by Suzy K Quinn
‘Oh I don’t know.’ I smile at Marc. ‘You took care of your sister. And Denise. Maybe you’re not such a big bad wolf after all.’
‘No, that’s exactly what I am. A big bad wolf. And if you’re not careful, Sophia Rose, you’ll get bitten.’
‘I’m not afraid of you,’ I say, meeting his eyes, a half smile on my lips.
‘Perhaps you should be.’
‘Oh? And why is that?’
‘Because I’m still a controlling monster at heart. Despite the fact that I’m learning to let go. My way of coping when times are hard is still to take charge and be in control. When it comes to your safety, I find it hard to ease off.’
We walk across the square.
‘Marc? I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. With all the extra security and me not being allowed in your townhouse right now.’
‘Right now there’s nothing to tell. And there may never be anything to tell.’
‘And Getty’s still in custody?’
‘Yes. And he will be for the foreseeable future.’
We’re not on the square anymore, but heading down a busy road. Marc swerves me down a side street, where I see a bustling open-air market. The smell of fresh bread, coffee and Christmas puddings fills the air.
‘Are we on the right track, Mr Blackwell?’ I say with a smile. ‘This is a food market.’
‘Exactly right. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Well. I thought I could warm your father to me by filling his house with food. And of course, I know you love cooking. So you might like to pick out some ingredients for Christmas dinner.’
I snuggle against his suit jacket. ‘You’re a very clever man, Mr Blackwell. Had you ever thought of becoming a teacher?’
‘The thought crossed my mind.’ Marc steers me through pretty wooden stands with colourful striped awnings, and we stop in front of a butcher’s stall laden with giant corn-fed turkeys, aged joints of beef and bright pink hams.
‘Had you picked out your meat yet?’
‘There’s a turkey I took out of dad’s freezer earlier,’ I say. ‘I bought it on special a few months ago. I was going to use that. But ... this meat looks amazing.’
Marc points at a sign above the stand. ‘I hadn’t forgotten the foie gras incident. Cruelty free. These animals have been well looked after.’
I smile, noticing the free-range sign. ‘You remembered.’
‘How could I forget? I wouldn’t want to buy you a roasting joint that ends up in the trash.’
I laugh.
‘Choose whatever you like,’ Marc says.
I blink at the choice of beautiful birds and roasting joints. ‘Wow. I’ve never seen meat that looks so good. Those birds ... they’re just huge. I don’t think I’d be able to get them in the oven. But ...’ I point at a giant turkey that’s only medium-sized by the standards of this stall. ‘That one looks like it would fit. I bet it will taste delicious, too.’
Marc gets the butcher’s attention and nods at my choice. ‘Bag this one for us, please. Thank you.’
He hands some notes to the butcher and takes the turkey under his arm, wrapped in white paper and string.
‘What does your father like to eat?’ Marc asks.
‘Anything that’s bad for him. And sweet things – he likes his desserts.’
‘So we’ll buy him a Christmas pudding. They’re very good here.’
‘Great idea.’
26
We buy Dad a huge Christmas pudding laced with brandy, stout and golden syrup. It’s wrapped in muslin and almost as big as Sammy.
Marc also orders a box of organic vegetables to be delivered to the cottage today, and a whole host of biscuits, cheese, champagne and chocolates.
‘Peter was saying you don’t like Christmas,’ I challenge, a teasing look in my eye. ‘What’s the turnaround?’
‘The turnaround is you. Anything you love, I’m going to make my business to love too.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Really. So what else do you love, Miss Rose?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I say, staring up into his blue eyes. They’re clear and light with the cold today.
Marc holds my eyes for a moment and strokes hair from my face.
I spy something over his shoulder.
‘Mistletoe.’ I pull him towards a stand of beautiful silvery green plants.
‘You like mistletoe?’ says Marc, with a smile. ‘I might have guessed.’
‘I think it’s one of the most beautiful plants ever,’ I say. ‘And very romantic.’
