by Lucy Parker
Pulling his key from his pocket, he beeped the lock on the Ferrari, jerked open the rear door and lifted his iPad from the backseat. He was still studying her with disconcerting impersonality while he brought up a web browser and started a news search.
“Yes,” he said into the phone, and switched his gaze to the screen. A betraying nerve convulsed beside his eye. “Yes, I will.” He ended the call without saying goodbye, and silently turned the iPad around to show Lainie.
It was a breaking news item in London Celebrity. Richard Troy’s Secret Family Tragedy Revealed! blasted the headline, and then in smaller type below: Late MP Sir Franklin Troy’s 1994 “heart attack” shockingly outed as a suicide.
Richard flipped the iPad over and continued to read the article. Lainie was unable to speak.
“Coincidence?” he said at last, almost casually. He closed the iPad with a decisive snap, and it might as well have been a sound effect for his fracturing temper. “Because I don’t remember telling anyone else my private family business recently.”
“I’m sorry.” Lainie barely recognised her own voice. She wasn’t even aware that she was going to speak until she heard the words. “I’m so sorry, Richard. It just...slipped out. There’s no excuse.”
“It just ‘slipped out’?” Richard repeated with awful sarcasm. He was very pale. “You just ‘accidentally’ contacted the tabloids and mentioned that, by the way, that insane bastard Sir Franklin Troy shot himself.”
“Does it say he shot himself?” Lainie was bewildered as well as absolutely horrified. How much digging had Will had time to do before he’d sent off his tattling email? And where would he have the resources? He was hardly MI5.
“No, it doesn’t. I see you had enough circumspection to at least skimp on the details.” He shook his head once, as if he’d sustained a blow. “Why?” he bit out. “It doesn’t even make sense. It’s completely out of character.”
“I didn’t tell the press.” Lainie closed her eyes. “I would never do that.”
“Then...what? My house is bugged? London Celebrity is hiring long-range telepaths now?”
“I told Will.”
Richard went still again, and his fiery eyes went oddly blank. “You told Will.”
“Yes.” It was a strangled rasp. Lainie put out a hand to his arm, but wasn’t surprised when he deliberately removed it. “He made me furious with something he said about you, and it just...slipped out. I’m sorry.”
After a moment, Richard said, still without expression, “I’ll take you home.”
“Richard...”
He opened the door for her. With a last helpless glance at his impenetrable face, Lainie slowly got into the car.
It was the worst drive of her life. As they neared the familiar sights and lights of Bayswater, he asked without looking at her, “Did you tell him why?”
“No, I did not.” Lainie jerked around in her seat. “Of course I didn’t!”
“It’ll probably come out anyway,” Richard said, as if he was making a casual remark over the breakfast table as to the cunning inevitability of the British media. “It isn’t the best foundation on which to campaign against Westfield’s influence. Bad enough to have a father who was a known fascist about the arts. Not a good look when he’s a vote-fiddler, as well.”
Lainie put her hand to her forehead and said nothing.
When the car pulled up on her street, Richard walked her to the door. He was silently, remotely polite for the first time in their relationship. And she hated it.
Before he left, he looked down at her. A flash of intense emotion faded into indifference. “I suppose we got a bit carried away by the pretence.”
She still didn’t reply.
“It’s easy to lose sight of reality when you’re immersed in a role,” he went on, echoing her once-upon-a-time sentiments. He paused and the muscle in his jaw jumped again. “However, I think that particular run is over.”
It was a good exit line, delivered with so little emphasis that it avoided going too soap opera.
She didn’t watch him drive away.
Chapter Ten
London Celebrity @LondonCelebrity. 3h
Are things over between Richard Troy and Elaine Graham? Actress looks grim as more details emerge of Troy’s dodgy past...goo.gl/2D5Gk8
This was, no doubt, the place in the script where Lainie was supposed to take to her bed, sobbing out her broken heart into a carton of ice cream. She had taken that option when Will had fractured her pride.
