I stepped, with care, down into the vessel and positioned myself near the helm. Lionel untied the mooring rope and then stepped easily onto the boat and moved forward to start the engine. He handed me his Oscar. I gripped it hard, worried that with any slight jerk of the speedboat the bronze figure would go whirling into the water below.
It was quite creepy, at first, speeding out into the dark water. If it hadn't been that I had Lionel alongside me and assumed he knew what he was doing, I would have panicked. Racing along in the murky darkness was like driving into a black hole. The water sprayed up into my hair and I felt immensely alive and happy and excited. If we were to get lost in the immense Pacific Ocean in the dead of night, somehow I just knew that Gigi would guide us to safety.
Suddenly the Chantelle loomed out of the darkness, a huge silhouette on the bobbing surf. Getting from the speedboat up on deck was tricky, and I was thankful when I'd finally climbed aboard and Lionel had taken the Oscar from my hands. I'd been exhilarated by the night speedboat ride but I had not enjoyed the responsibility of holding the heavy figure the whole ride out. My arm felt dead from holding it to me in a vice-like grip. I reckoned you could probably slam someone, an intruder for example, over the head with it and they'd be out for the count without even denting the statue.
Everyone has seen pictures of it: a sort of bald, naked man holding something, but few understand its significance. The figure is of a Knight holding a Crusader's sword, standing on a reel of film with five spokes signifying the original branches of the Academy: actors, writers, directors, producers and technicians. There was a time when magazines such as Weekly and Variety had attempted to label the figure as The Iron Man. Thankfully that never stuck. I much preferred The Statue of Merit – and was glad to hand it over to its rightful owner.
Lionel handed me a drink. I had asked for something non-alcoholic, but I could smell Malibu in it. Lionel obviously planned to get me pissed so he could try to seduce me. There was really no need. If it wasn't that I would have come across as downright desperate, I would have torn my dress off there and then and pounced on him. Mind you, I was obviously all mouth, as on seeing the mattress on the deck, the same mattress we'd slept on the previous time I'd been out to Lionel's yacht, I got into a state of jittering nerves.
I'd longed for this moment, dreamt of it constantly over the last months. But now the occasion had finally arrived, I was in a turmoil of utter awkwardness. I downed the cocktail in one, hoping that the alcohol would give me a brain-rush and would release all my inhibitions.
I was aware of Lionel's intense gaze and I was glad that we were standing out on deck in the darkness so that my flushed skin wasn't noticeable. This was pretty ridiculous, considering he had previously seen me standing starkers under harsh studio lights.
Standing on the swaying deck, however, it was just him and me, and it was for real. Lionel moved towards me, forward from the dancing silver shadows caused by the moon reflected on the sea, and clasped me in his arms. I felt his lips on my dark hair, my slight neck, and then on my mouth as he effortlessly swung me into his arms and strode towards the mattress, which was laden with silken cushions which I hadn't noticed before. He laid me, with ease, onto the mattress. Then he took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes with longing. With one finger he traced my eyebrows, my forehead, my nose, as if planning to sculpt my face, imprint it into his memory forever, as I too would imprint this moment forever in my mind. I felt myself shaking as Lionel slowly began to unzip my delicate silver-grey crochet dress – which had surprisingly remained intact during the adventures of the evening – and it slipped to the floor. He pulled me to him and again I felt his mouth on mine, his firm slender hands, piano hands I liked to think of them, sliding gently down to the small of my back, pressing my body against him until my whole self shook, until I could no longer withhold the rising passion.
Lionel gently unclipped the top that Gabby had given me. I wondered if he'd be in for a more than slight disappointment as the wonder bra made me look at least five sizes bigger than I actually was. Lionel, thankfully, appeared oblivious (anyway, I reminded myself again, he'd seen the real me naked before) as he laid me onto the soft yielding cushions of the mattress.
