Divas Don't Knit (21 page)

‘Well, I’ll make some more.’

‘Right. And how are you going to do that then?’

‘With my special pen.’

Daniel finishes his call.

‘Tony’s on his way, but he drives like a total old git, so fuck
knows how long it’ll take him. But I missed a treat at dinner, apparently; he says it was like the living dead. With baby sweetcorn.’

‘Get me some paper and I’ll make the cards.’

‘Ellen wants to play strip poker.’

‘Excellent news.’

We both look at Ellen, who’s humming to herself.

Daniel grins.

‘Won’t it be rather tricky playing poker with half the cards made out of bits of paper?’

‘No, it’ll be great, because I’ll be the only one that knows what they are, and then I’ll win.’

‘Top plan.’

By the time Tony arrives Ellen’s still busy making her cards.

‘Do you have to go? I’ve nearly finished.’

‘Sorry, but I try to make it a rule not to do any stripping if I’ve got to work in the morning. Call me old-fashioned; it’s just the way I am.’

We walk into the hall and I hand him his jacket. Ellen’s still humming.

‘Perhaps I should change my mind. I’m rather good at poker?’

‘She’s a terrible cheat.’

He laughs.

‘I kind of guessed she might be. Well thanks, both of you, for an enchanting evening. And that was a great meal, Jo, you’re a lifesaver.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow at Graceland, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Night.’

We wave him off and then go back into the kitchen.

‘Coffee?’

‘No, more wine I think, and some water, so we can rehydrate. What a nice man.’

I put the kettle on.

‘Actually, I think he fancied you.’

‘Don’t be daft, Ellen.’

‘Or maybe it was me. I kept getting mixed signals.’

‘I didn’t get any signals at all.’

‘Yes, but your aerial’s been down for years, darling, so that’s not surprising. But I definitely think he was up for something, and so is Dovetail, if he can ever get shot of his terrible mother. Didn’t you see his face when she said she’d got her pothot in the oven?’

‘It’s hotpot.’

‘Whatever. There was definitely something, only I’m not sure what. Actually I think I might have drunk slightly too much.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘That’s why I thought the strip poker was such a good idea.’

‘Yes, brilliant – one of your best, I’d say. Let’s play strip poker with an international photographer who spends most of his time watching supermodels getting their kit off. I suppose you thought it would be a nice change for him to see a pair of M&S pants.’

She laughs.

‘We wouldn’t have gone that far, you fool, I would have caused a diversion or something. And anyway I’d marked all the cards – well, most of them. And it would have been very valuable research.’

‘On Planet Loon maybe.’

‘Have you got any chocolate?’

‘Not really, only my emergency Kit-Kats.’

‘Well this counts as an emergency.’

‘What does?’

‘Me wanting some chocolate.’

Ellen’s got such a terrible hangover in the morning that she stays in bed while I take the boys to school; and I’m not feeling exactly pristine myself. She’s planning a day on the sofa watching daytime telly with her sunglasses on, and I promise to call her if I need her to pick up the boys. Archie manages to smuggle the new bow and arrow into the back of the car while I’m searching for a spare set of keys for Ellen, so we have a frank exchange of views when we get out at school, which culminates in me wrestling the bloody thing off him just as Annabel Morgan walks past; still at least it’s nice to know that I’ve brought a smile to someone’s face this morning. After a thirty-eight-point turn which blocks all the traffic outside school, I’m halfway to Graceland when I realise I’ve forgotten to put any earrings on, and I’ve got a mayonnaise stain on the knee of my jeans due to rather over-hasty packed-lunch manoeuvres, which is great, obviously, since I’m going to be surrounded by media professionals for the entire day.

Maybe if I put some lipstick on I might feel slightly more ready for a magazine shoot, and less like I should be going straight back to bed. I rootle around in my bag but the lid’s come off the tube and it’s covered in fluff. If I was a proper grown-up I’d have an emergency make-up bag in the glove compartment, full of pristine Clinique and Clarins and an atomiser filled with my favourite perfume. But since I’m not, I have to do my best with an old Chapstick and a tissue, which only manages to make the stain on my jeans look marginally worse. Christ.

