Chapter 7

‘SANDY? SANDY? ARE you OK?’

Sandy stirred and tried to open her eyes.

‘Sandy. Come on, wake up.’

Through the cloying layers of sleep Sandy could feel a hand on her shoulder and the strangely comforting presence of someone standing over her. She murmured softly and her eyelids fluttered again.

‘Sandy? Can you hear me?’

It took a moment, but when finally she recognized the voice her heart ground to a halt. His hand was still touching her, but she couldn’t think where she was. Very slowly she opened her eyes, afraid now that this was only a dream.

‘Are you OK?’ Michael asked, concern showing in his deep-blue eyes.

There was such a stiffness in her body that it hurt to lift her head.

‘Have you been here all night?’ Zelda asked.

Sandy frowned, then blinked her eyes. She was in her office, with Michael and Zelda standing over her. She felt terrible, her head was throbbing, her limbs were like lead and there was a ghastly taste in her mouth.

‘What time is it?’ she said.

‘Just after nine,’ Zelda answered, glancing at Michael. ‘Did you come in early?’ she asked. ‘Or have you been here all night?’

Sandy was still bemused.

‘She must have been here all night,’ Michael said. ‘The lamp’s still on and look at all these scripts.’

Sandy ran her hands quickly over her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I was working late and must have dropped off.’ She laughed and shrugged self-consciously. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.

Michael’s concern was still evident as his eyes searched her face. ‘You’re working too hard,’ he told her. ‘I’ll call a taxi to take you home so you can get some proper sleep.’

‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘There’s no need. I’ll be fine once I’ve showered and changed. I can be back here by lunch-time.’

Michael looked at Zelda.

‘Sandy,’ Zelda said gently, ‘we know how keen you are to get on and how hard you’re prepared to work to show us what you can do, but you can’t go on like this. You’re going to make yourself ill.’

Sandy looked at her, then returned her gaze to Michael as he said, ‘I want you to take the rest of the day off, then come and see me after the meeting tomorrow.’

Her eyes followed him as he left the room. His dark hair was still damp from the rain, his long leather coat had left a lingering aroma. Sandy turned her gaze to Zelda. ‘Is he angry?’ she asked, uncertainty and dishevelment making her look younger than her twenty-four years.

‘No, of course not,’ Zelda answered. ‘He’s concerned, like the rest of us.’

Sandy lowered her head, then, forcing a laugh she said, ‘It was such a shock to wake up and find him there.’ She stopped and blushing hard, brought her eyes back to Zelda’s.

Zelda’s smile was sardonic as turning to leave she said, ‘I’ll go downstairs and get you a coffee.’

‘Why do you think he wants to see me?’ Sandy asked, before the door closed.

‘I’d only be guessing,’ Zelda answered and left.

Sandy stared down at her cluttered desk and tried to stop her mind and heart racing. Zelda was right, she was working too hard and maybe she was going to make herself ill, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she learned as much as she could about McCann Walsh and about becoming an agent.

By now she was a fair way along that road, for she had a good working knowledge of how most of the agents operated, she knew the name of every actor, writer, director and producer on their books; she knew who was working and who wasn’t, whose prospects were good, how their talent was rated, she was even beginning to understand what made one actor stand out above another and what gave certain writers the edge that was needed to get his or her work on stage or screen. She watched, listened, helped out, enquired, researched and made notes constantly. She had gone out of her way to make herself popular with all the clients and had even been invited on to some film and TV sets or, on a couple of occasions, to rehearsals. The agents themselves were only too willing to give her as much advice as she wanted and she could but marvel at how generous they were with their knowledge and time. She had been to most of their homes now, had been taken along to business dinners and had even entertained once or twice herself. In fact, her life was so different now from what it had been six months ago when she’d started that she not only looked and behaved like a different person, she actually felt like one.

The grisly little bedsit in Barking was long gone, so were the second-hand clothes, the lingering Midlands accent and financial crisis. Now, thanks to her best friend, Nesta Haines, she lived in a smart, second-floor flat just off Sloane Avenue in Chelsea and shopped only in Harrods or Harvey Nichols for everything except food – for that she either went to Fortnums or phoned in her order and got them to deliver.

