‘Fifteen per cent! But I thought you said you took ten, like most other agents.’
‘But I’m not most other agents, darling.’ Julia’s smile definitely had something of the piranha about it. She ran her fingers over her hair, tucking the right side behind her ear. ‘You’ve passed the probationary period, you see.’
‘What probationary period?’ Christie was mystified.
‘Don’t you remember, darling? We discussed it at our first meeting.’ Julia looked straight across the table, almost challenging Christie to contradict her. ‘You’re paying for the best and that’s what you’re getting.’
Christie was almost certain they hadn’t discussed any such thing, but Julia seemed so sure. Perhaps she hadn’t registered this detail in her excitement at being taken on. What was said at that meeting had become a bit of a blur as soon as she’d left the room, however hard she tried to piece it together. She snapped to. ‘I don’t doubt that and, of course, that’s why I came to you, but I hadn’t realised. You never did send me the letter detailing your terms.’
‘I’m quite sure I did. I wouldn’t forget something like that. I’ll have a word with Lily. She must have missed it or it’s got lost in the post.’ She pulled out a wafer-thin leather-backed notepad and scribbled herself a reminder. ‘Are you saying you want to go to someone else? You’re quite free to. But, of course, they won’t have my contacts and they won’t work so hard on your behalf.’ Julia remained quite cool, unperturbed by Christie’s reaction, and sailed on. ‘I was going to save this till I had definite news, but since we’re talking frankly … This morning I had a breakfast meeting with the marketing team from Drink-a-Vit.’
Christie looked blank.
‘The vitamin drink for women,’ Julia explained. ‘Gilly’s the new face of the brand but, for obvious reasons, she couldn’t complete their nationwide advertising campaign. She did all the filmed ads before she got too big but now we don’t think she can do the press campaign. She must look after herself and rest as much as possible. So I suggested they use you instead. You’re ideal. To be honest, you’re not a big enough name to stand a chance of getting such a high-profile gig on your own. So this would be a huge break for you. They’re paying the earth too.’ Julia studied the nails of her left hand, running the pad of her right thumb along the top of them. ‘Now that’s what you’re paying me for. The “jam” – remember? If it’s not what you want, then by all means go elsewhere.’ She looked up at Christie, her gaze completely steady. ‘My ex-husband, Max Keen, might even take you on. In the past he’s done a reasonable job with one or two people I’ve let go. At the percentage you want.’
Christie was appalled by the unintended turn the conversation had taken and hurried to get it back on track. ‘You know that’s not what I want. You’re marvellous, Julia. I just hadn’t fully understood your commission rates.’ She knew that leaving Julia now would be a mistake. A big mistake. Others might easily misinterpret such a rapid falling out between them to mean that she was a difficult or underperforming client. That was not the reputation she wanted. ‘So how much will you be deducting for the commercial work now?’ she asked, as the fifteen per cent she remembered vanished in a puff of smoke.
‘Twenty per cent. I did explain to you, darling, when I took you on.’ Julia was calmness itself. ‘At the time I did wonder whether you’d taken all our terms on board, but you assured me you had.’
‘I’m sorry. I misunderstood, that’s all. But if you could put it all in that letter …’ Christie let the sentence hang in the air. She was stunned by this hike in Julia’s charges but thought it better to remain calm rather than make a fool of herself by overreacting. Maybe this was the way it worked, the price she had to pay for being with the best.
Julia waved away the waiter who had arrived with the dessert menu and smiled. ‘Well, that’s sorted out, then. Coffee?’
Christie glanced at her watch again. If she left in the next fifteen minutes, she would just get to the school on time. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Coffee. Thank you.’
After Julia had paid the bill, the two women got to their feet, Christie trying not to look as if she was hurrying to get away. She put the jacket she had bought with Frank and Mel over her arm as Julia shrugged into an expensive cheetah-print coat. On the pavement, they air-kissed.
Christie hailed a cab to rush her to the station but, as it pulled up, Julia edged in front of her and took the door handle. She climbed in, rolled down the window and leaned out. ‘Lovely to see you, darling,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as I hear from Drink-a-Vit.’ With that, and a barked instruction to the cabbie, she had gone, leaving Christie open-mouthed on the pavement. There wasn’t another empty cab for five minutes by which time she knew she had definitely missed the three o’clock train.
Sitting at Marylebone station, watching the ‘delayed’ signs on the departures board, she had plenty of time to think. She had unintentionally put herself in the position of having to make up ground in her relationship with Julia. If only she had paid closer attention when they first met, she would have known about the percentages. So, fifteen per cent went to Julia and forty per cent to the taxman. Suddenly her excitingly vast salary had been decimated. Everything she had been planning to spend it on was almost as far away as ever. Her face burned as she thought how stupid she had been. She had been too insecure and easily flattered when they had met, but Julia’s reputation made her a formidable person to have on-side – whatever Frank said. However, she was beginning to recognise her agent for who she was: a woman who cared about her clients but for her own reasons. Their relationship existed on a purely professional footing for what Julia could get out of it. Nothing more. This was business. The reverence, admiration and respect that Julia received from her clients was her life blood. The deal was everything to her. Her cut was everything else. She was supportive, generous when necessary, there when required, but she wasn’t and would never be a mate. Christie felt a pang of anxiety and loneliness.
Right now, she would have given anything to be able to share all this with Nick. He would have known the best way to handle Julia. When he was alive, they would sit up long after the children had gone to bed and chew the fat together, catching each other up on their separate days. Even though they’d only met one or two of each other’s colleagues, they both felt as if they knew them all intimately. No detail was spared as they discussed their problems and tried to help each other solve them, commiserating when things went wrong and celebrating their successes. They delighted in hating each other’s enemies and toasting each other’s small victories. They could boast to each other about their triumphs at work in a way they couldn’t and wouldn’t to colleagues and friends. How she still missed that togetherness. Nick would have been able to help her see what she wanted from the new life she had chosen. Their marriage had been a gift.
Their wedding day was perfect. Christie refused all Mel’s fashion ideas, along with all Maureen’s catering ones. She went for a simple cream hip-skimming sheath of duchess satin that flattered her shape, and lunch for twelve at their favourite understated Italian restaurant. The day was exactly how she and Nick wanted it. The only person missing was her beloved dad.
After their three-week honeymoon, driving Nick’s old MGB through France, then down the Adriatic coast to Portofino and back, they took up residence in a small Victorian two-up two-down terraced cottage in Acton. Nick’s career as a solicitor and Christie’s as a consumer journalist on the Daily News, and occasionally on TV as a consumer pundit, kept them in a peaceful comfort. The following year little Libby was born, and three years later, Fred. Nick and Christie revelled in their family life. Of course there were rows, especially when the children were small and sleep deficit kicked in, but life was good. And it got better. In his mid-thirties, Nick was given a senior partnership in his law firm and the big salary increase bought them a mews house in Chelsea, closer to Nick’s central London office.
Maureen often came up to town from her house in Buckinghamshire. She enjoyed showing off to her bridge friends