The collection of smart cars by the house has grown significantly when I arrive, so I’m assuming the magazine people are already here. There’s no sign of Daniel, but Maxine’s much more friendly than yesterday as she’s taking me up to see Grace.

‘It’s been bedlam all morning.’

I know just how she feels.

‘Oh dear.’

‘We’re having a bit of a crisis because Grace hates all the clothes.’

‘Well I don’t want to get in the way, I can always come back later.’

Possibly minus the mayonnaise stains.

‘She said to bring you straight up.’

‘Oh. Right.’

God, I hope she’s not going to be throwing any Diva-like tantrums, because I’m not really in the mood. I wonder if Maxine’s got any Panadol.

Grace is in one of the blue-and-white bedrooms we saw on our tour yesterday, sitting in front of a huge mirror, with massive foam curlers in her hair, and a woman dabbing powder on her cheeks.

‘Great, you’re here. I’m nearly done, and then we can grab ten minutes.’

She’s wearing a bronze silk strapless evening dress, and a rather major diamond necklace, and the room is full of people unzipping black nylon bags and hanging up clothes. She turns to a woman who’s wearing a purple floral smocked dress over black leggings and gold stilettos – so I’m guessing she’s either the stylist or someone else Creative.

‘I’m just going downstairs, Gwen.’

‘Okay, darling.’

‘And I’m not wearing that blue thing, okay?’

‘Sure. I knew you’d hate it. I told them, but they always think they know best.’

‘And you can tell Sven if he tries to backcomb my hair I’ll have Bruno escort him off the premises. And trust me, Bruno’s not the kind of escort Sven’s used to.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘I’m not joking.’

‘I know you’re not. That’s the best bit.’

They both laugh.

Blimey. It sounds like Sven might be in for quite a trying morning.

We go downstairs to the room with the green velvet sofas, and Maxine brings in some tea and we sit looking at baby-blanket patterns, and it all gets rather bizarre; sitting talking about knitting with someone wearing a ball gown, with curlers in her hair and a fortune in diamonds hanging round her neck. She decides on a very simple pattern of knitted squares with a garter-stitch border, and starts looking at colours.

‘These two are pretty together.’

She holds up the coffee and the caramel.

‘Let’s start with the coffee.’

I show her how to cast on, and she concentrates, watching me closely, and then puts her hands in exactly the same position as mine.

‘Like this?’

‘Perfect. You’re a really quick learner.’

She smiles. ‘What do I do next?’

‘I’ll show you how to do a knit stitch – it’s the basic stitch that everything else is built on. It’s really easy.’

She’s done nearly four rows when Daniel comes in, looking very chirpy.

‘We’re ready whenever you are, angel.’

‘I just need to finish this row.’

‘What are you making?’

‘A blanket for the baby.’

‘Great colours.’

He winks at me.

‘There, I’m done.’ She hands her knitting back to me and turns to Daniel. ‘Five minutes?’

‘Great.’

‘Is Sven up there?’

‘Yup, ready and trembling.’

‘Good. Come up with me, Jo, and I can do some more while he takes these rollers out.’

Half an hour later we’re outside by the lake and she’s sitting knitting on the stone steps, in a kind of cloud of bronze silk which is reflected in the water, with her feet bare, looking absolutely stunning. She must be freezing, but you’d never know it: she looks completely relaxed, without even the faintest hint of the fixed serial-killer-grin most of us end up with in photographs. And even though you know it’s her job, it’s still incredibly impressive, especially with so many people watching her and darting forwards to tweak her hair or make-up.

‘That’s gorgeous, angel. Just look down a bit.’

She looks down.

‘I’ll be out of the top of this dress any minute. Being pregnant certainly does wonders for your cleavage.’

Daniel laughs. ‘So I can see. Move the knitting to the left, just a bit … bit more. Perfect.’

