Watching Willow Watts (6 page)

Betts
smiled, her heart beating fast. She’d find out soon enough.

*

Jay
cursed as he dragged a scuffed Gucci case off the National Express bus and headed toward what he hoped was Belcherton’s town centre – a clutch of squat, ugly brown buildings that was a blight on the rolling hills of the Cotswolds. The journey from Glasgow had been shocking and even though it was only nine a.m., Jay was in desperate need of a drink.

He dug in the pocket of his soiled suit on the off-chance a few extra pound coins had miraculously appeared. He’d been forced to plunder Bunny’s ‘special treat’ fund, vibrating with anger when he noticed that stinky animal had over three hundred pounds to its credit while he’d been living on Mum’s handouts. This mission would be so much easier if Mum had handed over her credit card, but she’d just shaken her head with a disgusted expression when he’d asked, and Jay knew better than to push when the old bag looked like that.

After
the bus fare, only two hundred and fifty pounds remained, and experience told him lifting this project off the ground would cost at least that much. He’d use his charms to get the woman on side; make the broad over to professional standards . . . then he’d work her hard to recoup his investment – and more. The less he paid out, the faster the return. And the faster he could shove it all back in Davinia’s perfect face.

Tugging his case over th
e cracked cobblestones, Jay noted with surprise how busy the little town was in the early morning. The one tiny off-licence on the high street was buzzing. As he pushed his way inside, Jay was shocked to hear almost every language but English. Who would have thought Belcherton was such a cosmopolitan place?

Jay paused as he reached for a can of his favourite lager.
Hold on – they couldn’t all be here to see the new Marilyn, could they? Sure, a few idiots had said in the comments they were planning to visit the village, but not even Jay had held out hope so many people could be so dim. It was one thing to think an image was Marilyn’s ghost, but another to actually travel half-way around the world.

Glee grew in Jay’s gut and pound signs
flashed in his head as he dodged between punters toward the man at the counter. Maybe he’d be able to set up shop in London even sooner than planned. His lips curved in a smile as he pictured ringing up Davinia and inviting her over to his new premises for a bottle of Cristal . . . then guzzling the whole thing himself and shoving her out the door.

‘
I’m looking for Willow Watts,’ he said after elbowing aside the stunned tourists.

The shopkeeper
rolled his eyes. ‘Join the club, mate. No information without purchase,’ he added.

Hadn’t taken this lot
long to get mercenary, Jay thought in grudging admiration as he banged the lager onto the scarred counter. ‘Here. Now tell me where she is.’

’
One pound, twenty
pence, please.’ The man waited until Jay handed over the change. ‘She’s just down the street a few doors. Watts’s Antiques.’

Jay didn’t even bother responding as he pushed between two Indian women and out onto the road. Hopefully no-one else had got to her first. If they had, though, it wouldn’t be too hard to get rid of them. He’d had plenty of practice with that back in Edinburgh.

Ah, here it was
. Squinting through the dirty window, Jay spotted a few customers circling round the merchandise, then stopping to gape at a tall, skinny woman in the centre. Her Bunny-coloured brown hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and there wasn’t an ounce of glamour about her. Surely that couldn’t be Willow? But if it was – and all these people were willing to believe
she
was Marilyn – just wait until she signed with him. The potential was enormous! Breathing in, Jay smoothed back his hair and curved his lips into a pleasant smile.

‘
Willow Watts?’

‘
Yes?’
She turned toward him. ‘Are you a reporter? I’m sorry, but it’s probably best if you have a word with Simpson, our village’s spokesperson.’

‘
No, no.
’ Jay laughed heartily, trying to put her at ease. He could already see Willow wasn’t used to much attention, and he knew from managing Jorgie that you had to go slowly or the talent might bolt. It had taken him almost three months of constant wooing and a string of endless compliments to get Jorgie on board but finally, she’d succumbed. Hopefully it wouldn’t take that long with this Willow. The YouTube momentum might be on the up now, but looking as she did – together with just standing around smiling inanely at people – guaranteed it wouldn’t be long before the appeal started to fade.

