by Jill Mansell
Tula looked and saw Riley beckoning to her. As she crept out of her seat, the girl who’d given her the tap on the shoulder said enviously, ‘Is he your boyfriend? You’re so lucky. He’s, like, totally hot.’
The fire exit door closed behind her and Riley said, ‘Come on, we need to find her.’
He looked serious. And concerned. And gorgeous. The girl sitting behind her had been right; he was totally hot.
Anyway, never mind that now. Together they made their way along corridors and past members of staff who allowed them through security doors when they realised who Riley was. They reached the green room and found Suze pacing up and down, speaking urgently into her phone, her body radiating tension. The female singer’s entourage was clustered around the TV, watching her performance on the show. Marguerite was sitting on a black leather sofa, wiping her eyes with a tissue and talking to a middle aged Afro-Caribbean woman in a long crimson cotton dress.
Tula said, ‘Who’s that with Marguerite?’
‘Tony Weston’s wife. Her name’s Martha.’ As they watched, Martha wrapped motherly arms around Marguerite and drew her into a sympathetic embrace. She murmured words of comfort as Marguerite broke down and sobbed on her shoulder.
‘Oh God,’ Riley said under his breath.
He’d taken Tula’s hand. She squeezed his in return. Marguerite had always been strong, fearless, super-confident and utterly invincible. Seeing her in tears was all kinds of wrong.
Then Tony Weston crossed the room carrying a brimming, fizzing tumbler.
‘Here you go.’ He held it out to Marguerite. ‘Gin and tonic, strong enough to stun a tiger.’
Martha released her hold on Marguerite and rummaged in her bag for fresh tissues. ‘If my husband’s good for anything, it’s mixing a hefty gin and tonic. There now, sweetie, dry your eyes.’ Glancing over at Riley and Tula, she said, ‘Ah look, your boy’s here.’
Your boy. Martha had the warmest, gentlest voice you could imagine. They saw Marguerite mentally gather herself, dab the tissue beneath her heavily mascaraed lashes and take a huge gulp of her drink. Then she looked up.
Riley said, ‘I’ve just been interviewed on TV.’
‘I know. We saw. Sorry about that.’
‘You could have warned me.’
‘You were great,’ said Marguerite. ‘You’re a natural.’
Riley paused, shaking his head. ‘Why did you do it?’
A longer pause. Then Marguerite replied steadily, ‘You know why.’
Tula, who didn’t know why, gave Riley a nudge and hissed, ‘Give her a hug.’
Riley ignored her, continuing instead to gaze down at Marguerite. ‘Talk about risky. What if it doesn’t work out? You’ll have done all of this for nothing.’
‘Maybe I have. But I don’t think so.’ A glimmer of a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘I’m pretty good at sussing out what’s going on. Trust me, I used to be a writer.’
‘You’re completely mad,’ said Riley. Then he let go of Tula’s hand, made his way over to Marguerite and hugged her tightly. From ten feet away, Tula thought she heard him murmur beneath his breath, ‘But thanks.’
Honestly, what were they on about? This was a conversation badly in need of subtitles.
‘Right!’ Switching off her phone, Suze announced efficiently, ‘I’ve spoken to your editor, the publishing director and the MD. They’re all on their way over … they’ll be here in twenty minutes. We’ll have a meeting and decide what to do. Obviously Riley needs to be included—’
‘Not me,’ Riley interrupted. ‘Not tonight.’
Suze was visibly alarmed. ‘Oh, but—’
‘Nor me,’ Marguerite said firmly.
Suze’s eyes widened in horror; this time she looked as if she might pass out. ‘Marguerite, they’re on their way now. As we speak. You can’t do this. You have to talk to them!’
‘Not if I don’t want to.’
‘But—’
‘Come on.’ Marguerite knocked back her gin and tonic. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Marguerite, please!’ Panic-stricken and begging, Suze’s voice rose. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’
Having kissed Martha and Tony Weston goodbye, Marguerite said briskly, ‘All the more reason to leave now.’
