The Girl at the Bus-Stop (35 page)

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Dave, I didn’t know,’ replied Rudge, hating himself.

 
‘When I got the job at Einstein & Unger it was supposed to be a fresh start for me,’ he explained,
 
‘then I found out that Heath had been knocking Carrie about, and she came running back to me. Despite me chipping in most of my salary for months, for the kids’ sakes more than anything, he’d stopped paying the mortgage on the house quite a while before. So the bank re-possessed it, he slung his hook and there I was with a wife and three kids living in a rented flat in a strange town. Thanks to him we’d lost everything.’

‘No wonder you were always such a grumpy bastard at work,’ said Rudge.

‘I was wasn’t I?’ he said with a smile, ‘I always used to enjoy a laugh and a joke at one time, but these last three years or so have been a real struggle. The Einstein & Unger directors set me some pretty tough sales targets each month, which was why I used to lose my rag a lot. Then I had a serious stomach disorder brought on by the stress, which gave me the trots continuously so I wasn’t exactly the life and soul.’

‘So where’s the family now?’ said Rudge, ‘And more importantly, why aren’t you with them?’

‘They’re still in the flat,’ he said looking miserable, ‘but after I was sacked I was coming up here most days looking for work. In the end I couldn’t afford the train fares, so after yet another failed interview I couldn’t face going home empty-handed. I told Carrie I’d stay up here until I found work, so I’ve been living rough the last two or three weeks.’

‘Before I knew it was you I was going to give you this, Dave,’ said Rudge, handing over the envelope, ‘but somehow I don’t think it’ll be enough.’

Banstead opened the envelope and pulled out six twenty pound notes, fanning them like a hand of playing cards.

‘That’s very generous of your, Reuben’, he said with a grin, ‘thanks very much. Have you come up on the lottery or something?’

‘No, but I found a good job working for a writer,’ Rudge replied, ‘so I got a bonus at Christmas. Now you come along with me, it’s time I got you back home where you belong.’

Rudge took Banstead on a whistle-stop shopping expedition by taxi to Harrods’s department store, and on to
Hamley’s
toy store in Regent Street. At the entrance to Platform Fourteen at Waterloo station, Rudge’s former boss was laden with carrier bags full of gift-wrapped presents for his estranged family. Rudge handed him his train ticket, and tucked his business card into the top pocket of the new suit he’d bought him.

‘Give me a call after Christmas, Dave,’ he said, shaking his hand, ‘I’ll try and get you fixed up with a job. I’ve got a sneaky feeling that your friend Mr Heath will soon be moving on to pastures new.’

‘Thanks, Reuben,’ Banstead replied, his eyes wet with tears, ‘and a very Merry Christmas.’

Rudge returned to the apartment at just after seven and Becky rushed over to greet him, throwing her arms around his neck and smothering him with kisses. In his absence she’d transformed the apartment with a host of brightly coloured Christmas decorations, and a huge tree covered in baubles and flashing lights.

‘It looks beautiful,’ said Rudge, ‘you know this is the first time I’ve seen Christmas decorations in my own home.’

‘Why, didn’t you have any when you were married?’

‘No, Mrs Rudge wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about putting them up. I brought a tree home one year, but it stayed in a bucket in the garden until the dustmen collected it in January. She didn’t want the needles messing up the carpet.’

‘The miserable cow,’ she replied.

‘She reckoned that as all the TV shows were festooned with decorations, there was no point having our own because we could just look at theirs.’

‘Now all the food’s ready to go in the oven first thing in the morning,’ said Becky, ‘so we can relax a bit now.’

‘Okay,’ said Rudge, ‘shall I make a cup of tea or shall we crack open a bottle?’

‘Champagne would be nice,’ she said, ‘and then you can tell me what you’ve been up to all afternoon.’

‘Not a lot to tell really.’ he said, opening the fridge to retrieve a bottle of
Veuve Clicquot, ‘Probably the nicest thing about Christmas is that you can get a lot of pleasure just going out and about and seeing people’s happy smiling faces.’

 
The launch party for
Starstruck
was a much higher profile event than had been the case for
Disciplinary Attraction
, and
The Savoy
had been chosen by the publisher as a venue befitting the status of the many VIP guests.

Becky looked resplendent in a new bolero style red leather jacket, over her white silk mini-dress and retro-style knee-length white patent leather boots. Rudge held her hand, as they sat hidden away at the back of one of the bars drinking tea.

‘I feel a lot more confident than the last time,’ she said, gripping his hand tightly, ‘at least I’ve actually written the book.’

‘Yes, and you’ve done a marvellous job,’ he said reassuringly, ‘I reckon you should do this writing lark full time.’

 
‘Not writing about BDSM,’ she said, ‘I was cringing going through the manuscript with the editor, it was quite embarrassing at times.’

‘Perhaps we’d better make this Raspberry Caine’s swansong,’ said Rudge, ‘although Scott Jarrold’s champing at the bit to get a third book out of us.’

