‘I’m pleasantly confident.’ He smiled and touched her cheek. ‘And you look gorgeous. I’m glad you’ve gone back to the full slap. The austere look didn’t suit you. You’re certainly a knockout tonight.’
Miranda could have cried with happiness. Why couldn’t Billie see this side of Reuben? Why did she always have to massacre his motives? ‘Thanks. You look pretty swish, yourself. And has your superstar arrived yet, then?’ Reuben glanced at his watch. ‘He said he’d get here just before midnight. We thought it was best. We didn’t want him getting mobbed early on.’
God! Miranda wriggled her shoulders with glee. It had to be one of the two Davids, then, didn’t it? It just had to be!
‘Just one thing –’ she snuggled up to Reuben’s tuxedo – ‘how on earth did you manage to get all these top footballers to come here tonight? Oh, I know they like a jolly – but in Amberley Hill?’
‘Quite simple. A bit of boardroom bargaining. I agreed with all the chairmen and publicity bods to pay the clubs over-the-top rates for advertising Caught Offside in all next season’s match programmes – on the understanding that they would issue free tickets for the opening to their players, plus a night’s accommodation – and, of course, didn’t mind one or two photographs being taken for publicity purposes. Everyone seemed delighted with the deal.’
Miranda nodded. They would. Reuben, it seemed, was turning into quite a Tiny Rowland on the quiet.
‘Now,’ he squeezed her hand tightly, ‘I’d better go and get security organised for the opening ceremony. You’ll be OK?’
‘Course, doll. I’m going to get back on the dance floor with Sally and the rest, and Billie should be here soon.’
Reuben’s smile faltered as he turned to walk away. She didn’t imagine it. It may have been only for a nanosecond, but it definitely faltered. Some of her earlier elation faltered with it. She didn’t have time to worry about it for long, though, as Debs and Kitty appeared at the bar then and dragged her into the throng on the dance floor, apparently bursting to tell her that Anna, Sally and Pixie were dancing with Queens Park Rangers.
‘What all of them?’
‘Most of them!’ Kitty shrieked. ‘Lucky cows!’
Five to twelve. No sign of Billie, but the DJ had just finished a final triumphant burst of ‘Back Home’ for the nostalgia brigade, and the floodlights were dimming.
‘Time for the footie celeb.’ Debs was cross-eyed. ‘Oh, come on, Randa, you must know who it is. Tell us.’
‘Honestly, I haven’t got a clue.’
‘Tell me it’s Alan Smith and let me die happy!’ Kitty clutched Miranda’s arm, then started waving madly into the far distance. ‘Yoo-hoo! Billie! Over here!’
Miranda extricated herself from Kitty’s grip and pushed her way through the mob. Billie, pretty stunning in the Joseph dress and perfect make-up, and with her hair all chicly tousled, teetered on the edge of the terraces, looking completely bemused.
Miranda reached her, and hugged her. ‘God, I’m so glad you’re here, doll. It wouldn’t be the same without you. Well – what do you think?’
Billie gazed round Caught Offside and shook her head. ‘It’s stunning. I’d never expected . . . and so many people! I’ve got to hand it to Reuben – this is totally unbelievable.’ Her voice took on a bit of an edge. ‘I just hope his other entrepreneurial dabblings are as successful.’
Miranda, not having a clue what she was taking about, nodded. ‘Oh, they will be, doll. Reuben’s got the touch all right. Oh, great – this is it – you’re just in time.’
The lights had dimmed and the DJ slapped ‘Three Lions’ onto the turntable. With one voice, Caught Offside trumpeted raucously that football was coming home . . .
‘Just in time for what?’ Billie screeched over the chorus. ‘The official opening. Reuben’s got David Ginola or David Beckham – I’m sure of it.’
‘Dream on!’ Billie grinned.
Miranda grinned back as the music and singing came to an end. ‘Believe me, I am . . . Oh!’
‘Football’s coming home to Amberley Hill – and it’s coming home right now!’ Reuben swept onto the stage looking exactly like Pierce Brosnan tonight under the spotlights, even down to the lock of hair feathering over one eye. Miranda’s stomach turned liquid with lust. He clutched the microphone, acknowledging the roof-raising cheers. ‘Welcome, everyone, to Caught Offside!’
