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  Saff thought back to the first time she’d met Alex’s mother, when she’d dropped her daughter off at their boarding school. Of course, they had been so young then, perhaps nine or ten. “I remember she had a Mercedes sports car but I had no idea who this beautiful woman in her floating caftan and turban was.” She laughed. “But my father’s chin hit the floor and I remember my mum being a bit jealous. ‘That’s the Bean,’ she whispered in awe and said how they’d all wanted to look like her and fancy her having a daughter in my year. I’ve known her so long now as Alex’s mum—you know, she even came to my wedding—that I forget what an icon she was.”

  “It must be tough for Alex.” Frankie fetched down the cups and laid them out. “I mean, doesn’t she ever get jealous?”

  Saff hadn’t really thought about this but knew that she always had been. But the glamorous lifestyle, the invitations to premieres and swanky parties, even after her mother had given up film roles, had gone right over Alex’s head, whereas Saff had yearned to be a part of it. Someone else’s life. Someone else’s fun. “No, she just gets exasperated.”

  The kitchen door opened again abruptly. “Are you two having a meeting about something?” The Bean’s eyebrows were arched and she looked quite stern. “Come along, Frankie. If you want half a chance at this part you need to be prepared, my darling.”

  Saff followed him out of the kitchen carrying the coffee. “Part? What’s this?”

  “Well, it’s all thanks to this lovely woman really.” Frankie put down the tray and put his arm around the Bean’s skinny shoulders. She brushed him away, laughing like a schoolgirl. “She’s persuaded David Herschmann to let me read for the new production of The Sentinel he’s putting on at the National.”

  “Crikey, Frankie!” Saff spontaneously clapped her hands together with glee. She wasn’t familiar with the play, but even she knew that Herschmann was the best and anything he touched seemed to turn to box-office gold.

  “Perfect.” The Bean clapped her hands together as if calling a class to order. “Explain to Saff the part you are reading for. It might help you see into the character.”

  Saff sat down on the armchair as one-woman audience. “Right,” began Frankie, smiling a little shyly and looking up to the ceiling as he remembered. “I’m reading for Joel. Joel is about twenty-five—bit of artistic license there—”

  “You look beautifully young, you fool. That skin!” gushed the Bean, directing proceedings from her position on the sofa.

  “Whatever. And he is angst-ridden. I’m ace at angst as it happens. Anyway, in this bit his lover is about to go back to another man and he is devastated.”

  Saff chuckled. “You can see his point!”

  “Quite.” Frankie picked up the script, which was a bit curled at the edges. The Bean’s rehearsals had obviously been pretty intense. “Right…” He began to read the part and the Frankie with whom she’d made the coffee left the room and a new person stood in front of her. The grief he displayed and the words of the script, though a good way over the top for Saff, were not a million miles from how she had felt this morning. Empty and pointless.

  “What can she see in him, his face like a speckled toad.” He paused, script in hand. “Does it mean nothing to her, after the things we’ve been through?”

  Brrrr. Brrr. Saff’s phone burst to life in her pocket.

  “I’m so sorry.” She fumbled to find it and pulled it out, about to hit the call-divert button until she saw who was calling her. “Oh shit, it’s Alex.” All three of them stopped dead and the Bean looked towards her bedroom as if she were about to bolt and hide.

  “Sssh. Answer it, dear. We’ll keep dead quiet.” Frankie sat close to her on the sofa and, perched on the edge of their seats, the two of them looked on intently as Saff answered.

  “Hiya,” she said airily, trying to sound as normal as possible. “How’s life?”

  “Hi.” Alex sounded slightly breathless and rushed as usual. “What are you up to?” She always asked, bless her.

  “Oh, just chores, washing, you know.” Saff could hear the slightly hysterical squeak in her own voice.

  “What, at home? But I’ve just called your landline.”

  “Washing powder. I’m on my way out to buy washing powder.” Her face felt hot. She’d always been crap at lying, a trait she’d thought was admirable until now.

  “It sounds very quiet wherever you are. Anyway, short notice, I know, but I need to schmooze Gavin a bit—I’ll explain why later—and I wondered if you and Max could make it for supper on Friday at my place?”

