She found a vacant table, small and round, with leather banquettes on either side and a bud vase of snowdrops in the centre. A couple of metres away stood a fireplace with an ornate carved-wood mirror above it. There were lighted candles at either end of the mantelpiece.
‘I like this place,’ Rachel said to Tom as he returned from the bar. She took a sip from what could only be described as a goblet of deep-pink beer. ‘And that’ – she slurped from her glass again – ‘isdelicious.’
‘Oh, good, I was hoping you’d say that. About the drink, and the bar.’
It was odd, being here just the two of them. Rachel couldn’t remember if she’d been in a pub with Tom by herself before – whether they’d been for a drink like this together, without Anna and Will flanking them.
Just as she was thinking it was comfortable – nice, even – Tom said, ‘Dev should be here in a minute.’
His voice was strangely tight, almost nervous. He looked spooked too. Perhaps he was afraid people might mistake them for a couple.
‘I told him it was a lady writer I’d found, so he’s probably preening,’ Tom went on.
Rachel laughed. ‘Alady?! I’m pretty sure ladies can walk in heels, take pride in their quiet self-confidence and don’t say “fuck”. Surely my mannish shoe collection, rampant insecurity and potty mouth rule me out.’
Tom was laughing now too.
‘Ah, here we go. Dev!’ he shouted, gesturing to someone on the other side of the room.
A thirty-something man with fine, symmetrical features and raven-black hair floated over to them. He was clutching a glass of mineral water with a twist of lime and had a silver document wallet tucked under his arm.
Maybe Tom had been right about the preening: Rachel had never seen a man so carefully manicured in her life. Everything about Dev was just so, from his sky-blue lambswool cardigan to his box-fresh Veja sneakers. His warm, dark skin was flawless, and his facial hair so precisely trimmed that Rachel wondered if he’d used a stencil.
‘Dev, this is Rachel,’ Tom said. ‘She’s going to help me out with the captions and copy for the show.’
‘Darling! Nice to meet you,’ Dev replied, shaking her hand. His accent was crisp and cut-glass; he could have played a rake inDownton Abbey. ‘How much do you know about the exhibition so far?’ he asked her.
‘Not a lot,’ Rachel said. ‘Just the central theme and the name. And I understand you represent some of the people who are going to feature?’
‘Quite so, I’m with Esteem PR. We’re still finalising our list of participants for the show, but we’ve already confirmed some big names: Sophie French, Alyssia Ahmadi, Joey Nixon, Zack Lanson …’
Rachel smiled and did her best to look impressed. She tried to remember what Zack Lanson was well known for, apart from spelling his name with aK.
‘A number of our clients are keen to start breaking out,’ Dev continued. ‘Most of the people we look after are known for their social media presences but a select few are ready to open up – connect with fans at a deeper level. And of course this coincides with other, more worldly ambitions they might have, hahaha.’
‘Oh, really?’ Rachel said. ‘Like what?’
‘Oh, the usual things … Sophie French is keen on acting. Wants to do Shakespeare, apparently! Zack wants to share his, ahem, songwriting with a wider audience.’
‘Right.’ She caught Tom’s eye and grinned.
‘If it sounds calculated,’ Dev said, theatrically leaning in, ‘it is, a little. But we can’t justify mounting the show and coughing up for it if there’s no business case. That said, we’d like for it to dosomegood: contribute to the conversation about online fakery. We don’t want it to be atotallyhollow exercise – hence getting the body positivity types in.’
‘I think I understand.’ Rachel nodded, fascinated by Dev’s ability to sound cynical one minute and politically correct the next.
Tom said, ‘I’ve explained to Rachel that her role will mainly be taking the celebrities’ words – either from emails, or from face-to-face interviews – and shaping them a little. Making everyone sound sincere and thoughtful. Basically, Rach, it’s about making sure we have some editorial consistency and keeping the theme alive across the whole exhibition.’
‘Sounds great,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I can do that.’
‘What’s your background?’ Dev asked.
‘I’m a copywriter with a digital marketing agency,’ Rachel replied. ‘We’re small, but we’ve just been taken over by a big firm you’ve probably heard of: Mountaintop Media.’
‘Ah yes, I know of them,’ Dev said. ‘Well, it sounds like you’re well qualified and I get the impression you two will work well together. Tom, I’ll leave this with you to look through – it’s information on the clients who are a definite yes so far, plus some standard PR snaps so you can see what you’re going to be working with – the layers of gloss you’ll need to find your way beneath, hahaha.’
He threw back what remained of his water as if it were a shot of some strong spirit, then handed his silver folder to Tom and stood up to go.
‘Enjoy the rest of the weekend, both,’ he said. ‘Divine to meet you, Rachel. Let’s touch base again in a couple of weeks when the first shoots are booked in. By then I should have more of an idea of how many non-clients we’ve got on board. I’ll work on booking an exhibition space for July too, and let you know the details when I’ve got them.’