The Liberation of Alice Love (4 page)

“Any sign of the man himself yet?” Ella scanned the room, excited.

“Chris Carmel?” Alice looked for the broad shoulders and blond, chiseled looks of the latest Hollywood god. “I thought he was gay now.”

“No! Really? God, soon there won’t be anyone left to fantasize about during mediocre sex.”

Alice laughed for what felt like the first time all day. “Never mind. There’s always George. Or Brad. Or Jake. Or Clive…”

Ella grinned. “Ah, the trusty backups. Ooh, what’s this?” She reached for the glossy estate agent’s folder spilling out of Alice’s bag. “Looking at flats? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to take the plunge and buy.”

“I think so.” Alice nodded. “I can’t be like Julian and put things off forever. Besides, I’ve got the deposit lined up, and my landlord is being a pain again. He sent me a note, warning me about noise after you came over for dinner last week. Apparently, the sound of our heels on the floor kept him up past ten.”

“What!” Ella exclaimed. “We were watching
Empire Records
, not doing the bloody flamenco!”

Alice shrugged. “I suppose he’s got superhuman hearing. I’m on probation now.”

“Bastard.” Ella flipped through the brochure. “So let me guess, you’re dreaming of your perfect little bijou flat, with bay windows and a balcony?”

“Not quite.” The estate agent had pointed her toward a new development in a gated area set back from Stoke Newington High Street.

Ella frowned at the photos. “This? It’s kind of soulless. I suppose I pictured you somewhere with, I don’t know, character.”

“Character costs,” Alice told her, a little wistful. The red-brick and white, boxy rooms may not look impressive, but on a single income, she was lucky to find anything reasonable at all. “This place is a solid investment.”

“If you say…” Ella put the brochure aside. “I’m sure it’s great in person.” She looked around. “Come on, let’s make a dash for the loos before this thing starts. I heard it goes on for hours.”

***

They took turns maneuvering in the tiny bathroom, freshening their lipstick while the other stall remained locked and suspiciously silent—save the odd shuffle and sniffing noise.

“Lily Larton,” Ella said, the moment they left the room. She tapped her nose meaningfully. “I heard they dragged her out of rehab to do the promo circuit for this.”

“How do you even know this stuff?” Alice asked, laughing.

“Never underestimate the PR people. We have eyes everywhere!” Ella gave a mysterious look. They took up position on the edge of the room. “So how was the party? Did Flora smother you with cupcakes and bonbons?”

Alice felt herself blush.

“Aha!” Ella exclaimed. “You have gossip!”

“It’s nothing,” Alice protested, self-conscious. “I just…There was a man,” she admitted. “And he sort of…propositioned me.”

“Alice! Was he hot?”

Alice exhaled, remembering Nathan and their curious conversation. “Yes. Kind of…rugged? And charming too. But what was I supposed to do?” she protested. “Leave with a complete stranger? I’d probably have wound up dead in an alleyway somewhere.”

“Or enjoying a hot, sweaty marathon of mind-blowing sex.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Right. Because that happens. Anyway, there’s no point—he hasn’t called.”

“Uh, you could have given him a chance—”

“Ella! You know, that’s just not me.”

“Well, maybe it should be.”

Alice was just about to launch a defense of staying safe and well, without her limbs hacked off, when they were interrupted by a high-pitched voice, cutting through the noise of the crowd.

“Alice! Sweetie!”

Heads turned to watch the angular woman sashay toward them, dropping air kisses on both of Alice’s cheeks. “Look at you!” The woman cried, eyes bright beneath a black, blunt-cut fringe. “It’s been forever!”

“Since last month, you mean.” Alice laughed. She turned to Ella. “I forget, have you met Cassie?”

“I’m Alice’s oldest friend.” Cassie thrust a hand at Ella to shake. Wide-legged pinstripe trousers hung off her narrow frame, a simple white vest highlighting her perfect collarbone. “We jumped rope together in the playground, would you believe?”

“Great to meet you.” Ella barely had time to reply before Cassie turned back. “He’s here, isn’t he?” “He” would be the all-consuming ex.

Alice paused. “I’m not sure—”

“God, I knew I shouldn’t have come.” Cassie shook her head, unleashing a torrent of chatter while Alice could only sit, a captive audience. “But Tony said, I need to do the red carpet. You know I’ve got a callback next week for the new Andrew Davies thing? Corsets and crinoline, down in the depths of Dorset for a month.” She shifted, radiating nervous energy. “God, I’m dying for a smoke. I don’t suppose…? But no, you never touched the things. Smart girl.” Cassie glanced around the room, eyes widening as she spotted someone: “Shit, Devorah!”

