The Four of Us (19 page)

Artemis, although no longer living in the flat, regularly stayed overnight when making a trip up from the Cotswolds to shop at her favourite boutiques. As for Geraldine … Geraldine was due back from India any day, and until her wedding at the end of the month she, too, would be living at the flat.

Though it was a domestic situation that suited her, it incensed her present manager, Aled Carter. ‘Sharing a flat with three old school friends is not a pop star lifestyle,' he'd ranted at her time and time again. ‘It doesn't project the right image, Kiki.'

Well, maybe it didn't, but it was what she wanted. It was what felt right. As for darling Primmie … where the coke was concerned, she'd have to be discreet, that was all. It wasn't as if she snorted lines of it morning, noon and night. Coke was for when she was too exhausted to give a performance without a bit of help, or for when she was partying. It wasn't something Primmie would ever have to know about.

They were coming in to land now and she scooped her distinctive hair beneath a baker-boy beret and slipped a pair of dark glasses on. She wasn't expecting to be met by fans or members of the press, but it was always a possibility and she wasn't in the mood.

She thought with relief of the chauffeured white limo that would be waiting for her. It was a touch Aled insisted upon, irrespective of whether or not members of the press were there to see it.

‘Behave like a star, think like a star, and you'll be a star,' was his mantra and it had brought him success with a whole gamut of pop groups and solo artists.

The first single she'd recorded under his aegis had stayed in the charts for thirteen weeks. Success like that was one of the up sides of having him as her manager. A down side was that he was a slave driver who planned her weeks down to the last minute. Sometimes she would be up at six in the morning and be singing by nine – and this was after not getting home from a gig until the early hours. There were no such things as weekends off. Even though she'd just flown in from Australia, she knew he would have a full day planned for her for tomorrow.

As she disembarked she reflected on how different it had been when Francis had been her manager. Then, every gig had been fun and there had never been acrimonious disputes about what she should or shouldn't record. Acrimonious disputes with Aled were, unfortunately, plentiful. The current dispute was over material for her new album. Aled wanted it to be composed mainly of songs written by Geraldine and herself – which was understandable considering how big a hit ‘White Dress, Silver Slippers'and another song she'd co-written with Geraldine, ‘Twilight Love', had been.

The problem was, Geraldine hadn't been around to write songs with. For the past nine months she'd been on the hippie trail with Francis, seeking nirvana in India and Tibet.

Once out of baggage reclaim she pushed her trolley into the arrivals hall, seeing with a mixture of relief and disgruntlement that there were no members of the press waiting to greet her, only Albert, Aled's driver.

‘Aled says welcome back and he'll meet up with you later today,' he said, dealing manfully with her luggage.

‘Yeah. Well. He will if he can get me out of bed.'

She flung herself into the limo, knowing why Aled was impatient to see her. He wanted to know what the timing was going to be on the delivery of new songs, and until she met up with Geraldine she couldn't tell him.

She frowned, aware that even when Geraldine hit base again there was going to be little opportunity for her to put in the kind of time needed for an album. From now until her wedding day Geraldine's life was going to be one hectic whirl – a whirl that would have no time in it for lyric writing.

‘Put a music station on, Albert,' she said, wanting distraction.

A second later the sound of The New Seekers' ‘I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing'filled the limo. It was a sharp reminder of the kind of lightweight pop numbers Aled might drum up for the album if she failed to come up with anything herself.

‘Dear God,' she said devoutly. ‘That was number one in January. I can't believe it's still being given airtime. What's at the top of this week's charts?'

‘”Amazing Grace” by the Pipes and Drums and Military Band of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.'

‘You're kidding me?'

‘Nope. There ain't been anything decent in the number one slot for ages, apart from T Rex's “Telegram Sam”.'

