After the waiter had left, Georgina turned to Michael and started discussing an upcoming appointment that was clearly so important she couldn’t discuss it tomorrow. Jessie smiled at the man sitting across from her. ‘How’s married life?’
Immediately Robert’s face lit up. ‘Thank you for ignoring Michael’s dig and asking me that. Convincing Alice to marry me is the smartest thing I’ve ever done.’ As he continued to describe how he’d met and wooed Alice, his expression becoming more and more besotted, Jessie felt her heart sigh. Had Phil ever looked like that when he’d talked of her? ‘I keep telling Michael he should try it some time,’ Robert added finally. ‘He’s not getting any younger.’
‘It can’t be through lack of opportunity,’ Jessie murmured. ‘How long did you say you’ve known him?’
‘We went to school together so I knew him when he was a gawky teenager. Braces on his teeth, spots on his face and knobbly knees.’ He glanced over at his friend, who was still deep in conversation with Georgina. ‘Now look at the bastard. Hard to believe, isn’t it?’
Though she couldn’t vouch for his knees, Michael’s teeth and face were hard to fault. ‘How did you become his manager? – if that isn’t too nosey a question.’
‘Not nosey at all, it’s no secret. Michael was ribbed about his singing a fair bit at school, from me included,’ Robert added with a wink. ‘I had no clue why he wanted to sing all that fancy stuff. But at school concerts, all the parents gaped when they heard him, so I figured either he was diabolically bad, or he must have something. When we ended up at the same university, the chance of making some beer money out of him seemed too good to miss, so I took it on myself to phone round all the local pubs and clubs, offering his services. Michael had a hissy fit, of course, but once I’d made the booking he had to turn up. The rest is history, as they say.’
‘You kind of pushed him into it then?’
‘I prefer to say I paved the way for him. He was a different person on the stage.’ Robert glanced over at Michael and his next words were uttered so quietly, she felt sure he’d meant to say them only in his head. ‘Still is.’
Jessie had already begun to see that for herself. The magnetically handsome tenor she’d crushed on was quite different to the man she’d met today. ‘Michael mentioned he wasn’t very keen on taking part in this show,’ she ventured.
‘Ah, he did, did he?’ Robert chuckled. ‘He felt it was too intrusive. He’s a private man, and this was putting too much of the real Michael Tennant on show. We argued about it, but I won. Convinced him it would be a good move. I only hope I’m right, or I’ll never hear the end of it.’
In that moment Jessie understood why the two men were friends. Robert had a natural ease, a warmth that Michael didn’t possess. But Michael had the exceptional natural talent. They rubbed well together, feeding off each other.
‘You two look locked in conversation.’ Michael turned to her as their starters were placed in front of them, his expression questioning.
‘We were talking about your school days.’
‘I deny everything.’
‘Even the knobbly knees?’
‘Especially the knobbly knees.’ Michael frowned over at his friend. ‘I should have known better than to leave you talking to Robert. There’s no telling what he’ll come out with.’ Michael’s clear blue eyes focussed back on her and suddenly everyone else, even Georgina, faded away. ‘Tell me about being a pharmacist and a mum.’
With a small sigh, Jessie stared down at her plate. She knew he was only asking to change the subject, but how on earth could she entertain this man? Days when she wasn’t being a mum were spent counting out tablets and talking to old ladies about compression stockings for varicose veins. ‘It’s very different to life as a famous singer.’
‘Jessie.’ His eyes caught hers, serious and unblinking. ‘Don’t fall into the trap of thinking people in the limelight are a different species. We breathe and shit like everyone else.’ At his unexpected use of the word shit, her jaw gaped open and he groaned. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re imagining me on a toilet right now.’
Laughter tumbled out of her, and when she caught Georgina looking sharply at her, she laughed even harder. She bet Michael had never traded toilet jokes with his hoity toity PA. Chalk another point up to the pharmacist.
Michael gave her a rare smile; one that reached into his eyes. ‘Where were we? In the pharmacy, I think.’