She wasn’t letting go of Richard so easily.
After a terrible night’s sleep, she got up on Monday morning and put on one of her favourite outfits. As a little confidence boost to start the day, a flattering jumper ranked dismally below a naked, sleepy cuddle with Richard.
Her bed smelled like his cologne. He’d left a shoot-’em-up spy novel on her coffee table. Her chocolate biscuit supply was suspiciously depleted. His presence was all over her flat.
Stuck fast in her heart.
She had left Bob’s office, a hundred years ago, in a complete strop because she was going to have to put up with Richard Troy out of work hours. And he had changed her life—in every way—for the better.
She had to fix this.
God. She hoped she could fix this. Because if not—
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t think about that.
She rang Sarah before her sister-in-law left for work. “You’re a subcommittee member for the Literary Society,” she said, without any preliminaries, and Sarah yawned. Lainie heard the sound of clinking china and cereal falling into a bowl.
“Good morning to you too. Was that a question or an accusation? Yes, I am, for my sins. Why? Do you need a book rec? I’ve heard good things about the new Booker Prize winner.”
“And the Literary Society occasionally attends the same events as the Royal Society of the Performing Arts, yes?”
“Again, yes. Unfortunately, I do associate from time to time with the RSPA and the giant stick up their collective derrieres. I repeat: why?”
“I need contact details for the current president of the RSPA. I’ve already tried online. It’s like looking for info on the Secret Service.”
There was a pause and a crunch while Sarah ate a mouthful of her breakfast. “I imagine I can find out for you. Do I want to know what you’re up to?”
“I just...” Lainie stared into her untouched cup of tea. She couldn’t break. She wouldn’t. This was too important. This was the rest of her life. “I need to put something right.”
“I see.” Sarah hesitated. “Didn’t you say Richard was angling for the next chair of the RSPA?”
“Yes. He was. Is.” Lainie sighed and shoved back a loose strand of hair. “Long, ugly story. I’ll fill you in when I know how it’s going to turn out.”
Well. Let it turn out well.
“I’ll hold you to that. Hang on a tick. I’ll make a few calls and get back to you.”
Armed with an address from an amused Sarah, who said it was all jolly fun, really, like a spy film, Lainie splurged and took a taxi to Mayfair. She still had a few hours before she had to be at the theatre for a rehearsal with the other three principals.
Which at this stage was shaping up to be a right barrel of laughs. Will had left two messages on her phone. He’d sounded drunk in the first one and sulkily defensive in the second. She’d deleted them both, cutting him off halfway through an inadequate apology. She’d tried to call Richard, but his phone was off. The landline at his house had rung eight times before a breathless woman had picked up, sounding as if she’d either run up the stairs or been interrupted midorgasm. Fortunately for all of them, she had identified herself as Richard’s housekeeper, thus saving her boss from castration.
No, Mrs. Hunt was sorry, but Richard wouldn’t be available all morning. He was meeting with his agent and a PR team.
Ominous.
Lainie stared bleakly out the car window. As usual, it was raining. The weathe
r was so wet and foggy that she couldn’t even tell where they were for most of the journey. She tried to pick out familiar shops and landmarks, keeping her mind directly in the present, refusing to let it wander down dangerous alleyways that made her stomach feel hollow with anxiety.
Jeremy Steinman, the current president of the RSPA, was a retired barrister who lived in a block of mansion flats. Fortunately, he was at home. She had very little patience for anything else going wrong today. A tall, handsome man in his late sixties, he eyed her with twinkling curiosity as they shook hands. “Not that I’m not gratified to receive a visit from a reigning princess of the London stage,” he said, smiling, “but to what do I owe the unexpected honour?”
Lainie hadn’t really thought this through. She had just needed to do...something. Losing Will had led to an embarrassing, wallowing period of self-pity. Losing Richard was unacceptable. Ditto to treading all over his life goal.
This, at least, she could try to put right.
