Fame Game

CHAPTER ONE

Boy Banbury woke to the sound of a telephone ringing somewhere in the distance. He groaned, struggled out of bed and stumbled onto the wide landing of his huge and decrepit house, Banbury Court.

His bare feet slapped softly on the worn tread of the sweeping stone staircase. The old house-phone sounded calamitous on that dark morning. It hardly ever rang and the sound of it now filled Boy with trepidation. Reaching the hall, the cool flagstones felt slightly damp underfoot and he shuddered. Clutching his pyjama bottoms with one hand, he rubbed his naked torso with the other, in a vague attempt to get warm.

‘Hello, hello.’ His voice sounded bleary with sleep.

As Boy put the telephone down a few minutes later, he heard a rustle above him. Two of his teenaged daughters had emerged from their rooms and were listening expectantly.

Flora spoke, her voice husky. ‘Is Mum coming home?’

Boy looked up. ‘No, darling, I’m sorry. That was my old pal, Jake Robinson. He’s coming down to stay, with his family – the Spenders.’

‘In the middle of the fucking night! Why?’ exclaimed Doone, his eldest and undeniably feistiest daughter.

‘Come down, we’ll get some breakfast and I’ll tell you why. Oh and, Doone, a word of advice. If you are going to do a balcony scene; put some pants on. Lucien Freud might have got away with ogling his daughter’s bush, but I’d really rather not have to, if you don’t mind.’

Doone stepped back. ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ She pulled her tattered red kimono tightly around her, hastily covering her short silk slip and long legs. ‘The other Freud might have had something to say about that. Honestly, Boy, you are disgusting!’

Doone Banbury was nineteen, beautiful and generally annoyed by almost everything and everyone. Her short dark hair had been ruffled by the night and her silver eyes glittered with indignation as she flounced downstairs after her father.

Kitty, the youngest, emerged. ‘Why is everyone up? It’s not even morning yet.’ Her pretty face was screwed up and her pink cheeks looked hot. ‘Was that Mum?’

‘No, of course it wasn’t! It was the bloody Spenders!’ Doone huffed tactlessly.

Flora put her arm around her little sister and hugged her. She knew that Kitty would be feeling more disappointment than her sisters. She was the one who missed their mother the most. Kitty was only eleven and although Flora did her best to make her feel loved, she knew it wasn’t enough. She felt a familiar twist of anger towards their errant mother.

Flora’s dark hair tumbled in a dishevelled mess down her Rolling Stones ‘lips’ T-shirt. She watched quietly as her family trailed despondently after each other, towards the only really lived-in room in the house, the kitchen. She was left alone on the landing for a moment, and as she stood there, she felt a small stab of excitement.

The Spenders, Britain’s ex-favourite family, were coming to stay with them! The most infamous family in England, if the press were to be believed, and they were coming to stay with her.

Flora was delighted, although, to look at her, no one could ever have guessed.

With her pierced nostrils, tattooed shoulder and skinny frame, Flora’s fierce look belied her sweet nature. She was sixteen and desperate for her grown-up life to begin. The Spenders’ arrival was more than she could ever have hoped for in her wildest dreams.

At last, she thought, something was happening to relieve the tedium of her existence in this mouldering mausoleum.

She wanted to whoop with excitement as she scampered downstairs to join the rest of her family. But she couldn’t because, whatever happened, she had to remain cool.

CHAPTER TWO

Jake Robinson swung the Mercedes sharply through the old stone gates of Banbury Court. The turning had come up more suddenly than he remembered and he’d almost overshot it.

The car juddered across a cattle grid and Zelda Spender stirred. She opened her legendary violet eyes to be greeted by the tranquil rural scene of ancient landscaped parkland. Some horses drifted by gracefully, through a low-lying mist.

Jake felt a surge of hope. Perhaps everything would be alright, now that they were here. Hidden away, safe from all the madness they had left behind in London.