More cheers. Miranda squirmed ecstatically. He was totally, devastatingly gorgeous. She loved him. She knew she loved him. She sneaked a quick glance at Billie, who was staring at Reuben with complete disdain.
Reuben threw his arms open wide to include everyone in his corporate embrace. ‘I hope that you’ve all enjoyed your two-hour taster – and that you’ll stay on until daylight and enjoy the rest of the party!’
More screams of affirmation. Miranda hugged herself. ‘Tonight and every night Caught Offside aims to bring you the best of everything – the best food, drink, dancing, music, and of course the best football!’ Reuben was well into his stride now, pausing to let the cheers die away. ‘And now, to perform the official opening ceremony, one of the country’s star players! Not only is he from one of the Premiership’s flagship clubs, but he’s also been capped for England –’
‘Rules out Ginola, then,’ Billie hissed.
‘– and is also very well-known for his television appearances!’ Reuben stood back and looked towards the side of the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, let’s have a big Caught Offside welcome for –’
‘I can’t bear it!’ Miranda clutched at Billie’s hand. ‘Me and David Beckham breathing the same air!’
Reuben gave an impressive flourish with the microphone.
‘Kieran Squires!’
The whole place erupted. Wolf whistles and screams and howls of delight drowned out everything else. Miranda sighed in ecstasy, watching the tall, knock-’em-dead beauty of Putney Football Club’s biggest star appear on the stage. She’d never even thought of him . . . God, how had Reuben managed to pull this one off? Kieran Squires! Here, in Amberley Hill . . .
She jiggled at Billie’s hand as the wolf whistles and foot-stamping began to fade. ‘Ace or what? God – he is so glorious! Don’t you reckon, Billie? I mean, even if you don’t like football, you’ve got to admit he’s totally divine! Billie? Billie . . . ?’
She frowned. Billie seemed to have gone into catatonic shock. She was standing stock-still, staring at the stage, her mouth slightly open, her eyes not blinking.
‘Er – um –’ Kieran coughed into the microphone. ‘It’s just fab to be here. This is a really great place. Great. I’ve never seen a club like this before.’
Everyone except Billie, Miranda noticed, applauded like crazy.
He beamed happily. ‘It’s my – um – great pleasure to declare this – er – club open. I hope you’ll all enjoy being Caught Offside.’ He grinned at his own joke, I’ve always hated it myself. Anyway, it’s really – er – great to be here and to have the privilege of opening this club and – um – I hope you all have a lovely time. Thank you.’
The DJ belted into Putney’s theme tune, which had topped the charts the previous summer when they’d done the Cup and League double. Miranda, clapping wildly and trilling along, looked at Billie. She was still staring blankly at the stage as Reuben and Kieran shook hands.
‘Billie? What’s up? Are you OK? Where are you –’ Billie shook her hand free, forged her way through the clapping, cheering crowds, and, pushing aside the screaming knot of girls all clamouring for Kieran’s autograph and bits of his body, hitched up the Joseph dress and leaped onto the stage.
‘Bloody hell!’ Miranda said admiringly. ‘She doesn’t hang about.’
She watched as Billie forced herself between Reuben and Kieran, and before either of them realised she was there, slapped them each resoundingly round the face.
‘Jesus!’ Miranda was wide-eyed as Kitty, Sally, Debs, Anna and Pixie joined her in stunned silence. ‘What the hell is al
l that about? I know she doesn’t like football, but that’s a bit OTT.’
The Caught Offside audience, well tanked up, whistled and catcalled and booed as Billie jumped back down from the stage and barged her way towards the exit. The whole club then roared into an Amberley Hill version of ‘You’re Not Singing Any More’, complete with jabbing fingers.
Reuben and Kieran were still on the podium in front of the twin decks, exchanging sheepish looks and trying to shrug it all off. The DJ, caught cold with the barking anthem from the floor, decided to get his own back and immediately rushed into ‘Blue Is the Colour’ at full volume. Miranda, not knowing whether to follow Billie, comfort Reuben, apologise to Kieran, or just get drunk, dithered on the dance floor.
Sally, Anna and the rest were relaying the whole thing over and over to each other in fairly inebriated falsetto voices. The rest of the crowd were laughing now, screaming along to ‘Blue Is the Colour’, and when Miranda looked, Reuben and Kieran had left the stage.
