not for long.

‘Lex is just on a phone call so we’ll settle in, eh?’

Feeling decidedly unsettled, I followed Charles into the boardroom. I would do this meeting like any other. I had a five point agenda and would follow it to the letter.

When Lex sauntered in, ten minutes later, I offered him my executive smile and a hand to shake. He looked at it with a lopsided smile and drew me towards him for a peck on the cheek. ‘Hello, Millie. You look like you caught the sun over the weekend.’

‘Just an afternoon in the park. How was France?’ I asked, sweetly.

He smiled, ‘French.’ The next question on my lips was,
Are you referring to the Knickers, the Letters or the Kisses?
But I doubt you’d have known from my face.

To my irritation, he sat next to me and opposite Charles. I could have handled it better if there’d been a barrier between us…the Great Wall of China, perhaps.

Charles, thank goodness, was keen to get cracking so I surged ahead with my agenda. To say our ideas – or rather, mine – were damned with faint praise would be an understatement. With a syrupy smile, Charles reached across to grab one of the prototype bottles. ‘The colours are blue, green, red and orange. Bright colours,
youthful
colours.’ He planted the bottles on the table in front of me. ‘Your whole campaign is way too sophisticated. Now, don’t get me wrong, if we were promoting a new line of table wine – lovely-jubbly. But this ain’t right for Spritzah! No fun element. No “crazy night out” feeling.’ He made inverted commas in the air with his stubby fingers. ‘It’s gotta be “younger”.’

I could feel my heart pounding with humiliation. It wasn’t unusual for clients to criticise our interpretation of their brief, but this project had been close to my heart (that’s an accent on had been) and I’d burnt a shed-load of midnight oil on the ideas and mood-boards, which Gus and his team had worked up into some designs for me. Only professional pride kept me going. ‘O-k-a-y…’ I began, nodding my head and frowning to show I was thinking hard about alternatives. Except really, I was thinking what a tosser he was, and wondering why he didn’t just come out and admit his target market was eleven-to-fifteen year olds. ‘You want something more youthful…’

‘Yeah. Somethink fun.’

‘Like a day at the beach…or the park…or a birthday party.’

‘Keep going…’

‘Volley-ball on the beach…blind-man’s buff…’

‘Yeah, likin’ it…a pretty girl in a bikini and a blindfold, being spun by a fit-looking bloke…pan down to a cool-box full of Spritzah! Yeah…nice.’

‘Except we’re not actually talking about a TV commercial, at this stage.’

Lex joined in. ‘True. But Charles is right. We need to set the mood – the right tone for the product. And fun is the key word. Your designs here are dazzling, I like them and maybe we can take some ideas for one of our other products.’

More work?

‘Millie, what else can you come up with?’

I nodded and waited for inspiration. ‘How about…preparations for a birthday party, balloons, party shoes, gift boxes, streamers, candles on a cake…’

Charles was nodding encouragingly.

‘And a pretty girl lining up all the varieties of Spritzah! On the sideboard and the caption,
A party’s not a party without Spritzah!
’

‘I like it, I like it!’ Charles slapped his hands on the table.

Shame. I’d just described, frame by frame, last season’s ad for a range of Fizzie-Frute kids’ drinks. And he didn’t even know it. I doubted parodying their other ad:
A lunch box is not a lunch box without Spritzah!
Would go down quite so well. Although I figured Charles would like the idea of nubile girls in school uniform.

Lex was looking at me through half-lidded eyes. I suspected he knew exactly what I’d done. A rush of heat seared my cheeks.
Bastard. How dare he make me feel uncomfortable when he was rogering his mate’s wife?

I drew a breath.
‘Or how about a yacht, anchored at sunset with a bunch of bright young things partying on deck?’

Charles wrinkled his face.
‘Too sophisticated.’

Yeah, I’ll bet. How many teenagers out on the lash have access to a yacht? I smiled. ‘Maybe you’d prefer a park bench…or a bus-stop…or would a stash of bottles behind the bike sheds do it?’

Charles laughed but Lex didn’t. ‘Millie. This isn’t an alcopop.’ His voice was dangerously smooth.

‘No?’

‘University students don’t have yachts. Nor do people working in their first job. They’re our target market. I thought we’d explained that.’

‘Of course.’
I began gathering up my stuff. ‘I’m probably over-reacting. One of our girls in the show broke her leg at the weekend. She was drunk and fell downstairs. She’s only fifteen.’

Lex looked appropriately concerned.
‘During the show?’

I told him about my impromptu performance. He raised his eyebrows and leaned towards me. ‘I wish I’d seen you.’

‘Yes. What a pity you were…out of the country.’

