Katy Carter Wants a Hero (38 page)

‘Who are you talking to?’ Snapping his mobile shut, Seb strolls into the kitchen and flicks the switch on the kettle. He’s grown a goatee since he was last down and it makes his already thin face even more weasel-like.

‘Interesting you should ask,’ I say, glaring at him. ‘Who would you like me to be talking to? Or maybe I should rephrase that and ask who you’d rather I
didn’t
talk to.’

Seb eyes me suspiciously. ‘Have you been drinking? It’s only nine a.m.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Please don’t go all Kerry Katona on me. I can do without having to fight to book you into the Priory when I know for a fact they’re full.’

Seb’s lucky that the kitchen island, more of a continent actually, separates us, otherwise he’d have been booking himself in to the local A&E.

I take a deep breath. Calm and cool, remember?

‘Would you like to explain why you’ve been screening my calls?’

‘Ah.’ His gaze slides from mine like butter from warm crumpets. ‘That.’

‘Yes, that.’ I advance around the island, passing the Sabatier knives on my way. As I pause by their wooden block Seb looks distinctly uneasy, and so he should, because cool and collected doesn’t actually seem to be my forte.

I knew there was a reason I have red hair.

‘What gave you the right to decide who I’m allowed to talk to?’ I snarl.

He shrugs. ‘I’m your manager. It’s part of my job.’

‘It’s part of your job to screen calls from my friends? That was never in the arrangement I made with Gabriel. Besides, you’re not
my
manager.’

‘I have Gabriel’s image to consider. As do you, seeing as he pays you enough for this whole charade. You were risking everything by allowing male
friends
to call and turn up unannounced. One of us had to think logically.’

‘Don’t you dare try to blame me! I agreed to be Gabe’s official girlfriend, not to live in a police state!’

‘I presume we’re talking about your persistent mate Ollie?’ Seb sighs. ‘OK, I’m not going to deny it. I may have put him off a few times.’

‘A few? More like every time he called!’

‘So it’s my fault he’s a telephone stalker? How was I to know you wanted to speak to him? If he was so keen he could have called your mobile or the rectory.’

‘He’d lost his phone so he didn’t have my mobile number. And why would he ring the rectory when you’d given him the impression I didn’t want to talk to him?’ My shrill voice echoes and bounces off the shiny surfaces. When I quit my role as Gabriel’s girlfriend I can probably be employed straight away as a fishwife.

‘Look,’ says Seb, sidling away, one eye fixed nervously on the knives, ‘my job is to manage Gabriel and his image, and we both know exactly what makes that so difficult. The last thing I needed was a lovesick friend of yours turning up and wrecking all the hard work. It made sense to keep him off the scene.’

‘Maybe I didn’t want him off the scene?’

He fixes me with his beady ferret’s eyes. ‘That was
exactly
what I was afraid of. The last thing Gabriel needs is his so-called girlfriend leaving him for another man. Just imagine the headlines if that had happened; it would have been a disaster. Call it damage limitation if you like, Katy, but it really wasn’t personal. I was just doing my job.’

‘Damage limitation?’ I echo. Is this guy for real or did someone amputate his emotions at birth? ‘Have you any idea just how unhappy I’ve been? You were playing with people’s lives, Seb, and it isn’t on. I love Ollie and you’ve led him to think I didn’t want to know him. You’ve probably ruined everything. How could you?’

‘Calm down!’ Seb raises his hands and starts to back away from me. I’m just congratulating myself on not losing my teacherly ability to terrify people when I realise I’ve plucked the biggest, meanest knife from the block and am brandishing it in time with my words. Blimey. I put it down quickly; tempting as it is to make Seb into a doily, he isn’t worth doing time for. Perhaps I should revisit my anger management training.

‘Look, I’m sorry!’ Seb insists, backing into the corner by the fridge. ‘Calm down and we can talk about it, OK?’

‘I’m not feeling very calm. In fact I’m feeling quite the opposite. So sod this stupid job. Find someone else to manipulate. I quit!’

Seb turns the exact hue of the snowy-white robe that Gabe is wearing as he saunters into the kitchen.

‘You can’t quit now. Not with the launch of
Pirate Passion
. It’ll ruin everything.’

I glower at him. ‘And I’m supposed to be bothered?’

‘You should be. You agreed to all this.’

I fold my arms across my chest. ‘I never agreed to my entire life being controlled. I’m not the one who’s moved the goalposts, Seb.’

