A French Affair Read online

  ‘When it’s about anyone,’ he retorted, slamming his door closed and starting towards the lift. ‘People often make things up, you should know that by now,’ he said as she joined him.

  ‘So are they making things up about you? Is that what you’re worried about?’

  He turned to her sharply. ‘Are they?’ he demanded.

  ‘Depends what you think they’re saying.’

  Though his expression showed he’d like to take that further, as they were joined by one of the subs at that moment he had to let the subject go.

  A few minutes later, having parted from Nikki outside the Ladies in reception so she could finish preparing to dazzle Freddy, Charlie diverted from his usual route straight to the newsroom to his personal suite on the first floor. It was luxuriously fitted out with expensive fawn leather sofas either side of a glass coffee table, a large desk in front of a picture window that was protected by vertical blinds, a 55-inch plasma screen across one wall invisibly connected to a small bank of technology in the sideboard below; a fully stocked bar, a spacious corner wardrobe and an adjoining kitchen and shower room at the far end.

  After closing the door behind him he took out his mobile, pressed in Melissa’s number, then hit the remote to tune into the studio’s current output.

  Melissa answered on the fourth ring. ‘Good morning, Charlie,’ she drawled in her soft Scottish accent.

  ‘Good morning,’ he responded, almost curtly. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At home. I’m not due in until three. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Yes and no. Nikki found out, apparently from overhearing Frances gossiping, that you’re not giving Jessica a job.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Melissa commented, sounding suitably bothered. ‘Well, that’s Frances’s employment at an end. Now, what to do about Jessica. Has Nikki told her?’

  ‘She has.’

  ‘Oh. Definitely not good. I was going to pop along and see her this morning anyway – obviously I still will, but I’m glad you told me she already knows. How did she take it?’

  ‘She was upset, as you might expect. Naturally, she wants to know why you’re turning her down when you’ve been actively trying to persuade her to join the channel.’

  ‘Yes, well, of course she wants to know. So maybe you’d like to help me out here, Charlie. Tell me why I don’t want her to join us, and please don’t give me all that bullshit about her not being ready yet, because she’s not going to swallow it any more than I do. So I’d like the truth, Charlie, whatever it is.’

  Charlie remained silent, his face taut with anguish.

  There was a note of reassurance in Melissa’s voice as she said, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll stay between us, but if I’m going to lie, my friend, I’d like to hear from you why I should.’

  ‘OK,’ he said abruptly, ‘the long and short of it is I have to get away from her sometimes. She’s suffering so badly I can hardly bear to see it, and I think it’s the same for her, so it won’t do us any good to be in each other’s pockets.’

  ‘Mm,’ Melissa responded, not sounding fully convinced. ‘So what do you want her to do?’

  Charlie felt a tight band closing around his head as he said, ‘I wish I knew, but thank you for supporting me over this. I won’t forget it.’

  ‘Then let’s hope you won’t regret it either,’ Melissa retorted, and a moment later she was gone.

  Having performed her scheduled carpool duty, Jessica was back at home and still not entirely sure what she was going to do with her day – apart from finish the DVD reviews which she sorely wished she’d never agreed to now. She had a pile of books in her study too, all of which she’d have to take a pass on, because it simply wasn’t fair to the authors to assess their work when she was finding it all but impossible to stay focused. Unfortunately there was still the mountain of sympathy letters to be got through, but since she was more inclined to throw them away than read them, there wasn’t much chance of her filling the time with that.

  What she’d really like to do was spend the day with Lilian, just talking and being together, the way they always used to, but she couldn’t even call her friend – at least she wouldn’t – because Lilian’s job as chief auctioneer at Summerville’s Paris salerooms meant that she was almost never available, and right now Jessica wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say.

  Were she of a mind to, she could try sorting through Natalie’s room, but she knew very well she didn’t have the heart for that. She’d have to get round to it sooner or later, of course, but she still couldn’t bear even the thought of going through her daughter’s cherished possessions, never mind parting with a single one of them. So for now the room remained as it had always been, pink and lavender covers and curtains, with shelves crammed full of Care Bears, a hopelessly cluttered dressing table, an overstuffed wardrobe and all kinds of perfumed candles, dancing mobiles and books numerous enough to stock the children’s section of WH Smith. There were her diaries too, with pretty padded covers and tiny little locks, and somewhere, presumably, their keys. Jessica hadn’t even looked. She didn’t want to read them, but nor would she ever part with them.

