She raises her eyebrows at me. It’s a variation of the look she’s been giving me since she burst into my room last night after the photos went live. “He’s not that good of an actor, my lovely. That was genuine passion.”
On my part, yes. Those are the words I don’t say—haven’t said—because they make me feel more than a tiny bit daft. Greyson and I had a moment, but that’s all it was. Believing it was anything more is insane.
I toss my toiletry bag into my case and flip it closed, yanking the zipper up the side. “Well, either way, it served its purpose. Now are you joining me for tea with my grandmother or not?”
Scarlett makes a face. “Um, I think I have to wash my hair before I take you to the station.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes, but I don’t press it. I hardly want to see my grandmother, let alone impose her on Scarlett. In fact, when I’m sitting across from her in the library, I’m wishing I’d taken longer to pack. Especially given the satisfied look on her face.
“You did well with Greyson, my dear. Michael is very pleased.” Grandmother gives me her closed-mouth smile.
“Well, I hope it solves his problem.” I keep my tone neutral.
“I was surprised to hear he’d left so early this morning. I assumed when neither of you came down for breakfast, you were otherwise engaged.” Grandmother’s lips curve again.
“You were hoping we were…” I can’t even bring myself to say it because it’s just too weird that my own grandmother hoped I was having a one-night stand.
“As we discussed last night, I think Greyson’s interest in you is genuine. You have a real opportunity here. Michael agrees.”
“Greyson is interested in Greyson. End of.” My voice is flat. “Speaking of Michael, the paparazzi were his doing, I assume? Where do you even find those people up here?”
“Oh, darling, there are always people willing to do what needs to be done for a price. Scarlett and Caleb made a brilliant effort, but we needed a bit more than they were capable of.”
This is why I didn’t come to breakfast. Or lunch. Because Grandmother’s matter-of-fact tone makes me feel like I’m being swarmed by gnats, but I focus on keeping my voice even. “How did you know we were in the clubhouse?”
“We didn’t. Michael asked the photographers to keep a low profile and they noticed the light as they came up the drive. It was more than we’d hoped for, to be frank, but what a coup.”
Grandmother’s eyes are bright and she looks so pleased with herself, I feel the fight leak out of me like a balloon losing its air. I let my spine rest against the back of the chair and my shoulders slump. I can be irate all I want, but she’ll never get it because her priority is keeping Michael happy. “Well, I’m glad it all worked out. Do you know when the check will be in my account?”
Grandmother’s eyes dim a little, as if she’d forgotten I wasn’t snogging Greyson Vaughn solely for pleasure. “I’ll check with Michael, or perhaps you can speak to him before you go?”
If I want to see the money anytime soon, I’m better off talking to Michael myself, but dammit. “I’d really rather you do it.” My tone is steely and I rise, smoothing my jumper over my hips. “I need to go, but I’ll be in touch. I’ll let you know when the money hits my account.”
Grandmother’s gaze cools and her lips purse. “You’re coming across as a bit mercenary, darling.”
It takes all of my willpower not to scream. Or upend the table and tea into her lap. “I need to go find Scarlett. Have a great trip to Paris with Michael.”
My heels clack on the wooden floor and I feel the vibration through my core. If the wood were any softer, I’d leave divots in it. Grandmother’s voice follows me out the door as she calls, “Have a safe journey home, dear.”
Safe journey, my arse. I fume as Scarlett drives me to the station until she says gently, “She doesn’t know any different. She should, but she doesn’t. You know that.”
I think back to last night—the conversation with Grandmother that set the wheels in motion with Greyson—and I sigh. “I know. I forget, but I know.”
Scarlett offers up a tentative smile. “There are worse things than snogging Greyson Vaughn.”
Like doing it for money. The words pop into my head, but I keep them there. I’m not going to let Grandmother’s words get to me. After all, she’s no better. Blah, blah, blah. That sounds a lot like justification and I shove that away too.
I give Scarlett a small smile in return. “No offense, but I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.”