Shivering with pleasure I surrendered to his touch, his mouth, his fingers. My own hands had gone into autopilot and had successfully removed Lionel's classy tux without even stumbling over the buttonholes. The alcohol had done wonders at calming my shaking hands. We were both naked and I could feel the warmth of him against me. I was overcome with a sensation that went far beyond mere carnal desire or passion.
For the first time in my whole life, as I abandoned myself to slow, sensual lovemaking, I knew that I was genuinely in love.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The following morning I woke at first light, calm and happy. I turned to face Lionel who was lying close to me, his arm wrapped around me protectively. I'd expected to feel rather vulnerable and shy, but as I turned and found Lionel's intense gaze on me I realised the one who seemed vulnerable and shy was him, as incredible as that sounds.
"Good morning, Princess," he murmured as he kissed me gently on the lips. I smiled back at him and sighed contentedly.
"How long have you been awake?" I asked.
"All night," he replied. "I was afraid that if I slept I would wake to find that this had all been a dream. That you, my darling Chantelle, had just been a figment of my imagination and that my search for you was still in vain. I know that you'll find it hard to believe, but believe me when I tell you that I've been searching for you all my life. And now that I've finally found you I don't want to let you go. I want to know that when I'm old, this same sweet face of yours will be at my side smiling back as it is now, with its added old-age wrinkles which I'll love all the more for the years we've spent together that they'll then represent. I was serious last night when I said that I would be the happiest man alive if I could spend the rest of my life with you, Chantelle Rose. I love you."
He then got me to my feet. I was butt-naked and it was all rather surreal. He in turn went down on one knee, clasped my hands in his, looked up into my face with pleading, honest, burning desire, and declared, his throaty voice quivering with passion, "Will you marry me and make me the happiest man alive?"
It was my turn to think this was all a dream. From my scant experience, the majority of men, after a night of passion, tend to scamper off as far away and as fast as possible. Lionel's reaction, however, was the reverse. He was obviously one of the few left from the old school. He, remarkably, wanted to make an "honest" woman of me, and I found the idea rather fetching.
Well, to be honest, I was absolutely thrilled, and had to refrain from throwing myself at him from sheer joy, afraid that I would probably break his neck from pure excitement. I got down on my knees level with him.
"Lionel King," I said, my voice remarkably calm. I couldn't keep the smile off my face despite trying to remain serious; it was a serious matter and required a serious reply. "Could you please pinch me, for I do believe I must be dreaming."
He squeezed my left nipple hard in reply as he laughed back in joy.
"Is that a yes?" he prompted. His green eyes sparkled in the early light, he looked so boyish and young and so utterly handsome. I couldn't believe that he, of all the men in the world, was insistent on being my future hubby. I couldn't believe my luck. Superb job, Mum, I said to myself, for only a generous helping of angel-work could have pulled this off for me.
"Of course it's a YES!" I cried out in joy.
***
It was settled. I would return to the UK to sell the cottage. Robbie could have the damn thing for all I cared. He had got his way in the end. Mind you, I guess so had I; more than got my way. Mrs King, rock on! The "Hollywood Bitch" was staying in LA.
I couldn't have been happier. I only hoped that Vivien had managed to seduce Robbie during the days she'd remained in Kent with him. I was wicked enough to calculate that if she stayed there
with him, that would be another headache out of the way.
I planned to convince Gabby to set up an events organisation company with me after I married Lionel. Even if I was married to a multi-millionaire film star and we spent day and night making hot, passionate love, I knew I would still have enough restless – or perhaps reckless – energy to want to do something in my own right. I believed "Sis" Gabby and I would make a good team. I would charm the clients, and Gabby, when or if needed, would be the one sent in to kick ass. She could terrorise the clients that didn't pay on time, or intimidate sub-groups like catering or decoration staff that were slack. She would love it, and in any case she desperately needed something to occupy her mind. Otherwise, I had images of her waking both Lionel and me up at the crack of dawn for our morning runs, and scolding us for deviating from her carrot diet. Hence my proposal, in my opinion, would be ideal for everyone concerned.
