Wishful Thinking (16 page)

Jess worked feverishly all that night writing and rewriting questions both to inform the book and to inform herself about the true nature of Amber’s relationship with Christian. She had a strong feeling that Amber was going to take control of the questioning and run rings around Jess in the process.

Amber’s car turned out to be a silver Rolls Royce which, once again, provided entertainment value for her neighbours when it pulled up outside her little block of flats. Jess could see several of them peering out of their windows as the elegant car left the forecourt of her building. She was thankful it wasn’t pink or purple or something equally outrageous, which she’d somehow expected from Amber.

After ensuring she was comfortable, the chauffeur demonstrated the console in front of her, showing her how she could communicate with him, should she wish to and how to access the TV and mini-bar – which was fully-stocked with a range of chilled drinks and snacks. Jess could only shake her head at the sheer excess of it all.

Throughout the journey, she continually scanned her notes, tweaking a question here, adding a suggestion there and still feeling desperately ill-prepared for her interview with the formidable Amber. By the time the car reached Docklands, she had abandoned her notes and simply sat back to enjoy the remainder of the drive in silent but comfortable despair.

The car wove in and out of newly developed mews and avenues of converted warehouses, lofty hotels and gleaming glass structures. She had never been deep into the area before and was surprised at its calm ambience and understated elegance. When they finally drew to a halt outside Amber’s building, Jess was unsure at first what lay behind the rather ambiguous and unassuming façade. But the interior was absolutely stunning! It was like walking into a converted temple or one of those wonderful Italian courtyards where tier upon tier of sumptuous elegance revealed themselves to the eye. Can she possibly own this entire building? Jess wondered as she gazed speechlessly up into the light and airy heights. The place had an abundance of what appeared to be matt white marble which seemed to both diffuse and reflect the light, giving it a cloudlike quality.

But there was one curiously incongruous element to all this, and upon which Jess focused as Amber floated like an angel down her sumptuous staircase to greet her visitor. In the pristine ground-floor hallway and reaching up to the first or second floor, was a towering Christmas tree, still fully and lavishly decorated and with its needles still green and fresh-looking.

“Hello Jess, I’m glad you could make it. Come on upstairs.”

“Umm…that’s a very lovely tree,” Jess said.
And big!
Trust you to go into competition with Trafalgar Square.
“But, umm, a bit of a surprise to see it still there – aren’t you superstitious?”

“What? Twelfth night, you mean? That’s not even a superstition! The decorating people couldn’t come and remove it on the day I wanted, so I told them to come back after I left. I
hate
having to put up with domestic disruption when I’m at home, don’t you?”

Jess bit her lip and neglected to reply. Fortunately Amber didn’t seem to notice. She led the way into a stunning first floor sitting room area which was again predominantly white, bright and airy but softened by cloudy pastels and without the harshness associated with so much light. The sofas were upholstered in soft, white suede but the cushions were of the palest shades of oyster and muted pink. The floor, which Jess could immediately tell was heated from underneath, was made of something resembling silvery wood, but could have been anything. Low level pastel lighting, the exact origin of which Jess was unable to identify, enhanced its glowing softness. She wanted nothing more than to kick off her shoes and feel the smooth, sheeny surface beneath her toes, just as she did when visiting the beach as a child. The wall of tinted windows afforded an uninterrupted vista of Canary Wharf and the River Thames, lending to the seaside feel and Jess felt she could happily stand there in this hazy pastel paradise gazing out at the view all day. It irritated Jess to think that people who possessed the means to surround themselves with so much beauty could still be so dissatisfied with their lives.

As they sat down, Amber raised her right arm and gently fluttered her fingers. Within seconds a waiter appeared and deftly opened a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice at the side of the table. Once again Jess had to look away in order not to betray her disapproval at such decadence as the cork popped out with a subdued thud. Two petite and identical-looking maids came out from the kitchen carrying trays of dainty morsels which they set down on the table.

Jess pulled out her notepad. “These are the questions I’m thinking about pursuing relating to your early experiences with the group Wishful – they’re just about your first reactions and experiences.”

Amber set down the glass from which she had barely managed to wet her lips and glanced towards the pale light emanating through the dusky glass surround which helped give the room its soft glow. “Oh, yes, those early days when we were all so young! Can you imagine what it must have been like for someone like me? To meet talented people like Christian and Adam and be invited to share in their dreams? To turn my life upside-down and actually make those dreams come true? When I joined Wishful, that’s exactly what we all were. Wishful thinkers! We had such hopes, such dreams.”

But they evidently did come true, Jess thought glancing around her and then at Amber. “Was your childhood very difficult? I meant what were you hoping for when you auditioned with Wishful?”

Amber sipped her champagne, again barely even wetting her lips. “I was hoping for the world, Jess. That’s what Christian was promising me. I’ll tell you a bit about my childhood since you ask. But first let me guess what your childhood Christmases were like. I expect every year you wrote a letter to Santa in the comfortable certainty that you’d get most of what you’d written on your list? And every Christmas you’d put up your tree and day after day more presents would magically appear beneath it. I saw you looking at my tree when you came in and thinking I must be weird for still having it up. I expect you took yours down on twelfth night, or possibly sooner, and packed everything neatly away for another year, didn’t you? Family baubles too, I expect - small bundles of precious memories which you bring out every year and tell your little boy the magic stories. And every year you know there’ll be another Christmas next year – bigger, maybe even better – and you’ll tell him bigger and even better stories.” Amber had finished her champagne and the waiter stepped forward seemingly from nowhere to replenish her glass, but Amber dismissed him with the merest flutter of her fingers and helped herself.

