Talk to Me (15 page)

I sneaked a quick look at Nikki’s face. She was perfectly serious which was astonishing considering how hideous the necklace was.

‘… Kylie Minogue wore this exact one last night for the closing number of her concert,’ said Nikki, holding up an elegant Tiffany choker which was much more tasteful.

‘Really?’ Miranda’s eyes were round as she almost snatched the necklace from Nikki’s hand. ‘It’s amazing.’

It certainly was. The concert took place in Sydney. DHL must be using teleporters these days.

With the arrival of the make-up artist Miranda seemed to relax, her edge softening, as the two of them disappeared into the palatial bedroom next door.

The minute the door closed Nikki threw herself onto the sofa with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Why do I do this job?’

‘The money’s good?’ I joked. It wasn’t bad, I’d signed off the purchase order for this evening.

‘Do you know those tights are like blinking gold dust? Huh, stockings – she’s just being a cow,’ she moaned.

‘Never mind,’ I said soothingly. I wasn’t going to give Miranda’s secrets away, instead I said, ‘We’ll get her some stockings.’

‘Five denier! I don’t think so. Selfridges is the only place near here that might have them.’ She looked at her watch. ‘There’s no way I’ve got time to go there, get Miranda into her dress and do the finishing touches.’

‘I’ll go. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine,’ I said confidently.

Nikki looked dubious. ‘She won’t pull out, will she? That’s happened to me before.’ She named a well-known soap matriarch whose reputation was cast iron salt of the earth. ‘Old bat was made up and halfway through the hotel’s brandy when she announced that she wouldn’t wear the outfit the sponsors of the show had chosen.’

‘God, what did you do?’ I said, wondering what the hell I’d do if Miranda did that to me. Physical violence would probably be the answer.

‘Nothing I could do. She’d made up her mind. Did it out of spite – the producers were in the process of writing her out.’

‘I think we’ll be all right. It is the Bond premiere and if all else fails; I’ve got Gerry Finberg up my sleeve.’

‘What? Is he going to be there tonight?’ Nikki looked impressed.

Mr Finberg, a British film director, was going great guns in Hollywood with three mega-grossing blockbusters under his belt. The likes of Miranda would kill to meet him. I looked down at my feet for a second and then up. ‘Hypothetically. He might be.’ I gave Nikki a conspiratorial grin. She laughed.

‘Nice one.’

We agreed that I would go in search of stockings, as fine as I could find. There was just over an hour and a half before we had to leave the hotel. Slipping out of the room, I raced silently down the corridor back to the lift.

I dived out of the hotel entrance to grab the first available cab.

Talk about tizz. I’d never have time to wash my hair, dry it and get made up. It was no good, I was going to have jump the taxi queue. Naughtily I barged in front of an elderly American couple explaining that I was in a terrible hurry. It was an emergency after all.

‘And which hospital will that be, love? Chelsea and Westminster, Queen Charlotte’s or St Pinocchio’s?’ asked the cabby, winking at me through the open window.

Obviously the ‘sister-in-labour’ fib only worked with gullible tourists.

‘Sorry.’ I grinned unapologetically. ‘It really is an emergency. If I don’t get back within the next fifteen minutes bearing the finest pair of stockings known to man, my life won’t be worth living and I’ll have to go to the ball looking like the fairy godmother abandoned me.’ I gave him an expurgated version of the tale.

The minute he heard Miranda’s name, he put his foot down. I wasn’t sure if it was a Pavlovian response to her name or a desire to help.

‘Now, there’s a madam. We’ve had ’er in the back. Tried to tell us we were overcharging. Said we were going the long way round. Refused to pay the full fare. Can you believe it? Bet she earns a fortune ’an all. Don’t you worry, love, we’ll get you sorted.’ I was slightly confused by the ‘we’. Were cabs and drivers twosomes?

He swung round in a violent U-turn and I clung onto the strap in the back as the cab sped along. May be the ‘we’ referred to him and his alter ego, Stirling Moss. In seconds we’d gone from nought to hair-raising and were speeding down rat runs to Selfridges.

Running into the store, I weaved in and out of busy shoppers like a mad Artful Dodger. When I reached the haberdashery department, I accosted a bemused shop assistant, one of those supercilious ones who are groomed to within an inch of their lives.

