by Caragh Bell
‘Yes, in love.’ Laura sighed. ‘Everyone has that same reaction.’
Ella giggled. ‘Well, you were never one for roses and chocolates.’
‘Quite.’
‘So, do I know him? Is it one of the boys from school?’
Laura took another sip of wine. ‘Well, no . . .’
Someone cleared their throat behind them and Ella swung around. ‘Will?’ she gasped. ‘You’re here too?’
He wasn’t sure but he thought he saw a brief look of dismay.
He smiled. ‘Well, hello to you too.’
A multitude of emotions passed over her face. Sadness, trepidation, panic. Finally, she smiled and got to her feet. ‘It’s just a surprise, that’s all. Good to see you.’
She pulled him close briefly and kissed his cheek. William could feel her ribs through her shirt and pulled back. She was practically emaciated. Her clothing, though chic, was hanging off her. His eyes met Laura’s and she sent him a silent message to stay quiet.
He took a seat.
‘So, how have you been?’ Laura asked, buttering a sesame seed roll. ‘How’s Canada? How are your parents?’
Ella smiled brightly. ‘Oh, Toronto is a fabulous city. Have you been? I had such a happy time there. Father is still working at the embassy so he travels a lot and Mother is a permanent figure at charity functions.’ She laughed nervously. ‘Life is so good there.’
‘What about your brother Mark?’ asked William. ‘He was a brilliant rugby player.’
‘Oh, the rugby dried up when we moved,’ she said. ‘It’s not so big over there. He ended up doing law and is an attorney now.’
‘Married?’
‘Divorced.’ She shrugged. ‘She was a socialite. Totally unsuitable. Father warned him but he was mesmerised by her bottled-blonde hair and massive cleavage. There were no children, thank God. At least we were spared a custody battle.’
The waiter arrived. ‘Shall I bring you some menus?’ he asked politely.
‘Yes,’ said William. ‘I’m under a bit of time pressure so I’d like to order as quickly as possible.’
‘Time pressure?’ repeated Ella, wide-eyed. ‘You were always the most laid-back guy ever. What on earth do you do for a living?’
Laura laughed out loud. ‘Oh, Ella, this is hilarious. Listen to this.’ She pointed at William.
William glared at her. ‘I’m a paediatrician at Great Ormond Street.’
Ella stared at him for a moment. ‘Are you pulling my leg? William Dixon? A doctor?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not so bad at it either.’
‘Well, I’m very impressed. Well done, you.’
Their eyes met for a moment and he felt his stomach somersault. She really was so pretty and he could listen to her speak all day.
Ella accepted the menu from the waiter’s hand and barely looked at it.
Laura pored over the main courses and after a minute’s deliberation snapped it shut. ‘I’ll have the monkfish.’
‘I’ll have the beef.’ William handed the leather-bound menu back to the waiter. ‘Rare.’
Ella smiled up at him. ‘I’ll have the monkfish too.’
‘Wine, Ella?’ Laura asked. ‘I think I’ll have another.’
‘No. No wine. Just water.’
‘Water for me too,’ said William.
The waiter disappeared and within moments Laura’s glass of wine had been replaced and a new bottle of Evian was placed on the table.
‘So, what brings you back to London?’ asked Laura.
‘Well, I got a chance to work here for a few months so I took it.’
‘What do you do?’ asked William, tearing a bread roll in half.
‘I’m in advertising,’ she answered vaguely. ‘Huge pressure as there’s always a deadline, but I love it.’
‘Where are you staying?’ he continued airily.
‘Um, Chelsea?’
‘You don’t sound too sure,’ laughed Laura.
Ella smiled. ‘No, I’m quite sure. I live in Chelsea. In a huge flat. It’s just fabulous.’ She sipped her water slowly. ‘So, tell me all about your lives. I’ve missed so much.’
Laura brightened. ‘Do you remember James? Well, he’s engaged . . .’
When it came time to pay, William took out his card.
‘Oh, Will, let me get this,’ said Ella. ‘It’s too much.’
He waved her away. ‘You can get it next time.’
Ella beckoned to the waiter to come to the table.