Her intention had been to assess the situation when she arrived and could see for herself what type of man Steinman was. If he was another Westfield, the mission was futile.
He was not another Westfield. Steinman’s brown eyes were clear and kind. There was a gentlemanly dignity in the way that he regarded her. She put the chances of his groping her knee across the coffee table at zero.
She had come prepared to leave her own dignity at the door, to schmooze and network and be horribly fake if she had to. After a few minutes of conversation with Steinman, she decided to just be honest. Accepting his invitation, she sat down on a comfortable chair and she told him about their abbreviated dinner party with Westfield the night before. The way the other man had acted toward her, his parting sally to Richard, and the apparent ruination of Richard’s chances at succeeding Steinman.
“I’m aware it’s not very pretty behaviour on my part either,” she said bluntly, nervously crossing her feet at the ankles. “Coming here to tell tales. But it’s unfair if this is the reason Richard loses his nomination. I don’t know if he’s the lead contender.” She paused, but Steinman’s face remained imperturbable. “But he should have his chance. He’s ambitious and...well, atrociously rude at times, but he gets things done and he has integrity.”
She didn’t think it necessary to add the unspoken: “Unlike some people.”
Her decision to accost Steinman felt disastrously impulsive as he regarded her in silence. At last, he smiled ruefully and said, “Troy’s a lucky man.” He sobered. “First of all, I sincerely apologise to you, Miss Graham, on behalf of the Society, for last night’s disgraceful behaviour. It will not be swept under the rug. And I’m not at liberty to comment on the pending decision regarding my successor, but I assure you that Troy will not be blackballed through the prejudice of one member. Regardless of the position that person currently occupies on the committee.”
She got the impression that Steinman wasn’t the biggest fan of his veep either. Perhaps that was why he was stepping down.
Lainie didn’t particularly want a cup of coffee, but she accepted Steinman’s pleasant offer and stayed for almost an hour, chatting about a number of current plays and art exhibitions. It seemed less melodramatic than marching into his house, pointing an accusing finger and storming out again a few minutes later.
Halfway home on the bus, she changed her mind and switched to the route for the theatre district. She felt too antsy to lie around the flat. She would rather go early to work and rope someone into reading lines with her. Might as well earn a few goodwill points with Bennett while she was at a loose end.
She was relieved to find only a few tourists outside the side door of the Metronome. She paused for autographs and selfies, produced a Mona Lisa smile and noncommittal answer in response to questions about Richard, and headed straight for her dressing room. A team of builders were doing spot repairs on the upper floors, and she was grateful to get away from the noise. Her mood was precarious enough without constant hammering and drilling.
Sitting down at her vanity, Lainie checked her watch. Too early for Meghan to arrive yet. She wondered if Margaret was around.
She had been sitting there for less than thirty seconds when the door opened again without warning. “Before you chuck that at my head,” Will said, nodding at the powder compact she held in her hand, “hear me out.”
Lainie’s fingers tightened until her knuckles bleached white. “Get out.”
“No.” Will’s face was pale. He leaned back against the door as if anticipating her next move. “Listen.”
“You listen.” Lainie rose to her feet, so angry with him she was shaking. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing.” She let out a half laugh, half sigh. “And I mean that literally. I don’t know what you thought were going to achieve.”
“I don’t know either!” Will burst out. He shoved a hand through his usually impeccable hair, and the gesture was so reminiscent of Richard that Lainie caught her breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated more quietly. He grimaced. “I was pissed. In every meaning of the word. The paps were there, and it just...”
“Slipped out?” Lainie suggested with biting irony.
“Would it help if I said again I was sorry?”
“I’m hardly the one who needs an apology.”
“Well, I’m not apologising to bloody Troy!”
Lainie suddenly felt very tired. “No, I didn’t expect you would.”
Will reached out and touched her arm. “Lainie...”
