The Show

  ‘What are you working on?’

  She hated herself for asking, but Milo just kept baiting her with his floppy blond hair and his handsome jaw and his permanently averted eyes.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I said what are you doing?’ Violet was irritated. ‘There’s no need to be so unsociable, you know. I tell you what I’m doing.’

  Milo shot her a look that clearly expressed how much he wished she wouldn’t. Pushing down the lid of his laptop, he stood up. ‘I’m going to get a coffee.’

  ‘Mine’s a skinny latte,’ Violet shouted after him as he left the room, hands thrust deep into his pockets.

  Out on Marsham Street, Milo thought again how irksome Violet Charteris was with her constant innuendos and pouting and irrelevant chatter, as if his job were to entertain her. It was March now, over two months since his mother’s overdose, but Violet still kept asking him about his family all the time, and ‘how things were going’. As if they were friends; or as if it were any of her business. She’d been even more unbearable when the tabloid vultures switched their attention from his mother’s insalubrious past to Gabe Baxter’s affair with Macy Johanssen.

  ‘Oh, come on. Your father produces Valley Farm. You must know them,’ she goaded him. ‘Don’t be such a prude! Give us the gossip.’

  ‘I don’t know them,’ Milo told her stiffly. ‘But if I did, I certainly wouldn’t gossip about them. Unlike you, I know the harm it can do.’

  He knew he sounded preachy and holier-than-thou, but somehow Violet brought it out of him. It was odd to think that, this time last year, he’d probably have fancied a girl like Violet rotten. But now that he knew Magda, everything was different. The scales had fallen from his eyes and Milo could see Violet Charteris now for the vain, spoiled, entitled little madam that she was. Perhaps, it occurred to him, I hate her so much because she reminds me of how I used to be?

  That was an uncomfortable thought. Guiltily, Milo decided to buy Violet a latte. He darted into Starbucks, just as it started to rain again.

  Meanwhile, back in the office, Violet found herself alone for once. The minister was in Leeds today, opening a new foundation school. The other two interns, nerdy Mike and dreary Sanjay, had both gone with him; his PA, Helena, was at home with flu.

  Seizing the opportunity, Violet hurried over to Milo’s desk and gently lifted the lid of his computer. She was hoping to find some porn, or at least some IMs from a girlfriend she could tease him about. Instead, a long, turgid legal paper popped up. ‘Illegal Immigration and the Path to Citzenship.’ Milo had highlighted a subsection on Poland.

  That’s odd, thought Violet. Garforth asked all of us to focus on Inner City Policing this month. What’s Milo up to?

  She began to scroll down his browser history.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  She was so engrossed, she almost didn’t hear the ‘ding’ of the lift arriving at their floor. She only just had time to re-close the computer and run back to her own desk before Milo walked in, looking handsomer than ever with his hair sleek from the rain, like an otter’s.

  ‘I got you a coffee,’ he said sheepishly, handing Violet a latte.

  She smiled, surprised, and took the cup, deliberately brushing her hand against his.

  ‘Thank you. You’re an angel.’

  The wettest March in more than a century had transformed the Swell Valley into a muddy, rain-soaked swamp. All along the banks of the Swell, water meadows sank beneath the deluge. In the villages, floodgates and sandbags provided scant protection against the inexorably rising waters, especially along the valley floor.

  The new season of Valley Farm was due to start filming in April, but the extreme weather was a problem. Quite apart from the frantic rewriting of scripts (viewers didn’t want to see relentless rain, so there would have to be far more indoor and village action, and less farm life), Gabe had been sucked back into crisis management mode at Wraggsbottom. Up before dawn every day, and outside in downpours until well after dark, he had no time to focus on anything other than trying to salvage his waterlogged crops, repair damage to the property and keep his sheep from being swept away in the floods. Not that he was complaining. Running the farm was exactly the distraction he needed with Laura and the boys gone – relentless, exhausting, and so physically demanding that his body simply shut down at night and forced him to sleep, whether he wanted to or not. The aches in his muscles, the freezing rain on his face, the cuts and bruises on his hands and arms and legs were all a penance that he wanted and needed, gladly exchanging his emotional torment for the life-affirming sting of physical pain.

