Chapter 10
‘This shellfish is delightful!’ Pim cried, as she dug into a poached oyster in the Savoy restaurant.
Of course, it was the most expensive starter on the menu, but it did sound and smell delicious.
‘You must try this,’ Pim said to me, offering one of the oysters for me to try.
I took the shell and tilted my head back.
She was right, of course. It was utterly divine.
‘Good God, that’s amazing,’ I said. My starter of steak tartare was also delicious, but now I regretted not pulling a Pim and going full-on decadent.
It was fairly typical for us to dine together at least once a week and go over her upcoming schedule.
Although it had been a while since our last dinner; Pim had had so many evenings out with old friends and co-stars from way-back-when as a result of rarely being in London for the past eight years.
I don’t think she had realised how happy it would make her to be amongst her old friends again, but I could tell how pleased she was to have so many invitations.
These days she was usually up and out of bed when I arrived with her coffee and breakfast in the morning, bustling with energy, waiting for the day to begin.
And more and more she was asking me to organise taxis to collect her from parties and dinners later than normal, as she knew she was going to want to stay and enjoy herself.
It was pleasant to see her having fun – and giving me extra time to spend by myself, in my favourite city.
Especially when it meant running into handsome buskers and enjoying a little harmless flirtation.
I shook my head, reminding myself that I would probably never see Simon ever again.
With indecent haste, I finished off the last of my tartare.
‘How was the latest tech run?’ I asked Pim, who was making a dramatic effort to make her starter last for as long as possible, pulling different orgasmic faces with each new taste.
I looked around for any fellow diners taking sneaky photos.
This was not a moment I thought she would want captured and shared online.
‘Perfect,’ she spoke with unexpected jollity.
‘The lighting is superb. I had someone sit in for me so I could see for myself what every viewer would see from each seat in the theatre.’ I bet the lighting designer and producers loved that, I thought sarcastically.
‘Even those in the balconies at the back will be able to see me clearly.’
‘Well, that sounds good,’ I said. ‘And the microphone issue was sorted.’
‘Oh yes, I’m just going to hold the microphone. None of those clip-on things. I don’t want to have to plan my outfit based on that, I want to plan my outfit based on my mood and my hair.’
‘And the lighting.’
She agreed, nodding as she took the last bite of her starter.
‘Utter perfection,’ she said, placing down her napkin with a flourish.
Within seconds the waiter had returned and cleared our plates.
‘Tell the chef that that was the best dish I’ve ever eaten,’ she told the young man, before quickly taking up her compact and pressing powder across her nose.
‘Maybe the chef will come to the table,’ she explained.
I smiled at her, realising what she was up to now. She had spotted the chef earlier when he had left the kitchen to visit at another table; one look at him and she was licking her lips. It was as much him she was hungry for as the oysters.
Since she was in such a good mood, I placed down the papers with her schedule for the rest of the week, thinking now was as good as any time to tell her about Alison.
‘I have some good news for you,’ I said, and she smiled, leaning forward a little. ‘I think I’ve found your new assistant.’
Pim rolled her eyes and sat back, adjusting her hair and replacing her compact in her clutch with a sharp snap of the clasp. I’d hoped for curiosity, maybe even relief, but instead it felt like I’d said something mildly tedious rather than quietly life-altering.
‘Her name is Alison, and I would love to add a quick meeting into your schedule for next week…’
‘Oh, Evie, why don’t you have an evening off tonight?’
‘Sorry?’
I kept my tone light, professional, even as something in my chest tightened. Pim’s refusal to engage wasn’t new, but moments like this made leaving feel harder, not easier. It was difficult to step away from someone who refused to acknowledge the gap you were about to leave behind.
‘No work. Let’s just catch up. You haven’t told me anything of what you’ve been doing lately.’
‘Well, I was looking for my replacement,’ I said, trying hard not to sound sarcastic or bitter.
‘I meant in your personal life. Has it been nice being home?’
I didn’t say that I didn’t have a home, as that felt a bit too dramatic – even for Pim; instead I nodded. ‘It’s been wonderful being back in London and seeing friends.’ And meeting buskers.
‘Good! Now what have you been doing? Going to the theatre? Eating out? Going to parties?’
She had never shown this much interest in my personal life before but I thought, why not embrace it? I placed the papers back into my bag on the floor and went to speak, when suddenly she interrupted.