  By ten o’clock the temperature outside was rising fast. It seemed summer was finally with them, which reminded her that a decision still had to be taken on what they were going to do about a holiday. Were it left to her they’d return to the grape-picker’s cottage in France, but she knew Charlie would immediately veto that, and maybe revisiting the place Natalie had died wouldn’t be good for her either. She had a feeling it would make her feel closer to Natalie though, which was what she wanted more than anything. Also, if Lilian was able to take some time off, she’d be at the manoir, so they could spend some days together too. However, there was no point even fantasising about it, for she knew Nikki would be as reluctant as Charlie to go back to Valennes. In any case, now Nikki was almost eighteen and currently earning her own money, she might not want to go anywhere with them.

  Sighing to herself, Jessica dried her hands on a tea towel and reached for the phone as it rang. ‘Hello, Jessica Moore speaking,’ she said, tucking it under her chin as she started to make some fresh coffee.

  ‘Jessica, hi. It’s Karina here. Karina Rutherford.’

  ‘Oh yes, hi, how are you?’ Jessica responded, guessing already what the publishing director of one of the major houses was calling about.

  ‘I’m fine. How are you? Is this a bad time?’

  ‘Not at all. You want to know if I’ve managed to take a look at William Koby’s new book yet. I’m afraid I haven’t got round to it and I’m not sure I’ll be able to . . .’

  ‘Please don’t worry. I’m sure you’re inundated with review requests – we count ourselves lucky when you take one on, but no, that’s not why I’m calling. Would you happen to be free for lunch sometime next week? I have a proposal to put to you that I think – hope – might interest you.’

  Intrigued, Jessica said, ‘Would you like to give me an idea of what it is? That way I can be thinking about it before we meet.’

  There was a wry note in Karina’s voice as she said, ‘I had a feeling you were going to say that. The trouble is, you might turn me down flat on the phone, whereas if we meet there’s a chance you’ll at least enter into a discussion.’

  Jessica’s eyebrows rose. ‘What if I say I promise not to turn you down on the phone?’ she replied.

  Karina took a moment. ‘Well,’ she began, drawing out the word, ‘I’d like to commission you to do a book.’

  ‘Really?’ Jessica couldn’t help feeling flattered. ‘What about?’ But even as she asked the question she could feel her defences rising, for she was fairly certain now that she knew the answer.

  ‘About Natalie, and how you’ve coped,’ Karina answered, confirming her suspicions. ‘Before you reject it completely,’ she went on quickly, ‘I want you to considerhow helpful it might be for other women in your position to hear from you at a time like this. It could provide them with enormous comfort and stre
ngth to learn how you’ve dealt with it . . .’

  ‘Karina, I have to stop you there . . .’

  ‘You promised not to turn me down on the phone.’

  Jessica’s eyes closed. ‘Listen, I’m really not dealing with it very well, and it’s still too early to be submerging myself in it all over again.’

  ‘I understand, and you probably hate me for even bringing it up, but there’s no rush. We can publish in a year, even two years from now.’

  ‘Karina, I’m sorry . . .’

  ‘At least say you’ll come and have lunch.’

  Jessica sighed. She liked the woman, and it would be good to get out, so why not?

  ‘Will Wednesday work for you?’

  Jessica nodded. ‘Wednesday’s fine.’

  ‘I’ll email you time and location when I’ve made a reservation – unless you have a preference?’

  ‘No, I’ll leave it to you,’ Jessica replied, starting as the buzzer sounded at the back gate. ‘And please know I feel bullied already.’

  Karina laughed. ‘Till Wednesday,’ she responded, and rang off.

