by Carrie Elks
‘I’ve got jetlag on top of my jetlag,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s not just that. I haven’t been able to sleep much since I last saw you.’
‘I haven’t either,’ she said. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’
An expression of relief crossed his face. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were. I wondered if you left that night because you were done with me.’
‘I’ll never be done with you.’ It was almost a relief to say it. Sitting there, in the black cab idling at the side of a busy London street, Cesca could feel the emotions inside of her starting to explode.
‘I wouldn’t let you be.’
‘We should probably get out of here,’ the driver said through the intercom, as more flashes went off, and the crowd started to surround the cab. ‘Where to, guvnor?’
Sam turned to look at her. ‘Your place or mine?’
She laughed. ‘I haven’t got a place.’
‘Neither have I,’ he admitted. ‘Let’s just drive for a bit,’ he suggested to the driver. ‘Head west.’
The cab pulled away, cutting a swathe through the bedraggled onlookers, the tyres splashing water to the left and right. As people jumped out of the way, Sam reached for Cesca, cupping her face with his hands.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, breathless from the intense way he was looking at her.
The corner of his lips quirked up. ‘I’ve no idea. But it doesn’t really matter. As long as I’m with you we can drive around all night, if you like.’
‘It’ll cost ya.’ The driver’s interjection made them both laugh.
‘We could go and see my dad in a while,’ she suggested. Not that she was in any hurry for that. Not when he was about to kiss her, and it looked as though he was planning to do it for a while.
‘But now?’
‘Now I’d like you to kiss me again,’ she told him.
He ran his thumb along her lip then inclined his head to hers, until their mouths touched. When he dipped her back so that he could really plunder her mouth, Cesca closed her eyes, savouring every moment.
It was time for her fade to black.
Epilogue
Journeys end in lovers meeting
– Twelfth Night
‘Stop touching your face, you’re going to ruin your make-up.’ Kitty grabbed Cesca’s hand, pulling her fingers away from her cheeks. ‘Calm down, honey, it’s going to be fine.’
Cesca didn’t reply. Nerves had taken away all her words.
Lucy was sitting on her other side. It was strange, being sandwiched by two of her sisters when they’d been apart for so long. But it gave her a glow that outshone the brightener that the make-up artist had used.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Lucy said, squeezing her other hand. ‘Another five minutes, OK, Cess? You can make it that far, can’t you?’
‘I miss Juliet,’ Cesca said. ‘She should be here.’
‘Of course she should. But she can’t, not without leaving Poppy, and we know she could never do that.’ Lucy’s tone was matter-of-fact, but she didn’t catch their eye. ‘Though if her stupid bastard of a husband knew the meaning of the word compromise, maybe she wouldn’t have to dance to his tune all the time.’
‘Amen,’ Kitty agreed. ‘I think she’s a saint for putting up with him.’
‘She doesn’t have any other choice,’ Cesca murmured. ‘Not when they have Poppy in common. That poor kid.’
Her legs had started to shake. As the car snaked through the familiar streets of London, she could feel the nerves practically exploding out of her. If she’d managed to eat anything for the past few days, she might even have been sick.
When the car finally came to a stop outside the theatre, the crowd lining the red carpet turned to look at them, and a dozen camera flashes exploded at once. Then the paps noticed them, and started to surround the car, pressing their camera lenses against the tinted glass of the windows.
‘They’re going to be very disappointed when they realise Sam isn’t in here,’ Lucy remarked.
‘Not at all, our Cesca’s a star in her own right nowadays. She was in Hello! last month, and constantly splashed across the Internet. Did you see those pictures of that beach in Hawaii?’
‘Shut up.’ Cesca gave her sister a mock-annoyed stare. ‘We all know they’re only after one thing. And it isn’t a glimpse of my cleavage.’
‘That wasn’t just a glimpse,’ Kitty pointed out.
The security guy they’d hired for the night climbed out of the passenger seat, talking quietly into his microphone before walking around to open the door for them. She watched him push the paparazzi back with only the smallest amount of pressure. Whoever he was, this guy was good.
