Nick nodded emphatically. ‘Zoë isn’t someone to mess with.’
Too bloody right I wasn’t, although he was skating on pretty thin ice right now.
I stood up. ‘You know what, there’s no queue at the bar right now – I’ll go and get another round. Nick, will you give me a hand?’
My mistake was in the wording, because Nick took the request literally and held out his hand. I thought about just pulling him up by the wrist, like an errant toddler, but it would have looked weird. I gingerly took his hand, hoping to get away with just the briefest of touches, but he wrapped his fingers around mine and held on with surprising force. We snaked around the tables trying to get to the bar, but with each step my palm grew hot in his grasp. Sweaty too, which was a bit awkward. I mean, I didn’t give a monkey’s about Nick, but the last thing I wanted him to think was that I was some kind of freak.
Zoë Frixos: The Incredible Sweating Woman.
Once we’d reached the bar, I let go and discreetly wiped my palm against my trouser leg.
‘Did you have to tell Jess that Boxercise story?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Jess wanted details, and it was the first thing that came into my head. It’s always easier to tell a lie if there’s a grain of truth in it.’
Nick’s face was unreadable, but I suddenly felt uneasy. He was talking like he’d had a lot of practice telling porkies. Was he a serial liar? And was I being suckered right now?
‘We’re here because you want to coax Jess into forgiving Marcie, correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘So let’s see some movement in that direction. I know you can’t ask her point blank, so let’s see some evidence of that silver tongue.’ I held up my hand before he could speak. ‘In plain English: flirt with her.’
Irritation flashed in his eyes. ‘Well, by introducing me as your boyfriend, you’ve somewhat tied my hands.’
‘I’m suggesting you flirt with her, not shag her on the table.’
He turned his head away and took a long breath, his chest rising and falling.
‘What do you want to drink?’
Perfect. He’d changed the subject rather than answer me.
I huffed impatiently. ‘It’s my round.’
He shook his head. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to arrange this evening, so the next round’s on me. What can I get you?’
‘Surprise me.’
I knew I sounded ungrateful, but I didn’t care. I spun round and headed back outside. My legs were shaking and my senses felt heightened. The champagne was definitely having an effect because talk of Nick’s tongue, tied hands, and shagging on tables had thrown up all sorts of racy images in my head.
God, what was wrong with me? How sexually frustrated was I?
It was all very well Simon wanting to take things slowly, but at this rate, I wasn’t sure how long I could last.
I got back to the table and almost did a double-take: Simon was lighting up a cigarette. And he’d always been such a rabid non-smoker.
His cheeks hollowed as he sucked in a breath and then he tipped his head back and blew out an elegant plume of smoke.
You’re ruining your beautiful, beautiful lungs, I wanted to say.
But damn, you look hot doing it.
Okay, that was definitely the champagne talking. Men who smoked only ever became attractive when I was a few sheets to the wind.
My eyes met Simon’s as I sat down. ‘You’re smoking.’
He looked at the cigarette in his hand like he was just noticing. ‘Yeah. Helps me relax.’
What had stressed him out so much? Talk of my Boxercise class with Nick? I guess Nick was right. It had convinced everyone – even Simon, who knew it was all an act.
‘Where are the drinks?’ said Jess.
‘Nick’s bringing them.’
‘I should go and help,’ she said.
When she was gone, I took hold of Simon’s free hand. ‘Don’t smoke.’
He nodded and extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray that contained at least a dozen of Jess’s butts.
‘I’m sorry this is turning into such a shit night,’ I added.
He smiled grimly.
Before I could say more, Nick appeared, placing another bottle of champagne onto the table.
‘Not much of a surprise, mate,’ I muttered, in a very un-girlfriend-like manner. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to get to the end of the evening and fulfil my obligation to Nick. I couldn’t give a rat’s arse whether he was happy with the outcome or not. After tonight he was on his own.
As Nick sat down, Jess came into view behind him. She was carrying a tray of four chasers.
‘The surprise is the tequila,’ she sang.
