Undone by the Star

by Stephanie Browning

  “Thought I’d find you up here,” said Douglas from the doorway.

  Marc swung around not bothering to hide his excitement. “If there’s an award for best location scout, Douglas, it’s yours for the taking!”

  “I accept. With pleasure.” Douglas gave him a quick bow.

  “Let’s lock down the site as soon as we can,” Marc decided. “Do what you can at this end, and I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Will do. Now, sorry to cut this short, but we have to get a move on. You have a premiere to attend,” he paused, “and we have a slight change in plans. You’re taking the train from Leeds.”

  “What’s wrong with York?”

  “Problem on the line,” Douglas explained as they hurried down the corridor. “I’ve got you booked on the two-fifteen to London. Two-and-a half hours should get you to King’s Cross.”

  Marc thundered down the stairs behind Douglas. They were cutting it way too close. The red carpet would already be rolled out and waiting. And so would Alex. First he’d had to tell her he was staying an extra night, and now he was going to have to let her know he was running late as well.

  While Douglas had a quick word with the estate agent, Marc took a last lingering look at Fallowfield before getting in the car. If it was meant to be, as Douglas’s gran would have said, they would know soon enough.

  In the meantime, he had a train to catch.

  Alex was as excited as a teenager and just as nervous. She sipped on a cup of tea, willing herself to calm down as she assessed her figure in the mirror. Confidence, her grandmother had once told her, is like a Russian nesting doll. It starts with your core and increases with every layer.

  She’d been fifteen at the time and feeling like nothing fit. She was taller than her friends, her skin tended to break out on special occasions, and the buttons on her uniform were stretched to the popping point.

  So Grannie had taken her shopping on her school break and given her the same advice she’d given her own daughter, Alex’s mother. “The secret to looking good on the outside is to make sure your lingerie matches the occasion.”

  The memory had Alex grinning at her reflection.

  And at the smoky lace bra and high cut knickers she was wearing.

  Setting her tea down on the dressing table, Alex reached for her mobile phone. Her message light was flashing. Finally.

  It wasn’t Marc.

  It was Kate, wishing her well. Alex sent back a quick thank-you.

  She’d been on edge ever since she’d received Marc’s brief call the night before explaining the situation. No question that she understood the need to reschedule, but he was cutting it way too close for comfort.

  Alex frowned, and then smiled as another message came through.

  Marc was on his way.

  A frisson of excitement rose from the tips of her pedicured toes to the top of her beautifully styled hair. Grannie had insisted. And she was right, thought Alex, admiring the results of an afternoon spent in an upscale salon. It was a treat she only rarely indulged in, but as her grandmother had pointed out, Alex’s appearance at tonight’s premiere was a legitimate business expense and there should be no skimping.

  Considering she was wearing a hand-me-down vintage gown, Alex had readily agreed. And then, as if by magic, Helen had produced an elegant pair of silver-toned stilettoes with thin straps which wrapped around her ankles. They screamed “catwalk.” As did the matching evening bag and silk wrap waiting on the chair.

  Alex started with the bodice, savouring the shush of fine fabric as she slid her bare arms through the shoulder straps and then reached around to slide the zipper up the small of her back.

  It fit her like a glove, accentuating the rise of her breasts above the slight curve of the neckline. The sheen of the material brought out the sparkle in her eyes and she turned to admire herself from all sides. Without the skirt, the bodice had the look of the bordello. Perhaps…no, she shouldn’t go there. The shivery thrill of being with Marc carried a deep current of something bigger, richer and more lasting. No matter how the night played, she knew without a doubt that, for them, love and trust went hand-in-hand.

  It was just complicated. They’d been attracted to each other from the first moment, not knowing who each other really was, or what their aspirations were. And then, after Grannie’s fall, Alex had found herself catapulted into the hotel’s top position. And Marc, who had lived such a rarefied life as a movie star, found himself no longer surrounded by an entourage. It could have been a recipe for disaster, but instead it gave them a greater awareness of the conflicting demands of their disparate careers. And in the stress of those demands, they had instinctively turned to each other. There had been no real conditions and it had been perfect…well, almost perfect.