  “Crikey. A dinner party? You?” Saff couldn’t hide her incredulity. “I’m busy during the day so I won’t be able to cook for you like I did at the Introduce Todd party.”

  “Oh, you were a brick that day. No, don’t worry. I’ve asked Ella. She’s going to do it. She sounded a bit unsure when I called her just now, but I buttered her up. Todd will be there too. He flies in that morning. Can’t wait. Can you make it?”

  “Babysitter permitting, I’m sure we can.”

  “Brill’. See you about eight? Gotta go. Love ya!”

  Saff turned off the phone, looked at the two expectant faces in front of her, and explained the content of the call.

  There was a pause, then Frankie smiled slowly. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” At that, his mobile began to ring. He flipped it open without even looking to see who was calling. “Okay, Sis, what’s it worth?”

  Chapter 19

  Ella wiped her hands down the front of the striped apron she’d found hanging on the back of the kitchen door. When she’d slipped it over her head, she’d detected a trace of Frankie’s shower gel and it had made her feel safe, as though he were there with her instead of pacing up and down the pavement outside. They’d gone through it again and again that afternoon and the list was in her pocket. Frankie was at the end of the phone if she needed him. What could go wrong? Yet Ella felt as if she were having to land a jumbo jet full of screaming passengers after the pilot had passed out, having never flown a plane before.

  When she’d arrived earlier, Alex had hugged her warmly, which was a weird feeling in itself, because Ella hadn’t done a single one of the amazing things Alex was thanking her for. They hadn’t even met since that first day. Still, she’d been dead modest and said how much she’d enjoyed being with the Bean. That had stuck in her throat a bit, but even the old bag had seemed pleased to see her this time. She’d have to remember to pass the hug on to Frankie later. And now here she was, mixing up Pimm’s for a roomful of people who were expecting a three-course dinner! Talk about flying by the seat of your pants. The most elaborate meal Ella had ever made was macaroni and cheese from a tin with sausages that she’d grilled herself (and managed to burn). She looked around the immaculate kitchen—of course, Frankie had left everything nice and organized. She loaded the jug and glasses onto the tray and shoved her way out through the door. Saff and her tall husband, Max, were there already, along with a rather twitchy bloke called Gavin, Alex’s boss, apparently, who hadn’t stopped talking since he arrived. The Bean had emerged from her room looking really pretty good for someone so old. She’d given Ella a little wink before sitting down next to Saff and kept going on about how “brilliantly” Ella had been looking after her. Alex hadn’t sat down and was hovering in a kind of awkward way with a bowl of Bombay mix Ella had found in the cupboard and had been eating in the kitchen until Alex had pounced.

  “Here we are, everybody. Get busy!” Max looked up and stared. Was that the wrong thing to say? Gavin had stopped in full flow while Saff seemed to be choking on something. Ella quickly dumped the tray on the floor and thumped her on the back until Saff waved her away. At the same moment, the doorbell rang and Alex rushed to answer it, Bombay mix still clutched to her chest. It was probably the Yank boyfriend.

  After standing looking around at everyone for a moment, Ella returned to the kitchen to tick off the next item on Frankie’s neat list. “Put green tray (cheese g
ougères) in oven for eight minutes. Take off foil first.” Easy enough, as Frankie had marked the different temperatures on the oven controls with colored sticky labels that keyed in to different instructions on his list, and she’d already set the oven to green. She looked around at the covered trays and plates lined up along the kitchen surfaces for a matching green label and peeled back the foil to reveal little round blobby things. Yuck! In they went and Ella sat down for a moment to carry on with the sudoku she’d started earlier. She really wanted to go in and get a look at this Todd, to whom Frankie seemed to have taken a violent dislike—although she wasn’t sure why, or even when they’d met. It was most unlike Frankie to be so spiteful, so she was longing to see the cause of it.

