Chapter 7

They pulled into Claire’s road at 2am. She and he took off their helmets; the kiss they shared left little doubt that they were more than just vague friends now. When they stopped kissing, George Hallbury was standing beside them “When you’ve finished. Young man, I want a word with you!”

“Ah, Mr Hallbury? Yes, I want a word with you too, about the contract Claire is under. Perhaps not now though? Tomorrow? Would 5pm suit? Okay, excellent. Sleep well, Claire.” he kick started the bike and left as quietly as he could – which, for an air cooled old British motorbike, was not very quiet. Mr Hallbury had been wrong-footed; he had not expected the conversation to take that route. It was Sunday tomorrow and on Monday Claire was due to start work again; now there was some question on the contract? He turned to Claire.

“Perhaps you should go to bed? Try not to wake your mother.” But her mother was waiting at the door and hugged her.

“Welcome back, did you have a good time? You go to bed and I’ll bring you up some tea and toast if you like.”

“Toast and Bovril? Ooo that would be lovely. Thanks Mum. Yes, I had an excellent time.” Her mother extended her to arms length, smiled and knew. Well, why not? Claire was sixteen.

“Maybe don’t mention to your Dad just how excellent. You’re still his little girl.”

Claire hugged her mother and went up, stripped off to her pants, pulled on a clean nightdress and marvelled at how she had, only a day ago, been sleeping naked with a boy after multiple sex sessions. Now she was back in her girly, safe, long nightdress. And back in a comfortable bed. She’d clean up in the morning. Her mother brought her the toast and tea and sat with her whilst she ate. “Don’t worry about Dad, he’ll come round. He’ll soon get used to your boyfriend.”

“Oh, he’s just a friend, not a boyfriend. Yes, yes he is.” Sarah Hallbury was of the age where giving your body to a boy meant you wanted it to be permanent. She looked at her daughter and understood that things had moved on. She had had sex with a boy she hardly knew, and they were just friends?

“He didn’t ... he didn’t force you did he?”

“Stephen is a perfect gentleman. He would have left me for the whole week, I know. I ... well, I wanted him.”

“That’s good. Night dear.” Sarah kissed her daughter and went into the bathroom, she wiped a tear away. She no longer had a child, she had an adult daughter who knew her own mind. Ah well, she knew it would happen.

The following day, Claire slept late. She heard Stephen’s motorbike coming from what seemed like miles away. “Stephen’s coming.” She said. “Mum, I want you to be in the conversation too.”

“No need for that.” said her father. “I can deal with the business affairs.”

“Dad, I want her there.”

Stephen had been home, slept until 10 and then washed and dressed carefully. He was even tempted to ask to borrow the delivery van, but he didn’t. His mother thanked him for the lovely china ‘thing’ he’d brought back, and his dad thanked him for the bottle of Oban Whisky. He explained that he needed to go and talk through something with Claire. His mother and father looked concerned. “No, no, not that! It’s business.”

“Come in, come in Stephen.” said Sarah. “Claire! Your ... that is, umm Stephen is here.”

“Yes Mum, I’d have to be deaf not to hear that motorbike. Actually, I think it has deafened me anyway.” she laughed. They went into the ‘lounge’ and Sarah went off to make tea and get some biscuits. George came in, determined to take control again. He tried to look severe.

“Ah, this is nice.” said Sarah “Oh, thank you Stephen.” He had stood up and brought an occasional table over for the tray.

Then they started talking. Claire explained that she didn’t like the constant work, the lack of education or friends. Stephen suggested that the current contract seemed to give the agent rather a high percentage. George said he put in a lot of work for what he did. Sarah listened and poured tea. After they had come to no conclusion for an hour, she said: “Right, I’ve heard enough. George, it is clear that you didn’t deliberately create a bad deal, but it is one. Stephen is an accountant and he suggests twenty per cent would be more reasonable; he has also pointed out that you aren’t claiming for a lot of tax deductible items that you could. Not your fault. You’ve done a great job. Stephen, you can do the last accounts of the current arrangement and then the accounts for the new company – the one we are going to create George, don’t interrupt. Nor you Stephen! No, I know you aren’t an accountant yet, but you’ll do for now. Claire, that girl Caroline, what’s she want to do when she leaves school? Doesn’t know? Right, so see if she wants to travel to photoshoots with you – we can call her a PA or something, You can both have lessons together, and she can be company for you. Oh, George what is it! Yes, Claire can afford it if you are only taking twenty per cent. So let’s get a new contract sorted and make this official.”

