Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton
necessary expense.’ Mel applauded him and quickly absorbed his TV dress rules – no black (too dense), no red (the colour bleeds), no white (too dazzling), no stripes or checks (they strobe).
After that, Christie gave herself up to whatever would be, and shopping with Frank and Mel had turned out to be a joy: funny, inspired and inventive. He had a flair for seeing what teamed and toned, what mixed and matched, what would look good under studio lights in front of a camera and what would best hide the microphone and earpiece packs that got stuffed like two fag packets up her jumper. On top of that, he had oodles of patience that stood him in good stead while Christie made up her mind. Whenever she was losing the will to live, he’d appear at the cubicle door with exactly the right accessory to pull an outfit together: the wide woven belt, the heavy beaded necklace, the understated bracelet. Mel was the voice of reason if things got too camp and he took over when she got too avant garde.
Result? Two knock-’em-dead jackets, three dresses, a skirt and two pairs of trousers, plus various bits of cheap and cheerful jewellery.
Three and a half hours after they had first set foot in Selfridges, they had called a halt and repaired to the wine bar for lunch.
The sisters looked up to see him approaching, clutching three glasses of champagne. He squeezed in opposite them. ‘Cheers,’ he said, passing them round. ‘Here’s to Team Christie.’ They clinked glasses and sipped. ‘Why do we ever drink anything else?’ he wondered, obviously not expecting an answer. ‘Now. What I’m dying to know is, how did a nice girl like you get tied up with Julia? Tell all.’
Christie was exasperated by people’s reaction to her agent. She was disappointed Frank thought the same as everyone else and gave her usual brisk answer. ‘We met on the Tart Talk set. She invited me to see her and I was impressed. She’s good. I don’t understand why you’ve all got it in for her.’
‘Well, I can’t speak for the others, love, but I’ve known her a long time. Since drama school, in fact.’
‘Drama school? Julia’s an actress?’
‘Yeah. I don’t know why she didn’t keep it up. She was very good at convincing everyone around her to give her the leading roles in the end-of-term productions. Several boys had their hearts broken because she persuaded them that they loved her. Funnily enough, she only ever made moves on the rich ones. Something to do with her upbringing, I guess. She ironed out her north-west accent very quickly, was always immaculately turned out and managed to get someone else to buy her supper. She must be struggling a bit at the moment, having lost a client in her swimming-pool last year. I know for a fact that one or two others have left her and, apart from you, she hasn’t taken on anyone since he died. Mud sticks.’
‘Poor Ben. She must have been so upset. What a thing for her to deal with.’
‘Hmm.’ He sounded doubtful. ‘I once knew her quite well, but now she doesn’t even acknowledge me. If you’re in, you’re in. But if you’re out … Are you eating?’ He passed across the long menu, just as one of the few waitresses stopped by their table.
As they waited for her noodle dish, Mel’s salad and his steak frites, Christie regretted being so dismissive. ‘Tell me more.’
He gave her a knowing look. ‘Remember Max Keen? He came into the studio the other day with that actor … what’s-’is-name.’
Christie nodded. Max Keen was Sam’s agent and she remembered meeting him briefly when another of his clients, Clem Baker, was on the show. Max had accompanied him, keeping in the background, standing behind the cameras, quietly watching, while the Hollywood A-lister had talked to Sam and Christie about his latest Oscar-tipped performance. In contrast to the film-star good looks of his client, Max was a small, balding man, neatly but casually turned out. However, the two had a rapport, which was plain to anyone who watched them together and Max, however tough a negotiator he might be, had a transforming smile. She had seen that for herself when Sam had introduced her to him.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘He and Julia were married once. And he was the top talent agent in the country. He learned the business at Mellors and Crombie where his secretary was none other than guess who?’ He left the gap, waiting for her to fill it in.
‘Julia?’
‘Got it in one. After two years, they got spliced despite, or perhaps because of, the ten-year age-gap.’ His eyes lit up at the idea of a sexual shenanigan or two. ‘They left M and C and set up their own artist-management company, Keen and Keen. Everybody wanted Max to take them on, but he was bloody choosy. As a result, he built up a bespoke client list that was second to none, sharing the responsibilities with his new wife.’
‘So what happened? Why aren’t they still together?’
‘Two reasons, I guess. One: Julia’s a ruthless, bitchy workaholic who takes all the credit she can – you must have picked up on that by now? And two: a leopard never changes its spots, so Max went off with his latest assistant. Lucy was young enough to give him the family he wanted. Such a scandal at the time.’
Christie could see how much Frank must have enjoyed it.
‘They said Julia refused to have kids because they’d get in the way of her career.’ He paused as their food was put in front of them, not wanting to the waitress to overhear. After he’d had a couple of mouthfuls, he continued, ‘Against all expectations, instead of collapsing under the pressure of such a public divorce, Julia set up White Management in direct competition with Max. If it hadn’t been too confusing I bet she’d have used his name. She hung on to it for herself, though. Nothing like success by association.’
‘And then?’
‘Only if we have another glass! Shiraz this time, I think. Your turn.’
Christie edged out and made her way round a group of shrieking women sporting sparkling antennae and pink T-shirts bearing the words ‘Em’s Hens On Tour’. But her mind stayed with what Frank had been telling her. Remembering Julia’s elegance and style, it was impossible for Christie to imagine Max and her as an item. He was so much shorter, so relaxed, and with more of the frog about him than the prince.
Suddenly one of the ‘hens’ grabbed her arm. ‘Aren’t you Christie Lynch?’
She shook her arm free, surprised. ‘Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you.’
‘I watch that news show every night.’ Christie could smell the alcohol on her breath. ‘Janey! Got your mobile? You don’t mind, do you?’
Before Christie had a chance to answer, the woman had engineered herself so they were side by side and her friend was taking a picture of them together. ‘Thanks ever so much. The kids’ll be thrilled. They love Sam.’ With that she turned back to her crew and left a disconcerted Christie to make her way to the bar. Although no one else approached her, she was aware that one or two people were staring at her. The unexpected attention had been quite harmless but made her feel uncomfortable. Recognition was one thing, being accosted quite another. But if the fans of the show were all like that, she had nothing too serious to worry about.
When she returned to the table, Frank and Mel were examining the two necklaces they had insisted she buy, one chunky, one sparkly. ‘Now you’re kitted out for every occasion,’ Mel said. Christie popped them into their bag and, taking her glass, nodded for Frank to go on with his story.
‘Julia was livid – there’s no woman like Julia when she’s scorned, I can tell you. She’d already built up a reputation that provoked envy, resentment, admiration, you name it. But without Max’s good influence, she lured clients from other agents – most often from him, of course – promising to double or treble their income. And, more often than not, she did. That’s how to get an impressive list.’
‘That’s good, though, isn’t it? All’s fair in love and business?’ Christie wasn’t much enjoying the picture Frank was painting of her agent. If only she’d done some background research first, as Richard had suggested,