Kiki said a rude word and lapsed into silence. The nitty-gritty of the problem was that of all the things she had written only the songs co-written with Geraldine had ever been real successes – and motivating Geraldine into songwriting was hard work, because Geraldine only ever did something if it amused her to do so. During the time Francis had been enthusiastically involved in the pop world, Geraldine had amused herself by being a stylist for a photographer friend, and, when the amusement of being a stylist had waned, by doing an antiques appreciation course at Sotheby's. In between times she had occasionally co-written songs with her and then, when the antiques appreciation course had come to an end, she had decided that Francis and she had delayed their trip to India for long enough – and the next thing she, Kiki, had known, was that Francis was off on the hippie trail and she was without a manager.

She chewed the corner of her lip again, still not knowing quite how she felt about it all. As it had happened, Aled had taken over managing her career and no great harm had been done, but the outcome might have been very different and, if it had been, Geraldine would have had a lot to answer for.

They were speeding through Chiswick now and she glanced down at her watch. It was five past three and for the first time it occurred to her that, as it was a weekday, Primmie wouldn't be at the flat to welcome her home.

‘Mr Carter has left a schedule for you to look over,' Albert said, breaking in on her thoughts. ‘It's tucked in the rear seat-pocket.'

With bad grace, Kiki removed the large white envelope, not bothering to open it. There'd be time enough later, when she was in a scented hot bath and not feeling so grumpy.

She tried to remember if she'd ever felt grumpy about any of the things Francis had ever arranged for her, and couldn't. She and Francis had got along famously and though he'd been brand new to the business he'd launched her solo career with all the expertise of an old pro. Her anger when he'd told her he was going off to India had been monumental.

‘India can wait! India's always going to be there!' she'd raged. ‘Building up my career
can't
wait! And how can I write more songs with Geraldine if she's meditating with Tibetan monks or sunning herself in Kathmandu?'

Raging had made not the slightest bit of difference. To her stunned disbelief, once Geraldine had decided that she'd waited long enough to hit the hippie trail, Francis hadn't even put up a fight about it.

She hadn't understood his behaviour then, and she didn't understand it now, because Francis had
loved
being part of the music business. As the limo pulled to a halt, she found herself hoping that he'd missed it so much he'd be on his knees, begging her to ditch Aled Carter so that their old business relationship could be renewed.

And what of their other relationship? The one that no one knew about? What was going to happen to that once Geraldine and he were married?

She got out of the limo, taking the envelope with her. Ever since her Hell's Angels days she'd been promiscuous. If she wanted to sleep with someone she slept with them, whether or not she was in a relationship with them, or even likely to be in a relationship with them. Spending so much time with Francis had inevitably meant that there'd been occasions, usually when they were on an adrenalin high after a successful gig, when they'd fallen into bed together.

It had been something neither of them had tortured themselves over. Francis always spoke of Geraldine as if she were, quite simply, his best friend, and they were marrying because it was something his father and her mother had planned for them since the cradle. ‘Geraldine loves Cedar Court passionately – far more passionately than anyone else I might marry ever would,' he'd said. ‘What's more, she'll run the estate like clockwork, which is all to the good, because I've no interest in doing so.'

Kiki, who hadn't a romantic bone in her body, hadn't been overly shocked at such a prosaic approach to marriage. If that was how Geraldine and Francis wanted to arrange things, it was fine by her – as was the great sex she and Francis enjoyed whenever there was no other outlet for post-concert adrenalin highs.

The first thing she saw as she entered the flat was a large card propped on the telephone table on which was written:
Welcome home! There's a bottle of bubbly in the fridge and I've left the water heater on, so there'll be lashings of bath water. I'll be home as soon as poss. Love you. Primmie
.

Feeling immediately cheered, she tossed her beret on to the nearest chair and, leaving Albert to hump her luggage into the hall and to see himself out, she went into the bathroom and turned the hot tap full on.

While the bath was filling, she went in search of the champagne. It was Louis Cristal. Mentally giving Primmie full marks, she opened it with expertise born of long practise then, the champagne bottle in one hand, a glass in the other, Aled's envelope tucked beneath her arm, she went back into the bathroom.

Half an hour later, soothed by champagne and deep, scented bathwater, she stretched a hand over the side of the bath and reached for the envelope. The sheet of paper inside was headed:
Schedule Week Commencing 3rd May
.