‘May I have my coat, please?’ she asked politely.
‘Of course, madam.’
‘And the bill too,’ added William.
‘Of course, sir.’ He scurried off and returned in record time with Ella’s red coat and the bill on a silver plate.
‘I’m sorry that I have to dash,’ said Ella, standing and slipping on her coat. ‘I have an important meeting with my boss at three.’
‘Not at all,’ said Laura. ‘We must do this again. I’ll message you on Facebook.’
Ella shook her head. ‘My Wi-Fi isn’t the best. I had to go to a cyber café this morning to message you.’ She rummaged in her bag. ‘Here, this is my number. Let’s keep it old school.’ She wrote it out twice on a paper napkin and tore off the pieces. Then she handed one to Laura and one to William. ‘It was wonderful to see you both,’ she said warmly. ‘Let’s do this again.’
Then she was gone.
Laura looked at William and waited for him to speak.
‘She seems well,’ he began lamely.
‘Give me a break! She’s a mess. Did you see her hide her monkfish under the samphire?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure . . .’
‘She didn’t eat a bite. She’s anorexic. I’ve no doubt about it.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so. I could feel her bones jutting out when I hugged her.’
‘Yes, I noticed.’ He got to his feet. ‘We should keep in touch with her, Lolly. She won’t know many people any more.’
‘I don’t know about that. Ella was always very sociable so I can’t see her being too lonely.’
‘I still think that we should keep in touch.’ His tone was firm.
‘Well, it looks like I’m off to the States again this weekend, so you’re on your own.’ She drained her wine. ‘Thanks for lunch, Will. Much appreciated.’
‘Maybe she’d like to go to Aurora’s new play or something,’ he said, thinking out loud.
‘When is that again?’ Laura frowned. ‘Please say it’s not this weekend! She’ll murder me if I miss opening night.’
He patted her back. ‘It’s fine. It’s the weekend after next. I met her yesterday. Talk about stressed! Justin changed something at the last minute and she’s panicking.’
‘Are they a couple yet or what?’
He shook his head. ‘She didn’t mention anything anyway. The play has taken over so I guess they don’t have much time for anything else.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the maître d’ as they left. ‘Have a great day, madam.’
They walked out into the cold air. ‘Jiminy’s due back at the end of the month with wifey,’ said Laura. ‘It’ll be great having him around again but I’d say he’ll be under this.’ She held up her thumb. ‘I’ve said it before: Claire is a tough cookie.’
‘It takes one to know one,’ laughed William, kissing her cheek. ‘Enjoy the Big Apple.’ He walked off in the direction of the Tube station.
Chapter Twenty-one
Paul and Aurora were backstage in the dressing room, taking off their costumes after a successful dress rehearsal. Justin had left, claiming that he had to meet his uncle, the famous actor Albert Wells. He was on a break from filming and had promised his nephew that he would attend the upcoming opening night. He had missed his other two plays due to filming abroad. Justin wanted him and his A-list pals to add the celebrity factor. If Albert Wells turned up, it would be in the papers. Publicity w
as welcome from any angle.
‘One week to go!’ announced Paul, fixing his hair in the mirror. ‘I don’t want to sound cocky but I think this is the one.’
Aurora knew what Paul meant. She could feel it too. The accents that they had struggled with for so long had finally clicked. Paul had cracked the moody demeanour of Jimmy Romano. The chemistry between them was almost palpable. They sizzled on stage and they knew it.
Paul took off his shirt and hung it on a rail. His muscles rippled as he moved.
‘It’s such a pity you’re gay,’ she said, gazing at his tanned torso. ‘You’re very pretty.’
‘Are you still waiting for Debussy to pounce?’ Paul’s eyes crinkled. ‘You know he won’t think of anything else but the play for the next week or so.’
‘Not pounce, exactly.’ She blushed. ‘It’s just he came all the way down to my birthday party and kissed me once.’ She took off her wig and shook out her long tresses of hair. ‘Then nothing and he’s practically ignored me since.’
‘What do you expect?’ said Paul. ‘You rejected his offer of sex.’
