Katy Carter Wants a Hero (37 page)

The next morning I’m up with the lark, or rather, in the case of Tregowan, the gulls, and as I make breakfast I can’t stop yawning. I’ve hardly slept a wink, firstly because I’m so angry about my calls from Ollie being screened and secondly because the endless squeaking from Mads and Richard’s bed is pretty hard to ignore. I almost wish I’d gone back to Gabriel’s, but I’m so mad at Seb I don’t think I can trust myself not to rip his head off.

Besides, I’ve got so much to do. I hardly know where to start. I rest my bottom on the Aga and munch some toast, but I feel too wound up to eat and drop it back on the plate practically untouched. Blimey! I’ve lost my appetite. Maybe I am like Millandra after all.

And talking of Millandra, I really ought to grab my manuscript and do something with it. It won’t get very far sitting on the coffee table up at Smuggler’s Rest. And I’m going to have to hope that somebody wants to buy it, because I’ve made another decision in the silent watches of the night, based on my new honesty-is-best policy.

I’m going to finish this whole ridiculous business with Gabriel.

He’s had a few hassle-free months out of me. Any longer and
Hiya!, Hello
! et al. will start speculating about engagements and before I know it I’ll be dressed in leopardskin, draped across a sofa and showing off a ring the size of an ostrich egg so ostentatious that even Liberace would heave. Seriously, I wouldn’t put anything past Gabriel. He’s obsessed with his career. Still, I’m sure Seb can orchestrate us a fairly dramatic split. I’ll even go on the record and say what a fantastic lover Gabriel is if it makes him feel any better.

‘Can you please keep it down?’ groans Mads, stumbling into the kitchen and blindly shoving the kettle under the tap. ‘Some of us are seriously shattered this morning.’

‘If you must stay up all night shagging, what do you expect?’

Mads laughs and pushes her tangled hair back from her face. ‘I feel like I’m on honeymoon all over again. I love him so much.’

‘That’s fantastic, babes!’ I say, giving her a hug. Ollie misses me and he’s coming to the party to see me, so all is well in my world too and I feel generous to just about everyone. Except maybe bloody Seb. ‘I’m really pleased for you.’

‘We’ve talked and talked!’ carries on Maddy, throwing open the window and inviting in a fresh salt breeze. ‘And we’re going to go away, just like we planned, and we’re going to try for a baby. Everything is coming together at last.’

I open my mouth to tell her my news but she is too excited and I shut it again. This is her time to be happy. Hopefully mine will come later. Perhaps I should go to Truro and buy a killer frock just to guarantee it? Mind you, if Ol sees me in a killer frock he’ll probably die laughing. Maybe I’ll just stick to the old faithful velvet flares.

‘Morning!’ Bob the postie sticks his head through the kitchen window, holding out a sheaf of letters. ‘Lovely day!’

‘Oh yes,’ agrees Mads. ‘It’s amazing!’

‘Where’s the Rev?’ asks Bob, looking hopefully at the kettle. ‘Got Saturday off?’

‘Something like that.’ Mads closes her eyes and raises her face to the sun. ‘Richard is spending the day in bed.’

‘Not well? Poor bugger,’ sympathises Bob. ‘Just as well I told the Bishop not to bother coming up. I said I heard someone yowling like they were in pain.’

‘I was singing!’ I say indignantly.

‘The Bishop?’ Mads is momentarily plucked from her fluffy land of shagged-out bliss. ‘What did he want?’

‘Nothing important,’ Bob tells her. ‘He said he didn’t want to disturb you on your day off, but he wanted you to know that he was borrowing the minibus because his car’s in the garage and that it hasn’t been nicked. He said to tell you he’ll unpack all the boxes of Bibles when he gets to the cathedral. They’re a bit short apparently.’

‘Fuck!’ Mads drains of colour and flies out of the front door, clad only in her slippers and dressing gown.

‘What did I say?’ asks Bob, helping himself to my leftover toast.

I’m laughing too much to even try to explain, so Bob gives up and wanders away, muttering about mad incomers as he munches his second-hand breakfast.

I sort the post out, mainly bills for Richard and a letter to Mads from Anna Spring, and one neatly typed envelope for me. I rip it open and almost fall down with shock.

It’s from James.

Katy,

Since you refuse to answer my messages or contact me in any way I am faced with no choice but to write to you
.

Our financial affairs need addressing. I assume that since your circumstances have changed you are now in a position to offer me a respectable settlement
.