And just like that, Jessie forgot she was scoring points against Georgina. Forgot even that she was talking to Michael Tennant. As their empty plates were taken away and their main courses served, she started to chat to the guy sitting next to her. Called Michael, he was wildly handsome, if a little too serious, but he nodded in the right places. He even asked the occasional relevant question, making her think he might actually be listening to some of the things she said. Then again, Jack and Luke often nodded when she talked, yet actually didn’t listen to a word.
‘And life as a mum?’
Jeeze, asking a mum to talk about her kids, especially one who was missing them terribly – did the man not realise what he was letting himself in for? Did he not want to talk about himself at all? But those serious blue eyes were looking at her expectantly, and Jessie was only too happy to oblige.
She’d just begun the story of how, against the odds, Jack and Luke’s football team was top of their local league when Georgina’s voice butted in.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’ Her expression made a lie of her words. ‘Michael has an interview for Esquire tomorrow morning at nine and I’m sure he’d appreciate not getting to bed too late. Shall I get the bill?’
Jessie longed for him to tell Georgina he was busy talking, he’d leave when he was ready. Instead he sighed and leant back on his chair, the bright beam of his attention now directed at the sharply beautiful young woman opposite him. Not the thirty-six-year-old mother of two by his side. ‘You’re probably right.’
The bill was swiftly brought to them, and as Jessie reached into her handbag for her purse she wondered numbly if Michael and Georgina had some sort of pact, where he gave a discreet signal to her when he was bored, and she leapt in and rescued him.
A warm hand settled over hers. ‘Put that away. I invited you.’ Ready to protest – she’d never sponged off anyone and she wasn’t about to start now, even if the guy was worth millions – she stared up into Michael’s handsome face. He smiled gently. ‘Please?’
Immediately the reasons she’d crushed on this man for so many years came hurtling back to her. With her heart giving a long, slow flip, she shoved the purse clumsily back into her bag.
Chapter Six
Michael thanked the sharp young journalist he’d just spent an uncomfortable hour and a half with, and headed straight for his hotel room. There he yanked off his tie, undid his collar and took a few deep breaths. It didn’t matter that it was probably his hundredth such interview, each felt like the first. Like he was being picked apart by a cool-eyed surgeon, his entrails studied and carefully dissected.
Every question he answered felt like he was giving away a piece of himself to be examined; perhaps found wanting. It’s why he was so careful to reply with the same information each time, tweaked so it sounded fresh. The media loved the tale of how he was discovered, in student pubs and smoke-filled clubs rather than snooty music schools or the stage, so that’s what he gave them. Facts, rather than feelings.
After splashing cold water on his face, he stripped off his dress shirt and changed into a sharply ironed grey one. Feeling better he glanced at his watch, grimaced, and headed back out again into a waiting cab.
Ten minutes later he arrived at the studio. On the way to their rehearsal room he paused by the drinks station to grab a coffee. Remembering his blunder from yesterday, he poured a second for Jessie.
Outside the door he hesitated for a moment, listening. She was practicing, just as he’d asked. It wasn’t good but… perhaps it wasn’t as bad as yesterday
?
‘That’s sounding better.’ Jessie spun round to face him, her startled gasp changing to a smile when she saw who it was. She was wearing trousers again today and he found he was slightly disappointed. He’d enjoyed seeing her legs last night.
‘Really? Or are you just saying that to keep my spirits up?’
‘I’m not a fan of dressing things in fancy words, as you might have noticed,’ he added dryly, remembering how blunt he’d been yesterday. ‘I’ll tell you straight. You weren’t singing those notes to the right pitch yesterday.’
She smiled again and it was so infectious he nearly found himself smiling back. ‘Is one of those for me?’ She nodded at the cups he was carrying.
‘No, I brought two for myself.’ It took her three awkward seconds before she realised he was joking. Clearly his humour still needed work.
Smiling more cautiously now, she reached for the cup and he found himself watching her hands, noticing how small they were. How her nails were painted a soft pink. ‘Thank you. How did the interview go?’