  Something you would do well to remember, Alex instructed her reflection, especially today.

  She reached for the skirt and drew it up over her hips. Like the bodice, it was lined with the same silvery blue material so that it hung perfectly. Next, she slipped on her shoes and secured the straps. The French polish on her toes and fingernails was definitely the right choice. Aside from Marc, the only thing that was missing was some small adornment around her neck.

  Alex opened her jewellery box and examined its contents. Not a lot to choose from, which wasn’t a surprise. Her pearl earrings were very nice, and she had the lovely heart-shaped locket her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday. But they were too understated. Her gown called for something a bit more sophisticated. She sighed, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

  Picking up her shawl and handbag, Alex left the flat.

  Cinderella wasn’t quite ready for the ball.

  Marc’s right leg was bouncing up and down like a fiddler’s elbow. He was on the train, but cancellations in York had rippled down the line, and the platform had been crowded with waiting passengers. The last he’d heard was that two more passenger cars were being added to the train, extending the delay as the train continued to sit at the station.

  And the longer it took, the greater the potential that his decision would irreparably damage his relationship with Alex.

  Marc leaned his head against the cool glass of the window.

  He’d come to accept the conflict she had felt that night in the mews when she’d pushed him away. She’d known then what he hadn’t. Careers demanded sacrifices; so did relationships. The trick was to decide which ones and when.

  He’d made a promise to Alex. And then he’d gambled on being able to travel to York and back within plenty of time to escort her to the charity premiere of Twelfth Night. A fitting film to support The Foundation for the Arts, and the perfect opportunity to publicly show his support for Alex and The Sadler Hotel. But, in his eagerness to find a location for his film, in trying to meet the demands of all his passions, he’d risked losing everything.

  The platform was finally clearing as the last passengers got onboard.

  The train began to inch its way forward, but Marc’s relief was temporary. It was obvious they wouldn’t be able to make up the time. They would be late getting into London. Traffic would be a nightmare, and it would be impossible for him to go back to the flat. At least his tux was at the hotel, but even getting there was looking dicey. Marc checked his watch. It was one thing to sashay through the lobby of The Sadler in jeans and a hoodie, but quite another to walk the red carpet in casual gear next to a beautiful woman in an evening gown.

  Marc groaned aloud. He’d experienced the wrath of Alex more than once, totally justified, he had to admit, and it wasn’t pretty. But it was very effective, and he fully expected to see it again if he didn’t make it. And he would deserve it. He propped his head on his hand and stared out the window as the scenery drifted slowly by.

  When the elderly woman next to him asked if he was okay, he forced a smile. “Just a little anxious about the time,” he said, willing himself to sound relaxed.

  Sh
e nodded companionably. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid.” And she went back to reading her book.

  Marc had to agree. Short of a helicopter landing on the roof of the train to whisk him off to Kensington, he wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  He’d gotten himself in this situation.

  And it was up to him to sort it.

  Alex spread her arms and made a graceful turn on the ball of one foot. “What do you think, Grannie? Will I do?”

  “Lovely,” her grandmother replied. “That dress has never looked better, don’t you agree, Helen?”

  Eugenie Sadler’s personal assistant nodded her agreement. “Although,” she arched her brow as she spoke to her employer, “as I recall, you were equally ravishing.”

  The two women beamed with pride as Alex strolled about the room. She loved the heavy swish of satin against her legs, and the luxury of wearing couture. “I could get used to this,” she said, catching sight of herself in the sitting room mirror – and of her grandmother and Helen, in whispered conversation in the background.

  “What?” asked Alex turning to face them.

  But her grandmother merely waved her away. Then Helen disappeared from view, only to return a few moments later with a velvet jewellery box.

