Beaumont Brides Collection (30 page)

‘No.’

‘Poor kid. I felt sorry for her really. Her sister had to come and take her home and the whole thing was hushed up. Her father saw to that. They said she had developed a virus or something.’ ‘And the film folded?’

‘There just wasn’t enough money to start again from scratch.’

‘That was very hard on you.’

‘It didn’t do her career much good either. At least I’ve been working. She’s never set foot on a sound stage since.’ He wasn’t able to disguise his satisfaction.

Luke, too, discovered that hiding his feelings was increasingly difficult, that smiling was too much effort. Even talking to the man was more than he could bear.

He stood up, indicating that the interview was over, but didn’t offer his hand.

‘Thank you for coming to see me at such short notice, Patrick. I’ll be in touch if we decide to go ahead with the project. In the meantime Phillip will refund your expenses.’

*****

‘Well?’ Phillip Devlin demanded a few minutes later, after he had seen Patrick March out of his office. ‘Did you discover anything?’

Luke regarded his cousin thoughtfully. ‘Only that talking to Mr Patrick March has left me with a very strong urge to take a shower.’

‘Maybe that’s enough.’

‘Maybe.’ Luke would have liked it to be enough. But he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that he had been listening to an eerie echo of what had happened at the party.

Was that the reason Fizz had looked afraid when he had first met her? Why she seemed to veer between fire and ice? Did she have a terrible weakness that she tried desperately hard to control? And just occasionally something snapped? Fizz, bang.

‘Maybe he just took a knock at that moment when the scales are evenly balanced between success and failure. A well received film, Phillip, an opportunity to show what he could do and we’d have to join the queue and pay good money to see him perform. Instead it all went wrong. So now his agent will send him to talk to anyone about work, even an unheard of producer who hints at a minor role in an unlikely drama series set on the other side of the world. What expenses did he claim?’

‘A first class fare from Perth.’ Phillip smiled as Luke’s eyebrows rocketed upwards. ‘Perth in Scotland. According to Mr March he interrupted a golfing holiday to see you.’

‘How good of him. What else?’

‘Overnight at Brown’s and thirty pounds for taxis.’

‘Only thirty pounds?’ Luke smiled. ‘I fully expected fifty. But added together not a bad fee for half an hour of his time. I do hope you didn’t embarrass him by asking for receipts.’

‘Perish the thought.’ Fizz would have been surprised by Phillip’s sudden grin. ‘And this way he’s left with the very unsatisfactory feeling that he might have got away with more. Are you staying in town tonight?’

‘No, Phillip. I’ve got to get straight back. There are things to be done at home.’

‘Home? Broomhill? You mean you’re serious about setting up your headquarters there?’

‘I’ve got to decide on somewhere, I’ve camped out in your offices for long enough. And I want to expand Harries, develop the site to its full potential.’

‘Is that altogether wise? I mean, will you be able to stay on after you’ve given the Beaumonts the
coupe de grace
?’

‘I rather think it’s a question of whether Edward Beaumont will want to remain in Broomhill, don’t you?’

*****

Fizz arrived at the script conference hoping that the cast would be keen to proffer ideas about how best to use Melanie, because her own brain, deprived of sleep, seemed to consist entirely of cotton wool.

Melanie had given her a strange look when she arrived. Once or twice since she had looked up from the pad she was doodling on to find herself the subject of further scrutiny. But nothing was said.

The debate, fuelled by coffee, largely flowed over her until she was brought back from a distant and totally blank space in her head. The one place where she was comfortable.

‘Fizz?’ She roused herself. ‘Can we go ahead with that? Or do you want to speak to your father about it?’

Fizz who had once or twice nodded helpfully or murmured assent when it had seemed appropriate, had no idea what she was being asked to agree to. She discovered that she didn’t care very much.

‘Well I think it’s a brilliant idea. Edward will love it.’ The old character actress who had retired to the seaside and now supplemented her pension by playing a post woman, a lady vicar and the mostly dignified, but occasionally drunk wife of a publican in “Holiday Bay”, was adamant.