‘I can’t believe this is your life now,’ Kitty said. ‘Whatever happened to little Cesca who spent her whole time in front of a typewriter? Look at you now, all glamorous and sought-after. I don’t know what to make of it, really.’
‘It’s not always like this,’ Cesca said. ‘It’s not as if we go around in limos every day with some guy in a black suit pushing us along. Most of the time it’s boring, we argue over who makes the coffee, I shout at him when he leaves his dirty boxers out. Last week he used up all the hot water and I didn’t talk to him for an hour.’
‘Well, that’s definitely a capital offence,’ Kitty agreed. ‘No girl should have to shower in cold water.’
The door opened and the security guard reached for Cesca’s hand. She turned to narrow her eyes at Kitty. ‘Were you trying to take my mind off things?’
‘It worked, didn’t it?’
It had, at least for a moment. But now that she was climbing out of the car and onto the pavement, reality hit her with full force. There were people shouting, calling her name, asking her where Sam was. She smiled at the cameras, letting the security guard’s soft hand on her back guide her forward. They walked past the hoardings on the side of the old building, posters depicting a scene from her play, with beautiful recommendations written by the usually harsh critics. She had to stare at them for a moment to really take them in.
This was her play. Hers. And it was finally being premiered.
‘Cesca, is it true you’re pregnant with Sam’s baby?’ somebody shouted as she posed in front of the posters.
‘Have you split up with him? Where is he?’
‘Does he still go like a jackhammer? Or was that just the Serena Sloane effect?’
Keep smiling, she told herself. Keep smiling and it will all be OK.
After answering a few questions about the play, Cesca found herself walking into the theatre foyer, where a welcoming committee of the staff were waiting. The manager, a man she’d got to know well in the time they’d been in rehearsals, came up and shook her hand vigorously.
‘Congratulations. We’re delighted for you.’
‘Thank you. Is everybody here?’ She looked around.
‘Everything’s fine. The cast are waiting for you backstage. Can I give you a glass of champagne to take with you?’ He gestured at one of the girls holding a silver tray of champagne flutes. She was dressed in a white blouse and black skirt, a more familiar uniform than the designer dress Cesca was wearing.
‘Thank you.’ Cesca took the glass even though she was too hyped up to drink it.
When she arrived backstage she was hit by the commotion. People were running everywhere, orders were being shouted out, a young assistant with a clipboard was counting down the minutes. Cesca took a moment to breathe it in, to absorb the excitement. As a young child sitting in her mother’s dressing room she had thought it romantic. Now it felt like so much more.
It was her lifeblood.
She pushed open the door for the dressing room, looking inside to see all the seats taken. The actors sat in front of their mirrors, adding final touches to their make-up, some whispering their first lines to their reflections. Each of them had their own ritual, honed through years of superstitious practice. Another part of this world that made it so unique.
&
nbsp; Then there was the leading man. A dark-haired guy making his theatre debut. He had his eyes closed, his lips moving softly as if he was repeating the words over and over again. Though his face was calm, his leg kept shaking, moving up and down in a rhythm of its own. Cesca squashed the urge to touch it, to curl her fingers around his thigh. He was getting in the zone, and she didn’t belong there.
Not yet.
‘Break a leg, everybody.’
A few of them looked over, waving to acknowledge her. But there was only one person she was looking at. Sam, turned around, his face still impassive but his eyes ablaze. A single look and he had the ability to turn her legs to jelly.
He wasn’t her Sam. Not right now. He was too deep in character for that. But when she was at the theatre she wasn’t his Cesca, either. Yet somehow they managed to make it work.
And when they got home, they were completely each other’s.
‘There’s some cards for you over there,’ one of the cast told her, pointing to the table in the corner filled with flowers and gifts. She walked over, picking up the envelopes with her name on them. She could take the bouquets later.
