Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton
sat down. ‘Yes, thanks to you two. Thank God you were there.’
Sam reached for the bottle of white Rioja and filled their glasses. ‘What a creep. Forget about him.’
‘Nothing else I can do, is there? So who were you talking about?’
‘You weren’t meant to hear, but …’ Frank’s embarrassment didn’t last for long. ‘We’re just talking about Julia.’
Sam glared at him as if to say, ‘Why can’t you keep your mouth shut?’
‘It’s OK.’ Christie picked up the menu and began to read. ‘What were you criticising her for this time?’ She decided on the salmon fishcakes and sorrel sauce, with spinach.
The two men looked sheepish, neither volunteering anything, both concentrating hard on the menu.
‘Oh, come on. You can say. Frank, I know you can’t keep a secret.’
‘All right,’ he said, tugged between the pleasures of indiscretion and the near impossibility of tact. ‘But I know you won’t like it.’
‘Try me,’ said Christie, intrigued.
Sam beckoned the black-uniformed waitress over to give their orders. Once she’d taken and double-checked them, they were left to their conversation.
‘There’s been more about Julia in the papers,’ Sam explained.
‘Why? Why can’t they leave her alone?’
‘Laura, Ben’s partner, has been papped out in public for the first time with her new fella so the journalists have dug up the case again and added some new stories that put your agent in a worse light than ever.’
‘What are they saying now?’ Christie felt weariness descend on her. She could see Frank was enjoying himself.
‘You’ve heard the rumours that the director of programmes at Space TV won’t deal with her?’
She shook her head.
‘Great story,’ Frank sat back. ‘An ex-client of hers claims he took the idea for Dead Cert to her, she pooh-poohed it and then, according to him, went straight to Space and sold the format for a fortune.’
Christie knew the hit programme: it was an unlikely cross between I’m a Celebrity and Midsomer Murders. She listened, disliking what she was hearing. At the same time she reminded herself of how positive Marina had been about Julia when introducing her on the Tart Talk set. Clearly, not everyone had their knives out for her.
But Frank hadn’t finished. ‘Anyway, when her ex-client produced evidence that the idea was originally his, Space had no choice but to pay him off. They said they’d never work with Herself again.’
‘What’s her side of the story?’ Christie asked, curious.
‘Usual face-saving guff. Dismisses it as a misunderstanding and that her heart’s broken not to be able to do business with such decent people. And there’s more.’ He rubbed his hands together. When they didn’t stop him, he went on, ‘And Franny Gallagher has come out saying she moved back to Max from Julia – silly girl should never have left him in the first place – because Julia promised her a big contract with Morning TV and big bucks to move to her, and then Jackie Love, a higher-profile client of Julia’s no less, got the job instead. That woman’s not good news.’ He gave Christie a meaningful look. ‘Have you double-checked your contracts to make sure everything’s above board?’
‘I don’t need to. I’ve got complete faith in her. No, honestly,’ she added, when she saw the way they were looking at her. ‘We’ve got a watertight arrangement.’
‘Well, don’t say you weren’t warned.’
‘You say that, and of course I’ve heard all the stories. But, if she’s on your side … We’ve had one or two little misunderstandings, true, but nothing that outweighs all the good work she’s done for me. I wouldn’t be sitting here now if it weren’t for her.’
‘That may be true, but I still think there’s something fishy. I was just telling Sam that I can’t help feeling it was odd, Ben dying at her house.’
‘Not this again.’ Christie sighed, but Frank continued, undeterred.
‘Ben told me the week before he died that he had money worries, and he was planning to discuss them with Julia. Thought she might have been dipping her fingers into the till to fund that lavish lifestyle. Then he dies in her house. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?’
‘What are you saying exactly? Are you accusing her of murder, Frank? Is that what you’re getting at?’
‘No, not exactly.’ He screwed up his face as he thought.
‘Then what? What are you trying to say?’
‘I’m not sure but it never felt quite right.’
‘Frank, stop it!’ She looked at him over her glass. ‘I know you and Julia go way back and that you don’t like her, but Ben’s death was an accident. He somehow slipped, banged his head and drowned. Julia was in bed, asleep. What you’re saying is slander. She may be a shrewd operator but there’s no way she’s a murderer.’ Christie glared at him, daring him to say more. He didn’t. ‘Now, you silly old poof, have another glass of wine.’
Frank smiled. ‘Fair enough, you frustrated old fag hag. Just don’t go anywhere near her pool.’
He saw from Christie’s expression that he’d gone too far so confined himself to a grimace, then shook his head. ‘It’s Ben and his family I feel sorry for. They haven’t had a chance to stand up for him. Remember that awful third-rate soap star who kissed and told in the News after his death? She totally assassinated Ben, making out he was a party-loving, drug-crazed sex fiend but I’m certain drugs weren’t his scene.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘And he hadn’t looked at another woman since he met Laura. None of it rang true.’
‘Perhaps you didn’t know him quite as well as you thought,’ Christie conjectured. ‘Who knows what goes on in anybody else’s private life?’ But although she dismissed the subject, she had to admit that a little bit of her was as intrigued as the others were about what had happened that night. She didn’t want to disbelieve Julia’s account, but she couldn’t help wondering if it was the whole truth.
‘But the press have their own agenda,’ said Sam, indignantly. ‘Or someone does. Come on. We know how much of that stuff is ill-informed guesswork or pure fiction – but they’ve got to fill the space somehow. Just because the Wednesday witches haven’t sharpened their pencils for you yet.’ He leaned back so the waitress could put his rack of lamb in front of him. ‘Mmm. Smells good.’
‘Oh, I’m very dull,’ said Christie, dismissing the female columnists who gave nothing for anyone’s reputation.
‘You must have some secrets.’ Frank leaned across the table, his eyes wide with interest. ‘Aren’t you going to share them with your two favourite boys?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I wish I had one to share.’ She thought of Richard. Since the kiss, they had maintained the same polite distance, made easier by the fact she was at work every weekday evening. Their arrangements for the kids were made between him and Maureen, who wouldn’t hear a bad word against him.
‘He’s perfect for you, Christine,’ she’d said one night, unaware of the uncharted waters she was entering. ‘But I expect he’s already spoken for.’
Christie had ignored her. She still didn’t get it, though. She was a reasonably attractive woman, wasn’t she? Why would he react so strongly against her? He’d told her that he’d been divorced for a couple of years from Caro, who was spending more and more time in Brussels with her work and her lover. There was nothing standing in his way of a relationship as far as she knew. Unless he was gay, of course. The idea slipped into her mind from left-field. She