Naked Truths (38 page)

She sighed regretfully.

‘Of course, his life was cut tragically short. Who knows? He could have been one of the greats.'

‘What did he die of?' asked Freddie brightly, trying to make an effort.

Ash spoke up. ‘Consumption.' He stuttered on the word several times and went deep red. Angie thought momentarily that under the spots he was a very handsome young man. She smiled at him reassuringly.

‘So you like English watercolours? I'm thrilled to have a cohort, Freddie says I've clogged up the house with them, but don't you find the expressive qualities of the brushwork just so enchanting?'

Ash didn't answer; he was finding Angie's moustache cream rather distracting.

Freddie noticed and pulled a face. ‘
Dar
-ling!'

Angie looked at him, ‘What?'

Freddie made a frantic movement above his top lip.

‘Oh, bugger, I'd forgotten about that!' Angie looked apologetic. ‘I got so carried away with having Ash here. Won't be two secs.'

She left the kitchen. Freddie and Ash looked awkwardly at each other.

‘Here we are then, young Ashley, I mean Ash!' said Freddie. Outside Ash heard a strange screeching noise. It sounded like someone was being murdered.

‘What's that?' he asked in alarm.

Freddie smiled, ‘Just the peacocks. We've got a pair of them. Beautiful creatures, but they can get a bit nasty if you get them on an off day. I'd keep my distance if I were you.'

Once again Ash wondered what on earth he was doing there.

HARRIET WAS WALKING
back to the office after lunch when her mobile went. To her surprise, it was Saffron's home number.

‘Harriet, it's Velda.'

‘Velda! How are you?'

Velda gave a dry laugh. ‘I've been better. I suppose you've heard about Saffron moving out?'

‘She did mention it,' Harriet admitted. ‘Not that she says much to me at the moment. I think she's avoiding me.'

Velda paused. ‘I – we – really need your help. Would you be able to come over after work tonight? My sister is here.'

Despite the turmoil within, Montague Mews looked typically enchanting that evening. The candy-coloured doors peeked out of the darkness, while the overhead lamps threw a triangle of light down on to the patchwork of cobbles. An old sports car was parked haphazardly outside No. 3.

Luckily Saffron had been out on a photo shoot all day, otherwise Harriet wouldn't have been able to look her in the eye. She somehow felt she was going behind her friend's back in agreeing to meet Velda. But on the other hand Velda had sounded so worried that Harriet hadn't had the heart to say no.

Velda opened the front door even before Harriet had had a chance to knock. She looked pale and tired, like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite a while.

‘It really is very good of you to come over,' she told Harriet as she ushered her into the living room. ‘Can I get you something to drink?'

‘A cup of tea would be lovely,' said Harriet.

Velda nodded. ‘Won't be a minute.'

Harriet heard voices and footsteps in the hallway, and moments later Babs Sax stumbled in. It seemed so incongruous to see her here. The artist's tumbling red hair looked wilder than ever, and there was a desperate look in her eyes. She threw herself down on the sofa and burst into tears.

‘You've got to help me!' she sobbed. ‘I don't know what else to do.'

Harriet felt awful. Babs was normally so full of flounce and flamboyance that it was horribly disconcerting to see her sitting there crying what looked to be genuine, heartfelt tears. Tentatively, she laid a hand on her scrawny shoulder.

‘There, there.'

Babs cried even harder. One false eyelash had fallen off and was stuck to her cheek like an intoxicated tarantula. ‘You're Saffron's friend, please talk to her! I've left it so long, and now I'm scared it's too late.'

Velda came back into the room carrying a tray. She placed it down, looked at Babs and sighed, producing a tissue from the box on the coffee table. ‘Belle got here last night,' Velda said. ‘I opened the front door and there she was. She was rather hoping for a reconciliation with Saffron, but of course she didn't know she'd moved out.'

‘It's all my fault!' sobbed Babs. ‘If I hadn't been such a terrible mother in the first place, none of this would have happened.'

Velda looked at her sister. ‘Belle, how can it have come to this?'

Babs was in a pit of self-loathing. ‘He broke my heart, and I never thought I would recover,' she breathed unhappily.

