Chapter 44
Helen was up at a quarter to six. She hung out her suit, used the bathroom and was just crossing the landing when Sorcha bolted out of the bedroom and headed for the loo, slamming the door hastily behind her. Helen listened as Sorcha retched violently, then continued on her journey to her bedroom.
Once ready to face the day, Helen came out of her room and knocked on Sorcha’s closed door.
‘Come in.’
Helen entered. Sorcha was lying on her bed, her eyes closed.
‘Are you okay? You look awfully pale.’
‘Yes, I’ll be fine in a minute. I think I must have had too much wine last night.’
‘You only drank a couple of glasses, Sorcha.’
‘Then maybe it’s tension. It’s happened a couple of times since I left Con.’
‘Always in the morning?’
‘Yes.’
Helen sat down on the end of Sorcha’s bed. She picked a piece of lint off the bedspread. ‘I don’t suppose you could be pregnant, could you?’ A look of sheer panic appeared on Sorcha’s face.
‘I . . . no, of course I’m not.’
‘So you’re not late or anything?’
‘I don’t think so. I haven’t thought about it with everything else going on . . .’ Sorcha racked her brains. ‘Maybe I’m a little late, but it’s most likely stress. Con and I . . . we’ve been trying for ages and nothing’s happened so, no, I’m sure it’s other things.’
Sorcha’s confusion gave Helen no further information. ‘Well, whatever it is, it’s not exactly healthy for you to be ill like that every morning. Why don’t I get my doctor to pop round and check you out?’
‘There’s really no need, Helen.’
‘I think there is.’
‘Give me another day. If I don’t feel any better tomorrow, I promise I’ll see a doctor.’
‘Okay.’ Helen stood up from the bed. ‘I’ve got to go. Katie’ll be here in an hour. Any problems, call Maggie, my secretary. She’ll know where I am.’
‘Will do.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye.’ Sorcha’s head dropped back onto the pillow.
‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ she murmured. ‘Not now. Oh, please, God, not now.’
‘So, what is the score, Freddy? Have we a band or haven’t we?’
Helen tapped her gold pencil on her desk, waiting for the soft soap, the procrastination.
‘It’s not looking good, Helen, not good at all.
Todd refuses to speak to me. I’ve been round to see him but he won’t answer the door.
I know he’s there because his cleaning lady told me.
And as for Con, well, he’s lolling around in bed looking mean and moody with stitches in his face.
Derek seems to be under the illusion that he’s resigned from the band and has stormed off abroad somewhere.
And Ian, well, I’d say if we do manage to get some kind of order in the ranks, we should think about replacing him anyway. ’
‘What about the album?’
‘To put it bluntly, I’d forget it. There’s no way it’s happening at the moment.’
‘So, where do we go from here? I mean, I could sue you. We have a deal. The Fishermen have to produce.’
‘I am aware of that, Helen, but I don’t know what more I can do. I think maybe the best thing is to give everybody a bit of space and let things calm down a bit.’
‘There isn’t time. I want the album in the shops for Christmas.’
‘Then you will have to sue. I’m no miracle worker and besides, what kind of music are those boys going to make in the state they’re in?’
‘I take your point, Freddy, but The Fishermen’s personal lives are no problem of mine.’
‘Oh, come on, Helen. That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Yes, but it’s the truth. If The Fishermen split up, the hole in Metropolitan’s profit forecast is deeper than the Pacific.
It’s vital that for the next few months the company remains stable.
I will not tolerate their bad behaviour affecting my company.
So, you can tell your boys that unless they kiss and make up and are in the studio first thing on Monday morning, I will begin legal proceedings for breach of contract against them immediately. ’
Freddy shrugged. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll have a word with them and tell them what you’ve said. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve rounded up the prima donnas. Who’d be a manager, eh?’
‘Lots of people, considering the screw you get out of them,’ Helen replied calmly.
‘You’re a hard woman, Miss McCarthy.’ Freddy stood up, hesitated, then leant over the desk.
‘As a matter of fact, I wanted to see you about something else. I’ve found a duo, girl and boy.
They’re American actually, but he writes the songs and she sings them beautifully.
I reckon they’re the sound of the seventies.
They look good too. Shall I send you a demo? ’
‘By all means. You know we’re always on the lookout for new talent.’