  Taking the box in her frail hands, Miss Sadler raised the lid and held it out to Alex.

  Alex gasped. Nestled inside was the most beautiful set of jewels she had ever seen. The stones were the perfect complement to her dress, a shimmering collection of aquamarines. A delicate necklace, drop earrings and matching hair pins.

  “They were a gift from your great-grandfather to his wife on their tenth anniversary,” her grandmother explained. “They’d been working so hard, establishing the hotel and it had become a huge success. A ball was to be held that evening to celebrate and my father wanted to express his gratitude. I was only a little girl, but I remember being dazzled by their love.”

  “Oh, Grannie,” Alex murmured.

  “You can thank your mother,” she replied. “It was her idea. These have been hidden away in the safety deposit box for years. Although I did let her wear them once or twice,” Eugenie Sadler’s eyes twinkled at the memory. “And now it’s your turn.”

  Alex felt a rush of pride as Helen moved to fasten the necklace around her neck. The sterling-backed stones felt smooth against her skin, and Alex raised her hand to touch them.

  “Take a look,” urged Helen.

  Walking back towards the mirror, the light sparkled through the gems’ facets like icy fire. Hot and cold. Alex swallowed as she admired her reflection. She was beautiful. The thought of Marc trailing his fingers along her bare skin sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine. As Helen carefully placed the pins in her chignon, Alex imagined how it would feel for Marc to slide them out again. How his eyes would burn with intensity. How his hands would caress her skin.

  And how desperately she wanted that.

  Helen stood back and admired her handiwork. “When Mr. Daniels sees you, he will be ‘over the moon’.”

  Grannie nodded in agreement. “And that will be the end of that tabloid nonsense with that Russian woman,” she said with complete satisfaction. “Alex, my dear, you have become the embodiment of The Sadler.”

  Alex felt herself tear up as she stooped to hug her grandmother. Miss Sadler patted her granddaughter’s arm affectionately. “No crying,” she ordered. “You’ll ruin your makeup. Now off you go. You can tell us all about it at tea tomorrow.”

  Alex left the two women happily discussing her transformation from awkward teen to head concierge to belle of the ball. But when she was in the elevator going down to the ground floor, she allowed herself a moment to touch her burnished reflection and picture Marc beside her in his evening clothes. The unshaven plumber that first excited and intrigued her morphed into the sophisticated man who would soon walk beside her.

  And then the doors slid open.

  Jeremy, eyes wide in panic, stared back at her, clutching the garment bag with Marc’s tuxedo inside.

  Alex’s heart flip-flopped and froze. Marc should be in that tux, ready to escort her to the premiere. “What?”

  “Good news,” stammered Jeremy, “he’s on the train.”

  “And the bad?” Alex snapped as she stepped off the elevator.

  “He’s running late.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding?” Alex seethed. “He could have at least sent me a text…and for that matter, why didn’t you?” She herded Jeremy towards a discreet alcove. “I’ve a good mind to call and tell him to forget the whole thing!”

  “You might not want to do that,” ventured Jeremy.

  “Just watch me!” Alex released him, tossed her shawl on a nearby chair, and undid the clasp on her evening bag. “Men,” she muttered, rooting around in her bag. How could he do this to her…and then not even call?

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Her phone wasn’t there. It was on her dressing table exactly where she’d left it.

  Alex took a deep breath, ignored her pounding heart, and eyed Jeremy sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  “We both called, I swear.”

  “I believe you,” sighed Alex. “It’s just been an unusual day.” Problems existed to be solved. “So, Jeremy, you’re the concierge. What’s the plan?”

  He visibly relaxed, then quickly filled her in on the exchange he’d had with Marc.

  The tux was in hand. Shoes, socks, cuff links and shirt studs to go with it were en route from Harrods. As soon as they arrived, Jeremy would take a cab to King’s Cross, meet Marc and deliver him, fully dressed, to the premiere.