Harriet looked confused. ‘Harry Walden, Saffron's father,' explained Velda.

Babs took a big, shuddering breath. ‘Saffron is the image of him. Every time I looked at her, it was like my heart was ripped out all over again.'

Velda had had enough of her sister's self-pity. ‘She was only a child!' she told her angrily. ‘It's not Saffron's fault she looks like her father.'

‘I know!' Babs's lower lip quivered. ‘But she's like him in so many ways, too. Wilful, headstrong . . . after a while it just got too much. I could tell she blamed me for Harry leaving.' Her voice had risen high, like a child's. ‘What was I supposed to do?
He
left
me
!'

Velda handed her sister another tissue. ‘Please try and calm down, this is doing you no good at all.'

Babs blew her nose loudly and turned a pair of reddened, beseeching eyes towards Harriet.

‘You must talk to her, please! She'll listen to you.'

Velda's voice was calmer, but Harriet detected the hint of a tremor. ‘I know we're putting you in a difficult situation, but if there's anything you can do. Anything . . .'

‘Leave it with me, I'll have a talk with Saffron,' said Harriet, sounding a lot more confident than she felt.

‘What do you think to this hairstyle?' Annabel held up a magazine with a picture of Jennifer Aniston at a red-carpet do, looking ultra-glamorous.

On the other side of the desk Saffron's jaw tightened. She was trying to write up her interview with a major heart-throb, who'd turned out to be a boring git with too much fake tan on. She was having enough trouble trying to make him sound interesting without Annabel's constant interruptions.

‘Yah, I might have some highlights put in like that. Actually . . .' Annabel cocked her head and studied the picture, before holding it up next to her pallid moon face. ‘Don't you think we look alike? We could pass for sisters. I'd be the younger one, of course.'

Saffron's mouth fell open as she realized the features editor was serious. God, Annabel had some ego! Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harriet coming over.

‘Er, Saffron?' Harriet sounded really nervous. Saffron tried to look nonchalant.

‘What?'

‘Do you fancy going out for lunch?'

‘Sorry, I'm really busy . . .' Saffron started to say, but just then Annabel started waving the picture of Jennifer Aniston at her again, obviously wanting her to agree. She had to get out of there.

‘OK, just a quick one.'

They went to what had been their favourite café down the road, and sat at their regular table. For the first ten minutes, conversation was painfully stilted, before Saffron looked at Harriet and sighed.

‘I'm sorry, H, I've been a real bitch to you.'

Harriet looked down at her can of Diet Coke.

‘You've been through a horrible time, it doesn't matter.'

‘It does matter. You've been nothing but a good friend to me, and I had such a nice Christmas with you and your parents. I just wasn't expecting to see her. It totally threw me.'

‘Where are you staying?'

‘Knightsbridge, with an old school friend and her boyfriend. They've got a flat right behind Harrods, but it's one bedroom and bloody tiny. I'm sleeping on the sofa and I have to listen to them shagging all night.'

‘You can always stay with me,' Harriet offered.

Saffron smiled. ‘Thanks, but it's a bit too close to Montague Mews for my liking. Besides, Tara and Tim are going skiing for a few days tomorrow, so I'll have the place to myself.'

Harriet hesitated. ‘Are you going to move back home after that?'

‘I don't know where home is any more,' Saffron said flatly.

‘Your aunt is desperately worried about you.'

‘Has she asked you to talk to me?'

Harriet shrugged helplessly, and Saffron sighed.

‘I know in some kind of fucked-up way, she probably thought she was trying to help. I'm just pissed off. Why didn't she tell me? It's like she tricked me.'

‘I think she thought Babs and you would be able to make things up. I think it was a last resort.'

Saffron's face was set. ‘Well then, she doesn't know me at all. I will never make up with that woman for as long as I live.' She looked away moodily. There was a man buying a sandwich at the counter, and his height and broad shoulders caught her eye. As he turned to leave, Saffron saw to her surprise that it was Tom from the art desk.

Their food arrived. ‘Anyway, we haven't spoken about that guy from New Year's Eve,' said Saffron as she tucked in to her potato. ‘Did you pull him?'

‘Actually, yes,' said Harriet. She blushed.

