Warhol's Prophecy (47 page)

The joys of being in a support slot, thought Hailey.

She gazed across the stand itself, which was already three-quarters full.

Rob and Becky were sitting in the front row, Becky mesmerized by the sight of the huge crowd and by the spectacle before her.

Rob spotted Hailey and waved. Then he pointed at Becky and held up one thumb.

Hailey waved back.

She saw several more cars approaching, and went over to meet them.

Nicholas Barber stepped out of the first. The MP nodded a greeting and sniffed the air.

‘The smell of the great unwashed,’ he sneered, and looked around at some of the main crowd.

‘Good of you to come, Mr Barber,’ Hailey said, trying to disguise the irritation she felt.

She showed him quickly to his seat, and returned to greet the next two cars.

At last the watching celebrity-spotters raised a few cheers. Jenny Kenton climbed out of the first car, closely followed by three other young women.

All wives and girlfriends of the band, Hailey assumed. One of them, the bass-player’s girlfriend, had just been given a job on an early-morning TV show and she was revelling in her new-found fame.

Hailey thought how easy it was for these women: famous, rich partners and a jet-set lifestyle. They were famous themselves for nothing else other than the fact they were sleeping with celebrities. It was either amusing or nauseating, depending on your view.

‘It’s a bit tacky, isn’t it?’ said Jenny Kenton as she climbed the stairs to the platform.

‘Well, it’s not the Hollywood Bowl, but then Water-hole aren’t the Beatles, are they?’ Hailey said, smiling. ‘As much as they’d like to think they are.’

Jenny Kenton glared furiously at her.

‘You’re the one who does the publicity for Marsh, aren’t you?’ she sneered. ‘His personal assistant?’

‘Nice to see I made an impression,’ Hailey told her.

Jenny Kenton pushed past her towards the seat Hailey indicated.

‘Bitch,’ Hailey whispered under her breath.

The other women followed and seated themselves.

Hailey heard a great roar and looked up to see that the support band were now leaving the stage.

She checked her watch. Another forty minutes and the helicopter carrying Waterhole would begin its first swoop over the crowd.

The guest cars continued to arrive.

I
T WAS
B
ECKY
who spotted them.

She turned in her seat to look around at the array of faces in the VIP stand. They registered expressions ranging from boredom to indifference, bemusement to excitement.

The little girl pulled at Hailey’s arm and pointed excitedly.

‘There’s Auntie Caroline,’ she said, ‘and Adam’s with her.’

Rob looked round and saw them both, but his attention was drawn to Walker, who was still gazing towards the stage.

‘What the fuck is
he
doing here?’ Rob rasped, leaning close to Hailey’s ear. ‘Did
you
invite him?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hailey said, not looking round. ‘I gave Caroline two invitations. I didn’t instruct her on who she could or couldn’t bring with her.’

‘So, he’s screwing
her
now, is he?’ Rob hissed. ‘I wonder how she compares to you. I wonder if he’s been taking notes on you both.’

Hailey glared at him. ‘Not here, Rob, please,’ she said through clenched teeth.

Becky was still looking round excitedly. She waved in Walker’s direction but he didn’t see her.

‘Did you
know
she was bringing him?’ Rob persisted.

‘I just told you: I gave her two guest passes. That was it.’

‘So he’ll be at the party with her, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll want to speak to him. You might want to talk about old times.’

‘I didn’t ask Caroline to bring him. It was none of my business who she invited. She could have turned up with Lord Lucan for all I care. It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Not any more.’

‘Rob, drop it, please.’

He looked at her, held her imploring gaze. Then he glanced at Becky, who was now aware of their mutterings and had turned to face them.

Rob forced a smile. ‘Are you OK, babe?’ he said, ruffling her hair.

Becky laughed.

‘Are you enjoying yourself?’ Hailey added.

The little girl nodded. She was looking out over the crowd, who had spontaneously begun chanting the name of Waterhole.

Another section began singing their latest hit, and Becky joined in.

Hailey looked across at Jenny Kenton, who had just lit up a cigarette and was puffing at it. She adjusted her dark glasses and glanced in Hailey’s direction.

‘Isn’t that the one who’s married to the singer?’ Rob asked.

‘Yes. Objectionable bitch,’ said Hailey.

‘She used to act, didn’t she?’

‘She still does,’ Hailey said acidly. ‘She’s giving a command performance now.’

There was a mechanical roar above them. It began as a low drone, then grew steadily louder.

Immediately several spotlights near the front of the stage burst into life, sending their powerful beams cutting through the night sky.

The crowd stopped singing and chanting, and began cheering loudly.

More lights flashed on around the stage: strobes that bathed all those watching in a cold, white glow.

Becky grabbed Hailey’s hand in excitement.

The helicopter swooped over the crowd like a massive, power-driven bird of prey.

It sped down, then hurtled upwards in a wide arc, trailing an illuminated message from its tail section.

The sign bore one word: WATERHOLE.

There were lights on the helicopter’s skids too: brilliant red lights that flickered and flashed and left crimson imprints on the retinas of those who watched. They looked like splashes of blood across the sky. And, all the time, the lights from the ground shone up into the blackness, sometimes glinting on the shiny hull of the swooping, circling helicopter.

The roaring of the crowd grew louder – so loud it drowned out even the noise of the chopper’s rotor blades and engine.

