Rumor Has It (31 page)

    Plus, if the litter tray wasn't spotless, he'd just go on the carpet.

    So Erin had gone ahead and organized it. And when Tilly had dared to suggest—purely hypothetically of course—that with Stella in hospital, they could put Bing into a cattery and she'd be none the wiser, Erin had said, 'Can we just do it, please? The last thing Stella needs is to be worrying about her cat.'

    'Right,' said Tilly now, 'I'll get over there and check on Bing. Try not to bring the shop to its knees before five o'clock.' Wagging a finger, she said, 'Remember, honesty and tact.'

    Kaye nodded. 'Absolutely. Like, it's lucky your nose is so huge, it really draws attention away from your double chin.'

    'That's the way. Perfect.'

    An hour later, a tall woman in her sixties came into the shop. She eyed Kaye with surprise. 'You're not the usual lady.'

    'I'm the reserve team.'

    'But you still know about fashion. I certainly hope so anyway, because I'm useless! Now, two things. I need a new evening dress, nothing frilly or flowery, size fourteen. But I also want to ask your advice.' As she rattled on, the woman plonked a carrier bag on to the counter. 'And I promise you, I feel dreadfully guilty doing this, but we're a bit desperate. You see, my son's mother-in-law gave me this for Christmas. I know it's designer and terribly expensive, because she's got pots of money and she kept banging on about how much it cost. But it's a bit too smart for me to actually use, and one of the big prizes in our charity auction has just fallen through, so I've decided to offer this instead.' She opened the carrier and looked hopefully at Kaye. 'And I wondered if you'd tell me roughly how much it's worth, then we can advertise it as Stunning Hermès Bag, retails at six million pounds. Well, maybe not six million, but a jolly good price anyway!'

    Oh Lord. Honesty and tact. Stalling for time, Kaye examined the shoulder strap and tugged at a loose thread.

    'Look, I'm sorry, but this isn't a Hermès bag. It's a copy.'

    'Oh no! Really? So how much is it worth?'

    Kaye shook her head, agonizing over having to say it whilst privately marveling at the woman's inability to tell real from fake. 'Nothing. It's one of those cheap market knock-offs. See the wonky stitching here? And the crooked side pocket. And this isn't leather; it's plastic.'

    And it had so nearly been donated to a charity auction too. How awful.

'Right. Well, thanks. Bugger.' The woman heaved a sigh.

'I'm really sorry.'

    'Oh, bless you, it isn't your fault. I dare say we'll sort something out. And on the bright side, it means I don't have to feel guilty about giving away a present! Between you and me, I can't stand my son's mother-in law anyway. She's always boasting about her millions. Ghastly woman. Oh well, let's forget her. We can at least find me a dress for the night.' Stopping and frowning, the woman looked more intently at Kaye. 'I keep thinking we've met before. But we haven't, have we?'

    'I don't think so.'

    'You're very familiar though. Have you worked in any other shops?'

    'Um, no.' Kaye began searching through the evening dress rails, pulling out a stately midnight-blue taffeta. 'Now, how about this one? The color would really suit—'

    'Hotels, then? Restaurants? The thing is, I know your voice too.' The woman shook her head, baffled. 'Please don't take this the wrong way, but… I think I've seen you crying.'

    'Well, I've been living over in the States for the last few years.'

    'We spent a month in Texas last year! Were you there too?'

    'No, LA. I'm an actress,' said Kaye.

    'Good heavens!
Over the Rainbow
!' The woman gave an excited yelp of recognition. 'We used to watch you on that show—you were the one whose husband ran off with your sister!'

    'That's right.' Kaye smiled, because it hadn't occurred to her for one moment that this woman might have been a fan of the show.

    'Oh, we loved
Over the Rainbow
. Fancy you being in that, then coming over here!' The woman clapped her hands in delight, not showing the remotest interest in the dress Kaye had picked out for her. 'You know what? This has to be fate!'

    Fate. Really? 'Why?'

    'Because you're a famous Hollywood actress! And if you wanted to do me a huge favor, you could.'