Scarlett signals and turns, giggling as we turn into the car park at the train station. “Your chariot awaits.”
“Fly, great steed. Fly.” I smile, a genuine one this time.
Scarlett maneuvers into a space and turns to face me. “Come visit me soon in London?”
“Only if you promise we can go to that chocolate place in Covent Garden.”
“As if there’s any question.” Scarlett rolls her eyes and grins. “I’ll even buy you an expensive hot chocolate.”
“Deal.” I reach for the door handle. “I’ll check my schedule and text you.”
“Fab. And, Claire? Don’t let your grandmother ruin this for you. You snogged Greyson Vaughn. Let yourself revel in it a little.”
I bite my lip and smile wider this time. “I should, shouldn’t I?”
“And from what you told me, last night was the real deal, which puts you in the same league as Alexa Gayle as far as I’m concerned.”
I laugh. “Claire Dyer. Alexa Gayle. There but for the grace of God, go I.”
“Except you have better hair.” Scarlett shoves my shoulder as I scowl. “You do, trust me. Now go, you’re going to miss your train.”
I push the door open. “Okay. I’m going to take my good hair and go back to my life of anonymity where I belong.”
“Nonsense. I think the spotlight suits you.”
I roll my eyes and push the door open. Only once I’ve lifted my case from the boot do I call through the hatchback, “The spotlight makes me look pale. I’m sticking to the shadows from now on.”
Scarlett and I both laugh. I slam the boot and trudge toward the train. It takes four minutes to stow my case and find my seat and another three for me to dig my headphones from the bottom of my bag and find a playlist that suits my mood. Strains of “A Yellow Mellow Afternoon” fill my ears as I lean my head back and close my eyes.
For a moment, Greyson Vaughn’s smile flashes through my head and my body hums with the memory of his hands on me. My eyes fly open and I clench my jaw. Nope. Not going there. Not. Not. Not.
I keep my eyes open, staring out the window of the train. Every time Greyson’s smile flashes through my head, I make myself look for sheep. The English countryside is full of sheep and they are decidedly unsexy. They’re also not helping because around sheep field number twenty, Greyson’s smile in my head morphs from sexy to sensual. By the time I change trains at Birmingham, I give in and let my eyes close. When Greyson’s smile flashes through my head, I finally let myself admit the truth I’ve been hiding from all day– Greyson and I had A Moment. Both of us were in that kiss. And maybe he also had a moment where he was a jerk, but he apologized and he meant it. I was the one who bolted, calling it self-preservation. And I regret it. With every passing sheep, I regret it.
Chapter Seventeen
I’m on the bus home from the train station when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I’ve been lucky to get a seat and my coat covers my bum, so I don’t intend to check it until it buzzes three more times, one right after another.
Leaning into the aisle to avoid elbowing the lady next to me, I wrangle my phone out and it buzzes again. A string of texts fills the screen.
Three from Scarlett: Are you home yet?
You need to call me!
Dammit, GV spotted in London. No comment on mystery woman BUT speculation abounds AND photogs outed location here. Local reporter showed up an hour ago. Mum and Dad handled them, but can’
t vouch they didn’t see anyone else. GV called and asked for your number. I gave it to him.
Text from Grandmother: It was lovely to see you this weekend. Perhaps we can meet for lunch one day soon.
I roll my eyes. “One day soon” is Grandmother speak for “see you in six months.”
The final text is from a number not in my contacts. I’m sorry for the way this weekend turned out. We should talk.
“Christ Almighty.” It comes out in a whisper, but it’s loud enough for the lady next to me to snort her disapproval.
I start to text Scarlett, but autocorrect isn’t on board with my fumbling fingers and finally I dial her in frustration. She answers on the first ring, her voice high and breathless. “Thank God. Where the hell have you been?”
“On a train with sketchy mobile service. Now I’m on a bus. Your texts just came through. How much do you think I need to worry about this?” Until I say it, it doesn’t occur to me to worry. But now that I’ve said it…
“Don’t freak out, but I think you need to call him when you get home.” Scarlett’s voice takes on a very deliberate tone, which worries me more.
