Escape to the Little French Cafe: A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy to fall in love with

by Karen Clarke

  On the landing, a heavy-looking door flew open and Susie Houlihan stepped out, wearing a white towel and a hair turban, casting a toothy smile at Simon. ‘Hi, honey,’ she drawled. ‘Would you be a darlin’ and fetch me some grapefruit?’

  ‘That’s what room service is for,’ he growled.

  She pouted and stepped back in her room without giving me a second look, and Simon continued to the furthest door and rapped on it four times with his knuckles.

  When Jay said, ‘Come in,’ my heart shot into my throat.

  ‘You’d better be who you say you are.’ Simon’s eyes were hard as stones as he slid the key card in and turned the door handle.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve checked me out,’ I said tartly, my lingering guilt at getting him into trouble the day before fading in the face of his hostility. ‘I wouldn’t be here, otherwise.’

  ‘He doesn’t need any distractions.’

  ‘I’m not here to distract him,’ I said. ‘I’m here to do a job.’

  His grunt of disbelief made me want to kick him, but I doubted my canvas shoes would make much impact. I made do with pulling a face at the back of his head as he pushed the door open with one hand, looking as if he’d like to curl the other around my windpipe. I slid past without breaking eye contact to prove I wasn’t intimidated – even though I was.

  As the door closed behind me, Jay moved away from the window, and for one wild second, I wondered whether he’d been looking out for me, instead of the more likely option of admiring the yachts in the harbour.

  ‘I was starting to think I’d dreamt what happened yesterday,’ he said, stepping towards me, a smile crinkling his eyes.

  ‘Me too.’ His greeting was the opposite of Simon’s and instantly put me at ease. ‘I hope there was no lasting damage.’

  He put his fingers to his collarbone and pressed. ‘Not even a twinge,’ he said, his smile widening. ‘You look nice.’

  I glanced at my blue-and-white stripy top, wishing I’d picked something different. ‘It’s a bit French. I might as well have a string of onions slung around my neck.’

  He laughed as though he had been taken by surprise and liked it. ‘It suits you,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks.’ In the pause that followed, I wondered whether I should compliment him in return – tell him I liked his hair a bit longer, that his citrusy shampoo (or shower gel) smelt good, and the sight of his jeans, bare feet and rolled-up shirt sleeves was making my head spin (in a good way.) ‘So do you,’ I said at last. ‘Look nice, I mean.’

  ‘This shirt’s about a decade old.’ He fingered a button. ‘I was asked to be the face of Hugo Boss last year, but I’m not really into fashion. I’d rather leave that stuff to Gerard Butler.’

  ‘I bet you’re offered things like that all the time.’

  ‘Not for a while now,’ he said. ‘I did a watch commercial in Japan a couple of years ago. It paid for a house for my mum.’

  His neutral tone didn’t invite praise, but I said, ‘That’s nice,’ all the same.

  ‘I’m not sure she wasn’t happier on the estate.’ He smiled. ‘She’s still got friends there and visits all the time.’

  ‘She’s… recovered now?’ I said carefully.

  ‘She’s doing really well.’ He hesitated. ‘This is off the record, right?’

  ‘Of course.’ I showed him my phone to show I wasn’t recording, even though I’d planned to write in my notepad.

  He waved it away. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ I looked around the suite, which presumably honoured the duke the room was named after. It was done up like an English gentlemen’s club, with dark wood panelling, crimson wallpaper and a leather sofa in the galleried living room. It was furnished with antiques and rugs and the sumptuous bed could have accommodated a family of six.

  ‘It’s a bit blokey.’ Jay sounded apologetic.

  I tore my gaze from the bed. ‘It’s nice,’ I said, feeling my cheeks heat up. Fleur would no doubt have handled this situation with a lot more flair. She’d probably have had Jay in the bath tub by now, up to his neck in bubbles, chatting about his childhood.

  ‘Let’s go into the garden,’ he suggested. ‘It’s a lovely day.’

  I gave a hard nod, to show I meant business. ‘Sounds good.’

  He pulled on a pair of leather trainers and we headed for the door, which I noticed was slightly ajar. I wondered whether Simon had been listening to our conversation. There was no sign of him, but he materialised as we reached the foot of the stairs and followed us outside.