The first card was from the producer. The man who’d taken the risk to stage her show, in spite of her past history. She read his kind words then propped it on the table, sliding her finger beneath the flap of the next card.
The second was from Sam’s mum. Cesca couldn’t help but smile as she read her words. To the talented girl who has lit up my son’s life. Your mother would have been proud of you. Kisses, Mama Lucia.
In the time since Sam had walked back into her life, Cesca had come to know his mother and sisters well. Even when she was in London and he was in LA, they’d still invite her out to lunch, making her feel part of the family. Lucia had filled a void that Cesca hadn’t realised she had. A surrogate mother of sorts.
‘You forgot my card,’ Sam said softly. She looked up to see him standing in front of her, a silver envelope in his hand. Still her Sam, after all. Cesca took it from him, opening it up to see a postcard of Varenna inside. Her eyes lingered on the beautiful villas that lined the lake, and the lush greenery that grew on the banks.
‘Where it all began,’ she murmured.
‘The play?’ His eyes were shining beneath the bright lights of the dressing room.
She shook her head. ‘Us.’ Her heart was full as he cupped her face with his hand, his palm warm against her skin. She read the back of the card. Your play captured my imagination, but you captured my heart. Always yours, Sam.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for always being mine.’
‘I always will be. And if I wasn’t covered in greasepaint I’d be kissing the hell out of you right now,’ he said.
‘If you weren’t covered in greasepaint, I’d let you. But since this is my play, and my reputation, I’d rather not ravish the leading man before he even gets on the stage.’
Sam laughed. ‘We’ll save the ravishing for afterwards then.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ She rolled onto the balls of her feet, lifting herself a couple of inches higher, enough to whisper in his ear. ‘Break a leg, Sam.’
He ran the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone. ‘You, too, gorgeous.’
Cesca blew him a kiss, then walked out, making her way back to the public areas. Tonight she’d be watching her play from the audience, seeing the action from a different side.
Sliding into the seat between her sisters, she grabbed each of their hands, squeezing them tight. A moment later the lights went down, and the hum of conversation dwindled to nothing.
She closed her eyes for a moment. This was finally it. After all this time, and all this angst, her play was making its West End debut.
What’s Past is Prologue. It couldn’t have had a better title.
‘It’s very different to movie acting, isn’t it?’ Randall, the older actor who played the father in the play, shot him a smile before turning back to the mirror and wiping off his make-up. ‘So much more immediate, so intense. The adrenalin rush, man, there’s nothing like it.’
‘It’s something else.’ Sam took a deep breath. Twenty minutes after the final curtain had fallen and his body still hadn’t recovered. It was like legal heroin. ‘Though I’m not sure if I can take that night after night.’
‘Oh, it gets easier. I bet you were just as nervous at your first movie premiere. And then by the second and the third, it’s like old hat.’
Sam frowned. ‘I wouldn’t go that far. At my last premiere poor Cesca was pushed over and pretty much trampled underfoot.’
‘Ah, I wondered why she was surrounded by security guards this time.’
‘I thought she’d probably prefer to watch the play unbruised.’
Half an hour later Sam was climbing out of a black Mercedes, his own security guard pushing his way through the crowds. Sam walked into the wine bar, where the after-party was being held, and was immediately surrounded by admirers.
There were familiar faces, too. Will Allen, his best friend, had flown in from Hollywood, and was currently flirting with one of the production staff. Izzy and Sienna, looking glamorous in full-length gowns, were arguing with his mother over whether they could have another glass of champagne. And in the corner at a table were Hugh and Cesca’s father, being clucked over by Cesca’s sisters as they brought them drinks and plates of food.
‘Congratulations, Sam.’ Hugh shook his hand.
‘You were fabulous,’ Lucy told him, kissing his cheek. Kitty hugged him tightly and gave him a wink.
‘Did you bring Milly with you?’ Cesca’s father asked. ‘I saw her acting with you. Are you in love with her?’
