Shopaholic to the Stars

THIRTEEN

It’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with many awkward social encounters in my time; it’ll be fine. I mean, OK, so I’ve never met a movie star who: 1. I’ve caught shoplifting; 2. has a tricky reputation (perhaps undeserved); 3. I know the entire life history of, having Googled her solidly for about three days.

But still. I expect it’ll go really well. We’ll probably really hit it off, and meet up for coffee, go shopping together …

No. I pull myself up short. Not shopping. I mean, what if she pinches something? What if she asks me to be her accomplice and I don’t know how to say no? I have a sudden hideous vision of the headlines:

Stylist and movie star arrested in Barneys stuffing designer socks in bags. See pictures pages 8 to 10.

Argh. Stop it, Becky. That’s not going to happen. Decision one: If I get to work on Lois’s styling team, then I’ll tell her I never shop with my clients. And if by any chance we do go shopping and she asks me to shoplift something, I’ll … I’ll pretend I don’t understand and back away. And then run. Yes. Good plan.

At least I’ve done my research. I know so much about Lois Kellerton, I could write a book about her. I know she started her career aged two in an infomercial about road safety, and she had an agent at age three, and her parents gave up their jobs to focus on her career. Her mother is the driven one and her father is the had-lots-of-affairs-and-ran-off one, so I won’t mention him.

Nor will I mention Sage. I hadn’t quite realized what a feud they’ve been having. It’s not just the cancer-victim-shaving-head remark which Sage keeps going on about. It started ages ago, when they both arrived at an event in the same vivid-green dress, and Sage accused Lois of doing it on purpose. Then Sage didn’t turn up to an AIDS event organized by Lois. She was supposed to be presenting the whole evening, apparently, and Lois said she felt ‘snubbed and let down’ but that she wasn’t surprised that Sage had ‘once again displayed her innate selfishness’.

Then last year, Lois did the Hollywood Walk of Fame and said in her speech, ‘Hollywood is in my DNA.’ Whereupon Sage immediately commented on Facebook, ‘God help Hollywood.’

What’s really sad is that they used to be friends, years ago. They even appeared in a TV show together as children. But Hollywood is a tough place for the twenty-first-century actress, and she learns to look on every other star as an enemy (according to Hollywouldn’t.com, this brilliant blog I found). Apparently actresses compete over roles, men, ad campaigns and even plastic surgeons. They set up camps like royal courts and become paranoid about their competitors, even those they’re ‘friends’ with.

It all sounds super-stressy. I can’t imagine competing with Suze over a plastic surgeon. Although, to be fair, we did once clash over an Orla Kiely coat which we both wanted to buy on eBay. (Suze got it. But she lends it to me.)

Anyway, so there are quite a few possible conversational pitfalls, if and when I meet Lois tonight. I won’t mention Sage, or shoplifting (or shopping) or Lois’s dad, or Lois’s latest film, The Spiked Bed (it got bad reviews), or white sugar (she thinks it’s evil). Not that I was planning to mention white sugar, but still. Worth remembering. Topics I can safely mention: Lois’s Golden Globe, kettlebells, macadamia nuts. I’ve written them down in case I get tongue-tied.

‘Why macadamia nuts?’ says Suze, who has been reading the list with interest.

‘Because Lois loves them,’ I say. ‘It said so in Health and Fitness. So I’ll pretend to love them too and we’ll connect.’

‘But what can you say about macadamia nuts?’ objects Suze.

‘I don’t know!’ I say defensively. ‘I’ll say, “They’re really nutty, aren’t they?”’

‘And what will you say about kettlebells? Have you ever even seen a kettlebell?’

‘That’s not the point. Lois’s done a kettlebell DVD, so it’s a good conversational topic.’

We’re in my room getting ready for the Actors’ Society Awards or ‘ASAs’, as everyone calls them. And I can’t help feeling a little bit hyper. I have to get it right tonight. I have to make a good impression. I’ve analysed Lois’s style endlessly over the last few days and I’ve got loads of ideas for her. I think she could go far more young and glam. She wears dresses that are too old for her. And who does her hair?

‘I read another piece in Variety today saying Lois’s career is on the skids,’ says Suze conversationally. ‘Hair up or down?’ She grabs her hair extensions in one hand and piles them in a knot on her head. I look at it critically.

‘Up. That looks amazing. And it isn’t on the skids.’

‘Well, her price has fallen. Apparently she’s really moody. Shannon’s worked with her. Shannon says she’s permanently on the edge.’

‘Shannon’s just jealous,’ I snap.

I’m getting a bit sick of this Shannon. After our departure from The Black Flag, Suze got herself a day’s work as an extra on a TV show called Cyberville and made a new friend called Shannon, who’s been a professional extra for over twenty years. Shannon considers herself an expert on Hollywood and Suze treats all her views with total reverence and keeps spouting them back to me. I mean, honestly. Just because you’ve been in The Matrix, it doesn’t mean you know everything.

‘Lois just needs an exciting new look,’ I say firmly. ‘Which I will give her.’

‘What did Luke say about it?’ Suze turns, her voice muffled by hairpins in her mouth. ‘You never told me.’

‘Oh. Um.’ I play for time by lining my lips carefully, even though I’ve already lined them.

‘He is OK with it, isn’t he?’ Suze gives me a sharp look. ‘Bex, you did tell him, didn’t you?’

‘Look.’ I cast around for the best answer. ‘There’s no point telling him yet.’

‘You have to tell him!’ Suze shoves a sparkly hair clip into her hair. ‘You can’t just join Team Lois and he has no idea!’

‘I haven’t even met Lois properly yet,’ I retort. ‘What if we don’t get on? Then I’ll have told Luke for no reason. I’ll wait till I get hired and then I’ll tell him.’

I don’t want to tell Luke yet about meeting Lois. First, because I secretly know that Suze is right – Luke might raise objections. And secondly, I want to tell him when I’m already a success. I want to prove that I can make it here on my own.

