Cents and Sensibility

I was always pleased to see Ned. We’d had coffee a couple of times since the lunch with Peter and I found him a really interesting character.

He hadn’t yet been fully absorbed into Journal culture and his fresh eye on it all fascinated me. I’d been there way too long to see anything clearly any more.

‘You’re working late again, Stella,’ he said, sitting on the edge of Peter’s desk. ‘You’ve worked late every night this week.’

‘Well, if you know that,’ I said, ‘then you must have been working late every night too.’

He picked up Peter’s piece of old metal type and weighed it in his hand, before putting it down again.

‘You’re not wrong,’ he said. ‘But I’ve still got something to prove here. I’m killing myself just to keep my job since the tits incident, but you’re fully established. Why are you doing it?’

‘I’m never complacent,’ I said.

He narrowed those green eyes.

‘You snooze, you lose, in this game,’ I continued. ‘Just like the cliché says. There are a lot of people who would love to have my job, Ned, so I never assume it’s mine by right. I’m still always striving to be the best.’

‘You are the best at what you do, by all accounts.’

‘For what it’s worth,’ I said, somewhat bitterly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Luxury…’ I shrugged. ‘Really? Who gives a shit?’

He just looked steadily at me. I carried on talking.

‘The whole luxury industry basically comes down to a fairly small bunch of grotesquely spoilt women and status-obsessed men with penis-size issues,’ I was babbling on. ‘Or men and women who aspire to live as they do. The values at the base of it all are repugnant, yet it’s presented as life on some kind of a higher plane. Like you’re a better person because you can afford to waste money on pointless shit. It’s all bollocks.’

There was something about Ned that made you a little indiscreet like that. Probably because he knew when to say nothing. Peter always said that was one of the characteristics of the best interviewers and it clearly came naturally to Ned. I was still going on.

‘I never wanted to write about bloody diamonds. I just ended up doing this by accident, and it is worth it to have a job here, but it’s not why I wanted to be a journalist.’

I smiled at him sheepishly. ‘I wanted to be Woodward and Bernstein.’

Ned barked with laughter.

‘I still do,’ he said. ‘I still want to be them. That’s why I’m here. Do you think I’ll end up writing about handbags too?’

‘No,’ I said, laughing with him. ‘But I’d watch yourself if you ever get asked to do anything for the motoring section.’

‘You’re not kidding,’ said Ned, still smiling, then those canny eyes narrowed again. ‘But if you don’t love the luxury world, Stella, you’re keeping some pretty swanky company.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked him.

He handed me a copy of Hot Stuff! magazine, a celebrity gossip trash weekly. It fell open at a page of paparazzi photographs and my eyes nearly popped out when I saw what was on them: pictures of me and Jay, arriving at Wonderland, and on the dance floor, in a tight clinch, mixed in with other shots of Jay with Jericho.

‘What the fuck?’ I said, but Ned had gone.

‘See you later, Stella,’ he was saying as he disappeared round the corner. ‘Don’t work too hard.’

I checked the date on the front of the magazine – it wasn’t due to come out until the next day – and then I turned back to the story and just kept going over it, almost unable to believe what I was reading.

But at the same time, it was all falling into place in my head. Everything that had been a bit weird about my time with Jay now made perfect sense. Including his absence.

An investment manager! That was what he’d said he did. He wasn’t kidding. His loose change was probably more than most people’s life savings – then I remembered the wad of notes he always carried. He always paid cash, I’d noticed that. I’d thought it was odd, but it must have been something to do with being so loaded. Who knew? That kind of money was another universe. And no wonder he’d gone all weird whenever I’d mentioned his family.

Then another thing struck me – it wasn’t surprising he knew all about my father. Ham had won the competition to design the Fisher Institute in Boston, a new museum commissioned to house some of the priceless works of art that the Fisher family – Jay’s family – had donated to the American nation, complete with the landmark building to house the collection.

It was Dad’s most prestigious project by far, and he’d won it by designing a public building specifically to have the feeling of a family home, to reflect the dynastic nature of the Fisher Trust.

What was even odder was that Ham hadn’t made that connection himself, but then when I looked back at the day Jay came to Willow Barn, I didn’t think I’d ever mentioned Jay’s full name, so why would he? Ham didn’t read the gossip mags any more than I did, so he probably wouldn’t have known what Jay looked like either.

I felt so stupid, I just wanted to go and hide myself away. I slunk out of the office and went home, but I’d only been back at my place for a few minutes when the phone rang. So few people had that number I answered immediately. It was Ham.