  The timer she’d set went off before she’d finished the puzzle, but she diligently laid it aside and opened the oven. Wow! The yucky blobs had turned into little brown puffs that smelled deliciously cheesy. She remembered what Frankie had said about using oven gloves and transferred them, without too much trouble, to the serving dish with the green label and helped herself to a couple before taking them out to the waiting company. Alex was sitting now, next to a beefcake of a man with unfeasibly neat hair that actually looked as if it had been colored in with felt pen. He was holding forth, even giving Gavin a run for his money, saying something about “global strategies.” The Bean was looking pointedly the other way.

  “Can you clear some space, please?” Ella interrupted, slightly irritated to see the table cluttered up with glasses. Saff and Max obliged, moving them onto side tables and, although Saff seemed to be having that choking problem again, she’d have to sort it out for herself this time. The next thing on the list had been “phone me,” so Ella hurried back to the kitchen and picked up her mobile. Frankie answered on the first ring.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what? I just served up the green things. They’re yummy.”

  Frankie sounded suspicious. “How many did you eat?”

  “Oh, only a couple. There were plenty left for everyone else.” She opened the kitchen door a crack and peeped through, then shut it quickly. “They’re eating them now. That Todd’s a real pig. He’s taken a handful!”

  “What’s he like?” Frankie’s voice sounded urgent.

  “What do you mean? What’s he like? You know what he’s like. You’re the one who told me he was appalling, remember? You’re absolutely right, of course. He looks like Gaston from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, don’t you think? All kind of pumped-up and clean-cut with a really corny cleft chin. Bet he irons his underpants. Bet he’s hopeless in bed.”

  Frankie roared. “Ella Ward! What a disgusting thing to say!” He paused. “Do you really think so? What makes you say that?”

  Ella shrugged and sipped the glass of Pimm’s she’d poured herself earlier. “Women’s intuition? Dunno really, you can just tell. I bet he keeps trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Poor Alex! She wants her head looked at.” She glanced idly at the list. “Oh shit! I haven’t turned the oven up to red yet.”

  At the end of the phone she could hear Frankie moan softly. “Hurry up then. Do it now. You did put those chicken parsley things in earlier, didn’t you? Don’t take the foil off them yet though.”

  “Oh shit, wasn’t I supposed to take it off?” Ella smiled as Frankie started to yell frantic instructions, and held the phone away from her ear, peeping in the oven at the foil-wrapped parcels. She could never resist winding him up!

  Twenty minutes later she was red-faced and sweating, and her good mood had evaporated. With the phone tucked under her chin, she was trying to shake carrots free from the bottom of a saucepan without any of the burned bits coming away. The carefully reduced glaze of sugar, lemon juice, butter and stock had frazzled to a bubbling, tar-colored sludge, which was so unfair because she’d only been distracted for a few minutes while trying to break the frozen peas into small enough chunks to fit in a little saucepan. The medium-size saucepan was already being occupied by her personal supply of Pimm’s in the absence of another jug. Now the carrots looked and smelled rank. And Frankie was barking instructions down her ear so she could hardly think!

  “Well, how brown are they? Twenty percent? Thirty? Are some of the carrots still stuck? I suppose you could make a salad . . .”

  “Frankie, shut up! Stop wittering. This is me you’re talking to. Of course I can’t make a salad. I’d probably burn that as well.”

  “Look, there’s some cucumber in the fridge. Get that out. Let’s see. Avocados and tomatoes too. Just cut them into rough chunks, like dice, and stick them in a bowl. There’s an earthenware one in a cupboard in the corner. And I left some dressing in the fridge in a jam jar with a screw-top lid. But make sure it is really dressing you use, not the jam.”

  Ella threw open the fridge door. She’d seen that jam jar when she first arrived and Frankie had talked her through all the stages of preparing the meal. If only he could have stayed there, hidden in the broom cupboard as she’d suggested! She pulled out packages and containers, careful not to dislodge the tiramisu he’d proudly shown her. She’d have to remember to put tiny servings of that out, so she could polish it off herself later. It was hungry work, feeding other people. Ah! There it was.

  “How are you doing?” the Bean stuck her head around the door and whispered theatrically. “All fine out here. Terribly boring conversation though. How lucky to have that clever brother of yours down the phone!” And she disappeared.

