New Beginnings. Fern Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ person feel as if they were the only one in the world who mattered while they were with her.

      ‘In the first place, let me see if we can get you more appearances on Tart Talk to help you find your feet. Then I’ll put out some feelers. There’s a couple of people I think you should meet.’

      ‘That would be wonderful.’ Christie couldn’t believe this was happening. To be taken so seriously by such a big player in the entertainment industry was more than she had dared hope for. Several of Julia’s clients had been quoted publicly, crediting her with their success. Just a little of that would be enough. Despite the speed with which Julia had agreed to see her, she had still half expected a polite brush-off.

      Within a few minutes the meeting was over, bar a rapid summary of the formal terms of any agreement between them. Julia rapped them out too quickly for Christie to take in the minutiae but she did catch her commission rates: ten per cent on all of Christie’s media work (‘Your bread and butter, darling’) and fifteen per cent on any commercial work, personal appearances, conferences, endorsements . . . that sort of thing (‘The very welcome jam’).

      ‘Is there some kind of formal written contract between us?’ Christie realised how naïve she must sound but wanted to be clear.

      Julia gave a little laugh. ‘No, no. Nothing like that. Just a simple gentleman’s agreement based on trust. So much easier. My clients all have complete faith in me. The payment for any work I secure for you is sent to me and I take my percentage. The rest is paid directly into your bank and a remittance slip supplied for your accountant.’ She looked up at Christie. ‘Do you have any problems with that?’

      Christie allowed a micro-second to elapse as she absorbed what had been said. ‘No, of course not. But I’d appreciate you sending me a note confirming it, just in case I’ve missed anything.’

      Julia gave her a wintry smile.

      The following morning Julia phoned to say again how thrilled she was to be representing Christie and promised to get to work on her behalf immediately. Christie was stunned that Julia had taken time out of her busy schedule to call. This was it. Now it was up to her to be worthy of her new agent. If only Maureen could be as supportive. Had Nick sent Julia to be her champion? To do what he no longer could?

      Their arrangement paid dividends immediately. Tart Talk wanted more of her, and within a couple of months, Christie was beginning to feel like an old hand at the presenting game. Even more reassuring, she was rediscovering a side of herself that had withdrawn from public since Nick’s death. A Christie who was more confident, funny, unafraid to voice her opinions or even to shock her mother (which Mel found hysterical) was coming out of the shadows. She had begun to look forward to the mornings when she was picked up by a driver and whisked to the studio for eight thirty. In the production meeting, she swigged her Starbucks with the other presenters as they laughed and chatted their way towards an agenda for that day’s show. As her confidence grew, she had established her own character within the group: potential best-friend material, who talked an edgy sort of sense. Sometimes the others ribbed her for being a bit old-fashioned, and she still regretted the day she had risen to the bait, announcing, ‘I have been to Agent Provocateur, you know. There’s more to me than meets the eye.’ On air, too. The girls had never let her forget it.

      The practical benefit was that her bank balance was healthier than it had been in months – well, years, if she was honest. Earning three hundred pounds an appearance meant she had been able to make small inroads into Nick’s bank loan and, with Julia’s assurances of more work to come, had found a local builder to give a price for the collapsing conservatory, the leaking roof and the wonky chimney. When they were fixed, she would move on to the long-awaited overhaul of the plumbing and central-heating – last winter, scraping ice off the inside of the windows had been no fun – and finally she’d be able to get down to redecorating the rooms.

      Maureen, meanwhile, had come to accept that this was the career path her daughter had adopted for now. She had even been known to accept the odd compliment on Christie’s behalf in the village high street. Christie had once or twice noticed someone in the supermarket glance at her in recognition, and felt the satisfaction of doing a good job and knowing people liked her for it.

      But at the beginning of July, Tart Talk was coming off air for eight weeks over the school holidays. Although not a proper regular on the show, Christie had come to look forward to her appearances, even to scything through Mel’s wardrobe – and, of course, to the much-needed income. She was unsure what she was going to do, bereft of all three.

      *

      One morning, Christie was in the kitchen with her second cup of coffee. She had left the kids at school an hour earlier, Libby complaining that she needed a new pair of Ugg boots (‘In the summer?’ asked Christie) and arguing that she didn’t want a haircut on Friday and, no, her skirt was not too short. Fred, in contrast, was itching to get stuck into the kick-about going on in the playground with his mates. How much less complicated a boy’s childhood was, Christie reflected as she cleared the draining-board.

      Of course, she ought to have been writing the piece she was compiling on celebrities who suffered from bipolar disorder – she’d put it off for so long that the deadline was in danger of whizzing by her – but every time she got a new commission from the Daily News these days, she found it harder to galvanise herself. Christie wasn’t interested in bitching about the latest breed of female celebrities and the editor knew that. Her days at the News were definitely numbered. The only question was whether she or they would cut ties first. Her only regular income came from her new ‘Straight from the Heart’ column for Woman & Family magazine: a nice little earner, courtesy of Julia. But with Tart Talk off the air and no certainty that she’d be asked back, she prayed that Julia would get her something else. She needed the security of knowing she had more guaranteed TV work.

      Still putting off going to her laptop, finding any displacement activity more appealing than writing the bipolar piece, she idly turned the pages of the News. Her attention was caught by the TV7 logo. The headline screamed ‘NOT ONE, NOT TWO, BUT THREE FOR G’. Gilly Lancaster, the glamorous co-presenter of Good Evening Britain, the nightly news programme, was having triplets.

      Her absence will be another blow for the popular programme, which was hit almost a year ago by the death of handsome anchorman Ben Chapman (34). He was found in the indoor swimming-pool of über-agent Julia Keen’s (49) luxury weekend hideaway. After the verdict of accidental death, Gilly was supported by TV bosses and viewers and has taken the show to the top of the ratings. When she’ll start her maternity leave is to be announced, but TV7 will be looking for a replacement. Who will take over? Gilly says she will be back on the show as soon as possible and in the meantime is delighted and looking forward to giving her husband the family they have longed for. She is 35. (How dangerous is a multiple birth in elderly women? Pages 23 and 24.)

      Christie remembered again the swimming-pool incident, which had been all over the papers. A tragedy for Ben’s family, but it must have been very difficult for Julia, too. Not only the accident itself but the inevitable press speculation surrounding it must have damaged her reputation in some quarters. Despite her weepy denials, there had been definite suggestions that the client-agent relationship had developed into something less than professional. Having met Julia now, she had only admiration for the way her agent seemed to have weathered the storm and apparently not let the tragedy affect her, personally or professionally. What strength of character she must have. Christie shut the paper and went upstairs.

      She opened the door to her study and, as always, felt a special calm overtake her. This was her sanctuary, her private room. The faded floral wallpaper was peeling from the cornices, one of the walls smudged brown by a large patch of damp. Nick’s colleagues had given her СКАЧАТЬ