Out of the Blue (6 page)

“Stuff it!” I said to Graham as I threw off the duvet. “I’m
going to damn well go and find out.”

* * *

“Darling!” said Lily, meeting me at the lift on the
forty-ninth floor of Canary Wharf an hour and fifty minutes later. “What a
divine surprise! But what are you doing over here?”

“I was just passing,” I said.

“Really? Well, how lovely. You can share my take-away lunch.
And how are you this morning?”

“Not at my best,” I replied. “Rather hungover, in fact.”

“Oh dear,” she murmured. “The wrath of grapes! But it was a
wonderful evening,” she added as she tucked the dog under her left arm.
“Jennifer
adored
it, didn’t you poppet?” Jennifer
gave me a vacant stare. “And how marvelous of you to get up three hours later
like that and calmly do the weather,” Lily added as we crossed the editorial
floor. “I watched you from the gym at six thirty. That girl Sophie’s rather
bright,” she went on, “perhaps we ought to do something on her in
Moi!
Terry whatshisname’s a bore though, isn’t he?”
she added. “A clear case of mistaken nonentity. Now,” she said as we swept past
a rail of designer clothes, “where are your lovely kids?”

“They’ve gone back to school,” I explained as a pink feather
boa lifted in the breeze from Lily’s scented wake. “Peter took them to the
station this morning. Term starts again today.”

“They’re such darlings,” Lily exclaimed as she stroked
Jennifer’s topknot. “Isn’t Katie a scream with her psychoanalysis? Though I
can’t help feeling she’s a little Jung. We
must
do a
makeover on her for the magazine and get her out of those blue-stocking clothes.
Now Jasmine…” She’d stopped at the desk of a whey-faced girl of about twenty.
“I’ve told you not to drink coffee at lunchtime, you know it stops you sleeping
in the afternoons.”

We passed the picture desk where a photographer was having his
portfolio assessed and long-limbed girls leaned over the illuminated lightbox.
Then we entered Lily’s glass-sided office, with its earthenware pots of splayed
orchids, the Magnum shots of pouting models, the framed
Moi!
covers and the shining industry awards. She waved her hand at
the wall-sized shelf-unit displaying all her rivals’ magazines.

“World of Inferiors,” she quipped. Then she removed a bottle of
greenish liquid from the small fridge in the corner.

“Wheatgrass juice?”

“Er, no thanks.” She poured herself a glass, then sat behind
her desk and held up a plate.

“Vegetarian sushi?” she enquired.

“Oh, I’m not hungry, thanks.”

“These seaweed rolls are awfully good…”

“No thanks.”

“And this shiitake’s divine.”

“Look, Lily,” I tried again, “I just wanted to ask you
something. Um…”

“Of course, darling,” she said. “Ask me anything you like.”
Suddenly there was a tap at the door and Lily’s secretary Polly appeared.

“Lily, here’s the February edition of
Vogue.
It’s just come in.”

Lily winced. She loathes
Vogue,
in
fact it’s a minor obsession. This is because in 1996, when she was features
editor there, they failed to promote her to deputy editor, a lapse of
professional judgment she will neither forget nor forgive. She began to flick
the pages of the magazine in an indolent, insolent way.

“God, how boring,” she muttered. “Tsk…that old story…seriously
vieux chapeau.
Oh good Lord, what a cliché—at
Moi!
we avoid clichés like the plague. Oh,
purleeze, not Catherine Zeta-Jones
again!
Oh, God!”
she declared suddenly with an appalled expression on her face. “They’ve got
Sally Desert working for them—I wouldn’t let that crummy little dwarf write my
shopping list! Faith,” she announced as she tossed the magazine onto the floor,
“I am going to outsell
Vogue
.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are Lily, but—”

“We’re not far off,” she added as she leaned back in her chair,
steepled her long fingers and scrutinized the ceiling. “Lots of their
advertisers are coming to us, and who can blame them?” she asked. This was
clearly a rhetorical question. “We make our advertisers feel wonderful,” she
went on seamlessly as she fed Jennifer bits of sushi. “We woo them. We flatter
them. We give them very good rates. We—”

“Lily.”

“—look after them. Make them feel special. In short, we do not
bite the brand that feeds us.”