  Still, at some point the show had to go on. Channel 5 were itching to get started, and with the Fox negotiations still on-going, this season was more important than ever. Scandal-hungry viewers were desperate to see how Gabe and Macy would perform on screen together after the one-night stand that had blown apart both of their relationships. The producers had confirmed that both Gabe and Macy were under contract to present the new series, but beyond that there had been a deafening silence. Would the fallout from Eddie Wellesley’s spectacularly imploded political career be a part of this season’s storyline? Would Lady Wellesley dare to show her face after the scandal that had gripped the nation and destroyed her reputation? As soap operas go, Valley Farm was becoming hard to beat – and they weren’t even on the air yet.

  At the end of the month, Gabe agreed to meet Eddie for lunch at his London club.

  ‘Ah! There you are. Good to see you, my friend. Good to see you!’ Eddie made his way through Brooks’s dining room, a man in his element, grinning broadly at Gabe. ‘Journey up all right?’

  ‘Fine, thanks.’ Gabe followed him to the table, feeling utterly out of place in this stuffy room full of posh ex-bankers and retired brigadiers. Thank God he’d worn a jacket and put corduroys on instead of jeans.

  ‘You look well,’ said Eddie.

  Gabe raised an eyebrow. ‘For a politician you’re a terrible liar.’

  Eddie guffawed. ‘All right then. You look bloody awful. Have you heard from Laura?’

  ‘Of course. I speak to the boys every day. Did you know she’s been staying in London, at her godmother’s flat in Fulham?’

  ‘I did,’ Eddie confirmed. He’d spoken to Laura himself about work a few days ago.

  ‘It’s crazy,’ said Gabe. ‘She’s enrolled Hugh at the C of E primary at the end of the road.’

  Eddie frowned. That wasn’t a good sign.

  ‘Things are no better between you, then?’

  ‘Actually they’re worse.’ Gabe sighed heavily. ‘She filed for divorce this morning.’

  Eddie looked horrified. ‘No! Oh, Gabe, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it had come to that.’

  Poor Gabe looked close to tears. ‘Nor did I. One, drunken one-night stand, and she’s jacking it all in. After ten years and two kids.’ He shook his head. ‘Why the hell did I do it, Eddie?’

  ‘Because you’re human.’ Eddie took a deep breath. Now seemed as good a time as any to confide in Gabe about his own indiscretion with Macy in LA, on that very first trip to find a co-presenter. Gabe listened, astonished, as Eddie told him the whole story. ‘I was lucky,’ Eddie finished. ‘Annabel never found out. No one did. In fact, you’re the only person who knows, other than Macy and me.’

  ‘Fuck,’ said Gabe. ‘I’m … I can’t believe it. I had no idea.’

  ‘Why would you?’ said Eddie. ‘The point is, you mustn’t beat yourself up too terribly. These things happen. They shouldn’t, but they do. Have you spoken to Macy since?’

  Gabe shook his head. ‘I don’t think Laura would like that much.’

  Eddie gave him a meaningful look. ‘Is it Laura’s decision?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know what to say, anyway,’ said Gabe. ‘In any case, I’ve barely left the farm in weeks.’

  ‘Well, that has to change,’ Eddie said robustly. ‘The show has to go on, Gabriel, now more than ever.’

  ‘Must it?’
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  ‘Absolutely. For one thing, you’re under contract.’

  ‘Contracts have been broken,’ Gabe said darkly.

  Eddie shook his head. ‘You’re still a father to those two boys, aren’t you? You’re still a provider?’

  Gabe shrugged.

  ‘If this American deal turns out to be all we hope for and the show gets syndicated, we all stand to make a lot of money,’ said Eddie. ‘That’s Hugh and Luca’s future.’

  Gabe hadn’t thought of it like that. Somehow, in his mind, it was the show that had caused all the problems. If it weren’t for the show, he and Laura wouldn’t have rowed, he would never have flown out to LA, never have slept with Macy. Never have met Macy. But Eddie was having none of that.

  ‘Dropping the ball now would be like letting the farm go under,’ he told Gabe. ‘You’d never do that, would you?’

  ‘No,’ said Gabe with feeling. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Well, then. You and Macy will have to work together, and Laura will have to deal with it.’