‘What if he sees you making conversation with Lois tonight?’

‘Suze, this isn’t the Cold War! I’m allowed to talk to people! I’ll just say we were chatting. Can you hook me up?’

As Suze starts pulling at the fabric of my corset dress, my phone bleeps with three new texts, all in a row, and I reach for it on a nearby chair.

‘Stop it!’ Suze scolds me. ‘I can’t hook you if you move around. It’s only a text.’

‘It might be an emergency.’

‘It’s probably just Luke.’

‘What do you mean, just Luke?’ I say, punching in my code. ‘I wouldn’t say it’s “just” Tarquin.’

‘Yes you would, you say it all the time.’ Suze wrenches at my dress. ‘Are you sure this is the right size?’

I can’t answer. I’m staring at my phone in a state of shock.

‘Bex?’ Suze pokes me. ‘Hello?’

‘She’s coming,’ I say at last.

‘Who’s coming?’

‘Elinor. Here.’

‘Now?’ says Suze in alarm.

‘No, not now, but soon. In a week or so. I sent her a text, asking her to come, but I never thought she would—’ I turn to face Suze, suddenly petrified. ‘Oh God. What shall I do?’

‘You’ll stage an intervention, remember?’ says Suze. ‘Because you’re so brilliant at conflict resolution, remember?’

‘Right.’ I swallow. ‘Yes.’

Somehow it all sounded better in theory. But the idea that Elinor is actually going to get on a plane to LA, and Luke has no idea, and I’ll have the two of them to manage …

‘Suze, you have to help me,’ I say plaintively.

‘I’m not helping you!’ she says at once. ‘Count me out. I always thought it was a bad idea.’

‘It isn’t a bad idea! It’s just … it might be more difficult than I thought.’

‘I thought you were an expert,’ says Suze, rather unfeelingly. ‘I thought you had a variety of techniques up your sleeve and Buddha would guide you with his infinite wisdom.’ She pauses, then adds, ‘Tell you what, I’ll buy you some more wind chimes, if you like.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Well honestly, Bex, you must be nuts. What happened about Elinor’s surgery, anyway?’

‘It was cancelled,’ I say, reading the third text again. ‘It was only a minor procedure on her toe.’

‘Her toe?’ Suze stares at me. ‘I thought she was dying!’

‘So did I,’ I admit.

‘Well, I think you should cancel her. Say you made a mistake and you won’t be here.’ She prods my shoulder. ‘Turn round. There’s one more hook to do.’

I turn round, thinking hard. That’s the obvious option. The easy solution. I could text Elinor back. Tell her not to come; make some excuse. We’ll probably never see her again. But is that really what I want? Is that really for the best for all of us? For Luke? For Minnie?

Suze fixes the last hook in place. ‘There. Done.’ Then she adds, ‘Or you could always say Minnie was ill. I do that all the time if I want to get out of things. Ernie’s had whooping cough about five times, poor little love—’

‘I’m not going to cancel.’ I’m feeling resolute. ‘Elinor and Luke have to sort things out, and I really think I can help them, and the longer I put it off, the harder it’ll be.’

‘God help us.’ Suze stares at me, incredulous. ‘You are going to stage an intervention.’

‘Why not? I’m sure I can do it. With or without help,’ I say pointedly.

‘Who needs help?’ comes Luke’s voice from the corridor, and I stiffen. I hastily turn off my phone and paste on a casual smile.

‘Oh hi!’ I say brightly, as he comes in, all smart in black tie. ‘Just talking about … kettlebells.’

‘Marvellous,’ says Luke, shooting me an odd look. ‘What is a kettlebell? I keep hearing about them.’

‘It’s an exercise device,’ I improvise. ‘It’s modelled on a kettle. And a bell, obviously. Both. So, what time shall we leave?’ I add hurriedly.

‘Oh God, is that the time?’ Suze suddenly sounds fractious. ‘Where’s Tarkie?’

‘Haven’t seen him.’ Luke glances at his watch. ‘We’ll need to go in about twenty minutes.’

Luke wasn’t originally intending to come to the ASAs, but then suddenly Sage announced she wanted to go, and her whole entourage had to come too. Apparently she wanted to bring a monkey as a publicity stunt and Luke had to talk her out of it. A monkey! Imagine if it made a mess everywhere.

Now Luke’s eye has fallen on a shiny-cardboard carrier bag lying on the bed, out of which is poking a diamanté-encrusted clutch.

‘Another bag, Becky?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘I thought the bag you bought at the weekend was so perfect you would use it for ever and it would be your signature look and people would call you “The Girl with the Lara Bohinc Bag”?’

I feel a dart of righteous indignation. Husbands should not memorize conversations, word for word. It’s against the whole spirit of marriage. But in this case I don’t mind, because whatever he’s thinking, he’s wrong.

‘That clutch isn’t for me. I bought it in my role as a stylist. It’s tax-deductible,’ I add smartly.

I don’t actually know if that’s true but it must be, surely?

‘Right. Of course. The styling.’ Luke looks quizzical. ‘How’s that going, then?’

‘Great!’ I say robustly. ‘Lots of potential. Lots of irons in the fire.’

Luke sighs. ‘Becky, sweetheart, I wish you’d let me help you. I’m sure I could get you a couple of introductions—’

‘I don’t need your help!’ I reply, stung. ‘I’m on the case.’

This is why I don’t want to mention Lois Kellerton yet. I want to show him. The bag’s for Lois, of course. It’s a one-off from a vintage shop and has an Art Deco design which I think she’ll love. Lately, Lois has taken to wearing really subtle, muted shades, which is all very well, but I think she needs to ‘pop’ more and this bag will be perfect. Especially against all that lovely dark hair. I’m planning to give it to her tonight, as an ice-breaker, and hopefully we can take things from there.

