Naked Truths (43 page)

Catherine had even wondered whether she could try and keep the scheme going herself. But without the money Valour put into it, it would be impossible. Besides, with the reputation they'd built up and contacts they'd secured,
Soirée
Sponsors
was
part of
Soirée
. The two went hand in hand together.

March dragged on, and the atmosphere in the office grew even worse. The art director had accidentally overheard a phone conversation between Catherine and the head of sales about the impossibility of meeting the ‘Project 300' and had relayed it back to the rest of the office. Now, it was as if people were just waiting for the axe to fall.

As Catherine sat in her office one morning, trying to work her way through a pile of emails, the door flew open. Catherine looked up crossly; she liked people to knock first.

It was Saffron. She'd had a new haircut that made her look even more elfin-like, and her eyes were shining. ‘We've only gone and got her!' she yelled.

Catherine was confused. ‘Who?'

Saffron waved a piece of paper in the air. ‘Savannah Sexton! She's just found out Casey has been cheating on her with a cheerleader, and she's dumped him. I've been speaking with her people and they've emailed me to say they want to give
us
the story. They're flying Savannah in for twelve hours to do it!'

Catherine sat bolt upright. She couldn't believe it. ‘Bloody hell! When?'

Saffron looked at her watch. ‘Savannah and her entourage are due to touch down at Heathrow in six hours and thirty-three minutes exactly.'

Catherine paused. They were well into the third week of March, and the April issue was hitting the magazine stands in less than ten days. They had never shot and interviewed a cover star this late before. She stuck her head out of the door and shouted for the chief sub, who came running.

Quickly, she explained the situation to him. Could they do it? The chief sub looked pained. ‘It'll cost us. But if there are
no
cock-ups and we turn it around super quick, then yes.'

Catherine's lethargy vanished.
This
was what she'd got into magazines for! She'd been weighed down by targets, bureaucracy and management politics for too long now. She fleetingly regretted that they hadn't got this break last month, but quickly brushed the thought aside. They had got Savannah Sexton, and at that moment, nothing else mattered.

Two minutes later Catherine Connor gathered the team in the middle of the office.

‘We're dropping Alexa Blake from the April cover.'

Alexa Blake was a sought-after aristocrat, and it had been a real coup to get her. But Catherine grinned broadly at the puzzled faces around her. ‘Saffron has got us Savannah Sexton!'

There was a loud team gasp, and then cries of ‘Well done, Saff!' Standing on the edge of the group, Annabel glowered. She had given up trying to get the superstar months ago, and was clearly furious Saffron was now getting all the praise and attention.

Catherine continued. ‘Savannah's flying in tonight for our shoot and interview, and is on a plane out of here first thing in the morning. So everyone, listen up.'

She turned to Alexander, dazzling in an Alexander McQueen jumpsuit and brilliant white fedora. ‘Al, I want her looking vulnerable but beautiful, so lots of neutral colours and simple fabrics. Same brief goes for hair and make-up.' She looked apologetic. ‘I know you normally have weeks to prepare, but you're going to have to pull this off. Same goes for the photographer. We've only got a few hours to get the perfect shot, so they need to nail it. Who were you thinking of getting?'

Her fashion director stopped scribbling furiously in his polka-dot notepad and looked up. ‘Tabitha Young. She's normally booked up months ahead, but she'll do this for us. She's a dear friend of mine.'

At the age of twenty-six, Tabitha Young was already a legendary photographer. She was young, hip and had an innate knack of drawing emotion out of her subjects where her contemporaries couldn't. She and Savannah Sexton would be dynamite together. Catherine nodded approvingly. ‘Excellent.'

She looked at Saffron and smiled. ‘Since you're the one who got Savannah in the first place, I'd like you to interview her.'

Saffron looked shocked, then gave a huge grin.

‘But that's my job!' Annabel's fleshy face was purple with indignation. ‘I'm the one in charge of cover stories, so I should be the one interviewing her!'

Catherine gave her a hard look. ‘If you'd done your job in the first place you would be. But as Saffron put in the hard work, she deserves it.'

