So I have no say in this matter? To tell the truth, this sudden strange discovery had left me baffled and uneasy.
“Come on,” Lionel urged as he got hold of the wooden rungs to pull himself up. “Let's go and have some breakfast.”
As he hauled himself out of the water I gasped. Not only was he without swimming trunks, he was without anything. Stark naked he made his way aboard, flashing his bronzed behind in my face as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I slowly climbed the ladder, hoping to give Lionel time to get some clothes on. If he's waiting for me nude, I just won’t know where to look! Thankfully, by the time I reached the top of the ladder, he had a towel wrapped around his waist, but as I swung my legs over and stepped aboard Lionel just stared at me. I was tempted to dive back into the water where at least I would be saved from his steamy gaze that was sending my skin ablaze. I wasn’t blind to the fact that my skimpy underwear had become totally see-through. I was also vividly aware that I found Lionel desperately attractive. I didn’t know if it was because he reminded me so much of Robbie, or because Robbie was no longer an option for me. In any case, I didn’t plan to analyse that right then.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have the most amazingly perfect body?” Lionel remained looking at me intensely.
“Oh, all the time” I joked. This was not what I wanted to say, as it made me sound so big-headed. But I was trying to keep things light, and it was the first flippant remark that came to mind.
“Well, we don’t want you catching your death of cold,” Lionel said flatly. “So wrap this towel around you.”
He threw me a fluffy beach towel the colour of a sunflower. The acute look of ardour had gone from his eyes as he turned on his heel and moved indoors for breakfast.
Having gone without dinner the evening before and keenly aware of how hungry I was, I meekly followed, wondering what it was that had caused Lionel to go cold on me. Obviously my frivolous words had triggered a bad humour. But once inside the sunlit cabin, Lionel flashed me a warm smile as he handed me a mug of steaming coffee. The breakfast table was laid with a varied array of breakfast items. We both tucked in.
Food over, we stepped back out on deck. I moved over towards the side railing of the yacht, hopping to catch a glimpse of Gigi. Lionel shifted beside me.
“We don’t have to be back on set until tomorrow night. We can either stay here until then or leave now. You decide.”
I paused for an instant before answering. I wondered if it was a trick question. Was this for real? Or was I dreaming, and about to wake in my tiny bedsit flat back in London? I couldn’t believe the mind-boggling situation I found myself in: that Lionel King, of all people, was proposing that I should spend the next twenty-four hours with him on his luxurious yacht in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, with only his pet dolphin Gigi as chaperone. Of course, I reckoned, it was probably the best therapy for getting over Robbie and the full-on infatuation I had for the guy, which was bizarre anyway considering I'd only met him a couple of times.
“Mr Lionel King,” I semi-mocked as I turned to him with a shy smile, “it would be my pleasure to stay with you on this fine yacht of yours until tomorrow.”
“Why thank you, My Lady,” he teased back and took my hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it ever so tenderly.
Then, like a kid who had suddenly got his way, he burst out, “Ever gone fishing?”
“Oh yeah, all the time down the Thames.”
He scuttled below deck and emerged laden with fishing rods, beer, sunhats, and a huge cheesy grin.
My, he’s certainly irresistible when he wants to be. Though a touch juvenile. Mind you, living in that pipe-dream movie world, where everything seemed like a pleasurable game, it wasn't really surprising.
Lionel set up the fishing lines (for I had no clue which way round the bloody things went) whilst I carefully tied on my glam sun hat and placed over my eyes the large shades that Lionel had also given me. I felt like Jackie O in her prime on the Christina.
***
Fishing lines in position, we settled in the warm sun, ice-cold beers in hand. I had one of Lionel’s shirts on, and my underwear was hanging out in the sun to dry. I was glad he hadn’t fetched out someone else’s bikini as I would have felt quite jealous. A bikini was a bit more intimate than just sunhats and shades, and I would have felt a bit put out wearing someone else's sexy two-piece, though I wasn’t blind to the fact that the yacht was strategically anchored in the Pacific Ocean, where the blue sky harmoniously meets the turquoise water, and all that can be seen for miles on end is the soft glimmer of the sun's rays as they caress the ocean top… I mean, please, he couldn't have got a more smoochy setting if he tried, and it was obviously his love nest.
