by Nicky Wells
I arrived at Gatwick at four in the afternoon and made it to the office by five-thirty. Rick had been waiting for me and offered to take me out for a quick bite to eat, which I accepted gratefully. He tactfully asked about Dad again, and then we talked about the column and what a success it had turned out to be. Rick was glad that I would cover the final two gigs, and he had booked me on a flight to Paris first thing the next morning. Secretly, I was thrilled. Never before had people arranged things for me. I had always been relegated to the role of arranger for others. Rick also shared with me, in strictest confidence, the level of income that Read London had derived from syndicating the column—and the amount was staggering. I had had no idea.
“Clearly,” he stated, “there’s a bonus here for you. I’m working on the details. And also, I think I’ll need to find you a more responsible role in the paper when you get back. If you want it, that is.” He hesitated for a second, and then seemed to make up his mind. “Might as well tell you, as you’ll see anyway when you get back. You’ll have a couple of offers from the nationals. I’d hate to lose you.”
“Offers,” I repeated, uncomprehending. “What kind of offers?”
“Job offers,” he muttered brusquely. “Deputy editor for entertainment here, senior editor for entertainment there. I don’t know if that’s your thing, but an editorship has to be tempting for you right now.”
I blinked. Editorships. “Sure,” I stalled, “but…I don’t know. Leaving Read London? Right now?”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Rick brightened. “I’ll find you a more responsible position by the New Year, I promise. Talent such as yours has to be developed and stretched. Plus,” he grinned wickedly, “If I get some successors trained up, I might be able to take early retirement.”
Golly! He was thinking big thoughts. My head swam, and I thought it best not to say much else. But my, an editorship. I could barely contain my excitement. What an outcome. Me, Sophie Penhalligan, hot writer of the year. I was hot stuff.
Rick and I parted on the best of terms, and Rick expected me back in the office a few days after the closing show at the Arena. “Give you a few days to get some rest,” Rick offered. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”
After my meeting with Rick, I went straight home. I tried ringing Rachel, as promised, but she was out. Thus instead, I ran a bath and tried to unwind. I would have an early start tomorrow and a lot of excitement ahead. I could do with some rest. I decided to watch a DVD before catching an early night.
I was fifteen minutes into the film when Tim rang. He sounded surprised to hear my voice, and I cursed myself for not letting the machine get it.
“Can I come over?” was his immediate question.
“Erm,” I stalled. “I’d rather not. I’ve only just got home and I’m catching the first flight out to Paris tomorrow morning. I’ve got to be up by five. Do you mind?”
There was a sulking silence on the other end.
“So, you’re going back,” he stated at length.
“I am indeed. I’ve got a job to finish,” I reminded him gently.
“What about your Dad?”
“Dad’s much better, thanks. He’s the one who told me, in no uncertain terms, that I had to finish the job.” I was glad that at least this wasn’t a lie.
Tim digested that for a second. “Well, I’d rather you didn’t,” he eventually came out. “I’ll miss you. And I have a bad feeling about all this time we’ve spent apart lately.”
“I’m sorry,” I offered. “I’ve got to do this. Rick is so impressed with me…he’s talking editorship. Surely you can understand that I can’t let this pass?”
“Editorship,” Tim repeated. “But that’s great.”
“Exactly,” I confirmed with a little yelp of excitement. “It’s fantastic.”
“So you’re going back for professional reasons,” he wanted to know.
“Of course, what did you think?” Ah, here I went again.
“I don’t know. I just thought…I don’t know.”
After this conversational gem, we seemed to have run out of things to say again. On the TV screen, a couple was caught mid-snog and their faces were absurdly distorted on pause as I impatiently waited for Tim to get off the phone.
“So, when are you back?”
Good, we were on more constructive matters now.
“By December fifteenth or thereabouts. Rick has given me a few days of leave afterwards, and I might go back down to Mum and Dad’s before picking up the job in the office.” Another little white lie combined with a truth. How complicated my life had become.