  With the bowl, the dressing and the ingredients, she was set. She turned off the oven and left the chicken to “rest” as Frankie had instructed. “Bloody hell, it’s me that needs the rest not the chicken.” And got busy.

  Saff had leaned close when Ella had filled up her wineglass. “Delicious starter, Ella.” She smiled broadly and winked. “You must give me the recipe!”

  “Anytime!” With the final two bowls, Ella shouldered her way through the door into the dining room. The conversation was about work—again. Max and Todd were talking, literally, over Saff’s head about sacking people.

  “Well, absolutely,” Todd was droning on in his East Coast drawl. “You’ve gotta keep every single e-mail and piece of correspondence, so you can make sure you have a watertight case for getting rid of personnel who aren’t pulling their weight in the team. You’ve gotta be able to get rid of the deadwood. It’s like surgery. You identify them, you isolate them, you discard them. Simple as that.”

  Saff’s face was going red, and her hair was starting to escape from the pretty clips Ella had noticed when she’d first arrived. She’d hardly spoken for most of the evening, except to the Bean and to thank Ella for things, but she sat up straighter now and cleared her throat. “Todd, I can’t believe the way you speak about people as if they’re a disease. Did it never occur to you that the ‘deadwood’ have families, bills to pay, problems of their own? You can’t just ‘discard’ people. It’s inhumane. It’s callous.” She turned to her husband. “Max, tell me you wouldn’t do that. Just toss people aside as if they were rubbish?”

  Max was about to reply but Todd spoke over him, leaning back in his chair now with an amused look on his perfectly chiseled face. “Let me guess, Sally, you don’t work. Or if you do, it’s some kind of caring role—volunteering or maybe working with kids or old people. Am I right?”

  Saff nodded, looking so furious Ella thought she might explode or worse, burst into tears. She hovered by the kitchen door.

  “I knew it.” Todd was nodding complacently. “See, I can always tell. It’s fine for you to have all your liberal principles intact. And I totally respect that. I do. But they have no place in a competitive environment like ours. Back me up on this, Alex, Gavin, Max—am I right or am I right? The organization is what matters, Sarah. Not the individual. If people don’t fit right in—they’re out. Simple as that.”

  “Todd, her name’s Saffron,” hissed Alex. “And she does work—she’s the greatest mum ever.”

  But despite this, Saff
looked all the more crestfallen. Ella moved forward to the table, the dishes still clutched in her hands. She placed the chicken down carefully, and slammed the salad next to Todd, then leaned down next to Saff and whispered in her ear, “He’s a dickhead. Just ignore him. I’m going to spit in his tiramisu. And if you make an excuse to come out to the kitchen, you can as well.” This time, when Saff appeared to be choking, Ella just withdrew quietly to the kitchen and left her to it.

  Chapter 20

  From her position outside the café, Alex could watch the world go by and still see the doorway of the agent’s office. She’d never been to Milan before, despite her increasingly encyclopedic knowledge of Europe since starting this job, and it excited her. Well, Lord knows she’d had enough opportunity to explore it. Keen to get Bettina Gordino the supermodel on board to secure Donatella, she’d spent what felt like hours on the phone to Bettina’s intractable Milanese agent, Matteo Corniani. He had finally shown a chink of optimism that his adored client might just deign to do the launch, and she’d pushed harder. That was why she’d spent three hours so far this morning walking around the Italian city, killing time until the agent decided finally when he might honor their appointment to discuss “dee possibiliteee.”

  She sipped the scalding coffee, and wished she’d brought lighter clothes. London had been unseasonably cold for June and she’d been in such a hurry that she’d thrown in the first thing that came to hand—her “important meeting” fail-safe navy blue skirt, a bit of a standing joke at the office. Now she felt sticky and bulky. She sighed, reflecting on how she could have done without this unscheduled trip. The last thing she needed, with only a few weeks until the launch, was to be away from the office but when Corniani had given her the amber light, she’d barked at Camilla to book her an early plane ticket, asking that she make the trip as brief as possible—twelve hours at the most—so she could be back in London for the critical late afternoon press pre-briefing. She then checked with her mother that she’d be all right on her own.