‘Where is he?’ Suze is tapping at her phone. ‘Honestly, this bloody Golden Peace …’ She shoots me an accusing look, which is totally unfair. ‘I told him to get back in good time,’ she mutters as she presses Send. ‘He totally loses track of time. What’s he doing?’

I know Suze thinks Tarkie attends Golden Peace far too much. But she’s just prejudiced. The truth is, Tarkie is having a brilliant time hanging out with his volleyball gang, being one of the guys. No one pesters him about listed gables or investments in South Africa. Nor do they keep trying to pitch him movie ideas, because that kind of thing is totally banned at Golden Peace. I think it’s the first place he’s ever been where he’s just him. Tarkie. The person.

From outside comes the sound of car doors slamming. A moment later I hear the front door opening and closing, followed by footsteps in the hall. There we go. I knew Tarkie would turn up.

‘You see? He’s here.’ I grab my Lara Bohinc clutch bag and the diamanté one. ‘Let’s have a titchy while he gets ready.’

Suze is stepping into her teetering high heels, which make her look even taller and more willowy than usual. Her blonde hair, piled high in snaky curls, gives her yet more height, and she basically looks amazing: all golden suntanned limbs and fake lashes and imperious frown. No one can frown like Suze. She’s really quite scary, especially when she’s towering above you in her Louboutins. She gets it from her mother, who is equally formidable. Apparently she can trace her ancestry back to Boudicca. (Or do I mean Boadicea? The fierce fighty woman, anyway.)

Now Suze grabs her clutch (Tory Burch, snakeskin, on sale at Bloomingdale’s) and strides out of the room, calling, ‘Tarkie! Where have you been? We have to go!’

I hurry after her along the galleried landing, and stop dead at the same time as she does. Tarkie is in the hall below, but he’s not alone. He’s with Bryce, who is looking as tanned and crinkly-eyed as ever. They’re both in baggy surfer shorts and bandanas, and Tarkie is holding a Frisbee. I’ve seen Tarkie holding many weird things in my time – a First World War gun, an antique stuffed owl, an ancient scythe – but somehow seeing him with a Frisbee makes me want to burst into giggles.

As I glance at Suze, I can tell she isn’t thrilled.

‘Hello, Bryce,’ she says, overly pleasant, walking down the stairs. ‘How lovely to see you again. Please don’t let us keep you. Tarkie, you’d better get changed.’

Ouch. Suze’s clipped, polite tones are like little shards of glass landing, one by one. Her smile is icy, and the atmosphere is distinctly uncomfortable.

‘Darling, I’d rather not come tonight, if you don’t mind,’ says Tarkie, apparently oblivious. ‘Bryce’s organized an evening hike with some of the chaps. Sounds rather fun.’

‘But, darling, we’re going to the Actors’ Society Awards. Remember? We arranged it?’ Suze’s voice is so flinty that even Tarkie seems to realize something’s up.

‘Oh Suze, you don’t need me there, do you?’ he says pleadingly. ‘It’ll be full of ghastly people.’

Only Tarkie could describe the pick of A-list Hollywood celebrities as ‘ghastly people’.

‘Yes, I do need you there!’ exclaims Suze. ‘And I could have done without you disappearing all day, too. Where’ve you been, anyway?’

‘We played volleyball,’ says Tarquin, looking a bit shifty. ‘And we had lunch … and we talked …’

‘All afternoon?’ Suze is sounding shriller and shriller.

‘My apologies,’ says Bryce charmingly, in that smooth, hypnotic voice of his. ‘I waylaid Tarquin. We got talking and never stopped.’

‘Don’t apologize! It was a wonderful day.’ Tarkie turns eagerly to Suze. ‘Suze, darling, Bryce has so many brilliant insights. I’d love us all to have supper one night. And Bryce—’ He turns back to him. ‘I’d love to come to that class you were talking about. Meditation, was it?’

‘Mindfulness.’

‘That’s it! Sounds … ahm … fascinating.’

‘I’m brilliant at that,’ I put in helpfully. ‘It’s really easy.’

‘You don’t need to go to any classes, Tarquin!’ snaps Suze.

‘I agree,’ says Bryce, surprisingly. ‘It’s not at all essential. Tarquin, I think you’re someone who will heal himself through a slow, natural process. Just don’t be afraid to talk.’

‘Right. Ahm … absolutely.’ Tarquin looks uncomfortable. ‘The thing is, it’s not terribly easy—’

‘I know.’ Bryce nods. ‘It’s hard. But it’ll come. Remember, it doesn’t have to be with anyone. The sea will hear you. The air will hear you. Just express yourself, and let your soul find the answers.’

I’m listening, totally mesmerized, but Suze is bristling.

‘Talk to the sea?’ she scoffs. ‘What, and have everyone think you’re mad?’

‘“Mad” is a word I try not to use,’ says Bryce, unruffled. ‘And yes, I think talking to other people can bring its own unhelpful baggage. Sometimes you just need to talk to an entity. The void. Your god. We do a lot of healing work with animals.’

‘Tarkie doesn’t need healing!’ Suze sounds outraged.

‘That’s your opinion.’ He shrugs in a kind of all-wise, all-knowing, I have perspective because I have more experience of human problems and neuroses and stress than you could possibly guess at, even though I’m bound to secrecy and will never blab any celebrity details kind of way.

Well, that’s what I picked up, anyway.

‘I’m his wife,’ says Suze stonily.

‘Of course.’ He lifts his hands. ‘Suze, I respect you.’

There’s a really weird chemistry between Suze and Bryce. She’s practically sparking as she squares up to him …

Oh my God, does she fancy him? I mean, everyone kind of fancies Bryce, you’d have to be inhuman not to … but does she really fancy him?

‘Come on.’ At last Suze swivels and addresses Tarkie. ‘We need to go.’

‘I’ll see you, Tarquin,’ says Bryce, apparently unoffended.

