Woman of the Hour (18 page)

‘Gerry won’t come out of his dressing room. Says he can’t go on air!’

‘What?’

‘He’s locked the door and I think he means it.’

‘I’m on my way.’

I rushed down the stairs and along the corridor and stood outside the dressing room that Gerry uses. I tapped on the door.

‘Let me in, Gerry; it’s Liz.’

There was no answer but I could hear movement from within.

‘Come on, love, let me in.’

I heard him moving behind the door, a pause, and then he unlocked the door and stood there facing me. He was crying hopelessly.

‘Anwar’s left me.’

I took him into my arms and hugged him.

‘I can’t go in front of the camera. I can’t do it.’

He had been crying for a while. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose and lips were red and swollen. I gave him another squeeze and stood back.

‘It will all be over in fifteen minutes and then you and I are going to go out for a walk and get a coffee and you can tell me all about it.’

‘I can’t, Liz. I hoped I could, but not today. I just can’t.’

‘Yes you can because you know how much your audience loves you.’

I rubbed my hands up and down his arms and nodded encouragingly. He gulped and twisted his hands together.

‘But I look a fright.’

‘We’ll get Ellen in here super quick and say you have a bad cold, OK?’

Ellen had patched him up as best she could with concealer but Gerry still looked puffy around the face as he sat down on the sofa next to Fizzy. The showman in him kicked in as soon as they came out of the ad break.

‘Got the most frightful cold, darling, but didn’t want our viewers to miss my predictions for next week,’ he said.

‘You’re a star, Gerry. Over to you,’ Fizzy said.

Gerry launched into his forecast. I watched him for three minutes then slipped out of the gallery and hurried upstairs to Julius’s office. He was sitting on his sofa watching the show on the large TV mounted on the wall. Most of his office is high-tech with its ergonomic desk and designer German desk lamp but his chair is an aged leather Baedekar which he’s had for years. None of our offices come anywhere near to Julius’s. He was scribbling notes on his pad as I walked in and I steeled myself to speak to him.

‘I’m going to have to miss the morning meeting. Do you want me to send Simon along to cover?’

‘Why?’

‘Gerry’s had some bad news and I’ve promised to spend time with him, as soon as the show is over.’

‘What bad news?’

‘Personal stuff. I need to get back to the gallery now. OK?’

He was looking at me curiously and I was finding it hard to return his gaze. I looked at my fingernails instead.

‘You know it’s my job to look after the presenters, to make them feel cherished,’ I said.

‘And what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. Why do you ask?’

‘You’ve seemed on edge all week,’ he said.

‘It’s been one hell of a week.’

‘OK. Get Simon to cover the meeting.’

*

Gerry and I walked along by the river. He had put on a pair of sunglasses and as he talked tears continued to slip down his cheeks.

‘We’ve been fighting for months, over the money thing, you know. But this time it’s different. I’m sure he’s met another man.’

He stopped walking and his shoulders shuddered as he was gripped by a deeper bout of crying.

‘Poor love. It’s so painful.’

‘Don’t know how I’m going to go on without him.’

He blew his nose on a large cotton handkerchief. We walked on. This whole area of the riverside has been transformed over the years I’ve been working at StoryWorld. There used to be stretches that were near derelict. Now trendy cafés and galleries and gift shops compete for attention. I suggested a coffee shop I knew that was tucked away from the riverfront and we settled ourselves into a corner.

‘And my finances are blown, you know. He cost me
so
much.’

‘That couldn’t go on, could it?’ I said.

‘No, it could not. He’s a taker, through and through.’

His despair was turning to anger which I thought was probably a good thing. He picked up his large cup of cappuccino and took a gulp.

‘He was totally self-obsessed, like all actors are. Never asked me about how I was feeling,’ he said.

‘Do you have any family close by? Somewhere you can go this weekend?’

‘My friend Dennis is in town. We were going to a musical with him tonight.’

‘That’s good. How do you know Dennis?’

‘We were at school together; he’s my oldest friend. He lives in Bath and comes up several times a year.’