“Mum! You are good at this. I want you as my PA.”

“No, I’ll come along as an unpaid friend. No more. George, you can still get the contracts, you are good at that. But you can go back to full time work if you want, and I’ll go with her to the shoots.”

Amazingly, George Hallbury breathed a sigh of relief. He was good at getting contracts, that was his skill; he hated travelling around, he wasn’t good at the money and tax side; and he wasn’t good at making companies stick to the agreements they signed. It was plain that his wife had finally found herself, she would keep them straight far better than him.

The real question was whether to involve a lawyer to write the contract. They opted to agree a memorandum of understanding which they would all sign. Stephen found himself agreeing to do everybody’s income tax returns – there would, of course, be a fee.

Claire rang Caroline, who was dying to learn about the excitement she had been involved in. “Come to the shoot on Hyde Park, tomorrow. Yes. It is rather early. I’ll get the car to collect you. It will be 5am I’m afraid. Yes, yes, Stephen will be there too.”

Monday, at 4:30am, a large car appeared outside the small newsagent. Stephen’s parents were up, of course. The newspapers arrived at that time. Stephen kissed his mother and she smiled at him, she was convinced that he and ‘this girl’ were an item. She had enough understanding to realise that sharing such a small tent would mean that they had seen far more of each other than would be normal with friends. How could they be ‘just friends’?

The car travelled round to Claire, who appeared looking like a million dollars. Stephen thought he had dressed up – he was in a suit! - but he looked rather tired; Claire had been up since 3, getting ready. It was at that precise moment that Stephen realised Claire was not a sexy, lovely, teenager; she was a professional model. They moved round to Caroline’s house; she’d been ready for half an hour; there was no way that she would miss this! She got in, greeted Stephen, and then Claire and Caroline talked for half an hour non-stop as they sped to Hyde Park. The shoot was allowed, but they were not allowed to fence off any of the park, so getting there early was the solution.

A couple of runners were circling the park. The car deposited them at the Serpentine cafe, where a coffee van was available. Claire went off to dress for the shoot. It turned out to be undress, really. Stephen and Caroline began a hesitant conversation. Their only common interest was Claire. Then the customer’s account manager came over and they started to talk about the new arrangements. At first Lawrence Fishbourne tried to be a hard negotiator, but Stephen had nothing personal to lose so he just stuck to his points firmly. Lawrence gave in, and Stephen Smith discovered that the last person to blink won. Actually Mr Fishbourne had already realised the new arrangements were reasonable – it wasn’t like Claire was demanding fresh kumquats in her own dressing room every morning and a personal hairdresser (that had been the previous years ‘face’, from Australia) – but he had a duty to protect his company. He mentioned this to Stephen, who laughed and suggested he should have asked for a bowl of Rowntree’s Fruit Pastilles “Only the green ones.” They carried on talking and Lawrence mentioned that he bought a paper at Smith Newsagents every morning on the way to the office. “That’s my parents’ shop, what a coincidence.” They found that common thread. By the end, Lawrence was suggesting a particular firm of accountants that he was sure would accept Stephen onto their books (so Stephen could claim he was studying for his accountancy exams) without worrying too much what he did. It seemed accepted that Stephen was now moving into the role of accountant to the stars. Stephen wasn’t sure that was so, not yet; but it was an option, if he could find other clients.

That second part happened the following Saturday when he, Claire and Caroline went to a party she had been invited to. There was a lot of drink, a lot of drugs, and a lot of half-clad females who were there as decoration. Claire Hallbury was there by right, she was an upcoming celeb. Standing in a corner, watching Claire turn down the offer of drugs, threesomes, of simple sex from an ageing rock star, and Caroline having a spirited conversation with a female author (another shooting star – she produced one best-seller and then slid gently into obscurity again, finally appearing on celebrity panel shows where viewers would say ‘who?’), he found himself talking to Jed Hall, the lead singer for Jed and the Jets (had to change that name when another Jets group threatened to sue – they went for The Jeds and then just ‘Jeds’). How they got onto money was a mystery to both the next day, but Stephen had promised to look over the books. By the time he returned to uni for his final year, he had two clients, Claire and Jeds, and was being recommended to others as practical, reasonably priced and good at spotting rip-off agents and accounts. He had set up escrow accounts for the estimated tax bills; HMRC loved him for that alone. They didn’t like having to sue famous people, it was expensive and they didn’t like the publicity – both the general stuff and the requirement to be interviewed on the BBC; these were accountants AND civil servants, they wanted to spend their lives in a cupboard playing with figures undisturbed by the outside world.