‘Hey, what are you guys rowing about? I’m trying to meditate and you’ve totally broken my concentration,’ complains Gabriel, sloshing orange juice into a glass. He would be scowling but he’s just had Botox and looks rather like a startled hard-boiled egg.

‘I know about Ollie’s calls and how they were screened,’ I say, so coldly that I’m amazed a few penguins don’t waddle past in an arctic blast. ‘I’m through with people controlling my life, Gabriel. Find yourself another pretend girlfriend. I’d rather do supply at Tregowan Comp than put up with this farce a second longer.’

‘What’s she on about?’ Gabriel asks his manager. ‘What calls have been screened? What the hell’s been going on?’

He seems so genuinely perplexed that I realise he hasn’t a clue what Seb’s been up to. Gabe’s not that good an actor, especially with a frozen face.

‘I may have not passed on some messages from her friend Ollie,’ Seb mutters sulkily.

‘He ignored them all,’ I spit. ‘He let Ollie think I didn’t want to speak to him.’

‘And now she’s quitting,’ Seb continues. ‘Just when you need her most for the TV awards and the launch of the new movie, she’s decided to leave you in the lurch and declare her love for another man. Angela Andrews will have a field day and the game will be well and truly up.’

‘You can’t!’ Gabe’s hands fly to his mouth in horror. ‘This week’s crucial. It could be the start of my Hollywood career. If everything comes out now, I’m finished. Seb, tell her she can’t. Katy, please, you can’t do this.’

I glare at them both. ‘I bloody well can. Watch me!’

‘I was wrong to lie to your friend,’ says Seb swiftly. ‘I can see that now, Katy. I should never have done it. It was stupid. And wrong. I’ll call him myself and tell him what I did, if it will help. But please don’t quit now. Gabriel needs you.’

Gabe nods his golden head and his sapphire eyes sparkle with tears. ‘If the truth comes out, nobody will take the new movie seriously and the studio will lose millions. I’ll probably never work again.’ He reaches out and clutches my hands. ‘Please, Katy, I’m begging you. Don’t walk out on me now. I’ll double your wages, I’ll pay anything!’

‘It’s not about money, Gabe. It’s because I can’t lie any more.’

‘You don’t need to,’ says Seb swiftly. ‘Just give me a week to put a story together and see if I can find a soap star to attend the premiere with Gabriel, then you can go. I’ll call Ollie and explain everything, I promise, but please give us a week.’

I shake my head. ‘I need to see Ollie now. I can’t wait a whole week.’

‘We’re going to London tomorrow for the TV awards. Can you give me two days?’ Seb is tapping frantically at his BlackBerry. ‘Sienna owes me a favour, so maybe she’ll do the premiere, but we have to have you at the awards tomorrow. The
Dagger
journalists are all over that like flies on crap, and if you don’t show they’ll never leave Gabriel alone. They’ll dig up something.’

‘It’s true,’ wails Gabriel. ‘Please, Katy, just a few days? You can invite Ollie over if you really must, but don’t leave me and Frankie in the lurch. You know your being there is the only way we can be together without worrying. Please, just this one last weekend? So Frankie and I can have some time?’

It’s a masterstroke mentioning Frankie. I know just how much it’s meant to him having me around so that he has the freedom to be with Gabe. Frankie’s my gay best pal, or so the gossip rags think, and this gives him total freedom to come and go from whatever smart venue Gabriel and I happen to be staying in. I also know Frankie has been touring solidly for three weeks and is desperate to see Gabe. He’ll be broken-hearted if he can’t.

Oh crap. I may be the strong new Katy Carter, but I think I still have some work to do on the old guilt thing.

‘Please?’ Seeing me weakening, Gabriel fixes me with huge tear-filled eyes. ‘If not for me, then for Frankie? Just this one last weekend?’

‘And after that you can do whatever you like,’ chips in Seb. ‘Go and be with this Ollie if you must. I’ll see to the press and make a statement about your split. There’ll be nothing to stop you. Come on, what’s one weekend in the general scheme of things?’

I bite my lip. I’ve already arranged to see Ollie at Jewell’s party, where hopefully we can salvage our friendship, so I suppose one last weekend as Gabriel’s girlfriend can’t hurt. It’ll be something to tell the grandchildren — if I ever get round to having any, which at this point in time seems pretty unlikely.

‘One weekend,’ I say firmly, ‘and then that really is it.’

‘You angel!’ Gabriel smiles so widely that I’m almost blinded by his veneers, while Seb visibly heaves a sigh of relief. ‘You won’t regret this, I promise!’