She’d met Nesta because Nesta’s grandmother had occupied the flat below hers in Barking. Nesta had been there checking on the old lady that terrible night when Sandy had arrived home from work not knowing how she would ever get back in the morning, or even how she was going to find enough funds to eat. Had the old lady not run out of milk and had Nesta not found the twenty-four-hour Indian shop on the corner closed, Sandy and Nesta might never have met. As it was, Nesta, who was the same age as Sandy with large hazel eyes, wide cheek-bones and a delicately pointed chin, had knocked on Sandy’s door to borrow some milk and finding Sandy in such a state of despair had immediately taken charge of the crisis.

It was Nesta who had answered the phone when Jodi had called that night and it was Nesta who had taken Sandy to the supermarket first thing the next morning, before going on to the station to purchase a three-month ticket. In less than a fortnight Sandy had been able to pay Nesta back, for by then she had been recruited by Isabelle Woodhurst, senior director of the exclusive service Nesta belonged to, which provided glamorous female escorts for out-of-town businessmen, politicians and all kinds of foreigners.

It was thanks to Maurice Trehearne, a property tycoon whom Sandy met through the agency and had become very good friends with, that she and Nesta, just before Christmas, had moved into a two-bedroomed flat in Chelsea, which had a wonderful art-deco entrance hall and stairway, and was furnished with the most elegant reproduction sofas, beds, bookcases, tables and desks. They never brought their official dates home and apart from the first couple of months when she had desperately needed the money, Sandy never slept with the men who paid to take her out. She only continued to date because she enjoyed the extra luxuries it provided and because she was learning so much from the men themselves, who had introduced her to a whole other world of top-class restaurants and hotels, exclusive night-clubs and a code of behaviour and dress that might otherwise have taken her years to learn. They were also easily persuaded to boast about the successful strategies and tactics they had employed to get to the top – a veritable wealth of information that was proving invaluable in her bid to get there herself and was almost unfailingly effective.

Nesta thought she was mad, turning down all the wildly extravagant incentives to get her into bed, but though she hadn’t had a problem sleeping with a man for money when she’d had to, she wasn’t a prostitute, nor was she going to allow them to turn her into one. In her heart she knew it was the way she felt about Michael that really kept her from going that route, for the temptation otherwise of shopping sprees in Paris, royal enclosures at Ascot or Henley, or luxury cruises on private yachts, would probably have been too great to resist. As it was, she slept only with Maurice, because she liked him, enjoyed her other dates, stored away her knowledge and devoted the rest of her time to furthering her career with McCann Walsh in the hope of one day showing Michael that she was worthy of someone like him.

Quite how well she was doing in that area was hard to tell, though she’d definitely been getting a few vibes lately. She didn’t think she was the only one who’d noticed either, but apart from Jodi and Nesta she never talked about it to anyone. As far as the rest of the office was concerned, with the exception of Bertie, Janine and Frances, she got along great with everyone, especially Craig, the gay literary agent, who spent many of his weekends sharing the benefit of his agenting expertise with Sandy because his lover was married and he had nothing else to do.

Sandy watched Craig now as he leaned over his assistant’s shoulder to read the paper Bertie was holding. His thick, golden-blond hair and exquisite face had really got Nesta going the first time she’d met him, and Sandy had never failed to notice how many heads turned, both male and female, whenever she walked into a restaurant or wine bar on his arm. There was no question that with his looks Craig could get just about anyone he wanted, but not once had Sandy ever seen him show a single flicker of interest in anyone but the Under-Secretary of State with whom he was involved. They had been seeing each other for the past two and a half years, Craig had told her, and there was no doubt in Sandy’s mind that Craig was as deeply in love with the twinkly eyed sixty-year-old as she was with Michael. She knew, too, that apart from Michael and the Under-Secretary himself, she was the only other person who knew about the affair – with the possible exception of Zelda, as Zelda had that uncanny knack of knowing everything without even being told.

Kicking around under the desk for her shoes, she heard the lift doors open and turned to watch two of the agents, Harry and Diana, stroll down the steps to the inner circle. They stopped, still chatting, to check the message board, which reminded Sandy, she’d taken a call for Michael last night from an old girlfriend who was in town for a couple of days, but it wasn’t a message Sandy felt inclined to pass on, so she promptly dismissed it from her mind.

