Rose let out a burst of laughter. ‘Really? Oh, that’s brilliant. And the first time I’ve ever heard you joke about the whole thing.’
‘I wasn’t joking,’ Violet muttered.
‘So, did he make it to Huntingdon Hall alive? How are things going? I mean, after that kind of a start I’m assuming he’s probably part of the family already.’ Apparently, Rose’s romantic happiness hadn’t dulled her ability for sarcasm.
‘Actually, we agreed to start over. He’s helping me with the Benefit Concert.’
‘You took it on?’ Rose asked. ‘I kind of hoped you might when Will said you’d agreed to take care of things. But I wasn’t sure if you’d...well, feel comfortable doing it. You know, you can always get someone in from the agency we use if you’re not happy.’
‘It’s fine. I said I’d do it and I will.’ And hearing how everyone else expected her to pull out every five minutes was only making her more determined that it would be a raging success. ‘Although we’re having some fun trying to sort through all your papers.’
‘Yeah, sorry about the mess. But there’s a system, I promise.’
‘Care to explain it to me?’ Violet asked, settling back on the sofa to take detailed notes as Rose explained the meanings of different file colours, and how the left side of the desk was only ever used for pending stuff. She just hoped she and Tom hadn’t already messed up whatever weird system Rose had developed...
CHAPTER EIGHT
TOM STARED AT the blank laptop screen in front of him, then rubbed his eyes. He’d been at Huntingdon Hall for almost a week, sat down for detailed, open interviews with both Rick and Sherry, plus most of the band members. He had hours of audiotape, plus a whole notebook full of scrawled notes. He’d even managed to put together a preliminary article for one of his favourite editors, talking about the exciting opportunity he had, staying at Huntingdon Hall. When it went to print in one of the supplements this weekend, it should build excitement for the Benefit Concert, help with the album promo and even start some buzz for the eventual band biography. It had been a productive, worthwhile week.
So why the hell was he still thinking about Violet Huntingdon-Cross, drowning in paperwork in her sister’s study?
She was the only one he wasn’t certain he could get to open up, that was all. He had appointments to talk with Daisy, and even her new husband, in a couple of weeks when they came for the benefit, and he felt sure he could collar Rose and the new Mr when they got back from their honeymoon. But Violet...she was right there in the house with him, and yet he couldn’t get close. Even when they were in the same room, she made it very clear there was an exclusion zone around her—one he would never enter.
Maybe he’d got too close with their conversation about trust—even if he had come out the worst for it. But that only meant he needed to push a little further.
Tom closed his laptop. He could take a break from writing if it meant getting Violet to open up. After all, her parents were off doing the first of many promos for the Benefit Concert—radio today—her sisters were both busy being married and happy...it was just the two of them there now. They might as well get used to each other’s company.
Another thing he had managed over the last week was learning his way around Huntingdon Hall. At least he no longer got lost looking for the kitchen.
Tom knocked on the study door, waiting for Violet to call for him to come in, but she didn’t answer.
After a moment, Tom pushed the door open, just enough to peer through the crack.
‘Yes, I understand that, Mr Collins. But—’ Violet sat at the desk, phone clamped to her ear. Strands of hair were escaping from the clip she’d used to keep it back, and she rubbed her forehead with her free hand. ‘And, as I’ve already told you—’ A sigh, as she was presumably cut off again.
Slipping through the open door, Tom took the seat opposite the desk and she glanced up at the movement.
‘Who is it?’ he whispered.
‘Olivia’s manager,’ she mouthed back. Damn it. Olivia was the hot new American act Rose had booked for the benefit. Tom had interviewed her once or twice before, and each time the star’s list of demands had grown. Word in the industry was that no one could wait until her star burned out and she had to start begging them for the press. But while the kids were still downloading her music...
Reaching over, Tom stabbed the speakerphone button with his finger, and Mr Collins’s diatribe became audible.