Zelda wriggled uncomfortably in her seat and closed her eyes again. ‘Fucking hell!’

Jake’s heart sank as he realised that not all the madness had been left behind in London. Most of it was still sitting right next to him. His fabulous, famous wife might not have been entirely responsible for their fall from grace but . . .

Jake glanced at his sleeping nieces in the rear-view mirror. The baby, Willow, stirred in the back of the car. Her teenaged sister, Dusty, smiled softly and patted her, saying, ‘Good girl’, without opening her eyes. Then Ed, his son, woke up, looked out of the car window and said simply, ‘Wow!’

Banbury Court rose majestically out of the mist. Dusty slowly opened her eyes and was instantly captivated. It was the most romantic house she had ever seen, a huge Georgian mansion of quite spectacular beauty. From a distance, it belied its true state of dilapidation.

Jake turned right abruptly, following a sign marked ‘The Dower House’. He swung through ivy-clad gates and stopped outside a long, low house, which was almost entirely covered with roses. Dusty squealed with delight.

The front door opened and a young man emerged. He was wearing combats and a battered grandpa shirt. He greeted Jake as he got out of his car.

‘Morning, Mr Robinson! I’m Frank. Boy asked me to open up the house for you. Feels a bit damp, I’m afraid. No one’s been in there much since the old lady . . .’ He hesitated as he saw the children pouring out of the car.

‘My girlfriend, Karen, will be in later with some basic supplies for you. I’ve left my mobile number on the kitchen table.’ Frank seemed totally oblivious to the fact that one of the world’s most famous actresses had just emerged in front of him. He merely nodded at Zelda and said, ‘Morning.’

Zelda ignored him and stomped into the house.

Jake looked apologetic. ‘Difficult day, thanks so much, sorry, bloody early and everything . . .’

Frank smiled. ‘No problem. I’m always up before dawn, I look after the estate for Boy. It’ll be good to have someone in the Dower House again.’

Jake could see that Frank was a warm and impressively handsome young man. He was surprised Zelda hadn’t noticed; she really must be in a spectacularly bad mood, he thought to himself despondently.

Frank helped unload the suitcases from the boot of Jake’s beloved old Mercedes. Then he tactfully left them to it.

Carrying her baby sister Willow on her hip, Dusty appeared slight, but she was stronger than she looked, emotionally as well as physically. She’d had to be; having lost her mother so recently, she found herself in almost sole charge of her baby sister which, at fourteen, was a huge responsibility.

Since they had moved in with their Uncle Jake and his wife Zelda Spender, Dusty had received more help and support from her young cousin Ed than the older members of the family. But she understood. Things had been very complicated for everyone lately; the Spenders were having a very rough time. She had been brought up in the chaotic world of her famous mother, the singer Georgia Cole, Jake’s sister, and that had prepared her for almost anything.

Dusty and Ed dashed off to explore the house and choose their bedrooms. Zelda sprinted upstairs after them, just in time to find her son hurling himself across the bed in what was, quite obviously, the master bedroom. He shouted, ‘Mine!’

Zelda followed him in. ‘Not so fast, buster, I’ll think you’ll find this is mine.’

Ed jumped up again and grinned at his mother. He was the most agreeable teenaged boy in the world.

The children disappeared and Zelda surveyed her surroundings glumly. The old-fashioned bedroom was large with low ceilings and was overstuffed with what she considered to be very dreary ‘brown’ furniture. The curtains and bed were draped in reams of Colefax and Fowler chintz. It was about as far from the modern minimalist chic that Zelda favoured as it was possible to imagine. Standing there, Zelda suddenly had a terrifying premonition of being old.

She sat down on the bed in despair. How had this happened to them? Everything she loved had been taken; gone, lost, ruined. She could hardly bring herself to think of the architects of the family’s downfall.