More lights came on around the stage, and across the top of it – in blinding white, one letter at a time – the name of the band lit up. It shone like a beacon in the night. Then the huge illuminated logo began to flash rhythmically. Pulsing vividly.

Some of the crowd began to clap in time to the moving lights, as if directed by their phosphorescent glow. Others pointed up at the swooping helicopter, or punched the air expectantly. The noise was deafening.

Becky was on her feet, also clapping. Enraptured by the awesome spectacle.

Hailey looked across at James Marsh, who smiled back at her.

Had she bothered to glance towards the rear of the stand, she would have seen Adam Walker staring fixedly at her.

T
HE EXPLOSIONS WERE
deafening.

The crowd cheered each fresh eruption, and applauded the multicoloured fragments that sprayed the heavens as each new salvo of fireworks was ignited.

Hailey was standing at the bottom of the steps leading down from the VIP stand, watching as car after car arrived to ferry guests from the gig venue to the Pavilion Hotel for the ensuing party. Most had already left, though she knew for a fact that the band themselves wouldn’t be arriving there for another hour at least. Their partners had gone to join them backstage. So had James Marsh and countless members of the local and national press, as well as music journalists and other interested individuals.

The crowd was drifting away now.

The scene they left behind them was one of utter devastation. Empty bottles, scraps of paper, plastic cups, containers – even abandoned clothes and footwear. What had been one of the best outdoor concert venues in the country, just hours earlier, now resembled an enormous dustbin.

But that, mused Hailey, was one of the few things that
wasn’t
her concern tonight.

Everything she’d needed to handle she’d done immaculately, and now – with virtually
all
the VIPs safely in their cars and on their way to the hotel – she could start thinking about the next stage of the proceedings.

It had been a great gig; that was all that mattered to the paying customers. All that mattered to the VIPs now was how much free food and drink they could stuff down their throats when they got to the party itself.

She felt a hand tugging at her skirt. Hailey looked down to see Becky smiling up at her.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ Hailey asked, bending down to kiss her little girl.

‘It was great, Mum,’ Becky said.

Even Rob was grinning. ‘Maybe I was wrong,’ he said. ‘They’re not
that
bad.’

Becky put her hands on her hips. ‘Oh, Dad,’ she said, ‘they were awesome.’

‘Awesome, eh?’ Rob said and swept her up into his arms.

Hailey smiled as she saw him swing their daughter around, heard her giggles of delight.

‘You two go on to the hotel,’ Hailey said, touching her husband’s cheek. ‘I’ve got to make sure the last of this lot get into their cars safely. I won’t be long.’

Rob nodded. ‘What about the band?’ he asked.

‘Their record company is taking care of them. They’ll be there, though.’

‘So you’re not the
only
one working tonight?’ Rob mused.

Hailey smiled.

There was a car pulling up.

‘You two go in this one,’ Hailey told him. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

The driver stopped the Jag and climbed out to open the doors for Rob and Becky.

She kissed her daughter.

‘Don’t talk to any strange men,’ said Rob cryptically.

He slid in beside Becky. The doors were slammed shut and the Jag pulled away.

Cars continued to arrive, picked up passengers, then left.

Hailey looked at her watch. Then at the next car heading towards her.

She frowned. This was no Jag or Mercedes.

It looked familiar.

The Scorpio halted next to her, and she saw that it was indeed Adam Walker’s car.

Caroline Hacket was driving. Walker was sitting in the back.

What kind of joke was this?

He pushed open the front passenger door.

As Caroline looked across at her, Hailey saw that her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks tear-stained.

‘Get in,’ said Walker flatly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Hailey asked. ‘What are you doing?’

It was then that she saw the gun. The pistol was pressed against the back of the driving seat where Caroline sat.

‘Get in, Hailey,’ Walker murmured. ‘Or I’ll blow her in half.’

T
HE EXPLOSION OF
white light was almost blinding.

Dozens of flashes went off simultaneously as each car’s doors were opened.

Rob could see hordes of newsmen gathered around the entrance to the Pavilion Hotel. There were also several camera crews from local and national television, and the powerful lights used to illuminate the hotel forecourt added to the general brilliance.

Reporters fought to get close to each car as it pulled up, though only anxious to snatch a few words with the members of Waterhole – should they be the ones to emerge.

Becky watched them jostling for position.

‘What are those people doing, Dad?’ she wanted to know.

‘Their jobs.’ Rob grinned as the procession of cars approaching the hotel continued.

He saw Nicholas Barber clamber from one of those ahead, pausing a moment on the steps to wave theatrically at the half a dozen newsmen who bothered to snap him.

Barber loitered a moment longer, as if determined that all the assembled hacks should get a good look at him. He saw James Marsh walking towards the main entrance and, smiling broadly, stepped towards the factory’s owner to shake his hand.

A good photo opportunity?

More lights. More microphones shoved in his direction. Barber was keen to foster the new government’s belief in its own popularity. It preached constantly of its awareness of public tastes. Prided itself on being comprised of men and women who considered themselves no different from those who had voted them into power.

Rob looked on at this charade with distaste. Watching Barber pose with his arm around Marsh’s shoulder.

Hypocritical bastard!

Two stretch limos were approaching the hotel and the media, almost as one, swung to meet them.

The limos slowed to a crawl, then stopped to disgorge their passengers.