As if reading my mind, he said, “You know, you’re the first person I've ever brought out here.”
“I don’t believe that.” Oh come on, did he really think I was that naïve? He had female sunhats and shades to prove otherwise, for God sake! Unless, of course, he fancied wearing them himself, which was perhaps even more disturbing…
“Honestly,” he insisted. “This has always been my secret getaway when things get too much and I just need to spend a couple of days alone, away from the crazy circus called stardom.”
(And disconnect in female fineries?)
“I wouldn’t have imagined,” I said aloud, “that there was ever a time when things got too much for you.”
“Believe me, there are times.” He looked so desolate that my heart went out to him. Perhaps Lionel did have a sentimental side to him after all. Perhaps there was more to him than the playboy image the press portrayed. Possibly he wasn’t as materialistic as I imagined him to be.
Curious to discover more, I asked him, “What on earth possessed you to become a movie star?”
It was something that bemused me; the reason why anyone in their right mind would willingly submit themselves to the persecution of sneaking paparazzi, stalking fans, living months on end away from home on some godforsaken location, getting up at inhuman hours to have kilos of make-up applied and to have hair pulled one way and another. Then there was the learning lines, the hanging about, the heat, the cold, the boredom, the tension, the petty hatreds and the freaked-out co-stars (Crystal to name but one)… Frankly, it was beyond me.
Lionel let out his boisterous laugh, which I was admittedly growing quite fond of. “Honey, why did you agree to fly out over here to the States to be a body-double in this film?”
He thought he had got me there, but I was ready for him. I had all my reasons neatly sussed in my head.
“It’s all very simple,” I replied, as if lecturing a five-year-old. “There’s a quaint little cottage back home, south of London. It’s built out of stone with an old thatched roof. Surrounding it is the most romantic little garden, where roses bloom in every shade of the rainbow." True, I was letting my imagination run away a touch, but Lionel would never know. "Towards the far side of the cottage grounds there's a stream that runs through the adjoining dense woods. And as soon as I've earned the million dollars I came out here for, I’m going to buy that house and live happily ever after.”
“Well, I must say,” replied Lionel casually. “That does sound all very sweet and simple. But who’s the guy?”
“What do you mean, who's the guy?” I echoed back innocently. I couldn’t believe that Lionel could be so intuitive.
“Come on, girl. How old are you? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?” I nodded on twenty-four. “You’d be bored out of your wits in the middle of the countryside by the end of your first week if you were all by yourself. OK if you were sixty or seventy and planning on retirement. But you’ve got to live a little before then. Take my word, I’d give you six months on your own in your dream cottage. Unless, of course, there is a guy and you plan to churn out babies on an annual basis.” He was all mirth and merriment as he said all this. What a wretched sod! But in all truth he could be right. Put like that, it did sound a bit airy-fai
ry.
“Whatever!” I sighed with exasperation. I didn’t want him psychoanalysing me, so to divert the topic away from me, I asked again, “So how about you, how did you get into the movie business?”
“Simple really. I was adopted when I was seven years old by a wealthy middle-aged couple whose family roots had always been entwined with Hollywood’s fame and fortune. And by the age of ten I was starring in my first big screen movie.” He paused, and I did vaguely remember reading about Lionel’s past in one of Tammy’s copies of Vogue or Hello.
“Ever since that first movie it’s been a roller-coaster ride. Like everything, there’s been good times, just as there’s been bad, but all in all it’s been worth it. Once you learn to deal with the constant press persecution, and learn to ignore the criticism, it’s a cinch. I’ll admit I’ve been lucky. I remember my earlier years being passed from one foster home to the next, getting beaten, going hungry, sleeping on cold floors. There were, of course, nice families who cared for me, but the moment I let myself get attached to them I was whisked off to another home. So the instant I was given my chance I grabbed it with both hands, and haven’t looked back since. I haven’t forgotten my roots, though, which is why I don’t let the fame get to me. In any case, Gabby does a good job of bringing me down to earth anytime she feels it’s necessary. Though that’s more out of big-sisterly protection and full-on bossiness than anything else."
