Authors: Elizabeth Oldfield
‘Umpteen times. I was in a weekly show. Used to get sackloads of fan mail.’
He shot her a frowning glance, but clearly couldn’t place her. ‘When was this?’
‘Oh, a while ago,’ she said, and turned to Max. ‘That was a good work-out.’
‘A killer. You all looked the role,’ he enthused. If he felt our performance had lacked the zap the painful three could’ve provided, he did not show it. He spoke to Jenny. ‘You must be pleased you shed the weight?’
She grinned. ‘I’m delighted.’
‘Your breathing was easier,’ he said to me. ‘Another benefit of cutting down on the cigarettes.’
I nodded. ‘Agreed and, yes, I also agree that you’re wonderful.’
‘Let’s hope the nation’s couch potatoes thought so, too,’ Max said.
The canteen was a vast, utilitarian room with a black-and-white tiled floor and windows which overlooked the car park. A self-service counter ran along the back wall and there was a sea of plastic-topped tables, about a quarter of which were occupied. Following Crispin’s command, a woman in a white cap and apron poured out cups of coffee and filled a plate with croissants.
‘I’ll be back for you in ten minutes,’ Crispin declared, and departed.
None of us had eaten breakfast – and the bacon and eggs that other people were devouring looked delicious – but our coffee and croissants were welcome. We had settled around a table, when a man in a black polo neck sweater and modish spectacles appeared beside us. It was Joe Fernandez.
‘Happened to be in the building, caught your segment and felt I must come and tell you that it was tremendous,’ he said.
Although his gaze flickered across Max, Jenny and me, his words were meant for Tina. We all looked at her, expecting her to respond, but she was silent. Silent, concentrating on tearing open a sachet of sweeteners to add to her coffee and patently ignoring him.
‘Thanks, Joe,’ Max said.
Jenny nodded politely. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘You were a smash hit, Max,’ the comedian said.
‘You think so?’ he asked eagerly.
‘I do. You possess the wow factor in spades. And what a lovely trio you had with you.’
When, again, Tina did not react, Jenny smiled. ‘You’re very kind.’
Putting a hand on the back of Tina’s chair, Joe Fernandez bent over her. ‘More apologies that you joining me on my show fell through, but it wasn’t my fault. And all’s well that ends well, eh?’
‘How well is your wife?’ Tina enquired.
He readjusted his spectacles. ‘My wife?’
‘What exactly is it that she suffers from and how bad is she? Does she require constant nursing or does she gallop around on horses by day and go jitterbugging at night?’ Lifting her head, she stared into his eyes. ‘Tell me. Tell me the truth.’
The comedian cleared his throat. Frowned. Coughed. ‘Although there’ve been plenty of theories, her illness has never been fully diagnosed –’
‘In twenty years? Piffle!’
‘– but it’s debilitating and she never knows from one day to the next how she’ll be feeling.’
‘Piffle and rubbish! There’s nothing wrong with her,’ Tina proclaimed.
Atta girl! I thought.
Straightening, Joe shot a hasty look around. People at other tables had paused in eating their meals to listen.
‘Sweetie pie,’ he murmured, bending down to Tina again and moving into top smarm. ‘Why don’t you and I talk about this in private and –’
‘Your wife isn’t ill. Not seriously. Never has been.’ With each word, Tina’s voice became louder and more dramatic. She had realised she had secured an audience and was playing to them. ‘It’s quite likely she’s been in rude health all along.’
‘Now, you adorable creature, you mustn’t –’
‘We are over. Finished. Through,’ she announced, in the tragic tones of a damsel in distress. She was a woman wronged and angered, but regretful, too. ‘I do not want to see you again or hear from you again. Ever.’
Once more Joe Fernandez straightened, checking out the other diners who were rapt and attentive. Even the counter assistant had stopped in the throes of stacking plates to listen. Joe frowned. If he accepted such a public defeat, he could be ridiculed. Someone might even blab to the press. So should he launch another charm offensive? Would Tina succumb to his persuasive powers and his lies? She had succumbed in the past. The thoughts flitted, as if written on ticker-tape, across his eyes.
When he bent over her again, she stared regally ahead.
‘Go away,’ she instructed. ‘Leave me alone!’
‘But sweetie pie –’ Joe began.
‘Please!’ The word was a theatrical sob.
Max rose to his feet, towering over the comedian. ‘You heard the lady,’ he said, and, after a wary assessment of the younger man’s size, Joe turned and walked swiftly out.
Tina smiled up at Max. ‘My hero,’ she declared, then she stood and hugged and kissed him.
The canteen erupted in a round of applause.
Max took a bow, which provoked cheers and whistles, then the pair of them resumed their seats. There came the clatter of cutlery as feeding resumed and a buzz of eager gossip as the contretemps was discussed and dissected. Tina had given quite a performance, I reflected. Maybe she should forget about modelling and switch to acting.
‘I agree with Joe Fernandez,’ pronounced a man, one of two who were sitting at a nearby table. ‘You girls are a lovely trio – and great little movers.’
Jenny arched a brow. ‘You saw us working out?’
