I shift in my seat. I'm not quite sure what he's getting at. 'Em, well. Jack Swithen has a great deal to do with it. I mean, people have gradually got to know him over the last few weeks. I think he stands for the values we all would like to see in our police officers. It was difficult, at first, to get any personal details out of him for the diary readers to actually be able to relate to him.'
'Did your relationship with him at the time have anything to do with that?' I think I'm starting to see where this is heading now.
'We didn't perhaps see eye to eye at first …'
'And now?'
'We are getting on better.'
'We have a few pictures.' Giles gestures to a monitor to the right of me and up on the screen flashes a photo. A peculiarly intimate photo of me lying on the ground with quite an impressively sized tree next to me (no wonder I had a headache). James is bending over me. I feel a bit funny and try to compose my features. And then another picture appears of James apparently yelling for an ambulance. And yet another with his hands on my head. I'm starting to feel a little hot. I nervously fidget with my necklace.
'I have to say, Holly, since we've been trailing this interview, we have had quite a few faxes and e-mails asking if anything is going on between you and the detective? Would you like to confirm or deny the rumour?'
My eyes briefly flicker towards Joe. Undoubtedly he set this up. I say, in a strange voice, 'Ha ha! Of course there's nothing going on! He's actually getting married in a week's time!' Leave it there, leave it there, I try to communicate to Giles.
Far from leaving it, he says, 'IS he, indeed?' Giles' eyes light up. 'That's not actually mentioned in the diary, is it? Then he's looking very worried for a man who's getting married in a week's time!' This is a bloody hatchet job.
'He thought he'd killed me! He should look worried, he didn't want my editor suing him!' Attack suitably deflected. Giles' eyes flicker briefly towards Joe but he stops it there.
'Well, thank you, Holly. You've certainly given us all some food for thought and I'm sure people will be following developments in "The Real Dick Tracy's Diary" more avidly than ever!'
'Did you have to deny it so vehemently?' whispers Joe on the way back through the maze of corridors to the car.
'You did that, didn't you? You set me up!' Joe at least has the good grace to look sheepish. 'Not content with blood and guts, you had to chuck a bit of sex in there too for good measure, didn't you? The journalist shagging the detective! Oh yes! That'll get the circulation up, won't it? Is that what you were talking to Giles about on the phone? Didn't bother telling me, oh no!'
'We needed it to look genuine. I don't know what you're getting so upset about, it will help your career too. You're going to have to learn there's more to good journalism than just good writing.'
'Well, if that's what it involves, I don't want to know,' I whisper viciously.
'There was absolutely no need to tell everyone James is getting married next week. You could at least have let them wonder. Besides, people really have been asking
so
we just thought we would bring it up on air, that's all.'
'That would have nothing at all to do with your choice of pictures, would it? It hasn't escaped my notice you've been putting more and more intimate shots in lately.'
'Maybe there have been more and more to choose from lately. What on earth is your problem? There isn't actually something going on is there?' he breathes excitedly.
'No. There. Isn't,' I say adamantly and unfortunately truthfully as well.
'D
on't make me go!' I wail.
'Holly, you have to go,' says my mother emphatically. 'People will have seen that TV interview and think there is no smoke without fire.'
'Bloody Giles,' I mutter furiously.
'You not showing up will really get tongues wagging.'
'Bloody Joe.'
'If not for you, then do it for James.'
'Bloody James,' I mutter.
'Holly. Don't mutter.'
We are standing in my bedroom the day after the TV interview, having a scene that is reminiscent of ones we used to have more than a decade ago. The only difference being the wallpaper doesn't have pictures of Duran Duran and George Michael on it any more. (Yes, I know they're not particularly coo!.)
'Why would it matter to James if I'm there or not?' The drinks party at Fleur's parents' house is this evening. I would rather slit my wrists than face all those people who think that either James and I are having an affair or that I have a thumping great crush on the fair detective. Ever since the TV interview I have developed various murderous intentions towards Giles and Joe in turn.
'Because he has to cope with people wondering whether it's true or not as well, you know. It can't be very pleasant for him. He is the innocent party in all of this.'