  They ordered food and talked about other things for a while, mostly Eddie’s life. Eddie told Gabe how well Milo was doing at the Home Office and how happy he and Annabel were since the revelations in David Carlyle’s book that had nearly destroyed them.

  ‘I would never have given up politics otherwise; never have stepped away from public life and given our marriage the attention it deserved. And Annabel would never have told me. She’d have lived with this awful shadow over her for the rest of her life. But now it’s all out in the open, I can’t tell you how free we both feel!’

  He seemed to mean it. Not for the first time, Gabe marvelled at Eddie’s positivity, his resilience. Prison had been ‘interesting’. Public humiliation ‘a relief’. His wife’s attempted suicide: ‘the wake-up call we both needed’. Gabe wished he could view life’s setbacks with such equanimity. He wondered what it would take to throw Eddie Wellesley off course. An earthquake?

  ‘It explains so much, you know,’ Eddie went on. ‘Realizing that all this time she was frightened, terrified that the secret would get out. Fear turns us into the very worst versions of ourselves, don’t you think?’

  ‘Will you never go back to politics?’ Gabe asked.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure one can ever say “never”,’ Eddie mused, taking a contemplative sip of his claret. ‘If I did, at least I could be fairly sure that my closet was well and truly empty, skeletons-wise.’

  The waiter who arrived to clear their plates away couldn’t have been a day under eighty. Gabe watched with alarm as he tottered away, balancing china and silverware on his frail arms.

  ‘Should I give him a hand?’ he asked Eddie.

  ‘Alfred? Good God, no. He’d be mortified,’ Eddie replied.

  ‘But he looks half blind,’ Gabe protested.

  ‘Oh, he is! At least half,’ Eddie said cheerfully. ‘Now listen. You must go and see Macy.’

  ‘OK,’ Gabe agreed.

  ‘Between you and me, I spoke to her yesterday and she’s also been making noises about breaking her contract and going home,’ said Eddie. ‘I need you to talk her out of it.’

  Gabe’s eyes widened. ‘The show must go on’ was all very well, and Eddie’s arguments about Hugh and Luca’s futures made sense. But convincing Macy to stay on, after everything that had happened? That was something else. He said as much to Eddie.

  ‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ Eddie admitted. ‘But I’ve tried myself and I’ve failed. I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t sure that walking out on her contract would be a huge, huge mistake. I’m very fond of Macy,’ he added, almost wistfully.

  ‘So am I,’ said Gabe. He realized as he said it that it was true. ‘OK. I’ll do my best.’

  Macy woke at five. She’d barely slept, again. If it went on much longer she would have to go and see the doctor and get something to help her get through the nights.

  Padding downstairs to the kitchen, she brewed a pot of fresh coffee and stood sipping the bitter, black liquid as she stared out of the window. Cranbourne House’s garden was overgrown; a vivid green jungle already, thanks to the heavy rains. Most of the early spring flowers had been battered into submission by the winds, but a few flashes of colour persisted, including red campion and marsh marigolds, along with swathes of chickweed, white stars sparkling against the foliage. Macy could make out little of it at first in the faint dawn light. But gradually the sun’s rays began to break through the early morning mist. By the time the sun had fully risen, Macy’s coffee was cold. Looking at the kitchen clock she realized she’d been standing there, frozen, for over an hour.

  Frozen.

  The word summed up her life. Every instinct told her to go home. To pack a bag and catch the next flight back to LA, never to return. It was over with James. She’d made a mess of everything with Gabe. The rumour was that he and Laura were getting divorced. Not so long ago that news would have delighted Macy, but not now. Gabe wasn’t going to come running into her arms just because his wife had left him. There would be no silver linings, no happy endings.

  Nothing but pain. For all of them.

  The thought of going back to work on Valley Farm was unbearable, and without work, or a wedding to plan, she had no reason to be here, in this grey, miserable, waterlogged country, where it never stopped raining and the tabloid press had turned her into a pariah.

  And yet, she was still here.

  Why?