Catching Janine and Frances, the booking assistants, looking her way and making no attempt to hide the fact they were talking about her, Sandy smiled in the hope they might smile back. She’d tried hard to make friends with those two, but nothing she did ever seemed right and as far as Bertie was concerned she got the impression she was hardly worth speaking to at all. Of course, she couldn’t expect everyone to like her, but she was greatly looking forward to the day when she finally achieved her goal and became Michael’s partner, because then she would take immense pleasure in firing every one of them.

Yawning, she picked up her Smythson’s briefcase, stuffed a couple of scripts inside and rummaged around for her foolscap pad. Once she got home she’d probably sleep for the rest of the morning, then she wanted to get back to work on these scripts before going out to dinner at eight. A flicker of excitement suddenly lit up her heart as she recalled who she was having dinner with, and why. Marlene, Diana’s assistant, was about to go off on maternity leave and had, unofficially, for the past few weeks been grooming Sandy to take over while she was away. Tonight, she was treating Marlene to dinner out, because Marlene’s husband was in Manchester on business and Marlene got lonely without him. Though the woman herself was a bit of a bore, her knowledge and support were invaluable, so Sandy was more than willing to put up with her, as she would undoubtedly carry some sway when it came to recommending her replacement. In fact, Sandy thought with a sudden burst of elation, it could be what Michael wanted to talk to her about in the morning.

Hearing a bump behind her, she looked up to see Jodi struggling in through the door with a giant parcel.

‘What on earth’s that?’ Sandy laughed.

‘A birthday present for my niece,’ Jodi answered, dumping the parcel on her chair. ‘My God, you look like you’ve been here all night! Are you OK? Heavy date last night, was it?’

‘I wish,’ Sandy responded. ‘Oh, Zelda, thanks, you’re a life saver,’ she added, as Zelda came in behind Jodi with a fresh cup of coffee.

Jodi’s eyebrows went skywards. ‘How come you never bring me a coffee when I’ve got a hangover?’ she demanded of Zelda.

‘I haven’t got a hangover,’ Sandy told her, flinching as she burnt her lips on the coffee. ‘I fell asleep at my desk.’

Jodi gawped at her. ‘You mean you really have been here all night?’ she cried. ‘I was only kidding. What happened, did you get kicked out of your flat or something?’

Zelda gave a choke of laughter.

‘Why, are you offering to put me up?’ Sandy challenged.

Jodi shrugged. ‘You can have the sofa for a few nights if you’re stuck,’ she said generously.

Sandy was no longer listening. Michael was coming in the door behind Jodi. ‘Taxi should be here any minute,’ he said, looking at Zelda. Then turning to Sandy, ‘How are you feeling?’

Sandy smiled and silently prayed that she didn’t look as bad as she felt. ‘I’m OK,’ she said softly. ‘Thanks for ordering the taxi.’

Jodi’s head was swinging back and forth between Zelda and Michael. ‘Coffee? Taxis?’ she said. ‘Would someone mind explaining what’s going on here? I mean, what is she, Sleeping Beauty or something?’

Michael laughed. ‘It didn’t cross my mind to kiss her awake,’ he said and Sandy’s heart stopped beating as winking at her he added, ‘Maybe next time,’ and before she could respond he had gone.

Jodi’s eyes bulged as she looked at Sandy, and Zelda had barely left the room before she hissed, ‘Is there something going on here you’ve forgotten to tell me about?’

Sandy laughed, then laughed again as a surge of euphoria took her. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I mean, no there isn’t, but it’s not the first time he’s said something like that. Oh God, Jodi,’ she groaned, slumping into her chair, ‘do you think he’s actually starting to notice me at last?’

‘Well, if that was anything to go by …’ Jodi responded. Sandy peered at her from under lowered lashes and wanted to hug her, for just those few short words had instilled such a sense of joy and hope in her she could quite happily have hugged the world.

‘So why did you sleep here?’ Jodi asked. ‘Don’t tell me you were poring over more of those scripts Craig keeps throwing your way. You don’t have to read them, you know. I mean, it’s not as if you’re getting paid for it.’

‘I want to do it,’ Sandy told her. ‘And Craig’s got a meeting at Channel 4 on Friday, so he wants to make sure no little gems have been missed before he goes.’

Jodi tutted. ‘Well, if just now is anything to go by,’ she said, hooking her coat on the stand beside Sandy’s, ‘your hard work seems to be paying off.’

Sandy was on her feet. ‘I’m going home,’ she said. ‘He wants to see me after the meeting tomorrow.’

