Page 27

‘The invisible burger, that no one knows about, that everyone is eating,’ Fliss whispered, looking around the restaurant and Kit tried not to laugh, grateful that she was trying to put him at ease in this scary social situation. He sensed that she was different to the rest of them – she didn’t seem concerned with status or social climbing, and she wasn’t trying to be the centre of attention, or even be noticed at all – unlike Tara, who was currently entertaining the rest of the table with a full-volume anecdote about when she was six years old and insisted on sitting on Alan Rickman’s knee when he had attended a dinner party at their house.

‘…The poor man couldn’t eat, but I refused to get down …!’ Tara was saying, as everyone roared with laughter.

He felt Tara’s hand settle on his thigh and tried subtly to turn his body away from her. Tara was beautiful by any objective standards, but Fliss intrigued him. It felt as though the air between them was humming with electricity, and he was longing to get to speak to her properly. He hoped it wasn’t one-sided, and that he wasn’t about to make a further fool of himself. But by the end of the night, he would know one way or the other. Kit was determined to get to know her much better – he just had to get away from Tara long enough to do it.

Chapter 13

Fliss was frantically calling Daisy Redman on her mobile. She winced as once again it went to voicemail. She didn’t want to leave another message – she had already left half a dozen – but she had no choice.

‘Daisy, it’s Fliss from London Lunch again. The team are wondering where you are – you were supposed to be here for rehearsals an hour ago. Please, call me as soon as you get this.’

Fliss hung up and walked across the television studio to where the producer, Joanna Grayson, was talking to the floor manager. She looked up expectantly as Fliss approached, but Fliss shook her head. ‘No word. Her phone’s still going to voicemail.’

Jo swore loudly. ‘That bloody entitled little madam! I’d send you round to her flat in a taxi to drag her out of bed by her hair, but that’s a waste of your time – God, she’s a waste of everyone’s time!’

‘I’ll do it – not sure about the hair pulling, though,’ Fliss said uncertainly, wanting to be helpful, but Jo shook her head.

‘Argh! Call her agent. Tell Harriet that unless Daisy’s here in the next half hour, she’s fired. Make it Harriet’s problem. That’s what her fifteen per cent is for – though I’m sure she is very much underpaid!’

‘OK.’ Fliss swallowed, wondering if Jo was being serious. Fliss was a mere runner – she wasn’t sure her role extended to calling agents and threatening to fire the talent.

‘On second thoughts, get her number for me. It’s time for a few home truths,’ Jo said, and Fliss inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

She riffled through the call sheets then typed Harriet Taylor’s number into her mobile, handing it to Jo. The studio was largely empty – the rest of the crew had taken advantage of the unexpected break and drifted off to grab teas and coffees and gossip in the canteen.

Today, Fliss was at LBTV’s large studio space by the river in Hammersmith, where its flagship show, London Lunch, was filmed. The programme was presented by two up-and-coming talents in their early twenties – Jax Shepherd and Daisy Redman. Plucked from obscurity via an open casting call, the pair had found instant fame and a generous pay packet, which was a dangerous combination. They were addicted to the London celebrity party circuit and were either tabloid darlings or devils dependent on the debauchery reported. They were out every night at either The Ministry of Sound or Heaven night clubs, and always brought a distinctive chaotic, hungover energy to the show with them the next day. But recently, Daisy’s behaviour had started to get out of control.

She was photographed almost daily, bleary-eyed and messy, falling into the back of taxis in the early mornings, before turning up late to her 9.00 a.m. rehearsal call. They spent the morning running through the schedule and rehearsing the different segments, before going out live at 12.30. Lately, though, it seemed as though Daisy was heading straight to the studio from the clubs without bothering to sleep, getting through the show with a few bumps of coke.

Her co-presenter, Jax, was also living his best life but had a more sensible head on his shoulders. He knew what an incredible opportunity he had been given, and didn’t intend to waste it. So whilst he enjoyed the parties and the awards ceremonies and the attention, he made sure he turned up on time and behaved professionally.

‘Is there a problem here?’ said a familiar voice.

Fliss whipped round to see Bill standing behind her. She knew her surprise must be written across her face.

‘Bill, hi. What are you doing here?’

‘I didn’t have any meetings so thought I’d come down and see how the foot soldiers on the ground are getting on. Experience the thrill of live TV. You know, I’ve always thought I’d do well in front of the camera,’ he said, preening as he looked around the studio. ‘I mean, I guess it’s in the genes, with having such talented parents.’

Fliss frowned, thinking that the last thing she could imagine was the uptight, awkward Bill presenting a show like this. ‘Well, you might get your chance,’ she joked. ‘Daisy Redman has gone awol. We’re supposed to be in rehearsals now.’

Bill’s eyebrows raised. ‘Shouldn’t you be trying to find her? Isn’t that your job – to sort things out if something goes wrong? You’re the general dogsbody, aren’t you?’

A flash of anger shot through Fliss at his dismissive, arrogant attitude. He didn’t have a clue what it was like to work your arse off in a job. Fliss had opened her mouth to let loose a stinging reply when Jo returned. She nodded briefly to Bill, but turned to Fliss, handing her phone back to her. ‘Right, let’s get on with this.’

‘Is Daisy on her way?’ Fliss sounded surprised.

Jo shrugged in exasperation. ‘Who knows? I’ve told Harriet that if she’s not here in the next hour, she’s not to bother coming in – today, or ever again. It’s not fair on Jax. He’s here, he needs to rehearse, the crew need to rehearse, so let’s get on with it.’

‘But what are we going to do without Daisy?’

Jo turned to Fliss, looking her straight in the eye as a slow smile spread across her face. Fliss’s stomach lurched as she got her first inkling of what Jo was thinking.

‘Fliss, you know how to read an autocue, don’t you?’

‘What? No, I’ve never—’

‘You just read the words on the screen, it’s easy.’