Saffron stopped eating. ‘Did you
shag
him?' Harriet went even redder, and Saffron burst out laughing. ‘At bloody last! Was it any good?'

‘Not really,' admitted Harriet, too embarrassed to tell Saffron the details. ‘Besides, he had a fiancée.'

‘No! What a twat! Never mind, at least it got you back in the saddle. You wait, they'll be queuing up from now on.'

Harriet clenched her bum cheeks together and shifted uncomfortably on her seat.

IT WAS NEARING
the end of January, and Catherine was about to receive a crushing blow. Normally every month, Laura, the head of sales, would send a ‘Project 300' update to Catherine and Adam with the latest figures. Since the redesign, she had hardly been able to contain her glee about the soaring sales, but this month no email had come. Catherine had been in to see her, but Laura had gone bright red and muttered something about a hold-up with the data. Catherine knew she was being fobbed off – and it wasn't long before she found out why.

On the last Wednesday of the month, Catherine received an email from Adam instructing her to attend a meeting that afternoon with him and the head of sales.

‘So what's going on? This isn't normal procedure,' she'd asked as soon as they'd sat down. She looked at Laura, a pleasant-faced blonde woman who always wore big colourful scarves pinned in place with a diamanté brooch.

Laura didn't look so happy today, however. ‘I'm afraid we have some bad news about January's figures . . .' she started, looking at Adam for backup.

Adam flushed and passed the buck as usual, ‘I think it's better coming from you.'

Catherine clenched her jaw, she was having an unpleasant sensation of déjà vu.

Laura looked down at a piece of paper in front of her. ‘Of course, we haven't got the final edit yet,' she started, ‘but it looks like we've suffered a drop in sales.' She shot Catherine a loaded glance. ‘A
big
drop in sales.'

Catherine was perfectly still. ‘How much?'

The other woman took a deep breath. ‘Well, er, the on-sale issue is looking to sell 235,000. So that's a drop of,' she gulped, ‘30,000.'

Catherine's jaw fell. ‘Thirty thousand? I mean, I know the January issue is always tough, but this is bullshit!' She controlled her voice. ‘Are you sure?'

She was met by an unhappy nod. ‘Of course, there have been some circulation problems as well, which hasn't helped . . .'

Catherine was on her instantly. ‘What do you mean?'

Laura looked uncomfortable. ‘We're still investigating, but for some reason 15,000 copies sat in a warehouse on the Norfolk coast and didn't get delivered to the retail outlets. We've had to have them pulped.'

Catherine put her head in her hands and groaned. ‘This is a fucking disaster.' After all their hard work they were back down to 235,000 – 65,000 short of their target. They only had the February and March issues left to try and make it up. There was no way they could do it.

‘Bloody “Project 300”,' Laura muttered, looking as deflated as Catherine felt.

‘So do you ladies have any ideas how to get sales back up, then?' asked Adam, hopefully.

‘Can I make you a Lemsip?' asked Amelia. Caro was curled up under a blanket on the sofa with a heavy cold. She'd had it for three days, and the blasted thing showed no sign of abating.

‘Thanks, darling, but I'll probably turn into a citrus fruit if I have another one.'

Amelia smiled sympathetically. ‘Let me know if you need anything, I'm just going to go for a bath.' Milo was in bed, and the house was silent for once, except for a ‘tap tap' from the next room as Benedict worked on his laptop.

‘You still alive?' he called out.

‘Just about,' Caro called back. She settled back under the blanket, trying to breathe through her nose. The house felt like a cocoon, drawing in comfortingly around her. Caro huddled further into the blanket, reflecting. It had been quite a few weeks here, what with the awful hoo-ha next door and Babs Sax. There had been no more silent phone calls, thank God, and Amelia seemed much happier again. Maybe it was all just a coincidence, Caro tried to tell herself blurrily. Her eyelids were becoming heavier by the second, she was feeling so tired again . . .

The fire had nearly gone out in the grate when Caro awoke. She looked at her watch: 9.31 p.m. She'd never get to sleep later.

The dining room was empty as she went through to the kitchen; Benedict had to be upstairs. As she blew her nose on a piece of kitchen roll Amelia appeared in the doorway in a dressing gown.