Fizz took her word for it. ‘Then let’s get on with it.’

There was a sigh of contentment from around the table and she looked up in surprise. It must have been a great idea. The husband and wife team who wrote “Holiday Bay”, another pair of retired thespians who had turned their hands to writing when work had been hard to come by, gathered their notes and promising the scripts by the end of the week, threw her a smile before disappearing through the door.

The others lingered over coffee and realising she couldn’t put it off, Fizz turned to Melanie. ‘I don’t believe I thanked you properly for the party. I’m sure everyone will be talking about it for months.’

‘You didn’t stay very long. I thought perhaps you weren’t enjoying yourself.’

‘Oh, I was. But the radio station is a bit like a baby. A seven day a week job.’ Melanie continued to regard her with big concerned eyes. ‘I hope you beat the curfew last night,’ she said, refusing to admit that she only wanted to hear that Luke had arrived home safely. Why she should care she didn’t know. But she did.

‘Only just. We picked Luke up on the way. It was terribly cold to be walking.’

‘He said he wanted to get a breath of fresh air.’ Fizz realised she was twisting her hair around the end of her finger, a nervous habit she thought she had grown out off. Self-consciously she tugged her finger free. ‘I hope he didn’t catch a chill?’

Melanie shrugged. ‘I didn’t see him this morning. He drove up to town first thing.’ Fizz nodded, relieved that he was out of Broomhill, at least for the day.

‘Fizz, did you two have a row or something last night?’ That was the trouble with the young, Fizz thought. They didn’t beat about the bush. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’ve never seen Luke looking like that before.’

Like what?

‘I think “or something” would probably best cover it. Just a few crossed wires, nothing for you to worry about, Melanie. Really.’ She made an effort to move the conversation into safer water. ‘Did you have a good time on Sunday with Andy?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her face relaxed into a smile. ‘Luke says I shouldn’t trust him further than I could throw him, but I think he’s really nice.’

‘Well, Luke may have a point. He’s not that nice.’

Melanie laughed out loud. ‘You don’t have to warn me, Fizz. There isn’t a man born who’s that nice.’ Then, more gravely, she added, ‘Except Luke.’ She looked suddenly shy and dropping her eyes, gave a childishly awkward little shrug. ‘I’d better go. Claudia said they are recording some more episodes today and I want to really get the feel of things before I jump in next week.’

‘Of course.’

Fizz continued to sit in the conference room for some time after everyone had left. She couldn’t get over the feeling that Melanie had, very gently, rebuked her for not driving Luke home.

She sighed. Being an agony aunt was a thankless task she decided. She remembered thinking that it might be a good idea to run advice slots, perhaps in conjunction with the lunchtime music programme. Cutting down on the music would help reduce the fees for broadcasting rights.

If it’s Monday it must be Money, she wrote. Then crossed it out. She wondered if the dour Mr Nicholson at the bank could be flattered into taking part for free. No. That wouldn’t do. It would have to be someone impartial.

She threw down her pen in disgust. The trouble was, she really didn’t care. For the first time since the station was up and running she just didn’t care.

She got up, suddenly desperate to get away and blundered into Susie. ‘Oh, here you are. There are a pile of messages on your desk.’ She didn’t stop. ‘Fizz?’

‘You deal with them. I need some air.’

‘You could open your window.’ But Fizz was already half way across the foyer. ‘Don’t forget the Trust meeting at two.’

Damn, damn, damn. She had completely forgotten about it, but she couldn’t give it a miss. They had to decide who would be invited to replace Michael Harries on the board.

She had been going to drive up to the Downs and walk. Instead she turned into the restaurant and found a table tucked away in a corner.

‘Hello, Miss Beaumont. Are you going to help yourself from the buffet, or shall I ask John to whip you up an omelette or something?’