“Well
my
childhood Christmases were shit, Jess,” she went on. “Do you remember that song by Judy Garland from that film they show every Christmas practically all over the world – at least I think I’ve seen it in about fifty different countries!
Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
the song goes. Well, as a child – you know how you mishear things – I thought the words were ‘Have yourself a
very
little Christmas’. I grew up hearing that in my head every Christmas. And it seemed perfectly normal to me because all my Christmases
were
very little ones. Very little ones indeed. When I told Christian, he vowed that in the future, all our Christmases would be very
big
ones. And that’s why I get the biggest tree I can find and why I hate to part with it too soon. There, Jess. I will allow you to put that in your little book – it’s a side of Amber that my fans don’t know about.”

Jess had not written anything down and sat with her hands primly folded across the notepad on her knee as she watched Amber’s dramatic performance. A part of her felt sympathetic. She didn’t doubt that Amber’s childhood must have been very difficult, but she couldn’t think why Amber would choose to tell her this now. There was clearly more to be revealed. Amber was priming her for bigger things to come.

“Shall we eat? These little canapés don’t look at all appealing to me.” Amber gave the slightest movement of her wrist and her two little maids scurried out to whip them away. Jess couldn’t help feeling disappointed because she thought they looked quite delicious, but had been too embarrassed to start eating while Amber was talking. However the maids reappeared almost instantly with plates and bowls which they set down on a small dining table that had been prepared nearby. One ladled out creamy soup from a tureen while the other set tiny bread rolls onto small side plates as Amber and Jess took their seats.

“You don’t mind eating in here, I hope? I thought it would be cosier than the dining room as it’s just the two of us. Soup is so comforting in winter, don’t you think?” Amber twittered with false chirpiness as she picked up her spoon.

Jess watched her bring two tiny drops to her lips before replacing her spoon in the bowl. She wondered if Amber ever actually ate anything. For her part, she thought the soup tasted delicious and happily allowed the maid to help her to more.

“I saw the photos in ‘My!’ magazine yesterday and wondered if you might like to talk about that,” Jess said tentatively. “I mean your surprise announcement, of course.”

Amber, it seemed, had finished with her soup and sat back in her chair as if replete. “Was it a surprise? You must know that Christian and I have unfinished business. We always shall – because we both know we belong together. We’ve tried to convince ourselves otherwise, but it’s time to face the truth and admit it to the world.”

“I see,” Jess said carefully, dabbing at her lips with her pristine white napkin. “No, I didn’t know that. I thought you were, as I told you before, engaged to Adam. And I believe Christian thinks the same.”

“I love Adam!” Amber said leaning forward across the table and speaking in an exaggerated stage whisper. “But of course, we all know - don’t we - that Christian and I are meant for each other? It’s what the whole world wants.”

Jess pondered that novel thought for a moment, seriously doubting that the romantic thoughts of a few hundred fans constituted the whole world. Amber’s face seemed to have taken on the look of a fanatic, her eyes shining as she gazed off into the distance.

“Do we? I mean, does Christian?” Jess’s confidence grew gradually and she held Amber’s gaze for a moment as one little maid hurried away with the soup bowls while the other brought in an enormous bowl containing a disappointingly small amount of green salad. “Only, you see, he led me to believe that there was no longer any romantic attachment between the two of you.” Jess helped herself to salad and then stared at the bowl in dismay. She had hardly taken any but the bowl was virtually empty. How could that be enough for two people? She didn’t want to appear greedy and contemplated putting some back in the bowl but wasn’t sure how to do it without making herself look foolish. Besides she was hungry. She made a mental note to refuse lunch with the next skinny superstar who invited her.

“Christian is going through a very vulnerable patch right now…on account of the babies.” Amber explained.

“Babies?”

“
Our
babies. The ones we lost, Amber said.

Jess’s appetite vanished in a flash. She looked at Amber expectantly.

“I see he hasn’t told you. He won’t talk about it, of course. I wish he would. The doctor referred us for counselling but he’s just
so
stubborn. I’m telling you this in the strictest confidence, of course – not for the book, but as a friend. I was hoping you might be able to persuade him – being a mother yourself.” Amber reached across the table and took Jess’s hand in hers.

“Persuade him?” Jess felt as if her vocal cords had been strangled.

“Yes, you know, to have a little faith. The doctors say there’s every chance of success this time, but he’s hurting inside for our lost babies. That’s why he gets drawn to other women’s children; children like your sweet little boy. Oh, you’re not the first, Jess, don’t look so distressed. He’d have married half the single mothers in London by now if we hadn’t kept an eye on him.”

Jess stared at the lettuce leaves on her plate feeling sick and miserable. A painful lump stuck in her throat. However much she wanted not to believe Amber, some instinct told her there must be an element of truth in Amber’s words. No woman would lie about losing her babies and Christian
was
inordinately interested in Ben – had been from the very start, now she considered it. If Amber couldn’t provide him with the children he clearly desired, what else was he to do?

“Anyway,” Amber said with a mysterious smile. “I have some wonderful news for him and I’m flying out to L.A. on Thursday to tell him. By the time your book is published it will be common knowledge, so I’m sure he won’t mind you being one of the first to know.”

14

Christian’s limo had just joined the freeway at Torrance, heading north to West Hollywood and Beverly Hills, when his phone rang. He snatched at it eagerly, expecting it to be Jess, but saw Amber’s avatar instead and frowned deeply. He was not in the mood for a conversation with Amber right now. He was angry and frustrated at being unable to communicate with Jess.

He’d tried repeatedly from the hotel and at various times throughout the day. He succeeded in catching her once and then very briefly while she was stuck in traffic. They barely managed to exchange ten words before the traffic cleared and she had to disconnect. The eight hours’ time difference might as well be eight light years for all the obstacles it seemed to put between them.