Woman of the Hour (31 page)

‘But that’s the room I always sleep in.’

I wondered if now was the time to tell her that she wouldn’t be going down to Portsmouth for a while. I left it. She needs to absorb the bad news a bit at a time.

Sitting up in bed later I opened an email from Todd. He wrote that his father had arrived home from hospital that day and the consultant had told them all they can do for him now is palliative care. His father was calm about his approaching death but his mother was distraught. She was leaning on him more and more. He suggested that perhaps we could Skype each other and have a talk. The time difference makes it difficult. The best time to Skype Sydney would be around ten in the morning here and I’m always tied up at work at that time. I wrote back that maybe we could Skype at the weekend. I went on to describe Flo’s disastrous night at the Cat and Mouse and how much it had shaken me. I wished that he was back in the UK and that I could have talked to him about that awful evening. It was clear that Todd would not be coming back to London any time soon.

StoryWorld TV station, London Bridge

Harriet and I met with Guy, the fashion expert, in the Hub and it turned out that he knew Amber and was also acquainted with Julius.

‘Amber assists with the styling on our shoots sometimes. And I’ve met Julius a couple of times at her place,’ he said.

‘He’s our director of programmes,’ I said.

‘Yes, Amber told me that. So what do you want me to do this morning?’

‘You’ll be in our small studio. Speak directly into the camera for ten minutes about any fashion topic you want.’

‘I brought along some photos of this year’s Oscars’ outfits. I thought I could talk about best and worst dressed,’ he said.

We took him through to the small studio. Henry had arranged for a digital technician to fire it up and I sat next to him with Harriet on my left. We watched Guy through the gallery window as he was miked up and told to look into the camera and start talking after the countdown. The light came on and Guy launched into his commentary on the Oscars’ outfits. He held up the first photo to the camera.

‘This is how to do understated elegance in a custom off-the-shoulder Tom Ford gown. Her timeless Hollywood waves and red lips bring some much needed old-school glamour to the awards season. A lot of the stars at this year’s ceremony would have done well to follow her lead. She is showing that less is most definitely more.’

Next he showed us a photo of a younger actor in a dress of bright metallic green with a huge fishtail fanning out at the bottom.

‘The fishtail cut is clearly here to stay and while I can get on board with the Armani version, this is how
not
to do it. The metallic green of the dress is way too mermaid for this shape and the poker-straight slick hair does nothing to save the comparison. Fish out of water comes to mind here.’

And so it went on. He mixed up his good reviews with his bad. He knows his stuff but he made it accessible and made us laugh. I’m sure Fizzy will connect with him and he will be an excellent replacement for Sal. It was the first time in weeks that I felt good about my job. When the screen test was over I told Guy that the slot was his and we wanted him on air at the earliest opportunity. He is raring to go and we walked him to the exit. Harriet was doing fashion speak with him as she saw him to the taxi.

‘Thank you for finding him. He’s perfect because he’ll bring some wit into the show and we’ve been lacking that since Sal went.’

‘I’m so pleased,’ she said.

‘Come in for a minute.’

She followed me into my room.

‘Your trial period is coming to an end and if you want the permanent job of researcher it’s yours.’

She looked the happiest I’d seen her.

‘I’m thrilled, I really am. Thank you so much.’

‘I like your fashion ideas and I also thought you could take over more of the celebrity briefs,’ I said.

The job of writing the celebrity briefs was always an issue in the team. Molly hated doing them so Simon tended to get overloaded. I could see Harriet making that area her own.

‘Yes please, I’d love to. Does Julius know you’re making me permanent?’

‘I haven’t told him yet. I don’t have to clear it with him.’

‘And there’s no way he can block it?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Can we tell the others?’

‘Yes, of course.’

I followed her out.

‘I’m happy to tell you that Harriet will be joining us on a permanent basis.’

Ziggy and Simon looked pleased, Molly less so. Harriet suggested that after work they all go to Hays Galleria up the river and celebrate.

‘Drinks are on me,’ she said. ‘Will you come?’ she asked me.

‘I can’t tonight, sorry. Friday night is Flo’s night, but have a great time.’