‘Help, I need some stockings – five denier. They’re for Miranda Baker for the James Bond film premiere tonight. She’s getting ready in her suite now. I’ve got to be back in ten minutes and if I don’t get it right, she says she won’t turn up.’

‘Don’t worry, love. Got just the thing.’

She marched off purposefully and I followed her up to the next floor, down one aisle and another into the lingerie section. The prices I glimpsed on the tags made me wince. How could so little cost so much?

‘What you want are hold-ups.’

‘Honest?’ I looked unsure. ‘I used to wear those when I was sixteen, and even on my stick-insect legs they left bright red marks and cut off the circulation.’

‘The Lycra’s very forgiving nowadays. These are the ones you need.’ She leaned closer and quietly said, ‘We keep this make specially. No one’s ever heard of them – just tell her they were imported for Madonna. Works every time.’

‘You’ve done this before then?’ I asked her, grinning.

She winked at me. ‘This is our best-selling line, love. Just tell her to keep schtum, as Madonna doesn’t know the order’s arrived yet.’

Thrusting a twenty pound note at the cabbie who had waited for me, with a ‘keep the change’, I hurtled out of the cab, crossing the foyer at sprint speed. Just as I was about to get into the lift, my mobile rang. Smiling apologetically at a very gorgeous man in a beautifully cut suit, I stepped back out of the lift to take the call.

It was Kate.

‘This had better be good. I’ve just missed sharing a lift with Mr Drop-Dead-Delicious to answer this.’

‘More fool you then. I thought you were meeting up with James Bond tonight,’ said Kate crisply.

‘In my dreams. I’m working. I doubt I’ll get very near him.’

‘Work?’ she sniffed. ‘You call that work. Huh. I don’t think so. You try working with white-van-man. I really earned every penny. You bloody get paid for swanning about.’

‘You’re kidding—’

‘Dressing up and going to a mega-star party – break out in a sweat, do you? Real work is when the phone never stops ringing, the paperwork is piling up and you’re ten deep in plumbers wanting U-bends and copper piping.’

‘They all loved you. It can’t have been so bad, you certainly lasted longer there tha—’

‘Lasted? Thanks a bunch.’

Oops, I had touched a raw nerve. I pressed the lift button and looked at my watch anxiously. Time was running out, only fifty minutes for me to get ready.

‘I didn’t mean that. You know Bill raved about how good you were. Said you had all those plumbers eating out of your hand and they were getting tons more work because you were designing the bathrooms for them.’

‘But it’s hardly a job to shout about is it?’ There was an unexpected trace of self-pity in her voice. ‘Selling a bath waste to a plumber who once worked in a house owned by the Prime Minister doesn’t quite compare with going to a James Bond premiere.’

‘Honestly, Kate, it isn’t glamorous at all. Miranda is a pain to deal with, you don’t—’

But Kate didn’t want to know. ‘Any chance you could smuggle me in? I came up for lunch today, so I thought I’d hang around and see if I spot you coming down the old red carpet. What time does it all start? Couldn’t you slip me in the back entrance?’

‘No. Fort Knox has nothing on this.’ The lift was back but the plaintive note in her voice made me loathe to hurry her off.

‘Sure?’ she pleaded.

‘Sure.’

‘Worth a try. So what time will you be there? At least I can take a pic of my “glam” sister.’

‘Officially the premiere starts at eight p.m., but we have to be on the red carpet at seven ten precisely.’

‘Precisely, eh?’ mimicked Kate. ‘Look out for me. Give me a wave. In fact, come over and say hello. Everyone will think you’re famous and I can tell them all I’m your more successful sister.’

I laughed. ‘Go on then.’

‘What are you wearing?’

Oh bugger, I didn’t want to tell her.

‘Your … pale blue silk shift dress.’

‘Great! My clothes are having a better time than I am. At least you aren’t wearing my Armani. That really would have been rubbing it in.’

‘Sorry, Kate,’ I said wincing. ‘You did leave them with me. The blue is the only one that hides the dressing on my arm.’ Again I looked at my watch. I was running out of time to get changed.