    Kaye eyed her with caution. She only owned one really good designer bag and she loved it with a passion. Charity or no charity, having to hand it over to this woman would break her heart.

    Warily, she said, 'What kind of favor?'

    'Well, the whole reason I'm in such a flap is because this girl's just pulled out of our event. Antonella Beckwith? The singer? Have you heard of her?'

    This was a bit like saying the Rolling Stones? They're a band? Ever heard of them? Because Antonella Beckwith was young, super glamorous, and in the last two years had sold about fifty million albums. Kaye nodded, anxiety unfurling in her stomach.

    'Well, can't say I know much about her myself. But apparently we were jolly lucky to get her. One of her aunts is a friend of one of our organizers and they set it up. Except now, of course, the event's two weeks away and the wretched girl's gone and cancelled on us. Seems she's been offered something far more high-profile in London, so our little charity's been dropped like a stone. And we've been racking our brains to come up with another celebrity, but everyone we've approached has had other commitments. Which means we're now officially desperate!'

    'OK, two things. One,' said Kaye, 'I'm not really a celebrity. Not over here anyway. Nobody would know who I am.'

    'I know who you are! And so does my husband! We'd tell every one you're a Hollywood star!'

    OK, so far, so toe-curlingly embarrassing.

    'The other thing is, I had kind of an accident recently and there's been quite a lot of bad press about me.' Kaye grimaced. 'And I'm not working on
Over the Rainbow
anymore. They dropped me. That's why I'm living back here now.'

    'But don't you see? Perfect!' As she spoke, the woman dug out a business card. 'If people don't know you, they won't know about that either, will they? So it won't be a problem!'

    The woman was a whirlwind, an unstoppable force. Examining the card, Kaye saw that her name was Dorothy Summerskill.

    'It's a week on Saturday at the Mallen Grange Hotel,' said Dorothy.

    OK, this was the moment to look devastated and exclaim apologetically, 'Oh no, a week on Saturday? What a
shame
', and reel off an entirely plausible reason why she couldn't make it. But two things stopped her. She couldn't think of a plausible reason fast enough. And even if she could, she had a feeling Dorothy wouldn't believe her.

    'It's for a very good cause,' Dorothy continued persuasively. 'The charity's called Help for Alzheimer's.'

    'Oh! I've got a friend who supports them! Jack Lucas.'

    'You know Jack? But how marvelous! And he's going to be there, so that makes it even more perfect!'

    'OK, I'll do it.' Not that she'd ever had a choice, Kaye real ized. Still, it might be fun. And hadn't her agent said she should get involved in charity work in a bid to stop everyone hating her? 'What will I be doing, just opening the evening?'

    'Oh yes,' Dorothy nodded blithely, 'that too. But of course the main draw will be the auction.'

    Auction? Uh oh, panic. Worried, Kaye said, 'The thing is, I know some people are brilliant at running charity auctions, but I don't think I could do that.'

    'Oh, sweetheart, we wouldn't ask you to conduct the auction! You'd be taking Antonella's place as the star lot!'

    
What?

    'The highlight of the evening,' Dorothy continued. 'People will be bidding for a dinner date with you. It'll be fabulous!'

    'It won't be fabulous if nobody bids.' Oh God, the woman was deluded; compared with Antonella Beckwith she was going to attract as much excitement as… as an
ant.

    'Don't be silly, it'll be fine. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to have dinner with a genuine Hollywood star?'

    'You don't even know my name,' Kaye protested.

    'Anyway, I promise you won't be embarrassed. Our supporters are wonderfully generous. And it'll be after the meal, so they'll have had time to knock back plenty of drinks!' Dorothy beamed, pleased at having the matter settled. 'There, all done. All you have to do now is help me find a dress for the night. And don't look so worried,' she added gaily, taking the midnight-blue taffeta gown from Kaye. 'It'll be fun!'