Grabbing Alice’s arm, Cassie ducked behind her. Seeing as she was at least three inches taller and twice as noticeable, Alice doubted it would be an effective evasive maneuver.

“What’s going on?” Ella looked over with clear amusement.

Cassie sighed, peeking out from behind Alice’s neat plait. “She hasn’t forgiven me for spilling gin on her Givenchy loaner at the BAFTAs.”

“Drama.” Ella grinned at Alice.

She shifted, uncomfortable. “Can I move yet?”

“No!” Cassie yelped. “She’s looking right at us.”

“No,” Alice corrected gently, peeling Cassie off her. “She’s stalking Chris Carmel, like every other single woman here tonight.”

“And half the taken ones too,” Ella piped up. “And every gay man between here and Brighton—”

“Ooh, she’s looking away. See you soon? Call me!” With another flutter of kisses, Cassie disappeared into the crowd.

“Wow.” Ella said faintly, watching her go. “Was she always like this?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Alice agreed. Technically, the “oldest friend” routine was a somewhat rose-tinted view of the past. They’d been in primary school together, yes, but while Cassie ruled the year-five cliques from her prized seat under the apple tree, Alice had been staying in at lunch, reading in the book corner. It wasn’t until later, when Alice started at Grayson Wells, that their paths had crossed again.

“See, this is what I’m talking about.” Ella turned back to Alice: “You need some more excitement in your life. I mean, you have Vivienne, and Flora, and Cassie there buzzing around with all their drama, but what about you?”

Alice made a noise of protest. “I have plenty of excitement. Hello, banking fraud!”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Spending hours on the phone to some call-center drone is not excitement. I’m serious, Alice, you spend all your time making their lives run smoothly, and what do you get?”

“So you’re saying I’m a doormat?” Alice folded her arms. She knew Ella meant well, but she couldn’t help feel a touch defensive.

“No, that’s not it.” Ella must have realized Alice was offended, because her tone became soothing. “It would be different if you were, if you just lay back and let them trample all over you. But you’re brilliant, and capable—you swoop in and set their whole lives straight.”

Alice shrugged. “So?”

“So…Oh, I don’t know.” Ella sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I just never see you be selfish, that’s all.”

“I thought that was a good thing,” Alice replied. At least, it was to her. Selfish women wreaked havoc; they caused pain. They left.

“Alice.” Ella was undeterred.

“What?” She shrugged again. “I just don’t see what good it would do me to burst into tears the whole time and throw tantrums the way Flora does.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ella noted with a wry expression. “Men love high-maintenance women.”

“Where did you read that?” Alice snorted, “
Cosmo
?”

“
Glamour
, actually.” Ella laughed. “And I’m right. It makes them feel like they’re in some kind of noir film. You know, caught up in a femme fatale’s plot.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Ella exhaled. “You’re probably right. But not about the drama. You need to go crazy sometimes.”

“Sure.” Alice felt a smile tug the edge of her lips. “I’ll walk around my flat with heels on past nine p.m. Rebellious enough for you?”

“It’s a start.”

Chapter Four

Alice tried not to think about what Ella had said, but as she spent the next week on hold with her bank, fielding overwrought emails from Cassie about the precise meaning of “good to see you” in a note from the ex and avoiding Flora’s increasingly insistent demands for lunch—“or drinks, or dinner, or maybe even shopping?”—she couldn’t help but remember the instructions to be more of a drama queen. Dramatic, Alice would never be, but perhaps there was something to be said for putting herself first and using her brisk efficiency to further her own career for now, instead of treading water, organizing everyone else.

Delivering a stack of contracts to Vivienne one afternoon, Alice decided to take the plunge. Again.

“Do you have a moment?” she asked, as Vivienne carelessly scrawled her signature over every page, not even glancing at the dense print. The drawing room was dim, with lace drapes shrouding the windows, and Vivienne hunched behind her desk like a gothic Miss Havisham.

She looked up, dark eyes lined with a swipe of black liner behind the tiny quizzing glasses she donned for all her contract signing. “Of course, darling, what do you need?”

“Well, I was hoping we could talk again about me agenting.” Alice took a seat in one of the faux Louis XV chairs, strangely nervous. She was out of her comfort zone here, asking for something she couldn’t back up with charts and figures. She’d negotiated pay raises every year and expanded her benefits package, but this was new, uncertain territory.