‘You’ll look gorgeous in that,’ she conceded. ‘More your colour than mine. Have a great time. I’ll be watching.’

Feeling relieved that she’d finally hung up, I tucked my phone back into my bag. Nice that I’d have one fan in the crowd. Damn, I looked at my watch yet again. Forty-five minutes. I still had to get myself dolled-up. Of course now there was no sign of a lift. Worried about time, I decided to take the stairs and according to the light above my head, the lift was still on floor six. The best thing would be to go straight to my room and hand over the stockings to Emily to take to Miranda.

For a horrible moment I thought it was Daniel coming towards me as I rounded the corner of the corridor to my room.

‘Sebastian,’ I greeted him.

‘Livvy, love,’ drawled Sebastian, swooping in to give me a kiss and a big hug. ‘Long time no see.’

‘Sorry,’ I said stepping back. ‘I’m a bit … hot.’ Understatement of the century but there was no way I was going to add ‘sweaty’ to this vision in a black tuxedo, who at that moment could have out-Bonded Bond himself.

He gave me a mischievous knowing grin. He looked so like Daniel, but that was where the resemblance ended.

‘Think you need a nice, cool shower.’ Those eyebrows danced again, the inference clear. ‘What’s got you all hot and bothered?’ His voice dropped a tone. Flirting came as naturally to him as breathing.

‘Last minute aerobics class,’ I said acidly. ‘I’ve just run up the stairs.’

He tutted and shook his head. ‘I can think of much better exercise.’ He gave me a naughty wink.

‘Sebastian, you don’t get any better.’ I laughed at him. ‘You’d best behave with Miranda! Have you met her yet? She’ll eat you for breakfast.’

With great exaggeration, Sebastian widened his eyes. ‘You think so?’

‘Probably not.’ I sighed. Had this been such a good idea?

‘I’m just on my way up to the suite to meet her.’

‘OK. You go on up and be good!’

He playfully tugged at one of my curls. ‘Don’t worry. Duty calls. I promise to behave. Anyway, Daniel’s already given me strict instructions not to let you down.’

‘Did he?’ I was startled for a second and then realised Sebastian probably meant ‘you’ as in the general universe rather than me specifically.

‘Yup. Big brother is watching me.’ He mimicked Daniel’s voice. ‘Don’t screw about tonight. Olivia’s worked her socks off for this. Which reminds me.’ He sauntered over to the lift and pressed the button. ‘First rule of the professional. Punctuality. Must be off.’

The bloody doors opened immediately, he stepped inside and they slid closed on him blowing extravagant kisses.

Shaking my head, smiling, I set off down the corridor. There was something infectious about Sebastian. He’d have Miranda tamed within minutes.

‘Cutting it fine, aren’t you?’ said Emily, as I proudly presented the tissue package to her, the distinctive yellow Selfridges bag stuffed out of sight in my coat pocket.

‘Just tell Miranda that these were on special order for Madonna and we managed to swipe one pair before she collects them tomorrow,’ I panted.

Emily looked impressed. ‘Wow, Olivia.’

I wasn’t going to tell her the whole truth, not when Daniel was standing behind her looking impressed by my efficiency.

‘Some of us have been working!’ I snapped as I took in her beautifully applied make-up, artfully piled-up hair and shiny nails, forgetting that I’d sent her to get ready.

‘Finding it tough being the boss?’ asked Daniel appearing from behind Emily, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

My heart lifted and sank at the same time. What was he doing here? Didn’t I have enough to contend with?

Is it possible to register dismay and delight on your face at the same time? My cheeks must have looked as if they were practising for rigor mortis. Daniel was the last person I expected or, in my frazzled state, wanted to see. There he was standing beside Emily, next to who I looked like a bag lady.

‘Daniel,’ I said in a strangled voice. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here?’

‘Chief chauffeur,’ he said, with a teasing raise of his brows. ‘There was a problem with the trains so I drove Sebastian up. Otherwise you’d be without his services this evening. Thought I could nip out for a quick burger and catch some football on Sky somewhere while he was working and then take him home.’

My heart did that annoying little lift, which my head slapped down quickly as Emily laid a proprietary hand on his arm.