Outside, Riley flagged down a black cab, and the three of them travelled back to the Savoy in silence. Marguerite gazed out of the window, lost in her own thoughts. When they’d reached the hotel and navigated the heavy revolving doors, she said to Riley, ‘I’m going to my room now. The rest’s up to you. Can you ask them to send up a bottle of something decent and not put through any calls? I don’t want to be disturbed.’
Riley nodded and headed over to the reception desk, leaving Marguerite and Tula together.
‘No way.’ Tula shook her head. ‘We’re not leaving you on your own.’
‘How sweet you are.’ Visibly touched, Marguerite said, ‘But I’m not planning on killing myself, if that’s what you’re worried about. Truly, not my style at all.’
‘Well, good.’ And thankfully she sounded as if she meant it. ‘But listen,’ said Tula, ‘I know it might not feel like it at the moment, but you’ll be so glad you did this. It’s all out in the open now. No more subterfuge, no more guilty conscience.’ Desperate to reassure Marguerite, she added enthusiastically, ‘Trust me, it’s a good thing and you’re going to feel a million times better. So don’t worry, everything’ll turn out fine.’
‘Really? Sure about that?’ Marguerite’s expression softened. ‘After all this palaver, let’s hope so.’
Chapter 53
‘Shouldn’t we stay with her?’ said Tula when the lift had closed, whisking Marguerite up to her room on the third floor. ‘Will she be OK?’
Riley nodded and indicated his phone. ‘She’s fine. I’ll check on her later.’
‘Good.’
‘Shall we get out of here?’ He gave her a nudge in the direction of the revolving doors. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
They left the hotel and headed along the Strand, then turned down a narrow street and reached Victoria Embankment Gardens. Tula paused, the Thames glittering before her, the ripples in the water reflecting the setting sun.
At her side, Riley said, ‘What are you thinking about?’
Tula shook her head. ‘I just can’t believe it. Any of it. I mean, I know it has to be true because Marguerite said it was. But is it really true?’
‘Yes.’
‘You actually write the books?’
He nodded. ‘I actually write the books.’
‘I mean, not being funny … but it’s kind of like me saying Stephen Hawking’s been having trouble with his latest thesis on black holes so I’ve been helping him out with the tricky bits.’
Riley shrugged. ‘I know. It is like that.’
‘It’s like Darcey Bussell twisting her ankle just before the start of Swan Lake and me going on instead.’
‘Well, Darcey Bussell’s retired now, but—’
‘Or Beyoncé getting stage fright and not being able to sing at the Superbowl, so I have to jump up on to the stage and—’
‘OK, I get the message,’ said Riley. ‘It’s pretty unlikely. But it’s the truth.’
‘And Marguerite’s always gone on about how hard she works, how many words she’s written.’
‘That’s the way she always used to be. She just carried on saying it. Otherwise people would have wondered why she’d stopped.’
‘And all this time you’ve been doing her job for her.’ Tula paused, the implications beginning to fully sink in. Up until now, her concerns had been for poor guilt-ridden Marguerite. ‘I had no idea.’ She experienced a jolt in her chest. ‘You should have told me.’
Oh, you really should …
‘I couldn’t tell anyone,’ Riley said simply. ‘It had to be a secret.’
‘You could have told me.’
‘You don’t like having to keep secrets, remember?’
; ‘I don’t like having to keep them. But I would have done.’ She raised her arm, lifting her hair away from the suddenly overheated nape of her neck.
‘You told me you always end up accidentally letting things slip,’ said Riley.
‘What? Well I don’t know why I’d have said that, because it’s just not true,’ Tula said indignantly. ‘I’m brilliant at keeping secrets if they’re important enough.’
‘And if I had told you, what kind of difference would it have made?’
It was a rhetorical question, surely; he knew perfectly well how she felt. A lump sprang into her throat as a whoosh of emotion surged up. Out of nowhere, Tula was suddenly terrified she might burst into tears.
‘Well?’ Riley was watching and waiting for her reply.