‘Call me, Bryce,’ says Tarkie. ‘If you and the chaps are playing volleyball, or if there’s another hike …’ He’s so eager and hopeful, he reminds me of a little boy running after the cool kids in the playground.

‘I’ll call.’ Bryce nods kindly, then turns and leaves.

‘Well!’ Suze exhales as the door closes.

‘Interesting guy,’ says Luke noncommittally. ‘What’s his background, Tarquin?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Tarkie. ‘And it doesn’t matter.’ He turns on Suze. ‘I think you could be a bit more polite to my friends.’

‘He’s not your friend,’ retorts Suze.

‘He is! He’s more of a friend than most of the people in my life! He’s cleverer, and kinder, and he understands more …’ Tarquin breaks off and we all gape at him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Tarkie so impassioned in my life.

I mean, I’d have to agree. I’ve met Tarquin’s friends and most of them can only say about six words: ‘Good shot’ and ‘’Nother titchy?’ and ‘Damned pheasant’. I can’t imagine any of them talking about the soul finding the answers.

And if you ask me, Suze is making a big mistake. Why shouldn’t Tarkie blabber his guts out to the sea if it helps him? He was in a real old state before he got out here. At least now he has a glow to his cheeks.

‘If you can’t see it, then I don’t know how to explain,’ Tarquin finishes at last.

‘Well, I can’t,’ says Suze angrily.

In silence, Tarquin heads up the stairs, his Frisbee dangling at his side. I exchange anxious glances with Luke, then look at Suze. She’s standing with her hands on her hips, her cheeks puffed out defiantly.

‘Suze!’ I hiss as soon as Tarkie is out of earshot. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘I don’t know. I just …’ She exhales. ‘I just don’t like that guy. He winds me up.’

He winds her up. Well, that proves it. She does fancy him, even if she doesn’t realize it herself. It’s a sexual chemistry thing and she’s trying to resist it and taking it out on poor Tarkie with an irrational prejudice. Boom! Diagnosed!

Honestly, I should go into psychology. I’ve clearly got a real knack for it.

‘You don’t know what Tarkie’s like,’ Suze continues. ‘You haven’t seen him much recently. He’s started saying weird things. He’s changed.’

Yes, and that’s a good thing! I want to exclaim. Have you forgotten what a wreck he was? But now isn’t the moment.

‘Look, never mind,’ I say soothingly. ‘Let’s go out and have some fun and talk about it another time.’

The truth is, Suze could probably do with some sea-talking-natural-healing-soul-finding stuff herself. (Only I won’t say that because she’d probably stamp on my foot, and she’s wearing her spikiest Louboutins.)

The Actors’ Society Awards are being held at the Willerton Hotel and according to the programme they are for ‘lesser-known actors whose art may not find recognition elsewhere’. The trouble is, the whole place is stuffed full of major celebrities, so the poor old ‘lesser-known actors’ aren’t getting a look-in. I’ve already seen Diane Kruger and Hugh Jackman and the blonde one off that show with the kangaroo. And now the photographers outside are yelling ‘Tom! Tom!’ in a total frenzy, although whether it’s Cruise or Hanks I don’t know.

(Or Selleck?)

(Or some other new hot Tom I don’t know about?)

At least there was only one red carpet this time, not that my feet touched it for more than thirty seconds. All the stars were posing on one side for the photographers, while we lesser mortals were pushed along briskly by men in headsets who were practically holding cattle prods. I mean, I was virtually running, and Suze twisted her ankle.

‘Best Hairspray,’ says Suze, nodding at a woman with rocksolid hair.

‘Best Fake Boobs,’ I chime in, pointing to a girl striding by in a strapless dress.

‘Ooh, look! Best Producer Being Mean to Her Assistant,’ says Suze, gesturing at a scrawny woman in a tux, who is talking fiercely through the side of her mouth at a young girl who looks like she might start crying.

The actual awards don’t start for another whole hour, and as far as I can see, neither Sage nor Lois are here yet. Suze says her ankle is too painful to mill around, and Tarkie has disappeared off with a friend of his from volleyball, so we’re sitting at our table with glasses of wine, giving out our own awards.

‘I saw that girl in the loos.’ Suze nudges me as a beautiful red-haired girl walks by. ‘She gets Best Use of Concealer. And Best Drying Her Armpits under the Hot-Air Dryer— Oh!’ She breaks off. ‘April! Hello!’

I swivel round and gulp. There’s April Tremont, looking very slinky in a peacock-blue dress. And standing next to her is …

Oh my God. My heart suddenly starts bumping in my chest.

‘Lois, may I introduce Rebecca Brandon?’ says April. ‘Rebecca, this is Lois Kellerton.’

Seeing celebrities in real life is like seeing a Magic Eye, I’ve decided. At first they seem totally unreal, like a magazine or a film hoarding come to life. Then your eyes gradually adjust and they take on 3D form. And at last they kind of turn into real people. Kind of.

Lois’s face is thinner even than it was when I saw her before. Her skin is so fair it’s almost translucent. Her wavy hair is caught up in a loose knot, and she’s wearing a drifty, silky grey dress that makes her look like a shadow.

‘Hi,’ she says softly.

‘Hi,’ I say awkwardly, holding out my hand. ‘Lovely to … meet you.’

She takes my hand – and I see something snap in her face. She’s realized. She’s recognized me. My stomach clenches in apprehension. How is this going to go?

All credit to Lois, she’s totally kept her cool. Her pupils haven’t even dilated. No one would have any idea we’ve met before. That’s what acting training does for you, I expect.

‘Becky,’ she says slowly.

‘Exactly.’ I swallow. ‘I’m Becky.’

Don’t mention shoplifting, I tell myself firmly. Do not even THINK about shoplifting. The trouble is, the more I tell myself not to think about it, the more I can’t help it. I feel like her secret is dancing up and down inside me, shouting ‘Let me out!’

