The Liberation of Alice Love(37)
Author: Abby McDonald

“I know, hon.” Alice carefully detached herself. “But Flora has a terrible headache, I need to get her home.” She was surprised at just how easily the lie fell from her lips.

Cassie stared at her, uncomprehending. “But…he’s here!”

“And you’ll be fine.” Alice patted her reassuringly. “You’ve got Vitolio now, remember? You’ve moved on.”

“I know, but—”

“It was lovely to see you.” Alice followed Flora into the lift. Although she usually would have stayed, comforting Cassie until dawn, tonight she was unmoved. Pressing the lift button, she sent Cassie a supportive smile through the closing doors: “Take care!”

Chapter Thirteen

With the London weather providing a rare stretch of hot, sunny days, Alice watched as the Grayson Wells Agency slipped into a leisurely holiday pace. Half the agents disappeared on their official vacations while the other half lolled around the office, returning from three-hour lunches with faint sunburn and half-empty bottles of Pimm’s. She enjoyed no such break. After all her time spent untangling Ella’s movements, Alice’s backlog of paperwork had grown to unprecedented proportions, until even Vivienne remarked that contracts seemed to be moving remarkably slow.

Guilty, Alice pledged to put her extracurricular interests aside and focus on her real job, but the debt-collecting agencies clearly didn’t pause for warmer weather. Despite every effort of Stefan’s solicitor, they were back, pursuing their monies with renewed threats.

“I’m sorry, but I—” Alice tried to get a word in, but the man on the other end of her line wouldn’t let up.

“If you don’t pay up now, this will go to court.” His voice was loud and menacing. “Do you really want criminal charges? Because that’s what’ll happen. I’m warning you. We’ll send the bailiffs in too.”

Despite the sweltering heat, Alice shivered. “My solicitor has been in touch,” she tried again, when at last he paused—presumably for breath. “He’s sent the relevant papers, and police reports. You need to stop harassing me like this.”

“The payment is due now,” he repeated, as if she hadn’t said a word. “We’ll take you to court and start criminal proceedings.”

Alice hung up.

They were all the same. It didn’t matter what she said or what papers were sent; they just kept calling. Alice had changed her mobile number and moved several times; this was the only place they could reach her, but still, she couldn’t screen every call.

“These just got sent over.” Saskia heaved into the room and dropped a new pile of papers into her already-overflowing inbox. “Vivienne says they need to be double-checked and messengered out by the end of the day.” She pushed strands of red hair from her face, flushed and sweaty in the heat.

“Mmm-hmm.” Alice looked up from her computer. As if she needed any additional work. Fanning herself with a file, she remembered to add, “Thank you. Who’s is it?”

“Nick Savage.” Saskia beamed.

“I’ll have them back downstairs this afternoon.”

When she’d departed, and Alice had dispatched another three overdue contracts in swift succession, she settled in to see what role their new golden boy had won himself now. Flipping through the contract, she finally found the details: the lead role in an upcoming BBC miniseries, playing an enigmatic yet dashing Victorian inventor. Alice paused. That was the role Rupert had been called back for, the one Vivienne had declared would be his return to form. They’d said the part was as good as his, Alice remembered; in fact, the last time Rupert had dropped by the office, he’d told her with no small relief that it would save his career—and shown her Keisha’s ultrasound pictures. But now it was Nick who was signed on for (and at this, Alice had to blink at the small print) a good twenty percent less than scale. He might as well be working for free.

She shouldn’t interfere—it wasn’t her place—but Alice couldn’t stop herself from hurrying down the staircase and knocking firmly on Vivienne’s door.

“Come in!” The cry was impatient, which never bode well. Alice wavered for a moment, wondering if she should pick a better time. No.

“I was just looking at Nick’s latest contract,” she began, striding into the room. Vivienne had the drapes drawn, all the window thrown wide, and was reclining on her chaise longue with a damp towel draped over her face. Alice stopped. “Are you…feeling all right?”

Vivienne made a wafting gesture. “What is it, Alice?”

“This contract, for The Magnificent Mappin Brothers. I just wanted to check with you.”

“Yes?” she sighed, lifting the towel as if it weighed ten pounds.

“Nick’s pay…” Alice hesitated. “It’s less than I’d expect. For a project like this, I mean.”

Vivienne gave her a dismissive wave. “Oh, no, that’s all arranged.” She began to recline again, but Alice took a few steps forward.

“I don’t understand. Why isn’t he being paid the full amount? And how did he end up with the contract at all? I didn’t see him down for any of the auditions, and I thought that Rupert…” She trailed off, awkward. “I thought Rupert had won the role.”

“Nothing was in writing. You know how quickly these things change.” Vivienne gave Alice a patronizing smile. “And Nick taking reduced pay is all part of the plan. He’s been getting plenty of interest, but no actual offers so far. So, we thought this would kick-start things.”

“What do you mean?” Alice didn’t understand. Of course, they negotiated pay all the time, but union rates were the bare minimum; a client never worked for less.

Vivienne sighed, as if it were a vast burden to have to explain these things. “My sources said that the production wants to keep costs low, so I suggested the deal with Nick. He’s fine living off his trust fund for now, so this way, everybody wins.”

Vivienne lay back on the chaise and closed her eyes, clearly finished. But Alice didn’t move. Did Vivienne think her completely naïve? She knew that cutting a few thousand in performer fees would make barely a dent in even the most frugal of costume-drama budgets.

“So what have you planned for Rupert?” She found herself asking, trying not to sound accusatory. “Now that this hasn’t worked out.”