'What are you implying? That I've done this deliberately?' I say hysterically. All the toys are coming out of the cot.
'Don't be silly.' She sits down on the bed and pats the space next to her. I sulkily go and sit beside her. She takes my hand and says gently, 'You know, darling, this may seem very painful right now but bad times enable your character to grow.'
'I've got character coming out of my sodding ears,' I mutter into the floor but nothing is stopping my mother as she warms to her theme. She stands up and waltzes into the middle of the room, turning to face me with a flourish.
'But you'll find your experiences will help you grow inside.' I feel a flutter of recognition. 'Until, like a butterfly—'
I interrupt hastily. 'Isn't that a speech from one of your plays?'
She stops, hands in mid-air. 'Hmm?'
'Isn't this from one of your plays?'
'Is it, darling? I thought it sounded vaguely familiar. So easy to slip back into them.' She comes back down to earth and sits beside me again. 'Anyway, you're going to go into that party looking beautiful and as though you haven't a care in the world. People will soon forget all about this silly rumour. They probably didn't even see the interview.'
I absorb all of this and then say, 'Still, I can't dress up and look beautiful, they'll just think I'm some sort of hussy!'
'Would you rather dress down and let people think you've developed a huge great schoolgirl crush on him? Better a hussy than a fool.'
I hesitate for less than a second. 'You're right. Where are the heated rollers?'
Lizzie arrives a quarter of an hour later, looking fabulous in a red dress. Twenty curlers dot my head. I am intently trying to shape my eyebrows in the mirror (a little sarcastic voice in my head says, 'Oh yes! That's sure to bring him round, your eyebrows') while listening to M-People in an attempt to empower me. I swivel round as Lizzie comes in.
'Lizzie! You look gorgeous! Where are you going?'
'With you! I'm going to deflect attention from you by being the scarlet woman!' she giggles and does a little twirl for me.
'But you're not invited.'
My mother bustles in. 'I called Miles and asked if I could bring her; I said she was our cousin staying for a few days.'
'Can you do that?'
'Darling, it's just a drinks party, not a sit-down dinner, so they won't be trying to decide how to get another portion out of the tarte tatin. Besides, we thought you might need the moral support.' She winks at Lizzie, who giggles.
I shrug and turn back to my eyebrows. Lizzie sits on the bed while my mother bustles off again.
'I couldn't believe it when Giles started asking you if you and James were carrying on! I thought you were going to pass out!' she says.
'Joe put him up to it,' I say grimly.
'Two people from my office called me up to ask if I was watching!'
'I just hope James and Fleur didn't catch it.'
'Are they likely to have done?'
'Well, James was supposed to have been having a drink with some of the other officers but I don't know what Fleur will think if she saw it.'
Lizzie shrugs. 'I wouldn't worry. She is marrying him next week. If she doesn't trust him by now …'
'How are you feeling?' I ask Lizzie after a minute, suddenly aware I'm not the only person with problems.
She smiles. 'Better, I think. It's good to have something to take my mind off it.'
'I aim to please.'
The four of us and a sulky Pekinese clamber into my father's enormous Range Rover. No mean feat in a pair of three-inch heels, I can tell you. We are all looking incredibly smart; my mother is wearing an elegant knitted wool suit and my father is in the obligatory blazer and tie. I would much rather we were going somewhere else. Out to dinner in a peaceful country pub perhaps. I indulge this daydream as we drive into the countryside surrounding Bristol – anything to keep my mind off horrific fantasies about the drinks party. My parents argue about the map reading and my mother ferrets about in the front in a desperate attempt to unearth the invite, which apparently has a map on the back of it. The car is a mound of papers and I'm surprised my father can see out of the windscreen to drive as the dashboard is literally piled high with debris. This is all part of my mother's unique filing system. They got bored of dashing around the countryside trying to find parties, winding down windows to ask locals vague questions because they'd forgotten the map, the invitation or both, when they'd much rather be chatting and drinking their host's booze. So now my mother keeps all the invites in the car and just has difficulty finding the damn things.