‘I love macadamias,’ I blurt out in desperation. ‘Don’t you?’

‘I guess so.’ Lois looks puzzled, then adds, ‘So, you want to be a stylist, April tells me.’

‘Becky is a stylist!’ says Suze loyally. ‘She used to work at Barneys as a personal shopper. She’s brilliant. I’m Suze, by the way. I’m in the profession too,’ she adds grandly. ‘I’m a background artist.’

Honestly, what is Suze like? I’m in the profession too.

‘I shopped at Barneys a couple times when I was filming in New York,’ says Lois. ‘I saw … Janet?’

‘Janet was my boss!’ I try not to sound too excited. ‘She taught me everything!’

‘Oh, OK.’ Lois gives me an appraising look. ‘So you know what you’re doing, then.’

‘Becky, I’m so sorry,’ April turns to me, ‘but Cyndi couldn’t make it after all. I was going to get Becky and Cyndi together,’ she explains to Lois.

‘Oh.’ I hide my disappointment. ‘Well, in the meantime …’ I reach for the Art Deco clutch. ‘I brought this along for you.’ I proffer it to Lois. ‘I saw it and it seemed like your style, it’s vintage …’ I trail off and hold my breath.

There’s silence as Lois considers the bag. I feel like I’m in the MasterChef final, and Michel Roux Jr is considering my profiteroles.

‘I like it,’ Lois declares at last. ‘I love it. Sold.’

‘Great!’ I say, trying not to sound too joyful. ‘Well, it’s from this great vintage shop, I go there all the time, I could easily source some more stuff for you …’

‘I’d like that.’ Lois gives me that ravishing, understated smile of hers, the one she does in Tess, when Angel strips off and does a sexy dance for her. (Did that happen in the book? Something tells me maybe not.)

She seems totally sweet and low-key. I can’t understand why people think she’s tricksy. Now she’s looking at her phone and frowning. ‘My agent. I need to go talk to some people. I’ll be back for this delightful thing.’ She puts the bag down on the table. ‘And we’ll talk terms.’

‘But what about Cyndi?’ I say awkwardly. ‘I don’t want to tread on her toes.’

‘You won’t.’ Lois gives a laugh. ‘The truth is, Cyndi’s really too busy to look after me anyway. April always said she would be.’

‘She has too many clients,’ April says ruefully.

‘I don’t have too many clients,’ I say at once, and Lois laughs again.

‘Great, well count me one of them.’ She smiles once more, then heads away, across the crowded room.

‘Next time you go shopping, I’m coming with you,’ says April, smiling. ‘You can find me a purse like that, too.’

‘Of course! And thank you so much for introducing me to Lois.’

‘My pleasure! Thank you so much for pointing out that the scene I was shooting made no sense. They’re still rewriting it, I believe.’ She winks at me. ‘See you girls later.’

She melts away into the crowd, and I gleefully turn to Suze.

‘Did you see that? Lois liked the bag! She wants to talk terms!’

‘Of course she liked the bag!’ says Suze, giving me a hug. ‘Well done, Bex! Lois seems really nice,’ she adds consideringly. ‘I thought she was supposed to be horrible.’

I’m about to say that that’s exactly what I was just thinking too, when Luke’s voice hails me.

‘Darling, are you all right?’ I turn to see him with Aran and two women I don’t recognize, and Sage, who is wearing a silver dress and matching shoes and her hair in a sixties beehive.

‘If that bitch gets it,’ she’s saying furiously. ‘If that crazy bitch gets it …’

‘Sage, calm down,’ Aran murmurs.

‘Having fun?’ says Luke.

‘Yes!’ I say, still glowing. ‘We’re having a great time! Hi, Aran; hi, Sage …’

While I’m introduced to the two women, Sage flops down on a chair, furiously tapping at her phone.

‘What’s up?’ I say quietly to Luke.

‘Lois Kellerton,’ he murmurs back. ‘Florence Nightingale. I have a feeling Lois’s going to get the role. Just don’t mention it, OK?’

‘Oh.’ I feel an uncomfortable twinge. ‘All right.’

I can feel Suze’s eyes burning into me, and I know what she’s trying to say: I should tell Luke that I’m going to start working with Lois Kellerton. She’s right. I should. Only I’m not quite sure how to do it in front of Sage.

Could I text him?

I get out my phone, open a text and start typing:

Luke. I have a new client. It’s Lois Kellerton.

No. Too blunt. I delete the whole thing and try again:

Luke, I have an amazing new opportunity which I don’t want to mention out loud. And I hope you’ll be pleased for me. I THINK you’ll be pleased for me. There may be a very slight conflict of interest, but we can always build Chinese walls, and

Damn. I’ve run out of room. I’m just backspacing again, when Sage looks up from her own phone.

‘Cute purse,’ she says, spying the Art Deco bag and pulling it towards her. ‘Is that yours, Becky?’

Shit. Shit.

‘Oh. Um …’ As I’m working out how to answer, Luke plunges in.

‘That’s one of Becky’s work purchases,’ he says. ‘You know she’s a stylist, Sage? She’s worked at Barneys and at a major store in London. Remember, I was telling you about her work yesterday.’

‘I do,’ says Aran, looking up from his phone. ‘We couldn’t get you to shut up about it.’ He winks at me, then resumes tapping at his phone.

I can’t help feeling touched. I had no idea Luke was bigging up my work.

Sage’s brow has wrinkled as though she’s recalling a distant memory from a past life.

‘Sure,’ she says vaguely. ‘You told me. So who is this purse for?’

‘I think it might, in fact, be for you!’ Luke’s eyes twinkle. ‘Am I right, Becky?’

No. Nooooooo!

Disaster. Total disaster. Why didn’t I hide it under the table?

‘Um …’ I clear my throat. ‘Actually—’

‘For me?’ Sage’s face lights up. ‘How cool. It matches my dress.’

Is she crazy? It’s totally the wrong silver.

