Lost In The Starlight

  Lost In The Starlight

  Kiki Archer

  Editors: Jayne Fereday and Diana Simmonds

  Cover: Fereday Design - Image: 123rf.com/profile_pitju

  Copyright 2016 Kiki Archer

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  For M.C.C & P.P

  Forever in my heart.

  Chapter One

  Honey Diamond sensed the shifting gazes and hidden whispers as she took her seat in the exclusive London eatery, the staring eyes a testament to her stardom. The members’ only section of the already-impossible-to-get-into restaurant was lavish with chandeliers, Champagne and celebrities complimenting the minuscule portions of haute cuisine presented on slate chalkboards and other novel vessels, standard plates never to be seen in the up-market establishment.

  The Muse, as it was called, had a waiting time that ran into months and a much coveted membership to a private balcony room, reserved for the brightest and richest of stars. Yet here they were, A-listers in their own right, staring in awe at Honey Diamond, lost at the sight of her beauty. Her glow, radiating from the table in the centre of the room, dazzling through the glitz and glam. Honey was a luminary. A light you couldn’t help but admire.

  Looking towards the sweeping staircase, Honey smiled politely at the watching eyes as she awaited her mother’s arrival. It was always the same where Diana Diamond was concerned: a huge entourage planning, preening, preparing and prompting, but none quite able to deliver the package on time. And Diana Diamond was quite the package. If the occupants of The Muse thought dining with Honey was fodder for their fame-hungry friends, they had no clue their anecdotes were about to take a further enthralling turn.

  Honey heard the bustle and touched her sweeping fringe in preparation. She could hear diners in the public room below gasping and clapping, the scraping of chairs signalling people were standing in shock, no doubt admiring her mother with over-the-top sycophantic greetings.

  All A-list eyes were now on the staircase, wondering who might be causing the stir, ready to tut if it was one of those five-minutes-of-fame reality stars the public seemed so obsessed with, who should never, in their egotistical opinions, gain entry to the prestigious section. But the tuts didn’t transpire. Instead, the celebrities held on to their excitement with flared nostrils, raised eyebrows and congratulatory nods as Diana Diamond strode up the staircase, two paces in front of her staff. The woman took a moment at the top, but not to catch her breath. At sixty-two, Diana Diamond prized herself on her fitness, and the pause was instead to confirm the height of her jacket collar and lift of her chin. She entered the balcony room with the regal elegance and no-nonsense assertiveness she was famed for.

  Honey got up from her seat, ready for the air kiss.

  “Dearest,” said Diana, in the middle of the flamboyant greeting. “What, may I ask, are you wearing?”

  Honey inhaled the scent of Chanel N°5, a timeless classic that took her back to her childhood, an image of her mother kneeling beside her bed and whispering she was home, bringing warmth then as it did now. “Apparently it’s a one-off green velvet gown by Country Couture,” she said, smiling into the scent.

  Diana stepped backwards and appraised her daughter. “You look like Merida from Brave.”

  “Jane Fonda wants her white suit back,” replied Honey, always willing to give as good as she got.

  Diana feigned indignation. “You know old Janey steals my style. I trademarked the high collars and short sassy hair years before she did.” She laughed. “Shall we sit? All these eyes are making me itchy.”

  Honey tried to ignore the staring diners as the hovering maître d’ settled them into their seats. She looked towards the staircase instead, at the group of people busying themselves on their handheld devices, her own staff-free, back door arrival quite the opposite of what she’d just witnessed. “Who’s he?” she asked, signalling past her mother’s PA, her mother’s clothes stylist, her mother’s hairdresser, her mother’s make-up artist and her mother’s personal trainer.

  “Gorgeous, isn’t he? Turned twenty-one last week.”

  “What does he do?” Honey asked, smiling a thank you as she accepted the delicate gold-leaf trimmed menu.

  Diana lifted her hand to stop the offering. “We’ll have the Dom Pérignon and the duck. Thank you, George.” Her polite snappiness always got the job done.

  Honey held on to her menu. “I think I fancy a salad.”

  “The duck’s divine. I had it with Madge last week. Plus the waif look’s gone out of fashion.”

  “I’ll have the salmon and dill salad please,” said Honey to the nervous waiter, returning the menu to him with a smile.

  “And the Dom Pérignon?” he asked gently, not wanting to get on the wrong side of Diana Diamond, The Muse’s most loyal of patrons.

  “Lovely.” Good Champagne was one of the few things the Diamond women actually agreed on. “So,” asked Honey again, “what does he do?”

  “He’s my zhoosher.” Diana turned to the staircase and wiggled her fingers, shimmying her shoulders in a ridiculous pre-pubescent flirting move.

  “Your what? And stop shaking. You’ve not got Parkinson’s.”

  “He’s my zhoosher. And don’t say things like that. The papers still think I’m forty.” Diana inhaled deeply, reciting the new boy’s talents. “He zhooshes my hair, checks my shoulders for flecks, wipes lipstick from my teeth, squeezes my hand in support.”

  “Oh, Mother.”

  “What?”