Her ex-PA, Kate, ‘Don’t mention that fucking girl’s name!’, and her scandalous revelations. Thinking of that double-crossing bitch and her tell-all book made Zelda so enraged she felt that she could almost commit murder.

Then there were all the other losses, not least her ex-agent Lucien Dark’s destruction of her entire fortune, which she had worked so bloody hard for all her life, and then, worst of all . . . but she just couldn’t bear to think about that. Somehow she had to keep herself together. To think, plan, sort things out.

Get herself back; back to London, back to life. They might have been hounded out of the city by the paparazzi for now but one thing was certain, she wasn’t going to be staying in this dreary dump for long.

She noticed a tattered satin dressing gown draped over a chair. It suddenly occurred to her that the old lady, Boy Banbury’s mother, must have died here; in this bed probably. She shuddered and jumped up, thinking she might just have a quick look around the rest of the house, in case there was another room she could sleep in.

Zelda had finished recceing all the bedrooms when she ran into Jake on the landing. She looked awkward. Everything was so uncomfortable between them since Kate’s book. Now the whole world was aware of her bad behaviour, things that she had never wanted anyone to know.

In the furore that surrounded its publication, she was surprised Jake had stayed. But here he was, asking her where she’d like her suitcases? She waved towards the master bedroom. It was the only one that was even vaguely habitable after all, and frankly she was getting used to sleeping with ghosts, so one more wouldn’t matter.

One thing was certain: Jake wouldn’t be sleeping with her. Kate had put paid to that.

Jake had barely spoken to Zelda since the first devastating extract of the book was serialised in the Mail, and he had moved into the spare room at the London mews house. Although he had deliberately avoided reading Kate’s book, he wasn’t a fool and his wife’s indiscretions were hard to ignore when they were being discussed at length, in every sector of the media. Jake was good at denial but even he was struggling with this crisis in their marriage.

The revelations had brought the familiar, bloodthirsty pack of paparazzi back to torment them again, on an almost unprecedented scale. There was no way that any member of the family could leave their home. They found themselves under siege, in a very small house. Tensions ran high.

Zelda had spent her time harassing her new agent, Helen Baldwin, who finally suggested in desperation that Zelda should try to get her family out of sight, out of London, ‘to allow the media to move on . . . and to put a little space between the scandal and your future projects.’

Which Zelda translated, not inaccurately, as, ‘Get the fuck out, you washed-up has-been, and stop bothering me!’

The final straw was when a particularly reckless journalist was discovered trying to take photographs through the baby’s bedroom window, in the middle of the night. The police were called, but by the time they arrived the culprit had disappeared.

The family had all had enough; they were frightened and frayed. One thing was clear: their mews house was no longer a viable place to live in the maelstrom of a media feeding-frenzy. The family needed to get away, without being followed. In a brilliant stroke of ingenuity Jake had managed to orchestrate a moonlight flit through a somewhat surprised neighbour’s flat.

And so, here they were at what felt like the end of the road.

The end of this particular road had turned out to be Boy Banbury’s estate in Oxfordshire. It could be described as quite a lovely road; but not to Zelda, not today.

She glanced out at the garden. The lawn was overgrown, the borders wild with flowers and shrubs. If the mist had lifted, to reveal a sunny morning, things might have seemed different. But the sky was a dull grey, and, as she stood there, dejected, looking out onto that chaotic, neglected place, the dreadful reality of her situation finally dawned on her.

Everything she loved was lost.

CHAPTER THREE

The Banbury family had been sitting around in the kitchen for ages. It was everyone’s favourite place to congregate at the Court.

It was a vast room, with four sets of French windows leading out onto a walled vegetable garden. The Aga kept it warm all year round and, on this particularly chilly summer morning, it was alive with excited chatter about the spectacular fall from grace of their new neighbours and guests.

In fact, the Spenders were the topic of choice at practically every breakfast table in the land, and the Banbury girls were pretty thrilled to find themselves in a somewhat exclusive position at the very heart of the drama, amongst all the main protagonists.