The first few days after a split are the worst, but I remembered how weekends go on being difficult when you are newly on your own.

‘Is he staying at yours?’

‘He was going back on a late train but I could ask him to stay, I suppose. He doesn’t know about Anwar yet.’

His voice wobbled.

‘Do that. When I split up with Ben I found having a close friend around helped so much,’ I said, thinking of Fenton.

*

When I got back to the station Ziggy was sitting on her own. I asked her if there had been any calls for me and she said Betty had called. She was looking pinched and worried, as she has for the last couple of days, and I asked her if everything was all right. She said it was but her face and her body language said the opposite. Something is troubling her and I sat down in Harriet’s seat.

‘You know I haven’t forgotten about finding you a course to go on. I’ve sent for details for one that looks good.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And we will pay the course fees, you know.’

‘That’s cool. Thank you.’

She didn’t look much happier.

‘Is Harry any better?’ she asked.

‘She’s still poorly,’ I said.

‘But she is coming back?’

‘Oh yes.’

I went into my room. I wish she would confide in me what it is that is troubling her. It may have nothing to do with work, of course, but she has asked about Harriet twice.

It was about an hour later when Fizzy appeared at my office holding a posy of pale pink roses which she handed to me. We have fresh flowers in the studio every day. It is one of the things that Fizzy insists on. Some studios opt for fake flowers which can look OK on camera but Fizzy always says they look cheap and nasty. A fresh posy is delivered to the station every morning at six-thirty and is placed in a vase on the table in front of the studio sofa. Most days Fizzy takes the posy home with her, though sometimes she gives it to Ellen or Martine. Today I was the recipient.

‘They’re lovely. Thanks.’

Fizzy was wearing a sky blue wrap-over dress that fitted snugly over her breasts and hips and she perched herself as she always did on the arm of my sofa. It’s as if she doesn’t have the time to sit down. She often has this weirdly manic quality to her; either that or the times when she does a languorous slump. There is no in-between state with Fizzy.

‘Is Gerry OK?’ she asked.

‘He’s in a state. He split up with his partner last night.’

‘I thought it might be something like that. He did look awful this morning, poor old thing.’

‘Less of the poor old thing, if you don’t mind, he’s not much older than me.’

She smiled at that.

‘We all need to rally round and support him through this break-up,’ I said.

‘Of course. You know I’m awfully fond of him.’

‘Will you suggest going for lunch or dinner next week? I know that would mean a lot to him.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She did a mock salute.

‘And where’s Harriet? I haven’t seen her around for a couple of days.’

I wondered if that was the reason she had come to see me.

‘She’s poorly and I told her to stay home till she feels better.’

Fizzy stood up and smoothed her dress over her stomach and hips. I sensed she wanted to say more to me so I smiled at her and said: ‘What have you got planned this weekend?’

‘Oh, nothing special.’

There was a droop to her lips as she said this. Of course Bob would not be available to play at the weekends.

‘Shall
we
do a lunch next week?’ she said.

‘I’d like that.’

‘Friday?’

‘Perfect.’

‘I’ll take you to my club,’ she said.

*

It was late afternoon when Harriet finally called me. She spoke quietly and she sounded subdued.

‘I’m so glad you called. How are you?’

‘I’ve been sleeping a lot since, you know...’

I went through the details I had learned over the last two days; that she needed to report the assault to the police, to the specialist unit at the Met. I told her about the Havens too; how she would get confidential support from them.

‘Until you make a formal complaint to the police I can do nothing here,’ I said.

She made no comment or even a sound as I talked and at one point I asked her if she was still there.

‘Yes, I’m listening,’ she said.

There was still that strange detached tone of voice from her. I had expected tears or anger, not this quietness which unnerved me.

‘I hope that’s all clear, Harriet.’

‘Yes, very clear, thank you.’

‘You’ll think about this.’

‘I’m not going to report him to the police.’

She had said it quietly but firmly.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘He’s such a liar and the woman always gets the blame in these cases. I can’t face it.’

‘Please think about this. There’s a dedicated team at the Met now. Take down the website and check it out.’

