New Beginnings

Enough, thought Christie. Before Gilly could say any more, she cut in: ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Gilly, but those hormones must be getting to you. I’m Christie.’

Sam laughed to cover the awkwardness of the moment while an infuriated Gilly tinkled through her teeth, ‘Of course. I’m so sorry.’

The next fifty-four minutes went smoothly enough, and Christie was relieved that her interview with the heroic fireman ran without a hitch.

When the show was over, the first person she saw coming towards her was Julia. Immaculate as ever in a sharp yellow swing coat, her face was thunderous. ‘What were you thinking?’ she hissed, clearly not wanting to be overheard.

‘What do you mean?’ Christie was genuinely confused. ‘I thought it went well.’ So well, in fact, that as soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Sam had got up and kissed her cheek. ‘You were terrific,’ he’d said. ‘Especially the interview with Jack Brown – very emotional.’ They’d both ignored Gilly’s audible ‘tsk’. ‘We should give you a proper welcome,’ Sam went on. ‘Come down to the bar, when you’re ready.’

‘You went well – very well, in fact.’ Julia softened slightly. ‘But what on earth were you wearing?’

As Christie began to explain, she could see Julia’s eyes glaze over. Her agent wasn’t interested in excuses or explanations. She wanted results. She came to at the mention of Gilly and her apparent approval of the fated blue dress.

‘You must have misunderstood her. She’s a pro and would never have told you to wear blue. Never.’

‘She didn’t exactly tell . . .’ But she had lost Julia’s interest again. It was true that Gilly hadn’t recommended she wear the dress, but she certainly hadn’t advised her against it when there might have been time to salvage the situation. Perhaps their relationship was already more complicated than she’d realised. In future, perhaps she would be less trusting, more cautious. Christie said goodbye to Julia, who was dashing off to a first night in the West End, then hosting an after-show dinner at Sheekey’s, so had no time to discuss anything more ‘till the morning’.

With her heart in her high heels, Christie returned to her dressing room to change. Unable to face going home to listen to Maureen reiterate Julia’s and probably the entire nation’s view of her outfit, she tossed it into a corner and zipped herself into the offending blue dress, ready to face the music in the bar. Once she was on the outside of a glass of wine, surely her faux pas wouldn’t seem to matter as much?

She pushed open the door to a crowd of staff, most of whom were completely unfamiliar to her. She spotted Sam near the bar and began to make her way to him. As soon as he felt her touch his arm, he turned and his face lit up. ‘So you’ve escaped the wicked witch’s clutches at last. Well done.’

For a moment, Christie thought he meant Gilly, but then he said, ‘The Queen of Mean? Oops!’ He winked. ‘I mean Ms Julia Keen, of course.’

‘She’s not that bad.’

‘No, she’s a good agent, I’ll give you that. But I’d keep her at arm’s length, if I were you. She’s scary. I know Ben was – well, perhaps, a little unhappy about her? And look what happened to him.’