I went back into my office. I know why I made Harriet permanent and I’m not proud of it. She doesn’t work as hard as Molly and Simon and she’s thin on ideas, though recently her fashion ideas have been good. But she went to help Flo when she was in danger and that counts for so much.

Around six Harriet, Molly and Simon set off for the pub. I heard Ziggy say she’d join them in a while; she had something she had to do first. Thirty minutes later I was shutting my PC down when Ziggy appeared at my threshold. She came in, closed my door and, grinning widely, she held up a small purple memory stick. I leapt to my feet.

‘Oh my God you’re brilliant.’

She burst out laughing.

‘It took me two minutes to pick the lock and it was lying there in the drawer,’ she said.

We were both euphoric and I hugged her. She had timed it to perfection, slipping into his office when Julius had gone downstairs to change his clothes.

‘I knew he’d be doing that because Martine had sent me to fetch his dinner suit from the cleaners. So I kept watching his office until I saw him coming out carrying the suit.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘Martine had gone so I whipped in there.’

‘Genius. And Harriet will be overjoyed,’ I said.

Ziggy nodded happily. She turned the memory stick over in her hand and then put it into the back pocket of her jeans.

‘And now I’m going to get rid of it,’ she said.

‘Get rid of it?’

‘Yeah; I’m going to throw it in the river.’

I shook my head at that.

‘Let me have it, Ziggy.’

‘No, I don’t want you to have it.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t want you to see it. It’s going in the river.’

‘Please don’t do that.’

‘I don’t want anyone to see it ever again,’ she said.

I could see that she had gained strength from outwitting Martine and cracking the lock on the desk of Julius Jones, the boss of StoryWorld. But I too wanted some of the power that having the memory stick would give me. At last I would have something over Julius.

‘I can understand your feelings but I can do far more for you both if I have it.’

She looked down at the floor and kept her hands in her back pockets. I wanted to plead with her to give me the memory stick but I remembered that if I went on too much about something with Flo she resisted me all the more strongly. And Ziggy was not much older than Flo.

‘I’m going to the pub to see Harry and the others now,’ she said.

‘I’ll walk out with you.’

I grabbed my coat and locked my room. We walked down the stairs to the exit and I saw Julius and Amber standing in the reception area. He was dressed in black tie and looked good in his formal suit; striking and handsome. Amber was wearing a full-length dove-grey evening dress with delicate spaghetti straps and she was fiddling with her beaded clutch bag. They were on their way to that award ceremony Gerry had mentioned. Julius gave me a small nod but Amber ignored me and I felt frumpy as I walked past them. Ziggy and I parted company outside the building.

‘Please don’t throw it away,’ I said.

Chalk Farm flat, Friday evening

I had a disconsolate Friday night veg-out with Flo. I was worried that Ziggy would throw the screen test into the river; that seemed in character. She has been screwed over all her life, why should she trust me? The sight of Julius going off to that award ceremony with Amber all dressed up to the nines had got to me too. He behaves like a total shit but still manages to continue with his privileged life.

I laid out our usual Friday night feast of pizza and nachos and dips. Flo wanted to watch back-to-back episodes of
Gossip Girl
on Netflix. She has a crush on the lead ‘bad boy’ character Chuck Bass. I sat next to her on the sofa but I wasn’t taking it in.

Chalk Farm flat, Sunday morning

Ben called me at eight-thirty this morning, which was early for a Sunday. I pulled myself up into a sitting position as he said he was getting the next train to London and wanted to take us out to lunch. I was surprised and when I told Flo later she said in a suspicious voice:

‘Did you tell him about the other night?’

‘No, I did not. This is his idea to go out for lunch.’

I did wonder why he was doing this. He was broke, apparently. Maybe he was trying to make amends to Flo for her not going down to Portsmouth.

*

Ben arrived several hours later. Flo ran to answer the door and he hugged her for a long moment and kissed the top of her head.

‘Beautiful sproglet,’ he said.

It’s been ages since he’s been here and about a year since I last saw him. His hair has receded and if anything this makes his large brown eyes, the eyes I fell for, even more striking. We gave each other an awkward hug.

‘Good to see you,’ I said.

‘Come see my room, Dad.’ Flo grabbed his arm.

