Page 144 of The Last Love Song
Helen sat down on the end of Sorcha’s bed. She picked a piece of lint off the bedspread. ‘I don’t suppose you could be pregnant, could you?’ A look of sheer panic appeared on Sorcha’s face.
‘I...no, of course I’m not.’
‘So you’re not late or anything?’
‘I don’t think so. I haven’t thought about it with everything else going on...’ Sorcha racked her brains. ‘Maybe I’m a little late, but it’s most likely stress. Con and I...we’ve been trying for ages and nothing’s happened so, no, I’m sure it’s other things.’
Sorcha’s confusion gave Helen no further information. ‘Well, whatever it is, it’s not exactly healthy for you to be ill like that every morning. Why don’t I get my doctor to pop round and check you out?’
‘There’s really no need, Helen.’
‘I think there is.’
‘Give me another day. If I don’t feel any better tomorrow, I promise I’ll see a doctor.’
‘Okay.’ Helen stood up from the bed. ‘I’ve got to go. Katie’ll be here in an hour. Any problems, call Maggie, my secretary. She’ll know where I am.’
‘Will do.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Bye.’ Sorcha’s head dropped back onto the pillow.
‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ she murmured. ‘Not now. Oh, please, God, not now.’
‘So, what is the score, Freddy? Have we a band or haven’t we?’
Helen tapped her gold pencil on her desk, waiting for the soft soap, the procrastination.
‘It’s not looking good, Helen, not good at all. Todd refuses to speak to me. I’ve been round to see him but he won’t answer the door. I know he’s there because his cleaning lady told me. And as for Con, well, he’s lolling around in bed looking mean and moody with stitches in his face. Derek seems to be under the illusion that he’s resigned from the band and has stormed off abroad somewhere. And Ian, well, I’d say if we do manageto get some kind of order in the ranks, we should think about replacing him anyway.’
‘What about the album?’
‘To put it bluntly, I’d forget it. There’s no way it’s happening at the moment.’
‘So, where do we go from here? I mean, I could sue you. We have a deal. The Fishermen have to produce.’
‘I am aware of that, Helen, but I don’t know what more I can do. I think maybe the best thing is to give everybody a bit of space and let things calm down a bit.’
‘There isn’t time. I want the album in the shops for Christmas.’
‘Then youwillhave to sue. I’m no miracle worker and besides, what kind of music are those boys going to make in the state they’re in?’
‘I take your point, Freddy, but The Fishermen’s personal lives are no problem of mine.’
‘Oh, come on, Helen. That’s a bit harsh.’
‘Yes, but it’s the truth. If The Fishermen split up, the hole in Metropolitan’s profit forecast is deeper than the Pacific. It’s vital that for the next few months the company remains stable. I willnottolerate their bad behaviour affecting my company. So, you can tell your boys that unless they kiss and make up and are in the studio first thing on Monday morning, I will begin legal proceedings for breach of contract against them immediately.’
Freddy shrugged. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll have a word with them and tell them what you’ve said. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve rounded up the prima donnas. Who’d be a manager, eh?’
‘Lots of people, considering the screw you get out of them,’ Helen replied calmly.
‘You’re a hard woman, Miss McCarthy.’ Freddy stood up,hesitated, then leant over the desk. ‘As a matter of fact, I wanted to see you about something else. I’ve found a duo, girl and boy. They’re American actually, but he writes the songs and she sings them beautifully. I reckon they’re the sound of the seventies. They look good too. Shall I send you a demo?’
‘By all means. You know we’re always on the lookout for new talent.’
‘These two might just plug your Pacific hole. Cheers, Helen. I’ll be in touch when I have news.’