“I’ll see you then?” A question, not a statement.
“Absolutely,” I confirmed, and with conviction. We would definitely see each other then. I just didn’t know yet for what purpose.
Please don’t say I love you, I prayed silently. Please don’t.
But there it was. “I love you,” he ventured, clearly testing the waters.
I gave a silent sigh.
“Me you, too,” I responded, unable not to, but unable to get the full words out either.
I felt awful after this call but tried to put the rising guilt out of my mind. I had resolved to go to Paris, and I had resolved to figure out everything else when I got back. Any further rumination right now, in my present state of mind, would have been fruitless. Giving in to Tim’s wish to meet up would have been disastrous. So, back to the film and then to bed. And in the morning, to Paris.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I would arrive at Charles de Gaulle airport so early that I had absolved Dan from the need to come and pick me up personally. Nine a.m. was not a good time for someone in a rock band to get up, particularly not on the day of a big gig, and I would have felt terrible dragging Dan out of bed at that ungodly hour just to smile at me at the barriers. And okay, the flight turned out to be delayed so that I didn’t arrive at the airport until about ten-thirty, but nobody could have known that. Thankfully, the limo that Dan had sent was still waiting for me.
I was heady with relief to be back on the road, to return to this lifestyle that had seemed to suit me better than anything I had ever tried. It wasn’t just the luxury and the glamour. I was sure that just about anyone could get used to the limos, the fancy restaurants, and the top hotels. In fact, it occurred to me that all the limos and all the hotels resembled each other, making it eerily difficult to distinguish whether you were in Paris, Munich, Berlin, or London. No, I was attracted to the other kind of glamour. The buzz before a gig, the exhilaration afterwards, the tension on the day and the adrenaline rush when it was all finally over. I loved being with creative, artistic people who did something unusual every day, something that not every ordinary Joe Bloggs would manage. All my life, I had been worried about becoming trapped in a mediocre life, and with a rock band around, there was little chance of that.
It was very cold in Paris. I could see frost on the trees and cars as the limo took me steadily toward Hôtel Samedi. A weak, wintery sun had come up and I guessed the air outside would be crisp and damp at the same time. I longed to stop and take a little run around a park to get rid of all the nervous energy I was storing up, but I was even more impatient to get back to Dan, so I told the driver to hurry as I counted the minutes.
When we pulled up outside the hotel, I was impressed despite my increasing familiarity with top-of-the-range hotels. Unlike the modern skyscraper that Tim had booked for us a few months ago—had that really only been in August?—this was the real thing. The hotel was on rue Rivoli near the Jardin de Tuileries, and it was a lovely, traditional old Paris building. I claimed my room keys from the concierge and took the lift to the sixth floor. I had been given suite 603, and I guessed that Dan would be either in 601 or 605. Setting down my bags, I examined the corridor to get my bearings: left or right? Just as I had determined where to go, I noticed a door opening a little further down the corridor and a girl ducking out of a room furtively, as though she wanted to be invisible. I
smiled. Somebody had had fun that night.
She didn’t look at me as we passed, but she was very pretty. Somewhere at the back of my mind I noted that it was unusual for ladies of any description to appear out of the band’s rooms as it was the day of a gig—but hey, who was I to judge what Darren, Mick, or Joe were up to? Although it probably hadn’t been Joe as he was one hundred percent faithful to his lovely Lucia.
It was only when I finally operated the key card to my room that I realized that the girl might have come out of Dan’s room. I still didn’t know whether he was on the suite to my left or my right, but she had definitely emerged from 605 on the right. There was a fifty-fifty chance…I felt an ice-cold finger of hurt but shrugged it off fiercely. Why should that bother me? Even if she had been in Dan’s room, there were always girls hanging round in his room. That was the nature of his job, the nature of going out with someone like Dan. I shrugged again, and tried to put the incident out of my mind. It wasn’t like I had a particular claim on him, really. I wasn’t allowed to be as hopping mad as I felt, somewhere, deep down inside.