It was noon by the time we docked at the pier, just two days after Oscar night. I would have loved to have stayed on the yacht for at least two or three months, but within forty-eight hours we had devoured all the food. I would've even tried fishing if I thought it would allow us a few more days together, alone in the middle of the Pacific. Food apart, Lionel, however, had several urgent press engagements he had to attend, so we reluctantly climbed back into the speedboat and headed back to shore.
I realised now why the port area looked so familiar. Next to the private boat pier area there was a slightly overgrown path that lead all the way to the very beach where Gabby had forced me to go for my sun-up dashes.
I wondered how Gabby would take to me becoming a new member of the family. I had a sense that she appreciated me more than she appreciated Vivien! There were even times when I actually found her quite a laugh, but I could never be wholly sure where I stood with her. As long as she eased off the fitness regime with me, and handed me all her spare keys to the cottage, we would continue to get on famously. I was keen to ask what she thought of my events company project. I needed her vote of confidence, as it was a bit too much of a challenge to embark on alone. And I believed it would take her mind off trying to dominate Lionel's life – which she did, totally, though no doubt all in good faith.
Lionel left me at the gate that opened into Freddy G's quaint bungalow garden. After a passionate embrace he reassured me that he would return that evening. I just smiled blissfully back at him, content beyond words, and watched him as he retraced his steps back down the path towards the beach. Once he was out of sight, I stood a moment longer in idyllic peace, and marvelled at how wonderfully things had turned out. In a serene daze I stepped into the gardens and, humming contently to myself, made my way to the chalet. I assumed that at some future point I would have to move my stuff into Lionel's place, which I still hadn't seen or knew anything about. I couldn't abuse Freddy G's hospitality for ever, though I'd really grown to love the bungalow. It was perfect, with lush gardens and direct access to a private beach.
As I skipped along, I was startled to collide head-on wiht Gabby. I'd leapt up the terrace steps in one flying bound, kidding myself that I looked like a ballerina (though lacking all the ballerina grace, of course), just as she opened the cottage door and stepped out. Maybe I wouldn't ask her to be my business partner, I thought; she really would be too controlling and overpowering, Tammy would be much more chilled out. That was suddenly a wonderful idea. Tammy would love the California life-style. I didn't know why I hadn't thought of it before. It was about time she moved out of her parents' place, too.
"Gabby!" I exclaimed, and almost let slip, You scared the shit out of me! but managed to cut it down to, "Gosh, I didn't expect to find you here!" She surprised me further by picking me up and swinging me around in utter joy.
"I'm so happy for you!" she exclaimed.
Personally, I didn't know which Gabby was scarier: the military Gabby that I knew of old, or this new, utterly over-exhilarated Gabby. She was like a bouncy ball. She obviously knew that I'd spent the last two days with Lionel, but I doubted that she knew of our plans to marry. Nobody did.
"I'msorelievedthatyoutwofinallygotittogether." Her words came out in a single breath.
"I'm glad you're happy too," I replied, speaking slowly trying to get Gabby to calm down. If this was how hyper Gabby got with good news, how on earth would react to disagreeable or bad news? Or if she simply hadn't been keen on the idea of Lionel and me getting together?
"I'm going to tell you a secret," Gabby continued, as she led me into the cottage and sat me down at the kitchen table. I was shocked to see that she’d prepared herself a chocolate milk shake. That definitely wasn't her style. Maybe her strange mood was the result of a sugar overdose.
"When Lionel and I were younger, Lionel must have been about fourteen at the time, we escaped to New Orleans during Mardi Gras. It was the best adventure ever."
Escaped? Most kids I know escape just down the road or into the neighbour's garden. Gabby and Lionel seemingly took it that step further and escaped right across the US continent.
"During our stay in New Orleans we came across a gypsy woman fortune-teller. She didn't want money, but she insisted on reading Lionel's fortune. Everything she told him has come true. Every little detail – including, finally, the last but most important one. That's you, honey. You were foretold in Lionel's fate and this prophecy has come true."