She carries on knitting but glances up occasionally. She’s got something on her cheeks which catches the light.

‘Beautiful.’

She smiles.

The magazine people are all in a huddle, nodding and looking very chic in various shades of black and grey; I think you must have to be anorexic to work on fashion in magazines, so I’m trying not to stand too close to them. They’re not particularly friendly, especially Stella, who I think is the boss because Ed keeps getting her glasses of water and generally fussing round her, and she keeps summoning Daniel for little chats. She gave me a quick but very thorough once-over when I arrived, but I don’t think she was terribly impressed with my Look. I thought my Aran cardigan would be perfect for standing around outside in the cold, even if it has gone rather baggy, but now I just feel like I’m a one-woman tribute to Starsky and Hutch.

‘Let’s try the rowing boat. We’ve set it up on the lawn, round by the trees.’

There’s an ancient bleached grey boat propped up on the lawn, with the house behind it, surrounded by silver reflectors, with a rather anxious-looking Bruno standing to one side, but Grace doesn’t seem the least bit thrown by being asked to get into a boat in the middle of her lawn, and climbs in without a murmur. The boat wobbles and tilts, and Tony and Bruno rush forwards, but it settles and Grace sits down.

‘Great. I love it. Just let me check the light.’

‘Jo, can you come here a minute?’

Daniel and Tony are moving umbrellas, adjusting the tripod, and peering at light meters.

Grace hands me her knitting. ‘It’s gone wrong.’

‘You’ve just dropped a stitch, here, that’s all.’ I pick it back up for her.

‘Thanks. Christ, I’m fucking freezing.’

‘Shall I get you a shawl or something?’

‘No, just give me your cardigan for a minute.’

I take it off and wrap it round her shoulders.

‘It came out bigger than I wanted it to.’

‘Did you make it? God, how long did that take you?’

‘Not long – it was on big needles. But Archie adopted it, he liked wrapping himself up in it while he watched telly and putting his legs down the sleeves, which hasn’t helped.’

She laughs and the boat rocks slightly. ‘You must bring your kids round sometime. I’d like to meet them.’

Daniel comes over.

‘Ready when you are, angel. Will you be wearing that, then?’

‘Sadly, no.’

He grins.

The sun keeps coming out and then going back in again, which makes Daniel swear and swap cameras, but finally he’s finished and we all go inside for coffee and mini-croissants
which Sam’s just made, along with almond pastries and plates of fruit. The magazine people look at the pastries with varying degrees of longing, but nobody actually eats anything, apart from me and Tony, who wolf them down. Grace is upstairs getting into her next outfit, and Daniel’s on the phone, arguing with someone in Paris.

‘If you wanted to crop my stuff you should have fucking asked.’

Tony rolls his eyes. ‘They never learn.’

Grace comes in, wearing layers of white beaded silk and beautiful soft white trousers.

‘I can’t do these bloody trousers up; Gwen’s had to cut a chunk out of the waistband.’ She puts a hand across her tummy. ‘And it’s only going to get worse.’

Actually, she does look slightly more pregnant today.

‘Sam, can I have one of my teas please, darling?’

‘Coming right up.’ He passes her a tiny almond pastry.

‘Great. My favourite.’

Ed comes over to us. He’s been standing with Stella, but she’s gathered her troops around her and they’re all busy writing things down in smart leather notebooks.

‘It’s going brilliantly isn’t it? And you looked amazing, darling, bloody amazing. And very calm, which makes a nice change.’

She flicks a flake of pastry at him. ‘I think it’s the knitting – it’s really helping me to zone out.’

‘Let’s put it in all our contracts, then, and Jo can be on standby. She can be like our horse whisperer.’

‘So what does that make me then? Fucking Red Rum?’

‘Fabulous legs, highly strung, loves winning things. Sounds spot on to me.’

She puts her hand on his shoulder.

‘You’re like the opposite of a horse whisperer, did you know that, Ed? Every time you open your mouth I want to kick you.’

He turns and kisses her hand as Maxine comes over.