That is, except for Doone, who thought the whole thing, ‘Absolutely dire. Typical of our disgusting celebrity-obsessed society.’ She declared herself mortified that they should be sheltering such ‘low-life scum’ and she threatened darkly that, ‘Everyone better make fucking sure no one finds out they’re here,’ because, apparently, her Leeds Uni friends would not understand at all.

Boy responded brusquely to her derogatory remarks. ‘It isn’t in anyone’s interest to find out where the Spenders are hiding, except the press obviously! That’s the whole point of them coming here.’ He felt this might be an appropriate moment for some sage fatherly guidance. ‘You should know better than to judge them until you’ve met them anyway.’

He proceeded to clatter about looking for a clean saucepan. The old butler sinks were piled high with unwashed pots and pans.

Boy had been quite surprised to hear from Jake. They had seen very little of each other in the past twenty years. When they’d run into each other by chance, in the street, a couple of days previously Boy had thrown out a casual, ‘If things get too tough come and hide out with us. My mother’s house is empty now so . . .’ The sort of glib throwaway line he often uttered. He was a generous man, despite the fact that he had little left to be generous with. He never seriously imagined that Jake would ever need to take him up on it; certainly not so soon.

But Jake Robinson was the kind of friend you could just pick up with any time, he was funny and clever. They had been inseparable at Cambridge. Having him around again might be fun.

Since Jake had married Zelda Spender, they only got the chance to see each other occasionally, when Zelda was away filming. Then they would go off, on riotous nights out, get completely wrecked and Boy would have to spend days recovering. Jake had always been able to drink him under the table.

He hadn’t actually laid eyes on Zelda for years. He was pretty sure she had always disapproved of him and he certainly disapproved of her. She struck him as a dreadfully spoilt woman and he could never work out what Jake saw in her. Nor could he understand how they were still together, particularly after this recent humiliating debacle.

But then Jake was a very loyal person. Boy was feeling rather cheerful at the prospect of having him around. He had been quite overwhelmed by all his daughters’ demands since Frances, their mother, had . . .

There was a clatter. Flora had found a saucepan, which she handed to her father. Boy got back to thinking about breakfast. He took some eggs from a basket by the Aga and as he broke them into the pan he thought longingly, ‘If only there was some bacon too.’

Doone and Flora sat quietly at the kitchen table ignoring their little sister, Kitty, as she gaily performed a song from Les Misérables.

Boy had an old tweed jacket draped over his shoulders, his chest was bare and with his pyjama bottoms slung low he looked much younger than forty-two, almost like a brother to his daughters. He began humming along to Kitty’s song, a cigarette clamped between his teeth, as he expertly proceeded to scramble some eggs.

‘Less of the Glums, someone get the fucking toast!’ he mumbled.

Doone got up to pop up the toaster, which was beginning to smoke a bit. Flora surreptitiously helped herself to a cigarette from the packet on the table.

Doone spun round. ‘Get your own cigarettes! I’m fed up with you cadging mine.’

‘Can’t afford any. I haven’t got a student loan like some people.’

Doone looked daggers at her sister.

Boy took the saucepan off the Aga and took another drag before asking, casually, ‘Student loan! Doone, darling, how crafty of you. How did you get that?’

‘It’s not rocket science, I just applied. Everybody has one.’

‘Really, do they? Maybe I should apply for one. How much is it? Could be bloody handy; things are pretty tight at the moment.’

‘Things are always pretty tight! And you have to be a student to get one, obviously.’

‘That sounds perfect. I could study again. I’d like that. Maybe something useful this time, like estate management or something.’

‘Bit late for that, I’d say, Boy-oh!’ Doone sparred. ‘If that’s all you can come up with then we really are buggered!’

Kitty stopped singing. ‘Maybe the Spenders can lend us some money. They are very, very, very rich.’