‘I’m making coffee,’ I said.

When they emerged we sat at the kitchen table and I poured from the cafetière. He was looking around our room and he got up and walked over to my bookshelf. My little art deco figure
Luer
was in pride of place on the top shelf, holding her onyx ball aloft.

‘I’m glad you’ve still got her,’ he said.

‘She’s beautiful,’ I said.

He nodded and I thought he looked apprehensive as he said: ‘Lunch is on me. Any suggestions?’

‘There’s a good food pub near here, The Wounded Hart, and we can walk there.’

Ben and Flo walked in front of me. She was chatting to him all the way and every now and then he put his arm around her, pulled her towards him and kissed the top of her head. The Wounded Hart is an old coaching inn on the junction of two roads and inside it has red stained glass at the top of its windows and scrubbed wooden tables throughout. Flo and I ordered the roast chicken with all the trimmings and Ben chose the roast beef. He asked for a bottle of red wine.

‘Do we need a bottle?’ I asked.

‘I think so,’ he said.

We must have looked like a typical happy family enjoying a Sunday roast together but Ben was keyed up. He downed his first glass of wine fast.

‘How are Grace and Pete?’ I asked.

‘They’re good. The best mum and dad you could ask for.’

He said that with feeling. When we had finished our meal he topped up my glass again and sat back.

‘I need to tell you both some news.’

We looked at him expectantly.

‘I’m going away for a bit. I’ve got myself a job overseas.’

‘Overseas?’ I said.

‘Yes, an amazing job in Dubai. They want me to oversee all the aerial photography for a major land development out there.’

I was stunned at this news and Flo looked confused as Ben went on talking and explaining how great it was going to be.

‘It’s such an exciting project. They’re creating land from the sea and building on it and your old dad is going to earn a mint.’

‘This is definite?’ I asked.

‘My appointment was confirmed on Friday.’

Flo leaned into him.

‘When are you going, Dad?’

‘In a week, darling sproglet.’

She flinched at that and I gave Ben a cold look.

‘I’ll be back several times a year and you can come visit me.’

‘It’s a long way,’ I said, and my voice was tight.

‘Seven hours, not too bad,’ he said.

‘But I won’t see you very often,’ Flo said.

‘Darling girl, it’s not for ever. Only for a couple of years.’

‘I guess we can WhatsApp and Skype,’ she said.

‘That’s my best girl.’

He put his arm around her shoulders and avoided returning my look while she sipped at her diet Coke.

Chalk Farm flat, Sunday night

I called Ben after ten and said all the things that I couldn’t say at our lunch.

‘You’ll never see Flo and these years are critical.’

‘It’s the only way and it’s not for ever. I can’t get work here. I’ve got to get out of the UK for a year or two and start again.’

‘Flo needs you in her life now.’

‘She needs a father who can provide for her. This way I earn a lot of money. Think how much that will help when she goes to college. And I could pay for skiing trips too.’

‘That’s a cheap shot. Skiing trips don’t matter. Having a father in her life does.’

‘I knew you’d give me a hard time. I knew it. We’re not talking about a bit of Brie this time. We’re talking about how I can rebuild my life.’

He was referring to a ridiculous row we’d had years ago. We were recently installed in our small house in East Finchley and I’d invited the neighbours around for drinks and had prepared some nibbles. The centrepiece of the spread was a large triangle of Brie which I’d kept out of the fridge and it was oozing onto the plate to perfection. Ben came in just before the guests arrived. He poured himself a drink, cut off the top of the triangle of Brie and popped it into his mouth. I had gone into a meltdown about how he’d ruined my spread and he’d said it was an example of my obsession with appearances.

‘Will you ever let that go!’ I said.

‘I was hoping that for once you would give me your support. But no chance of that!’

We hung up on each other and I realised that I was furious, that the emotion I’ve been holding down for years is anger. I felt like screaming. I felt like hurling the little figure he had given me across the room. I grabbed my coat and told Flo through her door that I was popping out to the off-licence. I had to get out of the flat and walk some of my anger off or I would break something. I am so angry about everything: about all the compromises I have to make at work; about trying to keep all the balls in the air; about the financial pressures and about how little Ben does for Florence.