‘Hope you won’t be bored, as we’ll all be at the premiere,’ she said, flirtatious as ever and then turning to me said officiously, ‘I’ve sent Sebastian up to see Miranda and introduce himself.’

‘Don’t you think you should have gone up with him?’ I asked, a little bit miffed. It was all very well for her to be entertaining Daniel in our hotel room, but she seemed to have forgotten that she was here to work and that I might want to get ready.

‘I’m on the way, bossy,’ said Emily, smiling at Daniel and adding, ‘She does fuss so.’

I gritted my teeth. The cow. She was making me look like some power-hungry bitch. I was fuming but didn’t want to lose it in front of Daniel. He really would think I was an old harpy.

Trying to sound sweet and reasonable, when I all wanted to do was scream at her, I managed, ‘Give her the blessed stockings and just generally make sure she’s happy.’

I was going to have to leave it at that. Tonight was a big deal for the company, the Luscious Lips account was worth a lot of money and we couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong. Sadly, I really didn’t trust Emily.

‘Make sure she’s on target for our departure time. No last minute panics or tantrums. We must leave at quarter to seven to allow for the traffic and be ready at the carpet point no later than seven ten.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I know, if we miss our slot blah, blah, blah.’

I wasn’t being anal. Didn’t she realise these premieres were run with precision timing? The schedule was everything. Air traffic control had nothing on this. Arrival slots were allocated according to celebrity ranking – if you missed yours you could kiss goodbye to the red carpet. You’d have to circle around the block for an hour before being allowed to arrive at the tradesman’s entrance alongside the set designer’s mother.

I glared at her. ‘Some of us need to get ready,’ I snarled, grabbing my make-up bag and pushing past Daniel into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

Inside I glared at myself in the mirror. My hair was doing a Medusa impression and after my mad dash across town I was looking very hot and bothered. I wanted to bash my head against the door. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Just once it would have been nice for me to look glamorous. There wasn’t even time to take a bath, so I stripped off and took a quick shower. The minute I stepped out I realised I’d left my underwear in the room.

It never occurred to me that anyone would still be in there. Thank God I’d wrapped myself in a bath towel.

I let out a surprised shriek. Talk about heaven and hell. Daniel looked up. Lounging on the bed reading the paper, he’d made himself completely at home, discarded tie flung on the chair, shirt open at the neck and suit jacket hanging on the back of the door.

‘Want me to scrub your …’ His grin dimmed as he registered my half-dressed state.

‘What are you still doing here?’ I snapped.

‘My we’re a bit snitty this evening. Not what it’s cracked up to be, being the boss? Or are you expecting someone else?’ he asked, the smile gone. What was it with him and his someone elses?

‘I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. And don’t call me “the boss”. I’m just doing my job.’

‘Not letting it go to your head?’ he asked, one eyebrow quirking. It wasn’t said in a joking tone, so I knew a little bird had been whispering in his ear.

‘No,’ I retorted just a bit too defensively. ‘Surely you know me well enough. Do you really think that running around after celebrities, sorting out designer dresses is my thing? There are days when I long for my wellies and hard hat. I even miss Jabba.’

‘Who?’

‘It’s a long story,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘I’m not going anywhere for a while,’ he looked sympathetic for a second.

‘Aren’t you?’ I said with dismay.

‘It’s all right, I’ll turn my back if you want. I told you I’m Sebastian’s chaperone. Emily said you’d got the room for the evening and that I could wait here until you leave and then I’ll snag a lift and go watch with the crowds.’

Did she now? Great – so now I had to get ready in a bathroom the size of a rabbit hutch and hide in there until I could take my Carmen rollers out. Not a look I wanted to parade in front of Daniel, although at the moment his eyes did seem quite fascinated by my legs.

I sidled past him, clutching the towel and rifled one handed in my overnight bag. A sensible person would have stopped and opened it properly instead of trying to retrieve everything through the half-fastened zip.

But I wasn’t thinking straight. Of course I managed to knock the bag on the floor, which meant struggling to hang on to my towel, as I bent down demurely so as not to flash my bottom at Daniel. Sneaking a peep at him, I caught him trying to hide his amusement.