‘I saw your light on,’ he said, in a rather strained voice. ‘Can you come over?’

It was such an unusual request, I said I’d be right there.

‘Have you seen this?’ he said, holding it up by a corner, like it was a rather smelly dead fish.

I nodded, sitting down. ‘About an hour ago,’ I said.

‘Why didn’t you tell me he was Jay Fisher?’ said Ham. He sounded really hurt.

‘I didn’t know, Ham,’ I said. ‘Well, I knew that was his name, but I didn’t make the connection with the Fisher banking family, I just thought he was a guy called Jay Fisher. I didn’t know he was a multibillionaire called Jay Fisher.’

Ham looked incredulous.

‘Hadn’t you heard of him?’ he said.

‘I think I had,’ I said, slowly. ‘But I just didn’t make the connection. He told me he was an investment manager and I thought he was just another overpaid New York/London banker-wanker boy. I meet a lot of them, doing what I do, and normally I’m not that keen, but I really liked Jay, from the moment I laid eyes on him and the penny just didn’t drop. And he certainly didn’t spell it out to me. Anyway, what’s the big deal?’

He was rubbing his jaw and frowning. I nodded at his glass.

‘Can I have one of those, please?’ I asked in a small voice.

‘Of course you can, number one duckling,’ said Ham, clearly relenting a little about whatever had upset him, and he got up and poured me a large shot of single malt.

‘I’m really sorry, Ham,’ I said, when he sat down again. ‘But I wasn’t being sneaky not telling you, I’m just incredibly stupid.’

‘You certainly are not, but I would have thought that with what you write about, you would be a little more au fait with all those silly jet-set socialite types.’

I pulled a face.

‘That’s the part of it I can’t stand,’ I said.

‘But you love going out to fancy restaurants and staying in five-star hotels, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘But on my own terms. I like visiting that world as a kind of lifestyle tourist, but I certainly don’t aspire to dwell in it all the time. The people who do are mostly utter twats.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Ham, smiling broadly, but then a frown settled on his brows again. ‘And that leads to my other concern with regard to your friend, Mr Fisher.’

‘I don’t think he is my friend any more,’ I said, my voice wobbling slightly as I fought tears.

Ham’s bear-like hand reached out across the table and covered mine.

‘Has he dumped you?’ he asked, gently.

I nodded. My eyes were now fully teared up. One slid down my cheek.

‘He hasn’t called me for over a week,’ I whispered.

‘Had you slept with him?’ said Ham, very quietly.

I screwed my eyes up and nodded. Then I burst into tears.

Ham came round the table and enveloped me in his huge arms, while I sobbed uncontrollably on to his shoulder until I had let all the pent-up sadness and anger pour out and was just hiccupping a bit.

He dried my eyes on his shirtsleeve and then pulled a chair over, so he could sit with one arm round me.

‘My poor little poppet,’ he said. ‘God! Men are frightful. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘That’s what makes it so awful,’ I said. ‘I knew what to do and I messed it all up.’

I looked up into Ham’s big craggy, kind face.

‘No,’ he said. ‘He did.’

I felt all teary again, just talking about Jay.

‘I really liked him, Ham,’ I said eventually, in a tiny voice. ‘I had no idea he was stupidly rich, I just really liked him. Not just because he’s good-looking, and I didn’t even like the flashy car and all that nonsense. It’s just that he has such a gentle side to him and he’s so kind and funny and interesting and he always knows what to do – the way you do. I felt safe with Jay. He’s lovely.’

I had another little bout of sobbing, with Ham saying, ‘There there,’ and patting my head, until I finally recovered enough to ask him what he had been about to say before I’d broken down.

‘Ham, you said that you had another concern about Jay. What was it?’

‘Ah,’ said Ham, looking uneasy. ‘That. Well, surely you must remember I have a connection with that family.’

I nodded. ‘The museum in Boston. I did finally figure out that was how Jay knew all about you.’

‘Yes,’ said Ham, sighing deeply. ‘I did the Fisher Institute and it was the most painful project I have ever worked on.’

I blinked at him. ‘Why?’

‘His family are an utter nightmare,’ said Ham. ‘I cannot tell you the crap I had to put up with from them over that building. I wouldn’t care if it burned down tomorrow, they made it such an unpleasant experience.’

‘Not Jay?’ I said, horrified.