‘The thing is— It’s not—’ I reach for the bag, but it’s too late. Sage has stood up and is trying it out, posing as though she’s on the red carpet. I meet Suze’s eyes – and she looks as horrified as I feel.

‘I think you’ve scored a hit, Becky,’ says Luke, looking delighted. ‘Bravo.’

‘The thing is, it’s for a client,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I’ve promised it to her. Sorry. I can try to get you another one like it.’

‘Which client?’ Sage looks put out.

‘Just a … um … this girl …’ I’m knotting my fingers. ‘You wouldn’t know her …’

‘Well, tell her you lost it.’ Sage pouts winsomely. ‘It’s too cute. I have to have it.’

‘But I’ve promised it to her …’ I try to swipe it, but she dances away.

‘Mine, now!’

Before I can stop her, she’s moving into a cluster of guys in black tie. The next moment she’s gone.

‘Luke!’ I let out all my stress by banging the table. ‘How could you? You’ve ruined everything! That clutch wasn’t for her!’

‘Well, I’m very sorry, but I thought I was helping you!’ he replies hotly. ‘You’ve been telling me for weeks how you want to be Sage’s stylist.’

‘I do! But I’ve got this other client—’

‘Who is this other client?’ He doesn’t look convinced. ‘Does she even exist?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, who is it?’ He turns to Suze. ‘Do you know this client?’

‘I think Becky needs to tell you herself,’ says Suze in disapproving tones.

‘Er … Luke,’ I say with a small gulp. ‘Let’s go to the bar.’

As we make our way to the bar, I’m lurching between two feelings. Glee that I’ve finally got a client, and dread at having to tell Luke. Glee–dread–glee–dread … My head is spinning and my hands are clenched and my legs are shaking, and altogether I’m glad when we reach the bar.

‘Luke, I have something to tell you,’ I blurt out. ‘It’s good but it’s not good. Or it may not be good. Or …’ I’ve run out of possibilities. ‘I need to tell you,’ I finish lamely.

Luke eyes me for a moment without saying anything.

‘Is this a stiff drink kind of a something?’ he says at last.

‘It could be.’

‘Two gimlets,’ he instructs the barman. ‘Straight up.’

Luke quite often orders for me, which is because I can never decide what to have. (Mum’s the same. Phoning for a Chinese honestly takes about an hour in our house.)

‘So, the good news is, I’ve got a client.’

‘So you said.’ Luke raises his eyebrows. ‘Well done! And the bad news?’

‘The bad news is …’ I screw up my face. ‘My client is Lois Kellerton.’

I’m bracing myself for Luke to explode, or frown, or maybe bang his fist on the bar and say, ‘Of all the movie stars in all the towns …’ and stare murderously into the middle distance. But instead he looks puzzled.

‘So?’

I feel a little indignant. How can he look so calm when I’m tying myself up in knots?

‘So! Sage will be livid! I’ll be on Team Lois and you’ll be on Team Sage and it’ll all kick off and—’

‘It will not kick off.’ Finally, Luke does sound angry. ‘I’m not having this any more! The so-called feud is over. Sage is a grown woman and she needs to start acting with a little dignity and maturity.’ He glowers at me, as though it’s my fault.

‘It’s not just her,’ I say, to be fair. ‘It’s both of them. Lois wore the same dress as Sage to an event, and then Sage bailed out of this charity thing—’

‘Whatever.’ Luke cuts me off. ‘It’s over. And as for your career, you are an independent woman, and if Sage has any problem at all with you working for Lois Kellerton, she can answer to me. OK?’

He sounds so forthright I feel a glow of pleasure. I knew all along he’d support me. (Well, I kind of knew.) Our drinks arrive, and Luke lifts his up to clink mine.

‘To you, Becky. First client in Hollywood. Bravo. I hope for your sake she’s not as nutty as my client.’

I can’t help giggling. It’s so unlike Luke to diss his clients – he’s usually far too discreet.

‘So, is Sage difficult to work with?’

Luke closes his eyes briefly, and takes a swig of his drink. As he opens them, he’s smiling wryly.

‘Trapped inside that gorgeous, curvaceous body is a spoiled teenage girl with arrested development and the biggest sense of entitlement I’ve ever come across. And I’ve worked with bankers,’ he adds, rolling his eyes.

‘She’s worse than bankers?’ I say, playing along.

‘She thinks she should be able to do exactly as she likes. All the time.’

‘Can’t movie stars do what they like?’

‘Some can. When they reach a certain level.’ Luke takes another gulp. ‘Sage thinks she’s Hollywood royalty. But she’s not. Not yet. Her trouble is, she had very easy, very early success and nothing since has quite matched up to it.’

‘So how can she get that success again?’

‘That’s what we’re working on. But it’s a work in progress.’ Luke gives that wry smile again. ‘Believe me, even the most obnoxious hedge-fund types in London are less of a pain in the butt than Sage Seymour. When I speak to boards of directors, they listen. We agree an action plan. We put it in motion. When I speak to Sage … who knows if she’s even listening?’

‘Well, Aran thinks you’re brilliant,’ I say. ‘He told me so the other day.’

‘Aran’s great.’ Luke nods. ‘We see eye to eye, at any rate.’ He lifts his glass up again. ‘And that’s why, my darling, I hope for your sake that your client is less nutty than mine.’

I grin at him as I sip my drink. It’s nice to have a proper chat, the two of us. These last few weeks have been such a whirlwind, I’ve barely seen Luke, let alone spent time together as a couple. I’m about to share this thought with Luke, when a guy in a tuxedo with long, glossy dark hair passes by. He must surely have used hair straighteners and about a whole bottle of product. I glance at Luke and see that he’s noticed the guy, too.

‘Shall I grow my hair like that?’ he says, his mouth barely twitching.

‘Yes!’ I say with emphasis. ‘Definitely! I loved it when you had long hair.’ I lean over to stroke his hair. ‘I adore your hair. The more of it, the better.’

