Never Too Late (50 page)

Nancy letting any furry friendly creature dirty her clothes

with a wet, questing nose or dirty paws.

‘Now,’ he added, ‘let’s welcome Zelda, glamour queen of

the pop scene, and certainly the most beautiful creature to

emerge from Limerick in a long, long time.’

- Nancy’s face tightened. She was from Limerick, if Olivia

remembered correctly. And she hadn’t imagined it: Theo

was sticking discreet little barbs in Nancy’s peach-dad side

every chance he got.

She didn’t waste any time getting her own back.

‘Zelda,’ she cooed, welcoming the nervous young singer

on set with a saccharine smile. ‘Sit beside Theo. He’s

perfectly safe,’ she tittered. ‘Poor dear wouldn’t know what

to do with a pretty girl like you.’

Theo joined in her giggles. ‘She’s only jealous, Zelda,’ he

said confidingly, ‘because I haven’t chatted her up for

years. Not since they stopped paying me to, anyway! Only

kidding, Nance, my pet,’ he added, blowing a kiss to his

co-presenter, who sat there, a smile welded on to her stony

face.

If Theo had it all his own way during the Zelda

interview, flirting and excluding Nancy totally, she was

determined to make him pay when she held court during

the abandoned animal story.

‘Isn’t it terrible the way people treat animals?’ she said

at the end of a heart-rending piece of footage narrated by

the cats’ and dogs’ home representative who sat nervously

between Nancy and Theo on the sofa. ‘Not that you’d

understand this, Theo.’ she said tearfully. ‘He eats veal,’ she said dramatically to the camera.

‘I don’t,’ hissed Theo, rattled. Not adoring children, old

people and animals was death to any television personality’s

career, he knew. Eating veal was like being found to

enjoy slapping little old ladies or, even worse, like a

newspaper splashing your fondness for leather, peephole

undies all over the front page.

‘You do,’ Nancy said. Then, noticing the look of horror

in the producer’s eyes, relented a bit. ‘Or is it somebody

else I’m thinking of?’

‘Must be somebody else,’ Theo snapped. “I love calves - I

love all animals.’

‘Except little fishies,’ Nancy said with her famous winning

smile. ‘You do eat fish, I’ve seen you.’ She faced the

camera: ‘Meat is murder, viewers, but fish is justifiable

homicide!’

Giggling as if she’d just made the most hilarious joke,

Nancy patted the animal expert on the knee. Aware of the

knife-edge tension on set, he jumped.

‘Don’t mind our teasing,’ she cooed. ‘Darling Theo and I

love teasing each other. I pretend to destroy his reputation

and he does the same to me. It’s so much fun.’

‘It doesn’t look much like fun in my opinion,’ Olivia

whispered to Kevin.

‘The viewers think it’s a howl,’ Kevin said softly. ‘They

don’t realise that pair would have each other’s eyes out if

they got the chance. It’s hard to tell which one of them is

capable of throwing the bigger queenie fit.’

Five minutes later, as she stood in her gleaming television

kitchen, Olivia reflected that whatever Kevin’s job

description was, it didn’t cover half the things he did. Not only had he prevented her from murdering Nancy, he’d found her something to wear and kept her so amused with

tales of Theo’s and Nancy’s long-running feud that she

hadn’t had a moment to be nervous about her first live

appearance.

‘You’ll knock’em dead,’ he said, utterly blase.

And she did. From the first moment Theo introduced

her to the viewers - and Olivia had sent up a silent prayer

of thanks to Linda Byrne for making sure it was Theo and

not Nancy who introduced her - she’d felt as if she was

freewheeling down a mountain on a superb bike, heart

lifting joyously with the thrill of it all.

For that first appearance, Theo hung around to help her

in case she got stage fright. But in the end, it was Olivia

who took charge, smiling at his efforts to grate cheese

without grating his thumbs into the bargain.

‘I’m hopeless at this,’ he admitted, sad face incongruous

above his happy lamb jumper.