Once in my suite, I found all the clothes and things that I hadn’t taken with me on my hasty departure hanging neatly in the wardrobes or arranged tidily in the bathroom. I was oddly touched by this gesture. Dan had clearly expected me to return and taken great pains to ensure that I should feel welcome. And yes, there was the obligatory bunch of flowers—two dozen red roses, this time—by my bedside table with a little card tucked in at the top. I pounced eagerly. My little Sophie, I read, I can’t wait to see you. I’m just next door, as always. Come quick.
Quelling an urge to obey instantly, I forced myself to sit down and take deep breaths for a minute. After the events of the week, and particularly after my realization that I was detaching myself emotionally from Tim, the temptation to “come quick” was great, but I didn’t want to let myself go too easily either. Feeling a little calmer, I spent a few minutes in the bathroom washing my face, brushing my hair and generally freshening up. Thus restored, I ventured towards the connecting doors to the next suite and gently tried the handles. Unlocked, of course! As I stood in the little dark space between the doors, I considered my bearings and worked out that I was headed for suite 605. Dan had definitely had company during the night. Did I care? Actually, I did. I felt that sharp twinge of disappointment again. Yet, I knew the deal, knew that it was foolish to expect Dan to be faithful, irrespective of what he might say. Get a grip!
Dan was dozing on the bed, fully dressed and clearly awaiting my arrival. There was a breakfast laid out—untouched, so he hadn’t had breakfast with the other, or he had had the good grace to order a second round. There were more flowers and the wide-open curtains let the sunshine stream in. A truly beautiful tableau had it not been for his gentle snoring.
I tiptoed over to the bed and bent over his sleeping figure. Dan was more deeply asleep than I had thought. Leaning in more closely still, I kissed his forehead, feeling like a heroine in some kind of dramatic romantic comedy. He mumbled something and snuggled into the pillow. More action was called for.
I tried the kissing again, this time aiming for his mouth. Gentle at first, then a little more insistent. And all of a sudden, he responded. He opened his eyes and threw his arms around me.
“You’re back. Finally!”
He scrutinized my face. “How are you? How are things? Is your Dad all right?”
I laughed. It was so good to be back. And I loved seeing Dan in little boy mode, overexcited, eyes a-sparkle, delighted to see me, and thrilled to have me back. It made me feel like a million dollars. I decided not to ask about how he had spent the night. Why go there?
“I’m fine. Things are good, and Dad’s better. You were right. He recovered really quickly. I think he should even be home by now.”
We hugged.
“I’m so glad,” Dan said sincerely. “We’ve all been worried for you.”
“It was truly awful,” I confessed. “Although even by the time I turned up, he was much better. But he looked so…vulnerable. And so grey. And I was really afraid. I’d never thought about losing a parent before, but it is a terrifying prospect.”
Dan nodded thoughtfully, and then tried to lighten the mood. “But not for a little while yet, it seems. Good news.” He pointed at the breakfast table. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I offered.
Somehow, whenever Dan asked me whether I was hungry, I responded thus; it had become a private little joke.
“Thank you again, and also Jack, for organizing my trip home. I don’t know how I’d have coped otherwise. ”
“No worries,” Dan stated. “We were glad to help. I was just sorry you had to do the trip on your own.”
I swallowed hard. Should I tell him about Tim? Why would I? Then again, why wouldn’t I?
“Tim picked me up at the airport,” I confessed, before I had come to a conscious decision about whether this was a good thing to share with Dan. “He meant to be sweet and supportive.”
Dan gave me a strange look. Was that jealousy in his eyes?
“And was he?”
I sighed. “I guess he was, in a way. But it was awful having him around. I’m sure I should be grateful, but his presence was…I don’t know. It was so difficult. Wrong. It was really awkward.”
