by JS Taylor
“Tell me about your father.”
Just him saying the words sparks an electric bolt of pain.
I close my eyes, letting it ride out. But when I open my mouth to speak, no words come out.
“You can do this,” says James gently. “You’re brave, Issy.”
I am. I am brave.
I swallow. “My father,” I begin. “I was eight when he died.”
I take a long, ragged breath, trying to keep my words straight.
“He died in a car accident. The police came, to tell us. And the first thing I felt, was anger.” The last words come out as a distraught whisper, and tears fill my eyes, threatening to overwhelm me.
James holds my hand and says nothing. I sit silently, letting the warmth of his skin soothe me.
“I was so angry with him,” I breathe. “I know it was wrong. But that was all I could feel. No grief. Nothing. I blamed my father. I thought he could have done something, to prevent the accident. He should have known, not to go out that night. I was furious, that he left us.”
I turn to look in his face, expecting to see horror, even disgust. But there is nothing but patience and understanding.
“My mother fell apart,” I say, my voice still wavering and choked. “My father had always taken care of money, and bills. She just couldn’t cope.”
James squeezes my hand tighter.
“We ended up drifting, in and out of communal houses. Places where my mother’s friends were. They were artists, musicians. All struggling, trying to make it, in London. It wasn’t really the right environment for a child.”
I’m feeling stronger now, and my voice comes a little clearer. As I talk, I feel as though I’m exploring my reaction to it all for the first time.
“I think I’d dealt with his death,” I say. “But it was the effect on Mami, that was so hard.” I give James a little quivering smile, and he nods. “She was so grief-struck. And it kind of meant, there wasn’t any room, for me to be unhappy. I had to take on a lot of adult responsibilities, very young.”
I shake my head, remembering.
“When it first happened, I was so angry.” My eyes open wide at the memory. “I felt like I could have screamed aloud for a month. Then after a few years, living in communes, I don’t know how I felt. Numb, I guess.”
James is nodding his head at this.
“That’s very typical,” he says, “in response to trauma. It’s a sign that you’ve not dealt with the grief and pain.”
I look at him in surprise. He sounds like a therapist.
“Believe me,” he adds, “I know.”
Of course he does. James has his own demons.
He sighs and takes both my hands in his.
“Issy,” he says, “I can’t tell you anything to take your feelings away. And take it from someone who knows, it’s better in the end to feel them than block them out.”
He smiles at me. “What I can do is be here for you and listen to you without judgement.”
His green eyes are on mine.
“I love you so much,” he says. “Nothing you could say would ever make me love you less.”
I let his words sink in, testing them out.
My eyes fill with tears again.
It feels good to have his acceptance. So much of what I feel about my father seems shameful and wrong. But speaking out loud has helped. James was right about that. It was hard. But it wasn’t nearly so awful, as I feared.
“I can’t bear that you’ve been carrying this pain around,” says James. “And I’m privileged that you’ve let me in.”
Chapter 30
James carries me to bed and holds me, stroking my hair, until my eyes start to close.
“No wonder you’re so tired,” he murmurs. “It’s been an emotional day for you.”
“I’m not tired,” I blink up at him, warm in his arms.
He laughs softly and continues the slow stroking of my hair.
“I think you are.”
I try to answer, but I’m suddenly slowed with exhaustion, and the words don’t come out. Before I know it, I’m falling into a deep sleep.
I awake to early dawn light, wrapped in James’s arms. He must have slid off the green satin dress after I fell asleep, as I’m clad in nothing but satin panties.
That’s the second time he’s undressed me, I realise, after an emotional night out.
I wonder, for a moment, if we’ve both slept in. Since James starts so early on set. Then I remember that we’re due to start slightly later this morning. There were some traffic permissions to obtain, so filming has to wait until paperwork is completed at 9am.
I sigh into James’s warm body, inhaling the smell of him.
I feel different this morning. As though I’ve been cleansed. And the dawn light feels wonderful.
I know that I will always carry sadness from my childhood memories. But for the first time, there is a possibility that the numb pain, lodged deep in my heart, could melt a little.
I slip out of James’s arms, careful not to wake him, and pull on one of his T-shirts, which I find draped over a hotel chair. Then I walk over to the window. The Barcelona streets haven’t yet come to life, and I drink in the wonderful sweeping view of the city square outside.
I turn back to where James is still sleeping. And it’s then I notice a stack of documents on a writing desk at the other side of the room.
I remember James telling me there had been a press report given to him. Could it be with this paperwork?
I can’t help but be curious, and I move over to where the documents lay.
“Issy?” James’s sleepy voice echoes across the bedroom, and I freeze guiltily, halfway towards the desk.
“Come back to bed,” he says.
I pad back over to the bed and slip in beside him.
“Mmmm,” he says, pulling me close and kissing me. “I like how you look in my T-shirt.”
“Thanks,” I giggle, nuzzling into him.