‘I hope not,’ I say, because already I’m wondering if I should have just walked out and left them to it. But then what about poor Frankie? He’d have been devastated if he hadn’t been able to see Gabriel.

So one last weekend it is.

Surely that can’t hurt?

As an avid reader of such literary tomes as
Heat
and
OK
!, I’ve always thought I had a pretty good knowledge of such important world events as the National Television Awards and Soap Personality of the Year. I’ve even been known to fill in the voting slip in
TV Quick
. But compared to Gabriel I’m an ignoramus. If he was to appear on
Master-mind
, his specialist subject would probably be ‘Obscure Awards for Television Personalities’, and I have no doubt he’d score full marks. The only subject dearer to Gabriel’s vain little heart is that of himself. He holds a PhD in that one.

Since I decided to hand my notice in from this increasingly bizarre job, my desire to quit is increasing with every passing second. All this fibbing is starting to make me feel dizzy, and I hate having to look over my shoulder all the time just in case Angela Andrews and her mates are lurking in the undergrowth or a diehard fan is hiding behind the dustbins. I’m even starting to look forward to earning an honest crust supply-teaching at Tregowan Comp, and seeing as teenagers give supply teachers a similar reception to the one the lions in the Colosseum gave the Christians, you can gather how desperate I am. Life as a celebrity’s partner sucks.

‘As soon as Jewell’s party’s over, I’m quitting,’ I tell Maddy from my comfortable nest of pillows on the enormous bed in Gabriel’s suite at Claridges. My head is hanging over the edge and I enjoy the rush of blood to my brain. In all honesty, it’s the most excitement my brain’s had in ages. ‘That’s going to be our last official outing as a couple. I’ve promised Gabe I’ll stick it out until then so he can spend some time with Frankie. Frankie’s going to do his best to persuade Gabe to come out; he says he can’t stand the deceit any more either.’

‘Any chance of that happening?’

‘About as much chance as I have of flying to the moon but I don’t want to disillusion Frankie. He’s so miserable about being Gabe’s guilty secret. Honestly, you should see him. He’s lost all his bounce and sparkle.’

‘So have you,’ Mads points out.

‘That’s because I can’t stand another minute of having to grin vacuously at the cameras and pretend I don’t want to thump Gabriel. Besides, all these awards ceremonies are doing my head in.’

‘Poor you. Which one is it tonight?’

‘National Television Drama Awards,’ I say, feeling the familiar surge of boredom. ‘Gabriel’s having a full body wax right now.’

Mads splutters. ‘Too much information already. Treatments aside, though, how’s the trip to London? What’s Claridges like? Have you met Gordon Ramsay? Is he sex on a stick?’

I laugh. ‘Where do you want me to start? The trip is tedious and if Gabriel has any more plucking and exfoliation he’ll be a totally new man, which actually may be a good thing. Claridges is…’ I glance around the sumptuous hotel room, all white Egyptian cotton and gold fittings, ‘nice.’

‘Nice? Hark at you, Mrs Blasé! I’ll probably go to the moon before I go to Claridges, you bitch. Information, now! What’s Gordon like?’

‘Cool. He told Gabe to fuck off when he asked for a low-carb main course.’

Mads laughs. ‘I’d have liked to see that. What’s your suite like?’

‘Enormous. Your entire house could fit in the bedroom. ’

She whistles. ‘Tell me more.’

Dutifully I flick the speakerphone switch and wander around the suite, describing the thickness of the carpet, the piles of towels softer and whiter than snowdrifts, and the contents of our not-so-mini bar. I even pull back the heavy curtains and open the windows so she can hear the growl of the London traffic. As Mads oohs and aahs I feel such a fraud. I’ve written a novel, moved on with my life and here I am in this amazing hotel, and I have never felt so unhappy. What’s the point of being in these fantastic surroundings on my own? All I’ve done since I arrived is watch satellite telly and miss Ollie. I’ve even called him at the house and left him a message telling him I’m in town if he wants to catch up. I’ve left the hotel name and number, but so far so silent. I just hope he keeps his promise and comes to Jewell’s party.

I decide against telling Mads I’ve rung Ollie. She won’t be impressed to know I’ve called six times just because hearing his voice on the answerphone makes me feel all tingly and warm. I don’t want my best friend thinking I’m a psycho stalking bitch from hell.

Because I’m not. I’m just taking Fate into my own hands, aren’t I?

‘Katy!’ There’s a tinny but indignant shout from the speakerphone. ‘Stop ignoring me! What are you wearing tonight? What shoes have you got? Tell me!’