Wednesday
Audrey’s phone started ringing at four in the morning and she rolled sideways on the bed to answer it.
“Who is this?” asked a silken, upper-class voice from the other end of the line.
Had she been very slightly more conscious, Audrey would have identified the caller at once, but she wasn’t so she didn’t. “You’re the one who called me.”
“You left a message.”
With an internal fuck, Audrey swivelled herself into a sitting position. “You’re Emily Branningham.”
“And you still have the advantage of me.”
Audrey really wished she’d had the foresight to leave coffee by the bed, because if there was anybody who’d call back at the exact least opportune time, it was Emily.
Still, she tried to come across as confident, assured, and professional instead of, for example, somebody whose mouth still tasted like midnight.
“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—“I actually 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 the other side. “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 polite no 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’t absolutely guarantee 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. But exhilarating might 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.