‘Saw you on that –’ he indicated a television screen, one of several sited around the canteen walls ‘– and was riveted.’
‘Likewise,’ added his companion.
Both were middle-aged, with greying hair. Dressed in shirts, ties and dark trousers, with well-polished shoes and expensive watches strapped around their wrists, they had the confident air of men who are successful in their careers. Executives of some kind, though they could’ve been biscuit salesmen.
‘Glad you enjoyed it, gents,’ Jenny said. ‘Enjoyed us.’
She was casting sidelong glances. She was smiling, seductively stretching in her ‘brakini’ and flares. She was
flirting.
And Tina, who had murmured her thanks at the compliments, was being ignored.
I didn’t get a look-in, either.
I stared. In all the years I’d known her, I had never seen Jenny act this way. I would never have believed she
could
act this way.
The second man edged his chair closer. ‘Do you live in London?’ he asked her.
‘In Dursleigh, Surrey. Not too far away.’
‘You come up to town much?’
‘No, though all I need to do is hop on a train. There’s a frequent service and it doesn’t take long. Excuse me,’ she said, as the frog croak tones of her mobile sounded.
They were tones which her son, Patrick, had installed. Jenny may be proficient with a computer, but she has yet to fully master her cell phone. Installing tones remains a mystery. Likewise text messaging. Must be an age thing because I’m not too clever at texting, either. I need to poke and painstakingly prod for ages, whereas kids of eight can produce reams of words with a flash of stubby fingers.
‘Hello?’ Jenny demanded, impatient at being interrupted. ‘Oh, Bruce. You saw us?’ A pause while she listened. ‘Thank you. Yes, it did go well.’
Should I be a killjoy, a sneak and protector, and make a comment about how she was speaking to her husband, her beloved husband? Not much point. She wore a wedding ring on her finger. As did both the men. JLFAS, I recalled, and my heart sank.
‘Victoria rang you to say I’d be on and she’s videoed it?’ Jenny continued. ‘Yes, I forgot. Yes, we can. In a rush. See you later.’
As she ended the call, Crispin returned. ‘Your driver is ready and waiting,’ he advised us.
‘Sorry, I have to go,’ Jenny told her admirers.
‘We must be off, too,’ the second man said, and taking out his wallet he passed her an address card. ‘I hope we’ll meet again.’
Glancing at the card, she gave a smile which teased and hinted and was positively
wicked.
‘Who knows?’ she said.
Where did you learn that, Jen? I wondered. What other man-killer skills do you possess? How have you kept them hidden for all these years?
As the two men departed, Crispin spoke to Max. ‘The phones are going mad with viewers ringing to say how much they liked your slot and the producer’s wondering if you’d be willing to do a repeat sometime soon?’
Max grinned. ‘You bet.’
‘Anytime,’ Tina said.
Crispin shook his head. ‘Max with the other women.’
‘You don’t want us?’ she protested.
‘No. Nothing wrong with the work-out – and there’ve been a couple of calls from folk who remember you from way back when – but the producer feels the younger trio would be more to the minute.’
Seeming torn between tears and foot-stamping temper, Tina shook her head. ‘That’s not fair!’ she said loudly.
Once again, the canteen’s hubbub stilled and all ears were pricked.
Jenny looked embarrassed. ‘Don’t get upset,’ she implored. ‘We’ve had our moment of glory.’
‘Very nice it was, too,’ I said. ‘But enough is enough.’
‘Everyone’s agreed that we’re a class act,’ Tina declared, her words directed at her audience, ‘and we came at short notice, and we should be asked back. We deserve it.’
‘Hear, hear,’ someone shouted.
‘I’m very sorry,’ Crispin said.
‘No, you’re not. You don’t give a toss. But you can tell that producer of yours that the more mature woman is a potent force in the world today and his judgement is crap!’ she announced, and, snatching up her bag, she flounced off through the tables and out of the canteen in her zebra pattern suit.
It was a grand exit. One which provoked another round of applause.
As Crispin and Max hurried ahead to catch Tina and try to placate her, Jenny and I followed.
‘It was good of Bruce to ring,’ I remarked, wanting to remind the newly minted vamp that she had a caring and attentive husband.
‘Mmm. He said we could watch the video together this evening.’
‘He showered compliments?’
‘Reckoned I was so sinuous and seductive, he can’t wait to get me into bed.’
‘Which means he loves you. Only you,’ I insisted.
Jenny did not reply.
Steve let rip with a whistle, a long low wolf whistle. ‘Be still my beating heart.’
‘You watched?’ I asked.
‘Me, and everyone else at
The Siren
and most of Dursleigh, judging from the phone calls which have been coming in. I-saw-Carol-strutting-her-stuff-and-was-blown-away type phone calls. When you do your write-up, we’ll need to print a photograph of you in your exercise gear to please the punters.’ He made a low growl in the back of his throat. ‘Sexy or what?’
‘Sexy with a capital S,’ Tony declared.
I grinned. ‘No need to overdo it.’
‘I never realised you were, like, so supple, and had such a really, really neat figure,’ Melanie said. ‘I mean, like, for someone of your age.’