thing she wanted to do was spark a tabloid vendetta against the Asgills. A charm offensive was called for, so two days later she had arranged to meet Rebecca Sharp from the Oracle for lunch. Sitting under the yellow awning outside Da Silvano, watching the traffic thunder down Seventh Avenue, Tess smiled broadly as she watched her old friend climb from a taxi and glide over to her table.
‘You look fantastic,’ said Tess, quite taken aback at her glamour. Becky had been at the Colchester Observer with Tess over a decade earlier, and they had moved to London at around the same time, Tess on the women’s pages of the Daily Mirror, Becky on the Bizarre showbiz desk of the Sun. Back then she was known as Bonkers Becks, tall and chunky, a great laugh, obsessed with music, and for the first year in the Big Smoke they had cut quite a swathe around town, going to any premiere, party, or gig to which Becky could get a plus one.
Tess had not seen Becks since her transfer to the New York Oracle’s entertainment and celebrity news desk three years earlier, and her transformation was incredible. Her long hair, once the colour of marmalade, was now a honey blonde, falling in soft curls onto her tanned shoulders. She had lost at least three stone and her Amazonian physique had become slender and graceful in her thin cashmere vest and skinny jeans.
‘I cannot believe you’re finally here,’ squealed Becky, causing a couple on the next table to look at them with alarm. ‘And as a publicist of all things! How’s it going on the dark side?’
Becky’s accent had picked up a transatlantic burr and she had always been loud, but her time in the Big Apple seemed to have increased the volume another 10 per cent.
Tess laughed. ‘My first day at work I got into the office at seven a.m. and I was almost the last person to arrive. How do you fit sleep in here?’
Becky waved her hand casually in front of her. ‘Sleep’s for wimps, darling. The second everyone heard how Anna Wintour gets up at five for a game of tennis and a blow-dry, everyone wanted to be in the office before dawn. You’ll soon learn that in Manhattan: it’s all about competition.’
‘So where are you living?’
‘Brooklyn,’ said Becky, pulling a face. ‘Mind you, everyone is there right now, the rental on a shoebox on the island is insane. How about you?’
‘Just a few minutes away actually,’ said Tess casually. ‘On Perry Street in the Village.’
Becky almost choked on her Perrier. ‘You bitch!’ she screamed. ‘I hate you! Someone’s paying you far too much money. Shit, I dream of the West Village, that’s why I love coming here for lunch, so I can play “Let’s pretend”.’
‘Let’s pretend?’ asked Tess.
‘Pretend that I’m someone like that,’ she whispered, nodding towards a super-glamorous blonde at a nearby table. The woman was stunning, with a flawless up-do and two-thousand-dollar dress that Tess recognized as Marni. She was sitting opposite a forty-something man wearing chinos, a navy sweater, and a scarf wrapped around his neck. He was overweight and, frankly, ugly.
‘You want to be a woman like that?’
Becky looked surprised. ‘Who doesn’t?’
‘But have you seen who she’s with? He’s wearing a pashmina!’
‘Darling, every woman in this city wants to land a rich husband. Some women, most of my friends in fact, devote their whole life to finding one. And these days you can’t be too picky.’ Becky let out a dramatic sigh. ‘Ah, the joy of not having to work.’
Tess smiled. ‘You love work.’
‘Completely beside the point,’ said Becky flatly. ‘It’s the option of not having to work.’
She leant forward conspiratorially.
‘Speaking of women with very rich men, how’s your new friend Brooke Asgill? You are going to get me an interview with her, aren’t you?’
Tess pulled a mock-outraged face. ‘After the stunt your newspaper has just pulled?’ she cried. ‘Seriously though, you do realize you have royally pissed off two of the most influential families in New York – and what for? A two-column pot-shot story that has to run an apology the next day?’
‘Actually, my editor loved the story,’ said Becky. ‘Anything to do with the Billingtons is big news, and David and Brooke are the sexiest New York couple since JFK Jr and Carolyn Bessette. It’s not like a tabloid is going to be best friends with them anyway.’
The waiter arrived with their ravioli and the girls started eating.
‘I need a favour,’ said Tess. ‘Two actually.’
Becky looked up. ‘Shoot.’
‘I need an introduction to all the media high-rollers you know. Newspaper editors, society column writers, editors-in-chief, and features editors on all the big glossies. I know a few people out here but I need to know everyone worth knowing very quickly.’
‘No offence, but I was surprised when I heard the Asgills had got you in. PR gigs are all about contacts, aren’t they?’
Tess pulled a sarcastic face. ‘Thanks for reminding me.’
‘What else did you want?’
‘Tell me who gave you the story about Brooke.’
Becky gave a long slow laugh and wagged her finger. ‘Come on, Tess. You worked in papers; you know we never reveal a source. We have journalists on the paper who have been to jail rather than give up the name of their contact.’
‘Since when did you become Miss Integrity!’ laughed Tess. ‘I clearly remember you giving endless column inches to no-hoper bands on your music page in the Sun in return for a press trip – or even a glass of Cava!’
Becky smiled at the memory of their shared time on the loose in London.
‘So what can you do for me?’ she asked.
So much for friendship, smiled Tess. Becky hadn’t got this far simply by being a good laugh. Beneath the fluffy, party-girl exterior she was as hard as nails.
‘Help me now and I’ll see if I can get you a story exclusive on Brooke and David’s wedding.’
‘Honeymoon shots?’
Tess shook her head. ‘Can’t promise that, but certainly something exclusive, something that will earn you big brownie points.’
Becky took a big orange leather diary from her expensive-looking tote and began flicking through its pages. She scribbled down an address on a fluorescent pink Post-it note and handed it to Tess.
‘There’s a bunch of us going down to Soho House tonight. There’s a Cinema Society screening of the new Coen Brothers’ film. Very cool crowd,’ she said. ‘Everyone from Glenda Bailey to Col Allen should be there, and there will be drinks afterwards. That should start you off.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Tess, folding up the paper. ‘Now what about the source?’
Becky