Flora jumped up to sit on the Aga and casually lit the cigarette she’d stashed. ‘Not any more, Kitty. That’s why they’re hiding here, because they can’t afford to go anywhere else. Most people would have just disappeared to hide in another country. But disappearing is expensive when you are as famous as them. We are the cheap and easy option.’

‘Nothing new there then.’ Doone took the lit cigarette away from Flora and defiantly put it into her own sultry mouth, gently blowing the smoke into her sister’s face.

Boy was surprised at how well-informed his sixteen-year-old daughter was about the Spenders’ situation. He was mystified by the endless fascination people seemed to have for the details of celebrities’ lives and he was vaguely disapproving of his young daughter’s expertise in that area.

Flora had got down from the Aga; it was too hot to sit on. She buttered the toast, Boy doled out the scrambled eggs and they tucked in. All except for Doone, who pushed hers away dismissively and said, ‘I bet they are all ghastly, and I hope you don’t expect us to hang out with them.’

‘I think they look lovely, they can hang out with meee!’ said Kitty.

‘Me too,’ Flora agreed. She certainly intended to hang out with them, as much as humanly possible.

Boy looked at his eldest daughter warily. ‘There, everyone else is on board. They are our guests, they have had an absolutely horrific time . . . so I’d appreciate a little compassion from you.’

‘Oh, yes, because we are all so lucky and nothing horrible has ever happened to us. Jesus, Dad!’ Doone stood up and stormed out of the kitchen.

Boy knew she very was cross, because she never, ever called him Dad.

At the other end of the room something stirred on one of the enormous battered sofas. An old wolfhound slowly got down, shook itself, yawned loudly and followed Doone out.

Boy considered going after her. But he thought perhaps he’d better leave it for a bit. Yes, he’d let her calm down first.

*

Doone felt very annoyed. She had kept her loan a secret from her father for a reason and now her bloody sister had gone and mentioned it. Her family really was the limit. She couldn’t believe she had the whole summer stretching ahead of her with them and some new lunatics to add to the mix. It was going to be hell. She wondered how she might get away.

Maybe I’ll get a job, she thought. God, what a nightmare. She opened the library door and let the dog out onto the lawn.

‘There you are, Oscar, I’d make a run for it if I were you.’

The dog looked up at her adoringly, then he loped out into the garden.

CHAPTER FOUR

Zelda had had a little lie down. Then she had pulled herself together again, and made a plan. Zelda adored making plans; she prided herself on her resourcefulness and resilience.

This plan had a way to go, but it went roughly along the lines of: tell the new agent, Helen, to push for a job that could redeem her client, Zelda, in the eyes of the public . . . OK, she wasn’t quite sure what that job might be yet, but that’s what her bloody agent was for!

In the meantime she intended to get herself back into shape. Locked up in the mews house in London, hemmed in and stressed, she had been guzzling all sorts of forbidden things and she was feeling distinctly out of control. Get the body back into tip-top nick and the mind would follow. That’s how it always worked for her and she didn’t see why it wouldn’t do so now. She just needed to get on with it.

She had rummaged through her luggage and was dismayed by the lack of warm clothes; Jake had made them pack in such a rush. She wasn’t used to packing her own cases anyway and she certainly wasn’t expecting to be hiding out in a damp bloody fridge of a house, in the vilest summer on record. She eventually found a tracksuit and some trainers.

So now she was up and ready to go.

Headphones on, cap on; not that a disguise was really necessary in the middle of nowhere, she realised, but old habits die hard.

Zelda set off at a steady jog up the drive, which was full of cracks and pot-holes in the tarmac, not a running surface she was used to. She saw a grass track to her left and swung onto it, running steadily up a gradual slope through a wood.

Watery sunlight had begun to filter through the old beech trees and even Zelda had to acknowledge that it looked rather charming. Perhaps this would be a nice place to run after all. She pushed on, up the hill, and was amazed to find that the path opened up to reveal a wide, dark lake, which disappeared around a bend further along the treeline.

