Kiss Heaven Goodbye Part 33

'Do you know how long it's taken me to find you?' he yelled. 'You selfish w.a.n.ker!'

Jez launched into a tirade. Alan their tour manager was currently at the police station. An acoustic gig at one of Tokyo's biggest record stores, scheduled for the night before, had had to be cancelled. Writs were being issued and their visas were in jeopardy.

'The record company is going apes.h.i.+t,' said Jez, taking a sip of the green tea and then spitting it back into the cup. 'Who knows how much f.u.c.king money the insurance is going to have to pay up because we were a no-show in Osaka.'

'Well that's what insurance is for,' said Alex, annoyed by Jez's self-righteousness.'It's not the end of the b.l.o.o.d.y world, is it? Anyway, I don't know why you didn't do it without me. You know all the guitar parts.'

'Of course I could do it without you,' said Jez haughtily. 'But that's not the point, is it? Those punters paid to see f.u.c.king Alex san from the beer ad, didn't they?'

'There are four of us in the band, Jez.'

'Yeah, right, like anyone turns up to see Pete.'

Alex shook his head. Jez was such an egotistical p.r.i.c.k.

'So how did you find me?' said Alex, standing up to pull on his jeans.

'G.o.d, you are f.u.c.ked up, aren't you, Doyle?' snorted Jez.'I suppose you don't remember phoning me at about four in the morning, crying your eyes out, telling me you loved me,' he mocked. 'Then you told me you were going to marry this Maiko chick and that I was invited to the wedding.'

'So why did it take you so long?'

'So long?' shouted Jez. 'Do you realise how many Maiko Takahas.h.i.+s there are in the Tokyo phone book? You're lucky we managed to track the little s.l.u.t down at all, otherwise you'd have been stuck here in Nipland for ever.'

'Don't talk about her like that,' spat Alex angrily.'She's my friend.'

Jez bent down over him so close Alex could see the red veins on his eyeb.a.l.l.s, and his lip curled upwards in a sneer.'She's your friend? You're a f.u.c.king loser, Doyle,' he said, jabbing a finger.'I hope you're happy that you've screwed up my whole tour.'

'Your tour?' tour?'

'Yes, my my tour!' shouted Jez, spittle flying in Alex's face. 'Who else do they put on the front pages? It ain't Gav and it's not you since you went all moody and fat. You're a f.u.c.king waste of s.p.a.ce, Doyle.' tour!' shouted Jez, spittle flying in Alex's face. 'Who else do they put on the front pages? It ain't Gav and it's not you since you went all moody and fat. You're a f.u.c.king waste of s.p.a.ce, Doyle.'

With a contemptuous look, he stood up and stalked into the next room. Alex followed, turning to Maiko.

'Listen, Maiko,' he said, 'thanks for all you did for me-'

'Oh shut up, Doyle,' said Jez, throwing a five-thousand-yen note on to the table and pulling Alex towards the door.

'Gomennasai,' said Alex over his shoulder. 'I really am.'

Outside in the corridor, Alex contemptuously shook Jez's hand off. 'You've just offended that girl,' he said.

'Oh boo-hoo,' sneered Jez. 'I bet she's on the phone to the newspapers right now.' He pointed at Alex again. 'If this gets in the j.a.panese press I will personally kill you. You know the Nip market is important to us.'

'Nip market?' said Alex, incredulous at Jez's racism.

'Don't pretend you care about your slanty-eyed friends,' spat Jez. 'You're over here for the same thing as the rest of us some quick bucks and a s.h.i.+tload of yellow p.u.s.s.y.'

Alex flung out his fist, catching Jez in the mouth, splitting his lip and knocking him on his backside.

'You're out of the band, Doyle!' shrieked Jez, spitting blood on to the floor. 'Out, do you hear me? I hope it was worth it, your little f.u.c.king Oriental bunk-up.'