‘No,’ said Ham. ‘He had nothing to do with it. I’d never seen him until he turned up at Willow Barn, although he did look vaguely familiar, now I come to think of it. It’s the rest of them. The generation above him. His father! Don’t start me. He’s as cold as a sphinx. His mother wasn’t involved with the institute – they’re divorced – but his father is married again to a woman so avaricious she makes Kristy look like Mother Teresa. And then there are the truly terrible uncles. The Fishers are a huge clan of sociopathic fuckwits. They’re messed up in a way that only the inherited megarich can be. Those people scare me.’

I just gawped at him.

‘But Jay’s not like that,’ I said, after a moment.

‘Well, he seemed very nice, I must say, but I can’t imagine where that comes from, because the rest of them are completely appalling. Greedy, paranoid, ungenerous, petty… it just goes on.’

He leaned forwards.

‘Do you know what his Uncle Edward did? He’s the obsessive-compulsive pederast, by the way, as opposed to Michael, the masochistic dipsomaniac drug addict. Anyway, he went through every single receipt in my personal expenses claim from the project and refused to reimburse any mineral water that was on restaurant bills. He said I should have had good American tap water. True story. It amounted to about fifty pounds – in a project that was costing over two hundred million dollars.’

I shook my head in disbelief.

‘But if they’re that mean,’ I said, ‘how come they were giving away such an amazingly valuable art collection to the American people? Why didn’t they just keep it all? Uncle Edward could have had the Renoirs in his loo.’

Ham rolled his eyes.

‘Tax break,’ he said. ‘No, the Fishers really are as vile and mean-minded as only several generations of inherited wealth can make people, and the thought of you being involved with a family like that is simply horrendous to me. They are poison.’

I put my face in my hands and groaned. I didn’t know what to be more upset about. That Jay had dumped me, right after I had slept with him? That I had been stupid enough not to realize who he was? Or that the only man I had ever had proper adult romantic feelings for, had turned out to be from a tribe of money-obsessed psychomonsters?

Then I was distracted by another thought.

‘But how on earth did you come to see Hot Stuff! magazine, Ham. It’s certainly not your normal kind of a read. Or Chloe’s, I’m happy to say, and it’s not even out until tomorrow.’

His eyes creased up into a wry smile.

‘Kristy told me about it. It’s her favourite magazine –she’s a subscriber, so she gets it a day early. This is her copy. She dropped by with it earlier and to say she’s very keen for Venezia to see Jay again. And she’s looking forward to meeting him herself as well.’

We looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing.

‘Oh,’ he added. ‘And then Venezia called a bit later to say – and I quote – “There is so, no way Stella’s an It girl…” ’

That just set me off again, until I was nearly crying with laughter. It was a welcome release, but it wasn’t quite the end of it. We chatted about other things for a while and then I told Ham I was going home to bed.

I started to stand up, when he put his hand on my arm.

‘There’s one more thing, Stella,’ he said, looking serious.

I sat down again.

‘You’re a very sensible girl,’ he continued. ‘Which is pretty amazing considering what silly flighty parents you had, but I need you to promise me something about all this.’

I looked back at him. It wasn’t his usual style, but these weren’t usual circumstances.

‘What is it?’ I asked him.

‘Promise me you won’t see Jay Fisher any more. From what you’ve told me it’s already over, but if he does get back in touch with you, promise me you will have nothing more to do with him.’

I stared at him, in surprise.

‘He won’t make you happy, Stella,’ Ham said, earnestly. ‘None of that family are capable of being happy and I don’t want to see them ruin your life along with all of theirs. They’re noxious. Deadly. So I want you to promise me that. Will you?’

It was strong stuff and I was really taken aback, but Ham had never asked me to promise anything before and although I felt a bit uncomfortable, I agreed.

I mean, I wasn’t going to see Jay Fisher again anyway, was I?

It was just too much to compute and after an hour or so of lying there, going over every moment I had spent with Jay and analysing all the little things he had said and done which could have tipped me off to his true identity, I started to feel like my brain was coming out of my ears.

In the end I decided there was only one way to cope with it. I’d just throw myself back into my work more than ever and I wouldn’t give Jay Fisher another thought.

That proved rather hard when I got into the office the next day. The article from Hot Stuff! had been blown up to A3 size on the colour photocopier and was plastered all over the noticeboard above my desk.

Just to make it even worse, the photo of me and Jay in an intimate clinch had been enlarged separately, so I could see every detail of his beautiful face and how happy I had looked gazing into it.