I gazed into his deep green eyes. He was either doing an Oscar-winning performance or there was sincere emotion in his voice as he talked of his past. Somehow, I doubted he was able to do that very often.
“I didn’t know Gabby was your sister,” I commented, rather surprised. I actually felt quite honoured that Lionel's sister had taken the time to care for me – that is, if you can describe drumming me into shape in her rather rough way as “caring.”
“Not blood sister,” Lionel explained. “But sister in every other sense. She’s my adoptive parents’ biological daughter. They adopted me when she was fourteen, and instead of being jealous of the fact she had to learn to share her parents’ attention with me, she was the one who most lavished affection on me. Sometimes I think they adopted me more for her than for themselves.”
Together we fell silent for a while. Lionel, subconsciously or not, was letting me into his persona, and I, like it or not, realised I was falling for him.
Our moment of peace was suddenly interrupted as the fishing line bent dramatically. Lionel called out, “There’s our dinner…” and jumped to his feet, beer flying, as he grabbed hold of the fishing rod and started to reel in the line in quick motions. The fish, at the other end of the line, put up an impressive fight, battling away as it tried to break free, and for a moment I thought Lionel would be pulled overboard. With one last mighty heave the fish was out of the water. As soon as it emerged Lionel called in a fraught voice, “Quick Chantelle, cut the line…”
Swiftly I was by his side, knife in hand, and as I took one last look at the massive porpoise as it flashed and thrashed, I slashed at the line and successfully cut it. Lionel fell backwards, knocking me down with him as the huge and beautiful blue and silver porpoise plummeted back into the ocean. Slightly winded from the fall I found myself sprawled on the deck floor, entwined with Lionel, both of us tangled in the fishing line. I could feel Lionel's heart thumping away under my touch as I tried to unravel us from the line. My hands trembled, and I knew it had nothing to do with the shock of falling backwards.
I could feel his penetrating gaze as he searched my face but I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact. Falling for Robbie had been one thing, but falling for Lionel was a whole different ball game.
“You OK?” he asked, his voice apprehensive. I nodded in reply and sat back, having finally untangled us from the line.
“I think we’ll just make a little change to tonight’s menu.” Lionel managed to maintain the humour in his voice. “How about some good old spaghetti?”
“Sounds good to me,” I replied, laughing.
I was relieved that he laughed, too.
***
The remainder of the day was spent lazing around the yacht deck. It was surprising really how much we had in common, considering we led totally different lifestyles. What was more surprising was how totally at ease I felt in his company, at least, when he was that one metre out of reach. Any closer and I felt myself plummet into turmoil by his powerful masculinity. Lionel, too, seemed to prefer keeping a slight distance, and was careful not to cross the imaginary boundary that had come up between us since we'd both been sent sprawling to the floor during our fishing escapade.
Dusk had long ago settled and dinner was well and truly digested as we both stood over the railings gazing at the shimmering dark Pacific water below as it lapped softly against the boat side. The moon, which cast a silver path across the dark ocean, was our only company.
“I dare you to jump in,” I said recklessly. Despite the darkness it did look welcoming, and I rather fancied going in myself.
“Only if you come in with me,” he challenged, and before I knew it he was stripped down and on the other side of the railings, but wearing shorts this time. He did a back-flip into the water. I followed suit, prudishly keeping on my improvised bikini-underwear.
The water was remarkably warm. I flipped onto my back and stretched my legs and arms out floating in the swaying salty water as I gazed up into the starlit sky. The view was just spectacular; there were sparkling stars all around and they seemed so close that I felt if I just reached out I could touch them. I sensed Lionel position himself near me in the bobbing surf and look, too, at the illuminated sky above. I wish I could always feel this peaceful and exultant, and as the thought crossed my mind, a shooting star flashed across the sky and I was aware that the last time I'd seen a shooting star Lionel had also been by my side.
“I hope it comes true.” Lionel whispered softly beside me.