“But I think I’d like you a little better if you were out of it,” he adds, sliding a hand underneath it and stroking the edge of my nipples.
Mmmmm. I feel my body leap to life under his touch.
Then his phone beeps, and he frowns.
“Hold on a moment,” he says. “This could be important.”
Something about his tone makes me anxious. The beep from his phone wasn’t like his regular ringtone. Could this be the tone he’s assigned to his press team?
James slides out of bed and strides out of the room, grabbing a sheet to cover himself.
I feel my stomach lurch. Something must be wrong if he doesn’t want me to hear this phone call.
From the next room of the suite, I hear his voice, deep and urgent.
Another leak. It must be. I crawl miserably out of bed, wondering what’s going to happen. And for the second time, the pile of documents catch my attention.
Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look?
Before I can change my mind, I step towards the desk and leaf through the pile.
There’s all kinds of filming documents here, and pages of script, annotated in red pen. But I can’t see anything which looks like a press report.
Then, halfway through the pile, my fingers close on a manila folder. It’s stamped with an official-looking logo and has ‘report’ stamped on the front.
This must be it.
I take a guilty glance over my shoulder. I can still hear James in the other room, talking on the phone.
I pause for a second, and then I flip open the file.
And as my eyes make out the words, they widen in shock.
Inside is not what I was expecting. Not what I was expecting at all.
Three familiar words swim before my eyes. Words I’d hoped never to see again.
The Lipstick Stalker.
I hear myself gasp. Why is this here? I scan the first page in confusion.
It’s a report which has been compiled on the Lipstick Stalker.
I thought that was all over with.
I leaf through the papers in fascinated horror. All the details on the Lipstick Stalker case are here, but there are surprisingly few details on the man himself.
I shut the documents with a snap, my heart racing.
What in the hell?
“Isabella.”
I turn to see James, standing in the doorway.
I’m still holding the documents. James walks towards me and slowly edges them out of my fingers. I realise my hands are shaking.
I stare at him for a moment.
“What is this all about?” I ask finally. “Why do you have this report, on your desk?”
James rubs his forehead. He looks tired. “It’s really nothing, Issy,” he says.
When my face shows a complete lack of belief, he sighs.
“Honestly,” he says. “It really is nothing for you to worry about.”
“Then why is it here?” Terrifying memories of my brief capture are tunnelling back into my brain. And my voice comes out partway hysterical.
“Shhh.” James pulls me close, and then takes me by the shoulders.
“The police sent me that report,” he says after a moment. “They seem to think that the stalker was fascinated with Berkeley Studios for a long time.”
“What do you mean?”
“They uncovered a place they think the stalker stayed. It shows plans around my studios, going back years.”
I try to compute this.
“So why have you been sent the report?” I demand.
“The police want my help in piecing together some of the evidence they found. The stalker has remained very tight-lipped, and they’re trying to build a full picture.”
I assess how I feel about this. From what we knew before, the stalker was obsessed with fame and celebrity. It makes sense he would have targeted James’s studio from the beginning.
“So you’ll have to go visit with the police?” I ask.
“Yes. But not for some time,” he adds. “It really is nothing for you to worry about.”
Isn’t it? Suddenly, I don’t know anymore.
“Issy.” James strokes my cheek. “You have been through so much in the last few weeks. I didn’t tell you about this because I thought it better you forgot all about it. This doesn’t concern you, Issy. The stalker is locked away and you’re safe. I’m just helping the police with their investigations.”
That makes sense, I guess.
I sigh out loud. “It’s just with the press leak and everything,” I say, trying to keep the tears from my eyes. “I feel as though everything is against us. I wanted the stalker thing to be done with. Buried.”
“It is,” James reassures me. He pulls me tight. “It is,” he repeats, murmuring into my hair. “I would never let anyone hurt you, Issy.”
“What about the press?” I insist, my mind flying to his last phone call. “Are we going to be hiding from them forever?”
I feel James shakes his head. He pulls away, so his eyes are on mine.
“I just got some good news,” he says. “About the press leak.”
“Did you find out who’s been leaking?” The words come out more urgently than I mean them to.
“No. But I found a way to find out who’s doing it.”
“Really? How?”
“I can’t tell you exactly,” he says. “But it involves relocating, later today.”
Relocating? Again?
I’m confused. That sounds like running away. Is James telling me the whole truth about the leak situation?
“Why can’t you tell me exactly?” I am challenging him. “You said before you would try and include me in decisions like this.”
He shakes his head. “Please, Issy, you have to trust me.”
“No.” I set my jaw determinedly. “We talked about this. Stop shutting me out.”
“Issy.” James’s tone is stern. “Please, just take my word for it. What I’m doing is for the best.”
His eyes are pleading with me, and I feel my stubbornness slide away.
“Are we going somewhere else in Spain?” I say, finally.
“No,” says James. “We’re flying back to England.”
Back to the lion’s den. Is this good news?
“So we’re no longer under threat from the newspapers?” I clarify. “We can go back to the studio?”
