Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton
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Автор: Fern Britton
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9780008144111
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‘Yes, perhaps,’ she agreed, grinning back.
*
‘Thank God you’re here again.’ Sam kissed Christie’s cheek as soon as she walked into the green room the next day. ‘I’d forgotten how grim working could be. Never ever take another holiday. Please.’
‘Gilly’s been so bloody difficult,’ Frank kissed her other cheek. ‘Fussing about camera angles and lighting. Thank God for Tim, who somehow managed to calm her down. Having babies has done nothing whatsoever for her.’
Christie laughed. ‘She can’t have been that bad.’
‘Believe us, she was. I even heard her giving Julia an earful. They were in this very room and I just happened to be passing … quite slowly.’
‘Go on, tell. You know you want to.’ Christie smiled, thinking how much she’d miss all this when the time came to leave.
‘Well!’ Frank put his hands on his hips with the campest of movements. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing.’ He ignored their joint, ‘Yeah, right,’ and carried on regardless: ‘Derek wants a Rolex Daytona Cosmograph, white gold with diamonds. No change from sixty K, retail. As God is my witness.’ He paused for effect. ‘And Gilly doesn’t have the spare cash. Can’t understand why not.’ His voice rose to a falsetto as he mimicked her. ‘“I thought I had plenty after that Drink-a-Vit ad campaign, Julia. I promised him. What can you do about it?” On and on she went.’
‘So what happened?’ Christie was fascinated by this nugget of information, which suggested Gilly’s problems might not be so far from her own.
‘Julia calmed her down and promised everything would be fine, of course. She’s not going to upset one of her highest earners, is she?’ He looked at Christie as if she was stupid, then grinned. ‘We longed for the day when you’d be back.’
‘Come off it. It was only a week, and she’ll be back for good soon. Nothing I can do about that.’ Christie hung up her cream jacket, then picked up the half-empty bottle of milk that was on the coffee-table and put it back in the fridge Not surprisingly, nothing had changed in her short absence. The unforgiving neon lights still flickered on the ceiling and the coffee stains on the carpet were still there. The worktop was crowded with open biscuit packets, boxes of tea and coffee, used scripts and unwashed cups and plates.
‘And what about you two? Splashed all over the front of OK! – that really got Gilly going.’ Frank changed the subject, unable to resist the lure of scandal.
‘What can you do but laugh? It’s so pathetic.’ Sam stepped in a little too swiftly. ‘Anyone want a biscuit?’
‘I think I might just have been insulted.’ Christie tried to look indignant as she piled up the newspapers to make space for the plate of chocolate digestives that Sam brought over.
‘You know I don’t mean it like that. I’m honoured to be associated with you,’ he teased. ‘But who on earth dreams up these stories?’
‘Someone who was at the same hotel in Rillingham?’ Frank suggested mischievously. He brushed the crumbs from a chair and sat down, resting his Hugo Boss trainers on the table edge, then removing them as he became aware of Sam’s and Christie’s disapproving looks. ‘Not me.’
‘Frank! You promised,’ hissed Christie, gesturing towards Jeremy, the handsome young sparks who had made such an impression on Gilly’s Derek. He was hunting for a clean mug as the kettle boiled in the corner, steaming up the one and only mirror.
‘I certainly did. And not a word has crossed my lips. But hotel corridors have ears and eyes, you know.’ He pulled down the front of his Merc jersey and slightly hitched up the legs of his Gap jeans, revealing an inch of stripy Paul Smith sock.
‘Shut up!’ She glared at him, zipping her mouth, although aware they probably couldn’t be heard over the three TV screens on the wall that were blaring out Bargains in the Basement, the show ahead of them in the schedule. ‘We’ve all moved on.’
‘So we see,’ Frank said enthusiastically, his face glowing. ‘He’s quite a dish, your Richard. When do we get to meet him, then?’
‘I’m keeping him to myself for as long as I can.’ Christie watched as their first guest, the mother of a reality-TV star, was escorted down the corridor to the studio. ‘That’s the last time we’re being papped, if I have anything to do with it. So keep your indecent ideas to yourself.’
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