‘
I’m not a reporter,’ he said in
a calm, trust-me voice, smoothing out the Glasgow accent. ‘I’m an agent, from London.’

‘
An agent?’ Willow asked, brow wrinkling. ‘An agent for what, exactly?’

Christ, what a dumb broad
. ‘I represent actors, performers . . . and I’m hoping to represent you.’ Jay moved closer. ‘I know how hard it can be, dealing with the media and everything else when you’re not used to it. An agent can help you with all of that.’

‘
Oh.’ Jay noted
Willow’s flushed cheeks with satisfaction. Hadn’t taken long for his magic to start working, had it? ‘Well, thank you for coming all this way,’ she said, ‘but I’m sorry. I’m not really planning on dealing with the media.’

Idiot
, Jay thought, careful to keep the understanding smile on his face. Didn’t she know how much she could milk this thing?

‘
I
t’s not just media,’ he said smoothly. ‘There are lots of opportunities for you to develop new revenue streams. You could make a fortune.’ One word from her confirming she was the new Marilyn, and he could kick his plans into high gear. Already, he was picturing product endorsements, sponsorships from fan groups, maybe even a New Marilyn perfume . . . the possibilities for money making were endless, and he could see by the flash in her eyes that he’d hooked her. Even simple women like Willow couldn’t resist the lure of money.

‘
Look, how about we have dinner and discuss everything then. Is there a nice place in town?’ He put a hand on her arm.

Willow laughed and her mousy exterior transformed into something almost beautiful. Yes, there was definitely material there to work with. ‘Not unless you consider Lordy’s fish and chip hairball combo fine dining,’ she said.

‘
Maybe somewhere nearby?’ The nearer, the better. Hiring a car just to take her to dinner was out of the question – he’d need all Bunny’s cash to turn her into something passable. He held his breath as she considered his question.

‘
There’s a pub in the next village,’ she said finally. ‘It’s a lovely ten-minute walk or so on the Cotswold Way.’

‘
Brilliant. I’ll meet you back here at seven and we can head over together.’ He shot her a grin as he turned to go, pleased to see her cheeks were now crimson. Christ, women were so predictable. Talk about money, show a little interest, offer some food . . . of course, she hadn’t signed yet. But the way she was lapping up his attentions, she’d be his in no time.

Right, now where could he crash in this
shitty excuse for a village? Lip curling, he surveyed the busy street, catching sight of some kind of tourist information centre located inside a bloody bus shelter. Even in Glasgow, things weren’t this bad – and that was saying something. Jumping the queue, Jay went straight up to an officious-looking man.

‘
Hello,’ he said, remembering too late to keep the Scottish
burr out of his voice. He coughed quickly to cover it. ‘I’m Jay Bellamy, an agent from London. I’m in talks to represent Willow Watts, and I’m going to take every opportunity to put this village on the map.’

T
he man smiled. ‘Music to my ears, young man. If ever a village deserved to get its due, Belcherton is it.’

Jay tried to keep his expression neutral. Was the old guy senile? Must be, if he thought this dump was worth a look in.

‘
I’m Simpson Dyer, head of Belcherton’s tourist board.’ Jay eyed the wrinkled hand with distaste and forced himself to take the papery palm. This man – and the village funds – could prove useful for organising events to ramp up Willow’s profile.

‘
Nice to meet you, Simpson. Looking forward to getting to
know you and Belcherton better. If Willow signs with me, that is. I do hope she does; it would be a shame to pass up an opportunity like this.’ Jay shook his head sorrowfully.

‘
That it would, for both the village
and
her,’ Simpson said. ‘Poor girl has had a tough time recently.’

Jay’s ears perked up. Was there something he could capitalise on? The more he knew about his clients’ backgrounds, the better. ‘Tough time?’

‘
Her mother died a while back, you see. Heart attack, quite sudden. Hit the family hard, and Willow dropped everything in London to stay with her father. She’s a good girl.’ Simpson’s head bobbed up and down.