‘Oh, speaking of eating out… guess who I saw at The Wolseley the other night?’
Oh, right. I guess we’re not going to talk about me then after all.
I took a sip of my wine and tried not to let my frustration show about being swindled out of discussing my replacement… again. ‘Who? Someone you hate, I suppose,’ I guessed, because I knew Pim well enough to sense when a villain was about to be introduced.
‘Michael Holland! That slimy, two-faced, smug little—’ She exhaled through her nose dramatically.
‘He’s like a bad penny. Ever since we ran into him at the BBC, he just keeps showing up.
’ I failed to recognise the coincidence, given that they were both circling the drain of the TV industry these days, so no doubt both of them ran in the same circles.
‘He’s been swanning around with his posh toffs lot, acting like he’s some kind of broadcasting legend just because he’s managed to churn out a few documentaries. ’
‘They’ve done quite well, though, haven’t they?’ I ventured cautiously. ‘People seem to like them.’ The ratings were mixed but the reviews were good.
‘People like Pot Noodles too, Evie. It doesn’t mean they’re any good for you.
’ Pim waved her hand dismissively. ‘He’s such a fraud.
Smiling at me like we’re old friends when we’re in public.
I wanted to knock his block off, but the weight of it hitting the floor would probably make the earth implode. ’
‘Did you say anything to him?’ My heart hammered at the drama that could ensue if her feelings towards this wannabe national treasure ever got out.
Pim’s eyes glinted with mischief. ‘Oh, I was the picture of charm. I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Michael, how wonderful to see you again! I had no idea the BBC let interns dine at The Wolseley.” Then I turned back to my dessert like he didn’t exist.’
I rolled my lips together, trying not to laugh. ‘That’s quite, erm, petty,’ I dared to say, though truly I was delighted. I didn’t like the man either.
‘No.’ She swirled her wine glass again with a satisfied smile. ‘That is justice.’
She took a long, triumphant sip, clearly pleased with herself. ‘Honestly, the nerve of him. Smarming his way through the industry, acting like he’s some authority just because he does documentaries.’ Her voice became long and drawn out, mimicking an old Etonian’s.
Ah, I thought, she wants to do documentaries but now they’re tainted because Michael Holland does them too. There goes Pim’s dream of being the next Mary Beard.
‘Well, I suppose he does have a certain… presence,’ I admitted. ‘People find him charismatic.’
‘Oh, he’s good-looking,’ Pim agreed begrudgingly.
‘A right silver fox. And single, to boot. But that’s the most dangerous type, isn’t it?
The ones who get away with murder just because they’ve got a nice set of teeth and a decent jawline.
’ She stabbed at her fish, clearly imagining it was Michael’s face.
I smirked. ‘It sounds like he’s got under your skin.’
‘Not at all.’ Pim sniffed, lifting her chin. ‘I’m just warning you, Evie. Watch out for people like him. They pretend to be charming, but they’re as slippery as snakes. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.’
‘Duly noted,’ I said, making a mental note to avoid watching any Michael Holland documentaries while in Pim’s employ from now on.
Satisfied that she’d made her point, Pim’s mood lightened. ‘Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘What have you been up to?’
My eyes could have popped. She was serious, she did want to know about my life. ‘Erm, well, I…’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’ve been completing a Christmas bucket list. Or trying to, at least.’
‘Oh, really? What’s on the list?’
‘Erm, well, drink mulled wine in Covent Garden,’ I recited, counting the items on my fingers. ‘Walk down Carnaby Street to see all the lights.’
‘Carnaby Street? Really?’
‘The Christmas lights are famous.’
‘Famously tacky,’ she sighed. ‘What else?’ The waiter returned with our mains. A mushroom linguine for me and Dover sole for Pim. ‘Me and my friends are taking part in the Great Christmas Pudding Race tomorrow to raise money for charity.’ Pim’s knife and fork froze above her fish.
‘The Great Christmas what?’
I finished my first mouthful of linguine, which was, of course, delicious.
‘The Great Christmas Pudding Race. It’s a relay race in Seven Dials, where you dress up and run through an obstacle course… while holding a Christmas pudding,’ I finished lamely.
‘It’s not flaming, is it?’ she asked seriously, and I shook my head imagining Father Christmas in an extremely flammable costume running with a lit Christmas pudding.
