This is not a date, Vicky, this is not a date . . .
Too soon, way too soon for my liking, we’re outside my house, and for once I’m not even embarrassed that there’s a skip sitting outside it. He turns off the engine and I know, I just know he’s waiting to be asked in, so I go for it.
‘Daniel, there’s something I have to ask you . . .’
‘Mmmm . . .’ He’s moved in close to me, and we both know exactly what’s going to happen. But I have to ask him first, it’s burning me up.
‘Is it true . . . now you can tell me to mind my own business . . . but is it true that you’ve . . . you’ve . . . and, you know, now that I’m about to ask you I’m fully aware of how nosey this sounds . . . but . . . is it true that you’re seeing someone in the States?’
‘Who told you that?’ He’s looking at me sideways now, and for the first time in the whole, magical night, that teasing twinkle is gone from his eyes.
‘Emm . . . well . . . I heard it at the office, when you were over there . . . I’m sorry, I was . . . emm . . . just curious, that’s all.’
‘Vicky, the last time I listened to office gossip, I think they had me married off about three different times, divorced then re-married with kids all over the place. What can I tell you? It’s all total bollocks.’
‘But you were in the States for so long, everyone said . . .’
‘What exactly did they say?’
‘Well, that there was a penthouse involved. And that you were moving in with . . . emm . . .’
Now he starts to laugh, the eyes crinkle up at the edges and I know he’s back to himself again.
‘Vicky, yes, I was in the US for a long time, and I can’t tell you why, just trust me on that, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Besides,’ he says, turning slowly to me. ‘If I were involved with someone else, would I be sitting here with you? Would I even attempt this?’
He puts both his hands on my face and we kiss. Slowly, gently, almost dreamily.
For a second he pulls away and I move with him.
‘What, what’s the matter?’ Don’t stop, not now . . .
‘Now there’s something I want to ask you.’
‘Sure,’ I say, wanting, desperately wanting to feel him kissing me again.
‘Vicky, I know you date your fair share, and why shouldn’t you, you’re a beautiful woman, but . . . I’m not just some other guy to you, am I? You’re not seeing anyone else?’
‘Come back here,’ is my answer, as I drag him over to me, kissing him hard now, intensely, like this has been building between us for the longest time.
Next thing, wordlessly, we’re both getting out of the car and going inside. I don’t even have time to explain or apologize for the state of my house/building site, we’re in my tiny hallway, undressing each other, me slowly unbuttoning his shirt and trousers, him peeling my underwear off, almost in slow motion, like he has all the time in the world. Then, we’re going upstairs, strewing a trail of clothes behind us, and at one stage, one of us, I’m not even sure who, kicks over a pile of tiles, sending them crashing to the hard, granite floor.
‘I’ll replace them in the morning,’ he says thickly, in-between kissing, which is so intense and hungry now I can hardly bear it. Finally, this is it. Me and Daniel, naked and alone in my room, filthy unmade bed and all. Oh my God, now it’s happening so quick.
We’re going so fast, I can barely take in what’s happening . . . then out of nowhere, in-between his furious kisses I suddenly open my big mouth and say, ‘Daniel, you’re like a gazzillionaire and you’ve probably had sex with supermodels and gymnasts . . .’
‘Shhh,’ he whispers, kissing my earlobe, then my neck, then down further still, making me groan with pleasure . . .
Oh my God, that’s it.
I, Vicky Harper, think I’m in love.
Chapter Twenty-Five
DEFINITELY IN LOVE. Stop the presses. It’s official. We did it so many times last night that neither of us slept a wink, but you know what? I don’t care. Dawn is slowly creeping through the shutters, we’re cuddled up together, and I honestly think I could die and go to heaven, right here, right now.
Daniel, being Daniel, however, starts messing.
‘So this is where you live,’ he muses, staring at the plastered, unpainted walls, the raw, unvarnished bare floorboards and, oh yeah, let’s not forget the industrial-sized bag of cavity wall insulation lying in the corner. ‘Now, OK, it’s not exactly the Ritz Carlton . . .’
‘Enough out of you!’ I say, wide awake now, playfully throwing a pillow at him.