I look forward to seeing you on the occasion of your godmother’s seventieth birthday
.

Yours in anticipation,

James

I screw up the letter and lob it into the bin. What is it with James and money? Why he thinks I, or to be more accurate Gabriel, should give him any is beyond me. And aren’t I the one without the house and assets? Shouldn’t he be paying me? Surely his credit can’t be that crunchy?

I’m filled with a sick feeling at the thought of seeing James again. I don’t have a clue who Damocles is but I’m getting very tired of always having his sword dangling above my head. I wish Jewell would ask me before she invites random men in my life to her birthday parties. Why can’t she get her kicks out of knitting and Werther’s Originals like all the other old people?

My phone may be cracked but it still works. I think I know somebody who can shed some light on all this. Without hesitating I speed-dial Millward Saville and ask to be put through to Ed.

‘Hello? Edward Grenville speaking.’

‘Hello, Ed,’ I say, feeling surprisingly pleased to hear his hee-haw tones. I never had anything against Ed. It was always Sophie and James who did their best to make me feel as comfortable as Kate Moss in a chocolate factory. ‘It’s Katy, Katy Carter.’

‘Katy Carter! Good God!’ Ed couldn’t sound more surprised. ‘How the devil are you? You and your new actor chappie? Sophie showed everyone that spread you did in
Hiya
!. Told all her chums that she knows you.’

‘Actually, Ed, this isn’t really a social call. I’m ringing up because I’m a bit concerned about James. I’m getting the oddest letters from him. He keeps asking for money.’

There’s a deathly silence at the end of the line, apart from a faint grinding, which is possibly the sound of the cogs in Ed’s brain turning. ‘Ah,’ he says at last. ‘There’s a bit of a story there, old girl. The thing is… gosh, Katy, this is dashed awkward. James doesn’t work here any more.’

I experience a sudden stab of guilt. ‘Is that because of the dinner party?’ If it is, no wonder James feels entitled to my money.

‘Dinner party?’

‘You must remember?’ I can’t believe I have to remind him; it’s seared on my memory for life. ‘Lobsters? Cactus? Red setter in the office?’

‘Oh yes!’ Ed chortles. ‘Tremendous fun! Julius still laughs about it.’

I’m glad somebody does.

‘But no, it’s nothing to do with the dinner party.’ Ed lowers his voice so that it’s slightly less booming. People in Australia will have to strain their ears now to hear. ‘The problem is that James got involved in some stuff.’

‘Stuff? What, drugs, you mean?’ And I thought I was the one with a Nurofen addiction.

‘No!’ Ed says quickly, almost as quickly as Mads is running along the quay after the minibus. ‘It’s nothing like that. It’s financial stuff. He was a bit of an idiot, got involved in some insider business.’ I can practically see him tapping his nose. ‘He had some tips from an insider source about a takeover and took some pretty heavy losses. You know how it is.’

Erm. No, I don’t actually. All I know about the world of high finance comes from watching
Wall Street
in the Eighties. Red braces, Greed is Good and Lunch is for Wimps is about the extent of my knowledge.

‘Is that bad?’

‘About as bad as it gets,’ Ed says. ‘It’s illegal, Katy. And it wasn’t a recent thing either. James had got himself into a right state. He owes hundreds of thousands, and that’s a conservative estimate, I’m afraid. The speculations go back years.’

My mouth is dry. ‘How many years?’

‘It’s hard to say, but at least four I should think. It got worse about the time you two got together, actually. He said you had a rich aunt who was on her last legs. She was going to bung you guys some cash as a wedding present?’

I know I don’t love James any more, maybe never did if I’m painfully honest, but it’s never nice to have your worst suspicions confirmed, is it? Nobody likes to be used.

What an idiot. He must have seen me coming. And I was a pushover; no, I was worse than a pushover, because I was grateful, pathetically grateful, that someone so successful and who was the antithesis of all that my crazy parents stood for was actually interested in me.

It had seemed too good to be true and it was.

Ollie was right. James must have thought all his birthdays and Christmases has come at once. No wonder he couldn’t wait to get that ring on my finger.

‘Thanks, Ed,’ I say. ‘I think I’ve heard enough.’

‘Sorry, old bean.’ Ed coughs awkwardly. ‘Unpleasant business, I know. Julius had to let him go, less negative publicity for the firm and all that. Malcolm Saville was furious and of course Alice dropped him like a hot brick. I think poor old James is pretty desperate. Rumour has it that he hasn’t got long to settle his debts.’