Jodi’s eyebrows went up. ‘No kidding,’ she said. ‘What about, did he say?’

Sandy shook her head. ‘I’m going to go insane thinking about it all day, but I can hardly ask, can I? I take it you don’t know.’

‘This is the first I’ve heard of it,’ Jodi answered. ‘But I’ll lay money it’s about Marlene’s job. She goes next Friday.’ Sandy’s heart somersaulted. ‘Jodi, you’re speaking the language of my wildest dreams,’ she said, quoting from one of the scripts she’d read the night before. ‘But after just six months even I wouldn’t hold out that much hope.’

‘Sandy Paull! This is me you’re talking to,’ Jodi cried. ‘It’s exactly what you want and we both know it. What’s more, you deserve it.’

Sandy was so touched that for a moment she didn’t respond. In the end she said, ‘You’re a great friend, Jodi. Thanks.’

‘Oh, get out of here,’ Jodi chuckled, embarrassed but none the less pleased. ‘Oh look, the Christmas fairy missed his cue again,’ she said as Bertie, Craig’s assistant, came waltzing into their office.

‘I just had a call from security,’ he said, running an affected finger to the corner of his mouth. ‘They say there’s a taxi waiting downstairs for Miss Paull. Going somewhere special, are we?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose as he gave Sandy the once-over.

‘Yes,’ she answered.

Bertie waited, but Sandy merely picked up her bag and coat, said goodbye to Jodi and left.

‘You should look out for that one,’ Bertie warned as he and Jodi watched her walk over to the lift. ‘She’s got more bad news about her than ITN.’

‘So you keep saying,’ Jodi reminded him.

‘I’m telling you, don’t trust the woman.’

‘Bertie,’ Jodi said, smiling sweetly, ‘whatever problem you have with Sandy is all yours. I don’t want to know, OK?’

His top lip puckered as his nostrils flared. ‘That’s right, Jodi,’ he said scathingly, ‘stay on her good side, because with the way she’s sucking up to the management around here there’s every chance she’ll end up your boss one of these days.’

‘Really?’ Jodi responded with mild interest. ‘Do you know something I don’t, by any chance?’

‘What I know is what I see,’ he replied. ‘And if you’ve had your eyes open lately, Jodi Webb, you’ll have seen the way our lord and master has been looking at Ms Paull, and if you ask me there’s a whole lot more interest going on behind those looks than merely the professional.’

‘Then I guess you’d better start mending your ways, Bertie boy,’ Jodi told him, tweaking his tie as she passed and before he could say any more she picked up the phone to take a call that turned out to be yet another attempt by the Hollywood agent, Ellen Shelby, to get through to Michael.

Jodi looked at her watch. It was past two in the morning LA time, so it seemed the woman was starting to lose sleep over this. And if what Jodi had heard was true, that Ted Forgon had fired the previous three agents who had failed to hook Michael, she had reason to. Jodi liked the sound of the woman and wished there were something she could do to help, but Michael’s instructions had been clear: if anyone called from ATI, anyone at all, he didn’t even want to know about it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jodi said into the phone. ‘If I could put you through, I would, but I can’t.’

‘OK,’ Ellen answered. ‘But just tell me, did he get my faxes?’

‘Yes,’ Jodi confirmed. ‘He got them.’

‘Did he read them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jodi answered. ‘He didn’t say.’

There was an exasperated silence at the other end before she said, ‘Will you tell him I called? And give him my home number?’

‘OK,’ Jodi responded, knowing she probably wouldn’t, but she didn’t want to dash the woman’s hopes altogether, even though common sense and charity told her it would probably be kinder if she did.

Later that day Zelda was in Michael’s car as he drove them both up to the West End. For the moment he was speaking on the phone so Zelda waited until he had finished, then quickly said, ‘Before you start dialling again there’s something I want to say to you.’

Michael grinned. ‘I was trying to avoid it,’ he confessed, clicking off the phone and dropping it into his lap.

Zelda chuckled and popped a mint humbug in her mouth. ‘So,’ she said, her cheek bulging, ‘what’s the answer?’

‘To what?’ he countered, holding his hand out for a sweet.

‘I know you’ve read the faxes, so have you given any thought to this latest offer from Forgon?’ she said.

‘Some,’ he answered.

‘Aaaand?’ she prompted.

‘And nothing. I read the faxes, I thought about the offer and nothing. It doesn’t interest me.’