'I didn't have s.e.x with her,' said Alex to himself as he walked away. 'She's my friend.'Year Zero flew home from Tokyo that night. At check-in, Alex arranged to exchange his business-cla.s.s seat for an economy one. The student who moved up front in his place was ecstatic. Alex knew the drinks trolley wouldn't be quite so free-flowing back in cattle cla.s.s, but it was worth it not to sit with the rest of the band.

He wasn't sure if Jez was serious about kicking him out, but neither was he sure if he wanted to fight too hard to stay. If he left Year Zero, what the h.e.l.l was he going to do? It was a little late to take up his place at the Royal Academy and he wasn't really qualified for working in a bank. He resolved to spend the whole flight thras.h.i.+ng it out, drawing up 'pros' and 'cons' lists, but instead he drank three b.l.o.o.d.y Marys and woke up as they were descending into Heathrow. Emma would know what to do, he thought as the taxi pulled up in front of their Notting Hill apartment. They had moved here six months ago and he was still excited to think that the proud white stucco townhouse was theirs. Home, sweet home, he thought with a smile. Although how he was going to pay the mortgage if he got booted out of the band was another thing.

Alex knew something was wrong the moment his key turned in the lock. His footsteps sounded hollow on the floor and there were boxes in the hall. Emma was sitting on the bedroom floor sorting through a pile of CDs, an overflowing ashtray in front of her. Two large suitcases were open on the bed and the wardrobe was empty on one side.

'What are you doing?' he said.

Emma continued to flip through the CDs without looking up. 'What does it look like, Alex?'

'You're leaving? But why? I don't get it.'

Finally she looked up, her face cold. 'I know all about it, Alex,' she said. 'I know you went missing for three days high on who knows what. I know you were found in some j.a.panese model's bed. I know everything.'

'It was two days, and she wasn't a model. A nice student took me to her flat because I collapsed in a nightclub.'

She snorted. 'Do you think I was born yesterday?'

Alex's confusion gave way to anger. 'Who told you all this? Jez?'

'Yes, if you must know. He was worried about you.'

'Worried?' Alex laughed. 'That lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d never worried about anyone but himself. It's lies, Emma! Bulls.h.i.+t!'

'Well, the tabloids don't seem to think so,' said Emma, flinging a paper at him.

He picked it up: the headline read 'Big Trouble In Little Tokyo' and featured a shot of Alex dancing cheek to cheek with an 'unidentified' j.a.panese girl he immediately recognised as Maiko. According to the story, he had been ejected from the club after trying to snort cocaine from another girl's b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

'Oh s.h.i.+t,' said Alex. 'The PR guy said it wasn't a big story.'

'Well your mother read it,' said Emma. 'I've had her on the phone in tears.'

'I didn't sleep with her, Em,' he pleaded. 'She looked after me.'

She gave a caustic laugh. 'Is that what they call it now?'

He tried to touch her, but she lashed out at him. 'Don't come near me!' she screamed, backing up against the bed. 'I can't do this any more, Alex,' she said, and the misery in her voice made his heart crack.

'Listen, Em, I got drunk and I missed a gig, that's all it is.'

She looked at him, her eyes puffy red crescents. 'No, that's not all it is,' she said sadly. 'You're on self-destruct, Alex; something's eating away at you like maggots and I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself any more.'

Hazy morning light was pouring through the windows. Six months in the flat and they had never got round to putting curtains up; they hadn't been there enough for it to matter. Sunlight sparkled off her deep red hair and he could see her eyes were glistening. In a strange way she had never looked more beautiful.

'Emma, please, I know this isn't what you want.'

She shook her head. 'No. It isn't what I want. But it's what I need.'

'Marry me,' he said, sinking to his knees and grabbing her hands.

She pulled away from him. 'Ah, the big romantic gesture that makes it all go away.' She laughed sarcastically. 'It's too late, Alex, much too late.'

'It's not just a gesture!' cried Alex. 'I'm asking you to be my wife! Please, all I want is to be with you. Just tell me what's wrong, and I can change.'

She shook her head. 'You're not going to change, Alex,' she said regretfully. 'Not until you work out what's wrong.'