‘It would have made all the difference in the world,’ she blurted out. ‘You know it would. And it’s nothing to do with money either. The way I felt about you … God, didn’t I tell you enough times? There you were, perfect in every way except one. I couldn’t handle the fact that you were a lazy bum with no ambition, too idle to even be interested in holding down a job … like all the men who wrecked my mum’s life.’
His gaze was unwavering. ‘And now?’
‘And now …’ Tula took a deep breath. ‘Well, it turns out you aren’t a lazy bum after all.’ Adrenalin was zapping around her body. All this time she’d worked so hard to ignore her attraction to him, had refused to allow herself to weaken because he was so incontrovertibly off limits.
‘Right.’ Riley nodded. ‘Well, just so you know, I used to be.’ He shrugged. ‘And I might have carried on being a lazy bum … playing around, having fun and not worrying about the future … if the thing with Marguerite hadn’t happened. But it did. And I suppose that’s when I grew up.’
Tula remembered something else he’d said to Jon and Jackie on the show. ‘And you do most of your writing at night. How many hours?’
‘Between eight and twelve. It varies.’
‘Every night?’
‘Pretty much.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘So it makes a difference then, does it? To my prospects?’
He was attempting to make a joke of it, but Tula sensed the tension beneath the surface. The handsome, hopeless case she’d tried so hard not to fall in love with was a hopeless case no more. She didn’t have to hold back any more; the reason she’d held back no longer existed.
Oh God. He was perfect.
‘It could make a difference.’ She nodded fractionally in agreement.
‘You don’t have to be polite. Only say it if you mean it.’
Up this close, she was able to see the darker flecks in his sea-green eyes. His lashes were thick and long, tipped with gold, his skin poreless and caramel-tanned. He had possibly the most perfect mouth she’d ever seen on a man … and as for the golden stubble on his chin …
Without even realising she was doing it, Tula reached up and ran her hand lightly over his jawline. The sensation of warm skin and the gentle rasp of stubble against her fingertips caused the breath to catch in her throat. She brushed her thumb across his lower lip and inched closer.
Then waited.
After a while, Riley said in a low voice, ‘In case you were wondering, this is killing me.’
‘Sshh.’ Tula rested her hands on his shoulders. ‘This is the best bit.’
‘Sure about that?’ His smile was crooked. ‘Oh God, don’t tell me you’re into that tantric malarkey.’
‘Don’t make fun of it. We’re going to be standing here for the next six hours.’ Moving closer still, so their faces were almost but not quite touching, she whispered, ‘Like this. It’ll be worth it.’
‘Sod that.’ Riley’s arms encircled her waist and he pulled her properly against him, his mouth closing over hers. Tula’s insides dissolved; this was it, this was what she’d longed for and denied herself for so long.
And if this is just a kiss, imagine the rest …
When they finally came up for air, Riley said, ‘So does this mean you like me now you know the truth?’
Tula ran her fingers down his forearms. ‘I liked you before. That was the whole problem.’
‘You mean I wasn’t suitable then.’ His mouth twitched. ‘But I am now.’
‘You are.’ She tipped her head back, gazing at the cloudless blue sky, the birds wheeling overhead, the slowly revolving Millennium Wheel on the other side of the river. ‘I keep thinking I’m dreaming. I still can’t believe this has happened. It’s like you were a toad before and now you’ve turned into a prince.’
‘Thanks. You definitely have a way with words.’
‘We’re here in London,’ Tula marvelled, ‘and you’re not the man I thought you were. God, and I don’t even know why you like me so much, when you could have all the blonde modelly types you want.’
‘I don’t know either,’ said Riley. ‘I just know I do. You’re beautiful.’
‘I’m no model.’
‘You’re more fun than any other girl I’ve ever met. I like everything about you.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘Every single thing.’
‘You’re so smooth,’ said Tula. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’ Oh God, what if he did?
‘That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.’ Riley was shaking his head. ‘And I never want to feel it again. I don’t like being turned down one bit.’ He kissed her again, lingeringly, then gazed deep into her eyes. ‘I’m telling you now, you’re stuck with me.’
Two teenage boys, zigzagging their way along the path on skateboards, whistled loudly and yelled out, ‘Oi! Get a room!’