This wasn’t right. Getting Jess blotto might have helped Nick’s cause, but it didn’t sit well with me. She didn’t deserve Nick’s underhand ways.
‘Whose idea was the tequila?’ I asked.
Jess giggled. ‘It was a joint decision.’
Concern mixed with anger was pooling in my gut. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, sweetie?’
‘I’m perfect, petal,’ she beamed. Her cheeks were rosy and her lip gloss was smudged. She picked up her glass of tequila and poured it into her flute. Then she chinked her glass against mine. ‘Bottoms up.’
Champagne tequila slammers were a lethal combination. A friend at uni had vomited lime green for two hours the last time I’d been anywhere near that particular tipple.
She banged her glass down and looked pleased with herself.
If Nick was right about Jess being a borderline alcoholic, it was damn near criminal that he’d introduced tequila to the mix.
I leant closer to Nick and placed a territorial hand on his cheek. ‘You’re a fucking psychopath,’ I whispered, a fake smile on my face so the others couldn’t see that I was seething.
He unpeeled my palm from his cheek, and held my hand in a fake display of intimacy.
His grip was tight. ‘You’re in as deep as me.’
I wanted to snatch my hand away, but he held fast.
A man shouting nearby broke the deadlock. Nick let go of my hand and we both looked over to where the noise was coming from.
Two men were waving at Jess from the pavement.
‘Wearing knickers today, Honeywell?’ one of them leered.
Jess looked stricken. One of the men was holding a camera. It flashed twice. Shit. Were they paparazzi?
They got closer and Simon tried to shield Jess from the lens. ‘Piss off,’ he shouted, angrily.
‘We’re on a public footpath,’ said the one with the camera, although I could see now that the other guy had his phone out and was filming us.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said, trying to put myself in front of Jess.
Nick stood up and pulled us both towards him. ‘Follow me, I know a private exit.’
I don’t remember the route we took, or how we got out, but we found ourselves by a side alley, mercifully empty of people.
Nick jogged up to the main road, and a couple of moments later, a black cab with a yellow light appeared at the entrance to the alley.
He waved us over.
I looked at Simon. ‘Should we get into the cab?’
‘There doesn’t seem to be any other option right now.’
We hurried towards where Nick was waiting with the cab door open. I helped Jess and followed her in. ‘Are you okay, Jess?’
Her rosy complexion from earlier was gone – she looked ghostly pale.
‘How did those guys find me?’ she stammered.
Simon climbed in and sat on the fold-out seat opposite Jess, then Nick got in and installed himself opposite me.
‘Cayenne Court,’ he called to the cab driver.
‘Where are we going?’ said Simon.
‘My flat is nearby – we’ll be safe there.’
*
No one said much on the journey. I spent it avoiding Nick’s gaze and trying to dodge his knees – they knocked
into mine every time we went over a speed bump.
Simon was looking behind us to make sure we weren’t being followed. ‘I think we’re in the clear,’ he said, after a while.
When we got to Nick’s flat, there was some discussion about what to do. Simon was suggesting he just take Jess home, but in the end, we decided she should come up to have a cup of coffee and draw breath.
Nick lived in a converted warehouse with dark yellow bricks and high windows. His flat was on the eighth floor, which meant taking the lift. He saw me pause to steel myself before I stepped in.
‘You okay?’ he whispered.
I nodded, then lifted my chin and forced myself into the lift just as the doors closed.
I concentrated on the numbered buttons lighting up as we swooped upwards, trying to tamp down my burgeoning claustrophobia.
Then the lift doors pinged open and we were released. I let out a breath as we followed Nick down the corridor towards a two-tone wood door with silver numbering.
‘Make yourselves comfortable,’ said Nick, letting us in. ‘I’ll go and make the coffees.’
Nick disappeared towards the kitchen while the three of us wandered into the living room. Like the hallway, the floors were light oak and the walls were stark white. Apart from a couple of candles in glass jars, and a chrome clock ticking the seconds away on the wall opposite, Nick’s flat looked unlived-in; fake almost. Like a film set, waiting for someone to dress it and actors to breathe life into it.