A good girl, eh? Should be easy to get her on side, then – those types always did what they thought was best for people around them. Idiots.
‘I’m sure she is,’ Jay responded. ‘Look, I’m going to be visiting your lovely town for a few days, and I wondered if there was a place I could stay?’

‘
Well, now, that’s a difficult question
. We’re a small village without many accommodation options and everything in the vicinity is booked. Reckon you can find something in Cheltenham or Stow-on-the-Wold, but if you want to stay here . . .’ Simpson stroked his chin. ‘People are starting to set up tents in the East Field, down that way.’ He waved a hand in the air. ‘Do you have camping gear?’

Do I look like I bloody well have camp
ing gear?
Reminding himself this man would be a good ally, Jay smiled. ‘I’ll find somewhere to sleep, don’t worry. Thank you for your help.’

As much as he detested anything to do with the great outdoors, he could rough it for a while. In fact, he could stand anything if it got him back his life.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘
AN AGENT? REALLY?’ PAULA tugged a brush through Matthias Clodington’s bushy hair and met Willow’s eyes in the mirror’s reflection. ‘Looks like you’ve really hit the big leagues, Wills.’ Her voice held that same touch of envy Willow had heard the other night in the pub. ‘Is he hot?’

‘
Um, yes.’ God, was he ever. With big brown eyes, wavy sandy hair and a toned body filling out the well-cut suit, Jay would look right at home on the cover of a Mills & Boon. She should know – there were enough of them tucked under her bed. It was as close as she got to romance these days.

‘
So what did you tell him?’ Paula asked in a low voice, taking out the razor and brandishing it ominously above Matthias’s head. Remembering Paula’s earlier words about a Mohican, Willow almost felt sorry for the poor man.

‘
Well, I didn’t tell him
anything. He wants to go out to dinner tonight and talk more.’ Willow dropped her head as her cheeks flooded with colour.

‘
Ooh, dinner!’ Paula crowed as Matthias cowered. ‘Soon as Sheila’s done with that colour and cut, why don’t you take a seat? Get those split ends taken care of and put in some curlers. You could do with a bit of pampering. Now that you have someone to impress!’

‘
Marilyn always curled her locks
, too!’ Matthias shouted over the buzz of the razor. Willow cringed as the white of his scalp appeared while Paula liberated wisps of hair.

Sitting down
in the last empty chair, Willow glanced around at the packed salon. Paula hadn’t been kidding about being busy – the place was heaving as the women of Belcherton and beyond got themselves ready to greet the world. Even ancient Mrs Lyall – whose tresses had been hidden under a shockingly pink turban since the Stone Age – was getting a trim.

Sheila beckoned her over. ‘What should I call you?’ she asked in breathy tones.

‘
Sheila!’ Willow stared incredulously
as she settled into the chair. For God’s sake, the two of them had been in primary school together. ‘Just call me Willow.’

‘
Okay.’ Sheila nodded timidly. ‘No problem. I’ll give the ends a quick snip then set the curlers for you.’

Willow leaned back and let her get on with it. Going to the salon usually seemed a waste of time; she only did it when she couldn’t take Paula’s badgering any longer. But if she was going to be sitting across the table from Jay . . . A flicker of nerves went through her just thinking of the night ahead.

Across the room
, Paula had finished Matthias’s buzz cut – thankfully, she seemed to have forgotten the Mohican – and was answering his dull questions about her relationship with Willow.

‘
So how did you and Willow first meet?’ he asked. Minus the shock of ginger hair, Matthias’s sea-green eyes and full even features really stood out. He was almost handsome.

‘
It was
back in Year Three,’ Paula said, ‘in Mrs Zane’s class. One day at break time we decided to play make-up, and I drew lipstick, blusher and eye-shadow on Willow.’ She swivelled to grin at Willow. ‘Little did I know I was using permanent marker! She had to walk around for weeks with that stuff on her face.’