When we went on honeymoon, Luke let his hair grow and even had little plaits. But as soon as we got back to London he whipped it all off again. I’ve always thought that Long-hair Luke was slightly different from Short-hair Luke. More relaxed.

‘You should wear long hair and flip-flops to work,’ I suggest. ‘That’s the LA way.’

‘British men don’t wear flip-flops to work,’ he says firmly.

‘You’re an Angeleno now,’ I retort.

‘Hardly!’ says Luke, laughing.

‘Well, nearly. And Minnie’s definitely a mini-Angeleno. She loves coconut water. And you know she has lessons in yoga at pre-school? She’s two and she’s doing Kundalini yoga. They start by studying Sanskrit and they waft saffron scent through the air and then the teacher asks each of them to vocalize what the session means to them.’

‘What does Minnie say?’ asks Luke, with interest.

‘I’ve only sat in on one session,’ I admit. ‘She said, “Bum bum bum”.’

‘Bum bum bum!’ Luke splutters into his drink. ‘Our articulate child.’

‘It was pretty accurate!’ I’m starting to laugh myself. ‘They were doing Downward Dog. You should do Kundalini yoga, too, you know,’ I add to Luke teasingly. ‘When you’ve grown your hair down to your waist and bought a pair of baggy trousers you’ll fit in perfectly.’

‘D’you want to fit in perfectly, Becky?’ As Luke holds my gaze, he seems to be asking me a bigger question.

‘I … don’t know,’ I say. ‘Yes. Of course. Don’t you?’

‘Maybe,’ says Luke, after a pause. ‘Strange place, this. Some bits I relate to. Others, not so much.’

‘Well, everywhere’s like that,’ I point out. ‘Remember when you did that job with those designers in Hoxton? You kept telling me how different they were from City people.’

‘Touché.’ He grins, and finishes his gimlet. ‘Had you better go and see to your client?’

‘She won’t be my client if I can’t get that clutch bag back off Sage,’ I say, anxiously scanning the crowds of people. ‘Can you somehow distract Sage and I’ll grab it?’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Come on.’

As we start back across the ballroom, there’s a booming fanfare over the loudspeaker system and a deep voice says, ‘Ladies and gentlemen! The Actors’ Society Awards are about to start. Please take your seats.’

I’m searching all around for a flash of silver, but without any joy. People are pressing back into the ballroom from outside, and it’s getting pretty chock-full. And now there’s a crush of photographers as some major celeb enters the room.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ comes the boomy voice again. ‘Please take your seats for tonight’s awards!’

I feel a tap on my shoulder and wheel round sharply, hoping it’s Sage. But it’s Lois.

‘Becky, I was looking for you,’ she says in that soft voice. ‘We were interrupted.’

I can’t reply. I’m staring in shock. She’s holding the Art Deco clutch. How did that happen?

‘Where did you get that?’ I blurt out.

‘It was lying on a table. You know, there was a champagne glass balanced on top of it.’ She smiles in mock reproof. ‘You should take better care of such a lovely thing. I have to go present an award, but I’ll see you later, OK?’ She twinkles at me, then hurries off.

In a slight daze, I return to our table and sink into my seat.

‘What happened?’ demands Suze. ‘You’ve been ages!’

‘It’s OK. Luke’s fine with everything and Lois’s got the clutch.’

‘Nicely done,’ applauds Luke.

‘Thanks.’ I beam at him, finally relaxing. ‘So, what are these awards all about?’ I reach for the programme and flip through it. ‘Best Debut. Suze, you could win that!’

‘They should have Best Background Artist,’ says Suze, looking up from her programme in dissatisfaction. ‘We’re the backbone of the film industry. Why don’t we have our own Oscar? Tarkie!’ she exclaims as he sits down. ‘I want you to sponsor a new awards ceremony. For background actors.’

‘Ahm …’ Tarquin looks wary. ‘Maybe.’

‘The big corporations don’t care about us. But where would they be without the talent and commitment of the background artist?’ Suze sounds like she’s about to organize a rally. ‘Where would their blockbusters be then? We need recognition. We need respect!’

‘And you want to win a prize,’ I put in.

‘It’s not about that,’ she says severely. ‘I’m simply speaking out on behalf of my community.’

‘But you would win a prize.’

‘I might do.’ She preens herself. ‘We could have statues like the Oscars, but silver.’

‘And call them “Suzes”.’

‘Shut up!’ She pokes me. ‘Although, actually … why not?’

‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The deep boomy voice is back, and spotlights start circling the whole room. ‘Welcome to this year’s Actors’ Society Awards. Please welcome your host, Billy Griffiss!’

Applause breaks out as music erupts from the loudspeakers, and Billy Griffiss comes running down a set of lit-up steps, on to the stage. (I’m not exactly sure who he is. Maybe a comedian.) He starts his speech, but I’m only half listening.

‘Sage!’ says Aran, as she approaches the table, all glittery under the circling spotlights. ‘We lost you there. You need a drink, honey?’

‘I’ve been looking for my purse,’ says Sage, looking cross. ‘I just had it. I put it down, and it was gone.’

‘Never mind,’ says Suze quickly. ‘I don’t think it went with your dress, actually.’

‘And now, to present our first award, may I introduce a young lady who has done more for the share price of Kleenex than any other actor. We’ve seen her on the scaffold, we’ve seen her marooned in space, and now we’re going to see her right here. The queen of the weepie … Miss Lois Kellerton!’

The theme tune to Tess blasts through the loudspeakers, and Lois appears at the top of the lit-up steps. She looks slim and ethereal and beautiful … and she’s holding the Art Deco bag.

Shit.

OK. Think. Quickly. The important thing is that Sage doesn’t look at the stage and see the clutch.

‘Sage!’ I say wildly. ‘I need to speak to you. Now.’

