Rumor Has It (14 page)

    Tilly bit her lip, determined not to smile. God, wouldn't it be great if you could? Imagine the bidding frenzy on eBay for some of
that
. Imagine the millions of little Georges being born all over the world…

    'Of course you can't buy George Clooney's
actual
sperm.' Stella shot Amy a despairing look. 'I meant if you wanted a sperm donor with his qualities and physical characteristics. They give you this great long list and you tick all the relevant boxes. You get to choose every detail. If George Clooney's your ideal man, those are the boxes you tick.'

    'Just don't get him confused with Mickey Rooney,' said Max.

    'And how much would it cost?' Amy was clearly concerned.

    Stella sipped her drink. 'It's a baby, not a new sofa. You can't put a price on a child.'

    'But think how many beautiful shoes you could buy! Jimmy Choos,' Amy said dreamily. 'I'd rather have new shoes than a baby any day.'

    'Shoes are better,' Max agreed. 'Shoes don't throw up on your shoulder.'

    'Now you're just making fun of me.' Stella mock punched him on the arm. 'And it's no laughing matter. Men don't understand how it feels to have that clock ticking away inside you. I just hate feeling this helpless.' She shook her head. 'All my life I've made plans. I'm the queen of lists. I like to be in control and always know what's happening next. And it's driving me insane that now, thanks to Fergus, everything's changed. It's just
killing
me.'

    'Well, don't go rushing off to a sperm bank,' said Jack.

    Max grinned and exhaled cigar smoke. 'Jack'll do it for free.'

    'Hey, leave her alone.' Putting a friendly arm around Stella's shoulders, Jack gave her a squeeze. 'Give the girl a break. She's had a rough year.'

    'Speaking of making plans and knowing what's happening…' Amy nodded at Stella, her tone meaningful.

    'What? Oh right. Yes.' Prompted by Amy, Stella turned to Jack. 'While you were gone just now, Marianne came over and said something about going with you to the charity ball in Cheltenham. She's so pushy. And I said I wasn't sure but I thought you might be inviting
someone else
.' As she spoke, she subtly tilted her head in Amy's direction while Amy suddenly lost all hearing and gazed into thin air as if communing with the spirits.

    Max, observing this too and clearly intent on making mischief, said, 'Hey, girls used to do that when I was at school.' He adopted a high-pitched Liverpudlian voice. 'All right? Me mate wants to know if you want to go out with her, like?'

    Amy carried on staring into the distance but her cheeks went pink.

    'As a matter of fact, I'm not taking Marianne,' Jack said easily. 'And I am inviting someone else.'

    A tiny smile of anticipation tweaked at the corners of Amy's mouth, like a shortlisted awards nominee ignoring the fact that up on the stage her name is being announced.

    No, no, Tilly winced inwardly. Not here, not now, not like this.

    'I've asked Tilly to come along with me and she's said yes.'

    Oh bugger, he said it.

    Amy stiffened as if she'd been shot with a tranquilizer dart. Her gaze accusing, she blurted out, '
What?'

    Stella said bluntly, 'You said you wouldn't.'

    'It's not a date,' Tilly put in hastily, 'and I haven't said yes either. I said I'd ask Max.'

    'Next Friday.' Jack looked over at Max. 'Can you spare her for the evening?'

    'Fine by me. No hanky-panky, mind.' Wagging a finger, Max said, 'Behave yourself.'

    'What's going on?' Eavesdropping on her way to the bar, Marianne's head snapped round. 'What's happening?'

    'Jack's taking
her
.' Amy indicated Tilly.

'I
know
.'

    Oh please, she didn't need this. Tilly took a step back and said, 'This is crazy. Forget it.'

    'Don't be daft. I'm inviting Tilly for a reason.' Jack eyed each of the indignant girls in turn. 'She's been raising money for the charity for years. Now she's moved away from London, this is her chance to get to know the fundraisers down here. They were thrilled when I told them about her.' He smiled easily. 'So who else could I take along as my guest?'

    Marianne's face fell. Amy looked resigned. Stella said suspi ciously, 'Which charity is it?'

