“I’m Audrey,” she said. “Audrey Lane. I work for”—she hesitated for a heartbeat, but decided to err on the side of fuck it—“Iactually work for a tiny local paper you’ll never have heard of, but I’ve recently met a woman called Doris Rice, and I want to tell her story, and I think you’re part of it.”
The other end of the phone was dead silent for a few agonising moments. Then Emily replied with a cautious, “Part of it in what way?”
There was a time for circumspection, and a time for very much not circumspection. “She said you fucked.”
And then Audrey heard Emily Branningham laugh. And it was everything Doris had described it as; an audible chiaroscuro, an angel who you’d just this second realised picked theotherside. “My dear sweet thing, I don’t believe she used any such words.”
“No, but that was very much the gist.”
“And what do you want to talk to me about? Do you want me to confirm her story? Because if so, I’m sure my lawyer would suggest I offer you a politeno comment.”
“I think,” Audrey replied, only really articulating it to herself as she was saying it, “that I just wanted to meet you. Because, well, I think I can’t understand her unless I do.”
In the brief silence that followed, Audrey could see Emily’s smile as clearly as if she’d been in front of her. “Well, you know where I am.”
“And you’ll still be there?” Audrey confirmed, because it was a whole lot safer than not confirming. “If I get on a plane to Monaco and rock up at the Metropole and say, ‘I’m here for Emily Branningham,’ they won’t just tell me to go do something humiliating with something it would be humiliating to do it with?”
“Well I can’tabsolutelyguarantee it,” admitted Emily. “But don’t you think it would be fun to take the risk?”
Fun wasn’t quite the word Audrey would have used. Butexhilaratingmight have been. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
On the other end of the line, Emily Branningham made a little putting-things-together sound. “You’d already booked tickets, hadn’t you?”
“I had a feeling this would work out,” Audrey lied. But it seemed cooler and more confident than, “I had no clue if this was going to work out, but I needed to be sure I could get there and back before Friday, and I was already cutting things really fine.”
“I do admire a woman who takes risks,” replied Emily Branningham and, without giving Audrey room to respond, she hung up.
Flopping back on the bed and not quite sure she could believe that this was actually happening, Audrey fired off a text to Jennifer. It just read:She called.
It didn’t really surprise Audrey that a reply came back near instantly. Jennifer was the up-at-all-hours sort. The reply in question being:I’ll come with you.
She’s in Monte Carlo.
The three dots hovered for a while as Jennifer composed her response, which eventually landed as:I’m a TV executive. I travel. And I’m not letting some mad posh tart on my show without meeting her first.
A fortnight ago, even a week ago, Audrey would have assumed that the probability of Emily actually being allowed on camera was something around the square root of zero.If you think you can swing it. I got a ticket for Thursday.
Another dance of the three dots. Then:So did I.
Because of course she had.We could have booked together. We probably won’t be on the same flight.
Oh no. However will I survive three hours on a plane without you.
Barely even thinking, Audrey texted back:Fuck off.
And Jennifer responded with:Fuck off to you too.
Thursday
As somebody who resolutely considered herself a country girl, Audrey was weirdly more comfortable with Monte Carlo than with London, possibly because she knew she would in no way be required to live in it.
The hotel was opulent without being extravagant and, had Audrey not seen her fair share of lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous nonsense in her years as a ver srs journalist doing ver srs journalisting, she might have been slightly staggered by it. Jennifer, of course, seemed like she’d never been staggered by anything in her life. She approached the exquisitely tasteful concierge’s desk with the unwavering resolve of a woman who saw desire and action as the same side of the same coin.
“We’re the hacks,” she said. “Here for Branningham.”
Although neither politeness nor patience were Jennifer’s strong points, she did at least manage to wait politely and patiently while the concierge called up to Emily’s room, explained that her guests had arrived, and that yes they were guestspluraland that he trusted this would be acceptable. Then he gave them a room number and directions to the lifts.
It came as no surprise whatsoever to Audrey that Emily Branningham had taken a suite on the top floor, which meant it was rather a long lift ride to meet her. A long lift ride in which she valiantly suppressed all of the voices that were telling her that this was a spectacularly bad idea.