‘Bugger . . .’ Miranda gazed around. She really should go after Billie, but where should she start? The cloakrooms were hardly likely to be deserted, and it was far more likely that Billie had bombed out into the Spicer Centre and jumped in a cab and gone home. But why had she done it? In God’s name, why!
Miranda pushed her way towards the exit, trampling on an Arsenal player she’d always sworn she’d never kick out of bed and not even stopping to apologise. She simply didn’t understand what was going on.
‘Miranda!’ Barnaby, in a dinner jacket, had just emerged from the turnstiles.
She whimpered. Not now. Please not now. ‘Oh, hi. I didn’t know you were coming tonight. Um – please don t think I’m being rude, but I’m a bit busy and –’
‘Jo’s idea.’ Barnaby beamed, holding out his hand. And of course I won’t keep you, my dear. We’d just had a bit of an acrobatic blast in the Slingsby this afternoon, pulling a few Gs, and wanted to use up some of the leftover adrenaline.
Miranda smiled weakly. ‘Is Jonah here, then?’
‘Yes, he’s in the Gents. We’ve had one or two in Mulligan’s on the way here. Shame we missed the official opening, but this looks very jolly. I haven’t been in a nightclub in years.’
Please, please, please, go away, you nice man, Miranda said silently. I’ve got to sort out my life. Billie’s life. Oh God! ‘Look, go and grab a seat in the bar, doll – if you can find one – and I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to find – Oh, hello, Jonah!’
Jonah smiled. He looked staggeringly gorgeous, if a bit squinty-eyed. Miranda fleetingly wondered how much of it was due to the acrobatics and pulling the Gs, and how much was down to pulling Mulligan’s Guinness.
‘I was just explaining to Barnaby that I’ve got a couple of things to see to.’
Jonah nodded. ‘Understood. Um – is Billie here?’
Miranda flinched. Possibly not the best bet to tell him that his prospective wingwalker had just belted Caught Offside’s star turn. ‘Oh, what a pity! You’ve just missed her! I think she – um – wanted an early night.’
Jonah looked crestfallen. ‘That’s a shame. I wanted to tell her something and I’ve kept missing her at the shed all week. Still, it’ll keep. OK, then, it’s my round.’
‘You go on through, Jo,’ Barnaby said. ‘I don’t want to keep Miranda hanging about, but there’s something I wanted to say.’
Jonah, followed by a string of beautiful but rather squiffy women in strapless dresses who obviously thought he was Ginola with a haircut, disappeared towards the bar. Miranda hoped he wouldn’t go for the Bobby Charlton Slammer. It would probably play havoc with the Gs.
‘Could we just find somewhere a little quieter, my dear? A little more private?’
Miranda, suddenly realising that Barnaby was still there, frowned and pulled him through to the cubbyhole between the Home and Away dressing rooms. It wasn’t particularly private, as several couples appeared to have it singled out for a trysting place, but at least no one was singing.
‘Barnaby, I really am sorry if I sound impolite, but there are some really urgent things I need to do.’
‘Yes, yes, this won’t take a minute –’
‘If it’s about business –’
‘It’s about my small stately home, and my racehorses and my planes and my travelling.’
Oh God . . . Miranda gulped. He’d had the Guinness too. He was going to do This Is Your Life. She tried grinning, but it didn’t quite come off. ‘Yes, you’ve mentioned them before, doll, remember? They sound lovely.’
‘Wrong consonant,’ Barnaby sighed. ‘Try substituting the v with an n . . .’
Miranda, who was totally crap at Countdown, tried and failed.
Barnaby helped her out. ‘Lonely, my dear. Unutterably lonely. I wondered – I just wondered – and I wouldn’t say this without a bit of Dutch courage, but I wondered if you would do me the honour of possibly considering sharing them with me . . . ?’
Chapter Thirty-four
Billie slammed into Reuben’s office – at least, she assumed it was Reuben’s office; it was the only one she could find in Caught Offside’s warren of back stage broom cupboards and bottle stores – and leaned, gulping for air, against the desk.
The echoing vibration of the DJ’s bass line shuddered through the floor beneath her, although the main bolt of noise from the club was oddly muted by several layers of plasterboard. She wiped her sweating hands on the Joseph dress. How many years would she get for manslaughter? No one would convict her of murdering Reuben, would they? Not after what he’d done?