Balancing her organizer on her knees, Alice flipped to the page she’d prepared with bulleted talking points. “I know I brought it up earlier in the year,” she began with a purposeful tone. “But I’ve been thinking more about it, and I think now would be a good time to start transitioning away from the strictly legal side of things.”

Even though Alice had picked her words carefully to avoid any mention of “change,” “leaving,” or “difference,” Vivienne laid down her fountain pen and sat back, assessing Alice with one of those swift gazes. “What’s brought this on? I thought things were running so smoothly.” Her tone held a note of surprise. “You’ve been doing such great work here. I swear, we’d be lost without you keeping track of those things. You’re my most valuable asset.”

That was what was so seductive about Vivienne’s flattery: it was undoubtedly sincere—just deployed at moments to suit her best.

“We’d find someone to replace me—there’s no problem there.” Alice tried to sidestep her argument. “And it’s not as if I’d be leaving. I just think…” She tried to think of the best way to put it without sounding ungrateful. After all, Vivienne had only hired her in the beginning as a favor to her father, who had been a client of hers when he wrote a biography (on “the Byron of botanicals,” as Vivienne billed it). Without that first break, Alice would still have been buried in one of those chrome and glass towers in the city. Or, more likely, unemployed from the last round of banking redundancies.

But that favor couldn’t last her forever. Taking a short breath, Alice said firmly, “I’d like more of a challenge, and I think my skills would work for the clients.”

Vivienne gave her an indulgent look. “I hear you, Alice, I do, but we have been through this before. Agenting requires…a certain flair. Some cutthroat instinct.” Rising from her seat, she circled the desk and settled into the next chair, smiling at Alice fondly. “You’ve no idea what kind of stress and pressure we’re under. I’ve got to be out, doing deals, sniffing out the best roles all the time, never a moment to relax!”

Now was probably not the time to remind Vivienne about the two-hour block on calls she’d had that morning because she simply had to take a nap for her poor headache.

“You’re a wonderful lawyer,” Vivienne continued, patting her hand. “But really, don’t you think you’re suited best…behind the scenes?”

The words sat between them, undoubtedly true.

“Anthony isn’t particularly cutthroat,” Alice tried. “And his clients are happy.”

“Yes, but he’s got a reputation to fall back on.” Vivienne waved her objection away with a flutter of her hand. “Nowadays, it’s about people like Tyrell, who can really close the deal. Did you know he’s signed three clients away from their old agencies this month?”

“No,” Alice admitted quietly. “I didn’t.” Poaching was another thing she couldn’t abide by: tempting successful stars to abandon their old agents, dangling promises of better parts, bigger deals. Loyalty should count for something.

“You see?” Vivienne seized on her obvious reluctance. “You just don’t have what it takes—and there’s nothing wrong with that. Your contract work here is stellar—stellar!”

Alice steeled herself, making one last attempt. “But I really think I could bring a fresh perspective on some problems.” She glanced down at her notes. “Take Rupert, for example. He’s not booked a job for months now, and I think the issue is he’s not suited to the leading-man roles we keep sending him for. If we just tried something new, maybe for a supporting part, the best friend, or the—”

Vivienne cut her off. “Darling, you don’t need to worry. Rupert got a callback for the lead in the new BBC costume drama just the other day. You see,” she added with a knowing look, “that’s another thing you need for agenting: the ability to hold the course even through tough times. Sometimes our clients can toil for years, unnoticed, before getting that big break. It wouldn’t do to just sell them short because you lose faith now, would it?”

Alice exhaled, her earlier resolve fading. “I suppose not…”

She should have picked her moment better: when Vivienne was full of post-spa languor or celebrating a particularly large commission check. Instead, she’d found her in a lucid moment, when nothing slipped past without a fight. Defeat was inevitable.

Alice closed her organizer. “Well, thanks for talking with me.” She managed a smile, but her disappointment must have shown because Vivienne flew into sympathetic mode. “Oh, sweetie, don’t feel bad. You know I’m only looking out for your best interests—you’ve been with me so long. Now, how about we take the afternoon and do tea at the Wolseley? It’s been ages since we caught up, just the two of us.”

