Bleeding Hearts. Lindy Cameron
Читать онлайн книгу.
"That's if you are Kit O'Malley."
"She is," Adrienne said, stepping aside. "Ah, would you like a drink and a menu?"
"A Scotch, with a splash of dry, please," she said. "And I'll try your anti pasto, if Ms O'Malley is ready to eat."
Sally Shaw, she'd called herself when she phoned to arrange this meeting. She'd been brief and enigmatic, as so many of Kit's potential clients tended to be, either through nerves or because they thought they were supposed to be.
But if she's Sally Shaw, then I'm Skippy the kangaroo, Kit thought.
"I'll just get your drink then," Adrienne was saying as she rolled her eyes, which was only marginally more polite than Kit's open-mouthed reaction to the true identity of her new client and the bizarre disguise that 'Rebecca Jones' had chosen to wear. It was already too late to try and cover her surprise, and way too hard anyway - the woman looked ridiculous.
"Oh dear," Rebecca said with a resigned sigh as she sat down and tugged on the multi-coloured jacket she was wearing over a black singlet above purple satin harem pants. "I've obviously overdone things, but I thought I might blend in like this."
"Oh you blend in all right," Kit managed to say, "it's just the hair that's overdone."
Rebecca patted the purple-streaked mass of moussed-out black hair, adjusted her oversize sunglasses and flashed Kit a Macleans smile.
"But as a disguise it's a failure, right? I mean you obviously know who I am."
"No and yes. It was your voice I recognised first. I doubt anyone out of earshot would have a clue," Kit said reassuringly. "Which means it wasn't you who rang to make this appointment."
"No. And as you can see there's not a lot I can do about my voice, so I'll just keep it down."
"Did you dress like this because of your business with me or is Sally Shaw an alter ego to help you avoid your fans?" Kit asked.
"I assure you, this is a first," Rebecca said, giving herself something else to do by lighting a cigarette and taking a melodramatic drag on it.
The Sally Shaw persona before Kit was so far removed from the exquisitely dressed, though always with a touch of understatement, blonde-bobbed presenter of the year's highest rating 'cultural lifestyle' program that her own mother probably wouldn't recognise her - until she spoke, that is. The voice was a dead give-away: deep and sexy; conspiratorial yet carrying a hint that all would be revealed; thoughtful, seemingly intelligent and, above all, perfectly punctuated - as if she was reading life from a cue card. Under the disguise, Rebecca Jones also had the sort of face about which her television director no doubt raved: 'the camera just loves her'.
Adrienne reappeared with the Scotch then hovered behind Rebecca, pretending not to investigate the wig that Kit's potential new client was wearing by pretending not to eavesdrop.
"I promised that table over there a complimentary garlic bread," Kit said, to distract her.
"Yeah? Oh, fine. Okay," Adrienne said, heading back inside.
"I was watching you deal with the trouble at that table," Rebecca stated. "You certainly have an original style of diplomacy, but why did you do it?"
"Why? Because Drac would have let that jumped-up junior executive abuse or even hit him and he wouldn't have lifted a finger to defend himself, because he wouldn't want to cause a scene."
"But he started the scene," Rebecca stated.
"There are scenes and there are scenes," Kit shrugged. "He wasn't hurting anyone, was he?"
"No, I guess not."
"Besides, it's sort of my job to keep the peace around here at the moment."
"Yes, I know. You've been organising security to help the Traders' Association deal with a local standover merchant," Rebecca whispered dramatically. "It just didn't occur to me that that would involve stopping street fights as well."
Kit must have looked surprised because Rebecca lowered her sunglasses just enough to project one of her famous insightful looks - a momentary widening of her perfect blue eyes and just a hint of one raised eyebrow. Then the shades were up again and she sat back with a smile.
"Do you practice that?" Kit asked.
"I do actually," she laughed. "It seems to have a quite disconcerting effect on some of the people I interview."
"I'm not surprised," Kit said. "So, it's obvious you've done some background research on me. Am I being interviewed for this job?"
"No, not at all. I've already decided to hire you Ms O'Malley, that is if you can take me on. It looks like you're still busy here," Rebecca said, "so maybe you don't have the time."
"Oh, I have time," Kit said. "I've finished here; I just like the food. But enough about me; oh, except to say that my mother has claimed dibs on the Ms, so you'll have to call me Kit or O'Malley. Now, you said on the phone you had a problem. Or rather Sally Shaw said she had a problem."
"Actually Sally told you about my problem." Rebecca took a swig of her drink. It seemed now the grand entrance and small talk was out of the way that she was actually nervous about something.
"I swear, she didn't tell me a thing," Kit denied, raising her palms to show they were empty.
Rebecca smiled. "You'll probably think I'm silly..."
"I doubt it," Kit said reassuringly. "I've heard some pretty silly things in my time, but rarely from someone who's taken the step of coming to me for help. Anyway the silliest thing about you right now is your wig, so things can only get more sensible."
Rebecca laughed. "Tori Bennet was right about you. You do have the gift of making someone feel better in the middle of a crisis."
Ah ha. Victoria Bennet. Two time client: first to catch a cheating spouse, second to organise the security gig for the Traders. Kit couldn't imagine how she'd made Tori feel better by filming her husband doing the gamahuche with his secretary on the boardroom table, but people take solace in all sorts of weird things. And Kit certainly wasn't going to tell Rebecca Jones that she usually made light of tense situations to make herself feel comfortable. There was nothing worse than getting nervous, involved or emotional in the middle of someone else's crisis.
Get them to laugh O'Malley, and you won't have to deal with the tears, Kit thought.
"You came all the way from Sydney to hire me on Tori's recommendation?" she asked.
"Oh no. I didn't have this problem until I got to Melbourne. I've been in town for nearly three weeks doing some background research and setting up interviews with a host of artists, writers and musicians for a series of programs we're doing on the Melbourne scene. Tori and I had been spending a bit of time together catching up on the old days, we went to school together, when the letters started turning up. She recommended I talk to you."
"Letters?"
"Death threats actually."
"Not your usual run-of-the-mill fan mail then," Kit observed. "Did you bring them with you?"
"I brought today's little missive," Rebecca said, opening her clutch purse and placing an envelope on the table in front of her. "This one is so tacky I thought it would be enough for you to decide whether or not you could help. I disregarded the first two I got but I have another six in my hotel suite. If you take me on I thought we could meet tomorrow and work out what to do from there."
"Have you spoken to the police?"
"Yes, for all the good it did me. 'You're a celebrity Miz Jones, you have to expect a little attention', quote unquote."
"I'm assuming you threw the first ones out. Why?"
"Because I do get my share of hate mail, Kit, despite my sparkling and lovable personality," Rebecca said with a smile.
"Why would you get hate mail? It's not like you're a current affairs journo who shoves her camera in some charlatan's face demanding to know why you're not