‘We can just tell them that I’ll give it some thought, and then just not bother getting back to him.’

‘Coward,’ said Rudge, ‘perhaps you can use your talents in the world of sci-fi instead. You made an excellent job of editing
Wife on Mars
.’

She looked at him, releasing her hand from his grasp to pick up her tea cup.

‘To tell you the truth, Reuben,’ she said softly, ‘no offence, but I’m even less interested in science-fiction than I am in BDSM.’

‘That’s okay,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t fancy competing with you anyway, Becky. You’d blow my efforts right out of the water.’

‘When I feel ready to write something, I probably will,’ she said, ‘but at the moment I don’t. Even if I did I haven’t clue what it will be about.’

Half an hour later, Becky was being escorted into the packed private function room by Scott Jarrold and Mr Newman from Fantasy-Lit. Rudge followed several yards behind, and stopped as the guests started to applaud. Becky beamed, nodding her head to acknowledge some of the faces she recognised. Gale Buckingham stepped over to present her with a huge bouquet of flowers, kissing her on both cheeks.

As the applause subsided, Becky was led around the room and introduced to famous writers, actors and film producers as well as members of several governments, television executives and sporting superstars.

Rudge caught up with her as she stood in front of a group of thirty or so people, some of whom fired questions at her.

‘How do you do your research Ms Caine,’ said Kat Katkins, ‘do you submerge yourself fully in your subject matter?’

‘Not necessarily,’ she said with a wicked smile, ‘my fiancé, Reuben Rudge, has a science-fiction novel coming out soon about Mars. I don’t imagine for one moment that he’s actually been there.’

There was a murmur of laughter, and Kat Katkins flushed and looked down at the floor.

‘Ms Caine, are any of your characters based on real people,’ said Gale Buckingham with a smirk, ‘some of them seem so terribly familiar.’

‘People always speculate about such things in books, films or even songs for that matter,’ Becky replied, ‘but I’m sure if they look hard enough everyone can find a close link to a person they know, it’s only natural.’

‘Your debut novel was the first of its type to hit the top twenty best-sellers list, Ms Caine,’ said a tall, graceful-looking woman with an American accent,’ will
Starstruck
be as successful do you think?’

‘No idea,’ she replied, ‘I just write the stuff, so whether it’s any good or not is up to the readers. If they like it they’ll buy it, and if they don’t they won’t.’

‘Is it true you’ve been asked to pose nude for
Leather and Leash
magazine’s centrefold?’ asked a young man at the back, ‘and if so, when’s it coming out?’

‘First I’ve heard of it,’ said Becky, ‘so it’s definitely not true. I’m not a pin-up girl, or a model, a Dominatrix or even a celebrity. I’m just a writer, so I don’t know where these silly bloody stories come from.’

 
‘Are you working on a third book, Ms Caine?’ said Kat Katkins, ‘Or have you exhausted all the permutations of the BDSM experience? I mean, how long can you possibly continue on the same theme?’

‘How long’s a piece of string?’ said Becky, ‘Which seems appropriate because I’ve only just scratched at the surface of bondage.’

There was appreciative laughter and a few people clapped, before Kat Katkins could respond.

‘But if you don’t mind me saying so, Ms Caine, the first book was refreshingly different but
Starstruck
isn’t. It’s the same old, same old,’ she said, looking smug, ‘cashing-in I think the expression is.’

Becky looked annoyed, and ran her fingers through her hair as she tried to compose herself.

‘Well at least no one can accuse
you
of ‘cashing-in’ with your novels, Ms Katkins.’

A few hisses could be heard from within the gathering, followed by an eerie silence as they waited for Kat Katkins to reply. Instead, she turned and pushed between the people standing behind her and hurried from the room. Scott Jarrold rushed forwards and raised his hands to attract the guests’ attention.

‘Please, ladies and gentlemen, if you’d like to make your way to the far end of the room, the splendid buffet is now open for business.’

As Becky turned away, Rudge walked over to her and gave her a hug.

‘She was asking for that,’ Rudge said softly.

‘No, I shouldn’t have said it,’ replied Becky, ‘I humiliated her in front of all these people, and now I feel terrible. All this bitchiness with this shower of shit seems to be rubbing off on me.’

‘What else could you do?’ said Rudge, ‘If you hadn’t put her in her place then you would have been the one who was humiliated. She started it, not you.’

‘It’s true what she said though,
Starstruck
is the same old, same old.’

‘You could say that about most successful authors’ work.’ he assured her, ‘If their first book sells well, then it stands to reason that they’re going to carry on with a winning formula. Their readers expect the follow-up to be just like the first book, so they want it to feel familiar, comfortable and easy for them to slot into the story. If it was too different, then people would just abandon it after a few pages.’

‘You’re right as usual,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want any ill-feeling between me and Kat Katkins, even if she is an unpleasant, sour-faced old lezzer.’