Читать книгу Christmas at the Dancing Duck - Daisy James - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Kirstie stared at Brad. His lips were moving but she had no idea what he was saying. She watched him turn to Tom and shake his hand, picking up the words ‘thank you’ and ‘great show’. Before she could gather her senses, she felt Brad grab her elbow and, with a false smile pinned on his face, guide her swiftly from the studio. She could feel the camera crew’s eyes following her every step. When they reached the corridor, Bridget came running towards them, her make-up apron flapping at her waist.

‘Oh, my God, Kirstie, I’m so sorry …’

But Brad was in no mood to pause to receive sympathetic overtures from anyone.

Once they were in his office, he indicated for Kirstie to sit before sinking into his own desk chair. She watched him drop his face into his palms, massage his temples for a few moments, then raise his head to meet her gaze. Her heart pounded out a cacophony of anxiety when she saw his expression.

‘What on earth was all that about? “I hate everything to do with Christmas culinary treats …”’

‘I’m so sorry, Brad. I had no idea the mic was still on …’

‘Clearly. And yes, you don’t have to say it. Martin is a complete and utter moron and you can rest assured that I’ll be speaking to him after I’ve spoken to you. It’s not the first time his incompetence has dropped us in it, but it’ll certainly be the last.’

Kirstie watched the muscles in Brad’s chiselled jaw tighten as he struggled to maintain his composure. But Brad Baxter was a seasoned professional. She knew he had seen and heard everything that could go wrong on a live TV stage in his twenty-five years with FMTV and he would also know what had to be done to put things right.

‘But accusations and disciplinary procedures will have to wait. What’s important is for us to minimize the damage his error has caused as quickly as possible and reduce the impact on the rest of the Christmas Kitchen series.’

‘I’m sorry. I wish there was some way I could take back everything I said to Tom. I shouldn’t have …’

‘It’s not your fault, Kirstie, but you have to understand that our viewers will be bound to be upset about what they heard you say off camera. What on earth possessed you to say those things?’

Kirstie opened her mouth to launch into an explanation, but before she could utter a word the door to Brad’s office flew open and in stalked Brad’s boss, Lionel Grant.

‘What the f …’ Lionel stopped himself from swearing just in time, but his fury was etched clearly in his expression. ‘For Christ’s sake, Brad, it’s an absolute fiasco. The fifty-second segment has already gone viral and #KirstiesKitchenCalamity is trending on Twitter. Believe it or not, Kirstie, my dear, you are the new Christmas Grinch. Our competitors are loving this and I can’t wait to hear what our sponsors have to say about it. I hope you have a damage limitation plan up your sleeve, Brad, because I’m holding you responsible.’

Kirstie couldn’t let Brad take the rap for her blunder so she found her voice at last, although her throat was dry and the words came out as though she was a twenty-a-day smoker.

‘Lionel, I’m so sorry. This is completely my fault. I had no idea the mic was still on. But even so, I should never have said those things in the first place. I messed up. I’ll make a personal apology before tomorrow’s show and then we can move on …’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Erm, no, I …’

‘How can you present a show about Christmas culinary delights when everyone and their dog knows you hate them? The word hypocrite springs to mind! Kirstie’s Christmas Kitchen now has a serious image problem to rectify and I can’t let you go back on screen until it’s sorted, one way or another.’

The last four words sent the bottom of Kirstie’s stomach plunging to her toes before it bounced back up again to lodge uncomfortably in her chest like a slab of concrete. The implied threat lingered in the air between them.

‘But, Lionel, I’m sure we can …’ began Brad.

‘Let me read you some of the headlines. “Kirstie drops Christmas Clanger!”, “Kirstie’s Festive Farce!” And don’t get me started on the two thousand retweets under the KirstiesKitchenCalamity hashtag.’

A curl of nausea made its insidious journey through Kirstie’s veins as the enormity of what had happened started to seep through the shock and crystallize.

