In fact, that was the whole point.
Ned had deliberately selected someone who could not pay, who did not have the option of paying, just to demonstrate to the others that he was not messing around. To show them exactly what would happen if what he had on them went public. It would be swift, and it would be apocalyptic. Freddie Hunter would be this weekend’s collateral damage.
The sad part was that – Ned had never showed her the actual footage, but she had pieced it together from hints he’d dropped – in the grand scheme of things, Freddie’s showreel of shame was very mild indeed. But it would still be enough to end his career in the States, instantly. The way he talked about the stars he’d had on his shows, his indiscretions, the cruel impressions he loved to do, late at night, back in his suite, amongst close friends （Annie herself in there many a time, howling with laughter）。 Calling people has-beens, alcoholics, drug addicts, dullards. Describing Georgia Crane as the most boring person on earth, comparing interviewing her to trying to have a conversation with a swan? Funny, maybe; true, of course – but not a great look for someone whose whole thing was being a puppyishly enthusiastic interviewer, a soft-soaper, a friend to the stars.
What Annie could not understand – what she had struggled even to imagine, when Ned had first told her about it – was the other stuff. The shady meetings in Home suites to sell stories about his actual friends to a tabloid journalist was just so pathetic, it was impossible to understand why a household name would do it. Of course she knew that was often how front-page scoops were obtained – Ned had his own circle of hacks to which he leaked his little films on the odd occasion members didn’t pay up. But Freddie? It surely couldn’t just be the money – the risk to his career, to his nice-guy patter, would simply be too great.
She wondered if Kyra Highway already suspected how the affair that had blown up her entire life had made it onto the front pages, and if she’d forgive Freddie when it all came out.
Would Ned drop the whole tape at once, or would he drip feed bits to various outlets anonymously? And, as they watched, what would the media, the internet, do to Freddie? She could imagine the delight some people would feel in having a reason to justify their dislike, the pleasure people would take in his downfall. And of course beyond that, there was also the question of how Jackson and Keith and Kurt would be feeling, knowing that what was on their little films was so much worse.
So much worse, she thought with a shudder.
‘So what do you want, Annie?’ Keith demanded, shading his eyes against the sun. ‘Has Ned sent you to tell us he wants more money? Or have you just come to gloat about what he’s got on us?’
‘Neither,’ she told them. ‘This is Ned’s own personal business sideline – he’s the only one who can access any of the . . . the material. I can’t, not even his own brother can. And by the way, this is hard for me too. You’re my friends, my family.’ She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. ‘Do you think I like being in any way involved in this?’
‘This ain’t a members’ club, is it? It’s a fucking racket with a reception desk.’ It was actually quite impressive, the righteous indignation in Keith’s voice, when you thought what was on his memory stick.
When Freddie Hunter was publicly shamed, it would implode his life as he knew it. If Keith’s dropped he’d be lucky not to end up in prison. Although Ned was no avenging angel, there was something delicious about being able to redress the balance a little, Annie thought, and punish someone like Keith for the crimes Home had enabled.
‘I expect you know what Ned has on both of us. I expect you know I don’t have a chance in hell of paying what Ned’s asking,’ Freddie said quietly.
‘And it’s never going to stop, is it?’ Keith pointed out. ‘Every time Ned takes a fancy to one of my paintings, or feels like I can pay a little bit more this year, well, who’s going to stop him? No one. He owns us now. He fucking owns us. And there’s nothing we can say, and there’s nothing we can do about it. And you,’ he spat, ‘playing nice with us all these years, sucking up. You know that nobody actually likes you, don’t you? You know we laugh at all the air-kissing and the ego-stroking? You know that you’re not one of us, don’t you? That we all think you’re just a fucking waitress in fancy dress?’