‘Doubling, maybe tripling, the output of McCann Walsh doesn’t interest you?’ she said flatly.

‘That always interests me, provided I’m the head of McCann Walsh,’ he replied.

Zelda stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Maybe you could add a few conditions of your own,’ she suggested.

‘Like?’

‘Like, you get to buy McCann Walsh back after a period of, say, five years?’

‘At its going market rate?’ he scoffed. ‘With all ATI’s business coming this way, I’ll never be able to buy the agency back. For Christ’s sake, Zelda,’ he said, ‘can’t you see where the man’s coming from? All he wants is to destroy me. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about the agency. OK, he’ll probably make it four, five, even ten times bigger than it is now – he wants to make money, so why wouldn’t he? But all he’s really concerned about is settling a score that was only ever a big deal to him in the first place. Christ, that sort of thing goes on all the time in Hollywood.’

‘Maybe, but the way he sees it, you cost him more face than a plastic surgeon trashes in a month,’ Zelda responded.

Despite himself Michael laughed. ‘And I’m supposed to give him my agency to say sorry?’ he said.

Zelda sucked on her sweet and they drove on in silence until finally Michael said, ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me to consider this offer.’

Zelda foraged for another humbug. ‘What I think is that you should know what you’re turning down and why,’ she said.

He seemed amused as he raised an eyebrow. ‘And are you satisfied that I know the answer to both those questions?’ he asked.

She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, you probably do,’ she said. ‘I’m just surprised that you’re so determined to hold out against Hollywood.’

‘I don’t see that I’m holding out,’ he responded. ‘We do plenty of business out there. You were there yourself a month ago doing a deal for Carro and Millman. Craig’s got his contacts out there, so have Janey and Diana, and from what he tells me Harry’s been talking to someone at Front Row about a twelvemonth tie-up. So we’re definitely not holding out against Hollywood. We’re just spreading it around a bit, rather than putting all our talent in one show.’

‘And you have no desire to base yourself there?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Not at any price?’

‘Correct.’

Zelda popped her humbug, then sat with her hands resting on the top of her bag. ‘Have you ever met Ellen Shelby?’ she asked.

Michael frowned as he thought. ‘Not that I know of,’ he said. ‘Have you?’

Zelda shook her head. ‘I called someone at CAA last night. Seems she’s pretty big news over there.’

‘Everyone’s big news in Hollywood,’ Michael commented, ‘or they like to think they are.’

‘She’s got a good reputation,’ Zelda said. ‘She’s a genuine Forgon protégé, apparently. He took her on a couple of years ago and she’s gone from strength to strength ever since.’

‘Which means he’s screwing her.’

Zelda rolled her eyes. ‘I expected more of you, Michael,’ she chided.

‘We’re talking Hollywood, Zelda,’ he reminded her. ‘OK, so she’s a Forgon protégé,’ he conceded, when she went silent on him.

‘Mmm,’ Zelda responded, moving her humbug from one cheek to the other, ‘but probably not for much longer, if you’re going to turn this offer down.’

Michael’s surprise was expressed in a laugh. ‘Zelda, I’ve got no intention of being held to account for these people’s jobs,’ he told her. He glanced over at her, then braked hard to avoid ramming the car in front.

Zelda stared straight ahead.

‘OK, I feel bad about it,’ he confessed, ‘but if you think I’m going to put my soul and my integrity along with everything I’ve ever worked for into Ted Forgon’s pocket just to save one person’s job, a person I’ve never even met remember, then think again, because it’s not going to happen.’

Zelda’s fat, gentle face was alight with surprise. ‘I didn’t know you had a soul,’ she said, sounding rather cheered by the idea.

‘OK, I lied. But you get the general idea. Anyway, conversation over. This guy’s not for sale.’

‘And if Ellen Shelby flies over to London, which she undoubtedly will, are you going to see her?’

‘What’s the point? It’ll be a waste of her time and mine.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Remind me where you’re going now.’

‘The Savoy,’ she answered. She allowed a few seconds to pass, then said, ‘So, it’s no way, LA.’

Michael frowned. ‘What is this, Zelda?’ he demanded. ‘I’m beginning to think you actually want me to go.’

‘It’d break my heart,’ she told him frankly. ‘But it’s been over four years now, Michael. It’s time to let go of the past and start working towards what you really want.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he retorted. ‘No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to hear it.’ He let a few seconds pass, then, glancing at her he said, ‘Is that what everyone thinks? That I haven’t got over it yet?’