‘So, so.’ Silence followed as they both took a sip of their drinks. Jessie’s eyes swept briefly over him before flitting back to her cup and Michael groaned inwardly. Monosyllabic answers weren’t going to help ease their time together. ‘I hate being interviewed,’ he offered into the uncomfortable silence. ‘I understand why it’s needed but it’s very hard to give witty and exciting answers to questions you’ve heard many times before.’
‘I suppose it’s like anything in life. Once you’ve done it a couple of times, it becomes routine.’ Her mouth curved in a teasing smile. ‘A bit like counting out tablets.’
He returned her smile, though he doubted dispensing rattled her nerves so much she had to resort to splashing cold water on her face afterwards.
Determined to be a better partner than yesterday, he forced himself to make small talk while they drunk their coffee, asking her how she’d slept (apparently a lot better than he had) and whether she’d spoken to her boys before they’d left for school (yes, but far too briefly).
‘Thank you,’ she said finally, putting down her cup.
‘For?’
‘Easing me into the session this time.’
‘Ah. I’d hoped to be less obvious.’
‘It wasn’t that it was obvious. More that I sense you’re a man who prefers to be doing rather than chatting.’
An image of him doing her burst into his head and he shifted uneasily on his chair, wondering where the hell that had come from. ‘Why don’t we start with some vocal exercises?’
The morning session – cut short thanks to his interview – went remarkably quickly and soon they were queuing in the studio canteen. She reached for the ploughman’s; a calorific hunk of bread, several chunks of cheese and a huge dollop of pickle. His mouth watered and he discreetly shoved the dull-looking salad he’d chosen back into the chiller. Sod his waistline. He’d go for a run tomorrow.
When they found a table, he made sure to sit on the opposite side to her. He’d enjoyed sitting next to her last night, enjoyed talking to her – a little too much. It was time to distance himself before either of them got the wrong idea.
‘The big decision we need to make now,’ he said, keeping his eyes on her arresting face rather than her equally arresting, though far less safe, curves, ‘is which song to sing on Saturday.’
Her eyes rounded and he could read the panic in them. ‘Seriously? Already?’
The panic was entirely justified – he felt it too. ‘I think we’re best focussing all our efforts on the end game. The more we practice, the more you’ll pick up, so we might as well practice what you’ll have to sing. Have you had any thoughts on what you want that to be?’
The blood drained from her face. ‘Shit.’ Then her eyes flew back up to him. ‘Sorry, that was rude.’
‘I might have heard the word before. Perhaps even used it myself.’
Her laughter was more a flustered expelling of breath than the sexy, uninhibited sound he’d heard last night. ‘Yesterday seemed like a dream. The fancy hotel, the studios. Meeting you.’ Cheeks that were already pink turned scarlet. ‘I guess now I’m realising why I’m here. I really am going to have to sing on live television.’
He felt her fear but was at a loss how to reassure her when he was having his own nightmares about the whole thing. ‘That is the plan, yes.’
‘Is “Baa Baa Black Sheep” out of the question?’
Another time he could have laughed, but right now his own worries were too close to the surface. ‘I’m not sure I want to risk my reputation by singing about sheep on prime-time television.’
Hurt rushed into her eyes. ‘I meant it as a joke,’ she replied stiffly.
‘I know. Sorry.’ His half-assed apology sounded shamefully stilted. ‘My reply was meant to be humorous too, but clearly it missed its mark. It’s why I failed as a comedian.’ Slowly she raised her head to look at him and he tried a smile. ‘That was also meant to be a joke.’
She nodded. ‘That one I understood. Perhaps because you smiled when you said it.’
‘Fair point.’ He sighed, sitting back against his chair. ‘I’m not sure if this will help or hinder your own anxiety levels, but you aren’t the only one worried about this show.’
Jessie stared into Michael’s deep blue eyes and tried to work out whether he was telling the truth. It was impossible. He seemed to be an expert at hiding his real thoughts. At hiding the real him too, because she still wasn’t sure who that was. The cold man she’d first met, and who’d just killed her sheep joke with a sharp barb? The shy one who’d admitted he wasn’t good with people? Or the confident one who signed autographs and stood on a stage like he owned it?
