A French Affair (16 page)

When the match was over – which they'd lost – Charlie had invited everyone back to their place for drinks, though thankfully not everyone had accepted. As it turned out, they'd been an impromptu party of fifteen, until Harry became bored with the adult company and took himself off to his room with a friend, while Nikki and Freddy didn't hang about the garden for long either. Being in the first throes of romance, they preferred to go and watch DVDs in the den with no-one else around.

So all in all it had been an extremely pleasurable day, which had gone on until quite late in the evening, and in its way it had seemed to bring her and Charlie a little closer again. Not that anything had been said, or done,
it was simply a feeling she had, and as she resurfaced at Green Park station she was aware of a great flood of affection for him sweeping through her. She might even have allowed herself to smile were she not alone in public, but not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than her small amount of fame and slender legs were already managing, she maintained a neutral expression and decided to go shopping as soon as this lunch was over to find something for him, just to let him know she'd been thinking about him.

‘Hi, Charlie, it's Maggie,' his assistant said into the phone.

‘Hi, Mags, how's everything your end?'

‘Fine,' she replied. ‘I've just sent you an email with details of the interviews you're doing next week . . .'

‘For the Middle East series?'

‘Yep. And I've attached the information you requested on nuclear energy. Ken Gordon's available to direct that documentary, by the way, which I expect will please you.'

‘It does,' he confirmed, and scooted his chair away from the computer over to Jessica's desk to rummage around for the chequebook. ‘I'm in the office tomorrow, aren't I?' he said. ‘See if he's available to drop in for a chat.'

‘Will do. Anyway, I thought you might like to know that I've just had a call from Melissa's new PA asking if we can send over the interview you did in Paris with Riad al-Turk, the Syrian Opposition Leader.'

Charlie's chair came to a stop halfway back to his desk. ‘Really?' he said, his tone conveying how unimpressed he was to hear that, even though he wasn't entirely surprised. ‘What answer did you give?'

‘That it still isn't edited, because it isn't, and that I can't allow any of our material to go anywhere unless I've cleared it with you first.'

‘And what was the response to that?'

‘She said she'd get more details from Melissa and call me back. Incidentally, you're booked in to edit it at the weekend, just in case you want me to tell them it'll be ready by Monday.'

‘No, if she calls again tell her I'll speak to Melissa about it myself. Anything else?'

‘Nope. That's it for now.'

‘OK, I'm due at the studios in a couple of hours, you can reach me there if you need to,' and ringing off he quickly wrote out a cheque for Harry's autumn term fees, then went out into the hall to collect the mail he'd just heard drop through the door.

As he returned to the study he could feel himself becoming increasingly angry about the way Melissa had checked up on him, as though he was lying about why he'd been in Paris at Easter, though God only knew why she thought he would. He felt so incensed by it that he set the mail aside and picked up the phone to call her. Not surprisingly her mobile was switched off, presumably because she was at lunch somewhere, so after the answer message had finished he said, tersely, ‘Melissa, I'd like to see you in my dressing room at two thirty. I think you know what it's about,' and punching an end to the call, he dropped the phone back on the desk and returned to the mail.

It was a stack of bank statements, bills and insurance offers, along with a reminder from the
London Review of Books
that Jessica's subscription was about to run out. There was also a medium-sized white envelope addressed to him, written in a hand he didn't exactly
recognise, though it seemed familiar, and realising whose it could be his insides turned to liquid.

His mouth was set in a tight, grim line as he tore the envelope open. Another, smaller one, fell out and he picked it up to find it unsealed and addressed to Jessica, while the pages he drew out after it were clearly for him.

Charlie's face was chalk-white as he put his own letter aside, slid the one for Jessica from its envelope and started to read.

There were twelve pages in all, some apologising for the kind of mother Veronica had been, others relating a few more details about the ‘little collapse' in Bond Street, but the essential part of the letter described what had happened at the grape-picker's cottage the day Natalie had died.

Even before he finished reading he knew he could never let Jessica see this. The damage it would do could hardly be measured, but nor could he bring himself to destroy it, at least not right now. So, with badly shaking hands and a heart ripping apart with horror, he tucked the letter into his pocket and tried to summon the strength to pick up the phone. He needed to call Rufus Keane to let him know he'd heard from Veronica. First, though, he must try to get hold of Veronica herself.

He wasn't surprised when her machine picked up, so he left a message asking her to get in touch as soon as possible so he could be sure that her ‘little collapse' wasn't more serious than she was telling. He mentioned nothing about the contents of her letter to Jessica: Veronica clearly knew she wasn't to blame for what had happened so he had no reason to reassure her, and there were no other words he could bring himself to utter aloud.

