Needless to say, during this period I refused all phone calls from Lionel himself. I had nothing to say to him. I was simply too upset and distraught by events in general and by Lionel's crazy behaviour in particular, as well as watching over Tammy's weak, pale, body as she slowly recovered.
The person I really needed to speak to was Robbie. I totally had to apologise for suspecting him. But I wasn't great with apologies, so it was going to be quite an effort to get the words right and make them sound as sincerely sorry and ashamed as I felt. It wasn't until late on the second day of Tammy's stay under observation in hospital that I actually found a moment to be alone with him. Ray suggested that after all the stress I’d been under it was a good idea to go home and get some proper rest. I didn’t want to leave Tammy, but I was really struggling to stay awake, the jetlag and strain taking its toll. Robbie was quick to volunteer to take me back to the cottage and see to it that I ate a hot meal and had a decent night's sleep.
I was so exhausted by worry, sorrow, emotion and physical trauma that on the drive to the cottage I started to feel a little woozy, and not quite in command of my senses. But, true to his word, Robbie did look after me. So much so that the following morning when I awoke in bed I turned to find Robbie lying peacefully asleep at my side, his thick dark hair, which fell and partially covered his handsome, chiselled face with its one-day stubble, just inches from mine.
I had to check myself so as not let out a piecing scream of horror.
There had to be some mistake. It had to be all part of a bad dream. Surely I hadn't… Surely we hadn't… I refused to believe that I could have… Shit, I couldn't even get the word out!
I struggled with the bedcovers as I tried to pull them off me and dash from the room as quickly and silently as possible. I had no desire to wake Robbie. I just couldn't face his azure eyes searching mine in the pale morning light. I needed to think. I needed to try to remember.
This had happened to me before. Not the sleeping with someone and not remembering, thank God – once was definitely going to be bad enough – but rather the temporary memory loss. When my mother passed away, I actually blocked out the whole incident for months. Over time, fragmented pictures started falling into place and there came a moment, with the immense help of my father and professional child psychologists, that I could remember it all.
My mother had been my absolute hero. I had, of course, loved my father dearly, but the relationship with my mother had been unique. It was as if she knew that there would come a time when she would no longer be with me. Every instant at her side was incomparable and special. She would stay with me until I slept, softy stroking my hair, and be the first to smile at me on waking. There were times, however, when I would catch her looking distracted and upset. A tear would find its way down her cheek, and not even I could bring her to smile. She was my mother, my best friend, my everything. And one day she simply wasn't there anymore, and I never got to say goodbye. I was too young to understand, and far too young to lose her.
That period of my life just seemed to disappear; it went the very day my mother left us. It was only later I was able to remember my father telling me, with tear-filled eyes and a broken voice reflecting his own broken heart, that my mother had gone and that I would never see her again. “She’s gone to be with the angels,” he’d tried to explain. I'd hit him and told him I didn't believe him and had run from the house and onto the main road. The cars had screeched to a stop, horns honked, but I'd kept running, blindly, tears obscuring my vision, stumbling as I ran, until my father caught up with me, picked me up and held me tight. I slumped in his arms and fainted.
The next clear moment I have is some six months later, when my father came home with a golden Labrador puppy. It was a female pup who came bounding into the sitting room and almost knocked me over in her excitement and licked my face in delight. It was the first time I laughed again. From then on, the pain started to ease and the memories gradually returned.
There are still moments, under extreme stress or anxiety, when I feel the threat of fainting. That was why I fainted when I first met Freddy G at the Ritz. The nerves, tension or excitement get too much for me, and my body reacts in a way that I haven’t yet learnt to fully control.
I have improved over the years, but the risk of fainting or temporary amnesia is still there. Up until now, however, it’s always been when I’ve been under severe pressure or distress, and nothing like how I was on losing my mother. I had no idea why this had occurred now. I know I had been under a lot of pressure, what with the whole American adventure ending in disaster and deception, together with the extreme concern I felt over Tammy’s health. But surely, if Robbie and I had actually made love, it would have been that: love. Something beautiful.
I just couldn’t comprehend how I could block it out when it would have been magic. I guessed it was just too soon after Lionel. I was still officially his fiancée, after all, and deep down I felt terribly sad. From the outside it probably looked as if I was using Robbie. But I would never do that. This was just all too confusing, too much to take on in such a short space of time. This was the only explanation I could think of. It was either that, or in fact Robbie and I had actually managed to have terrible sex, and it had been enough to conk me out!
Not only was I going to have to apologise to him for believing he was originally the one behind the threatening letters, I was going to have to humiliate him by asking him if we had, or had not, had sex!
I gasped as I finally untangled myself from the bedcover, for I was totally starkers. Not even thinking to peek under the covers to check to see if Robbie was naked, too, I dashed from the room and locked myself in the bathroom. As I ran the water hot to shower myself I checked over my skin to see if there were any tell-tale signs of passionate lovemaking; if there were any love-bite marks, or scratches. Nothing, however, I was relieved to note, as I did a total body examination. I couldn't even ask Vivien what I had done the previous evening, for she'd flown back to LA with John.