Annabel started to bluster, but Catherine was already walking back into her office.

‘Saffron, we'll meet in thirty minutes to go through questions,' she called over her shoulder.

Savannah Sexton had been driven straight from the airport in a blacked-out people carrier to a secret location in north London. News of her break-up with Casey had leaked out and a few paparazzi had pounced on her as she came through arrivals. She was sure to be all over the papers tomorrow. Catherine didn't care, it would only add to the hype. Savannah's new film,
Power Trip
, was also out next month, and there was already talk of her getting an Oscar. As a woman, Catherine empathized with Savannah's situation, but as a magazine editor she couldn't believe the God-sent good timing.

Hiding behind a huge pair of Chanel sunglasses, Savannah Sexton had been devastated but dignified for her interview. She wanted to set the record straight before any scurrilous rumours started. Casey had been having an affair with the cheerleader, the youngest daughter of a US senator, for over six months. Savannah had only found out when Casey sent her a bouquet of flowers intended for the cheerleader. After a huge confrontation, Savannah had ended it. Casey was now begging for forgiveness, but Savannah, an independent, clear-minded young woman, was refusing to take him back. The interview was explosive and heart-warming, and Savannah had never looked more stunning.

When Catherine looked at the cover the next day, she felt a tingle all over her body. It would surely be their best edition yet . . .

She hadn't even thought to inform Adam; so inconsequential was he now, in the daily running of the magazine. The next day she relished the opportunity to quieten him when he came bustling angrily into her office.

‘What's all this about dropping our cover?' he asked. ‘Have you gone mad?'

Without a word, Catherine held up a print-out of the new cover. Above Savannah's name were the words ‘WORLD EXCLUSIVE!' in huge letters.

Adam's mouth fell open and he sank down in a chair. ‘Fucking hell!'

‘I had exactly the same sentiments,' Catherine said with a grin.

‘It's amazing! How did you get it?' Adam's face dropped. ‘If only we'd got this last month. It's too late for “Project 300”.'

‘Yes, I realize that, Adam.'

Strangely, Catherine still felt a sense of euphoria. There had never been such a buzz about a cover, and the chief executive had already been on the phone with his congratulations. Many times in the last twenty-four hours, Catherine had imagined the look on Isabella Montgomery's face when she found out.

The whole experience had reminded her why she'd got into magazines in the first place. They had done their best – and pulled off the exclusive of the year in the process. If
Soirée
was going down, at least they were going to do it in style.

Saffron was flying. She had really liked the film star, and she and Savannah had struck up an immediate rapport, something that her colleagues said came across in her interview. The compliments were pouring in thick and fast, but Annabel hadn't been so charitable.

‘I suppose you think you're Miss Star Interviewer now,' she hissed across her desk the next day. ‘Well, let me tell you, that won't be happening again.'

‘Don't you think Catherine might have a say in that?' Saffron replied sarcastically. She didn't know if she could take much more of Annabel. Ignoring the death stare, she went back to writing up her piece about women in politics.

A new email flashed up on her screen. It was Tom Fellows.

Saffron grimaced. She'd been so busy, she hadn't given Tom another thought since he'd asked her out. She looked over to where he was sitting, staring intently as usual at his computer screen. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose and he was wearing a sludge-brown cardigan that looked like it had come from his granddad's wardrobe. Saffron was tempted to lie and say something had come up, but that felt mean. She'd go for one drink, and make up an excuse about having to be somewhere.

Tom left the choice of venue up to her, so Saffron deliberately suggested they meet at the Frog and Stoat, a dingy old pub out of the way, so there was no chance of anyone seeing them together. As she made her way there that evening, Saffron again wondered at the wisdom of what she was doing. Surely Tom didn't think there was a chance of them getting it on?

He was already at the bar when Saffron walked in. He was so tall he had to stoop to avoid banging his head on the low ceiling.

Saffron sighed and walked over. ‘Hiya.'

There was something that looked like tomato ketchup down the front of his T-shirt. ‘Hi,' he mumbled.