‘Just a cup of tea, thanks Janice. I’ve just come in to escape the office for a few minutes.’

‘Right you are, dear. I’ll take all this cutlery out of your way, shall I? That was a nasty bit of old weather we had on Saturday night. You don’t expect it down here, do you?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Although I expect our young Australian friend enjoyed the snow while it lasted.’ She was looking out of the window and with a sense of foreboding Fizz followed her gaze.

Melanie was laughing at something. Something Luke had said to her as they stopped by the window. She held her breath, uttered a short prayer, to no avail. Luke opened the door and something squeezed tightly in her chest.

‘The kitchen…’ she managed to croak out, scrambling to her feet as Melanie’s voice drifted in on the wind.

Janice nodded. ‘If you say so, dear.’

John looked up briefly from an omelette he was bringing to perfection but said nothing as she sank onto a chair set at a small table laid for one. He turned it onto a plate, garnished it with watercress and placed it on the hot counter, then he turned and gave her his undivided attention. ‘Couldn’t you wait for Janice to take your order?’ he asked.

‘I’m sorry to invade your kitchen at lunch time but I’m seeking sanctuary,’ she said.

‘Why, what have you done?’

‘Done?’

‘I thought criminals sought sanctuary in the church.’

‘Two steaks, chef. Very rare. And green salad with dill dressing, for Miss Brett,’ Janice said. ‘If it gets about that she’s eating here regularly, it’ll be good for business.’

‘I’ll put a sign up, shall I?’ John said with a grin. ‘Eat with the stars of “Holiday Bay” at the Pavilion Restaurant.’ He looked at Fizz slyly. ‘Or not, as the case may be.’

‘I’m not avoiding Melanie.’

‘No. I didn’t think you were.’ He picked up an alarmingly large knife and took two steaks from the fridge. ‘I’m glad you dropped by, though. I was going to come up and see you later. This way we can have lunch together. I’ve already opened a bottle of my special reserve.’

‘I hope that doesn’t mean you’re celebrating something.’ He didn’t answer. ‘You’re not going to give notice are you, John?’

He finished trimming the steaks and after dipping them in hot melted butter put them on the griddle. Then he fetched a bottle of red Bordeaux that he had opened an hour earlier in readiness for the peace that descended just before one-thirty, when it was suddenly just a bit too late to order lunch and still too early to think of tea.

He poured Fizz a glass. It was warm and rich in colour.

‘Now, tell me what you think of that,’ he said, as he finished the steaks and a moment later laid them on a plate. She obediently took a sip of the wine. ‘Take a proper mouthful,’ he advised, apparently capable of seeing through the back of his chef’s hat.

‘It’s wonderful. Very warming.’ Janice collected the steaks, muttering beneath her breath. Quiet descended. Fizz took another mouthful of wine.

‘Now what would you like me to cook for you? Medallions of lamb? Or I’ve some fresh halibut.’

‘Nothing. Really. I’m not hungry. Come and talk to me, John.’

‘It can wait, it’s not urgent.’

‘Tell me the worst, John.’

He fetched another chair, poured wine into another glass and savoured it for a moment. Then he said, ‘An uncle gave me a case of this last week.’

Uncles. She was heartily sick of uncles. ‘I congratulate you on your excellent taste in relations.’

‘He’s a wine merchant. My mother told him that he should call in and let me look at his list. He was so surprised by the place that I have the feeling he thought I was serving burgers and chips with the occasional can of lager on the side.’ Fizz took another sip of John’s uncle’s wine. It really was very good. ‘He stayed for lunch. On the house, of course. In return for the wine.’

‘Of course. I hope he was thoroughly impressed.’

‘Oh, yes. In fact he was so impressed with my cooking that he came back yesterday. He’s offered to put up the money for me to open a restaurant of my own.’ He made a little gesture that might have been apology, or constrained triumph. ‘I expect to be able to buy him out over five years.’

‘You signed a contract for the season, John,’ she reminded him.

‘Would you keep me to it?’