As I emerged from the bathroom I had two options: one, go back into the bedroom for my clothes and risk waking Robbie up or, two, slip downstairs, fix myself some good strong coffee and think hard about what I planned to say to Robbie when he finally woke up. I decided it was best to stall for time, so I headed downstairs and into the brightly-lit kitchen, despite the looming clouds on the outside, which were, to an extent, a reflection of my alarming frame of mind.
I was finishing my second cup of coffee by the time Robbie emerged. It had probably not been the wisest idea to drink caffeine in my already accelerated mental state, but I had no decaf, and it was wiser than downing a measure or two of brandy which had been the other choice. Robbie didn't help matters at all by stepping into the kitchen with just his jeans on, his muscular, strong, torso tanned and bare. (Distracted though I was, I wondered how he was so tanned, considering the English weather!) He made his way over to me and tenderly kissed my forehead as if it was the most natural thing in the word as he said, "Morning, Princess." At that point I actually thought, these guys aren't twins – they've been cloned! It was all too uncanny and a shiver ran down my spine from the overbearing sense of déjà vu.
He fixed himself a cup of coffee as I sat in silence pulling my terry cloth bathrobe tighter. Coffee in hand he finally turned to me once more. I beckoned him to sit and he did so.
"I think we need to talk." I started and my voice wavered slightly from pure nerves. Robbie nodded at me as he sat in front of me. He looked suddenly sullen and I knew he wasn't going to make things easy for me. I smiled shyly at him, trying to ease the situation, thought my heart hammered from the stress of it all.
"There's so much I need to say I just don't know where to begin." I sighed. I paused a moment before continuing.
"First of all I need to thank you, Robbie, for all you've done to help me. Going back to the very start, the very first day we met when you saved me from the mud bath down by the river. I need to thank you for all your hard w
ork on the cottage. It looks absolutely amazing." (It did too!) "I have to say you have totally transformed it in the shortest period of time. Thank you."
I was sincere in my thanks, as I would never have got it looking so homely. I actually wondered how much of Vivien had been behind the cosy change to the cottage and realised I would have to thank her too. I swallowed dryly. I'd got the easy bit out of the way. The time had come to apologise.
"I need to apologise to you, too. I'd been under the delusion that the threatening letters came from you. I can't believe now that I'd blamed you, when all you've been is a never-ending help. It's just that I couldn't possibly imagine who else could've been behind it all. At the time it made sense to blame you, as I knew that you'd always held this cottage in a special place in your heart. It was easy to imagine that the letters were your attempt to drive me away. I'm ashamed to admit that I blamed you. I'm sincerely sorry, Robbie, please forgive me."
Robbie at this point had moved over to where I sat and put his arms around me. He held me tight and rocked me slightly as if comforting a small child.
"Hush babe, it's okay. I understand," he soothed. But I hadn't finished, and I didn't think he would be quite so understanding when he heard what I still had to say. I pushed him gently, to separate us, and looked him straight in the eye.
"Robbie," I continued not wanting to leave things unresolved a moment longer. "I no longer blame you for the threats, though you have to understand that it's incredibly hard for me to believe that they come from Lionel. He's asked me to marry him. And I'd planned to, had he just trusted me to be with him out of my own desire and choice, rather than crazily pushing things to come about. I can't believe that he's been capable of going to such extremes. And it doesn't help that when I look at you I see him, just as when I look at him I see you. You are both so, so… so similar. But I need to sort things out with Lionel. So…" I'd got to the really tricky part: "What exactly happened last night?"
"You can't remember!" he exclaimed, shocked, and I didn't blame him either. I slowly shook my head, as I thought, What a way to start and end a relationship. I may have had no recollection of the previous evening, but I wasn't going to forget for a long, long time the look of utter regret and sorrow reflected on Robbie's face.
"If you can't remember," he repeated sadly, as he pushed his chair back, away from me, "then you have nothing to feel guilty about. If your worry is that you have been unfaithful to the very guy that's threatened your life, then I think you need to straighten out your priorities."
With that he hastily stood and made to leave the kitchen.
“Wait, Robbie,” I cried out. “Let me explain.” I desperately tried to detain him, but he just stormed out of the room.
“Forget it, Chantelle. This has all been a mistake.”
I heard the front door slam loudly as he left.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I trudged up the stairs trying my hardest to hold it together. It wasn't the time to start bawling with self-pity, though I would've liked to. I felt thoroughly sorry for myself, selfish as it sounds, as well as guilty, sad and terribly confused.
Lethargically I changed into some jeans and a Gap jumper, trying at the same time to divert my eyes from the bed, which was still unmade, and had Robbie's boxer shorts, socks and rugby top strewn all over. In his huff, he'd left with just his jeans on. I found myself in a bit of a muddle about what I should do with his clothes. Should I wash them? Fold them up and place them on the front doorstep in case he was to return? I decided in the end to leave them be and sort them out when I returned from visiting Tammy. With this decision made, I hastened down the stairs, out of the front door and into the van.