“No.” James is shaking his head. “The new location is strategic, for my plans to stem this leak.”
“Then where are we going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
I huff out my cheeks, frustrated with all this subterfuge.
“James…” The words come out falteringly.
“Yes?”
“Do you really think you can find out this leak? Tell me honestly? Are we just running away?”
James’s face lifts in a gentle smile. His eyes flick down to the desk. Beside the piles of documents is his Apple laptop.
“I want to show you something,” he says, lifting the lid of the laptop and firing it to life. The screen display pops up, and James scans through a multitude of what looks like admin folders.
Then he clicks open a file, and an image pops up.
It’s a photograph of a woman lying on a chaise lounge. And it takes me a second to compute what he’s showing me.
Wow. That’s me. But I look so different, the way James has captured me on camera. The unfamiliar sight takes my breath away.
“I never showed you the pictures I took of you,” he says gently.
My eyes focus on the image. I’m laid out on the chaise lounge in my underwear. My gaze is settled unwaveringly towards the camera.
I’m surprised by the boldness of my expression. I don’t remember feeling that brazen.
James flips to a second image.
This time the focus is only on my face. My eyes are slightly dropped, knowing. And my lips are parted. If I were to describe the expression on my face, I would call it an awakening. As though a lifetime of sexuality has rushed into my body, just at the moment the camera flickered.
I’m astounded to see myself like that.
I turn questioningly to James.
“Did you alter the images?”
He smiles. “No. This is you. Pure and unadulterated. Can you see why I love you so much?”
I have no idea how to reply.
James takes his hand away from the laptop keyboard. The screen is still facing towards us, and I drag my eyes away from the woman on the display. “I only kept two pictures,” he says. “The second is my favourite. The close-up on your expression.”
His face is inches from mine now.
“Never, in all my time filming,” he says, “have I seen such layers of emotion distilled into one image. You have a beauty which is nothing short of decadent. It is all consuming. It is enchanting.”
I blink back into his eyes, heady with his view of me.
James reaches up and takes my face in his hands. “When I first filmed you, I was struck by your incredible eyes,” he murmurs. “And the truth you could show in them. But now I realise, it goes so much deeper. Your appearance is the tiniest factor in what makes you so beautiful.”
He kisses my mouth, and I feel my soul expanding towards him, drinking him in.
“You are courageous,” he says, between kisses, “you are lovely, and I can’t believe you are mine.”
“I love you,” I say, blinking away the tears which have sprung into my eyes.
“I love you too,” says James. “And now I’m going to answer your earlier question with one of my own. You asked whether I could deal with the press leak.” He nods to the camera. “Do you really think, there is anything I wouldn’t do for that incredible woman? Do you think I couldn’t move mountains to protect her?”
“Oh James.” I feel the insecurities rush out of me, and suddenly there is no danger. Only him. “I love you so much.”
James holds me tight, and I feel myself safe in his strong arms.
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br /> “So aren’t you going to tell me where we’re relocating to?” I ask, after a moment.
James smiles. “Yes. Filming has only brought the event forward. I had been meaning to take you there, in any case.”
“Take me where?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“No!” I bat his arm in annoyance.
“It’s a grand old country estate,” he says teasingly. “I think you’ll like it.”
“Tell me!”
James is grinning now. “We’ll all be flying to Berkeley Hall,” he says. “We’ll do some filming on the estate. The entire area is totally secure. And,” he adds, fixing me with his green eyes, “I’ll be able to take you to meet my parents.”
Chapter 31
For our return flight to England, James has managed to arrange a private jet, which delights Natalie. Inside the aeroplane is absolutely incredible. The interior is arranged like an enormous, sumptuous living room. There are sofas, huge comfy seats, and a big movie screen.
James and I are keeping a tactful distance apart. So I share my enthusiasm with Callum and Will.
“It’s a pretty sweet ride,” agrees Will, taking off his sunglasses as he takes in the inside of the plane. “Maybe Mr Berkeley will give us a ride back to LA,” he adds, grinning at Callum.
The extras are being flown home on a later charter flight. I got a chance to say a last farewell to Lorna just before we headed our separate ways. I’m hoping that I’ll see her soon. But with the press leak looming over us, it’s difficult to know when.
The flight is uneventful, but as we’re dipping low to land, there’s a clear view of a huge manor house with miles of rolling estate grounds as far as the eye can see.
It’s absolutely enormous, and I realise that Berkeley’s father doesn’t just have an aristocratic title. He owns a very decent chunk of England.
The plane touches down on a private runway which backs onto the estate. And within minutes of disembarking, we’re transported to a small complex of cottages.
They’re in view of the enormous Berkeley Hall, but a fair way into the sumptuous grounds. And James takes it upon himself to show us personally to our rooms.
“It’s a little cosier than you’re used to,” he explains, taking in Natalie’s devastated face at the size of the buildings. “But the rooms are very luxurious inside.”