‘Hello, Posh Spice,’ called out Rita, as I walked past the subs’ desks on my way to make a cup of tea in the staff kitchen.

‘Oooh, it’s our very own It girl,’ said another. ‘Give us a loan, Mrs Fisher.’

‘You’d better watch out,’ said a third. ‘I think I saw Jericho lurking near your desk, with a stiletto shoe in her hand…’

They all shrieked with laughter. I smiled weakly and stepped into the kitchen, only to see that the article had been pinned up on the noticeboard in there too. Rita followed me in.

‘How exciting, Stella,’ she said, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of it. ‘What’s it like dating a billionaire? He’s really cute, I must say. Has he bought you any good presents?’

I just looked at her. I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but I couldn’t blame her. As office gossip went, it was pretty hot stuff. I tried to smile ruefully. I probably looked like I had wind, but I knew I had to make an effort. Being a good sport was all part of being a success on a newspaper. If you showed the teasing bothered you, you’d be torn to pieces.

‘Oh, only a new Mercedes,’ I joked.

‘Has he really?’ said Rita, clearly ready to believe anything in her keenness to get hold of some juicy details to share around.

‘No, you noggin,’ I said, playfully punching her arm. ‘And I’m not dating him. I just met him at the Jericho launch and a whole gang of us went out that night and I just danced with him and somehow they got those stupid pictures. God knows how, I didn’t even see a flash go off. It’s a classic trash mag beat-up. They must have been desperate for a story.’

Rita’s face hardened a little.

‘So how come you had a romantic dinner with him at the River Café as well?’

I just looked at her. That hadn’t been in the piece in Hot Stuff! How did she know about that? But I couldn’t ask – I couldn’t let my guard down.

‘Wouldn’t you?’ I said and winked. Then I got out of the kitchen. It was getting a little too hot in there.

When I got back to my desk Tim was waiting there for me, keenly examining the article on the noticeboard. I reached past him, tore it down, screwed it up and threw it in the bin.

‘Morning, Timothy,’ I said, with an edge in my voice.

‘Morning, It girl,’ he replied.

I slumped into my chair.

‘Not you as well, Tim,’ I said. ‘I’ve already had a roasting from the bloody subs. You’re supposed to be my friend, remember?’

‘I am your friend,’ he said, retrieving the article from the bin and smoothing it out so he could carry on reading it. ‘That’s why I’m here. So what’s all this about? Are you really dating Jay Fisher? I don’t know about the Family Fortunes side of things, but if he’s as cute as he looks in these pictures, I wouldn’t blame you.’

‘No, I’m not dating him,’ I said firmly. ‘I met him at that Jericho launch and we did go out dancing, but I’m not dating him.’

‘So how come Rita tells me you’ve been seen at the River Café with him, since these pictures were taken, and that you left there without finishing your meal and went back to his place and didn’t leave until after ten the next morning, when you came out wearing the same clothes you had on the night before?’

‘How the fuck does she know all that?’

I didn’t have to pretend with Tim. He really was a friend.

‘Her boyfriend’s a paparazzo. He was probably trailing you all night. Or one of his pals was.’

I just sat there and let it all sink in. I knew they did that. I may have worked on a broadsheet newspaper that would never have lowered itself to such base forms of journalism, but I knew that freelance paparazzi did stuff like that all the time. It was hardly an industry secret.

‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘Do you think they stake him out all the time?’

‘Anyone who has been seen up close and personal with Jericho is immediately a marked man, obviously. But they’d probably keep a bit of an eye on him anyway, wouldn’t they, considering how rich and handsome and single he is. Didn’t that occur to you?’

I shook my head.

‘I didn’t really know who he was,’ I said quietly.

Tim looked at me for a moment, in disbelief, and then threw his head back and roared.

‘Oh, my little hard-news wannabe, you are hilarious. You write about luxury and you didn’t recognize Jay Fisher? He’s a luxury brand in human form and you really didn’t know who he was?’

I shook my head.

‘You don’t read Hot Stuff!, do you? Or Hello!, or any of them. Do you, Stella?’

‘Sometimes in the hairdresser’s…’

‘Who is the president of Afghanistan?’ he said suddenly.

‘Hamid Karzai,’ I said.

‘Uzbekistan?’

‘Islam Karimov…’

‘What was Pope Benedict’s name before he was pope?’

‘Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger…’

‘Paris Hilton’s last fiancé?’

I shrugged.