I can see Suze clocking the silver bag in Lois’s hand, and her eyes widen in comprehension.

‘Ow!’ She rubs at her chest vigorously. ‘I don’t feel great. Sage, have I got a rash? Could you look at my skin?’

Puzzled, Sage peers at Suze’s chest.

‘You’re good,’ she says, and turns back to the stage.

‘Sage!’ I hurry over to her chair and kneel down, forcing her to look away from the stage. ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea for a dress! With a fishtail and a kind of … bodice …’

‘Sounds great.’ Sage turns away. ‘We’ll talk about it later. I want to watch Lois mess this up.’

‘And the nominations are …’ Lois is saying. She’s standing at the lectern by now, and the clutch is resting on top of it in plain view.

‘She’s so skinny,’ Sage is saying pityingly, plumping up her own cleavage. ‘She has such a sad little body. She’s—’ Her eyes suddenly narrow. ‘Wait. Is that my purse?’ She gasps so loudly, heads turn at the next table. ‘Is that my purse? Did that witch steal my purse?’

‘No!’ I say hastily. ‘It was just a mix-up, I’m sure …’

‘Mix-up? She stole it!’ To my horror, Sage leaps to her feet. ‘Give me back my purse, Lois!’ she yells.

‘Oh Jesus,’ says Aran, and meets Luke’s eyes.

‘What is she doing?’ Luke looks absolutely appalled.

Lois pauses in the reading, and peers uncertainly out into the audience. Sage is striding to the stage, her eyes flashing. To my disbelief she mounts the podium, her dress sparkling under the spotlights.

‘That’s my purse,’ she says, grabbing it off the lectern. ‘You’re a thief, Lois. A common little thief.’

‘No.’ Aran bangs his head down on the table, as all the photographers rush forward and start snapping.

‘I didn’t steal anything.’ Lois looks flabbergasted. ‘This was given to me by my stylist, Rebecca.’

‘She gave it to me,’ Sage retorts, opening it up. ‘Oh, look. My phone. My lipstick. My lucky charm. Now are you going to tell me this is your purse?’

Lois stares in bewilderment at Sage’s stuff. Then she glances up, her eyes huge and anxious.

‘I was given it,’ she said. ‘I don’t understand.’

My legs trembling, I rise to my feet and call out, ‘It’s my fault! I promised it to both of you! I’m really sorry …’

But no one takes any notice, even though I’m waving my arms, trying to get their attention.

‘Now, ladies, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,’ Billy Griffiss is saying. ‘It reminds me of the calendar thief. Did you hear about him? He got twelve months and they say his days are numbered.’ He laughs loudly at his own joke, but if he’s hoping for anyone to join in, he’s out of luck. Everyone is watching Sage, riveted. Two guys in headsets have approached her, but she keeps batting them off.

‘Excuse me?’ I try waving my arms again. ‘Sage?’

‘People should know the truth about you, Lois,’ she spits. ‘You act so high and mighty, but you’re nothing but a criminal. You’re a thief! You’re a shoplifter!’

There’s a shocked murmuring from the audience at this. Someone shouts, ‘Boo!’ and someone else, ‘Get her off!’

‘Now, now.’ Billy Griffiss sounds pretty shocked, too. ‘I think that’s enough—’

‘It’s true! She’s a shoplifter! From … Pump!, wasn’t it, Lois?’

Lois looks like she wants to throw up.

‘There’s CCTV footage,’ says Sage in satisfaction. ‘Take a look.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ says Lois in a trembling voice.

‘Yes I do. Becky saw her. Becky, you saw Lois shoplifting, didn’t you? Tell them! This is the witness!’ She gestures theatrically at me.

I’m still on my feet, so I’m totally identifiable. In one instant, everyone in the room seems to have turned to look at me. Photographers are pointing their cameras this way. A few flashes are already going off, and I blink.

‘You saw Lois shoplifting, didn’t you?’ says Sage, her voice rising clearly through the room, her smile curving cruelly. ‘Tell them, Becky. Tell the truth.’

Blood is rushing in my ears like a freight train. I can’t think properly. The whole world is looking at me and I need to decide what to do and I’m too confused and the seconds are ticking by …

I’ve lied plenty of times in my life. I’ve said my leg was broken when it wasn’t. I’ve said I had glandular fever when I didn’t. I’ve said my boots cost £100 when it was actually £250. But those were lies about me. I’ve never lied about someone else.

I can’t tell the world Lois is a shoplifter.

But I can’t tell the world she isn’t a shoplifter.

‘I …’ I glance desperately at Lois. ‘I … no comment.’

I sink down in my chair, feeling ill.

‘That proves it!’ Sage crows. ‘Look at the CCTV footage! Becky saw it all. She’s your witness. Get her on the stand!’ She curtseys to the audience and sweeps off the stage.

Aran and Luke are just staring at each other, aghast.

‘Becky.’ Luke reaches over and squeezes my hand hard. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. No.’ I swallow. ‘What was I supposed to do?’

‘It was an impossible situation.’ Luke’s mouth is tight with anger. ‘A situation you shouldn’t have been put in.’

‘They’re coming.’ Aran glances up at the photographers heading our way. He gives me a sympathetic look. ‘Watch out, girl. Your life just changed for ever.’

‘Becky!’ A journalist is holding out a voice recorder at me. ‘Becky! Did you see Lois stealing?’

‘Did you catch her in the act?’ chimes in another.

‘Becky, look this way please!’

‘This way, please, Becky!’

‘Leave her alone!’ commands Luke furiously, but the crowd of press is getting even bigger.

‘Becky! To your right, please!’

I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be in the glare of the paparazzi. Now I know. It’s like being in a thunderstorm. It’s all white light and noise and whooshing in my ears. Voices are calling at me from all directions. I don’t know which way to look or what to do. All I’m aware of is my name, being shouted out, over and over.

‘Becky!’

‘Becky!’

‘Beckeeeeeee!’