Zelda blinked mildly, then scratching her nose turned to gaze absently out at the peculiar King’s Road fashions.

‘But that’s crazy,’ he protested. ‘It was so long ago I don’t even think about her any more.’

‘Who?’ Zelda asked.

Confused, Michael glanced at her, then was forced to brake hard again as he turned back to the road.

They were approaching Sloane Square before he spoke again. ‘Are you going to O’Malley’s first night on Friday?’ he asked.

Zelda’s eyebrows rose. ‘Does a drowning man yawn?’ she answered.

Michael laughed. ‘You know, for someone who professes to spread only good thoughts through the world you’ve got some corkers hidden away,’ he told her.

‘I save them all for you,’ she confessed, looking off down Sloane Avenue as they headed towards Eton Square. ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ she said, wondering which of the grand Edwardian houses Sandy Paull’s apartment was in, ‘what are you going to do about Sandy?’

Michael looked surprised. ‘What about her?’ he said.

‘You told her to come and see you after the meeting tomorrow.’

‘Oh yes,’ he responded.

Zelda waited, not entirely surprised by his silence, for she had long experience of his refusal to be drawn on subjects he wasn’t keen to discuss, and she’d certainly noticed these past couple of months how reluctant he was to discuss Sandy. Even all the speculation going on around the office as to how Sandy could afford the kind of clothes she wore and the primely located flat she rented hadn’t seemed to evoke any response from him. It was true he had once remarked on the change in her, though whether he had been referring to the distinct improvement in the way she looked, or the surprising confidence she’d acquired in so short a time, had been impossible to tell. And as for her crush on him, which was so obvious it bordered on the embarrassing at times, well, that was a subject he definitely didn’t welcome, not even as a joke.

‘What is it you’ve got against the girl?’ Zelda asked bluntly.

‘Who are we talking about now?’ Michael wondered.

‘Sandy Paull. And before you answer, remember I know you, Michael, so I know when you’re going out of your way to be nice to someone to compensate for not liking them. God knows, I’ve seen you do it enough with the luvvies. Now you’re doing it with Sandy. So why don’t you like her?’

‘I’m about to promote her,’ he said, slowing for a pedestrian crossing.

‘Which is what tomorrow is about? Good, she deserves it. But why, when you don’t really want her around?’

‘I don’t have a problem with her being around,’ he responded. ‘Christ, if everyone put as much effort into the agency as she does we’d never have to worry again.’

Zelda looked at him. ‘You’re not going to give me an answer, are you?’ she said.

He shook his head. ‘My personal feelings towards Sandy Paull aren’t important enough to discuss,’ he said.

‘But you are going to promote her?’

‘Probably. We’ve got a couple of things to straighten out first and if I’m satisfied with their outcome she’ll get her promotion.’

‘Blimey, what’s going on here?’ Nesta demanded, unbelting her raincoat as she wandered into Sandy’s bedroom and found the contents of Sandy’s wardrobe scattered all over the high mahogany bed. ‘Are you moving out or something?’

Sandy didn’t even turn round as she continued hunting through what was left in the reproduction armoire and pulled out a blush-pink Escada suit. ‘I’m seeing Michael in the morning,’ she answered, holding the suit up against herself in the mirror.

Nesta draped her coat across the dressing-table stool, kicked off her boots and climbed up on to the pillows. ‘Don’t you see him every morning?’ she asked, crossing her legs and picking up a hand mirror from the dressing-table to study her large hazel eyes and luscious, heart-shaped lips. ‘Do you think my hair needs a colour?’ she asked, flicking it with her fingers.

‘I think he’s going to promote me,’ Sandy said, feeling the excitement close around her heart as she said the words.

‘You mean he’s going to give you the job while what’s-her-name’s on maternity leave?’

Sandy nodded and gave a shudder of nerves. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I expect I’ll find out when I see him in the morning. Oh God, what am I going to wear? What do you think of this?’ she asked, indicating the pink suit.

Nesta shrugged, then turned to look out of the window as a fire engine screamed past. ‘Depends what you wear with it,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘Are you going out tonight?’

‘Yes, later,’ Sandy answered, dropping the suit on the bed and returning to the wardrobe.

