Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ red-and-orange hair standing on end and a multi-ringed right ear and right nostril, emerged from behind a rail of clothes. Obviously peeved at being disturbed, she eyed Christie up and down. ‘Haven’t got much in at the moment,’ she said grumpily.

      ‘Doesn’t matter. The show starts in fifteen,’ said Lillybet.

      ‘It does matter to me,’ interrupted Christie, realising she didn’t want to be remembered for making her first appearance on Good Evening Britain in a sack. Maureen and Mel would never let her live it down, never mind the press. And Julia! Oh, God. ‘There must be something you’ve got that isn’t too awful.’

      ‘Just a minute.’ Nell disappeared again and came back with a maroon skirt and a cream shirt with a semi-circular frilled arrangement across the bust. ‘How about this? Right size. The best I can do.’

      While Christie tried the outfit on, she could hear the director shouting through her earpiece and over Lillybet’s walkie-talkie. She straightened up and looked in the mirror. As if making her look like a refugee from a seventies sit-com wasn’t crime enough – the blouse put a good ten years on her. At least. ‘I’m not sure about this. Isn’t there something else I could try?’

      ‘No time and you look fine. Really.’ Lillybet didn’t sound entirely convinced but another disembodied yell galvanised her. ‘Come on. We’ll be dead if we’re not back in the studio in a couple of minutes.’ She was already holding open the door.

      Not wanting to make things worse, Christie had no choice but to follow her. As she approached the set where Gilly was waiting, seated on the sofa opposite Sam, she thought she saw a satisfied smile hovering on her co-presenter’s lips. But, with only moments to go, there was no time to say anything. One of the makeup girls rushed up and neatened her hair, dabbing powder on her nose to deaden the perspiration. There was no point in worrying what she looked like now. She held her head high and went to sit beside Gilly, as instructed, listening to the familiar introductory music and waiting for the show to begin.

      Gilly opened as usual, and led straight into Christie’s introduction. With a saccharine smile, she addressed the nation, her fans. ‘As you all know, I’ll shortly be going on maternity leave to have my three little blessings so it gives me enormous pleasure to be able to introduce Caroline Lynch …’ Christie and Sam looked at each other ‘… who’ll be looking after things for me.’

      Enough, thought Christie. Before Gilly could say any more, she cut in: ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Gilly, but those hormones must be getting to you. I’m Christie.’

      Sam laughed to cover the awkwardness of the moment while an infuriated Gilly tinkled through her teeth, ‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’

      The next fifty-four minutes went smoothly enough, and Christie was relieved that her interview with the heroic fireman ran without a hitch.

      When the show was over, the first person she saw coming towards her was Julia. Immaculate as ever in a sharp yellow swing coat, her face was thunderous. ‘What were you thinking?’ she hissed, clearly not wanting to be overheard.

      ‘What do you mean?’ Christie was genuinely confused. ‘I thought it went well.’ So well, in fact, that as soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Sam had got up and kissed her cheek. ‘You were terrific,’ he’d said. ‘Especially the interview with Jack Brown – very emotional.’ They’d both ignored Gilly’s audible ‘tsk’. ‘We should give you a proper welcome,’ Sam went on. ‘Come down to the bar, when you’re ready.’

      ‘You went well – very well, in fact.’ Julia softened slightly. ‘But what on earth were you wearing?’

      As Christie began to explain, she could see Julia’s eyes glaze over. Her agent wasn’t interested in excuses or explanations. She wanted results. She came to at the mention of Gilly and her apparent approval of the fated blue dress.

      ‘You must have misunderstood her. She’s a pro and would never have told you to wear blue. Never.’

      ‘She didn’t exactly tell …’ But she had lost Julia’s interest again. It was true that Gilly hadn’t recommended she wear the dress, but she certainly hadn’t advised her against it when there might have been time to salvage the situation. Perhaps their relationship was already more complicated than she’d realised. In future, perhaps she would be less trusting, more cautious. Christie said goodbye to Julia, who was dashing off to a first night in the West End, then hosting an after-show dinner at Sheekey’s, so had no time to discuss anything more ‘till the morning’.

      With her heart in her high heels, Christie returned to her dressing room to change. Unable to face going home to listen to Maureen reiterate Julia’s and probably the entire nation’s view of her outfit, she tossed it into a corner and zipped herself into the offending blue dress, ready to face the music in the bar. Once she was on the outside of a glass of wine, surely her faux pas wouldn’t seem to matter as much?

      She pushed open the door to a crowd of staff, most of whom were completely unfamiliar to her. She spotted Sam near the bar and began to make her way to him. As soon as he felt her touch his arm, he turned and his face lit up. ‘So you’ve escaped the wicked witch’s clutches at last. Well done.’

      For a moment, Christie thought he meant Gilly, but then he said, ‘The Queen of Mean? Oops!’ He winked. ‘I mean Ms Julia Keen, of course.’

      ‘She’s not that bad.’

      ‘No, she’s a good agent, I’ll give you that. But I’d keep her at arm’s length, if I were you. She’s scary. I know Ben was – well, perhaps, a little unhappy about her? And look what happened to him.’

      ‘What are you saying? Whatever happened to Ben was an accident. Julia was completely vindicated and you know it.’ Christie automatically sprang to her agent’s defence.

      ‘OK, OK. I’m sorry. Just a joke.’ He looked apologetic. ‘Forget I said anything and let me get you a drink.’

      Out of his regulation work suit, Sam looked younger than his forty-something years. He had changed into jeans, open-necked white shirt and dark blue jacket. His hair was gelled into its signature spiky disorder and his eyes, generously cornered by crow’s feet, gave away a man with a good sense of humour. Within moments, Christie had a glass of white wine in her hand and was being introduced to the group that surrounded him. Caught up in the show gossip, she began to relax, watching Sam pull the crowd into his orbit. He was engaging, indiscreet without being scurrilous, and very funny indeed.

      He was in the middle of a bawdy impersonation of Gilly and her husband, Derek: ‘“Oooh, Derek! However could you have defiled me so? Three babies! You must have drugged me.”

      ‘“More like the other way round, dear.”’ Sam put his hand on his hip, camp as anything.

      ‘“Don’t do that, Derek!”’ he went on. ‘“My mother already thinks you’re gay.”

      ‘“Well, she should know, the old fag bangle.”’

      Christie wasn’t sure whether laughing was the right thing for her to do or not, so she tried to look pleasant but not too engaged.

      The man beside her nodded at her. ‘Hi, I’m Frank, the senior cameraman. I’m so sorry you had all that trouble with your dress tonight. Gilly’s a cow. She loved how uncomfortable you were made to feel. I’ve worked on this show for years, love,’ he patted the bar stool beside him, ‘and СКАЧАТЬ