‘You’re supposed to say, “It’ll be lovely when it’s finished. And I hope that I’m still alive in the year two thousand and fifty to see the end result.”’
He roars laughing, then leans over to my bedside table.
‘So what’s this then?’
Oh shit, now he’s picking up the battered, well-thumbed law of attraction book. OK, I say, reasoning quickly to myself, it could be worse, he could have found far more embarrassing books than that. How to Make Any Man Fall in Love With You, for one. Or Seven Secrets of Highly Seductive Women. Or, God forbid, How Camilla Did It.
‘It’s actually . . . emm . . . a kind of philosophy book,’ I say primly, or as primly as I can sound given that I’m stark naked with only a sheet covering me. ‘Myself and Laura and Barbara are all . . . emm . . . sort of . . . reading it at the moment . . . we’re all very interested in . . . emm, you know, mind-expanding . . . stuff. Metaphysics and the like. What can I say? I have very brainy friends.’
He flicks open a page randomly and starts reading aloud.
The law of attraction is obedient and will always deliver whatever you wish. But beware, as with every genie in the bottle scenario, there’s a caveat. Focus on whatever you don’t want and it’s a proven fact that the law of attraction will manifest what it is you’re thinking of. Put simply: dread something and you’ll summon it towards you with the speed of light.
He tosses it aside and snuggles into me again, warm and cuddly, and next thing we’re kissing again and he’s murmuring into my ear, ‘So if I keep saying “I don’t want sex with Vicky” then this’ll keep happening?’
‘Now you’re getting the hang of it,’ I whisper, sliding underneath him this time. ‘Clever boy.’
Oh my God, I’d forgotten how bloody amazing being in love is. I’ve all the symptoms: the inane grin on my face, the glow in my cheeks from a sensational night with my lover, lack of appetite for anything other than sex and more of it. It’s like I’ve been so starved of any kind of romance, love, affection you name it, for so long that now I’m making up for lost time and savouring every fabulous minute of it.
At six a.m., we’re both in the shower together and it’s just so amazing. He watches me dressing and the fact that we both have to turn up on the set of the Original Eyes commercial is the only thing stopping me from hopping back into bed with him and happily spending the rest of the day there. We leap into his car, and although he offers to drive me straight to Ardmore Studios, where the shoot is to take place, for once, I’m finally able to think straight and ask him to drop me off where I abandoned my car last night.
‘Wouldn’t it look a bit suspicious if we both arrived together?’ I say, not letting go of his hand.
‘Do we care?’ is his teasing answer as we kiss goodbye.
‘Hey, you’re the one who says there’s enough gossip about you in the office!’
I’m just about to clamber out of his car and get into my own when he pulls me back.
‘You know, Vicky, I want us to go on a first date. A proper first date. Last night doesn’t count.’
‘Doesn’t count?’
‘Introductory sex, that’s all. Only a warm-up act, baby. No, I want you and me to . . . well, I’m keeping it a surprise, but will you keep next weekend free?’
‘Mmmm, you talked me into it.’ My hand is on his thigh now, and I’m not messing, I could leap on hi
m in the car right this minute and risk arrest for indecent exposure. And I wouldn’t care.
‘Sure you’re not dating any other guys? No other boyfriends you want to tell me about?’
‘Eh . . . lemme think,’ I say teasing, pretending to be ticking guys off my fingers. ‘No, he’s not around, emm, no . . . he’s having electric-shock therapy . . . ehh . . . no, he didn’t make parole this week, nope, you’re in luck . . . this weekend is clear.’
‘And you have the cheek to call me a messer?’
I just laugh and look at him adoringly, in all of his gorgeousness, still unable to believe my sheer good luck.
‘No, Daniel, there’s no other man in my life. Hand on heart; I’m not involved with anyone else. Believe me.’
‘Not to put too fine a point on it, or anything, but any time I bump into you socially, you are with someone else.’
His tone is light and breezy, but . . . for some reason, he’s not smiling now.
‘Hey, can I help it if I’m like . . . this irresistible sex goddess that men go bananas over?’ I tease. Jaysus, if he only knew the irony of that statement.
