Quentins by Maeve Binchy Read Free Book Online

wanted to have lunch with me and I said yes, why can’t I say I want to go on this gig with you tonight and you say yes?”
    â€œYou’d be bored.”
    â€œPlease, Nick.”
    â€œOkay, but you do get to carry my bags, do you hear?”
    â€œI love you, Nick.”
    â€œYou love someone certainly; you’re as high as a kite,” he said. “But it’s not me.”
    She met them outside the hotel later in the evening. She hardly recognized Nick, he was so businesslike and efficient.
    â€œThis is Ella. She knows nothing but she’s here to help,” he said casually.
    Ella grinned. “I always wanted to be in movies,” she said, joking.
    â€œWell, you picked the wrong team, tonight’s only video,” said a small, earnest-looking girl who did not at all like the tall, blond Ella coming in on the act.
    â€œLook, I promise I won’t be in the way.” Ella concentrated on the girl; the two men were no trouble and couldn’t have cared less about her. “Just tell me what to do or to get out of the way and I’ll do it.”
    â€œWell, okay, thanks, then.” The girl was gruff.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Ella asked.
    â€œSandy.”
    â€œWell, Sandy, I mean it, anything I can do?”
    â€œWhy are you here?” Sandy was blunt. She fancied Nick greatly and probably in vain. But as far as she was concerned, Ella was a threat.
    â€œBecause I’m keen on someone who’s going to be here and it was the only way I could get in.” There is never anything as good as total honesty.
    Sandy believed her immediately.
    â€œAnd is he keen on you?”
    â€œNot enough,” Ella answered, and they were friends for life.
    She tidied away their gear into corners, got a pot of coffee from the kitchen, asked the office to let themhave three photocopies of the seating plan rather than the one they had been given. And was in fact quite useful and helpful until she saw Don Richardson come in with Margery on his arm.
    This time she wore dark green silk and what looked very like real emeralds. She knew everyone and they were all kissing her on the cheek. Today was Sunday, yet she looked as if she had come straight from the hairdresser. She just may have had somebody come to her house. She was like a little porcelain doll. Ella felt tall, ungainly, sweaty and out of place. From behind a pillar she watched as Don spoke swiftly to Nick, telling what needed to be done, where to position himself. And then she did no more to help anyone in Firefly Films; she stood there twisting a table napkin around in her hands and watching Don Richardson. He had said tonight was bad for him to meet her because he had to do a lot of glad-handing.
    She wasn’t even sure what the word meant.
    Now she knew. It was shaking hands and at the same time gripping the person’s other arm firmly above the elbow. It was looking into their eyes and thanking them for their support. It was turning to introduce them to other people with a fixed smile of gratitude. And Don Richardson did it very well.
    Ella had no idea how long she stood there while others in the great dining room ate through a five-course meal. But Don didn’t sit down either, he moved from table to table, talking here, laughing there, always nodding imperceptibly at Nick if he wanted him to turn the camera on groups. Margery sat at a table and talked easily with politicians and their wives. Margery’s eyes never roamed the room looking for him, wondering was he hesitating too long at this table, laughing too animatedly with the two bosomy women who did not want to let him go. Was this because she knew how to play it?Giving him a long lead meant he always came home? Or had he been telling Ella the truth that they really did have separate lives?
    There was dancing now, but Firefly Films’ work was over. Don Richardson hadn’t wanted to film any red-faced groping on the dance floor. The