“Why?”
“Because everyone wants to know who you are. And he has experience with this sort of thing and I think he can probably give you some advice.”
The lady next to me isn’t even pretending not to eavesdrop and I turn so my knees are in the aisle, lowering my voice. “Who is everyone, exactly?”
“Honestly?” Scarlett hesitates. “If you want to freak out, check the who’s-that-girl hashtag on Twitter.”
“Is it worse than this afternoon?” Aside from the occasional troll, it wasn’t that bad.
“It’s just that focus seems to have shifted from him to you, which maybe isn’t a good thing, if you know what I mean.” Scarlett’s voice is heavy with meaning, but the problem is I don’t actually know what she means. At all. And she’s intent on not telling me while I’m on the bus where I can be overheard.
Trying to pry anything more out of her will be an exercise in frustration, so I sigh and say, “Right. Okay. I’m almost home. I’ll call you back when I get there.”
“Call him, Claire. Before you call me back, call him.” Scarlett hangs up on me before I can protest and I stare at my phone until the bus stops and I have to move my knees out of the aisle.
Two more stops until I’m home and I can call Scarlett and speak freely. It didn’t escape me that she didn’t use Greyson’s name. Just like it doesn’t escape me that the woman next to me is full-on staring now. I look up without raising my head, so I’m all unimpressed schoolteacher without having to actually say anything.
It’s not enough of a deterrent. The woman says, “I couldn’t help overhearing.”
Um, yes you could have. “Mmmm,” I murmur. Maybe if I’m noncommittal, she’ll back off.
“If you need help or something, I’m…I mean, I don’t know if you’re in trouble or…” She’s flushed and stuttering and for the first time I look at her more closely. Her make-up is heavy, especially over the left side of her face. She’s older than me—maybe forty or so—but her hair is in two long brown pigtails tied with red ribbon. She flushes under my scrutiny. “Sorry. I must’ve been mistaken. I didn’t mean to…”
“No, I am. In a bit of trouble, I mean. But I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with. I’m not sure who can help me.” Not true. If I’m being honest, Scarlett’s right and I should call Greyson because he has “experience” with this type of thing.
“The church on Bayswater has a shelter you can go to. No questions asked. They’re open tonight.” The woman’s voice is low, almost a whisper.
I whip my head up to look her straight on. “It’s not that kind of trouble.”
I’d continue, but she cuts me off. “But if it is, it’s good to know, right? It’s the kind of thing someone tells you and on the day you finally need it, you can’t even remember how you knew to begin with, but thank the Lord you know now.”
My eyes stay steady on hers, even though they’re dying to go back to her left cheek because suddenly that heavy make-up makes a lot more sense. “Is that where you’re going? Do you need me to go with you? I’m not in that kind of trouble, I promise, but if you are, I’ll go with you until you feel safe.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not going there now, but they’re good people if you need them.”
The bus stops again. The next stop is mine, and I want to leave with a clear conscience. “Are you sure? I don’t mind. This thing with me is silly, really, so if you’re just being polite, don’t be.”
She smiles a little, revealing a row of crooked teeth. “I’m all right. You’re lovely to offer, but I promise I’m fine and I’m just heading home from work. You, on the other hand…” Her smile widens.
I roll my eyes and allow a small smile. “I’ll work things out.”
She nods and we go back to pretending we weren’t just talking about domestic abuse until the bus rolls up to my stop. I give her a small smile and let my eyes flicker back to her cheek one more time, but when I meet her eyes again, she looks away and I either have to get off the bus or go six more blocks, so I push the back door open and watch it roll away.
I’m still thinking about the woman when I turn the corner onto my street, so I’m not paying much attention to my surroundings. When a guy emerges from the chippy on the corner, I don’t even notice until he’s standing directly in front of me.
“Excuse me, aren’t you Greyson Vaughn’s mystery woman?” he asks.
