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

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СКАЧАТЬ was not the reputation she wanted. ‘So how much will you be deducting for the commercial work now?’ she asked, as the fifteen per cent she remembered vanished in a puff of smoke.

      ‘Twenty per cent. I did explain to you, darling, when I took you on.’ Julia was calmness itself. ‘At the time I did wonder whether you’d taken all our terms on board, but you assured me you had.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I misunderstood, that’s all. But if you could put it all in that letter …’ Christie let the sentence hang in the air. She was stunned by this hike in Julia’s charges but thought it better to remain calm rather than make a fool of herself by overreacting. Maybe this was the way it worked, the price she had to pay for being with the best.

      Julia waved away the waiter who had arrived with the dessert menu and smiled. ‘Well, that’s sorted out, then. Coffee?’

      Christie glanced at her watch again. If she left in the next fifteen minutes, she would just get to the school on time. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Coffee. Thank you.’

      After Julia had paid the bill, the two women got to their feet, Christie trying not to look as if she was hurrying to get away. She put the jacket she had bought with Frank and Mel over her arm as Julia shrugged into an expensive cheetah-print coat. On the pavement, they air-kissed.

      Christie hailed a cab to rush her to the station but, as it pulled up, Julia edged in front of her and took the door handle. She climbed in, rolled down the window and leaned out. ‘Lovely to see you, darling,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear from Drink-a-Vit.’ With that, and a barked instruction to the cabbie, she had gone, leaving Christie open-mouthed on the pavement. There wasn’t another empty cab for five minutes by which time she knew she had definitely missed the three o’clock train.

      Sitting at Marylebone station, watching the ‘delayed’ signs on the departures board, she had plenty of time to think. She had unintentionally put herself in the position of having to make up ground in her relationship with Julia. If only she had paid closer attention when they first met, she would have known about the percentages. So, fifteen per cent went to Julia and forty per cent to the taxman. Suddenly her excitingly vast salary had been decimated. Everything she had been planning to spend it on was almost as far away as ever. Her face burned as she thought how stupid she had been. She had been too insecure and easily flattered when they had met, but Julia’s reputation made her a formidable person to have on-side – whatever Frank said. However, she was beginning to recognise her agent for who she was: a woman who cared about her clients but for her own reasons. Their relationship existed on a purely professional footing for what Julia could get out of it. Nothing more. This was business. The reverence, admiration and respect that Julia received from her clients was her life blood. The deal was everything to her. Her cut was everything else. She was supportive, generous when necessary, there when required, but she wasn’t and would never be a mate. Christie felt a pang of anxiety and loneliness.

      Right now, she would have given anything to be able to share all this with Nick. He would have known the best way to handle Julia. When he was alive, they would sit up long after the children had gone to bed and chew the fat together, catching each other up on their separate days. Even though they’d only met one or two of each other’s colleagues, they both felt as if they knew them all intimately. No detail was spared as they discussed their problems and tried to help each other solve them, commiserating when things went wrong and celebrating their successes. They delighted in hating each other’s enemies and toasting each other’s small victories. They could boast to each other about their triumphs at work in a way they couldn’t and wouldn’t to colleagues and friends. How she still missed that togetherness. Nick would have been able to help her see what she wanted from the new life she had chosen. Their marriage had been a gift.

       Their wedding day was perfect. Christie refused all Mel’s fashion ideas, along with all Maureen’s catering ones. She went for a simple cream hip-skimming sheath of duchess satin that flattered her shape, and lunch for twelve at their favourite understated Italian restaurant. The day was exactly how she and Nick wanted it. The only person missing was her beloved dad.

      After their three-week honeymoon, driving Nick’s old MGB through France, then down the Adriatic coast to Portofino and back, they took up residence in a small Victorian two-up two-down terraced cottage in Acton. Nick’s career as a solicitor and Christie’s as a consumer journalist on the Daily News, and occasionally on TV as a consumer pundit, kept them in a peaceful comfort. The following year little Libby was born, and three years later, Fred. Nick and Christie revelled in their family life. Of course there were rows, especially when the children were small and sleep deficit kicked in, but life was good. And it got better. In his mid-thirties, Nick was given a senior partnership in his law firm and the big salary increase bought them a mews house in Chelsea, closer to Nick’s central London office.

      Maureen often came up to town from her house in Buckinghamshire. She enjoyed showing off to her bridge friends about the brilliant marriage her daughter had made. Of course, she never told Christie this. She only tutted about how untidy the children’s bedrooms were and why there wasn’t a three-course, home-cooked meal on the table for Nick when he came home. ‘Men like to be fed, darling. It makes them feel loved. I’m quite surprised you’ve hung on to him for so long.’

       Christie would smile at her mother but shed tears of frustration in private. Nick held her and advised her to ‘take no notice of the old bat’.

       One night when Fred was coming up for six and they were lying in bed in each other’s arms, having just made love, Nick murmured, ‘Chris, I’d love us to have another baby. Shall we give it a go?’

       ‘I thought we just had!’ Then, seeing his expression so serious, she asked, Are you sure? It’ll put us right back to square one in terms of sleep, potty training and everything else.’

       ‘But in another few years we might regret it if we don’t at least try. I promise I’ll massage your back and brush your hair whenever you want.’ He put his lips on her neck and started to kiss her.

       ‘Mmm.’ She wriggled appreciatively. ‘Can I have that in writing?’

       ‘I’ll get a contract ready to sign in the morning.’

       ‘In that case, Mr Lynch, you have a deal. Shall we get on with the preliminary negotiations?’

11

      Running from the train to the car park and battling through the local traffic, Christie finally pulled up outside the school at five o’clock. She had tried to phone to say she was running late, but no one was answering the main switchboard. The tall wrought-iron gates were padlocked. Lights shone through the windows of the gym and along the corridor that led to the classrooms. She rang the bell, hoping that Mrs Snell might have waited.

      ‘Hello?’ She recognised the voice of the school caretaker quavering through the loudspeaker.

      ‘It’s Mrs Lynch. I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment with Mrs Snell. Is she there?’

      ‘Gone home fifteen minutes ago. Sorry.’ There was a click as the phone was hung up.

      Oh, shit, shit, shit. What would Mrs Snell think of her? She would never understand how impossible it had been to make a getaway from lunch. In the head teacher’s eyes, the welfare of the school’s pupils took precedence over everything. She was right, of course. Why hadn’t Christie СКАЧАТЬ