‘These two might just plug your Pacific hole. Cheers, Helen. I’ll be in touch when I have news.’
Helen watched him leave the office, then sat back and took a couple of deep breaths.
She held out little hope for Freddy’s powers of persuasion.
‘Dammit, dammit!’
Sorcha put on her jacket and walked downstairs.
She had to know. That meant braving Kensington High Street, the nearest place she was sure would have a chemist.
She tucked the glass jar containing her sample in the front pocket of her handbag, buckled the bag and then set off along the mews and out onto Holland Park Avenue. The storm last night had broken the humidity and today there was a cooling breeze and a touch of autumn in the air.
She was back forty-five minutes later, feeling pleased she’d managed to accomplish her mission without being spotted, but disappointed she wouldn’t know the results of her test until Monday.
An entire weekend to agonise. Naturally, she’d given a false name to the pharmacist. She could only imagine the headlines if the media got wind of her possible pregnancy.
Katie had left her some sandwiches. Sorcha nibbled them disconsolately, then, feeling exhausted, went upstairs to her bedroom to lie down.
Of course, now she thought about it, it all made perfect sense. The exhaustion, the nausea – classic symptoms of pregnancy.
All those months of wanting a baby.
What would she do?
Would she tell Con?
These were questions she could not answer.
At half past six, the bell rang. Nervously, Sorcha peeped through the spy-hole.
‘Hello? Sorcha, are you there? I work at Metropolitan Records. Helen asked me to drop by with an urgent envelope for her on my way home. She told me not to disturb you, but the envelope won’t fit through the letter box. Would you open the door?’
Sorcha stood in an agony of indecision.
‘I know you had lobster and salad for supper last night, if it helps,’ said the voice.
‘Okay.’ Sorcha ran back the bolt and turned the lock. She peered round the door to find an extremely pretty girl with big blue eyes and long blonde hair standing on the doorstep. The girl looked somewhat familiar, but Sorcha couldn’t quite place her face.
‘Hi. Thanks for trusting me.’ The girl proffered a large brown envelope. ‘Can you make sure Helen gets this?’
‘Of course. Have we met before? You look ever so familiar.’
‘I’ve been at Metropolitan for a while. Maybe you’ve seen me there.’
‘Yes, maybe.’
‘Oh well, I must go. Bye.’
‘Yes. Bye.’
Helen was late home that night. She flopped onto the sofa, accepting the glass of wine Sorcha handed to her.
‘God, what a day.’ She took a sip. ‘Have you plans for the weekend?’
Sorcha shook her head.
‘Then you can come down to Surrey with me and see my new house. I’m meeting the interior designer there to discuss wallpaper and curtains. If you want, that is.’
Sorcha nodded. ‘Anything to take my mind off the situation.’
Helen took another sip of her wine and eyed Sorcha. ‘So. Do you think you are pregnant?’
Sorcha took a deep breath. ‘There’s a good chance I am, yes.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
‘Well, we can worry about that when Monday comes. We’ve both had a stressful week. Let’s give ourselves a couple of days off, shall we?’
‘We can try. Oh, by the way, someone dropped in an envelope for you. It’s there on the table.’
‘Thanks.’
‘She’s a very pretty girl.’
‘Isn’t she? I was at business college with Mags when I first came to London.
She turned up for an interview at Metropolitan a week ago.
Her CV was a bit patchy, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt and she’s doing a great job.
She’s only filling in for my usual secretary, who’s just gone on maternity leave.
But if she continues like this, I might offer her the job permanently.
’ Helen sighed. ‘All the men love her, of course. To be born beautiful like you and Mags . . . what an advantage it is.’
‘Oh, Helen, these days you put us all in the shade.’
‘I have to work very hard to look how I do. The right clothes and make-up help, but I watch what I eat every day of my life to keep the pounds off. It’s a continual struggle.’
‘But worth it, Helen. You always look great.’
‘Thanks. Now, talking of food, what’s for supper?’
A little later, the women went to their respective bedrooms.
They both lay sleepless, Sorcha praying that the result of the test would be negative, Helen hoping against hope it would be positive.
She knew the tiny thing inside Sorcha Daly’s womb might be the only thing that could save The Fishermen. And, she hoped, Sorcha too.