Dan seemed curiously relieved at hearing this. “How so?”
“Well…I’m supposed to be engaged to Tim, but he was the last person I wanted to see. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. The problem is…” I hesitated, unsure how to put my feelings into words.
“The problem is…?” Dan probed gently. “More coffee?” he then asked, brandishing the silver coffee pot. I had noticed before that he was great at combining deep and meaningful conversation with trivial questions about ordinary things.
“Please,” I said. “Oh, and I’d love another one of those little pastries.” I was rather good at this, too.
“The problem is,” I continued between mouthfuls of food and coffee, “not him. He’s the same old Tim. He’s still the same guy that I thought I could, would, should marry. But I’m not me anymore. Or maybe I am, and wasn’t before. I don’t know who I am anymore, but I’m not the person who got engaged to Tim. But right now”—I gave an involuntary shudder—“I just couldn’t be with him. It was a relief when he returned to London, and I pulled a really dirty trick on him to get out of seeing him last night. Is this how an engaged woman should be behaving?”
“Probably not,” Dan acknowledged, “but then you have been through a lot. Still, you’re here now, and from a completely selfish perspective, I am delighted that you are.” He grinned his little boy smile at me.
“So…what’s the plan for today?” I asked, eagerly changing the subject.
As it turned out, the plan for the day was rather different from what I had expected. There would be no time for a little sightseeing or light lunching as the gig was scheduled at a ludicrously early slot of seven p.m.
“Seven p.m.?” I asked incredulously. “Who turns up at a rock gig at seven p.m.?”
Dan shook his head, equally bemused. “I don’t know but there it is. Apparently it’s a restriction put on the venue by petty bureaucrats—we have to clear out by ten-thirty!”
So Jack had ordered an extremely restful day for everyone in advance of an early sound check at five p.m. Five hours to go.
“What are you going to do, then?” I asked as innocently as I could. I knew he would want to eat, sleep, and bathe. I certainly didn’t want to interfere with his rest time. All geniuses require the quiet before the storm.
Dan grinned at me sweetly.
“Obviously, we’ll all have our naps and things…but I thought you and I might spend a little cozy time together, like a proper couple. No funny business…,” he hastened to clarify, and together we chorused, “never before a gig!”
“But,” he continued, “you identified a critical gap in my education not so long ago, and I thought we m
ight close it.”
“I did?” I asked surprised. “Like what?”
He got up and retrieved something from his bag, then brandished it in front of my face triumphantly. It looked like a DVD of some sort, but I couldn’t make out what it said.
“I thought we could cuddle up in front of the telly and watch a film,” he finally announced. When he held the box still long enough, I could finally read the cover. It had Ella McNeele and John Sephia locked in a passionate embrace. He had remembered.
I laughed. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“Absolutely. Plus I feel I ought to see how my favorite restaurant features in a movie.”
“Are you sure about this? It is a romantic comedy, after all.” I wasn’t confident that this would be his cup of tea. “And it’s quite a sad one at that.”
“Are you kidding?” he asked in return. “I’m a sucker for tear-jerkers. Where do you think I get ideas for my songs?”
So we ended up snuggled into each other’s arms on one of the comfy sofas that the hotel had thoughtfully provided, watching a DVD (in English—goodness knew how Dan had been able to obtain it during the past few days) like any good couple might do on a lazy Saturday morning. This was a whole new aspect of being together that I truly relished. Somehow, in among all the crazy running around and jetting from place to place, Dan was finding down time—time-out to do normal, ordinary things. The two hours spent watching Ella and John trying to get it together—and eventually succeeding—were extremely blissful. I reminded myself that this was completely at odds with the thoughts I had been thinking in the limo this morning. The thoughts about how I was meant for the fast, glam, rock-star lifestyle. On the other hand, why shouldn’t we be doing ordinary things every now and then, too, just to keep us sane?