  ‘Is he with you all the time?’ I murmured, as we strolled into the sunlight.

  Jay turned and inclined his head and Simon peeled away without comment. ‘He’s an old friend, from way back,’ he said. ‘I don’t have many, so I try to keep them close.’

  ‘Give them jobs?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘People can be fickle in this business. You work with them for months, then never see them again.’

  ‘You must have made some friends?’

  ‘None I’d hang out with like this.’ He sat on one of the rattan chairs that circled the courtyard garden and rested his elbows on his knees, and I guessed he was still talking ‘off record’. ‘Everyone’s keen to get back to their real life at the end of a shoot, including me. It’s hard to make true friends, the sort who know the real you.’ His gaze was serious. ‘Simon was one of the kids I got to know in care. He looked out for me at school when I was bullied for a bit.’

  ‘He was in care?’

  ‘His mum died in childbirth and his dad couldn’t look after him.’

  ‘That’s sad.’ It went a long way towards explaining Simon’s attitude. ‘It sounds like you haven’t let fame go to your head.’

  ‘What do you think?’ The force of his gaze made me feel untethered. I sat on the chair beside him and was instantly transported to the night we’d met, on the swings in Gemma’s back garden. I wondered what she would say if she could see me now. We’d lost touch after school, our friendship not strong enough to stand the test of time, though I’d heard via the grapevine (Mum) that she’d married a farmer and moved to Somerset.

  When Jay broke into a smile, as if he’d had the same flashback, it felt as if the universe had tilted. ‘I don’t really know what you were like before.’

  His gaze grew serious. ‘I think you do,’ he said.

  Eleven

  Unsure how to respond to Jay’s comment, I let my gaze move around the garden, surprised no one else was enjoying the sunshine, then remembered there were no regular guests staying at the hotel. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘The crew are setting up a shoot in one of the gift shops in town,’ he said. ‘I have to pretend to be browsing, spot a killer’s reflection in a mirror and break his neck.’

  ‘Charming,’ I said. ‘Don’t you have lines to learn?’

  He grinned. ‘It’s an action scene, so there aren’t too many. I’ve memorised them already.’

  I felt giddy, as if I’d breakfasted on champagne. ‘You can run through them with me, if you like.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s mostly grunting and I’m good at that. But thanks for the offer.’

  ‘I don’t mind listening to you grunt.’

  He started to laugh. ‘No one’s ever said that to me before.’

  I laughed too. ‘Sorry, that sounded stupid,’ I said. ‘I suppose I’ll have to wait until the film comes out.’

  ‘Do you like the films?’

  I hesitated, not wanting to offend him by admitting they weren’t my cup of tea. ‘I’ve seen them,’ I said. ‘But mostly because you’re in them and I was curious, because I’d…’ I’d been going to say kissed but changed it to ‘met you once’. Though I hadn’t been able to connect him with Max Weaver, however closely I’d watched – even when he’d snogged the actress trying to kill him. ‘But you play the part really well.’

  ‘You’re not a fan.’ I was about to protest, t
hen saw he was still smiling. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, ruffling the back of his hair, which was an inch longer than he’d worn it in Maximum Force 2: The Middle. ‘The films have served their purpose and it’s been fun, but I’ll be glad to see the back of them, to be honest.’

  ‘You’re not making any more?’

  ‘I think three is enough, don’t you, considering it’s called The End?’

  ‘Maybe.’ In truth, one had been enough for me, but fans couldn’t seem to get enough of Max Weaver’s pursuit of bad guys.

  ‘Although, I think Brian’s considering a fourth: The Resurrection.’ He made a face and I grinned.

  ‘Aren’t you doing Bond?’

  ‘Too much to live up to,’ he said, eyes scrunched against the sun. ‘No, I’m giving up acting once I’m done with this film.’

  I sat up straight. ‘Giving up?’ This was massive. ‘But why?’