  “You cart your stylist, your make-up artist, your hairdresser and PA around for that.”

  “He’s my finishing touches boy.” She grinned wickedly and repeated the shimmy. “Name’s José. The energy in those legs. You really ought to get one yourself.”

  “A twenty-one year old called José? No, Mother. I don’t think I shall.”

  Diana Diamond tilted her head and looked the green velvet dress up and down once more. “Sometimes I question whether you’re really my daughter.”

  Honey smiled, fully aware the restaurant’s prying eyes were currently discussing just how alike the Diamond women actually were with their rich auburn hair, high cheek bones and wide smiles. “Is that because my porcelain skin’s still intact?” She turned on the smile, knowing which buttons to press.

  “Time in the Algarve’s essential for my well-being.” Diana nodded. “And anyway, the pale look went out with the waif.”

  Honey laughed. “This pale waif has missed you, Mother.”

  “I saw you last week.”

  “I’m surprised you noticed me, squashed into your dressing room, vying for your attention as your hoard of fans fawned all over you with their flowers and their curtseys.”

  “Honey dearest, the week before that it was I battling the fainting fans in your dressing room.”

  “They weren’t fainting.”

  Diana nodded. “You’re the brighter star in the Diamond dynasty, my darling, and the sooner you embrace that the better.”

  “I’m not getting zhooshers, and for the umpteenth time we are not a dynasty.”

  “You need zhooshers, you need a man and yes we jolly well are.”


  “Jane Fonda, Joan Collins – I struggle to keep up.”

  “Oh Honey, our Diamond dynasty’s far more fabulous than Joan’s. Now, where was I?”

  Honey paused as the waiter returned with their Champagne, silently pouring the bubbles into cut crystal flutes. She held on to her words, hoping they wouldn’t have to revisit again her mother’s previous encouragements of her love life. Diana had already used every trick in the book, from double-dating, where Diana’s man was often the youngest of the group, to theatre set-ups with adjacent seats always occupied by eligible bachelors, Diana likely claiming both once she finished her performance on stage.

  Diana Diamond was known as Britain’s Mae West. A child star whose career in the West End and on Broadway spanned almost sixty years, not to mention the move into Hollywood that saw her appear alongside the top players in the business. She was old-school class and her whirlwind romance with Heath Travis had been better than any silver-screen script. Love at first sight with her leading man, the hottest heartthrob in Hollywood. English beauty and American action-hero, idyllic English wedding and a baby girl in the year that followed, only for Heath to die of a drugs overdose before his daughter even turned one. Diana Diamond had embodied the tradition of stiff upper lip and carried on, her career gliding right over the bump in the road. Or so she had said.

  Honey Diamond, the little girl left behind, had one abiding memory – an absent mother, always away, always performing, the gentle bedside whisper and warm timeless scent the only things capable of closing her wide eyes under the covers.

  Honey remembered things changing when she was nine and was asked to act alongside her mother in what was destined to be a hit West End show. Honey was quickly hailed as a chip-off-the-old-block, Diana Diamond’s daughter, more divine than the diva herself, becoming a star in her own right in musical theatre before finding her true passion in concert performance. Singing, song writing, anything and everything involving music. Honey Diamond was leading the pack and at twenty-eight, with numerous platinum albums under her belt, she was a national treasure, made even more glamorous by her Diamond heritage.

  “I want to be a grandma,” came the announcement from the other side of the table.

  Honey sloshed her Champagne back into the flute. “What?”

  “Jane Fonda’s a grandma.”

  Honey leaned into the table and lowered her voice. “Go steal her grandkids then. You already steal her style.”

  “Oh Honey, don’t be blasé.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes you, and when I say you need a man I’m not talking about setting up home. You’ve made it perfectly clear that’s not going to happen.”

  “Mother, people are looking.”

  “People are always looking.” Diana carried on in her loud, frank fashion. “Ask one of your cads to oblige.” She nodded. “The world wants you happy, Honey. Not like poor Kylie. Dozens of dates, never the dream.” She tapped a bejewelled finger on the table and hushed her words. “And it doesn’t matter if the dream is a dame, as long as it’s not a dykey looking dame.”

  “Please Mother, just stop.”

  “I know you said you’d open up when you had something to open up about, but your PR company can’t play the pantomime forever.”

  “I don’t have a PR company and I don’t play the pantomime.”

  “You’re a Diamond, darling. We don’t get here and stay here without help.” She turned to her staff who had been moved to a discreet table in the corner and caught her tech guy’s attention. “Benedict,” she said, calling him over with a flick of her finger. “Read the latest from SlebSecrets.”

  Honey rolled her eyes. “SlebSecrets?”

  The young man tapped on his tablet, following Diana’s instruction without question. “Posted at 10.11 this morning,” he said. “Which national gemstone treasures her female PA more than she’d like us to believe? The—”

  “May I look?” interrupted Honey, not wanting to make a scene or draw further attention to their table.

  The tech guy glanced towards Diana waiting for the nod. He received it and handed over the tablet before stepping away as he’d been taught.