We locate the venue at long last, swing into a driveway and speak into an intercom at the gates. We wait as the pair of huge iron contraptions swing open. A beautiful, tree-lined driveway stretches before us. 'James is marrying into this?' I ask incredulously. 'What does Fleur's father do again? I thought you said he was a theatre backer?'
'He is, darling. It takes a lot of money to be a theatre backer – his main career is something to do with finance.' My mother dismisses the many acres in front of her with the vague phrase 'something to do with finance'.
I sink into my father's upholstery with a sigh. How on earth did I ever think I could compete with this? My sharp-eyed pater notices my reaction in his mirror.
'Gilded cages and all that, Holly. Shouldn't think it's as much fun as it looks.'
Well, even half the amount of fun it looks would be enough for me.
The driveway soon gives way to a glorious old Georgian house. Dad parks the car next to an assortment of BMWs, Audis and Alfa Romeos. My heart is in my mouth and my immediate reaction is to make a bolt across the fields but my mother takes tight control of my hand. 'You look gorgeous,' she whispers into my ear and gives my hand a conciliatory squeeze. In the end we chose a sophisticated black dress with slits up the front and back, cleverly backed with a brilliant purple lining which glints through the material. It is, as Lizzie wryly remarked, the pulling dress I wore before I met Ben.
I look up in wonder at the house. It is built from mellow Cotswold stone and has large Georgian windows. A Virginia creeper spreads across half of the house and the huge front door, painted in red, stands out proudly against it.
We are greeted by a discreet waiter who takes our coats and then shows us through to the drawing room. The buzz and hum of voices gets closer as we walk across the vast hallway until it reaches a crescendo as the waiter throws open the door. We walk in and are immediately greeted by a gentleman whom I presume is Miles, Fleur's father.
'Miles! How fabulous to see you! How are you?' my mother confirms.
'You look wonderful, Sorrel! Patrick, how nice to see you again,' he says as he turns towards my father. My father shakes his hand rather stiffly. He has never been a big fan of any of my mother's financial backers, shrewdly suspecting their motives for getting involved with the theatre. My mother turns to me. 'This is my daughter, Holly.'
'You need no introduction, Holly! I have heard so much about you!' He finishes this sentence with a great guffaw and I truly wish I could be anywhere else but here. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the laugh afterwards, but he is making me feel very uncomfortable.
My mother hastily shoves Lizzie in front of him. 'This is our cousin, Lizzie, who's with us for a few days.'
While this introduction is going on, I glance around the room at the array of people chatting in groups, clasping glasses as waiters circulate with canapés. I spot James and Fleur talking to an elderly couple and Callum in a group next to them. Callum spies me looking over and excuses himself from his group. James, noticing Callum's movement, looks up and follows his gaze to me. My heart misses a beat and we smile at each other.
Callum wrestles through the throng, twisting his body this way and that to reach me. He finally arrives at my side and grimaces slightly. Due to the social situation, he plants a kiss on my cheek. I smile and squeeze his arm, genuinely pleased to see a friendly face.
'How's it going?' I ask.
He fiddles with his collar. He is looking very smart in a grey suit with a pristine white shirt. The Donald Duck tie ruins the effect a bit.
'It's all a bit of an effort for us simple coppers,' he whispers.
'Feeling the strain?'
'What I do in the name of friendship! You look gorgeous, by the way!'
'Thank you. So did you have a good time last night?' I ask conversationally as he grabs two glasses from a passing waiter and hands one to me.
'Last night?'
'Yeah, you went for a drink with the rest of the department.' I notice James out of the corner of my eye saying hello to my parents and Lizzie.
'Oh,
that
. Yes, it was fine,' he shrugs.
'Stayed out all night, did you?'
'No, no.'
'S'pect you all needed to relieve the tension from the week,' I prompt, fishing madly.
'You want to know if any of us saw the TV interview, don't you?'
'Did you?' I gasp.
'No, my flatmate spotted you and recorded it for me. He missed the first five minutes though. So I caught the video but no one else saw it.'
'Thank God,' I say fervently. I glance over again to James and my parents. They seem to be sharing a joke and laughing raucously.