‘I take it you’ve been kissed under the mistletoe before?’ says Marc, raising an eyebrow.
‘Once or twice.’ I blush.
Marc bends down to press his lips against mine. For a moment the cold marketplace vanishes and all I can see and feel is him. When he pulls away, I’m disorientated and it takes a moment for the shapes of market stalls to reappear.
‘But not like that,’ I breathe.
‘I should hope so.’
I twiddle my hair. ‘You’re going to make it your business to love anything I love?’
‘Correct.’
‘And what about like? Will you like everything I like?’
‘Perhaps. What did you have in mind?’
‘Leo Falkirk.’
The smile leaves Marc’s face. ‘I suppose miracles can happen.’
‘I wish the two of you could get along.’
Marc gives a little laugh. ‘He’s got a lot of growing up to do before that will happen.’
*****
After we drop the shopping off in the limo, Marc takes me to Fortnum and Mason – the giant and very expensive department store on Piccadilly.
The whole place is decorated with clear glass baubles hanging from lilac ribbons. The store smells amazing – like apples and lemons, and some exotic spicy perfume.
‘I thought this might be a good place to buy Jen a present,’ says Marc. ‘And Genoveva. If that’s still appropriate.’
‘You’re going to buy Jen a present?’ I say. ‘That’s so thoughtful. She’d probably love anything from this store – even a key ring. And Genoveva would too. But ... well you know about the family situation right now.
‘I don’t want to be petty or anything by not getting Sammy’s mum a present, but I don’t want to upset Dad either. How about we get her something, but don’t label it? That way, if she turns up to see Sammy, we’ll have something for her. But Dad won’t notice the present and get all gloomy.’
‘If you think that’s the right thing to do.’
We’re not in the store for more than a minute before a man in a tailored black suit heads towards us.
‘Mr Blackwell. Apologies. We weren’t told you’d be visiting us today. I’m so sorry there was no one to greet you. May I assist you with your shopping?’
‘No apology needed,’ says Marc. ‘This was an unplanned visit. But yes, some assistance would be good.’
The man nods, and moves discreetly behind us.
I notice some of the shoppers are staring at Marc as we walk through the store. They nudge each other and whisper, ‘Is it? It looks like him, but … and the girl with him, in the newspapers …’
I keep my head down and stick close to Marc.
‘People are staring at us,’ I say.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ says Marc.
‘Will I?’
‘Yes. And don’t worry. There are security all around.’
‘There are?’ I look around the store, but see no one from Marc’s team.
‘In plain clothes. They’ve been following us all day.’
‘Oh.’ I think about the kiss we shared in the market, and me snuggling against Marc’s body as we walked around the cold winter streets. ‘That’s sort of embarrassing.’
‘Embarrassing?’
‘You know. That they were watching us. Being together.’
‘Sophia, if you want to have a successful career as an actress, your p
rivate life will be on show to a certain extent. To more than just security guards.’
‘I guess I’d better get used to it.’
‘You will,’ Marc assures me. ‘Sooner than you think.’ He waves a hand around the store. ‘What do you think Jen would like?’
I walk towards a gorgeous 1930s style tea set, painted mint green and decorated with gold leaf fleur-de-lys. ‘She’d love this.’ I hold up one of the cups to the light, and see the shadow of my fingers through the fine china. ‘It’s bone china.’
Marc comes to stand beside me. ‘You’re an expert in china, Miss Rose?’
I smile at him. ‘Not exactly. But my grandmother had a bone china tea set, and she taught me how to tell bone china from the regular kind.’
‘Hidden talents.’
‘You’re one to talk.’
Marc signals for the assistant, and he takes away the tea set to be wrapped.
‘That was the easy part,’ I say. ‘Now Genoveva.’
I spy a stand wrapped with beautiful chiffon scarves and walk over to it. ‘She really likes scarves. She wears them all the time.’ I pluck out one covered in white doves. ‘Doves mean peace, don’t they? That’s what we all need as far as Genoveva is concerned.’