  A few minutes later Jessica was pouring a coffee for Melissa, who was talking into her mobile phone, while grimacing apologetically for taking the call. Jessica gestured for her to continue, then watched her walk back out into the garden where the reception was better. As usual Melissa’s voluptuous figure seemed to be staging a winning battle with its prison of buttons and seams, yet despite the strain her pale blue shirt and matching pencil skirt still contrived to look as expensively cut as they no doubt were. Her hair, a luxuriant mass of ebony curls, was bouncing about her shoulders in its habitual haphazard way, while the generous features of her elongated but nonetheless attractive face were as colourfully rouged, lipsticked and shadowed as ever. The only thing different about her this morning was the missing high heels, presumably because she’d thought better of them for the short trot down the back lane. Then Jessica smiled to herself as, still talking into the phone, Melissa reached into her voluminous bag and pulled out a very elegant pair of pale blue Manolos, which she stumbled about exchanging for the rubber gardening shoes she’d arrived in.

  Her call finished and outfit complete, Melissa breezed back into the kitchen, air-kissed Jessica on both cheeks, and took her coffee with a satisfied sigh. ‘I’d treat you to genuine smackeroos if I thought you’d appreciate my lip prints,’ she declared, with a playful twinkle. Then, after giving Jessica the once-over, ‘You look good. Very good. Why is that everything you put on looks as though it’s about to go swanning off down the catwalk?’

  ‘Charlie thinks I’m too thin at the moment,’ Jessica informed her, picking up her own coffee, ‘and he’s probably right.’

  With a dismissive wave Melissa went to perch on the edge of the table. ‘Charlie tells me my assistant was less than discreet,’ she began, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘She will, of course, find herself out of a job by the end of the day, but I’m sure what you’re more interested to know is why I came to the decision I did.’

  ‘I have to say, it surprised me,’ Jessica said, keeping her tone neutral.

  Melissa smiled, showing two neat rows of perfectly capped teeth. Then, pulling out a chair, she sat down and crossed her ample legs. Jessica couldn’t help glancing at the expanse of smooth, lightly tanned thigh and thinking that for a woman who was essentially overweight, she flaunted herself with admirable style. She wondered how much she liked her, and thought perhaps reasonably well. She was direct, usually even-tempered, fiercely intelligent, and of course, given her position, extremely powerful. As was her husband, a senior Downing Street advisor with burgeoning parliamentary ambitions of his own.

  ‘I want you to understand,’ Melissa began, ‘that my decision in no way reflects what I think of your ability. We both know how good you are, so I won’t sit here flattering you when it goes without saying that I’d never have offered you your own programme if I considered you anything but the best. And therein lies the rub. When it comes to presenting, Jessica, you are it. The ultimate. People want to be interviewed by you, or reviewed, or even remembered. You’re admired and respected by both sexes, though perhaps men more than women, which is exactly what we want for a news channel. So, in a nutshell, I want you on camera, not behind it.’

  Jessica’s expression tightened. ‘But you know . . .’

  ‘That it’s not what you want. Yes, you made that very plain when you came to see me. You don’t like being famous, you never have, and you don’t want to be famous any more – that’s going to be difficult with Charlie as a husband, but we don’t need to go there. I respect your feelings, Jessica, and I understand how hateful it can be having people recognise you all the time, blundering into the middle of conversations in restaurants, feeling free to offer advice you don’t want, or photographing you when you’d rather they didn’t. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable in a hundred ways I don’t even know about, and you’ve come to a time when you want your privacy back – particularly after what happened. And you deserve it, which is why I’m not going to try to make you change your mind about presenting. The trouble is, bringing you in as the producer of a topical arts programme would mean pushing aside those who are currently doing the job. If there were a vacancy, obviously there would be less of a problem, but I would still have to explain to the board why Jessica Moore is not doing what she does best to pull in the ratings. However, that’s academic, because there isn’t a vacancy. If that changes, obviously we can talk again.’ She flashed another smile. ‘You have my support, Jessica, please believe that, but as much as I’d like to have a completely free hand in these matters I’m afraid I am answerable to those above me.’

  Jessica nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said quietly, not sure how much of the diatribe she believed, even though she could think of no reason for Melissa to lie. ‘I really appreciate you coming to see me,’ she said. ‘It couldn’t have been easy, with us being friends and . . . Well, thank you.’