Tuesday 5th
1000 – Urgent meeting my office re material for new album.
1300 – Lunch with Kit, Mr Chow's.
1500 – Interview with New Musical Express.
1600 – Photo shoot.
1800 – Rehearsal Top of the Pops.

Wednesday 6th
1000 – Meeting with producer Juke Box Jury.
1300 – Lunch San Lorenzo with Dick Shields, EMI.
1530 – Rehearsal with new session musicians.
1900 – Top of the Pops.
2200 – Party at Ad-Lib.

Thursday 7th
0800 – Meet with choreographer for Birmingham gig 29th.
1000 – Meet re next month's gigs in Milan, Pisa and Rome.
1230 – Interview for TV World.
1300 onwards – Song material discussion with Kit.
1800 – Rehearsal with new session musicians.

Friday 8th
0830 – Flight to Newcastle. Tyne Tees TV.

Saturday 9th
0800 – Return London. Morning meet new album issue.

At the bottom, by hand, was scrawled:
Great offer star spot Saturday night TV
Arthur Haynes Variety Show.
Will talk asap
.

She dropped the schedule back on to the floor, ran the hot tap to heat the cooling water and closed her eyes. A variety show. A
variety
show? Was Aled mad? She was a rock singer, not a bland all-round family entertainer. What kind of a career path was he trying to push her down?

The sound of the flat door slamming open and Primmie shouting ‘Welcome back!' as she ran down the hall towards the bathroom banished Aled from her thoughts.

The bathroom door crashed open and Kiki's grin split her kittenish face in two. ‘I'm already halfway through the Louis Cristal,' she said, raising her champagne glass. ‘Thanks for the thought, Prim. It was a lifesaver.'

‘Gosh, but it's good to have you home, Kiki!' Primmie fell on her knees beside the bath, radiant faced. ‘The flat was quiet as a tomb without you!'

Kiki gave her a damp, loving kiss on the cheek.

‘It's good to be home, Prim. Australia was exhausting. When we weren't performing we were travelling God alone knows how many miles to wherever it was we were performing next. The road crew were a nightmare and I haven't had a day to myself since I left England. What's been happening here? Any news of when Geraldine is back? How's Artemis? When I left she said she was hoping to become pregnant. Has she?'

‘Geraldine will be back by Saturday. We all have dress fittings for the wedding Saturday afternoon. As for Artemis …' There was no longer a beaming smile on her face. ‘Artemis isn't pregnant.'

She rested her arms on the edge of the bath. ‘And she's not going to become pregnant, either.'

Kiki's eyebrows rose.

‘Rupert is sterile. He had mumps as an adult and there's no question of Artemis being able to have a baby.'

Sending scented bubbles surging, Kiki pushed herself sharply upright. ‘Then why was Artemis so full of how she wanted a baby straight away? That's why she's no longer interested in modelling, isn't it? Because she wanted to fall pregnant as soon as possible? Didn't she realize what his having had mumps as an adult could mean?'

Primmie's face was grave, her eyes troubled. ‘He didn't tell her, Kiki. Not until a few days ago.'

Kiki opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. At her second attempt, she said, ‘What a bastard! What an absolute, utter
bastard
!'

It was so true that Primmie had nothing to say. At last she said, scraping round for a mitigating circumstance, ‘Perhaps Rupert didn't tell her before they were married in case Artemis would no longer want to marry him and he was frightened of losing her.'

Kiki slid back down in the bath again, bubbles rippling up round her shoulders. ‘That doesn't make things better, Primmie. It makes things worse. It means he was
deliberately
deceptive – and deceptive about something he must have known would be whackingly important to Artemis. It's not as if she's one of life's career girls, is it? The modelling was just something very Chelsea set for her to do until she married.'

This again was so true that Primmie again remained silent. Kiki put her champagne glass down on the edge of the bath, swirled the water and the bubbles round with her hand and then said meditatively, ‘Do you think she'll leave him because of it? She could work as a model again and move back in with us – it is her flat, after all.'