‘Sex upstairs in my family home with my parents downstairs,’ she corrected. ‘I don’t know about you, but the thought of Henry barging in while we are in flagrante doesn’t do it for me.’ She wound her hair up into a messy bun. ‘I want it to be special, if it ever happens. Although given his mood the last few weeks, I think he’s gone off me.’
Paul ambled over and grasped her shoulders. His dark-blue eyes regarded her honestly. ‘You’re a goddess, Sinclair. I’m gay and even I can appreciate it. Justin is crazy about you but, as I said, he’s not going to jeopardise anything this week. Not until the critics have written their piece on La Morte. Be patient. True love will conquer all.’
‘True love?’ she echoed scornfully. ‘I wouldn’t get carried away.’
‘You know what I mean.’ He pulled on a dark-green hoodie. ‘Now, I’m off to get some sushi. Want to join me?’
She shook her head. ‘I have to meet Lia later. She’s holding a candlelight ceremony to remember David Bowie.’
‘Oh.’
‘She adored him,’ she continued. ‘I’ve spent the last week consoling her. Although, Alan Rickman broke my heart. What a loss.’ She sighed. ‘Snape was one of my favourite characters in Harry Potter.’
‘Oh, for sure.’ Paul pecked her cheek. ‘Right then, see you in the morning. Ciao, my lover!’
He disappeared out the back door. The only people left at the theatre were the sound engineers and a girl sorting out props. Ray Rossi, the older actor playing the role of her mob-boss husband Joey Sloane, had left almost straight away after rehearsal. Justin always became very demanding before opening night and the actors would often be obliged to work twelve-hour days. As a result, the minute the curtain went down, they disappeared like wildfire.
She picked up her Mac and draped it over her shoulders. Every part of her body ached. It always felt like a comedown after a day of playing someone else. For hours she had transformed into Elise Sloane. Her mannerisms and accent were a world away from Aurora Sinclair. Now, she was back to herself and it felt strange. The transition always took time.
A quick pit stop at ‘Remembering Bowie’ and then a long hot shower. Her bed beckoned. There was only one week to go and she needed her sleep.
William waited three days. Three days before he texted Ella. He typed the message four times before he sent it. He wanted to sound cool and nonchalant.
Hey! It’s Will. Want to meet for a drink? I’m off tomorrow. Text me.
He sent it at eight in the morning. Everyone checked their phones first thing over a coffee. Even busy popular girls like Ella.
At ten thirty, he checked his phone. No reply. Maybe she hasn’t seen it.
At two thirty, the same.
He ran his fingers through his hair. The least she could do was reply. Even if her answer was no. Surely no one was that busy.
He grabbed a stained porcelain mug from the cupboard in the break room. Denise, the sister on the ward, had just boiled the kettle. A cup of tea was just what he needed. Work had been tough over the past week. A child under his care had passed away. It never got easier.
He pushed it out of his mind and thought of Ella once more. She had given him her number. She had even gone to the trouble of writing it out twice: once for Laura and once for him. She had laughed at his jokes and had seemed friendly enough.
He picked up his phone and unlocked the home screen, willing a message to appear.
Nothing.
He threw the phone onto the table, just as Denise appeared.
‘Are you making tea?’ she asked in her soft Irish accent. She was a sturdy woman in her fifties who ran the ward like clockwork.
‘I was just about to.’
‘Then I’ll make a pot for us all. Brenda is on the way with a packet of biscuits.’
William smiled. ‘What would I do without you?’
That evening William’s phone buzzed, signalling a new message. With a beating heart, he pressed the green icon but it was a text from Laura who had just arrived at Christian’s apartment in New York.
Do you need anything from duty-free? Flying back on Sunday.
He answered straight away saying that he was fine and to enjoy her weekend.
She sent back a smiley emoji. Throwing his phone on the bed, he deliberated what to do. The most obvious explanation was that she didn’t see the message. Ella was well brought up and would never deliberately ignore him. Should he text her again? To jolt her memory or alert her to the existence of the original message?
Hey, Ella. Can you let me know about tomorrow? Thanks. Will.