‘All I’m saying is that I think I need to talk with someone with a little more authority over there. Olivia isn’t just some local act, taking part for the exposure. She’s the biggest thing in pop music right now, and I don’t think that some girl who’s only famous for who her parents are and for getting naked on the internet can really appreciate—’
‘Mr Collins—’ Tom struggled to keep his tone professional as inside him indignation and anger burned brighter ‘—this is Tom Buckley. We’ve spoken before, when I’ve been commissioned to write pieces about Olivia.’
‘Tom. Right.’ A little unease threaded through Mr Collins’s words now he knew he was talking to the press. Tom didn’t imagine for a moment that he had much power in the world, but the ability to make famous people look ungrateful, stupid or plain mean was always worth something. ‘You’re covering this concert?’
‘I’m helping Miss Huntingdon-Cross organise it this year.’ Maybe his words were a little sharp, but Mr Collins deserved a hell of a lot worse. ‘All for charity, you know. I’ve got Olivia’s rider right here.’ He held out a hand and Violet passed it over. Tom scanned through the pop star’s list of demands for her performance and backstage requirements, eyebrows raised. ‘She does realise that all the profits from the day go to very worthwhile charities, yes?’
‘Well, of course she does,’ Mr Collins blustered. ‘She’s always keen to help those less fortunate than herself.’
‘In which case, I’d imagine that she wouldn’t want the sixty-seven requests she’s made to result in us not being able to meet our giving targets for the year, right? I mean, I’m sure that nobody would ever say that Olivia places more importance on having the appropriately named Diva vodka available backstage than she does on starving children getting a hot meal, but...well, you have to admit, it doesn’t look all that good.’
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Tom waited it out. The next move had to be the manager’s.
‘I’m sure Olivia would be satisfied with a more...easily available vodka,’ Mr Collins said eventually.
Tom drew a gleeful line through the words reading ‘Three bottles of Diva vodka’ on the piece of paper in front of him. ‘I’m sure she would too. In fact, why don’t you go back to her and see which other items she might be willing to forgo? For the sake of the children.’ And her publicity, of course. Tom was under no illusions about that.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Mr Collins hung up.
Beaming, Tom handed the rider back to Violet. ‘And that is how you deal with ungrateful, self-important, egotistical teenage stars.’
‘By threatening to expose them in the press as terrible people?’ Violet, for some reason, didn’t look quite as pleased with his victory as Tom thought she should.
‘By making them aware of the truth of their situation,’ he replied. ‘They’re public figures, and their attitudes and behaviour are
noted. Don’t you think the world should know that she wanted a bottle of three-thousand-dollar vodka more than she wanted to help the charity she was supposed to be appearing for?’
‘No. Yes.’ Frustration crossed Violet’s face. ‘Look, the point is, I didn’t need you to save me. I could have dealt with it myself.’
‘I’m sure you could.’ Something told him this might be the time to tread gently. ‘But sometimes these guys react better to the press than to...’ Hell, now he was stuck. How to describe her in a way that wouldn’t make her fly off the handle?
‘Some girl who’s only famous for who her parents are and for getting naked on the internet?’ Bitterness filled Violet’s voice as she quoted Mr Collins.
‘Okay, I definitely wasn’t going to say that.’
‘But it’s what you were thinking, right?’ Violet gave him a sad smile. ‘I know how people see me.’
The disappointment on her face made her look more fragile than he’d imagined she could, especially after their explosive first meeting in the airport. This wasn’t a woman who revelled in her notoriety, who defended her mistakes and delighted in the press coverage. This wasn’t the woman he’d watched—very briefly, before embarrassment got the better of him—in that sex tape.
‘Does that happen a lot?’ he asked, suddenly furious at the idea that it wasn’t just one stupid man belittling Violet, but a whole host of them.
‘Mr Collins?’ She shrugged. ‘Sometimes. I don’t... Mostly, I’m not around people like that, so it’s fine. If we’re at a charity event or something, usually people won’t say it to my face. But I hear the snickers and see the smiles, you know? I guess it’s the only thing I’m famous for, so it’s all anyone wants to talk about.’
‘But it’s not all that you are.’ It surprised him how strongly he believed that—and how ashamed he felt that, when he’d arrived, he’d probably thought the same. What had changed?
‘Was this why you didn’t want to be in charge of the Benefit Concert?’ he asked.