He looked at her sadly, wis.h.i.+ng he could talk to her about the one thing in his life that was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g him up. He had never told her about the island. He had wondered many times if it was why it sometimes felt lonely in the relations.h.i.+p. Secrets isolated people. Secrets made you dishonest. And how good could a relations.h.i.+p be if it was dishonest?

He clenched his fists together, dismissing the thought. This relations.h.i.+p was was a good one. a good one. Emma Emma was a good one. was a good one.

She stood up and picked up her denim jacket and her handbag. 'I'll get someone to pick the boxes up later in the week.'

He felt in free-fall. 'Emma, please! You can't go!' he shouted, his voice choking.

But she was already at the front door. And then she was gone.

36

May 1995

Sasha was broke. So broke, in fact, she wasn't sure she could afford the taxi fare. She looked out of the window as London slipped by and wondered how she had managed to spend three quarters of a million pounds so quickly. First of all, buying a majority stake from Ben had cost her more than she'd thought once he'd got a lawyer involved, then there was the scandalous cost of a leasehold on a small retail premises on Belgravia's Ebury Street, not to mention the crippling costs of turning the bespoke operation into a ready-to-wear label: fabric, pattern cutters, shop staff, plus regular visits to the Milanese factory manufacturing the designs. Some days it just felt like they were shovelling cash into a big furnace and watching it burn.

And now she was the boss, Sasha had to deal with everything from electricity bills to managing Ben's ego. It had taken every ounce of her charm and patience to persuade Ben that while his gowns were the last word in luxury, they were not going to build a fas.h.i.+on empire with red-carpet dresses they needed clothes women could wear every day. So, after weeks of cajoling, he had finally agreed to expand his designs from eveningwear into daywear and what designs they were. Cashmere sweaters beaded with seed pearls, light wool pencil skirts, jackets with nipped-in waists and crystal b.u.t.tons, s.h.i.+rts with tulle applique detail. It was a confection of timeless, low-key luxury; it was perfect.

But the clothes, of course, were only the beginning. Next they had to persuade the fas.h.i.+on press that Rivera Sasha had insisted the 'Ben' be removed to avoid it being too aligned to its founder was a label worth talking about. Which was exactly why Sasha and Philip were in a taxi pulling up in front of BAFTA's headquarters on Piccadilly.

'Hang on,' said Philip, as he saw the party decorations. 'I thought we were here to see a film?'

'No, this is work,' said Sasha. 'It's always work, remember?'

Philip rolled his eyes. It was a standing joke between the two of them that Sasha had become a serious workaholic. She was working fifteen hours a day shuttling between the studio, the shop and after-hours parties to network and spread the word. She was CEO, creative director and head of public relations all in one.

'This is a cast and crew preview for By Midnight By Midnight,' she explained, linking her arm through his. 'The premiere is in two weeks and the word is it's going to be the biggest British movie of the year. I've had to pull every string just to get us in here.'

'But what's this got to do with the label?' he frowned.

'Kate Williams is the star of the movie and I want her in a Rivera dress for the premiere.'

Philip gave her a cynical look. Even he knew it was a long shot, but long shots were all they had left. They had spent the last month brainstorming marketing plans, but everything they came up with, even the wildest ideas, cost money. Philip had been pus.h.i.+ng to run a print campaign for the Autumn/Winter collection in Vogue Vogue but Sasha knew it was hopeless. Financially, magazine advertising was way out of their reach: a photographer to shoot the thing, models, locations, film, processing, on top of the cost of actually placing the ad. They were talking a hundred grand before they even blinked. but Sasha knew it was hopeless. Financially, magazine advertising was way out of their reach: a photographer to shoot the thing, models, locations, film, processing, on top of the cost of actually placing the ad. They were talking a hundred grand before they even blinked.

'Come on, we can do this,' said Sasha, smiling up at him as they entered the BAFTA offices. She certainly looked the part of a.s.s-kicking fas.h.i.+onista: in skin-tight black cigarette pants with a cashmere Rivera twinset, she looked like a s.e.xy cross between a Mitford sister and Marianne Faithfull.