For several minutes after the call he stayed where he was, seeing and hearing nothing, barely even thinking,
until finally, rigid with pain, he dragged himself upstairs to sit on Natalie's bed. He didn't want to fall apart now, for Jessica's sake as well as his own, but with this letter in his pocket containing all the details of what had happened to his precious girl, the whole nightmare of it right there in black and white, he couldn't hold on any longer. Within seconds he was starting to gulp for air, as though suffocating under the dreadful weight of his torment.

‘Well, Jessica, I think we've reached a very satisfactory agreement,' Karina Rutherford was saying with evident pleasure as she picked up their lunch bill. She was a small, kitten-faced woman with velvety brown eyes and an incisively quick intellect. It was no wonder, Jessica had always thought, that she'd made it so far at such a young age – she wasn't afraid of going after what she wanted, or of making a quick decision, even if it meant taking a gamble on an unproven biographer such as Jessica Moore.

After signalling to the waiter she looked at Jessica again. ‘You do understand that the advance will not be more than ten thousand?' she said.

Jessica merely raised her eyebrows. It was a starting point, but she felt sure an agent would be able to push it higher. Not that the money was an issue, but she knew Karina enjoyed the bargaining as much as the publishing, so wasn't surprised that she'd started so low. ‘I was thinking of asking Matthew Knox to represent me for this,' she said, naming a reputable, but quite unflashy literary agent for whom she'd always had an affection.

‘Good choice,' Karina smiled. ‘I'll look forward to his call.' Then after tapping her pin number into the
machine presented by a waiter she said, ‘If you were prepared to commit now about how you've coped with Natalie's death we could offer a two-book deal and a six-figure sum.'

‘I'm sure,' Jessica responded smoothly, ‘but I've only agreed to consider it, and I'm making no promises.'

‘But you do feel you could be in a better frame of mind to tackle it after the biography?'

Jessica nodded. ‘Possibly. More time will have passed, so by then I might have a better perspective.'

‘Of course.' Karina smiled again. ‘I don't want to be so crude as to put the condition in writing, but I'm afraid the lawyers might insist on it.'

‘It's OK. I quite understand – you're willing to publish my biography on condition I give you first refusal on my own story, should I ever decide to write it.'

Karina's eyes twinkled warmly. ‘But I'm sure the biography will do very well on its own,' she said, truthfully. ‘The question is whether we publish it as fact or fiction, since you're going to have to create the parts of Jeanne Hébuterne's life that have gone unrecorded. Whatever, it could be a fascinating story – a great love story, in fact, that I feel will be very safe in your hands. I can hardly wait to read it.'

Jessica felt the kick of pleasure. ‘I'll let you discuss deadlines with Matthew,' she said, ‘but I'm delighted you're interested. I'm looking forward to getting started.'

As they stepped out onto Bond Street Karina hailed a cab, then turned to embrace Jessica. ‘I've always had a lot of respect for you,' she said frankly. ‘I know I'm going to enjoy working with you.'

‘Thank you, the feeling's mutual,' Jessica assured her, and stood watching until the cab pulled away. She
took out her mobile, hardly able to wait to call Charlie.

As she turned on her phone she realised she hadn't felt this good since she couldn't remember when. In fact, she might even call Melissa after to say thank you for not giving her a job, because if she had, she wouldn't be on the threshold of writing a book – just imagine, she was actually going to become an author, or at least she was going to try.

Realising there was a message waiting, she decided to check first to see who it was in case one of the children was trying to get hold of her. However, the voice that came down the line was Lilian's, asking how she was, and reminding her to let her know how the lunch with Karina Rutherford went.

‘Oh, and any news on your mother yet?' Lilian added. ‘Just wondering. I hope she's all right. Well, I'm sure she is, but I guess it would be nice to know. Anyway, I've got a big sale on this afternoon, so I'll try to catch up with you this evening. Love you madly. Toot, toot.'

As she rang off Jessica could sense her good mood starting to evaporate, for as angry and resentful as she felt towards her mother, she couldn't deny she was starting to worry now too. However, that didn't mean she was in any way prepared to forgive her, or even stop accusing her of lying, it only meant that deep in her heart – and much against her will – she still loved her, and cared about what might be happening to her. Since, however, it was a love and a care that had only ever brought her pain, she just couldn't bring herself to go there again.

As Charlie walked into his dressing room, his face was still ravaged and pale from the emotion he'd expended
before leaving the house, while his body felt tense all over. He could really do without going on air today, since it was going to be hard concentrating on the news while he was still so distracted by the letter from Jessica's mother. However, he wasn't going to let anyone down at this late hour, so maybe a shower would help soothe some of the stiffness from his limbs, as well as cool him off a little after the sweltering humidity outside.