We say goodbye and I sit for a moment nursing the phone and chewing my bottom lip. There’s a feeling in the pit of my stomach like a pack of hyenas are having a good old gnaw. You don’t live with someone for several years without learning something about them, and one thing I know about James is that he can be pretty ruthless when pushed. I think Jake and Millandra can safely vouch for that.

Maybe now is a good time to take up nail-biting again? It’s either that or get Richard to shove a few prayers into the ether, but judging from the speed Mads is now haring up the path, I think he may need all the prayers for himself.

I think it’s time to make myself scarce and head off to Smuggler’s Rest. Hopefully by the time I’ve hiked up there I won’t be feeling quite so savage towards Seb and Gabriel.

Otherwise they may need more than prayers to help them.

The walk up to Smuggler’s Rest is far from soothing, and with every stride my blood boils and my head pounds. By the time I push the front door open I’m seething so much it’s a miracle I don’t combust there and then and leave a smoking pair of wellies on the Delabole slate floor. How dare Seb and Gabriel decide who I can and can’t speak to? That was never in our agreement!

The thought of sneaky Seb manipulating me by screening my calls makes me wild, and I know this had to have been his idea because quite frankly Gabriel doesn’t have the intelligence to think up such a nasty little scheme. He might be beautiful, but when God gave out brains Gabe was far too busy preening in a mirror to turn up and collect his share. But this doesn’t mean he’s off the hook. No way! From now on he can fend for himself, because as far as I’m concerned my summer job’s well and truly over. I’d rather babysit Luke and Leia for the next six months than spend another second pretending to be Gabriel’s girlfriend.

Maybe Richard has a point, I admit grudgingly, as I slam the front door so hard that one of Gabe’s BAFTAs falls off the dresser. There’s a lot to be said for honesty in relationships and it certainly makes life easier. Maybe it’s time I sent Richard to have a chat with his famous neighbour and Seb.

A lecture from Richard is the
least
they deserve.

Luckily for Gabriel he’s in the shower when I arrive, and Seb’s cloistered in the office deep in conversation on his mobile, which gives me a few moments to get my breath back and simmer down a little. It probably won’t help matters if they both end up wearing their bollocks as earrings, even if it makes me feel better. I need to be calm and in control, don’t I? I’m shored up by justifiable anger and icy fury because I’m in the right, for heaven’s sake!

Or at least as much in the right as a girl who’s lied to most of Britain for three months can be.

While I wait for Gabriel to appear — which may take some time if past experience is anything to go by, because he could teach Marie Antoinette a thing or two about doing her toilette — I stomp around the kitchen oblivious to the beautiful views and the golden sunshine bouncing off the solid oak surfaces. The place is a pit: plates are piled in the butler’s sink, a week’s worth of grease festers in the grill pan and the surfaces are speckled with coffee granules. Gabriel might look divine but he lives like a pig, and good luck to Frankie if they ever move in together. Even though cleaning up after him isn’t part of my official role as his girlfriend, I vent my bad temper on the mess, crashing plates into the dishwasher and slamming pans into cupboards while poor Mufty cowers in his basket and wonders what’s got into the madwoman in the kitchen.

‘Fury, that’s what!’ I tell him, flinging a bin bag out of the kitchen door and almost taking out a seagull. ‘How dare Gabriel and Seb think they can run my life? Who the hell do they think they are?’

It’s strange that only a few months ago James totally ran my life and, feeble and apathetic as it was, I let him. So maybe I did believe he knew best and that he was only guiding me for my own good. That turned out to be total rubbish at best and emotional abuse at worst.

Thank God I got out when I did.

‘If Gabriel
dares
to try and pull the same stunt he’ll be wearing one of these pans,’ I tell the worried-looking Mufty as I heave another one out of the sink. ‘No more Mrs Nice Katy!’

I catch a glimpse of myself in the stainless-steel fridge; it isn’t just the sleek hair and slimmer frame that are different, but the steely glint in my eyes and the determined set to my chin.

Chubster has left the building. If only Jewell was here to watch!

‘If you sit in the passenger seat too long, you forget how to drive,’ I point out to the bemused poodle. ‘And I’m a great driver, no matter what James said. I was a legend in Ollie’s Beetle. No one else I’ve ever met could paint their nails and get round the Hanger Lane Gyratory System at the same time.’