‘If we continue with Kirstie as the presenter we’ll be a laughing stock and you know I can’t let that happen. I’ve already put a call in to Flora Swift who’s agreed to be our guest presenter until Christmas is over and done with. Everyone knows she adores Christmas after that travel piece she did from Santa’s grotto in Lapland last week. At least that way we’ll be able to salvage some of our reputation.’

Lionel gave Kirstie a scorching look that caused her to sink even deeper into her chair. She felt like she had just been slapped in the face. Heat burned in her cheeks, and whilst a maelstrom of thoughts churned through her brain she couldn’t put them into any kind of order to argue her case to be allowed to stay. Tears pressed against her eyelids but she squeezed her fists in her lap to prevent the tears from falling. She had to keep her integrity intact in case Lionel decided to cancel her show altogether.

‘I’ll get Flora to call you, Brad. I want all this sorted by tomorrow morning.’

And with that Lionel stalked from the room, his stacked heels click-clacking down the corridor like an out-of-sync metronome. Kirstie met Brad’s dark pewter eyes and was grateful to see them filled with sympathy.

‘I’m sorry, Kirstie. You have to understand that the network has no other option. Social media will have a field day with this, but it will blow over – everything does. We’ll get Flora to do the Christmas episodes and then start afresh in the new year, perhaps focusing on the best cuisines available for the January dieters and detoxers. Why don’t you lie low for a couple of weeks, use the time to research something amazing for the healthy food episodes and which chefs you want to make a guest appearance? I’m thinking Japanese cuisine will be a popular choice, and the Mediterranean diet is another one.’

Brad held her eyes. There was not a hint of anger or disappointment, just kindness and compassion, which only served to make Kirstie feel worse. Guilt now mingled with mortification and embarrassment to make a very uncomfortable concoction rolling around her abdomen.

‘I’m sorry, Brad, I really am …’

‘I know you are, Kirstie.’ Brad reached across the desk to squeeze her hand. ‘And again, it wasn’t your fault. You are one of our most diligent presenters. You always read the research; you’re on time, well prepared, and all our celebrity chefs really enjoy working with you and, of course, our viewers love you. But you do work far too hard, so it’s no wonder that occasionally your emotions get the better of you. I know you won’t like me saying this but, despite Bridget’s best efforts, I can see the stress lines starting to deepen around your eyes. Why don’t you turn this nightmare into an opportunity to spend some time with your family? When was the last time you took a trip down to see your sister and baby nephew?’

‘Erm, I saw Olivia in July when Ethan was born.’

‘Exactly, that was five months ago. Don’t you want to see how much Ethan has grown? I know Martha is always nagging me to go with her when she visits Rosie. There’s something special about your first grandchild, I’m told. I wish I had this chance to indulge in some family time.’

Kirstie seriously doubted the veracity of Brad’s last sentence. He was as much of a workaholic as she was – perhaps even more so – although for very different reasons.

‘Go home, spend Christmas with your sister at that gorgeous country pub of hers. What is it called?’

‘The Dancing Duck,’ she mumbled.

‘Such a fabulous name. I’m sure it’s the busiest time of the year and Olivia wouldn’t turn down the offer of an extra pair of hands, especially now she has the baby to care for on top of everything else.’

Brad’s kind concern was too much for Kirstie. She gulped in a quick lungful of air in an attempt to calm her raging emotions.

‘I suppose so.’

She didn’t think it was the right time to go into the fact that the pub her parents had lavished all their time and effort on for decades – her childhood home, in fact – was in the process of being sold.

‘Exactly. By the time you get back, this unfortunate incident will be ancient history. I suggest you leave straight away. Use the rear exit, though. I don’t have to be psychic to predict the paparazzi will be gathering like ravenous vultures at the front door already. Don’t worry, Kirstie. Just go home and find that elusive Christmas spirit!’

Kirstie stood up. The only Christmas spirit she would be acquainting herself with was the kind you found at the bottom of a bottle marked Gordon’s.