true,’ said Helen. ‘Arthur was saying we should think about touring again if the TV thing comes off – cash in on the exposure.’
Bon nodded. ‘Sounds like a good idea. Okay, well if there is anything I can do to help – you know that I’d be really happy to help you rehearse.’
‘Thank you.’ Helen smiled. ‘But never mind me. How did your meeting go?’
Bon opened his mouth to protest.
‘No,’ said Helen, stopping him with a gesture. ‘Come on, ‘fess up. I got in first. So?’
He groaned. ‘So, nothing. Libby’s thinking I should maybe take the Dubai gig. She’s really keen to get me out there; apparently she’s got loads of really good contacts.’
Libby, the new agent that his old agency had assigned him, five feet two in her tiny stockinged feet and blonde and gorgeous and not a day over thirty. Helen slammed the door shut on the place her thoughts were heading and tried to ignore the giggling from behind it.
‘Well, that’s great,’ Helen said. ‘And it’s well paid – I’d go for it.’
‘It’s a long way to go,’ said Bon. ‘And if you’re serious about going on tour, you’re going to need some backup. You know that I hate to leave you here on your own.’
‘I can almost hear the violins from here. New highlights?’ said Arthur, conversationally, elbowing his way back into the conversation.
Helen sighed; at least Arthur had managed not to say that they had been touring while Bon was still in short trousers.
‘Sun-kissed,’ said Bon with a lazy grin, running long fingers back through his artfully tousled hair. ‘It goes like that in the sunshine.’
Helen shook her head. ‘Don’t bait him, Bon, you know he hates it.’
Bon’s grin broadened. ‘You should try it some time, Arthur – get outside, get yourself a little bit of gold in the old toupee.’
‘It’s real,’ Arthur growled.
‘Real stoat?’
‘Play nicely you two,’ Helen said sharply.
‘So how did your meeting go?’ asked Bon.
‘Not bad. Arthur has got me a job, haven’t you, Arthur? Roots? The TV show – apparently I’m an icon.’
‘Wow,’ said Bon, interest piqued. ‘God, now that is just fantastic. It’s got a real following and you’ll be great on there. When do you start shooting?’
‘I haven’t even signed the contract yet. I might not do it …’
Bon grinned. ‘Why ever not? You’d be mad not to. You want anything?’ he asked, heading towards the fridge.
‘No, not for me, thanks. I’ve already got one.’
‘Arthur?’
Arthur lifted his coffee mug instead of replying.
Bon dropped a handful of ice into the tumbler and topped it up with fruit juice. ‘So when do you think you’re going to start?’
‘We’re not sure yet. We’ll be discussing dates next week,’ said Arthur.
Helen couldn’t take her eyes off Bon. He moved with a fluid grace that still made her mouth water. ‘You are going to take it, aren’t you?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure.’
Bon pulled a face. ‘Oh come on, Helen, you’d be absolutely mad not to. You’d be brilliant. They syndicate the show all over the world and then it ends up on the satellite channels.’
Arthur sighed. ‘I’ve been trying to tell her that.’
‘Don’t tell me we’ve finally found something we’re agreed on,’ laughed Bon. ‘By the way, are you staying for supper, Arthur? You’re more than welcome. I thought I’d cook Thai tonight?’
Arthur sighed ‘I really hate it when you’re nice to me,’ he said.
Helen smiled, ignoring the banter, her mind elsewhere. She’d come a long way since the Carlton Rooms in Billingsfield. Did she really want to go back?
TWO
Natalia, Roots resident researcher and the person assigned to liaise – whatever that meant – with Helen for the duration of the filming, perched on the edge of one of the big red shabby-chic sofas in Helen’s sitting room, looking for all the world as if given half a chance she would be up on her toes and away. Natalia had her laptop bag balanced on her lap but so far hadn’t unpacked it.
‘Are you sure I can’t get you a drink? A cup of tea? Herbal, green? Coffee?’ asked Helen, settling herself down in the armchair opposite. ‘We’ve got juice?’
The young woman blinked and stared at her, caught, anxious as a rabbit in the headlights. She retrieved a small plastic bottle from her handbag and waggled it to and fro, in a gesture Helen guessed was supposed to amuse.
‘No, you’re fine, really. I’ve got water, but really, thank you,’ she said in her breathy little-girl voice. ‘Now how we do it at Roots is that I’ll be working with you all the way through, right through the filming and everything, so we can build up a relationship and you’ll know the score. And you’ll know that I know what I’m talking about because I’ll have been here right from day one. So, I thought we’d just start with a few basics – get those out of the way first – and then maybe if you’ve got any photos? Did Ruth ask you about photos? Don’t worry if she didn’t, we can always get them later and we don’t take them away or anything. I’ve brought a scanner with me.’ She tapped her bag. ‘And I’ve brought some cuttings and things for you to take a look at, you know, from the good old days.’ She tipped her head down towards the bag again. ‘Usually I’ve got this guy who comes with me and does all the technical stuff while we’re talking, but he’s got this bug. Jamie, you might have met him?’
Helen nodded. ‘He thought I was an icon.’
The young woman smiled. ‘Right, well he rang in to say he’s got flu, well he thinks it’s flu, but then again he is a man: probably just a sniffle. He usually does the driving too – you know if it’s like somewhere off the beaten track, or the country or something –’ Natalia carried on smiling; it was clear she meant a trip like this one.
Natalia, all turned out in her leather jacket, hand-knitted beanie hat, and a floral mini-dress worn over black leggings and twenty-eye black patent DMs had arrived two hours late, not so much fashionably late as horribly lost late, and from her colourful account of finally having tracked down Helen’s house, she seemed to view rural Norfolk as if it was just a step away from the Amazon basin or the African veldt.
‘How on earth do you manage out here?’ she asked conversationally, taking a swig from her water bottle as she made an effort to slough off her oversized biker jacket. ‘I mean it’s so isolated; so far from anywhere.’
Helen raised an