‘I got back early from
France. If I’d known, I could have made it.’

‘Oh.’ What a pity he didn’t try. Josh had made the effort and he wasn’t even my boyfriend. Although it was a tiny point in Lex’s favour he’d at least owned up to being back in the
UK.

Charles stood up. ‘Right, I think you’ve got the brief, now. Can you send the new ideas over to us by the end of the week?’

‘Erm…’ I needed to get back on a professional footing. ‘Were you happy with the budget I sent through?’

He flapped his hand. ‘Yes, yes.
Fine. Go ahead.’

‘Will it be Bronwen raising the purchase order?’

‘I’ll take care of that,’ Lex said, his eyes focussing on my lips and smiling. Even though he wasn’t touching me, I backed away.

‘Thank you.’ I stood up and snapped the catch on the portfolio.

‘Right, I’m shoving off now,’ Charles said, buttoning his jacket across his over-indulged belly. ‘Bronwen and me are off to The Ivy, for dinner. It’s my birthday,’ he grinned, boyishly. It didn’t suit him.

‘Happy Birthday,’ I gushed, heading round the table after him, determined to get out before he left me alone with Lex. But I wasn’t fast enough. Lex moved over to the door, closing it behind Charles and turning his devilish smile on me – the smile that had so recently made my knees weak. I bet he’d been practicing it for years.

‘So…no rushing off for rehearsals, this time.’ He wasn’t enquiring, he was stating a fact. Like my spending the evening with him was a dead cert. Even if I didn’t have to go to Mum’s for dinner with Josh, I wouldn’t have hung around if he was the last bachelor in London.

My voice came out wobbly with palpitation. ‘No rehearsals, but I do need to be going.’

His head tilted and his voice flattened. ‘Really? What’s so important, this time?’

I drew a deep breath. ‘Lex – I’ve been thinking, I really shouldn’t mix business with pleasure, it’s very unprofessional and…’

‘So, why don’t you pass our account to somebody else in the agency. I don’t mind.’

‘Well…’ Nobody else would put in the hours for free like I had. If I passed it over, we’d be obliged to double the budget. ‘The thing is…’ He was advancing on me, those sage green eyes searching my face for clues. I shut my eyes.
‘Lex, stop!’ When I opened them again, he was looking down at me – still just inches away. ‘I’m…I’m a bit uncomfortable with the way things are between us. I’m not sure…’

‘I’m sorry, Millie. I should never have asked you to say you were driving my car, the other night. I wasn’t thinking straight.’

Ah, yes. There was that too. ‘No. You shouldn’t.’

‘I’d just spent hours listening to Ashley giving me the low-down on his marriage break-up, we’d drunk too much wine and my head was in a mess.’

‘Ashley…as in Gemma and Ashley?’

He nodded. ‘I introduced them, years ago. If he’s not careful, he’s heading for a really messy divorce – Ash is going to get right, royally screwed.’

Interesting choice of phrase, in the circumstances. I looked him straight in the eye. ‘Is one of them having an affair?’

Lex shrugged. ‘Ashley’s never been faithful to any woman – but he only has little dalliances – Gemma knew that before she married him.’

‘So, why is she divorcing him now?’

‘She’s not. He’s divorcing Gemma. Her paranoia was getting out of hand.’

‘Well, if he’s always playing away, I’d say she had good reason.’ I stared him in the eye again. ‘Maybe she’s having an affair herself, and it’s given her a guilty conscience.’

He shook his head and ran a hand round the back of his neck. ‘I saw her at the weekend. She’s a mess, completely off-the-scale.’

I didn’t let my eyes leave his for a second. ‘Really? Are they still together, then?’

He shook his head. ‘She wanted to talk to me – about Ashley. You know, get the inside story.’

Finally, I dropped my eyes and thought back to Sacha’s two photos. In the first, they’d looked like they were talking, in the other he’d had his arm round her but there was no evidence of copulation…not even a snog. It was perfectly feasible Sacha had misread the signals. She’d never been the greatest judge of character. I took a deep breath. ‘Now I think about it – Gemma did seem a bit tense at Dominic’s party.’

‘Gemma’s more high-maintenance than a Formula One car.’

My mind jumped from thought to thought.
If he truly had been supporting his friends, then I had to ask myself…how adorable was that?

And the next question…how did I feel about him, now?

He wanted to know too. ‘Come on, Millie,’ his voice was soft and persuasive. ‘Are you absolutely determined to dump me – or is there anything I can do to change your mind?’

He was so close and so warm, and he smelled of that sophisticated cologne I’d come to recognise. I focused on his mouth. ‘How did you get that scar on your top lip?’ My voice had become breathy.