Philip reached over and squeezed her hand, but she let go of it immediately. 'Business, remember,' she said and walked inside.

s.h.i.+t, Kate Williams isn't here, she thought with sinking disappointment as she scanned the bar area.

Lately she couldn't help but think she was swimming against the tide. The company needed a break and they needed it quickly. Without a much higher profile, Rivera was doomed. She looked around the crowd, hoping for the late arrival of the leading lady. As she did so, Jason Abbot, one of the supporting actors in the movie, gave her a lazy, mischievous smile. It was a look Sasha was used to: interest, desire. She smiled back and wondered if she should cross the room and follow it up. A famous boyfriend would certainly be beneficial when it came to the business. But then she glanced over at Philip laughing with the film's director and she felt a flush of guilt. She wasn't in love with Phil Bettany she had no time for any such complications but she was certainly fond of him. More importantly, she needed him. Not only did he have a six per cent shareholding a condition Miles had stipulated for his investment he had also given up his job at Schroder's to become Rivera's chief operating officer and was proving invaluable on the commercial side of the business, negotiating with the factories, structuring credit facilities with the fabric suppliers: keeping the s.h.i.+p steady. She glanced at the actor again: he was still looking. No No, she thought firmly, I mustn I mustn't. I really mustn't.

'Hey, great sweater.'

A blonde woman with feline eyes stepped over to Sasha and touched the beading on her top.

'Thanks,' she said. 'It's my own label, actually.'

'Really?' asked the blonde appreciatively. 'Where do you stock?'

'Rivera, the store is in Ebury Street,' said Sasha, handing her a business card.

'Well I'll definitely pop by,' said the blonde, pa.s.sing Sasha her own card. Lucinda Clarke. Director Image PR Lucinda Clarke. Director Image PR, it read.

'You do publicity?' said Sasha.

'Talent publicity, yes.'

'Who's your client tonight?'

Lucinda smiled. 'Kate, although she's not here of course; she's filming in Croatia of all places.'

Sasha immediately saw an opening. 'I'm actually looking for a publicist for Rivera,' she said as casually as she could, 'although I don't suppose you do corporate work?'

'Honey, it's my company.' Lucinda laughed, touching Sasha's arm. 'We'll take the work I say we take.'

'Interesting,' said Sasha, leading the woman towards the screening room. 'In which case, I have a proposal for you.''I can't believe you've taken on another publicist,' said Philip, storming his way into the small office above the Ebury Street store. Two weeks on from the By Midnight By Midnight preview, the company's financial woes had not improved. 'Do I need to remind you we're already paying for a very expensive publicist and that we have six months of their contract to run?' preview, the company's financial woes had not improved. 'Do I need to remind you we're already paying for a very expensive publicist and that we have six months of their contract to run?'

'Different sort of publicist,' said Sasha, sitting down at her desk and spinning her Rolodex. 'Not only is Lucinda going to get her clients into our clothes, she's going to represent me.'

'What on earth do you you need a publicist for?' need a publicist for?'

Sasha just smiled inscrutably. She actually couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. While having every star in Hollywood wearing Rivera creations would be invaluable publicity, no one was a better amba.s.sador for the brand than Sasha Sinclair herself.

'You're sure this PR bird can get Kate into the dress for tomorrow's premiere?' said Philip sceptically.

Sasha unzipped the clothes bag hanging on a rail and pulled out the dress Ben had created specifically for the star. It was a beautiful red silk sheath that wrinkled and shone in the light.

'Yes, I'm sure,' she said. 'It was one of the conditions of Image PR getting our business, so stop worrying.' She blew him a kiss, then picked up the phone and dialled Lucinda Clarke.

'Darling, it's Sasha at Rivera,' she said briskly. 'I was just wondering whether to bike Kate's dress over to your office or to her hotel?'

There was a long, ominous pause down the receiver.