Simply Divine (31 page)

Jane could believe it. Nothing looked as if it had ever been touched. It was all so clean she felt as if she ought to be fumigated, or at least slip on protective clothing.

'Drink?' asked Mark, trotting across the brilliant white

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space and returning with a bottle of red wine and two gleaming glasses. 'Nothing under fifty pounds a bottle is ever worth drinking, don't you agree?'

Jane nodded dumbly.

Mark took a tiny, restrained sip of the wine, then gave her a wolfish grin, evidently flossed to within an inch of its life. 'Want to see upstairs?'

As he led her out of the kitchen, Jane caught a glimpse of a bathroom beyond containing the biggest pair of weighing scales she had ever seen. Mark, Jane realised, was beginning to make Narcissus look self-deprecating.

'You've gotta see my bedroom?' said Mark.

Up the spiral stairs he went, into a room the size of a small airport terminal. Like downstairs, it contained the absolute minimum of furniture — a vast bed covered' in a spotless white duvet and a huge mirror bolted to the wall opposite. It would almost have been kinky, Jane thought, were it not for the fact that the mirror was so far away from the bed you'd need binoculars to see yourself.

'Like my chandeliers?' asked Mark, pointing upwards to a ceiling as white and radiant as eternity. 'Cost a fortune. Specially designed for the loft. Great, aren't they?'

Jane looked up at the bright, twisted mass of cracked teacup, wine glass and coathanger, interspersed with the occasional bulb, which hung from the centre of the bedroom ceiling. It was, she supposed, witty. But she'd heard better jokes.

Mark picked up a small, slim remote control from the floor at the side of the bed and pointed it upwards. The chandelier immediately dimmed. 'Come and look at my million-pound view?' he smiled, clicking over to the floor-length windows. Jane walked over and stood beside him, gazing out as directed to the prospect of the City. The

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box-like buildings, centre of the world money trade, only reinforced Jane s feeling of unease. Mark's flat was so sterile. There seemed to be no books anywhere. Nor pictures. The only thing framed was mirrors.

Mark stretched out an arm and drew her to him. He started to kiss her neck, his mouth moving slowly up to her face. As he held her to him, Jane felt something big and hard pressing against her.

'Oh, excuse me?' Mark said, suddenly rummaging in his trousers and extracting his bulging wallet.

He began to kiss her again. The taste of the wine as he explored her mouth was now sour and metallic. Jane felt unable to respond. The truth was, she realised, that she could never really feel anything for Mark Stackable. There was nothing warm or witty about him. Nothing human. He was rich, but that really was about the size of it. Or was it? Something that was definitely not his wallet was rubbing urgently against her pudenda.

But it couldn't have been more different from Tom's tender caresses, and his thrilling subtlety. Jane stood as rigid as a statue as Mark grasped her breasts as eagerly as if they were fistfuls of banknotes, tears sliding down her face as he unbuttoned her jacket and roughly pushed it off. He stopped and looked at her in amazement as sobs began to shudder through her body. She shook her head, buttoned her clothes and squeezed his hand as she detached herself and went downstairs into the sitting room in search of her bag. After all, it wasn't Marks fault that he wasn't Tom. Nor was it necessarily a bad thing he was obviously so obsessed with money. Some women, including, no doubt, most of the
Fabulous
staff, would kill for a man like him. It was just that, as far as Jane was concerned, Mark Stackable had feet of K.

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Chapter 129

'Bollocks,' said Tosh to Oonagh.

'No, darling. Bollocks Beaufort-Baring wasn't
at
this wedding,' said the picture editor, bending over the lightbox and squinting at the pile of photographs she was examining with Tosh in her capacity as wedding editor. 'You're probably confusing him with Bruiser Aarss, who was there with the Hon. Bulymya yl Bowe.'

'Are you sure?' asked Tosh, picking up a photograph and scrutinising it closely. 'This looks like Bollocks to me. Don't you think so, Jane?' She held it up to the light.

Jane squinted at the image of a short, stocky young man with a novelty waistcoat and an alarmed expression. 'Complete Bollocks,' said Jane, who actually knew nothing about him save the fact that he had clearly emerged from the shallow end of the gene pool and was, as far as she could see, still dripping wet.

Oonagh sighed. 'I probably need a break,' she said. 'I've been wading through those pictures for so long I can't tell my Aarss from my yl Bowe any more.'

Jane's telephone rang. She gazed at it in terror. What if it was Mark? Three days had passed since she had left him with his expectations quite literally raised, and there had been much agonising in between. Had she done the right

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thing? Had rejecting the advances of the richest man she was ever likely to meet been a good idea?

Jane took the receiver with a shaking hand. For once, she was almost relieved to hear Champagne at the other end of the receiver. 'I've got some
brilliant news,'
came the triumphant honk. 'I'm going to be a film star. Marvellous, isn't it? I saw Brad again last night.' Naturally, she made no mention of, still less an apology for, the CTM incident.

'Brad who?' asked Jane. 'Pitt?'

'No,' came the outraged squawk. 'Brad Postlethwaite. The hot new British director I told you about. The one I met in New York. Anyway, we had dinner at Soho House last night and afterwards he offered me the most
amazing
part.'

I bet he did, thought Jane. 'A part in what?' she asked.

'He's making a really cool new film,' bawled Champagne. 'Sort of like
Four Weddings and a Funeral^
but it's called
Three Christenings and a Hen Party.
It sort of sends up English society christenings. He wants me to play myself. So obviously I've signed up for the best acting lessons money can buy. I'll be sending you the invoices, of course.'

'Playing ^0«ra^f?' said Jane slowly. 'It's tongue in cheek, then?'

