‘Thanks, love,’ said the hairdresser. ‘Tell you what, I’d rather be at Wembley than sweating it out here today. It sounds fantastic.’
‘As a matter of fact, that’s where I’m heading.’ Helen dug in her bag and pulled out her official Metropolitan Records pass. She pinned it onto her lapel. ‘I’m a record company executive.’
‘Are you really? Lucky old you. Off to hobnob with the great and the good while I stare at greasy scalps for the afternoon. Have a good time.’
‘I will.’ She smiled at him and left the salon.
‘You came! I was beginning to wonder...’ He stared at her, eyes agog. Clearly his feelings hadn’t changed.
‘Of course I did.’
‘It’s lovely to see you. You look...so beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Let’s go and join the others. I think a glass of champagne is in order.’
He offered her his elbow. She smiled at him, took it and they walked off in the direction of the guest box.
‘Excuse me, madam, can I see your pass?’
‘Of course.’ Helen flashed her lapel badge at the security guard, who shook his head. ‘No, madam, your pass fortoday.’
‘Oh, that one.’ Helen fumbled in her handbag as the guard surveyed her. ‘I can’t find it.’
‘Well, I’m afraid that I can’t let you in.’
‘What? This is ridiculous! I’m the head of Metropolitan Records! The Fishermen are expecting me.’
‘Are they now?’ He’d heard every line in the book today.
‘Look, I can’t find my pass, but I tell you what I do have.’ Helen pulled a couple of photos out of her wallet. ‘There you go. Me with The Fishermen at Metropolitan after we’d signed the new contract.’
The guard studied them.
‘Very nice too, but it doesn’t get you through here today.’
Helen stood in an agony of frustration. Short of knocking him out cold with her fists, there was no way she could get past him.
A large limousine pulled up at the entrance to the tunnel. Out of the back spilled several young men dressed in bright Day-Glo tracksuits.
‘Blimey, it’s the Seven Wonders. My kids love ’em.’
The entrance was suddenly mobbed by a horde of teenage fans.
‘This way, gentlemen,’ the security guard beamed as the group reached the entrance. ‘Excuse me, sir, could I have your autograph for my little girl? She’s your biggest fan.’ The guard fumbled in his jacket for a piece of paper and a pencil. He handed them to the young man.
‘Could you write it to Tracy?’ His head bent over as he watched the star scribble on the paper.
It was only as the guard was folding the precious scrap into his wallet that he realised the woman in the blue suit had vanished. He shrugged and thought of Tracy’s face when he handed her the autograph.
Used to being backstage, Helen blended into the general milieu. She was amazed at the number of faces she recognised, and desperately hoped that recognition wouldn’t be mutual. She checked her watch. Half past eight. The Fishermen were due on at nine, but she could not see them amongst the crowd. She deposited herself in a chair in the corner of the hospitality tent and waited.
‘Come on, chaps. Twenty minutes to go. Time to make a move.’ Freddy rounded up his group.
‘Right, ladies, are you staying here where you’ll get a better view or do you want to come and watch from the side?’ Freddy glanced at Ian’s wife, Lulu and the attractive blonde who’d attached herself to Derek.
‘From the side, I think,’ said Virginia.