“I can’t,” Alice began. “I have a pile of work and—”

“Never mind that!” Vivienne was already up, checking her lipstick in one of the gilt-edged mirrors and reaching for her pashmina. “Work will wait. We need some time to unwind!” She left the room in her usual swirl of expensive fabrics and perfume, and Alice, resigned to at least another six months of checking termination clauses, had no choice but to follow. At least rejection by Vivienne came catered with petits fours and champagne.

***

“The problem is, she has a point.” Alice curled up with her phone later that afternoon, slightly woozy from the Veuve Clicquot Vivienne had insisted on buying. Contracts were probably best left alone in this state.

“Excuses, excuses,” Ella replied in a singsong voice. Alice could hear her munching on some crisps. “I won’t play devil’s advocate for you.”

“I’m not making excuses!” Alice insisted. “It’s not as if I’m toiling away, unappreciated. I’m successful, and well paid.”

“And bored out of your mind.”

“I have independence,” Alice continued. “And even if I tried to make it as an agent somewhere else, then I’d be starting from scratch as a trainee, or even an intern. I’m too old to move backward like that, not if I want to buy a place of my own. It’s too much of a risk.”

Ella sighed. “There’s really nothing I can say, is there? You’re set on being safe and dull and stable for the rest of your life.”

“Yes,” Alice replied, defiant. “You don’t understand. I don’t have the luxury of wafting around like Cassie and Flora. They assume someone’s going to be there to pick up the pieces, but I can’t do that. I’m on my own, so why ruin everything on some foolish whim?”

The more Alice thought about it, the more she convinced herself this was for the best. Embarking on a radical career change at her age? It was ludicrous. Better by far that she focus on taking the next sensible step she’d always planned: buying a flat of her own. So, as the next days drifted past in a blur of subclauses and residual payment exemptions, Alice swallowed her disappointment and turned her attentions instead to estate agent brochures and home-décor magazines, dreaming of the one thing that would make her steady wage worthwhile. A home all of her own.

***

“Miss Love?”

“Yes, hi.” Alice bobbed up from the row of scratchy blue seats. After two long afternoons there filing paperwork about her stolen card, she felt like the bank was a second home to her now, full of familiar leaflet stands and a row of tired assistants behind the glass partition. This time, however, she was actually there by choice, not necessity.

A graying man stuck out his hand, coughing slightly. “Mr. Weatherton, I’ll be your adviser. If you’ll just come back here…”

Alice shook his damp palm and trotted after him, clutching her neat binder of statements and payroll records. She was starting to feel excited about venturing onto the property ladder. Scared, yes—after all, it was only her entire life savings she was putting on the line—but confident too. This was what adults did, wasn’t it? Put down roots, made a home. And finally, she’d be able to pick the color of her paint and the style of her curtains without some onerous landlord watching her every move.

Mr. Weatherton ushered her into a cluttered office and gestured for her to sit. “Now, you’re thinking about loan options?” He peered at some papers.

“A mortgage, yes. Your HomePlus variable package.” Alice pulled out the thick wedge of application forms.

He looked up, frowning. “I’m sorry, I, uh, think we have our wires crossed. I thought you wanted to talk about extending your overdraft, or some kind of loan arrangement.”

“No…” Alice shook her head slowly. “It’s a mortgage I need. See, I’ve already filled in most of the application.” She passed him the papers, marked with pencil, just to be on the safe side. “I just need you to complete the rest. Do you need a minute to find the right file?” she asked, watching him flip through the folder.

Mr. Weatherton looked awkward. “There seems to have been some misunderstanding. I’m not sure who you’ve spoken with, but we have very clear borrower guidelines, and, uh, given the recent change in your credit rating, and lack of funds with the bank…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m afraid you just don’t qualify.”

Alice looked at him, speechless.

“See, it states quite clearly in the literature that all agreement is based on your reliability as a borrower.” He helpfully slid her application back to her, as Alice scanned her own leaflets, trying to follow what he was saying. “Our credit checks show the, uh, worrying state of your current finances, so the best you can hope for is a high-rate loan.” Mr. Weatherton glanced down at his file. “Also, I see here that you’ve emptied your savings account with us. Ms. Love, I shouldn’t need to tell you that you’ll have to show some proof of your ability to pay a deposit before we can even begin to work a mortgage agreement. It’s all laid out in the subclauses…”

Alice stopped listening. All she could hear was her blood, thundering loudly in her ears, and those few, terrible words.

It took her an eternity to remember how to breathe, and another few moments until she could manage to speak.

“What do you mean, ‘emptied my savings account’?”