Zelda stopped for a moment, her hands resting on her slender hips, panting gently, before turning up her iPod and continuing her run. Listening to one of her favourite songs, she felt her spirits lift.

As she ran, a pair of ducks took off, startled, flying low across the water.

For a while she found herself running in sunlight, and she began to smile. Then she disappeared back into the shadows again as she moved lithely along the far side of the lake. She was wondering whether to do a second lap, she was enjoying herself so much, when she suddenly felt something knock her from behind.

She was falling and the ‘something’ dragged her tracksuit bottoms down with it.

Something? Someone!

Zelda realised to her horror that she was being attacked, brought down on the hard ground, by a maniac! She kicked out wildly, which wasn’t easy, with her trousers at half-mast. She kicked again and felt her foot hit its mark – hard. Her attacker swore and relaxed his grip. She struggled to her feet, clumsily pulling her trousers back up, and ran off blindly screaming, ‘Help . . . help!’

But she knew no one could hear her. She was in the horrible, frightening, desolate countryside; being pursued by a monster. She didn’t dare look back. She could feel him coming after her.

She ran on wildly until she arrived back at the Dower House, where she burst through the front door, screaming hysterically, ‘Jake, Jake! Call the police!’

Jake emerged from the study. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Someone tried to rape me!’ Zelda felt like bursting into tears. ‘I was running, and he attacked me; knocked me over from behind. Call the police!’

‘By the time they get here he’ll be gone. Where were you?’

‘By . . . by the lake.’

‘OK, I know where that is. Sit tight, I will go and see if I can catch the bastard. Are you alright? Apart from knocking you over did he . . .?’ Jake looked concerned.

‘No, I kicked him off. But he was very strong. Don’t leave me, Jake . . . don’t go after him. Call the police.’

But Jake was up and at the door, shouting, ‘Ed, get down here, look after your mother, now!’

Ed appeared. ‘What’s up?’

‘Just hang on with Mum for a minute, OK?’

Jake rushed out, slamming the front door behind him, then darted back in again to grab a golf club from a dusty old bag in the hall.

Ed asked his mother what was wrong.

‘Someone attacked me in the woods. I knew we shouldn’t have come here.’ She sniffed and hugged Ed.

Filled with fury that someone should have tried to hurt his lovely mother, Ed immediately grabbed another golf club and flew out after Jake, shouting at his cousin Dusty, ‘Call the police!’

He was running along the drive when he heard something from the woods. To his surprise he saw his father, calmly walking next to a tall, fair-haired man and they were laughing. As they drew nearer Ed could see a huge amount of blood running down the man’s face.

*

‘I seem to have located your attacker,’ Jake announced as they entered the kitchen. ‘May I reintroduce you to my old friend Boy!’

‘What the hell are you talking about! Have you lost your mind? He attacked me, tried to rape me!’

‘I didn’t, actually.’

Jake handed Boy a drying-up cloth, which he held to his face and mumbled, ‘Thanks.’

Boy stepped towards Zelda and she pulled back dramatically, shrieking, ‘Stay away from me!’

Boy retreated, embarrassed and a little annoyed. ‘Frank and I were doing a bit of tree-felling up by the lake. You appeared out of nowhere, we yelled Timber!, but you just kept on coming! So I had to tackle you, or the tree would have, and that could have been quite nasty.’ He held out her headphones. ‘These came off when you kicked me. I’m sorry I frightened you.’

‘Well, I’m sure Zelda’s very sorry she kicked you!’ Jake offered.

‘I am not! He attacked me. Whose side are you on?’ Zelda glared furiously at her husband.

Dusty appeared, still carrying the baby. ‘The police are on their way.’

Zelda looked panicked. ‘Well, stop them! The last people we need snooping around us now are the local coppers. We know how watertight they