My head jerks up. The guy is youngish, maybe my age or a little older, short brown hair and a beard, wearing a blue jumper and a charcoal grey coat. I’ve never seen him before. “Um, no, sorry.”
“Are you sure?” The guy squints at me. “You look a lot like her.”
I turn my head from side to side hoping I look cool and not like I’m checking to make sure there are other people around. This street is well-lit—it’s one of the reasons I live here—but it’s cheap because it’s on the fringe of a bad neighborhood, which doesn’t make it the safest area. Right now, though, there are enough people that if I make a scene, at least ten people will hear.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not her.”
“That’s a shame. For both of us.” The guy laughs a little. “I mean it wouldn’t be a bad thing for you and if I could get a photo, it would bring in some cash, right?”
I force a laugh, but it sounds sharp to my ears. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be a bad thing, but sorry, still not her.”
The guy shrugs. “No worries. You have a good night.”
He walks off down the street and I wait until he turns the corner before resuming my walk. But my head swivels around the entire time and by the time I unlock the door to my flat, I’ve talked myself into full-on paranoia. Maybe that guy was just looking to make an easy few quid, but what if he was proper paparazzi? In Bath, of all places? Looking for me? If it didn’t make me so nauseated, I’d laugh.
When I finally close my door behind me, I sink against it hard. I listen for noises just to be on the safe side before pulling my phone from my back pocket. Unfortunately, there’s only one person to call right now, pride be damned.
Chapter Eighteen
It takes him three rings to answer and when he does, his voice is clipped and cautious. “Claire?”
Mine, in contrast, is fast and high. “A guy stopped me on my street after I got off the bus and asked if I was your mystery woman. I’m not sure he was one of your people, but he might have been and I don’t know what to do. He was on my street, Greyson. For all I know, he had a friend who saw me enter my building. Or two friends. What if I walk out the door tomorrow and find some kind of photographer frenzy?”
My words spill out to be met by…a laugh disguised as a cough? Seriously? Greyson says nothing, but I hear him breathing and make myself stay quiet. Finally, he clears his throat and his voice still has a hint of humor when he says, “They’re not my people.”
“I’m glad you think this is funny.” I dig my fingernails into the wooden door behind me. “Your grandfather’s people then. That wasn’t really the point to what I was saying.”
“I know.” He sighs and in my mind’s eye I see him shoving his fingers through his perfectly tousled hair, looking down, and shaking his head. I try to remember if I’ve seen him do that in real life, but I can’t. “I’d like to invite you to London. There’s a small preview on Thursday of an indie film I’m backing if you’d consider coming as my date.”
“You’re asking me on a date?” I sink down against the door until my bum hits the floor. “Did you hear me say there was a guy outside my apartment asking if I’m your mystery girlfriend and I’m freaking out?”
“Yes, I heard you and that’s part of why I’m asking you to do this with me.” Greyson’s words are slow and deliberate. “You’re a curiosity and if we’re not seen together in the short term aside from the photos already out there, people are only going to be more determined to find out who you really are.”
Oh.
I try to ignore the way my chest caves in. Like it’s being sat on by a medium-size dog. “But won’t speculation increase further the more we’re seen together?”
“In my experience once the mystery is past, the paps lose interest quickly, especially if we don’t court them.” Greyson’s tone is matter-of-fact.
The imaginary dog sitting on my chest shifts and presses its haunches into my stomach. “I…”
I don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t matter because the call disconnects. Or Greyson hangs up on me. Either is a possibility, but the latter seems more likely, especially when my phone rings again with a FaceTime call from him.
Seriously? I contemplate not answering, but he knows I’m here and I hate drama for drama’s sake. I tuck my hair behind my ear and press answer. Greyson doesn’t even wait for the picture to come into focus before he says, “I thought this would be a better conversation to have face-to-face.” He’s lying back on a pillow, his hair sticks up in weird places, and stubble covers his chin, but, if anything, he looks better than when he’s all styled and perfect. I push my hair behind my ear again. The fur of my hood frames my face and Greyson squints and says, “Are you wearing your coat?”
A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2) Page 11
