Alex still floated through my mind. I tried to concentrate. ‘So, what are we celebrating?’
‘I’d say that was obvious, darling, wouldn’t you?’ Charlie really was looking spectacularly orange today. He must have bumped up his shares in St Tropez. ‘So, when can we expect you in the office?’
‘Soon.’ I took such an enormous sip the bubbles shot straight up my nose.
‘Fantastic.’ He ran a hand through his hair, his signet ring glinting under the light. ‘How soon? It has been almost five months now, my darling.’
The champagne hit the spot. I forgot Alex for a moment; I smiled. ‘Oh, you know. Very soon.’
‘Soon enough for this?’ He flung a folder into my lap. Doing Me Wrong: You’re Dumped , heralded the title page.
‘What’s this?’
‘Fantastic idea, darling. You’ll love it. It can be your victorious return to form.’ He relit his cigar. ‘The idea is the opposite of the “Proposal on-air” show. This is the “You’re Dumped on-air” show.’
I stared at him. ‘You’re joking, right?’
He toasted me, then knocked the drink back in one and poured again. ‘Darling, I don’t joke, you know that. It’s a fantastic idea. If it takes off, it’ll be the talk of the town.’
‘Charlie, this is not what we agreed.’ An icy sweat broke out across my forehead; the champagne and cigar smoke combining to make me feel suddenly quite sick. ‘You said that if I –’
‘I know what I said, darling. But look, I’m sure it was one of your ideas anyway. From the summer. You knew the deal then.’
Confused, I stood up – rather too suddenly. Charlie caught my crutch neatly in his orange hand.
‘For God’s sake, Charlie.’ I grabbed it from him. ‘You’re completely reneging on –’
‘Such passion, darling.’ Charlie smirked. ‘That’s what I love about you. That’s why you’ve got to do this programme. Sit down, there’s a good girl.’
‘Charlie, I can’t do it. It’s utter crap. You know that.’
‘Just this once.’ His eyes were wolf-like now, slits behind the cloud of sweet and sickening smoke. ‘You still owe me.’
‘But it won’t be just this once. And I did the trauma show because I owed you.’
‘You did the trauma show because it gave you closure, darling. Remember?’
‘Did I?’ I gazed at him.
‘Absolutely. It was your idea to do it, my darling.’
‘Was it?’ Why did my brain ache so much every time I grappled with memories of recent events?
‘And you have my promise.’
‘I already had your promise, I’m sure.’ I glared at him.
‘Please do it, Maggie.’ He stopped smiling and checked his vulgar watch. ‘Or maybe we should talk about the show you really don’t want to do.’
I went limp with misery. ‘You can’t do this, Charlie.’
‘Can’t do what, darling? I’m just giving your career a little helping-hand. God knows you need it after your most recent fuck-up. Work with me, Maggie.’
‘You’re playing games,’ I whispered miserably.
His face was closing down. I tried a different tack, fighting to keep my voice level. ‘Look, I know I did something stupid’ (I just wished I could remember exactly what it was) ‘but it was only the one mistake, wasn’t it? You know you can rely on me.’
‘Perhaps I could – once.’ Charlie studied the end of his cigar intently. ‘But you let me down so badly.’
We gazed at one another, the memories I’d blotted out shifting slightly in the sands of time, reshaping, struggling to the surface. I could feel the anger driving through my bones. ‘But I’ve been waiting all this time for the True Lives docs –’
But Charlie had already switched off.
‘You know, you’re quite beautiful when you’re cross,’ he mused. ‘Though that mop needs a thoroughly good cut. Why don’t you get it seen to?’ His mobile rang. ‘John Frieda’s not bad.’ He stubbed out the cigar and picked something out of a back tooth, snapping open the phone.
Before I could
‘I’d say that was obvious, darling, wouldn’t you?’ Charlie really was looking spectacularly orange today. He must have bumped up his shares in St Tropez. ‘So, when can we expect you in the office?’
‘Soon.’ I took such an enormous sip the bubbles shot straight up my nose.
‘Fantastic.’ He ran a hand through his hair, his signet ring glinting under the light. ‘How soon? It has been almost five months now, my darling.’
The champagne hit the spot. I forgot Alex for a moment; I smiled. ‘Oh, you know. Very soon.’
‘Soon enough for this?’ He flung a folder into my lap. Doing Me Wrong: You’re Dumped , heralded the title page.
‘What’s this?’
‘Fantastic idea, darling. You’ll love it. It can be your victorious return to form.’ He relit his cigar. ‘The idea is the opposite of the “Proposal on-air” show. This is the “You’re Dumped on-air” show.’
I stared at him. ‘You’re joking, right?’
He toasted me, then knocked the drink back in one and poured again. ‘Darling, I don’t joke, you know that. It’s a fantastic idea. If it takes off, it’ll be the talk of the town.’
‘Charlie, this is not what we agreed.’ An icy sweat broke out across my forehead; the champagne and cigar smoke combining to make me feel suddenly quite sick. ‘You said that if I –’
‘I know what I said, darling. But look, I’m sure it was one of your ideas anyway. From the summer. You knew the deal then.’
Confused, I stood up – rather too suddenly. Charlie caught my crutch neatly in his orange hand.
‘For God’s sake, Charlie.’ I grabbed it from him. ‘You’re completely reneging on –’
‘Such passion, darling.’ Charlie smirked. ‘That’s what I love about you. That’s why you’ve got to do this programme. Sit down, there’s a good girl.’
‘Charlie, I can’t do it. It’s utter crap. You know that.’
‘Just this once.’ His eyes were wolf-like now, slits behind the cloud of sweet and sickening smoke. ‘You still owe me.’
‘But it won’t be just this once. And I did the trauma show because I owed you.’
‘You did the trauma show because it gave you closure, darling. Remember?’
‘Did I?’ I gazed at him.
‘Absolutely. It was your idea to do it, my darling.’
‘Was it?’ Why did my brain ache so much every time I grappled with memories of recent events?
‘And you have my promise.’
‘I already had your promise, I’m sure.’ I glared at him.
‘Please do it, Maggie.’ He stopped smiling and checked his vulgar watch. ‘Or maybe we should talk about the show you really don’t want to do.’
I went limp with misery. ‘You can’t do this, Charlie.’
‘Can’t do what, darling? I’m just giving your career a little helping-hand. God knows you need it after your most recent fuck-up. Work with me, Maggie.’
‘You’re playing games,’ I whispered miserably.
His face was closing down. I tried a different tack, fighting to keep my voice level. ‘Look, I know I did something stupid’ (I just wished I could remember exactly what it was) ‘but it was only the one mistake, wasn’t it? You know you can rely on me.’
‘Perhaps I could – once.’ Charlie studied the end of his cigar intently. ‘But you let me down so badly.’
We gazed at one another, the memories I’d blotted out shifting slightly in the sands of time, reshaping, struggling to the surface. I could feel the anger driving through my bones. ‘But I’ve been waiting all this time for the True Lives docs –’
But Charlie had already switched off.
‘You know, you’re quite beautiful when you’re cross,’ he mused. ‘Though that mop needs a thoroughly good cut. Why don’t you get it seen to?’ His mobile rang. ‘John Frieda’s not bad.’ He stubbed out the cigar and picked something out of a back tooth, snapping open the phone.
Before I could
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