  Alex nodded, forcing herself to be outwardly calm, steeling herself to walk the red carpet alone. Glancing at the lobby’s antique clock, she made the calculations, weighed up the odds, and made her decision.

  London cabbies were the best in the world, but they weren’t magicians. Even George, already waiting for her in the mews, was anxious. They didn’t have far to go, but there was a pecking order. Every limo had to join the queue, then advance at a crawl to allow each guest a grand entrance.

  If Marc could bypass that and head straight to the reception, they had a chance.

  “Jeremy, forget the cab.” Alex held out her hand for his phone. “I’m getting Frank.”

  “But….”

  “No one dodges London traffic better than he does,” she told him as she keyed in Frank’s number. “Besides, he’s already met Mr. Daniels…a small incident in Portobello Road…but who’s counting...Frank! Got a package for you to pick up.” She quickly filled him in on the situation and then handed Jeremy back his phone.

  “Frank will be out front in three minutes. And you have a text from Cyril. He has your delivery from Harrods.”

  The young concierge pocketed his phone, Marc’s tux still swinging behind him.

  “And, Jeremy?”

  “Ma’am.”

  “Thank you,” she said, “you’ve done well.” And then with a whisper of elegance, she retrieved her shawl, crossing the lobby behind him, trying hard not to grin. Her succession must be complete. Jeremy had just called her “ma’am.”

  Bracing his hips against the tiny sink, Marc eyed himself in the mirror. His reflection swayed back and forth as the train sped through the countryside. He’d had a quick shower and shave that morning, but he knew that his five o’clock shadow was the one thing about him guaranteed to always arrive on time.

  He pulled his skin taut and gingerly attacked his beard, thankful as the train lurched again, that he had packed an electric razor and not the disposable blades he often used.

  When finished, Marc splashed cold water over his face and reached for the paper towels. Of course, the dispenser was empty. He used the inside of his hoodie to dry himself off, then gathered his belongings.

  Unlocking the door, Marc slid it open and stepped into the narrow corridor. The train was blowing its whistle as it rocketed through the outskirts of L
ondon.

  Returning to his seat, Marc checked his phone. Nothing from Alex, which didn’t bode well, but there was a text from Jeremy.

  He’d be waiting outside the station; Mark would have to change in the car.

  “I’m fine, George,” said Alex from the backseat of the Rolls Royce. “I’m just sitting funny so I don’t crease my dress.”

  With a shake of the head, George turned his attention back to the road. The traffic light went amber, and then green. They advanced through the intersection, the sedan purring like a well-fed cat. They didn’t have far to travel, but London was so congested, it was slow going.

  Alex idly flipped down the panel on the back of the seat in front of her revealing a combination mini-bar and vanity lit by tiny lights. A bit like going on stage.

  Her jewels twinkled back at her, casting an iridescent blue glow. Gazing critically in the mirror, Alex was satisfied that she looked relaxed, even though she could feel her heart beating rather rapidly. Part of her wished she’d gone back to the mews for her phone, but there had been no time, and besides it was better this way. Marc would either show, or he wouldn’t, depending on how soon Frank could get to King’s Cross and then navigate his way back to South Kensington.

  Alex shook her head. She couldn’t afford to worry about what she couldn’t control; she had to focus on the evening ahead. Having observed her grandmother, and her own parents, who had attended so many functions they could work a room in their sleep, Alex knew the drill. And she had seen Marc, seemingly effortlessly turn a brilliant smile towards the fans who would have stampeded him given half a chance.

  Tonight was about The Sadler. It was about being Alex. She’d been brought up to the life, and no matter what happened, she would be fine.

  But nothing had quite prepared her for the searchlights sweeping up the front of the opera hall, or the masses of onlookers crowding their route to the red carpet.

  She caught George’s reflection in the rear view mirror. “Might as well sit back and relax,” he advised. “It’s a long queue.”