‘Go like that,’ Nesta suggested, tossing the mirror aside and putting her hands behind her head.

Sandy laughed. As she was wearing only a black thong, black push-up bra and black hold-up stockings the suggestion wasn’t serious, but the idea of the response it might provoke was definitely appealing.

‘Aren’t you going to ask where I’ve been?’ Nesta yawned.

‘Do you reckon this would work?’ Sandy asked, taking a cream silk top from a drawer and matching it to the suit. ‘No,’ she said, answering her own question. ‘Too Cherie Blair. Maybe black. What do you think? I’ve got that see-through stretch lacy top, remember? I could button the jacket up over it. Or no, the suit’s wrong, isn’t it? It’s too dressy for the office. I wonder what colours he likes.’

‘You’re obsessed with that man,’ Nesta grumbled. ‘He’s only flesh and blood, for God’s sake, so do what I tell you, go in like that, he’ll probably end up promoting you and screwing you over the desk at the same time.’

‘Don’t,’ Sandy shivered. ‘Just the thought of it makes me come over all funny. But it wouldn’t surprise me, once I’m an assistant, if that kind of thing didn’t start happening quite a bit after everyone goes home, because it’s usually just me and him left working late, and I’m telling you, something’s definitely starting to happen between us.’ She giggled to herself. ‘I bet he can’t wait to promote me so we can hurry up and get on with it.’

Nesta looked at her incredulously as she whisked a short tartan kilt and red lycra top over to the mirror. ‘You really think that getting this job is going to make a difference, don’t you?’ she said.

Sandy’s head came up to look at her in the mirror.

Nesta looked back. ‘I mean, you really believe he’s going to fancy you just because he’s made you an assistant to one of his agents,’ she said.

‘Well, I don’t …’ Sandy began, her eyes starting to fill with confusion. ‘What are you saying?’ she asked.

‘I’m saying that if he fancied you, Sandy, he would have screwed you by now, no matter who you are.’

‘No he wouldn’t,’ Sandy responded defensively. ‘I’m only a clerk, remember? He can hardly be seen going out with a measly little clerk, can he?’

‘I didn’t say going out,’ Nesta reminded her. ‘I said screw. And believe me, Sandy, that’s about the most you can hope for here, because men like him, they don’t go out with women like you.’

Sandy’s face was drawing tight with anger and hurt. ‘What do you mean, women like me?’ she demanded.

Nesta drew in a breath. ‘Look, I don’t want to hurt your feelings,’ she said, ‘but the Michael McCanns of this world only get serious about women of their own sort. In other words, women with class. Women like you they just screw.’

‘For your information,’ Sandy said, ‘he comes from a working-class background too, so he’s just the same as me.’

Nesta was shaking her head. ‘He’s nothing like you,’ she said. ‘To start with, the man is well-educated, he’s got money, he’s got more women than he knows what to do with, so what’s he going to want with someone like you? I keep telling you, give it up. You don’t want to be an agent, all you want is to impress him so’s he’ll think you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him and fall madly in love with you and make you queen of the McCann court. Well, he’s never going to do it, I promise you. What he’ll do, maybe, is screw you a couple of times, then dump you. I’m sorry, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I don’t want to see you go on kidding yourself like this. You should get out of that place and start having some fun. I mean, look at me, I’ve just flown back Concorde from New York where I was wined and dined, and stayed at the Plaza and got driven about in a stretch limousine, shopped on Fifth Avenue and saw two Broadway shows, best seats in the house, and do you know what I had to do for all that? Let him watch me put lipstick on my tits. I ask you, what could be easier? There was a whole gang of us, we had a great time. And what were you doing? Stuck here with gay Craig, I’ll bet, going over some crappy writer’s script that’s got even less chance of making it to the screen than you’ve got of making it as Michael McCann’s woman.’

Sandy’s face was stricken. ‘You’re the one who’s been telling me all this time that I did stand a chance,’ she cried.

‘Only of getting screwed,’ Nesta cried back. ‘I’ve never said anything about a long-term relationship, because I know it’s not going to happen.’

‘What are you?’ Sandy shouted. ‘Some kind of fortune-teller or something? You can’t say what he’s going to do, you don’t know what’s going on inside his head. You don’t even know him!’