‘Vicky . . .’ he’s turned to me now, and is focusing on me in that dark, intense way he has. ‘I’m serious. Believe me, I’ve been down this road before and it’s . . . well, it’s not something I’m prepared to do again.’
A hint of an ex-girlfriend in the air, one who cheated on him, maybe? Not that it matters, not now that we’re together. As if I’d ever treat him like that, ever . . .
‘There’s no one else. I swear.’
‘Final answer?’
‘Final answer.’
I remember reading somewhere that the first signs of a couple having a hot office romance are: a) they arrive in separate cars; b) they studiously ignore each other in front of other people; and then c) they leave within a few minutes of each other.
Not me and Daniel though.
I’m as happy as a sand boy, really, nauseatingly Broadway happy, singing away in the car as I drive to the studio, absolutely bursting to have a full de-briefing session with the girls about this latest, miraculous, unbelievable twist. Memories of last night keep flooding back to me in wonderful, glowing waves. No, there’s no doubt about it. I’m in love. Funny, I think, pulling my car through, the things that life can throw up at you. One day I’m tearing my hair out over Ex-Files, sorry I mean Peter, then Dipso Man turns up just to shatter any romantic illusions I might have had about him, and then . . . Daniel. They were like the warm-up act to The Real Thing.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Seven a.m. Well, there is one person I know who’ll be up and about at this hour who I can share this unbelievable news with . . . Laura. I ring her from my mobile and she answers straight away.
‘Vicky! I didn’t expect to hear from you today, isn’t your first big shoot for the commercial this morning?’
‘On the way there now. I just had to tell you . . . oh Laura, last night I had the most fantastic, mind-blowing sex I have EVER had in my entire life!’
‘Oh really? Because I cleaned up baby vomit and unblocked a toilet. But please, continue.’
‘With . . . now are you ready for this? Daniel Best!’
‘Oh my God! Full story, please. And omit nothing, however trivial.’
‘I’ll have to fill you in later, I’m almost at the studio now. I’ll call in after work and go through it forensically with you. All I’ll say for now is, prepare to be truly astonished at just how miraculous the law of attraction can be.’
‘Yes, and on that very subject, I have a news bulletin for you, too. I had tea with Desmond and his mother and he’s asked me out again. To a black-tie charity do at the Four Seasons, no less. Can you believe it?’
‘Oh my God, you just up-sexed me! I’ll call in to you tonight for the full truth and nothing but!’
I’m thrilled, 100 per cent ecstatic for Laura that everything’s finally turning around for her, and Barbara and me . . . but very quickly go back to daydreaming about Daniel again. Oh God, I feel all warm inside just thinking about him. This really, really is it, I think, this is him, this is The One.
All I have to do is not mess it up. That’s all.
With perfect synchronicity, his car arrives at the same time as mine, we jump out together and hug like we haven’t just parted company twenty minutes ago. I know, all a bit syrupy/gooey, especially at this hour of the morning, but then that’s just what LURVE does to me.
Don’t mess it up, don’t mess it up . . .
Something vaguely comes back to me about the bit he read from the law of attraction book this morning, the part about whatever you dread you attract, but I shove it to the back of my mind where it belongs. No, life at the moment is like in a sitcom, where the lead character says, ‘What can possibly go wrong?’
Turns out I don’t have to wait too long to find out.
Daniel and I head into the studio, which is looking just amazing, far more impressive even than the designer’s sketches, a girlie boudoir come to life, all in black and white, with a huge, Victorian gilded mirror dominating the set.
‘What do you think?’ I ask Daniel, proudly.
‘Talk about the wow factor,’ he says, squeezing my hand.
To be honest, when Sophie approved the preliminary sketches, I was kind of afraid it would end up looking like an amateur production of Gigi, but it works, even beyond my wildest dreams. Our two models – the one who’s going on a first date, and the one whose Original Sin products she’s busy coveting – are in the make-up trailer and I’m just about to call Amanda to see where she is when Sophie strides over to us, in top form.
‘Daniel, sweetie,’ she coos. ‘And Vicky, doesn’t this look fantastic?’
