production company. They wanted to sign her up to do a pilot televisionshow, with a view to running a six-part series. The book would accompany it.
The fee and the advance were more than enough to keep the wolf from the door …
The rest was history. Over the next ten years, Delilah made cooking sexy. She wrote eight recipe books which between them
sold millions. She won Television Personality of the Year, was top of the guest list at every party worth going to, was the
darling of every chat show host and on the cover of every magazine. Her fans were legion and her detractors few and far between
– there was nothing to dislike about Delilah Rafferty, and anyone who was sniffy about her was accused of being jealous. And
Delilah fatigue didn’t seem to have settled in by any means, mainly because she worked so hard at coming up with new ideas
and always had something positive to say. She was popular because she was natural and uncontrived and made everything look
easy. And she wasn’t a hypocrite. In magazine articles she was always honest about the tough time she had had with Raf, and
how she had doubted herself – even hated herself at times – and took the blame. Her self-effacing honesty endeared her even
more to the nation.
Now Delilah was tired of being the nation’s darling; the woman who inspired others. She was the goose that laid the golden
eggs, but she’d reached stalemate. She just wanted to flop, to do all the things she longed to do but never had time for.
Just simple pleasures, like reading a book because she wanted to read it, and not because she had been asked to give a quote.
Or going horse riding in Richmond Park – it was on her doorstep, for heaven’s sake. Or making jam that didn’t have to be double-tested
for inclusion in a book. And she wanted to spend more time with the girls. Now they weren’t at home any longer, it was becoming
impossible to fit them into her schedule as they had mad schedules of their own. She should be having lunch with Coco today
– she’d sounded on edge, she really ought to get to the bottom of it. She should be going to Violet’s gig tonight, but with
all the people coming for lunchtomorrow she would be up till all hours preparing food. And she should find out what Tyger was up to. Silence from Tyger was
unusual.
Yes, thought Delilah, with Raf taking this film, here was the ideal opportunity for her to take a back seat. But as she lay
on the bed, the scent of wisteria curled in through the window, making her feel slightly nauseous. Why wasn’t she giddy with
relief, ecstatic with excitement, planning her new, relaxed lifestyle?
Because she wasn’t going to be in control.
She sat up as the realisation hit her. She’d put her finger on it. She was no longer going to be the one calling the shots.
That was how they had kept it together for the past ten years. She had been at the helm, making the decisions, earning the
money, writing the cheques, dictating the pace. It was the only way they could have survived. If she hadn’t fought, she might
have gone down with Raf, watched him destroy first himself, then their marriage and finally their family. It was sheer determination
and hard work that had kept them on course and made them one of Britain’s most successful showbiz families. On the surface,
at least. She’d been clever enough to hide the cracks, paper over them before they became a problem, steering the press in
a different direction in order to deflect attention. But without Raf under her thumb, the dynamics were going to alter drastically.
She would just have to learn to let go.
She took a deep breath in and out again. For God’s sake, Delilah, she told herself, Raf has been sober for ten years. He knows
who he is. He will manage. You will manage. Don’t be such a controlling bitch.
After his phone calls to Dickie and Delilah, Raf made his way to the car park in Soho, then headed out of London
The fee and the advance were more than enough to keep the wolf from the door …
The rest was history. Over the next ten years, Delilah made cooking sexy. She wrote eight recipe books which between them
sold millions. She won Television Personality of the Year, was top of the guest list at every party worth going to, was the
darling of every chat show host and on the cover of every magazine. Her fans were legion and her detractors few and far between
– there was nothing to dislike about Delilah Rafferty, and anyone who was sniffy about her was accused of being jealous. And
Delilah fatigue didn’t seem to have settled in by any means, mainly because she worked so hard at coming up with new ideas
and always had something positive to say. She was popular because she was natural and uncontrived and made everything look
easy. And she wasn’t a hypocrite. In magazine articles she was always honest about the tough time she had had with Raf, and
how she had doubted herself – even hated herself at times – and took the blame. Her self-effacing honesty endeared her even
more to the nation.
Now Delilah was tired of being the nation’s darling; the woman who inspired others. She was the goose that laid the golden
eggs, but she’d reached stalemate. She just wanted to flop, to do all the things she longed to do but never had time for.
Just simple pleasures, like reading a book because she wanted to read it, and not because she had been asked to give a quote.
Or going horse riding in Richmond Park – it was on her doorstep, for heaven’s sake. Or making jam that didn’t have to be double-tested
for inclusion in a book. And she wanted to spend more time with the girls. Now they weren’t at home any longer, it was becoming
impossible to fit them into her schedule as they had mad schedules of their own. She should be having lunch with Coco today
– she’d sounded on edge, she really ought to get to the bottom of it. She should be going to Violet’s gig tonight, but with
all the people coming for lunchtomorrow she would be up till all hours preparing food. And she should find out what Tyger was up to. Silence from Tyger was
unusual.
Yes, thought Delilah, with Raf taking this film, here was the ideal opportunity for her to take a back seat. But as she lay
on the bed, the scent of wisteria curled in through the window, making her feel slightly nauseous. Why wasn’t she giddy with
relief, ecstatic with excitement, planning her new, relaxed lifestyle?
Because she wasn’t going to be in control.
She sat up as the realisation hit her. She’d put her finger on it. She was no longer going to be the one calling the shots.
That was how they had kept it together for the past ten years. She had been at the helm, making the decisions, earning the
money, writing the cheques, dictating the pace. It was the only way they could have survived. If she hadn’t fought, she might
have gone down with Raf, watched him destroy first himself, then their marriage and finally their family. It was sheer determination
and hard work that had kept them on course and made them one of Britain’s most successful showbiz families. On the surface,
at least. She’d been clever enough to hide the cracks, paper over them before they became a problem, steering the press in
a different direction in order to deflect attention. But without Raf under her thumb, the dynamics were going to alter drastically.
She would just have to learn to let go.
She took a deep breath in and out again. For God’s sake, Delilah, she told herself, Raf has been sober for ten years. He knows
who he is. He will manage. You will manage. Don’t be such a controlling bitch.
After his phone calls to Dickie and Delilah, Raf made his way to the car park in Soho, then headed out of London
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