    This was the question Tilly had been dreading. Honestly, why did people have to be so
nosy
? The really frustrating thing was, Stella was asking
her
and Jack was waiting for her to give them the answer because he'd told her the name of the charity moments before they'd come back through to the bar.

    Except it had gone, slithered away like mercury, and she couldn't remember now for the life of her what it was. And everyone was standing there waiting, gazing expectantly… OK, it definitely wasn't anything to do with animals, or dolphins, or restoring buildings, or birds, or gardens, or children or AIDS or guide dogs or great crested endangered newts… Damn, she really couldn't remember, it had completely slipped her mind—

    Ooh!

    'Help for Alzheimer's!' Tilly gave a nod of triumph. Phew, just in the nick of time.

    Stella, her tone waspish, said, 'For a minute I thought you'd forgotten.'

    'I nearly did.' She managed a little laugh. 'I support so many charities!'

    'It's a deserving cause,' said Jack.

    'And it's not a date,' Tilly reminded them, because there were still some mutinous faces.

    'Absolutely not a date.' Jack shook his head in agreement. 'God, I'm not even looking forward to it. Sometimes we just have to do our duty, don't we?' He knocked back his drink and grinned. 'Is it my round?'

    Looks of hate were still winging her way as Tilly checked her watch. So this was what happened when you agreed to do someone a favor. If she didn't get run out of town first, she couldn't wait to ask for one in return.

    Was it time to go home yet?

AFTER THREE YEARS IN LA, you'd think she'd be used to its funny little Californian ways but the parties still made Kaye smile. This one, thrown by the director of
Over the Rainbow
, was glitzy and lavish in so many aspects, yet it still ended on schedule—like a birthday party for a class of six-year-olds—at five o'clock on the dot. Even more bizarrely, guests were leaving in chauffeur-driven limos because they were too rich, rather than too paralytic, to drive themselves home. Nearly everyone had spent the afternoon sipping iced mineral water. If any recreational drug-taking had been going on, she hadn't seen any evidence of it. Denzil and Charlene Weintraub's house in the Hollywood Hills had been spectacular, and the dresses and jewels worn by the female guests had dazzled in the sunlight, but in all honesty it wasn't the kind of party you'd remember for the rest of your life. Over here you were expected to network rather than enjoy yourself. Fun was frowned upon and actually eating in this world of size zeros was categorized as a dangerous sport, indulged in only by those foolhardy enough to completely let themselves go.

    Anyway, sod hiring a chauffeur-driven limo for no reason other than to show off. Hitching up her narrow skirt, Kaye slid behind the wheel of her convertible and wondered whether she'd been imagin ing it or if Charlene's manner towards her this afternoon had been a bit odd. Several times she'd caught Charlene looking over at her in a less than friendly fashion. Out by the pool earlier, she'd drawled, 'So, found yourself another man yet, Kaye? One of your own, I mean, rather than somebody else's?'

    Which had been a weird thing to say, hadn't it? Then again, the wife of your director wasn't the kind of person you took issue with. Charlene was pampered, prickly, and famously indulged by Denzil, whose children from his first marriage were all older than she was. Kaye had heard on the grapevine—well, Macy Ventura, who knew pretty much everything about everyone so was as good as any Hollywood grapevine—that Charlene was secretly battling an addiction to painkillers, so it was best to stay on the right side of her. She could be volatile when crossed.

    Putting the car into gear, Kaye reversed out of her parking space and waited for a glossy black stretch limo to maneuver its way past her before heading down the drive. Music, music. She pressed play on the CD player and cranked up the volume as Jennifer Hudson launched into 'And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going.' Oh yes, this was her favorite song of all time. She never tired of it, and those powerful vocals never failed to send shivers down her spine. In fact this was definitely the song she wanted played at her funeral, with the added bonus that any American mourners would be appalled and the British contingent delighted by the choice of lyrics. Amused, Kaye envisaged the scene, maybe with the music emanating from speakers hidden in the lid of the coffin. Max would find that hilarious. Actually, if he had anything to do with it, he'd arrange for the lid to creak open and a fake hand to slide out as the song rose to a crescendo. Moved by the prospect, Kaye sucked air into her lungs and bellowed along with Jennifer, 'And I am
telling
you… I'm not
gooooooinggg
—'

    Shit, what was
that?