“Lily.”

“And in any case they now realize that
Moi!
is
the
fashion magazine of the
Millennium.” She went and stood by the window, then raised the Venetian
micro-blind. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she said as she gazed down on the Dome.
“Isn’t it just wonderful?” she repeated. “Come here, Faith, and look. Look at
all…this.” She’d threaded her slender arm through mine. “Don’t you think it’s
just fantastic?”

“Not really,” I said truthfully as I inhaled the aroma of her
Hypnotic Poison. “To me it’s all style and no substance.”

“I was there,” she murmured dreamily, ignoring my remark. “I
was there, Faith, at that party.”

“I know.”

“I was there with the Queen and Tony Blair. Don’t you think
that’s amazing, Faith? That your little schoolfriend was invited to that?”
Suddenly I looked at Lily’s profile and was transported back twenty-five years.
I remembered the awkward girl, standing on stage in her blue gingham dress, and
the look of fear and confusion on her face. Now here she was, atop London’s
tallest building, with the world spread out beneath her feet.

“Don’t you think that’s amazing?” she pressed me again.

“What? Well, yes, er, no. I mean, not really, Lily—I always
knew you’d succeed.”

“Yes,” she said dreamily as we gazed at the boat-speckled river
shining below. “I’ve succeeded, despite the attempts of a few people to put a
spanner in the works.”

“What people?” I said.

“Oh, no-one significant,” she breathed. “Just nobodies, out to
spoil my success. But they know who they are. And
I
know who they are, too,” she went on with an air of slight menace. “But no-one’s
going to stop me,” she murmured. “No-one’s going to hold
me
back.”

“Lily,” I interjected, wishing she’d stop talking just for a
second and listen.

“I’ve trounced my enemies, Faith,” she went on calmly, “by my
vision and my hard work. And the reason why
Moi!
is
going to be
the
Number One glossy is because we’ve
got so many original ideas. Now,” she added enthusiastically as she returned to
her desk, “I just want your advice on a new feature we’re planning—top secret,
of course. What do you think of
this?
” She handed me
a mock-up page. It was headed “Your Dog’s Beauty Questions Answered”.
I am a Yorkshire terrier,
I read.
I have very fine, fly-away fur. I can never get it to stay in one place.
What should I do? I am a white miniature poodle,
wrote another.
But at the moment my coat looks slightly discolored and
stained. This is causing me considerable distress. What grooming products
can I use to restore it to its former glory?

“The readers are going to love it,” said Lily with an excited
smile. “I’d like to do a dog special at some point, a pull-out supplement, maybe
for the July edition, yes,” she went on distractedly. “I could call it
Chienne
. We could get it sponsored by Winalot.”

“Lily!” I stood up. It was the only way to attract her
attention. “Lily,” I repeated. “I wasn’t just passing.”

“
Weren’t
you, darling?”

“No,” I said as I sat down again. “I’m afraid that was a
lie.”

“
Was
it?” she said, her eyes round.
“Really, Faith, that’s not like you.”

“I came here for a reason,” I went on, my heart now banging
like a drum. “Because there’s something I need to ask you.”

“Faith, darling,” said Lily seriously, “Jennifer and I are all
ears.”

“Well,” I began nervously, “I know this will sound silly, but
last night you said something that disturbed me.”

“Oh, Faith,” she said before taking a sip of wheatgrass juice,
“I’m
always
saying things that disturb you, we both
know that.”

“Yes, but this wasn’t in the usual category of your flippant
off-the-cuff remarks. It was not only what you said, but the way you said
it.”

“And what was it, then?” she enquired.

“Well, you said,” I said, “you said… You said that you thought
I was ‘marvelous’ to ‘trust’ Peter.” Lily’s arched eyebrows lifted an inch up
her high, domed brow.

“Well I
do,
darling!”

“Why?”

“Because I think
any
woman who
trusts
any
man is a complete and utter marvel, given
that the species are such beasts. I mean, why do you think I dump them at such a
rate?”

“Oh, I see. So it was just a general observation, was it?”

“Yes!” she said gaily. “Of course it was! You are silly to let
that worry you, Faith. I thought you always prided yourself on never believing
anything I say.”