We sat down on a creaking leather sofa, taking care to put Jess between us. My instincts were to shield Jess from Nick; something didn’t smell right. Not literally – the place smelt of Jo Malone candles – but my gut was telling me that Nick wasn’t being entirely truthful. He was hiding something.
He came back with four espressos and sugar. I hated black coffee, but asking for milk would have looked like weakness. I would drink the damn thing as it came.
Jess poured a teaspoon of sugar into hers. ‘Is there somewhere I could smoke, Nick? My nerves could do with a cigarette.’
‘Go ahead and smoke here,’ he said. He nodded to a crystal ashtray which looked like it had never been defiled by cigarette ash.
‘No, it’s okay, I’ll leave it.’ said Jess. ‘You’re a non-smoker. I don’t want to make your home smell.’
‘It’s really not a problem, but if you prefer there’s a balcony off the bedroom – why don’t you go in there?’
Jess smiled gratefully, then grabbed her bag and followed Nick to his bedroom.
When they were gone, Simon scooched closer to me and picked up his coffee. I took a sip of mine and grimaced.
‘You hate black coffee,’ he said.
‘Yeah, but I don’t plan on staying long.’
Simon looked at me. ‘There’s something fishy going on.’
I nodded. ‘I’ve got the same feeling too.’
‘Do you want to say something, or should I?’
‘What do you need to say?’ Nick’s voice made us jump. He strolled in and dropped into an armchair. He’d taken off his jacket and tie – he looked like an entirely different person without the rigid lines of a suit. Someone I didn’t know.
Simon looked at me, as if asking permission. I gave it with a nod.
‘Zoë told me who you really are, Nick,’ he began, his voice low. ‘I know what you do for a living, and it hasn’t escaped my notice that whenever you’re around, the paparazzi show up.’
Nick frowned. ‘Wait, do you think I’m the one who tipped them off? That I organised the whole thing?’
‘This was all your idea,’ said Simon. ‘Right down to the choice of bar.’
Simon was right – Nick had been keen to meet by London Bridge; I hadn’t questioned it at the time, but now it felt off.
‘Now hang on a minute,’ said Nick. ‘Jess chose to sit at a table facing the road.’
‘But you knew she was a smoker,’ I said, with a growing feeling of unease. ‘She was always going to sit in that section.’
He looked surprised. ‘You can’t honestly think that I sent those paps, Zoë.’
I wasn’t sure what to think. But Nick had told me he knew the paparazzi who were chasing Jess, and Simon’s theory was starting to make an awful lot of sense.
‘I don’t know, Nick. But lies seem to trip off your tongue mighty easily. The night I saw you in Camden at Jess’s first concert, you told me you lived nearby.’ I looked around me. ‘Yet, here we are in Southwark, which is definitely not near Camden.’
‘That was a white lie. You asked what I was doing there and it was the easiest explanation.’
He leant forward and picked up his coffee. Was he avoiding making eye contact?
Simon leant forward too, anger squeezing his features. ‘You know what I think, Nick? I think you’ve been feeding us a load of bullshit. Marcie doesn’t want to make amends with Jess; she wants to humiliate her and ruin any chance she has at a second music career. You’re just her errand boy.’
I searched Nick’s face, hoping to find signs of shock or disbelief. But the seconds ticked by and he remained silent.
Simon stood. ‘Fuck this, I need a cigarette, too.’
He stalked out, leaving me to deal with Nick.
‘Are you not going to deny it, Nick?’
He sat upright. ‘Of course I deny it. You think I’m the one scuppering Jess’s chances? She’s the one drunk as a sailor every night, unable to go to her own gigs.’
‘But you bought the tequila earlier. You were encouraging her to drink.’
He let out a hollow laugh. ‘I was just trying to break the ice. I might have suggested a few drinks and joined in myself, but last time I didn’t touch a drop.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s doing a perfectly good job of fucking up her career all by herself.’