‘Oh, Stella,’ he said. ‘You are hilarious.’ Then his face went serious again. ‘Don’t worry about this rubbish, it will all blow over when Jericho’s linked to someone else, and dating a billionaire will be marvellous for your reputation in the world you work in. You’ll be seen as an insider – and a possible customer – not just a hack. Tamara Mellon is probably planning to invite you round for drinks as we speak.’

‘I’m not dating him,’ I said quietly.

‘A quick fuck and a fuck you?’ said Tim, referring to his own preferred style of relationship.

‘Yeah,’ I said emphatically. ‘I was just fooling around. He is bloody cute, like you said.’

Tim looked at me thoughtfully.

‘Well, just keep your eyes open for men on motorbikes with cameras, OK? They’ll probably watch you for a while now, in case you are the future Mrs Fisher – and Jericho’s love rival is a fairly prominent role in its own right.’

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked right into my eyes.

‘And do try and be a little less naïve, Stella. You were playing in a very high-stakes game for a moment there. It can be dangerous in that world. And read the bloody trash mags every week, not just New Internationalist. Right, lecture over. I also came over to say goodbye. I’m going back to Iraq this afternoon. What’s the name of the president there, by the way?’

‘Jalal Talabani,’ I shot back.

He roared with laughter again, kissed me on the cheek and left.

But out of those confines, I didn’t feel so secure, because Tim had been right – the paparazzi were trailing me. Only a couple of them, but they were there. They were waiting outside the office when I left at night, on their motorbikes. They tracked me back to Notting Hill and then sat outside my place, presumably waiting for me to leave to meet Jay, or for him to turn up there.

I continued to decline invitations, and whenever I was forced to be on the street I made sure I was dressed down, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail and shades on. It was my attempt to stay inconspicuous, and after a couple of days of me going into my house and not coming out again, they appeared to give up on me.

One night, exactly a week after the story had come out in Hot Stuff! I was sitting at my desk working late when Ned loped over.

It was the first time I’d seen him since he’d tipped me off about it. I’d been over to his desk a couple of times to try and find him – I’d wanted to thank him – but he’d never been there.

‘Hi, Ned,’ I said. I’ve been looking for you.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Rita told me.’

‘Oh, you can rely on Rita,’ I said. ‘She’s more reliable than a front-page lead in the Journal if you want to get a story circulated.’

‘I’d figured that,’ said Ned. ‘What did you want to say to me, anyway?’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Thank you for showing me that horrendous thing in Hot Stuff! It was so humiliating and if I hadn’t known about it before I came into work that day, I would have been mortified – well, even more mortified. But tell me, how come you had an early copy? Are you a subscriber?’

‘My girlfriend works there,’ he said. ‘She always bikes it over to me as soon as it comes in from the printer, in case I can get a story out of it.’

I nodded. ‘Well, thanks to both of you.’

‘Are you OK?’ he said. ‘It must have been pretty weird to find yourself suddenly the subject of journalism – especially that kind of crap.’

‘It was horrendous,’ I said. ‘But I’m OK now. It’s all rubbish anyway, I’m not dating him. I never was.’

I didn’t care if Rita had told him all the gory details about the River Café and all that; I wasn’t dating him and that was that.

‘Shame,’ said Ned. ‘Most girls would dream of being with a guy like that.’

I just looked down. I suddenly felt a bit teary. I didn’t want Ned to see.

He stood there for a while, saying nothing, in that way he had.

‘So,’ he said after a moment. ‘If you’re not dating a billionaire, how would you like to come out with some ordinary people? You’ve been working late every night again. People are talking about it – and not just Rita. So why don’t you give work a rest for a while and come out? A crowd of us are going to the Amused Moose to see a few acts, so why don’t you come with us, have a laugh, get out of yourself?’

I knew the Amused Moose was a comedy club somewhere in Soho, but I’d never been there. But it so wasn’t my scene, it suddenly seemed a really attractive prospect.

‘When?’ I said.

‘Now,’ said Ned, smiling sweetly.

I thought for a moment. Why not? Why shouldn’t I just go out after work with my colleagues, like any normal person?

I was even appropriately dressed for it. Normally I had to get a bit togged up for work, because I was always off to The Wolseley for lunch, The Berkeley for tea, and cocktails at Claridge’s, but in my present low-key persona, I was wearing cord jeans. Perfect for a comedy club. No one but me would know they were Sevens and cost nearly £200. I’d fit right in.

‘You know what?’ I said. ‘I would really love to.’

And I turned my computer off with a flourish.

8