“Oh, I do!” I exclaimed. “I mean, I know that you’re usually
being funny. You like to pull my leg. I don’t mind—I never have done—and I know
it’s still easy to do.”

“Faith Value,” she said with an indulgent shake of her
head.

“Yes,” I said, “I suppose I am. And you’re still Lily
White.”

“I know,” said Lily with a smile. “I’m sorry if I worried you,”
she went on as she chewed delicately on her seaweed roll. “It’s just my sense of
humor, darling. You know that.”

“I know,” I agreed. “But last night I couldn’t help wondering,
if what you said was a joke or not.”

“Of course it was,” she said, “don’t give it a second
thought.”

“Oh, good,” I said, vastly relieved, and I allowed myself to
smile.

“I was just joking, Faith.”

“Oh, great.”

“Because I’m good at badinage.”

“Oh yes.”

“I was just pulling your leg…” She was flicking through a copy
of
Moi!.

“I know…”

“I was just winding you up, like I do.”

“Yup. Got that,” I said as I stood up to go. “Great to get it
sorted out.”

“Al
though
…” Lily added softly,
without looking up.

“Although what?” I said.

“Well…” She sighed as she lifted her gaze to mine. “Now we’re
on the subject, I must say that Peter didn’t exactly seem relaxed. In fact I
thought he was decidedly sharp. Mind you,” she continued judiciously, “Peter’s
often sharp with me. I know he doesn’t really like me,” she went on
philosophically. “I’m his
bête noire,
” she added
with a throaty laugh.

“It’s a personality thing,” I said diplomatically. “It’s just
one of those little clashes one sometimes gets. But he has huge professional
respect for you,” I said.

“
Does
he?” she said with a
sceptical smile.

“In any case,” I went on quickly, “between you and me, Peter’s
got a lot of hassle at work so he’s a little bit anxious at the moment.”

“Anxious? Darling,” she added, “he was jumpier than the Royal
Ballet.”

“Well…”

“And I couldn’t help noticing how trim he looked. And did you
see he was wearing a Hermès tie?”

“Was he? I wouldn’t know. I don’t really notice labels.”

“Yes, Hermès. They’re seventy pounds a throw. Now, I knew
you
hadn’t bought it for him,” she went on. “So I
couldn’t help wondering who had?” I stared at her.

“He bought it himself.”

“Really?”

“Yes. As an investment. He said his headhunter has advised him
to smarten up a bit. Peter’s looking for a new job, you see—I didn’t tell you
this, but we think he’s about to be kicked out.”

“Really?” said Lily. “Oh! How
awful
.”

“Well, yes, because he’s been happy at Fenton &
Friend.”

“I’ll say he has,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“All I mean is that
any
man would
be happy working at Fenton & Friend.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she said as she adjusted Jennifer’s butterfly barrette,
“it’s stuffed with gorgeous girls.”

“Oh. Is it?”

“And I
thought
I heard someone say,
the other day, that they’d seen Peter having lunch with an attractive blonde.
But I could have been wrong,” she added softly.

“Yes,” I said, “you were. Or rather you were mistaken. Because
Peter has to take authors and agents out to dinner sometimes. It’s all part of
his job.”

“Of course it is, Faith, I know. But…”

“But
what?
”

“Well, he
is
a publisher, and
so…”

“Yes?”

“I really
hate
to say this,
darling, but maybe he’s making someone an
advance?”
I gazed into Lily’s liquid brown eyes. They’re huge and hypnotic, slanting in
shape, with interminable thick, curling lashes.

“An advance?” I repeated. I could hear the beating of my
heart.

“Maybe he’s looking for a new chapter,” she went on softly,
then took another sip of wheatgrass juice.

“Lily, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe, in the bookshop of life, he’s been picking up more than
a Penguin…”

“Look, I—”

“And the
only
reason I say this is
because his speech last night was so odd. Katie spotted the Freudian slip,
Faith, didn’t you?”

“Well, I…”

“And after all, you have been married for a very long
time.”

“But…”

“All I’m suggesting is that in your situation, well, I’d be
just a
little
on my guard.”

“On my guard?”

“Vigilant. Now, I’m only saying this as your friend.”

“I know…”