‘No, Dad,’ Lucy interjected, a harassed expression on her face. ‘This is Cesca’s boyfriend, remember? And that wasn’t Mum on the stage, it was an actress.’
‘Of course it was.’ Oliver looked annoyed. ‘That’s what I said. Well done, Sam. You were excellent.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He nodded at Cesca’s dad, unsure about what just happened.
The only person missing in the room was Foster, and he hadn’t received an invitation. He was estranged from Lucia, after all. Not welcome here.
‘Have you seen Cesca?’ Sam asked the producer, who was surrounded by investors all talking rapidly.
‘Last I saw her she was heading for the bathroom. She was looking a bit green.’
Thirty seconds later, Sam was barging his way into the women’s bathroom. There were two girls at the sink, gossiping wildly, though their mouths stilled as soon as they caught sight of him in the doorway.
‘Oh!’ Shock was immediately replaced by interest. The girl nearest him smiled, her eyelashes fluttering. ‘I think you may have the wrong room.’
‘Can you give me a moment?’ Sam inclined his head to the door.
‘You want us to leave?’
‘My girl isn’t feeling well. I want to check if she’s OK.’
The woman next to him sighed. ‘Isn’t that the sweetest? Why can’t we find one of those, Marie?’
‘Because they only exist on the stage?’
The two of them left, still arguing over whether Sam was real or not. He swallowed a smile, then walked towards the occupied cubicle, pausing to knock on the door.
‘Cesca?’ He kept his voice quiet. ‘Babe, you in there?’
A shuffling came from inside. ‘What are you doing in here?’
‘I came to find you. David said you weren’t feeling well, I wanted to help.’
‘You shouldn’t be in here. Imagine if anybody gets a photo of this. You’ll be splashed all over the tabloids like some kind of sexual deviant. You’ll be The Jackhammer all over again.’
Sam laughed. ‘It’s hardly deviant to be in a bathroom with your girlfriend. Especially when she’s not feeling well.’
‘In a public loo . . . ’
‘Sweetheart, I really don’t care if I’m the lead headline, I’m not going anywhere. So come out and let me take care of you.�
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‘I’m just being stupid.’
‘You and I both know you’re anything but stupid. Come out, let me hold you.’
The lock clicked, and the door opened inward. Cesca was sitting on the closed toilet seat, her elbows on her legs, her face propped on her hands.
‘You know there’s about a billion germs on those things?’
She looked up. ‘I’m living life on the edge.’
‘Come here.’ He held out his hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her up and into his arms. She melted against him, her body soft against his. He ran his palms down her bare shoulders. ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?’
‘Says the man in the dinner jacket.’
‘This dress, it does things to me,’ he whispered in her ear. She shivered beneath his touch. ‘It will look even better when it’s on the floor.’
‘Dirty boy.’
‘You know it.’ He chuckled against her ear. ‘So why aren’t you out there celebrating? Everything went so well tonight. The reviews are good, the audience loved it. Didn’t you see the standing ovation at the end?’
‘I was hiding in the foyer by then.’
He stepped back, still holding her shoulders. A quizzical expression formed on his face. ‘Is there something wrong? I thought this was all you ever wanted. Did something happen you haven’t told me about?’
She licked her dry lips. He followed her movement. ‘I’m just . . . ’ She took a deep breath, refusing to meet his gaze. ‘Scared, I guess.’
‘About what?’
‘That something’s going to go wrong. I mean, things like this don’t happen to me. I’m the girl who spent six years going back and forth like a ping-pong ball. Now here I am in some obscenely priced dress climbing out of limos, and being photographed everywhere I go. What the hell has happened?’
‘You’re not happy?’
‘No, that’s not it.’ She covered his hands with hers. ‘It’s more that I’m too happy. I’ve got everything I ever wanted. My play, a home, my guy.’ There were tears forming in her eyes. ‘What if I lose it all again?’
Sam felt every part of her anxiety. It made him want to hold her tight. Of course she was afraid, she’d lost so much in her life. They both had.