‘No, you’re not,’ insisted Olivia kindly, the way she

would to a shy second year who was nervous about

cooking. ‘I’ll do that, it’s tricky. Why don’t you arrange the

Spanish sausage on top of this pizza? You’re the artistic

one around here.’

All in all, she and Theo made a far better team than

Theo and Nancy, Olivia decided. Her ten-minute cookery

slot was relaxed and fun. She and Theo chatted with the

easy amiability of people used to each other’s company.

‘It’s delicious,’ he mumbled at the end, as he bit into a

succulent slice of pizza decorated with goat’s cheese and

red onions.

Nancy, who’d been off having her inch-thick makeup

touched up during the slot, appeared beside them suddenly,

like a malevolent cloud dressed in Escada, and

proceeded to look at the assembled pizzas as if they were

decorated with rats’ entrails instead of chorizo, mushrooms

and tuna fish.

‘Goodness, what a lot of pizza.’ she remarked disdainfully,

poking at the most cheese-laden version with a fork.

‘All appallingly fattening, no doubt,’ she added maliciously.

‘Not the sort of thing our viewers want to be stuffing their

faces with.’

Olivia saw her chance and went for it. ‘I don’t find them

fattening, Nancy,’ she said pointedly, and cut a piece from

the cheesy one in question while patting her own tiny

waist. ‘I can eat what I like.’

Under her sunbed tan, Nancy’s face whitened with rage.

Olivia: one, Nancy: nil.

Kevin was still giggling when Olivia joined him behind

the cameras.

‘She walked into that one,’ he squealed delightedly.

‘She’ll never forgive me,’ Olivia pointed out. ‘Although

Theo seemed to like it. He gave me a hug and said “well

done” when we went to the advert break, and I don’t think

he was simply referring to the cookery slot.’

‘Olivia, you were brilliant.’ Paul Reddin arrived from the

seclusion of the control room to give her a congratulatory

hug. ‘You have this incredible screen presence. Everybody’s

going to be watching you and talking about you soon, and

wondering where we found our marvellous TV newcomer.’

As it happened, quite a lot of people were watching her

already. In Wentworth Alarms, Evie and Lorraine had

abandoned their room for the sales office where, perched

on the same swivel chair, they watched the show on an

elderly television set normally only dragged out of its

hiding place for the Grand National when the entire

company all pulled a horse’s name out of an envelope in

an office sweepstake.

Watching Olivia’s lovely face become animated as she

laughed and joked with Theo Jones, while expertly dicing

and slicing at the same time, Evie felt a lump of pride in

her throat. Olivia looked so beautiful, so competent, so

utterly charming. She was wonderful, just wonderful.

‘Don’t cry,’ Lorraine said, seeing Evie’s little face tremble

and water collect in her huge hazel eyes from the

emotion of it all.

‘I know it’s silly,’ she said tremulously, ‘but I’m so proud

of her. Olivia’s always lacked confidence, even though it

was unfounded, but to see her doing this … she deserves

to do so well!’

‘Bleedin’ hell, is she your friend?’ asked one awestruck

sales exec, rooted to the spot with lust at the sight of

Olivia’s exquisite face and elegant figure clad in a lilac top

which was marginally too small for her and, therefore,

sensationally clingy. ‘She married?’

‘Cedric! You’ll never guess who’s on the telly …’

By the end of Olivia’s cookery slot, Sheilagh was

mentally figuring out what she’d wear to go into Navan

town and casually ask people had they seen her Stephen’s

wife on the television that morning? Her new red blazer

and navy pleated skirt, she decided, and the cream court

shoes. So suitable. Her mind already working overtime,

she could imagine the conversations: ‘I’m getting a few

last-minute things for our trip. Cedric and I are going to

Dublin for a few days for a party to celebrate Stephen’s

wife going on the television. Oh, didn’t you know? Well,

we don’t like to blow our own trumpets. Yes, with Nancy

Roberts and Theo Jones. I believe Nancy is wonderful, just

loves Olivia. Merciful hour, would you look at the time! I

must rush. They won’t start the party without us, we

can’t be late!’