She pushed his hand aside. “No. It wouldn’t help if you said you were sorry, because you aren’t. Not really. I can only assume this is exactly what you wanted to happen. I just hope you didn’t think I would turn to you for comfort after Richard performed on cue and dropped me like a hot brick.”
“I told you,” he muttered, flushing. “I wasn’t thinking at all.”
“That, at least, sounds plausible.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s ended it?”
Lainie didn’t reply, and he shrugged. “It’s for the best.”
“Thank you for that unbiased take on the situation,” she said sarcastically. “I don’t recall asking for a quote from you.”
“Lainie, would you just—”
She cut off his exasperated rejoinder. “For the rest of this contract, I will love you and die for you on that stage. But when the curtain comes down, that’s it. We have nothing left to say to each other.”
A sense of the dramatic wasn’t the sole prerogative of the men around here.
She fiercely shook her head when he began to protest. “No. Seriously, how could you? How fucking dare you go public with something you knew was private and...and hurtful? Not just to him. To me, as well. After everything you’ve done already. We are so done, Will.”
He took a few deep breaths. Then he turned abruptly and left, closing the door behind him.
Lainie sank back down on the vanity stool and closed her eyes. For long moments, she just sat. She had been intimate with Will. Not only in bed, but in spending time alone together, in touching, in kissing, in conversation, she had shared part of herself with him. She hadn’t loved him, but she had liked him. She’d been attracted to him.
Now that feeling seemed so negligible she could no longer recognise that version of herself. The Lainie of even a few months ago was a stranger past and gone, a girl who’d had no idea how much she was compromising.
The woman she was now knew what she wanted—and she intended to have him. She would pit her personality against his any day.
But he had a right to be seriously pissed. And she knew him. Even on his best day, Richard couldn’t be described as charitably forgiving. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
At noon, she heard the sounds of more cast and crew arriving, but she suspected Richard would make a point of being even later than usual today.
Her surmise was correct—they were already ten minutes into the main stage rehearsal by the time he turned up. He ignored
Bennett’s tantrum and seamlessly inserted himself into the scene. Lainie watched him out of the corner of her eye as she ran through her dialogue with Chloe. He looked tired. It was one of the few areas in which men were shortchanged by social mores: no camouflaging makeup unless they were in full costume. She had slathered about half a bottle of concealer over her own dark rings.
He was in an absolutely foul mood, as well. Even Bennett seemed mild-mannered by comparison. By the end of the first act and Richard’s fourth sarcastic outburst, whispering broke out among the crew. Onstage, Will was tight-lipped, and the usually patient Chloe was beginning to look a bit frazzled around the edges. Lainie remained stoically unmoved, aided by the fact that Richard’s temper was never directed at her. He had reverted to his previous habit of ignoring her existence.
With an annoyed look at Richard, Bennett called an intermission. “Do I look like a bleeding nanny to anyone here? If you’re going to keep tossing your toys out of the playpen, Troy,” he said nastily, “we can find you somewhere else to play.”
Richard wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist and drained a bottle of water. He didn’t bother to acknowledge the dig.
Muttering under his breath, Will brushed past him, and Richard fixed him with a level, chilling stare. He didn’t speak, however, and Will continued into the wings with one backwards, slightly uneasy glance.
Chloe played with the ends of her chic pixie cut and looked uncertainly from Lainie to Richard. “Do you want to come and get a coffee with me?” she asked Lainie, who smiled at her.
“Thanks. Maybe later.”
Chloe’s eyes went to Richard again. He was adjusting the strapping around the handle of his sword with jerky movements. “Okay,” she said dubiously, and disappeared in the same direction as Will.
Lainie walked over to Richard’s side and deliberately let her arm brush against his shoulder. He clenched his jaw under the thick growth of stubble. “In the interests of my new open-book policy, you should know that I had coffee and shortbread with Jeremy Steinman this morning.”
Frosty veneer shattered on the first try. She allowed herself a tiny, satisfied smile when he turned on her. “You did what?” His glare was incredulous. “Where did you meet Steinman?”