And I’m not joking, the bobbed hair is so perfectly executed, she must have been up since about four a.m. getting it to sit so obediently.
‘Always good to see a happy client,’ Daniel smiles, shaking her hand.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.’
‘Actually, I just came to support my girl here,’ Daniel says, cool as a fish’s fart, and as if to further highlight our ‘new couple’ status, the dote even slips his arm around my waist. I glow, then blush as Sophie gives a knowing, woman-of-the-world-type nod.
‘I see. Well, our director’s here too, come and say hi. He’s just over here, setting up.’
‘Oh yeah,’ says Daniel as the three of us walk over towards a vast lighting rig, where there’s a few guys with their backs to us. ‘Somebody . . . Howard, isn’t that who we normally use?’
‘Yes. Tom? Come and meet Daniel Best. And Vicky Harper too, of course.’
Oh f**k.
No. No, this cannot be happening.
It’s him. Tom, no Tim, no Tom. Dipso Man himself.
He turns around, spots me and is straight over, planting a stale boozy kiss on my cheek.
‘Vicky! Yes, you could say that I certainly met Vicky,’ he says in the gravelly voice.
Please don’t say any more: I’m looking at him, willing him to shut up with the panic in my eyes . . . please just go back to your rig now, and I’ll somehow get Daniel out of here and everything will be OK . . . please . . .
But Daniel picks up on something. Don’t ask me how, but before I know what’s going on, he says to Tom, ‘So have you two worked together before, or something?’
Please, Tom or whatever your bloody name is, just say yes and leave it at that, please, this man is too important to me . . .
But he doesn’t.
‘As a matter of fact, Vicky and I are dating. Hey, yesterday does count as a date, doesn’t it, my dear?’
Chapter Twenty-Six
THE CHANCES ARE I might, just might have been able to get away with that. That’s if I’d been lucky enough to drag Daniel out of the studio, sit him down and explain.
The whole truth, everything. I had brunch with the guy and that was it. And OK so maybe I did end up with Daniel that night, but it was all u
nplanned and . . . and maybe we’ll even end up having a laugh about it. I mean, it is kind of funny when you think about it really, I wonder weakly. You know, what are the odds and all that . . .
But it’s mayhem on the set, completely hectic, I’m being dragged in about twenty different directions and I’m not even sure where Daniel is. Then just as we’re going for a lighting rehearsal, I spot him, over by a monitor, arms crossed, standing alone and looking deep in thought. But as I move over to him, smiling hopefully, shrugging, wanting to talk to him, desperately needing to explain, he moves off.
‘Everything OK?’ is all I get to say to him.
‘Not now, Vicky.’
‘Look, I know this looks terrible, but you have to let me explain . . .’
‘Nothing to explain. You went straight from one guy to another. On the same day, for Christ’s sake. And what’s worse is that you lied to me.’
‘It wasn’t like that! You have to listen to me, Daniel . . .’
‘You looked me in the eye and you lied.’
‘I didn’t! You have to hear me out . . .’
‘Time and a place, Vicky.’
And he strides off, ostensibly to look at the set but really to get away from me.
None of this is helped by Tom in an embarrassingly loud voice clapping me on the back and saying: ‘So we must have that night-time date we talked about soon, my dear. Day-time socializing isn’t really me, somehow. Maybe dinner after the shoot tonight?’
I glance around, hoping, praying that Daniel is too far away to have heard, but he’s actually a lot closer than I’d have thought.
‘Tom, please stop this, you’re mortifying me,’ I hiss, not wanting my private business to become some kind of side-show.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Vicky. You were all on for it yesterday. Not twenty-four hours ago.’
Then I turn back to where Daniel was standing a second ago, but now he’s gone. Oh God, this is such a nightmare. Then, just as I think things can’t get much worse, guess what? They do. Amanda’s over, asking if the on-set rumour is true; that I’m simultaneously dating the director and Daniel Best? And doesn’t he have a girlfriend in the States anyway? Now I feel sick. I’m an ‘on-set rumour’, and am suddenly too weak and shaky to even care.
Do You Want to Know a Secret? Page 30