STELLA HAD SLIPPED FROM shock into flat-out denial. Erin knew the doctor had spoken to her about the results of the needle biop sies, but Stella had decided she didn't want to be ill and had shied away from any mention of prognosis. Instead, she insisted on talking about future holidays, whilst sitting up in bed applying copious amounts of makeup. In less than a week, the changes in her physical appearance were pronounced. Watching it happen day by day was horrifying, and having to pretend you hadn't noticed harder still. Erin braced herself each time she entered the ward; it was like one of those time-lapse photography sequences, speeded up. When Stella had first mentioned the word cancer, Erin had envisaged an illness lasting years and years. This, though, was in a different league. Stella's skin had turned greenish-yellow, her eyes had become sunken, and she was losing weight practically by the hour. Her movements were slowed too, curtailed by pain, but still she insisted upon redoing her lipstick, piling on more eye shadow, and liberally dusting her face and chest with bronzer.

    The doctor had spoken to Erin again, spelling out to her what she didn't want to hear either.

    'I'm sorry, but it's about as bad as it gets. We can control the pain, but I'm afraid the cancer isn't treatable. I did broach the subject, but Stella didn't want to hear it. Her husband does need to be aware of this though.' He shot Erin a brief, sympathetic smile. 'It's nice that you and Stella get along so well.'

    Meaning that she was practically Stella's only visitor. Erin didn't tell him the truth.

    'And we'll be keeping her here,' the consultant added. 'It's not worth moving her to a hospice. We're talking a matter of days now.'

    Not even weeks.
Days.
Erin closed her eyes; she'd had no idea cancer could be this quick.

    'You missed a bit.' Stella's tone was querulous.

    On her deathbed and dissatisfied with the way her nails were being painted. Erin, redoing the edge of the nail, said, 'Sorry.'

    'I want to look my best for Max. Why isn't he here yet?'

    'Probably trying to find somewhere to park. It's a nightmare sometimes.'

    The doors to the ward crashed open. 'There you are,' said Stella. 'You're late.'

    Max arrived at the bedside; if he was shocked by the change in Stella's appearance since his last visit, he covered it well. 'Still stroppy after all these years. Bloody hell, woman, can't you give me a break? Some of us have work to do, WAGs to fight with.' He bent and gave her a hug. 'Tandy's got into the power of crystals—she's set her heart on having an eight-foot blue crystal pyramid in the hall. Anyway, how are you feeling?'

    'Like shit. I hate this place. And Erin's completely mucking up my nails.' Raising her face for a kiss, Stella said, 'Do I look all right?'

    'You look fab. I suppose you've been flirting with all the doctors.'

    'Maybe. Except they're all obsessed with completely grim body functions.' Stella pouted and rearranged her hair. 'I mean, it's all very well getting flirty and batting your eyelashes, but then they go and spoil it all by asking if you've opened your bowels today.'

    'I hate it when that happens,' said Max. 'Really kills the moment. Here, I brought you some mags.'

    'Thanks. I've already seen that one. And that one.'

    Max shook his head. 'I wish I hadn't bothered. Did nobody ever tell you it's polite, when someone gives you something, to at least pretend to be pleased?'

    Stella managed a smile, her bleached teeth bizarrely white against the muddy brownish-yellow of her complexion. 'Like you'd know about being polite. Sorry. I haven't read the rest of them.' Fumbling for one of the glossies, she studied the cover. 'Did you choose this one on purpose?'

    'No. Why?' Max looked at Erin, clearly thinking what she was thinking: God, don't say there was a piece in there on things to do when you've only got a week to live.

    Stella pointed a still-wet burgundy fingernail at the words 'Biological Clock Clanging? Phone a Gay Friend!' 'Thought this might be your way of telling me you've changed your mind.'

    'No.'

    'But you might.'

    'No I bloody won't,' said Max.

    'Not now, obviously. But when I'm better.' Stella gazed intently at him. 'I want a baby, Max.
Please
.'

    Erin stared at him. Max shook his head. 'I know you do, but it's not going to be with me. Sorry, you'll have to get some other sucker to do it.'

    'Fine then. I will.' Summoning up another brief smile, Stella said, 'Wouldn't want any child of mine inheriting a nose like
that
, anyway.'

    Max stayed for another forty minutes, swapping insults, regaling them with Roxborough gossip, and eating not only the contents of Stella's fruit bowl but half a dozen of the biscuits belonging to the woman in the next bed.