    In a split second, the tiny brown creature had appeared out of nowhere, shooting out from behind a palm tree and disappearing under the front wheels before she even had a chance to react. She stamped on the brakes and let out a shriek of fright as the car slewed to a stop on the drive. Oh God, please don't say she'd hit it, even if it was only a rat. She hated rats but that didn't mean she wanted to kill one. Had it escaped or was it dead? It had looked like a rat but was it a rat? Would she have felt the bump if she'd run over it or was the creature too small to make itself—

    'Oh God, oh
no.
' Having stumbled out of the car and dropped to her knees, she saw the sight she'd been most dreading. The little body lay unmoving in the shadows under the car. She'd killed the rat. Screwing up her face, hopelessly squeamish, Kaye knew she had to get it out of the way or she'd crush it beneath the back wheels when she drove off. She had to reach it and drag it towards her. Ugh, rats gave her the creeps, they were—

    'Nooooooo!' shrieked a high-pitched voice in the distance as a door slammed and footsteps came racing down the drive.

    'No,' Kaye croaked as she pulled the rat out from under the car and saw that it wasn't a rat after all. Oh no, oh no, oh no. She went hot, then ice-cold all over, nauseated and appalled by the sight of the tiny creature, Charlene's pet Chihuahua, on the ground.

    'You killed Babylamb! You killed my baby!' Charlene had reached them, panting and distraught. Scooping the little body into her arms, she began rocking to and fro. 'Oh my Babylamb, wake up, wake up…'

    'I'm so sorry. It was an accident, I'm so sorry.' Dimly aware of more footsteps approaching, Kaye shook her head helplessly. 'It was an accident. He just came out of nowhere, ran straight under the car. There was nothing I could do, I'm so sorry.'

    'No you're not! You're lying,' screeched Charlene, eyes ablaze, mouth distorted with hatred. 'You bitch, you did it on purpose!'

    Kaye stumbled backwards, stunned by the ferocity of the attack. 'That's not true, I wouldn't do that, it's not
true
!'

    'You hate me. You're jealous,' Charlene spat vehemently. 'You want Denzil and you can't bear it that I have him. You're deranged,' she went on. 'You're a bunny boiler and a dog killer and I'm going to get you for this. Denzil's my husband and you're not going to take him away from me. You're nothing but a skinny ginger husband stealing tart and you ran over my Babylamb on purpose.'

    'I didn't, I didn't.'

    'Oh, don't lie. Look at the state of you. You're drunk.' Charlene jabbed a bony finger at her. 'And I know you did it on purpose because I saw it happen. I was up there on the balcony and I saw you deliberately swerve to run over him. You wanted to hurt me so you killed my baby.'

    This was a nightmare. Kaye couldn't believe it was happening. Guests, security guards, and household staff hurried over to see what was going on. Her legs lost their ability to hold her up and she collapsed sideways in the passenger seat of her car, protesting her innocence to anyone who'd listen.

    'She's drunk,' Charlene yelled over and over again. 'All through the party she was helping herself to wine. That's when she wasn't eyeing up my husband.'

    'I had one glass of wine.
One glass
,' Kaye protested, but it was no use.

    'She's a bitter, twisted, murdering bitch and she is
finished
in this town!' screeched Charlene, still cradling the dog's body.

    'It was an accident. I'm sorry, I don't know what else I can say.' Kaye had never felt more alone in her life. Nobody believed her, not one person was on her side. Guilt engulfed her because whether or not the fault had been hers, Babylamb was still dead. Burying her head in her trembling hands, she realized for the first time that her tight skirt had split when she'd been reaching under the car.

    'What's going on?' Denzil, the last to reach the crime scene, came lumbering down the drive. Breathing heavily, he slowed to a halt and gazed in horror from Kaye to the tiny bundle in Charlene's skinny arms. 'Ah jeez, not Babylamb.'

    Tears were sliding down Charlene's face, dripping off her re cently remodeled chin. 'She m-murdered him, Denny. She did it on purpose.' Between noisy sobs she said, 'C-call the cops. That bitch is going to pay for this.'