Saffron found herself staring at his feet again. ‘Your laces are undone.'

‘Oh, right.' Tom bent down to tie them up, and Saffron ordered a double vodka; she needed it to get through this.

‘What size
are
your feet?' she asked.

Tom blushed. ‘Thirteen.'

‘That's more than double mine!' Saffron put one foot next to his. Her ballet shoe looked microscopic next to his Titanic-sized trainer.

‘Well you know what they say about men with big feet,' Tom said. Saffron cringed. He wasn't going to, was he? ‘They've got big socks.'

Saffron laughed, more out of relief than anything. ‘That's a terrible joke!'

Tom actually grinned, and up close, Saffron noticed for the first time how long his eyelashes were.

‘Do you want to sit down?' he asked. The pub was practically deserted as they made their way over to a corner table. They sat in silence.

Saffron looked around. It looked like the place hadn't been decorated since the 1950s. ‘This place is a dump.' She downed her vodka, asking herself for the umpteenth time what she was doing there.

Tom got up. ‘Let me get you another.'

Saffron watched him lollop over to the bar. One more wouldn't hurt.

He returned with more drinks and sat down awkwardly. His legs were so long he didn't seem to know what to do with them.

Saffron took a sip of her drink. ‘I never said thanks for that night you helped me in the street.'

Tom shrugged. ‘It was nothing. Besides, the guy had run off before I got there.'

‘He could have come back. It was very nice of you.'

‘You seemed upset,' he said. ‘I noticed you hadn't been yourself for a few days before that happened. Is everything OK?'

The question took her aback. Saffron looked at him. Under all that hair, he had an honest, even handsome face. Despite his shyness, there was a directness about Tom Fellows she quite liked. Before she could change her mind, Saffron found herself telling him all about her mother.

‘Your mum knows she's messed up,' said Tom, an hour later. Saffron had finished her story and they'd been sitting in silence for a few moments.

‘That's the understatement of the century,' said Saffron moodily. ‘I don't know, everything was so much easier before she turned up. I never thought about her, not that much, anyway. When I first saw her again, I felt so much hatred, you know? But now all that hate is becoming exhausting. I feel like it's eating into me, and I don't like it.'

‘My mum's dead,' Tom told her. ‘Died of breast cancer seven years ago.'

‘I'm sorry,' Saffron told him. She couldn't think what else to say.

‘Don't be,' he said simply. ‘She was a very unhappy woman all her life: made me, my brother and Dad's life a misery. But even at the end, I still loved her. She was my mother, and no matter how it all turned out, I do believe she brought me into this world with good intentions.' He eyed her through the bottle-tops, eyelashes more appealing by the minute. ‘I wouldn't give up on yours just yet, Saffron.'

A while later a bell clanged, the landlord calling time. Saffron looked at her watch. To her surprise it was ten to eleven. They had been in the pub for three hours, and she'd had a really nice time. Although he didn't waste words, she had found Tom surprisingly easy to be around. Saffron had never spoken so openly about her mother, even to Velda.

Outside the pub, Tom reverted to his usual mumbling self. ‘So, er, do you want to do this again?'

‘Yeah, that'd be cool.' Saffron didn't know how to say goodbye, so gave him an awkward hug. Tom didn't respond for a moment, then stiffly put his arms around her. Saffron was surprised how hard and lean his body was. After a second, she pulled away. ‘See you tomorrow, then.' Saffron walked off in the direction of the tube station, her heart beating inappropriately fast.

Tom Fellows hadn't just made her feel like that, had he?

ANGIE AND ASH
had just said goodbye to a happy customer in the shop. They had sold him a very nice seventeenth-century ceramic fingerbowl for £90, and it had been Ash who had picked it out at a local antiques fair the day before, for just £30.

Angie insisted on giving Ash half of the profit. ‘I wouldn't have got it without you, darling. You've got a real eye for this!'

Feeling very pleased with himself, Ash tucked the money away. Maybe he'd get his dad a new toaster; theirs had been broken for ages.