Charlotte Phillips - Man vs. Socialite

He realised with a burst of fury that he would have to do the one-off show. It could be the only way to make sure he obliterated all doubts about his integrity. And if she thought he’d be giving her an easy ride she was deluded.

The executive producer looked at Evie.

‘Without this show, Evie, I’m afraid renewing your contract for Miss Knightsbridge will be out of the question. Without the joint show we’d have to find alternative ways to minimise the bad publicity. The best course of action would probably be to quietly write you out. Of course we’d have to find a new central character for the show—’

‘I’ll do it,’ Evie cut in immediately. What choice did she have? Without this show her public image was worth nothing. There would be no more magazine articles, no more talking-heads fashion slots on daytime TV. Her fledgling jewellery business would fail before it even began. She’d be back to the quiet life, cruising along alone with no aim or direction, and this time the quiet life would probably come with hate mail. ‘I’ll do the foraging and the sleeping outside and the rubbing sticks together to make fire.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘I’d prefer not to do water though.’

Jack laughed out loud mirthlessly.

‘You think you can get through an outward-bound weekend without getting wet, sweetheart? You obviously haven’t watched the show. Think again.’

Of course she hadn’t watched the show—was he insane? She didn’t do the great outdoors. The nearest she’d ever got to it were camping holidays as a small child, and they’d never happened again after her mother died. As her Miss Knightsbridge image demanded, she did luxury hotels, spa treatments and shopping. On her own time she did comfy pyjamas, tea and toast, and American TV show box sets. Not a foraged meal in sight in either her public or private persona.

He was already up, striding towards the exit, his entire demeanour exuding white-hot anger. So all she had to do to regain public affection, keep her TV show and stop her fledgling jewellery business from going under was survive a weekend in rough terrain with a companion who hated her guts.

Just bloody great.

* * *

‘You’re going on a TV show with Evie Staverton-Lynch?’ Helen’s voice on the phone practically bubbled with interest. ‘Miss Knightsbridge?’

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Oh, I just love her! Her clothes are to die for. Can you ask her where she got that butterfly necklace she wore on last week’s show?’

Jack drew in an exasperated breath. All the girl did was wear designer clothes and hang out in swanky bars. And now it seemed his own sister was as sucked in by all the TV crap as everyone else.

‘She’s a reality TV star,’ he pointed out. Someone had to. ‘It doesn’t require a modicum of talent. Why is she so popular? What is it about her?’

‘It’s the whole different world thing, isn’t it? The way the other half live, the money they spend. It’s cult viewing. Everyone watches it and everyone has an opinion on it. Don’t you know that?’

Helen’s tone had a hint of you’re-too-decrepit-to-understand. The eight years between them yawned canyon-wide.

‘Evie Staverton-Lynch is really cool and funny,’ she added.

‘Did you not see the trouble she’s caused me?’ he said.

Helen made a vague dismissive noise as if she was distracted. He could just imagine her watching TV while she talked to him. Multitasking, splitting her attention down the middle. A fond smile touched his lips. He loved her in-your-face attitude. It hadn’t been long enough since she’d been holed up in the hospital, too weak to speak. And then there had been rehab. Would it ever be long enough?

‘It’s all just a publicity stunt,’ she said. ‘All designed to get more attention. Probably staged.’

‘I need it like a hole in the head,’ he said.

‘You need to lighten up’, she said. ‘With any luck you might even come out of this looking a bit hip. Your shows have been looking a bit nerdy recently.’

He could hear the teasing smile in her voice.

‘Nerdy?’ A grin spread across his face at her cheek. He could never hear enough of that.

‘This could get you a whole new audience.’

‘Will you be watching?’

Her voice softened.

‘I always watch.’

‘And you’re feeling OK and your college course is going fine?’ he checked.

‘For the hundredth time, will you stop fussing? I’m perfectly fine, I promise.’

He restrained himself from picking endlessly at her. There was a constant need to be certain she was on track, doing fine, clean. It had barely diminished since that first shocking sight of her at rock bottom, a journey she’d taken while he’d been on the other side of the world, oblivious, revelling in his army career.

‘I’ll call you as soon as I get back from filming,’ he said.

‘Evie Staverton-Lynch has the best fashion sense in the country. She’ll soon have you out of that camo green you keep wearing. Good luck!’ She blew him a kiss and put the phone down.

For Pete’s sake.

* * *

‘You don’t have to go through with this.’

Annabel Sutton leaned back against the plump pink cushions on Evie’s sofa and as usual said exactly what Evie wanted to hear. Annabel pulled a face as she sipped her coffee. Not her usual table in her favourite Chelsea café and clearly Evie wasn’t up to supplying the usual standard of beverage. After the reaction Evie had got in the street this morning when she’d nipped to the corner shop to buy milk, she’d insisted Annabel come to her flat instead of going out. An irate pensioner had informed her that she ought to be ashamed of herself, saying those awful things about that ‘nice young man’.

‘None of this is your fault,’ Annabel soothed. ‘Total overreaction by the TV company—the whole thing’s been blown out of proportion. And it’s not like you’re on the breadline, sweetie. You’ve got a whopping great allowance, this lovely flat, a country estate. You don’t need to take this.’ She paused. ‘The production company really suggested cutting you from the show, did you say?’ She gazed up at the ceiling. ‘How awful. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away after that lack of support. I guess they’ll move one of the rest of us into the central role.’

Secondary player on Miss Knightsbridge, Annabel had a part-time PR job in a glossy art gallery and a fabulously supportive family who were distantly related to the Queen. It occurred to Evie that Annabel was seeing this a bit too much like an opportunity to really pull off supportive.

‘The threat of legal action was bandied about,’ Evie said shortly. ‘For potential loss of income relating to Jack Trent’s TV series, his business interests... I do this show, I avert the possibility of that.’

That would make sense to Annabel. A reason that was related to finance. Evie didn’t mention that the money was the least of her worries. The thing that really ached the most was the loss of support, the way the public had turned on her after making her feel special for once. What she really wanted, if she was honest, was to find a way to turn that around, to get things back to the way they were. To launch her jewellery business to rapturous reviews, perhaps secure a concession in one of the department stores, instead of sinking out of sight under a cloud of public dislike.

‘Plus I might be able to turn off the Internet but I still can’t leave the flat without grief from the public.’

‘Since when have you given a damn what other people think?’

Annabel was familiar with Evie’s perfected I-don’t-care-bring-on-the-fun persona. At school Evie had quickly learned that attitude earned friendship from the most popular girls. In South West London she’d continued to work at being one of the crowd, the need to belong somewhere as important to her as ever. She wasn’t sure what her friends, or the TV viewers for that matter, would make of her if they knew that given the choice of falling out of a glossy nightclub and curling up with a box set, the TV show would win every time.