‘Want a hand?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

I was going to have to admit defeat otherwise my towel would be joining my belongings on the floor.

‘Thank you,’ I muttered, avoiding his eye.

‘How is your arm?’ He nodded at the white dressing on the arm I had clenched to my side, holding the towel in place.

‘OK,’ I said stiffly. ‘Just a bit awkward, now and then.’

‘I can see that?’ He nodded gravely, his lips twitching. ‘Let’s see, what are you after?’

I blushed scarlet. He was enjoying this.

‘Knickers and bra,’ I said red-faced, trying to keep my cool. This was Daniel. We were old friends, I could handle this.

He slid off the bed, right beside me. We were thigh to thigh. He bent down, righting the bag and opening it up properly. If I’d done that in the first place I wouldn’t be in this predicament. From the bag he withdrew my bra and went back for a second rummage to produce a matching satin thong.

‘Nice,’ he said, handing them to me. The gesture immediately reminded me of those leopard print pants. ‘Reminds me of the old days … I’d forgotten this side of you, Olivia.’

‘Thank you,’ I said firmly, feeling my cheeks fire up as I snatched them from him and dived back in the bathroom. From the other side of the door, I heard a suppressed snort.

‘I’m glad you think it’s funny,’ I yelled, peering round the door glaring at him. ‘Why don’t you bugger off so that I can get ready in peace?’

‘Sorry, Olivia,’ he said, his eyes twinkling. ‘I was just teasing you. We’re mates, remember. You go ahead. Pretend I’m not here. I’ll just read my paper until you’re ready. And then … I …’ His face went serious as if he were about to say something.

He could forget it. Mates eh? Huh! I slammed the door. Pretend he’s not there – in a room that size when he’s just been fondling my underwear. I’d almost dissolved into a puddle of lust as those warm fingers had brushed my bare shoulders when he leant down to get to my bag. He hadn’t as much as twitched. Obviously totally unmoved.

Couldn’t he see my pulse about to jump out of my neck? I could have died when he smoothed out my satin bra, stroking the tiny blue bow, before he handed it to me. Please don’t let him have seen the double AA label. If Emily’s size was anything to go by, he was definitely a boob man.

I pulled a face at my reflection as I unscrewed the top of my foundation and winced as my elbow bashed the towel rail. Dropping the lid, I then bashed my head on the sink while bending down to pick it up. This bathroom really was too small. Bugger. I’d left my dress in the room. It just wasn’t my day.

Something flipped. Bloody Daniel. Hogging the room and reading his paper. Completely oblivious to me. Good old Olivia, she doesn’t mind. Why didn’t he just go away instead of sitting there in comfort while I had to get ready in a room the size of a bloody broom cupboard?

Catching sight of myself in the mirror – flawless make-up, hair cascading in artfully dishevelled curls and in my best underwear, an inner imp urged me on. Mates eh? Not anymore? Forget it. I was sick of him and Emily meeting up with mutual friends and not inviting me. Mates didn’t behave like that. He couldn’t have it both ways.

Sucking in my tummy, I strolled out of the bathroom as if I didn’t have a care in the world. I smiled sweetly at Daniel as I crossed to the wardrobe wearing nothing but scraps of pale blue satin and lace. Turning sideways onto him, I picked up my dress, held it up for a second and out of the corner of my eye took a quick look.

Gotcha! Daniel’s face was a picture. He did a discreet but unmistakable double take.

Nonchalantly, I slid the pale blue dress off its hanger and stepped into it. In the mirror I could see Daniel watching as I shimmied into the fitted sheath. I think something in my body had short-circuited, my hormones were simmering.

‘Daniel, as you’re still hanging around, would you mind doing my zip? It’s a bit tricky with my arm at the moment.’ I turned my back to him, inviting him to do me up.

He gave a strangled, ‘Yes’ and came over. His fingers brushed my back as he drew the sides of the dress together to draw up the fastener before slipping under my hair to push it out of the way. As his palm grazed my neck, my insides shimmered with tiny electrical charges, a thousand volts fizzing down my spine. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

But that little imp had taken hold. No sooner had he let go of my hair, I stepped away to slip my feet into very high-heeled shoes and turned, cocking my head up at him. ‘How do I look?’ I asked, giving him a knowing smile.