‘Actually,’ said Riley when they’d whizzed past, ‘that sounds like a pretty good idea.’ He stopped and looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, is that crass? I shouldn’t have said it out loud.’
‘But it was in your head?’
‘Of course it was in my head.’
‘I was thinking it too.’ Tula laced her fingers through his, feeling deliciously wanton. ‘And the good thing is, we already have a room. Maybe we should do as they say.’
‘Great idea.’
‘I’m full of great ideas.’ Still holding his hand, Tula swung round and turned to the right.
Riley stayed put. ‘Where are you going? The hotel’s in that direction.’ He pointed over his shoulder, to the left.
‘Yours might be. Mine’s this way.’
‘Mine’s closer,’ said Riley.
‘Let’s go to mine.’
‘How many stars has yours got?’
‘Two,’ said Tula. And the owner had presumably stolen them from somewhere.
‘And you’d really rather go there than to the Savoy?’
‘Yes. Is that a problem?’
His expression softened. ‘Not at all. I just think you’re mad. I’ve got one of the most fantastic hotel rooms you could possibly ask for, but you’d rather we went to yours.’
‘Yes,’ said Tula.
‘In that case, what are we waiting for?’ Riley slid his arm around her waist and gave it a squeeze. ‘This is still turning out to be the best day of my life. Let’s go.’
The look on Riley’s face was a picture when he saw her room. ‘Wow. This is … quite something.’
‘Forty-three pounds,’ Tula reminded him gaily. ‘Can’t say that about the Savoy, can you?’
‘This is true. And they can’t even begin to compete in the swirly-carpet stakes.’
He had a point; this was possibly the swirliest swirly carpet ever. There was also paint peeling from the ceiling, the seventies paisley wallpaper was curling at the edges and the view from the window was of an assortment of bins against a grimy brick wall.
‘The bed takes up most of the room,’ Riley observed.
‘I know. It’s all part of their fiendish plan to hide as much as possible of the carpet.’
He smiled and began to undo the buttons on her shirt. ‘I know why we’ve come here, by the way.’
‘You do?’ Tula’s skin ti
ngled at his feather-light touch.
‘Oh yes.’
‘Bet you don’t.’ Not long now. She quivered in anticipation as he slid the shirt off her shoulders.
‘You’d be wrong.’
‘Tell me, then.’
Riley’s green eyes glittered with amusement as he trailed an index finger lazily along the line of her collarbone. ‘I’ll tell you later. Right now there’s something else I’m far more interested in doing …’
‘OK,’ said Riley. ‘If it makes you happier, you were right and I was wrong.’
Had she ever been happier? Tula lay on her side, half covered by the white sheet, and said, ‘Get used to it.’
‘Basically, if you’re with the right girl, it doesn’t matter where you are.’ He pulled her closer into the crook of his arm and kissed her again for about the millionth time. ‘You’re amazing. I can’t believe we’re here. I thought this was never going to happen.’
‘You’re not so bad yourself.’
Riley checked his watch. ‘It’s ten o’clock. Does this place do room service?’
‘No, but there’s a vending machine downstairs.’
‘Fantastic.’
‘Actually, it is pretty fantastic. It has Caramacs,’ said Tula. ‘I’ve never seen Caramacs in a vending machine before.’
‘Do you know what they have at the Savoy?’
‘Tell me.’
‘Everything. Everything you could possibly ask for.’ Riley paused. ‘But it looks like we’re staying here.’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Because you wouldn’t feel comfortable having Marguerite in the room next door.’
Tula burst out laughing because he’d known all along. ‘Exactly that reason.’
‘It is the Savoy,’ Riley pointed out. ‘The walls are thick, the beds don’t creak. She wouldn’t be able to hear anything.’
Except once you’d pictured Marguerite with an upturned glass pressed to the wall, there was no way of unthinking it.
Tula said, ‘It just wouldn’t feel right. She’d still be there. I couldn’t relax.’
‘OK, I get it. But she’s going to be so pleased about this. Her plan worked out. You do know, don’t you, how much Marguerite wanted this to happen?’