"Gabby," I said, "that's all very interesting, but I really don't believe in fortune telling. I hate to put a damper on things, but you can't seriously think I'm going to fall for the idea that the only reason Lionel is in love with me is because some gypsy woman forecast that he would end up with someone like me."
I refused to believe that Lionel loved me for "mystic" reasons. I couldn't bear the idea that he was with me because of what some hippy woman had told him when he was a young and impressionable teenager. Surely he was with me for good old, practical, down-to-earth, reasons, such as great sex, and, of course, my never-ending intelligence and wit.
But Gabby wouldn't stop. She had to go ahead and ruin my innocent belief that Lionel loved me purely for myself. Her words were like a bucket of icy water.
"Chantelle! The gypsy woman told Lionel all those years ago that the woman of his dreams would be called Chantelle Rose; she would be dark-haired, with almond eyes, tall and slender – and only with her would he be happy, regardless of all the money and fame in the world."
Well, I had to give it to that soothsayer woman, whoever and wherever she may be; her so-called "Chantelle Rose" did sound awfully like me. And it was such a bloody let-down. The only reason that Lionel wanted to be with me was because some witch had somehow summoned up my name. Lionel had gone and fallen for her myth instead of loving me for me.
It suddenly hit me that Freddy G had nothing to do with the "I'm an agent, trust me" razzamatazz in London, or the luxurious accommodation I'd been set up in, or the film contract. It was all part of a fantastic scheme in Lionel's mind to seduce me after he'd seen me in that fucking awful film. God! The only reason he was with me was because I was called Chantelle Rose.
Chantelle Rose. Thirteen letters strung together, which, if taken apart, meant nothing at all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was dusk by the time Lionel arrived back at the bungalow. He let himself in. He had his own set of keys, of course, as by now it was obvious that the bungalow was his. It had all come clear to me that afternoon as I'd sat there on the sitting-room sofa, gazing out of the terrace windows and into the gardens.
I'd often wondered what Lionel's house was like, unaware that I'd actually been living in it from day one. The mansion, which I called the main house, was obviously Lionel's family home, and was where Gabby still lived. This explained why she was always so punctual and always seemed to be popping in as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It all made sense: the private beach area, and the easy access to the pier where the speedboat was moored. I couldn't believe I hadn't twigged beforehand. All the cards had been lai
d on the table and I hadn't seen the game. I'd naïvely keep on believing that Freddy G had been behind the whole organisation, and truly convinced myself that Lionel had fallen in love with me progressively during the time we'd spent together.
It was impossible for me to have imagined that Lionel had schemed the whole thing up from day one, and that my actual persona had nothing to do with his words of wanting, or tenderness, or passion, or love – or indeed his marriage proposal. Had I been named anything else but Chantelle Rose, he wouldn't even have blinked in my direction.
It was, to say the least, utterly disheartening.
I, on the other hand, despite my strong initial reservations about falling for a Hollywood Star, had not just side-stepped all preliminary qualms and precautions about the matter, but had, instead, bent to every whim asked of me and fallen head-over-heels in love.
I loved Lionel for himself, not for his name, his stardom or his wealth. Indeed, I saw his celebrity status as a pressure that I'd have to learn to live with because I loved him and wanted to be with him. I saw it as a barrier that my love for him would help me surmount. It would be the cross – apart from Vivien, which was bad enough – which I would have to bear if I wished to share my life with him.
I couldn't stop the thoughts that flooded through my head. I'd been in turmoil all afternoon. I loved Lionel, but who did he really love? Was it the down-to-earth, clear-cut Chantelle he’d met on the Nevada set several weeks earlier? Or was it an imaginary Chantelle who was nothing more than a vision conjured up by some strange gypsy storyteller, then embellished over the years by Lionel's own imagination and fantasy?
A Little of Chantelle Rose Page 20