Cedric’s roar interrupted her fond imagining. ‘Did you

hear that?’ he demanded, puffing up like an outraged

bullfrog. ‘They said Olivia de Were - bloody de Were. Not

MacKenziel Is our name not good enough for her? I’m

going to have words with Stephen! There’ll be war, I’m

telling you.’

‘I think we should go to Dublin,’ Sheilagh interrupted.

‘Stephen’s away,’ snapped her husband.

‘We’ll phone him,’ she said. Then, as it occurred to her

that her beloved son had kept this whole television thing a

secret from her, she added, ‘I want to find out why he

never told us Olivia was going to be on the television.’

A hundred miles away, unaware of all this, Olivia was

treating herself to a manicure in the beautician’s on the

basis that her hands were always going to be on show on

the programme and needed to look nice. And she’d

decided to treat herself. This wasn’t Stephen’s money she

was spending, she thought, luxuriating in that fact. It was

hers.

She was meeting Evie for a late lunch in half an hour,

and then she was going to take Sasha to the zoo as a special

treat. Stephen was away so there was no need to think

about what complicated dinner she’d have to cook for him

later. She and Sasha could have a McDonald’s in Stillorgan

on the way home and spend a relaxing evening watching

telly. Bliss.

‘You were brilliant.’ yelled Evie when they met in The

Orchard car park. ‘We all watched you and there’s one

sex-mad sales executive who wants to know if you’re

married, single or otherwise available!’

‘Probably otherwise available when Stephen finds out,’

giggled Olivia. ‘Was it really all right? I was so nervous in

the beginning and then it just gelied.’

As Evie only had half an hour to devour her sandwich,

they hurried inside. After ages spent discussing the ins and

outs of television, Olivia suddenly said she must remember

to phone Max and tell him how she’d got on.

‘He’s a lovely guy,’ she added.

‘Is he?’ Evie sounded brittle.

‘He is. And he really likes you, Evie. At that lunch, he

wanted to talk about you all the time,’ Olivia protested.

‘I’d rather not talk about him, if you don’t mind,’ her

friend said shortly.

‘OK.’ Olivia decided that something obviously had gone

on between Max and Evie, something very odd. She’d been

sure there was a spark between them but perhaps she’d

been wrong. In any case, Max must have made his feelings

plain to Evie and she’d rejected him. It must all have

happened badly, although Olivia could hardly imagine

Max messing up something like that. He was so polished,

so sure of himself. But you never knew. The most polished

people sometimes made a complete disaster of things.

The little red message light on the answerphone was

flickering frantically when Olivia let herself and Sasha into

the apartment that evening. Tired after a thrilling afternoon

looking at lions, chimps and a baby goat, finishing up

with a Happy Meal and a fudge sundae at McDonald’s,

Sasha padded into her bedroom to show her beloved

teddies the new fluffy elephant she’d picked in the zoo

shop. Equally happy and equally tired, Olivia shrugged off

her jacket and decided to boil the kettle for a reviving cup

of tea before listening to her messages.

So she at least had something hot and sweet to cling

to when Stephen’s irate voice came on the line: ‘What’s

happened, Olivia? I’ve just got some message that my

father is looking for me urgently and there’s a problem

to do with you. What the hell is going on?’ He’d rung at

half-tour. The second message, which he’d left at half-six,

just moments before Olivia had opened the front door,

was much more to the point: ‘My father tells me you’re

a bloody television star! I can’t believe this,’ he hissed.

‘Did he get it wrong? I never thought the stupid eejit

would lose his mind totally but he must have. Ring me

back and tell me. I mean, I’m here trying to sort things

out and …’

Being cut off didn’t stop Stephen. He’d rung back two

minutes later to continue in the same vein.

Clutching her cup convulsively, Olivia shut him up by

deleting the messages. He knew. Oh, Christ, he knew. And

in the worst possible way, at that. He would kill her,

absolutely kill her. Nobody hated humiliation more than