There was a silence. 'I'm not putting my tongue in anybody's cheeks,' blustered Champagne at the other end. 'It's a seriously challenging artistic opportunity. Brad says it's a cameo role,' Champagne gushed, 'but I do hope he lets me wear my diamonds.'

'When do you start?' asked Jane.

'Monday,' boomed Champagne. 'That's why I'm calling you. About the stretch limo. To take me to the set. Brad says the film hasn't got the budget to pay for one, so you'll

258

'Playing yourself?
said Jane slowly. 'It's tongue in cheek,

have to sort it out for me. Want it big, black and shiny. Oh, and with a TV, telephone, fax, blacked-out windows, white suede seats and a cocktail cabinet.'

'You must be joking/ said Jane. 'We can't afford that.'

'Well, you'd better bloody
try,'
shrieked Champagne, slamming the phone down.

'Champagne's got a part in a film,' Jane told Victoria who was busy filling out her expenses slips in her office. 'She seems to expect us to provide a stretch limo to drive her to the set. As well as paying for her acting lessons.'

Victoria stopped stabbing her calculator and stared at her. Jane felt uncomfortable. She didn't know quite where she was with Victoria these days. The expected blow had not yet come. Victoria had not said a word about the conversation with Archie Fitzherbert. There must be a reason for this, as it was impossible that he had not told her. She was obviously biding her time. Waiting to strike. It made Jane nervous.

'Champagne,' Victoria explained patiendy, a dangerous gleam in her eye, 'is our biggest asset. Whatever she wants, she can have. If she's in a film, great. Get her to write about it. Go on set with her. Do a big number. Come to think of it, let's put her on the cover.' Victoria's eyes blazed feverishly. 'Yes,' she breathed, like one witnessing an ecstatic vision. 'Let's put her in a director's chair, with her legs either side of it like Christine Keeler. What a great idea.'

Jane reeled out of the editor's office.

'By the way,' Victoria's voice floated out behind her, 'I've been meaning to have a word with you about this interview with Lady Dido Dingle, the interior designer.'

Jane blanched. The Lady Dido Dingle piece had been an editing nightmare. Like many of the
Fabulous
pieces

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which crossed Jane's desk it needed a rewrite so heavy she could have brought in a JCB.

'What about it?' Jane asked through gritted teeth. She had, she thought, done a reasonably good job on it.

'Well, it mentions her fifth home in St Tropez and her downstairs toilet,' said Victoria, putting her head on one side and looking questioningly at Jane.

'Yes that's right,' said Jane, nodding. 'With a solid gold seat and a diamond flush button.'

'Fabulous
readers,' said Victoria, closing her eyes in exasperation, 'do not go to toilets.'

Which explained, thought Jane, the expressions on the faces of some of the people on the party pages.

'They use
lavatories,'
said Victoria. 'Or
loos.
'

When Jane rang Champagne back to say she could have a car, and was next month's cover story into the bargain, she was as magnanimous in victory as ever. 'Yah, I should bloody well think so,' she honked indignantly.

'So where is this set?' Jane asked. 'Although I suppose we could travel up together in the limo.'

'We bloody well could not,' Champagne shouted furiously. 'I'm the star. I'm not sharing my limo with anyone. You make your own sodding way there.'

Jane called the film production company, where a squeaky-voiced girl called Jade said she'd have to get back to her about the location. She was more forthcoming about the cast. It turned out that
Three Christenings and a Hen Party
was to star none other than the up-and-coming British actress Lily Eyre. After an excited discussion, Jane shot back into Victoria's office. There could be no excuse now for not putting Lily on the cover.

'She'll be the next Andie MacDowell,' Jane pleaded.

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After all, she reasoned, Lily Eyre was the star of the film. Champagne was just a walk-on. 'And we could do her first. Have her exclusively, the film company says so. She's beautiful. She'd make the most brilliant cover.'

'Look, I'm sorry,' said Victoria sternly, sounding anything but apologetic. She did not like being argued with the first time, let alone the second. 'Champagne's our cover, and that's all there is to it.'

'But. . .'

Victoria's eyes flashed fire. She stood up, her leather miniskirt creaking indignantly. 'I'm not discussing it any further. Have you the faintest idea how busy I am? How many things I have to do today?'

'What
is
she doing today?' Jane whispered to Tish after Victoria stalked out of the office clutching a make-up bag, obviously en route for the loos.

'Erm, lunch at the Caprice,' murmured Tlsh, flicking through Victoria's diary. 'Then she's having her highlights done. Then she's going to her aromatherapist. Then she's seeing her dressmaker. Then she's off to Bali for a week on holiday. She didn't tell you? Oh. Do you want me to get that?'

Jane's phone had by now been ringing for some time. 'No, it's OK,' said Jane diving for it, thinking she'd rather have it answered this side of the millennium. It was the
Three Weddings and a Hen Party
film company.

'Sorry about the confusion earlier,' said Jade. 'It's just that we've been juggling locations slightly until we got the price we wanted. It's now definite that Champagne D'Vyne will be filming her scenes in the West Country.'

'How lovely,' said Jane. Visions of rustic, verdant bliss unfolded before her. 'Where, exactly?'

'Well, don't get your hopes up too much,' said Jade.

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'The place is falling apart from what I hear. Rotting old pile called Mullions. The nearest village,' she paused and sniggered, 'is called Lower Bulge.'

The next day could not have been more beautiful. As the 2CV, given an unexpected stay of execution by a new garage down the road, backfired its way through the hedge-lined lanes leading to Mullions, Jane caught occasional glimpses of ploughed fields through which running pheasants lurched drunkenly from side to side. Placid ponies stood nibbling on green hillsides. A more soothing scene could not be imagined.