‘I’ve seen that man on three separate occasions now,’ Nesta shot back, ‘and I’m telling you, Sandy, you’re going to end up disappointed. You’re attractive, you’ve got a good body and when you want to, you know how to use it, but even if you end up being the best fuck he’s ever had, I promise you he’s still never going to make you his partner, not in any way, shape or form, because men like him don’t go out in public with girls like you.’

Sandy’s face was white, her whole body was tense with fury. ‘You mean like you,’ she raged. ‘You’re the one who gets paid for it, not me. I never take money for sex and you know it. I only did it those few times at the beginning, because I didn’t have a choice and no one will ever know about that unless you tell them.’

‘Don’t be daft, I’ll never tell them,’ Nesta said. ‘But you’re still going out on dates in a professional capacity and whether or not you’re having sex at the end of the night is irrelevant. The fact is, you do have sex with some of them, at least you do with Maurice, you just don’t take his money. OK, you like him, you get on well with him, but why do you think we pay such a low rent for this place? And the other men? I know you like to think those dates are respectable, but do you honestly think Michael McCann would see it that way? You’re still meeting them through Isabelle Woodcroft, they’re still paying for the privilege of taking you to dinner or a show or wherever you go …’

‘He’s taking women out all the time,’ Sandy protested.

‘Oh God, Sandy,’ Nesta groaned, ‘it’s not the same and you know it, so stop trying to fool yourself that it is.’

Sandy glared at her mutinously, not wanting to accept she was right, but unable to defend herself further.

‘OK,’ Nesta sighed, starting to regret how blunt she had been, ‘go ahead and try to hook the man, do whatever you think it takes to make yourself his equal, just don’t come crying to me when everything I’ve tried to warn you about starts coming true. Well, you can come crying to me, but why don’t you save yourself the heartache and give up on it now?’

‘Because you’re wrong, Nesta,’ Sandy replied fiercely. ‘You’re dead wrong. It will work out for me and Michael, I know it will.’

Nesta shook her head sadly. ‘What about this actress he’s been seeing?’ she said. ‘Is she still around?’

‘She won’t last,’ Sandy answered, ‘none of them ever do.’

‘But you’re different,’ Nesta said flatly.

Sandy averted her head. ‘You just don’t understand,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s not something you can put into words.’

‘Oh yes, you can,’ Nesta corrected, sliding down from the bed, ‘it’s called blind obsession, that’s what it’s called, and the worst part of it is that you could be having such a good time with us if you just forgot about him and threw all that precious energy into doing what you do best. Who are you seeing tonight?’

Sandy’s face was sour. ‘Marlene, actually,’ she answered.

‘What about the duke? Don’t you usually see him on Wednesdays?’

‘I cancelled.’

Nesta rolled her eyes. ‘That man would probably leave you his entire fortune if you gave him what he wanted and he’s got to be worth millions. For God’s sake, Sandy, he’s in his eighties, he can’t be much longer for this world, so why don’t you just do it? No one would ever know …’

‘The whole world would know if he left me his fortune,’ Sandy pointed out. ‘And he’s got two sons and three daughters who’d have plenty to say about it if he did. Besides, he doesn’t want to do it. He’s lonely. He wants to talk and reminisce and show me his mementoes from the war. That’s why I go there and no matter what you say, I can’t see anyone thinking there’s anything wrong in that, especially not Michael …’

‘All right, all right,’ Nesta said, holding up her hand. ‘You do it your way. All I’m saying is stop making out you’re whiter than white and butter wouldn’t melt, when we both know the truth. And I’m not talking about being paid for dates now, I’m talking about all those little stunts you’ve been pulling over at that office that have got you to where you are now.’

Sandy’s eyes flashed. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she snapped.

‘Maybe not to your way of thinking,’ Nesta conceded, ‘but there are others, if they knew about it, who might not agree,’ and picking up her coat she started to walk out.

‘The trouble with you, Nesta,’ Sandy called after her, ‘is that you don’t understand ambition or office politics or any of the things that go with a normal job. What I’m doing to get on in the world is nothing in comparison to the things you do.’

‘At least what I do is honest and up front,’ Nesta responded, turning back. ‘What you’re doing is lying to yourself and cheating on people who trust you. And do you know who’s going to end up getting hurt, Sandy? You, that’s who. And I don’t want to see that happen, because I know that deep down inside you’re a decent, caring and honest person, who for some unknown reason seems hell bent on destroying herself over a man who just isn’t worth it, because none of them ever are.’