“We’ll be applying for copies of the loan contract,” Alice pressed on. “My legal representative will be in touch. It really wasn’t me,” she added.
The man was unimpressed. “All our debtors go through multiple antifraud checks.”
“I know,” Alice apologized. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t get you anywhere. If you think you can just weasel out of—”
Alice gulped. “I appreciate your patience and understanding,” she parroted quickly. “Good-bye!”
She sat a moment, the phone still gripped tightly in her hands. She was going to need a new number if this kept up or maybe even a sparkling new identity of her own. But they couldn’t touch her, she reminded herself. The paperwork would take a while, but everything would be all right in the end.
She had to believe that.
***
When Alice finally emerged from her makeshift bedroom, Cassie greeted her with an expression of wide-eyed astonishment. “You’re up?”
“Surprise,” Alice replied, crossing to the kitchen area. Thanks to Flora, at least the cupboards were well stocked; Cassie seemed to subsist on a curious diet of soy yogurts and sushi. “I have to get back to work before Vivienne loses her mind”—and she lost her job.
Selecting a small brioche loaf from Flora’s bounty, Alice cut a few slices and opened a glossy jar of strawberry jam, adorned with a sheet of red-polka-dot paper and a matching ribbon. Adding a handful of fresh apricots to her plate, she slid onto a stool by the breakfast bar and began to eat. God, it was good.
Cassie stretched, rolling over on her yoga mat. “I knew you’d snap out of it eventually.”
That wasn’t quite the case, but Alice preferred to focus on her breakfast rather than explain all the ways her heart was still broken. “What are you up to this week?” she changed the subject. “Any more auditions?”
Cassie shrugged, twisting her legs into an elaborate pretzel shape as if she were double jointed. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, spilling down over a thin white tank top that concealed absolutely nothing. She stretched up and backward, dipping almost to the floor. “Later, maybe. I have some lunches…”
It always amazed Alice how much of Cassie’s career revolved around these lunches—with producers, casting agents, and directors. Never mind show reels, screen tests, or the little she actually ate—jobs seemed to materialize as if by magic in those back booths at exclusive eateries or on the terrace at the latest chic bar.
Perhaps that was what they needed to try with Rupert to revitalize his stalled career: just send him on an intensive lunching tour, and soon every dashing young hero role would be his.
“Anything good coming up?” she asked.
Cassie shrugged. “There’s a support part in the next Keira film…” She pulled one perfectly trim ankle behind her head. Alice averted her gaze.
“That sounds wonderf—” She stopped. A strange man had wandered into the living area, wrapped in Alice’s Chinese silk robe. She blinked. An expanse of tanned thigh was visible beneath the pale trim, riding perilously high.
Cassie looked up. “Oh, this is Vitolio. From that club night?”
“Ah, hi, Vitolio,” Alice ventured.
He gave her a casual nod, strolling over to the coffee machine as if there were nothing untoward about lounging around in her intimates. And maybe to him, there wasn’t.
“So, the audition,” Alice stumbled, trying to act normal. A little warning would have been nice.
“Hmm, oh, yes.” Cassie was distracted by the newcomer too, raking her eyes over his body as he made the coffee. He reached up to a cupboard for a mug and the robe rose even higher. Oh!
Alice made a mental note to buy a new gown.
“I better get going!” she exclaimed brightly, leaping up. Quickly tucking her breakfast into a couple of paper napkins, Alice found her bag and keys and bolted toward the door.
“Mmm-hmm,” Cassie murmured, her head still tilted sideways in admiration. “Maybe call first? Before you come home, I mean.”
Alice stared at her, blank.
“You know…” Cassie broke into a dazzlingly seductive smile as Vitolio wandered back toward her with the coffee. “To check.”
“Right,” Alice answered quietly, leaving before they could give her a visual demonstration of whatever it was she was supposed to check for. Privacy was out of her price range, she reminded herself, hurrying downstairs as certain, interesting noises began to emerge from the flat. Privacy and unadulterated clean laundry.
***
The office, as expected, was in a state of vague chaos. Alice entered the checker-floored lobby to find FedEx boxes and post piled high in every corner, florists’ bouquets wilting gently on the side table, and a collection of mugs in various states of moldering decay.
“Saskia?” she called, slipping off her jacket and into her familiar organization mode. To tell the truth, it felt something of a relief to have some mess other than her own life to focus on. “Saskia, where are you?”
“Hello?” Saskia wandered out of the back room, an open bottle of nail varnish in her hand and three purple fingertips. She stopped dead at the sight of Alice. “Oh. I thought you’d be off another week.”
“I made a speedy recovery.” Alice began flipping through the nearest stack of post. “What’s been happening? Some of these arrived days ago.”
“Vivienne’s been on holiday,” Saskia replied, as if that were an answer. Absently blowing on one hand, she blinked at Alice. “She decided to take a break at her Suffolk cottage.”
“Right.” Alice gave her a cool smile. “But that doesn’t explain why this place looks like a student’s dorm room. Hasn’t the cleaner been?”
Saskia looked blank. “I don’t know. Was she supposed to?”
“He,” Alice corrected, sweeping the mugs up and walking briskly through the office. Although it was past ten, several of the agents were missing, and every nook had a look of unkempt abandonment. And as for those who were there—well, Alice spotted one episode of The Office, two chat windows, and a decidedly unsafe-for-work screensaver as she breezed through to the tiny kitchen. “The agency number is in your file, so why don’t you give them a call and find out what’s happened?”
“OK.” Saskia bobbed her head reluctantly.
“And in the meantime, you should do a quick tidy up,” Alice added, ignoring the expression of distaste that came over the assistant’s face. “We can’t have clients seeing the place like this. Cleaning supplies are in the bottom cupboard!”