He pressed ‘send’ before he could change his mind. Switching on the TV, he was gratified to see a repeat of a David Attenborough nature documentary was on. It was the perfect way to wind down after a long day. He put Ella out of his mind. If she didn’t reply this time, he would leave it go. He had wasted his day worrying about it.
A funny-looking green insect filled the screen and a familiar voice began to narrate. He felt his body relax and within minutes he had fallen asleep.
Laura opened her eyes and sighed. She just loved Christian’s bed. It was a giant mahogany structure with expensive cotton sheets and plump pillows. He was gone since seven that morning. Josephine his secretary had called about an impromptu meeting with a client. Laura had pouted. I mean, who had meetings on a Saturday morning? Christian explained that he could charge double for an out-of-hours consultation. That mitigated things. There was time for a shower before he got back. She needed to sort out her hair.
Christian’s French mother, Marcheline, had died a couple of years back and he had inherited her plush apartment on the Upper East Side. It boasted three bedrooms, antique furniture and a Monet on the wall. His mother’s bedroom remained closed off as he wasn’t ready to clear out her things just yet. Then, down the corridor was his son Luca’s room. It too remained closed up, only to be used when he visited.
Luca had spent the most of his childhood in this place, being cared for by his doting grandmother. When he was little, Christian had been busy trying to make partner at the law firm and his mother, Tara, worked unpredictable hours as an artist. As a result, Marcheline, or Mimi as he had called her, practically raised him as her own. She adored her petit Luca and they had been really close. Her unexpected death had been a huge blow. When Sienna was born, Lydia and Luca named her Sienna Marcheline, after the Jacob family matriarch.
Lazily, Laura draped her leg over the blanket. She could see by the gold clock on the mantelpiece that it was close to ten. He had mentioned being back for eleven. Maybe she should wait and they could make love before she wet her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. The bed was just heaven. Framed photographs stood next to the clock, all filled with various family members. One was of a ten-year-old Luca, holding a Little League trophy with his front tooth missing. Another was of Marcheline and Henri, Christian’s fathe
r, on their wedding day. Henri was the spitting image of his son. They shared the same impressive height, tanned skin and chiselled cheekbones. Finally there was a new addition to the gallery: a family photo of Luca, Lydia and Sienna outside the church where the baby had been christened. Both mother and child were in white and Luca looked like a model in a sharp suit. He resembled the Jacob men in all ways but one: he had his mother’s blue eyes.
The front door slammed and she heard a clatter as someone dropped keys on the granite countertop in the kitchen.
He’s early!
Scrambling up, she debated whether to cover her naked body with one of his shirts. At the last moment, she decided not to. He would be delighted if she sauntered out in the nude. She slipped on her black four-inch Louboutin heels and walked out the door into the corridor. She could hear noise from Luca’s room.
Odd. He never goes in there.
The door was slightly ajar, so she stretched out her long leg suggestively around the door-frame. There was no reaction so she pushed open the door fully to reveal a small woman with vibrant red hair holding a baseball jersey. She was eye-catching in a multi-coloured dress that flowed to her ankles. Bracelets jangled on her wrist and a silver Celtic torc necklace sat around her neck. Only the fine wrinkles around her blue eyes revealed her age.
‘Hello,’ she drawled, unperturbed by the sight in front of her.
‘Fuck!’ screamed Laura, falling backwards in shock. Painfully aware of her lack of clothing, she covered her breasts with her arms and crossed her legs.
The woman in front of her was Tara Jacob, Christian’s ex-wife. She had only met her once before at Sienna’s christening.
‘Sorry to disappoint, but my husband isn’t back yet.’ Tara swept past her. ‘I needed to get this for our son, Luca. I didn’t realise that there was someone here.’
She had an Irish accent with the addition of an American twang. Lydia had mentioned once that she was originally from Cork and had met Christian while working as a waitress in the eighties.
‘How did you get in?’
‘I have a key, darling. All family members do.’ She picked up her Mulberry bag, her blue eyes glittering. ‘I’d put on something fast. It’s sub-zero outside. Heels aren’t sufficient attire during a New York winter.’