  He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming a little uncomfortable for the first time, and it hit me again what a big deal this was; him talking to me so openly – almost like a close friend he’d stayed in touch with.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.’ Well done, Natalie. First rule of interviewing: don’t encourage your subject to shut up. Not that I was interviewing him yet. It wouldn’t feel right to pull out my notepad now and interrupt the flow.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘At first, I liked it, but—’

  ‘How did you even get into acting?’ I was suddenly desperate to know. ‘Did you go to drama school?’

  His face relaxed. ‘I got lucky,’ he said, his bashful smile a long way from Max Weaver’s repertoire of fearsome expressions. ‘I was approached in the street by a guy who said I was perfect for the lead in a film he’d written about zombies and told me to audition.’

  ‘With no experience?’

  ‘Yep.’ He gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘I did do drama classes at school and was in a couple of plays,’ he added. ‘I enjoyed pretending to be someone else back then, but I never intended to take it any further. It was just an escape.’ His words lingered, hinting at all the things he’d wanted to escape from.

  ‘You never mentioned it,’ I said, feeling shy. ‘The night we talked.’

  ‘Becoming an actor wasn’t even on my radar.’ He made a baffled face. ‘I’m not sure how I was planning to make my living, but it definitely wasn’t in films.’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  He gave a half-laugh. ‘I thought I might be a professional footballer, but I wasn’t good enough.’

  ‘And if you hadn’t been approached in the street?’

  He steepled his fingers underneath his chin. ‘Don’t laugh, but I wanted to be a cattle rancher,’ he said. ‘I saw this old film once, called Silverado, and it really appealed to me.’

  I couldn’t help smiling, though it wasn’t difficult to picture him in a tartan shirt and a Stetson, astride a stallion. ‘So, why retire?’ I said, wishing I could make some notes. I had a feeling he’d stop talking if I did. ‘You could always play a cattle rancher, if the part comes along.’

  He shook his head. ‘Acting was only ever a means to an end,’ he said. ‘I mean, I did enjoy making the first Max film, but quickly realised that pretending to be something I’m not takes its toll. Especially when that someone’s a stone-cold killer.’

  ‘He only kills the baddies,’ I pointed out.

  Jay shrugged. ‘It’s not just that. It’s hard to put down roots in this job and that’s what I really want.’ An image of him holding identical mop-haired twins bounced into my head. ‘I know, I’ve been lucky,’ he continued, though I hadn’t spoken. ‘But being lucky’s not the same as being happy.’ It would make the perfect headline for my interview. ‘I’ve travelled, I’ve met some great people and had a lot of fun, especially in the early days.’ I wondered whether he was referring to his ill-fated affair with the tormented singer, but didn’t want to interrupt his flow by asking. ‘But I hate the celebrity side, the public wanting a piece of me, the total lack of privacy. Everyone’s a paparazzi these days, with their phones,’ he continued. ‘I don’t even have a mobile, and never use social media.’

  ‘I’d noticed,’ I said, giving away that I’d looked him up.

  He blew out a breath. ‘I don’t want to live my life in hiding, but I don’t want to be seen,’ he said. ‘Not even on screen.’

  ‘So, you’re retiring because you’re too famous?’ My brain bulged with questions. ‘Other actors manage to stay out of the limelight and still have long careers.’

  ‘When you say “out of the limelight”, they still do the chat show circuit and other publicity stuff whenever a new film comes out, and I can’t even bear to do that.’ He grimaced. ‘That makes me sound totally up myself, but I promise, I’m not.’ He twisted to face me full-on, as if to better convince me of his intentions – as though he really cared what I thought. ‘I want to live a regular life, spend time with my mum, get into property developing, the sort of housing that people can actually afford, open a drama school, do something for underprivileged kids like my brother…’ he paused, a cloud passing over his face, and there was such an easy rapport between us now, it felt natural to ask, ‘How is your brother these days?’

  His head dipped, so I couldn’t read his expression. ‘He… he died, six years ago.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He never really escaped from that crowd he used to hang around with, the lot who crashed your friend’s party.’ He lifted eyes etched with regret, and the sorrow I felt was instant and overwhelming. ‘I wanted to help him. I tried, I really did. I got him jobs and into rehab a couple of times, but nothing stuck.’ He seemed lost in memory for a moment. ‘The last time he relapsed, I was filming in the Czech Republic, and by the time I found out he’d overdosed, it was too late.’

