‘Chaps! Come on!’ shouted Piers. ‘This is getting us nowhere. The truth is we didn’t make any money and now we owe serious money to some rather unpleasant people.’
‘What do you mean, “unpleasant”?’ asked Tom.
Jamie and Piers exchanged a look.
‘Our friend Miguel has something of a reputation, shall we say?’ said Piers. ‘He doesn’t like people who owe him money. He can get quite nasty.’
‘Oh, bugger,’ whispered Tom.
‘Exactly.’
Tom thought for a moment.
‘Can you really get a340,000 just like that?’ asked Tom remembering Jamie’s confidence in the study.
‘I have a couple of trust funds that I’d rather not use,’ shrugged Jamie. ‘Otherwise I might be able to tap my father for a hundred gees.’
Tom gaped at him. Jamie was talking about hundreds of thousands of pounds as if it was pocket money. He looked at his friend in a new light.
‘Well, a hundred grand isn’t going to cover it,’ said Tom sitting on a chair under a parasol. Jamie and Piers sat opposite him and took two drinks from a waitress.
‘Three hundred and forty thousand euros is about two hundred and fifty thousand quid,’ said Piers. ‘It’s less than ninety grand each. Personally I think it could have been a lot worse.’
‘Ninety grand each?’ hissed Tom. ‘And I’m supposed to chip that in too, am I?’
‘Of course you fucking are, you twat,’ replied Jamie.
‘But I’m not a proper partner! I was only supposed to be getting 10 per cent of the profits. QED I owe 10 per cent of the debt,’ said Tom, knowing that 10 per cent of their debt was well beyond his reach, let alone a third. ‘After all, Sugar has been turning a profit all season, I’m the one who’s been making money. Why should I get screwed for you pair spending God knows how much on bloody ostrich-skin stools?’
‘Come on, Tom!’ said Jamie, slamming his drink down on the table. ‘You are a partner of S&S Productions even though you didn’t put a dime in up front. If Spice had made a million and your bar had flopped, you’d still have wanted your 10 per cent and you’d have got it.’
Tom’s watched the giant disco ball twirl over the pool, wondering if he had a legal way out of this situation; his mother must know a lawyer.
But all he had was a one-page letter of engagement from Jamie and Piers. Off the top of his head he could barely remember what it said but he felt sure it was nothing more detailed than a confirmation of his partnership in S&S Productions and a 10 per cent slice of any profits. Tom shook his head and pushed his drink away. Suddenly he felt sick to the pit of his stomach.
37
‘I can’t believe you’ve come,’ said Johnny, throwing down his script and gathering Stella up in his arms, swinging her round and planting kiss after kiss on her neck. ‘Save me from this set of divas and neurotics.’
Stella beamed. She had driven out to the set of Johnny’s film on a whim, not sure if he’d be available or whether he’d even want her there – these actors had to stay in character, didn’t they? But when she’d knocked on the door of his trailer, the look on his face had been worth the effort.
‘I can’t stay long but it was a great day for a drive,’ she giggled.
‘Anyway the cast aren’t that bad are they?’ She peered out of the small window onto the set. It was like looking back in time. Johnny’s film was a 1930s romantic drama, featuring a farmhand’s torrid affair with the Nazi-sympathizing American wife of a rich English industrialist. Johnny, of course, was the farmhand. Actors were milling around the grounds of the location, a stately home in the Brecon Beacons, in tea-dresses and Veronica Lake curls or sombre three-piece suits and trilbies. Just being here had already sparked off a couple of ideas for Stella’s latest Milford collection.
‘What’s Lisa Ladro like?’ asked Stella referring to Johnny’s glamorous co-star. Lisa was a ‘showbiz’ thirty-six, which made her at least ten years older. Certainly, she had a string of high-profile marriages and a cabinet full of Golden Globes behind her. Apparently she’d hand-picked Johnny especially for the role, which he took as a massive boost for his career as Lisa’s latest husband was the Oscar-winning director Marv Houston.
‘She’s the worst of the lot,’ he grinned. ‘You should see her list of demands: macrobiotic meals served four times a day, Jo Malone candles by the truckload, Evian water to wash her hair, they’ve even had to install a bikram yoga studio next to her trailer, which has to be heated to, like, precisely 37 degrees. The list goes on. Do you think I should be more demanding?’ he added seriously.
‘No, I do not,’ smiled Stella, stroking his cheek. ‘Don’t you go changing one bit.’
He pulled her onto the day bed and sat her on his knee. ‘So how’s my baby been this week?’
‘Milford is taking off like you wouldn’t believe since the party. Stylists for every big celebrity are on the phone requesting bags. Plus, I’m working like a madman to get this 20-piece collection done for the next London Fashion Week. A great Indian silk factory who work with Valentino are going to supply us, and I’m getting two assistants to help me. How’s that for a start?’
‘My little Tom Ford,’ said Johnny, running his fingers through her hair. ‘You and I are going to take over the world.’
She let herself sink back into him, smelling his faint musky cologne, feeling his strong muscular arms wrap themselves around her, and felt a sense of consuming bliss.