I spelled out the links to Sapphire and the Havens but I sensed Harriet was only noting them down because I had asked her to.

‘I can’t talk any more. My father is due home any minute.’

‘Have you told your parents?’

‘No way. I have to go now.’

‘OK. Take care of yourself and please keep in touch. Feel free to call me at any time at work or at home.’

I gave her my home number again and I could hear a man speaking to her. I assumed it was her father. She clicked off the connection without saying goodbye. The whole conversation had been out of kilter and I wondered if she had taken a tranquilliser or a sleeping tablet.

*

It was nearly four when Julius called me.

‘Let’s do the budget meeting now. Can you bring me a printout of your annual spend?’

I couldn’t face being in close proximity to him for an hour or more. It was bound to be a long drawn-out meeting, with Julius haggling over every line.

‘I can’t at such short notice. I have to get away sharpish tonight.’

To my surprise he didn’t argue.

‘Monday afternoon then; have a good weekend,’ he said.

He sounded so normal and so reasonable. Could this be a man who had sexually assaulted a young woman in an edit suite?

Chalk Farm flat, 8 p.m.

Fenton arrived at eight. I had prepared the ingredients for a pasta carbonara because we all love that and I could throw it together in twenty minutes once we were ready to eat. Flo was standing at my side slicing the tomatoes for a salad. She was still barely talking to me. I watched her fierce concentration as she sliced the tomatoes into perfect rings and was filled with a rush of tenderness towards her. Fenton arrived in a flurry of bags and hugs. She pulled out two bottles of Malbec wine for me, my favourite, and a present for Flo wrapped in pink tissue paper. It was an upright black velveteen hand that you could stand on a table and use the outstretched fingers to hang rings and earrings on.

‘I love it’ she said and hugged Fenton.

Fenton is so good with Flo. She would have made a great mum and it is one of the great sadnesses of her life that she can’t have children.

Chalk Farm flat, Saturday

I wanted us to have lunch out as my treat. I’m conscious that Fenton has less money than me because she works for a charity. She would feel awkward if we went somewhere pricey so I suggested we went to a noodle place in Camden Town.

‘Why don’t you ask Rosie along?’ I said to Flo.

We picked Rosie up on the way and sat on the benches and ate our bowls of fragrant noodles with chopsticks. Flo had painted her nails dark blue and Rosie took a picture of them for her Instagram account. Fenton pulled a gift card out of her wallet.

‘I’m in desperate need of a pair of boots. There’s nowhere to buy good boots in Folkestone and Mum gave me this gift card. Is there one of these near here?’

Flo looked at the card. ‘They’ve got a shop in Hampstead.’

‘It’s up the hill, we can go there,’ I said. ‘And what about you two? Do you want to come?’

Rosie had been scrolling through her smart phone and showed it to Flo.

‘I want to see that,’ Flo said.

It was the latest in a dystopian trilogy and was showing at the Odeon in Camden. I gave Flo the money so that she and Rosie could see the film and I could be alone with Fenton. I was rewarded with a peck on the cheek and the girls hurried out of the noodle bar talking non-stop once out of our earshot.

‘She’s a great kid. No problems there,’ Fenton said.

‘She appears to have forgiven me. It must be your benign influence. Come on, let’s go boot hunting.’

We walked to Hampstead up the long hill. It was an invigorating walk with clouds scudding across the sky and red and amber leaves tumbling from the trees.

‘I had this strange stilted conversation with Harriet. She says she won’t report Julius because she’ll be the one who’ll be humiliated if she goes through with it.’

‘She has a point. That happens way too often,’ Fenton said.

‘I know it does but I can’t do anything if she stays silent. It was like she wanted to get off the phone as quickly as she could. She said very little and I didn’t even get to ask her if she was coming back to work.’

‘Poor kid.’

‘The thing I’m still struggling with is that Julius would know that Harriet, as the daughter of Edward Dodd, has the protection of her class.’

‘And you think that would deter him?’

‘I’m sure it would. It’s horrible to think that he’d have less restraint if it was a woman with no connections, but I think that’s how it is with him.’