‘Think of a song you like.’
She dragged her eyes away from his and down to her plate. Damn, she’d meant to leave some of the cheese. How many calories had she just stuffed down her neck? ‘There are lots of songs I like, but none I’m capable of singing.’ Her voice sounded as flat as she felt, her bubble burst the moment it all began to feel too real.
‘For example?’
At his prompt, she looked back up at him. ‘Okay, you asked for it. My favourite song is “All I Ask of You” from The Phantom of the Opera. A song I’ve got as much chance of mastering as I have of winning the Great British Bake Off.’ She held up her hand. ‘And before you ask, it’s quite possible that I’m worse at baking than I am at singing.’
He didn’t reply straight away. Didn’t even smile. Just stared at her for a few humming moments before murmuring. ‘Maybe you should do it.’
Jessie blinked. ‘Please no. I’ll kill it.’
‘You won’t.’
His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it and Jessie found she couldn’t hold his gaze. Dipping her head, she stared down at her hands, the table, the remaining bread on her plate. She knew he was trying to make up for his earlier sharpness, but this was more serious than her hurt feelings.
‘I don’t want either of us to end up looking foolish,’ she whispered.
‘Jessie, trust me, neither do I. We have to sing something though, and I believe that together we can pull that song off.’ Oh God, he sounded so earnest. She risked another look at him and found herself trapped by the bright blue of his gaze. ‘It won’t be perfect, but that’s not what we’re being judged on. Isn’t the real aim of the show to encourage people to sing? To prove it isn’t something to be afraid of. Anyone can do it, with a bit of practice.’ Her body tingled as his eyes took on a teasing light. ‘I hope it isn’t too rude if I add, even you?’
He had no idea how much she wanted to smile back. Hell, to laugh, because she really needed a good belly laugh right now. But. ‘I don’t care about embarrassing myself in front of the millions I don’t know who might watch the show. It’s embarrassing the few I do know, in particular my sons, that worries me. I don’t want to be a laughing stock, for their sake.’
Understanding dawned across his handsome face.
‘I won’t make you do anything you aren’t comfortable with.’ His voice had turned smooth and seductive. Far closer to his singing voice than the cool, clipped tone he’d used yesterday. ‘But maybe I have more faith in you, and in me, than you do.’
As he smiled, Jessie placed a hand on her stomach, feeling it quiver. Suddenly she felt flushed and very aware not of the celebrity sitting opposite her, but the man. ‘Thank you.’
Silence descended as he finished his lunch. Jessie, her stomach too knotted to eat, stared at the small portion of crusty bread she’d left on her plate.
‘Why don’t we spend the rest of the day going through the words of “All I Ask of You” and trying out the first verse?’ he suggested after a while. ‘If, at the end of today, you don’t want to do it, we’ll think of something else. Perhaps revert to “Baa Baa Black Sheep”.’
He added the last words with a smile so cautious, she wanted to scream. She appreciated his effort to be careful with her, but by God she wished he’d relax. It might help them both. ‘Okay, yes. Let’s give it a go. The Phantom piece, I mean. Not the one about the sheep.’
He smiled again, and this time it was warm enough to cause her heart to flutter. If he ever relaxed enough to laugh, she thought, she’d be in big trouble.
The music and lyrics for their duet were waiting for them on the table when they returned to their rehearsal room, thanks to the ever-efficient Georgina.
Michael walked over to the piano and carefully placed the sheets on the rack. Then sat down and began to sing.
‘No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears…’
At the opening words she inhaled sharply, frozen to the spot, unable to do anything other than gape at him in awe. The rich timbre of his voice slipped over her, through her, filling her with its warmth, sensitising her to his presence. She’d seen him sing live on stage, listened to him countless times on the television and her stereo, but being this close to his voice, to him… she almost couldn’t breathe. It was incredible.
He was incredible.
Reach for a Star Page 5