  The garish pink and purple website had a flashing SlebSecrets header next to an accompanying shushing finger. “Mother, how on earth are you reading this rubbish?”

  “Google alerts. Benedict follows the family.”

  Honey sighed. Her mother’s definition of family included two step-siblings from a later-life failed marriage who neither she nor her mother saw anymore after their abuse of the Diamond name. Then there was a brother who couldn’t compete with his sister’s fame, now living in a commune on the Shetland Islands. And Diana’s two oldest friends, Gerty and Dot, whose missions were to make Tatler’s society pages each month. And finally, Honey’s godmother and now live-in housekeeper, Sofia – her one remaining constant from early childhood.

  “It’s just trolling, Mother,” said Honey, unable to read any more.

  “Is there any truth in the trolling?” Diana glanced to her left, instantly getting the maître d’s attention. He signalled back with a three minutes gesture, understanding the speed at which Diana liked to be served. “I adore your PA.” Her attention was seamlessly back on her daughter. “What’s she called? Lesley?”

  “It’s Liza, as you well know. The same Liza I’ve had for years.” Honey blushed. “Had as my PA.” She dropped her eyes to the flashing header. “This probably isn’t about me.”

  “Diamond, gemstone. National treasure. They make a dig about your Secret Smile song too.”

  “There are lots of songs about secret smiles.”

  “Not as well-known as yours, Honey dearest, and if you search the SlebSecrets archive, there, that tab at the top. That one.”

  “I’m not touching that tab.”

  “Touch that tab and search the archives. Search the word gemstone. You’ll see yourself mentioned time and time again.”

  Honey pushed the tablet away. “Ignore it.”

  “You really ought to get yourself a tech guy like Benedict to keep on top of things and file libel suits where necessary.”

  “I don’t worry about things I can’t see.”

  Diana lifted her collar. “Well I’ve seen some tweets you should worry about, and I’m not going to mention the Horny Honey Double Dip Instagram hashtag.”

  “The what? Mother, how do you know of such things?”

  “I have people.”

  “You’ve successfully reconfirmed why I’ll never join social media.”

  “You’d beat Katy Perry’s Twitter record – eighty million followers by dessert if you signed up right now.”

  “I’m not having dessert.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re wasting away. It’s a mother’s job to flap.”

  “How many sixty-two-year-old mothers insist their child join Snapchat?”

  “Oh no, not that one, Honey. I’ve had some near disasters that have cost me a fortune. Who knew you could screenshot?”

  “I’m doing perfectly well without social media.”

  “That’s what you said about personal security and look at you now.”

  Honey rolled her eyes at her mother. Yes, a too-close-for-comfort incident with over-enthusiastic fans a few years back had forced her to give in to her mother’s demands for security. But she’d drawn the line at Diana’s recommended full-blown professional detail, having instead only two close protection officers working on opposite shifts who Honey insisted were actually never close to her at all. They didn’t travel with her, they weren’t pictured with her, they were just in the background if ever she needed their help, which since said incident she hadn’t. “And that’s a waste of their time and your money.”

  “Do I pay for your men?”

  Honey laughed. “Often you’ve tried, but if we’re talking about Alan and Andy then once again I’ll reconfirm to you that I don’t need them, just like I don’t need social media. I live my life in a totally diffe
rent fashion to you, Mother, and it works. I’m doing okay.”

  Diana Diamond held on to her words and looked across the table, taking a moment to appraise her daughter. “I’m sorry. You are. I just think with your success you could get a huge following.”

  “I have a huge following. They follow my music. My shows. They don’t need to see what I’m eating for breakfast or what I score on a Facebook what kind of pizza are you quiz.”

  “But you’d have influence.”

  “I have influence.”

  “Even more influence.”

  “Why? I’m the UK’s most successful female recording artist. I’ve signed up for another season judging Britain Sings and I’ve just landed my first big-screen major role.”

  “You have not!”

  “Excusez-moi. The duck and the salmon and dill salad,” said the maître d’, presenting both dishes on interestingly shaped platters.

  “Not now, George!” snapped Diana, her tone softening as her nostrils filled with the delicate aromas. “Come back in five.”

  “Mother, it’s fine.” The maître d’ moved away without query.

  “Why am I not involved? You know my influence in Hollywood.”

  Honey pulled her eyes from the disappearing food back towards her mother. “I wanted to do this on my own.” She smiled, her annoyance quickly slipping away. “It’s a big screen musical. Think Moulin Rouge meets Sleepless in Seattle.”

  “You have the lead?”

  Honey nodded.

  “Oh darling, that’s fabulous.” Diana turned towards the diners who had been straining their ears to pick up any valuable titbits they could pass on to their friends. “No need to earwig, I’ll shout it loud and clear. She’s got the lead. Hollywood. Musical. A singing When Harry Met Sally type thing.”

  “Mother!” Honey reached across the table, trying to pull the fanfare back in.

  “What? I’m proud of you. You never let me crow.”

  “Look,” Honey shook her head. “Out come the iPhones, no doubt trying to get an exclusive with someone or other.”