‘No, just your standard Christmas pudding. It sounds silly, but it’s fun. And it’s for charity.’
‘Which charity?’ she asked, delicately adding some capers and cucumbers to her forkful of Dover sole.
‘Cancer Research.’
‘Oh,’ she said, her expression flickering for just a moment before her mask of indifference slipped back into place. ‘That must be an important charity for you.’
I looked down at my plate, running my finger around the delicate pattern on the rim. ‘I’m running for friends as well as for the charity. But it is important.’ My voice was softer than I intended but I didn’t want to get into a discussion on my dead mum if I could help it.
Pim knew my mum had died. She knew the timeline, the age I’d been, the touchstone details. What she didn’t know was how it still surfaced unexpectedly, particularly at this time of year.
Over the years, before I even began working with Pim, I’d learned to keep that part of myself carefully folded away. But especially when I was with her. Grief didn’t fit neatly into filming, flight schedules, or dressing rooms, and Pim had always had enough of her own to manage.
I didn’t want to open the door now. So I stayed where it was safe, talking about the run, about the cause, and not about the real reason behind it.
Pim didn’t say anything right away but carried on chewing thoughtfully. ‘How much are you trying to raise?’
‘I haven’t had much chance to fund-raise.’ My neck flushed with embarrassment. I hadn’t even started to fund-raise. ‘You have to be able to raise ￡100 minimum to run,’ I told her, thinking that I would probably need to pay up that ￡100 myself, which wouldn’t be a problem.
I did feel bad for not doing more, though.
I was sure Josh had probably put up some massive collection pot at Harrods, telling everyone about his epic run for charity.
Even Megan would have done something, like adding a ‘donate’ button to her email signature so major CEOs and corporations would see it every time she responded about their appraisal strategies, or whatever it was she did.
Even Alex had probably got his football league to donate the cost of a pint.
I hadn’t even so much as mentioned it to anyone. Not even Pim until now.
‘￡100 will hardly cure cancer,’ Pim scoffed, her signature bite returning.
I blinked, half expecting her to be joking, but she looked deadly serious. ‘You’re right,’ I said quietly, the back of my neck beginning to burn. ‘But every little helps, I guess.’
‘Can I donate?’ Pim asked softly, not looking at me as she ate more of her meal. This was probably a good thing, as I nearly dropped my fork at the question.
‘If you’d like to,’ I said, eventually, upon recovering myself. ‘I have a form you can fill in.’
‘Oh pft,’ she said, taking a sip of her white wine. ‘Just fill it in for me. Put me down for…’ She thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘It’s Christmas, let’s say ￡1,000.’
I did drop my fork then.
‘A thousand,’ I repeated, expecting her to laugh and take it back like it was some sort of exaggeration. ‘Are… are you sure?’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? It’s for charity.’
‘Wow, Pim, that’s… wow.’ I felt a lump rising in my throat.
This was the first time Pim had done anything like this for me, and it was for something as silly as running in a costume around Covent Garden.
I’d had influenza in Greece and she hadn’t so much as sent an order of room service to my door, but she did send me the menu for her flight back to Canada and asked me to order the duck. ‘Thanks, Pim.’
She smiled with tight lips before looking back at her plate.
‘Make sure to use my name as well. None of this anonymous donor malarkey.’
Ah! ‘You know that the donations aren’t shared publicly, the amount is but not who gave what.’
She paused mid-bite, her eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t need people to know, Evie. Donating is enough. Besides, think of it as your Christmas bonus.’
There’s the Pim I knew.
‘Thank you,’ I said warmly. She didn’t have to donate after all, and she could have taken it back since there was no credit.
And sure, I wasn’t getting a genuine Christmas bonus for my last Christmas with her, but to give ￡1,000 for me to run a race in costume with a pudding was still a nice thing to do.
With a shake of her shoulders, Pim straightened up, her familiar imperiousness returning. ‘Anyway, this Dover sole is atrocious,’ she declared, pushing her plate away with a loud clatter. ‘I don’t know why I keep ordering it here. What did I get for dessert again?’
‘The banana and salted caramel tart.’
‘Hmm… do you think they’d swap that for another plate of oysters? They really were delicious. And an aphrodisiac too.’ Her eyes sparkled wickedly. ‘I wonder where that chef has got to.’