Marc signals the assistant again, and the scarf is removed, wrapped and bagged.
‘Is there anyone else I need to buy for?’ Marc asks me. ‘Any long lost cousins or sisters?’
‘No. We’re a small family now my grandparents have passed away. It’ll just be me, you, Dad and Sammy on Christmas day. And Jen in the afternoon.’ I think about that. ‘It’s going to be weird without Genoveva. Well, weird for Dad anyway. Especially if you and I are all lovey dovey.’
‘Is that how you’d describe us?’
‘How would you describe us?’ I ask.
Marc turns so he’s facing me, and when his blue eyes fix on mine I feel like we’re the only two people in the whole world.
‘I would describe us as totally, obsessively in love,’ he says, his voice lowering to that tone that makes my stomach tighten.
I gaze up at him, lost in his eyes and his words. Marc makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. There are times when I feel like I’ve become a part of him and he a part of me.
His hands reach out and find mine, and we stand right in the middle of the department store, looking into each other’s eyes. He was right. I am getting used to being on show.
‘Come on.’ Marc leads me towards a counter, where the assistant is waiting with our purchases. ‘I have plans for you this afternoon.’
As we leave the store, I think about Dad, all on his own this year, and how lonely he’ll be with just a couple for company. This is the first year I’ve ever brought a boyfriend home. Typical that it had to be the year that Dad ends up on his own.
‘Marc,’ I say, as we walk down Piccadilly. ‘You know what Peter was saying earlier? About Denise living alone right now. Do you think she’d like to come over for Christmas? It might make Dad feel a little less like a third wheel if there’s someone nearer his age there. And it’s great to have lots of people over at Christmas.’
Marc frowns. ‘She usually arranges to go away over Christmas. But I could ask.’
‘Would you?’ I hesitate. ‘And what about your sister? What will she be doing at Christmas? Would she like to come over? I’d love to see her.’
‘She’ll still be in hospital,’ says Marc.
‘Oh.’ I look ahead at the wide, icy pavement. ‘I’m glad she’s getting better, but I’m really sorry I won’t see her. Christmas in our house seems to get smaller every year. I would have loved to have some of your family over.’
‘She’s making vast improvements. And pretty soon she’ll be allowed visitors.’
‘Great.’ I look around. ‘So. Where are you taking me?’
‘Just wait and see.’
27
We spend the rest of the afternoon ice skating at Marble Arch, drinking champagne cocktails at Park Lane and eating spaghetti at a quiet Italian restaurant hidden away in the narrow streets of Covent Garden.
When Marc drops me off at the theatre, I don’t want to leave him, even to perform. But I know I have to. And I also know that tomorrow I’ll get to spend all of Christmas day with him.
Wow. That’s going to feel very surreal. But very nice.
The performance is fun, but it feels long, and when it’s finally over I’m hoping to see Marc waiting in the wings. But he’s not there, and I’m confused.
Didn’t he say he was going to come to the cottage with me on Christmas Eve? Did I get that wrong?
I head to my dressing room and check my phone, but there are no messages. I’m so disappointed not to see Marc that I barely hear the knock on the dressing room door.
‘Is there a leading lady in there?’ calls Leo.
‘Coming,’ I say distractedly, pulling on my jeans and sweater. I yank the door open.
Leo’s elbow is resting against the door frame, one of his knees a little bent.
‘Great show tonight,’ he says. ‘No Marc?’
‘I thought he was coming,’ I say. ‘But ... I don’t know where he is.’
‘I came to offer season’s greetings,’ says Leo, holding up a sprig of mistletoe. ‘I’m flying out to LA in an hour’s time. I’ll be back, but I couldn’t go without saying happy Christmas.’ He leans forwards and kisses me on the check.
His lips remain on my skin just a little longer than they need to.
‘Happy Christmas Leo,’ I say. ‘Love to your family.’
‘Yours too. Hey. Sophia?’
‘Yes Leo?’
‘Have fun.’