How crass could he get? How cruel? After everything else he’d thrown at her, she’d assumed that she’d seen absolutely the worst side of his cunning, conniving, manipulative nature. But even she hadn’t thought he was capable of this.
She took deep breaths, trying to steady her pulse rate. And Kieran? Just how stupid was he? Why the hell, after what had happened, had he accepted Reuben’s offer to come back here, of all places?
She laughed derisively. They were as sick and twisted as each other. Thinking that by dragging up the past, taunting her with her mistakes, they would ruin her life and drive her away, or ruin her life and keep her biddable. Well, they were in for a huge shock either way. She’d run away once, she sure as hell wasn’t intending to make it a career. Not a chance. She was more determined than ever to stay at Whiteacres and be successful.
Reuben hadn’t been able to frighten her by threats or coercion – he hadn’t even managed to pressurise her into line-toeing by buying the warehouses – so he certainly wasn’t going to manage to control her by bloody bare-faced blackmail.
Still shaking, she reran the face-slapping, and was delighted not to feel the slightest twinge of remorse. She had absolutely no regrets about doing it in public. She was just glad that the press hadn’t had their cameras focused on the stage at that moment; at least it meant Faith and Stan would never hear of the incident. They’d be absolutely livid if they knew what she’d done. It wasn’t the way she’d been brought up.
She gulped a bit more, trying to stop hyperventilating, still feeling the shock of Kieran’s appearance. She simply couldn’t believe it. It had never occurred to her, not even when Miranda had been banging on about the footballing superstar who was going to open the club, and . . . She frowned. Why on earth hadn’t Miranda warned her?
Oh, yes, Miranda didn’t know about Kieran, did she? She only knew about mythical Damon. But surely, whatever she said, Miranda must have had an inkling about who Reuben’s guest of honour was going to be? And Miranda always talked about everything, no matter how confidential, so why the hell had she suddenly turned into Miss Sacred-Confessional over this?
Billie could hear footsteps echoing along the corridor outside. Sod it. It was probably the Putney hit squad or, even worse, the hatchet-faced bouncers – oh, no, sorry – door people – that Reuben had employed in droves to keep the undesirables out of Caught Offside. She laughed at the irony. The bigg
est undesirable in the world owned the bloody place!
Billie looked round quickly. Brilliant. Nowhere to run. No hiding places. One door to the office, and that was just opening . . .
‘Billie?’ Kieran’s voice echoed above the sudden wave of an overamplified version of ‘We Are the Champions’. ‘Billie? Are you in here? Mr Wainwright said –’
Billie closed her eyes. She’d had nightmares about this happening. About being alone with him again. Outside, just now, in the club, didn’t count. There’d been a crowd of thousands. This was different. Her pulse rate upped a few notches. She opened one eye. At least Kieran was on his own. So far.
He was smiling at her, albeit a little warily. ‘Hiya. It’s great to see you again. Great. You look really pretty.’
Jesus! She took a deep breath. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘Er – what? Oh, I think I’m supposed to say sorry.’
Billie opened the other eye. Oh God. He was still lovely to look at. So handsome, so athletically superb, so bloody sexy – so damned thick . . . She felt absolutely nothing for him. Not even the hate that had festered for so long. Being faced with the reality somehow put everything into perspective at last. She wanted to laugh. Reuben, in his studied act of cruelty, had done her a massive favour.
‘You’re not supposed to apologise. I hit you, remember?’
Kieran nodded. ‘Oh, yeah. I don’t mean that. I deserved that and it didn’t hurt much. I mean – about the other . . .before . . . when I left you. I want to say sorry.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘I couldn’t even send your stuff on from the flat. I didn’t know where to – my agent’s still got it.’
‘Tell him to burn it.’
Still looking over Kieran’s shoulder for Reuben, Billie sighed. ‘It’s far too late to apologise for leaving me in the middle of nowhere – and where’s your partner in crime?’
‘Uh?’
‘Reuben.’ She remembered, too late, the footballer’s hierarchy training. Anyone who didn’t actually kick a ball was always given their full title. ‘Mr Wainwright.’
Walking on Air Page 36