  ‘That’s awful.’ I hadn’t been aware of reaching out to hold his hand, but I squeezed it hard, as if I could force out the pain. ‘I’m so sorry, Jay.’

  ‘I don’t want all this to have been for nothing.’ He thrust an impatient arm out. ‘His life, mine.’ He glanced at the hotel and garden, the verdant green of the grass a vivid contrast to the bright white walls of the courtyard. ‘It has to mean something,’ he said. ‘I want to do good things with the money I’ve made; set up a foundation in Sonny’s name, make sure there’s help out there for kids like him to get clean.’

  Sonny. I’d forgotten what his brother was called. ‘He was in prison,’ I said, recalling the story I’d seen in the press soon after Jay became well-known.

  He nodded. ‘He committed a robbery to pay for his habit. He was better when he came out, but soon got sucked back in.’ Jay’s jaw was clenched and I imagined the frustration and helplessness he must have felt – that despite his best efforts, his fame, the money he must have been making, he’d been powerless to save his little brother.

  ‘There was nothing more you could have done.’ I was sure he’d heard it before, but I longed to make him feel better. ‘Some people can’t be helped.’

  ‘I know, but it’s no consolation,’ he said, as I’d known he would.

  ‘How did your mum cope?’

  ‘Weirdly, she stopped drinking the day he died.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is, but…’ He gave a short laugh. ‘All the ways I tried to help and it took my brother’s death for her to clean up her act.’ It must have been bittersweet, but there was no animosity in his voice. ‘We get on well now, but it hasn’t been easy.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  I could, and felt an explosion of gratitude for my happy childhood, with parents who’d put me at the centre of their world and made sure I felt safe and loved. My only real gripe growing up – apart from the usual niggles around homework and staying out late with Gemma – had been not having a pet, because Dad’s eyes swelled shut if he so much as looked at a cat, and dogs made him sneeze and wheeze. It was one of the reasons he d
idn’t frequent the café as often as I did, because Gérard brought Hamish, and sometimes Madame Bisset brought fluffy Delphine.

  ‘What about your dad?’ I said, hoping I wasn’t pushing my luck.

  ‘He pops up now and then, wanting money.’ Jay’s voice was resigned. ‘I don’t hate him, but he hasn’t earned the right to be called a father.’

  I reluctantly untangled my hand from his and watched him flex his fingers. He seemed miles away, and I was torn between letting him carry on talking and bringing him back from the past. I guessed he didn’t open up often – definitely not to virtual strangers – and was deeply moved that he’d chosen to talk to me.

  ‘You know, that should be the angle,’ I said, aware our knees were brushing, and how small my legs looked compared to his. ‘For the interview.’

  His gaze refocused. ‘Angle?’

  ‘You should talk about the Foundation, about wanting to help young people – the good things you can do once you’ve retired.’

  He seemed to shake himself back to the present. ‘No one knows I’m retiring,’ he said. ‘If it gets out, that’s all anyone will want to talk about and I need to get this film wrapped without any distractions.’ His mouth curved. ‘Any more distractions.’

  ‘I know, I’m… I shouldn’t have… I’m really sorry, I...’ Full sentences and proper breathing were suddenly beyond me.

  ‘I’m enjoying this distraction.’ His eyes were gently amused, his earlier torment banished, and I felt my temperature rise once more in response.

  ‘So, er, you’d been thinking about giving an interview before I, um...’ I mimed a dive through the air.

  He laughed. ‘Like I said, I was thinking about meeting that woman from Magnifique magazine,’ he said. ‘They have a good platform and Fleur Dupont has written some really good stuff.’

  ‘She’s the best,’ I agreed, echoing what Nicolas had said the night before – minus the accent. I shifted position, feeling a bit deflated. Maybe the interview wasn’t so much about Jay keeping his promise, but more about getting word out about his Foundation to attract funding and support. I wondered whether he’d have been so open if that hadn’t been a factor. Not that it mattered. He’d agreed to let me interview him, and if my words could help him in any way, it would be worth it. In fact, I wanted to help him. I would make it the best piece of writing ever published, anywhere, if it was the last thing I did.