Seeing him swallow nervously was worth every bit of frustration sizzling through my veins. That would teach him. Unfortunately I’d learnt a lesson too. You got burnt playing with fire.

We both jumped when the phone rang. Thank God for divine intervention because I didn’t have a clue what to say next.

For over a week the gilt-edged card had sat on the mantelpiece in the flat. Card. Singular, with the words, ‘Admits One’, typed in the right hand corner. Gilt-edged card where ‘Admits One’ means exactly that.

The man mountain at the entrance to the red carpet was immovable; I would have done well to learn from his impassive resistance.

If not once, but three million times, I’d asked Emily to double check with the organisers that we didn’t need an additional ticket.

‘No, no,’ she’d blithely assured me as if I was some neurotic windbag. Anxious not to turn into Fiona, I’d foolishly believed her. Now standing here, with only a fifty-fifty chance of going to the ball, corralled in the waiting area with a couple of lesser known actresses from
Hollyoaks
, I wished with all my heart that I could summon up some of that single-minded self-preservation which Kate and Fiona wore like a second skin.

Did I pull rank when both of us were denied entry? I should have done but as Emily’s face crumpled, the fantasy of being in
Hello!
going up in a puff of smoke, I uttered the fateful words, ‘You go, Emily.’

She didn’t even say ‘Are you sure?’ Admittedly, she did gasp a tearful, ‘Thanks so much, Olivia. I won’t forget this.’

As if I had a choice. I had to let her go. Everyone knew she was the magazine addict and a walking-talking mine of celebrity gossip. Not only would she have been devastated, but what kind of jumped-up cow would I have looked if I’d insisted on going?

It looked like I was going to be joining all the star-spotters and well-wishers filling Leicester Square, hoping for a glimpse of 007. Which reminded me, somewhere beyond the crash barriers forming a wide corridor leading up to the front of the cinema, Kate was looking out for me.

I glanced around. At regular intervals, black-clad security personnel manned the metal railings, like trees lining the avenue of a stately home. Each wore sunglasses like a badge of office along with CIA earpieces.

When there’s a premiere on the news, it all looks so calm and serene, smiling, white-toothed stars sauntering along, waving and nodding. The reality was chaos, which the cameras don’t show, with entourages of bodyguards and minders edgily keeping their charges moving, their dark eyes constantly roving. They reminded me of sharks circling, beadily watching their prey.

‘You’re going to have to move. No ticket, no entry,’ said one of the organisers, earnestly clutching a clipboard, the walkie-talkie at her hip issuing staccato gunfire voices, muffled and unintelligible.

‘Just making sure my client got off OK,’ I said, bristling at her officiousness.

‘Sorry, thought you were a …’ She thought better of finishing the sentence.

I glanced back up towards the cinema. Sebastian and Miranda were still in view, their red carpet moment captured by a thousand flash bulbs. They made a stunning couple, his bow tie matching the big red kiss on her bottom perfectly. Miranda was happily signing autographs to the lucky few, smiling adoringly at Sebastian and he was playing his part to perfection, rakish and handsome, smiling in return at her.

You could almost believe they were a pair. I should have been relieved – mission accomplished. The press had got their pictures; we’d primed them about the dress. Job done. The rest of the evening was celebrity-sitting. I winced. I prayed to God Emily wouldn’t muck it up.

Wistfully, I took one last look down the red carpet. I could see the film another day. It was my own fault, all that cynicism about celebrities coming home to roost – hey, so what if I didn’t meet Daniel Craig? He was probably dead boring in the flesh.

Cinderella
is my favourite fairy tale, the ultimate romance. Of course, she has to scrub a few hearths on the way but it turns out all right in the end. Watching Emily sashay down the red carpet while I went back to the car drop off point, hoping Frank the Mercedes driver might still be there, was a real hearth moment. The problem was, I didn’t believe in fairy godmothers. I pulled a face, watching her disappear without a backward glance. Luckily Frank was still jammed into the traffic and at my frantic waving, opened the door for me, ignoring an officious chap who was jumping up and down, waving a clipboard at us, screaming, ‘This is a no waiting area, we’re backing up, you need to move now.’