“You hope what comes true?” I asked, my own voice hushed in the stillness.
“Whatever it is you wished for.” Lionel answered.
I wondered what he’d wished for.
We remained in the water until we had both grown cold. I was shivering as I climbed aboard and Lionel was quick to wrap a large towelling bathrobe around me.
“On warm summer nights like this I always sleep out on deck,” Lionel said, as he rolled out a large mattress onto the floor and threw down some pillows and several blankets. “But feel free to use any of the cabins beds,” he added, as he settled down on one side of the mattress.
Oh, just wonderful, I thought. He might as well have called out “Checkmate,” because whichever move I made now, I was lost. If I settled down beside him he’d automatically think he’d sussed it for a one-night-stand, but if I disappeared into one of the cabins he’d think I was a right strait-laced cow.
I turned towards the ocean and paused for quite a while, gazing into the dark night around me, battling in my mind as to why it would be so bad for me to have a one-night fling with Lionel. As I stood undecided in the still night, breathing in the ocean spray, a very slight night breeze caressing my hair, I was suddenly aware of snorting noises coming from behind me. I turned, rather alarmed, and saw that Lionel had fallen fast asleep and was snoring away. I felt slightly guilty, and also humiliated, that Lionel had innocently fallen asleep whilst I dallied over his assumed indecent proposal.
Mind you, I had gone and done just the same thing the night before. I had to stifle a giggle: leave me alone with the hottest guy on the planet, and all we can come up with is a sleeping contest! I covered him with one of the blankets and sat beside him for a while. His snoring hushed as he rolled onto his side, his arm fell across my waist and I could feel my heart thump away at his touch. Was he really sleeping? Pushing all thoughts out of my mind I lay back on the mattress and arranged another of the blankets around me. This was pretty tricky, with Lionel’s arm firmly holding me down.
Finally settled, I sighed deeply, sm
iled to myself and closed my eyes.
Chapter Nine
The following morning, as the sun’s rays warmed the new day, I stirred awake, aware that Lionel’s arm was still around me. I turned to face him and sleepily he opened his eyes. On seeing me at his side he smiled boyishly, captivatingly so, and with a slightly hoarse voice whispered, “Good morning, Princess,” and placed a tender kiss on my forehead, before he sat up, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. So natural, and so chaste, that I didn’t know what to make of it all.
We were soon back in the speedboat and shooting along the ocean’s surface to return to the film location, though I would have much preferred to remain on the yacht. I sat without the blindfold this time and watched Gigi as she raced alongside the speedboat escorting us part of the way back.
Lionel and I remained silent. I was trying to get my thoughts and emotions under control and into some comparative order. Lionel, meanwhile, just seemed distracted. As we sailed into the bay there was something about it that looked familiar, though I couldn’t put my finger on it. The pathway that led to the helicopter pad also seemed recognisable, but I didn’t give it much thought. I was more concerned with the turmoil in my heart. There was something about Lionel that captivated me, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he reminded me so much of Robbie. Moreover, I had no intention of falling for a Hollywood playboy. It was too risky for me to fall head over heels for someone like Lionel, who wouldn’t just be capable of breaking my heart in two, he would smash it to pieces. I had no intention of putting myself through that ordeal, so as I climbed into the helicopter I decided that as soon as I was given some days off I would return to London to see if, away from Lionel and the manic movie mayhem, I could sort myself out.
It was late afternoon by the time I was finally alone and back inside my caravan. Sandy, I'd been told, would return the following day. Feeling exhausted and as if I hadn’t slept for weeks, which was quite ironic considering all I’d done over the greater part of the last two days was just that, I went to bed early. Just as I'd closed my eyes, trying rather unsuccessfully to push from my mind all thoughts of Lionel, Robbie and Tammy, there was a loud rap on the main door. Carefully I picked my way through the dimmed caravan, stubbing my big toe into the kitchen table as I went. I cursed out loud as I cracked open the door to see who it was, half-expecting to find Lionel standing there. But to my surprise I found myself face-to-face with the director.
A Little of Chantelle Rose Page 8