  She didn’t have the answer herself. Part of it was simply inertia, a profound lack of energy made worse by lack of sleep, a complete loss of appetite and creeping depression. Part of it was her fear of being sued by Channel 5, or even by a vengeful Laura Baxter, if she walked out on her contract. Eddie, in the nicest possible way, had hinted that this was a real risk. Paul Meyer, Macy’s agent, had put it more forcefully. ‘Suck it up, kiddo. I know it’s hard, but this is business. It’s only one more season and this Fox deal is your life raft.’

  There was something else keeping her here too. Something emotional, some tie with Fittlescombe and the Swell Valley that Macy couldn’t define herself, but which had curled its way around her heart like bindweed, deadly yet unbreakable.

  But something had to give. She couldn’t stay in this house for ever, walled up like Miss Havisham, doing nothing with her life. If she wasn’t going back to work on Valley Farm, what was she going to do? That was the question.

  She showered and dressed and walked into the village for some fresh milk and the morning papers. The Daily Mail had written something poisonous about her almost every day since she ‘broke James Craven’s heart’, but Macy couldn’t seem to stop herself buying it. Deciding to walk home the long way, past Furlings – it wasn’t raining for once, so why not? – she passed Max Bingley and Angela Cranley out walking their dog, the arthritic basset hound, Gringo. They greeted her warmly, and asked a few polite questions about the new series and when filming would start. Macy mumbled something noncommittal in response. She loved Max and Angela, but she wasn’t up to small talk.

  ‘You must come over for supper one night,’ Angela said kindly, before they walked on. ‘Hiding yourself away won’t help, you know,’ she added, nodding towards the copy of the Mail under Macy’s arm. ‘They’ll find someone else to torment soon enough. You’ll see.’

  It was odd but, instead of lifting her spirits, Angela’s compassion seemed to have the opposite effect. By the time Macy unlatched the garden gate at Cranbourne House, she was on the verge of tears again.

  I’ll go and see a doctor tomorrow, she told herself. No excuses.

  Pushing open the gate, she stopped dead. Looking very much the farmer, in Barbour, wellies and a flat cap, Gabe was sitting on her doorstep.

  ‘Hullo.’ He smiled. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’

  Sitting at Macy’s kitchen table ten minutes later, a freshly brewed pot between them, Macy and Gabe looked at each other awkwardly.

  ‘I’d offer you a cookie but I think I’m out,’ said Macy.


  ‘They’re called biscuits in England,’ said Gabe.

  Macy smiled. ‘What-ever.’

  It was a relief to get back to their old banter, even if only for a moment.

  ‘I’m sorry about James.’ Gabe sipped his tea.

  ‘I’m sorry about Laura.’ Macy sipped hers.

  ‘Eddie asked me to come.’

  Macy’s face fell. ‘Oh.’

  ‘I would have come anyway,’ Gabe added hastily. ‘I mean, I’ve wanted to. For ages. I should have, I know. I suppose I just … chickened out.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ said Macy. ‘You’ve had a lot to deal with.’

  ‘You know, then? About the divorce?’

  Macy shrugged. ‘This is Fittlescombe. It’s pretty tough to keep a secret around here.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Gabe stared into his mug, wondering again how the hell he had come to this point. ‘Anyway. We need to make some decisions about the show.’

  Macy nodded. ‘I know. Are you going to do it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gabe. ‘I am. I wasn’t going to, but Eddie talked me into it. Fox will pull out if we do. That’s the bottom line. I don’t want that to happen.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ said Macy. ‘I just don’t know if we can work together. After all this.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Gabe. ‘You and Eddie managed it after your one-night stand.’

  Macy’s jaw almost hit the table. ‘He told you!’

  ‘Only a few days ago. Don’t be angry with him. He was trying to make me feel better. I’ve been beating myself up so badly about what happened. But he made me realize, everyone makes mistakes.’

  Is that what I am to you? Macy thought bleakly. A mistake?

  But she managed to hide her feelings, just as she had when her father had left and when her mother had died and at countless other turning points in her life.

  What the hell? she thought. If Gabe can do this, so can I.

  ‘I suppose we do make a good team,’ she said, raising her eyes over the rim of her mug.

  ‘Yes we do,’ Gabe beamed back at her. ‘And it’s only for one series. Then we can do this deal, you can go home to America and we’ll all be rolling in it. What do you say?’