*****
A security guard walks me to the stage door, and I find the limo waiting outside. I feel another heave of disappointment when I notice Marc isn’t by the car.
‘Hey Keith,’ I say, climbing into the passenger seat. ‘How are you?’
‘Good,’ says Keith. ‘Looking forward to Christmas tomorrow. Um. Sophia, you might want to hop in the back tonight.’
‘Why? I like talking to you when we drive.’
‘Just ... jump out and have a look in the back of the car.’
‘O-kay,’ I say, climbing out of the vehicle. ‘What’s going on?’
Keith doesn’t answer.
*****
I go to the back door, my heart beating fast. I like surprises, but where Marc Blackwell is concerned, I have no clue just what sort of surprise I might be getting.
When I open the limo door, I close my eyes, readying myself. When I open my eyes, I find myself letting out a long breath and an even longer, ‘Oooo.’
The back of the car is stuffed with mistletoe. It hangs from every corner – the most beautiful icy green in colour, its round white berries glowing under the moonlight. And under all that mistletoe is the most beautiful thing of all.
Marc.
I dive into the car and throw myself into his arms. ‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ I say. ‘When you weren’t waiting in the wings.’
‘I wanted to be there,’ says Marc. ‘But I had a few last minute surprises to arrange. For tomorrow. Keith and I have only just arrived.’
‘More surprises …’
‘You’ll like them. I promise.’
28
We spend the drive to Dad’s cottage wrapped up in each other’s arms. But when we arrive at my old village, Marc becomes more upright and alert, gripping me tight and watching the streets.
When we reach Dad’s cottage, Marc won’t let me leave the limo until he checks the surrounding area. Finally he lets me out, but insists I walk close to him all the way to the front door.
‘Do I have something to be nervous about?’ I whisper, giving the door a soft knock.
‘You have nothing to be nervous about. I’m the one who needs to be nervous. And alert.’
When Dad opens the door, he doesn’t quite manage to disguise his discomfort at seeing Marc. But he’s welcoming enough,
calling us inside and asking Marc if he’d like a drink.
The house is still pretty tidy, and I’m guessing Sammy must be fast asleep upstairs because I can’t hear him.
‘Is Sammy okay?’ I ask.
‘Fine,’ says Dad. He’s wearing his dressing gown and pulls the cord tighter. ‘Ate everything you left for him and went to bed nice and early.’
I go to the fireplace. ‘No carrot for Rudolph?’ I say, looking at the empty grate.
‘I didn’t do all that stuff this year,’ says Dad tiredly. ‘Sammy’s a little young and I’m a little old.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I say.
‘I’ll leave you two to settle in. See you in the morning.’ Dad clumps upstairs.
‘You’re going to bed already?’
‘I’m liking my early nights right now.’
‘Okay. Sleep well.’ At least he’s not sleeping in his clothes tonight.
‘So.’ I turn to Marc, a little dizzy to see him in my family cottage again. It seems so unreal. And to have him staying over – this big Hollywood star in our little place. It’s very different from his townhouse. No en suites. No staff. ‘Here we are. At my house.’
‘I like seeing this part of you,’ says Marc softly. ‘We should go upstairs. You need to sleep.’
‘Okay.’ I take his hand. ‘What about you? Won’t you be sleeping?’
‘I want to stay awake for a while. Keep guard. With the two of us here … I want to be extra safe.’
‘Marc, you’re making me nervous.’
‘Don’t be.’ Marc kisses my forehead. ‘It’s just me being ultra cautious.’
The two of us climb the stairs, and I show Marc the guest bedroom. It’s supposed to be a double room, but it’s a really small double, so the bed is barely big enough for two. There’s a dresser in the corner and an easy chair.
I notice that Dad has piled up my bags by the dresser, and I see an unfamiliar black bag, which I’m guessing must belong to Marc.
‘I can keep watch in that chair,’ says Marc. ‘If I lie next to you … let’s just say I may get distracted.’
I sit on the bed. ‘You’re really going to spend the night upright in that chair, rather than in the bed next to me?’