  Melissa got to her feet. ‘It’s for me to thank you,’ she said, putting a hand on Jessica’s arm. ‘You’ve taken it very well. You know if there’s anything else, anything at all . . .’

  Jessica smiled and turned towards the open French doors. As they walked across the garden she considered telling Melissa about her book offer, but decided not to. It wasn’t something she was going to do, so what was the point in bringing it up?

  At the gate Melissa changed back into her garden rubbers. ‘By the way,’ she said, popping her Manolos into her bag once more, ‘Nikki’s doing extremely well. Everyone’s very impressed with her,’ and with a friendly squeeze of Jessica’s arm she started back down the lane.

  As she closed the gate Jessica could feel tears burning in her eyes and was angry with herself for minding about the bloody job, when she hadn’t really wanted it anyway. Or was it that Melissa’s praise for Nikki had been a reminder that she would never hear anyone talk about Natalie that way now?

  Hearing the phone ringing inside she hurried back across the garden and picked it up, hoping it would be Charlie, but knowing it couldn’t be, because he was on air now.

  ‘Jessica?’ a wonderfully familiar voice cried from the other end. ‘It’s me. How are you?’

  ‘Lilian,’ Jessica gasped, feeling more emotional than ever.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch for a few days,’ Lilian said, ‘it’s been a madhouse here. Still is, so I can’t stay long I’m afraid. I just wanted to check in, find out how everything’s going?’

  ‘It’s OK, I think. I’ve just been turned down for a job . . .’

  ‘What? Are you serious?’

  ‘Long story, I’ll tell you another time. I’ve braved the supermarket and been whistled at. Someone’s asked me to write a book . . .’

  ‘Stop there, that sounds interesting. What about?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Ah, I see. Not something you want to get into?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And
how are things with Charlie?’

  ‘The same. Maybe worse, I’m not sure. To tell the truth, I don’t know what’s happening between us. We seem OK on the surface, but underneath it’s different. At least, sometimes it is . . . Anyway, don’t let’s talk about that. Tell me about you. Are you and Luc still wildly happy and madly in love?’

  Lilian’s voice was full of laughter as she said, ‘Absolutely. He’s so wonderful I haven’t come up with enough words yet to describe him. He sends his love, by the way. I spoke to him just now, and told him I was going to call you.’

  ‘That’s nice of him,’ Jessica replied. ‘How is he?’

  ‘OK, I think. His father’s not too well, so he’s in Burgundy at the moment.’

  ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’

  ‘We hope not. He’s having some tests. We should get the results next week.’

  ‘Then I’ll keep my fingers crossed. And speaking of parents, it seems my mother’s done a disappearing act again.’

  ‘Well, there’s a surprise. But how do you know? Have you been in touch with her?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I had a call from her neighbour this morning. Apparently she took off ten days or so ago and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.’

  ‘Really?’ Lilian sounded genuinely concerned.

  ‘Oh come on, you know my mother,’ Jessica protested. ‘She’s probably in Hollywood somewhere thinking she’s about to star in some movie, or sailing the South Seas with some besotted billionaire.’

  ‘Actually, come to think of it,’ Lilian said, ‘I’m sure Luc’s father heard from her quite recently. I’m trying to remember when it was, and what he said.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me she’s making a play for him,’ Jessica sighed, feeling her insides starting to sink.

  ‘Well, he’s a handsome man with lots of money, so he’d be her type. I can’t imagine she’d be in much of a hurry to go back there though, can you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put anything past my mother. Anyway, have you been back lately?’

  ‘Not for a couple of weeks, but I’m trying to get down there tomorrow. Luc and I are hardly seeing each other these days, thanks to our various commitments. This could hardly have been a worse time for my workload to virtually double, because I feel as though I haven’t been there for you anywhere near enough. I really want to ask you to come for the summer, but I don’t suppose you will, which I understand, of course, but I miss you so much and the cottage is free. Oh listen, I’m being summoned. Sorry. I’ll try to call again at the weekend.’