The swear word jarred; I hadn’t heard him curse before. Was he rattled because we’d rumbled him?
‘Can you tell me categorically that this isn’t Marcie’s payback for Jessica sleeping with Benedict?’
He laughed. ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This isn’t a storyline from a damned soap.’
I went cold. ‘That doesn’t sound much like a denial.’
He held my gaze. ‘Marcie wouldn’t be that petty.’
I stood up. ‘Maybe it was your idea.’
‘My idea?’ He stood too and came toe to toe with me. He was flushed with anger. ‘I expected more from you, Zoë.’
‘Oh, save me the sob story about your hurt feelings. I know just how petty and humourless you can be. You proved it when you objected to our review of Hands Down. And what’s more petty than insisting that I interview Jonny. You enjoy playing mind games. You’re a sadist.’
‘Wow, you really don’t think much of me.’
‘Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve told me the whole truth about Marcie.’
He looked away and my shoulders sagged in disappointment. I’d wanted to believe him. But just when I’d started to trust him, he’d blown it.
‘I’ve told you everything that’s relevant.’
I laughed. ‘Jesus, Nick. Listen to yourself – you’re digging yourself deeper.’
He didn’t respond because Simon and Jess returned from their cigarette break.
‘I’ve ordered a taxi,’ said Simon, ignoring Nick. ‘Come on, Zoë, we can leave now.’
We didn’t say much as we rode the lift down again. We’d agreed to let Jess take the cab, while the two of us got the tube, but she seemed so unsteady on her feet, I suggested maybe Simon should go back with her to make sure she got home okay.
‘I’m sorry about all this,’ I told him, before he climbed into the cab.
‘I guess he fooled us all.’
Was he saying I was to blame? He closed the door before I could ask. I looked up at the top floor as the taxi drove away. If Nick was watching us, he was making sure he stayed hidden.
18
Temptation
I was still feeling antsy the next mornin
g, brushing my teeth so hard that I made my gums bleed. I’d pissed Simon off and now I didn’t know if I could trust Nick to tell the truth, never mind stick to his promise to give me the Marcie interview. I had a missed call from him, but he hadn’t left a message. When I did talk to him, I wasn’t sure what I would say, or what he could possibly do to make me trust him again.
I owed it to Mike to tell him what had happened. So the first thing I did when I got to work was swing by his office. He smiled broadly when he saw me, and my stomach lurched. I’d bet the magazine on Nick’s honesty; Mike had taken a personal financial hit – maybe telling him about this mess wasn’t the best move.
‘Morning, Zoë. I trust you’ve got over your catastrophic Sunday.’
I was pulling back a chair and froze. He was talking about Risk – wasn’t he?
‘I’ll get you next time,’ I replied, with fake bravado.
He shook his head. ‘I got a call from Nick Jones earlier.’
Oh. He knew.
I had a moment of irritation at the crappy little bromance they had going on.
We had to talk it out now – walking away was no longer an option.
I slumped into the chair opposite Mike. It was a gorgeous old Captain’s chair, upholstered in green leather. I had no idea where it had come from; the chairs on my side of the office where all black plastic, and if you were lucky they had a lever to adjust the height.
I wasn’t lucky.
‘What did Nick have to say?’
‘You’re doing a great job. He says you’re interviewing Jonny tomorrow and Marcie next week.’
What?
Was Nick telling the truth, or just playing Mike? I could believe he’d set up a Jonny interview without giving me much warning, but was he really going to follow through with Marcie?
‘I have to admit, Mike, this is news to me. I missed a call from him this morning, I’m just surprised that’s what he wanted to tell me.’
Mike peered at me. ‘Well, why else would he be ringing at the crack of dawn? Unless the two of you are having a tumultuous affair you’re not telling me about.’
He chuckled and I tried to mirror his smile. ‘I did find a stray sock in my bedroom. I guess it must belong to one of my other lovers.’
Love Songs for Sceptics Page 17