Tammy looked much better, which was a real weight off my shoulders. At least that was one thing less to worry about. Even her parents had gone back to London, though they said they would return the following day. Tammy had been diagnosed with a mild case of pneumonia as a result of having spent such a long time outside and unconscious on the damp, cold ground. We hadn't given the doctors, or her parents, all the details as to why exactly she had spent a good few hours on the floor, and luckily nobody probed. But her cheeks had got some colour back, and she was finally out of her critical condition, though she still drifted in and out of sleep most of the time. The one who looked the worse for wear was Ray. I didn't think he'd slept or eaten anything since Tammy had been brought into the infirmary. I had pretty much to coerce him to go home for the morning and get some sleep. I told him frankly that he looked a mess and that Tammy, when she finally came round, would much more appreciate a clean-shaven fresh-looking face than the haggard one he displayed at that moment. After some hesitation he finally took the hint and left me by her side.
Holding onto Tammy's warm but limp hand, I switched on the TV. I'd hoped to distract myself by watching some cheesy chat show or soap opera – anything rather than torment myself more by thinking about my shattered love life. But, considering Lionel was a world celebrity and the most sought-after actor at this present time and, therefore, the most sought-after interview subject, channel-hopping, even in England, was perhaps not the brightest idea. There was his face staring at me, in magnified size. And instead of switching the TV off and thus avoiding all images of him, with masochistic zeal I turned the volume up and sat enraptured in my seat.
The interview seemed to be coming to an end. Lionel had just let out his characteristic boisterous laugh, and I felt a twang at my heartstrings. He smiled boyishly and it was hard to believe that such a sincere beam was just a façade which hid a dark, obsessive, shrewd and cruel side.
The chat show hostess smiled back at Lionel. She held her hand outstretched which Lionel warmly took in his.
"Say a big 'Hi' to the Queen for me; she's a great lady is Queen Elizabeth!"
With that the camera switched to Lionel as I sat there mumbling in a fluster, "What was that…? What was that joke about the Queen…?" For to me it could mean only one thing: that Lionel was on the point of flying over to the UK.
The camera then zoomed in on the hostess’s smiling face as she winked into the camera lens. "Ms Rose,” she said, “if you're watching over there, let me tell you you're one very lucky lady. Congratulations, you've snagged the number one bachelor in town."
Holy shit! I was suddenly frantic, for that interview had most probably been recorded a couple of days ago. Which meant, if I was right, that Lionel would be arriving in the next few hours. As soon as Ray returned I was going to have to rocket it back to the cottage. I wasn't going to have to wash Robbie's boxers, I was going to have to damn well burn them!
The moment Ray was through the door, without giving any explanation, I jumped to my feet, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and headed for the door.
"I've got to go. I'll try and be back later. If she wakes up tell her I love her." As I reached the door I quickly turned back to face Ray.
"By the way, you look much better. She'll fall in love all over again the moment she opens her eyes."
Ray blushed slightly and moved as if to say something, but I was already flying down the corridor as fast as I could. I had a horrid gut feeling that Lionel would have somehow found his way to the cottage. Despite the fact that it was he who needed to give me some explanations for having sent John to frighten me back to the States and away from pastoral dreams, it would do no good having him walk into the master bedroom with its seeming evidence of recent rampant sex.
***
I skidded the van to a halt outside the cottage gates and was out and through the front door at blinding speed. I took the stairs two at a time and tore into the main bedroom, planning to gather all Robbie's forgotten clothes and make a bonfire with them. But the moment I was through the bedroom door, I stopped dead in my tracks. The bed had been carefully made and there was no sign of discarded clothing anywhere. I assumed that Robbie had been back to collect his belongings; he still had the spare keys to the house after all. Nevertheless, I reflected, it was a bit meticulou
s of him to go and make the bed and tidy the room. Obviously a bit of a spick and span freak, I contemplated, as I sat down on the bed for a brief moment in order to get my breath back.
It was then that I became alarmingly aware of laughter coming from the ground floor, from the kitchen to be precise. Loud, boisterous laughter, and there was no mistaking who that chortle belonged to. I was willing to believe that I'd imagined the sound, as there'd been no cars parked outside, no evidence of a visitor on the premises. And, in essence, I needed more time before facing Lionel. But the sound downstairs was louder and larger than life itself.
There was nothing for it but to descend and take the flak, for I wasn't jumping through the bedroom window again.
I crept downstairs. I don't know why I crept around in my own house, but somehow I felt guilty. I popped my head a little way through the archway that joined the kitchen with the sitting room and had to do a double-take. Sitting at the kitchen table, chatting as if they were the best of buddies, were Lionel and Robbie. I guess it wasn't really surprising that they seemed to get on like a house on fire considering how identical they were. It would've been incredible, I thought, to have been a fly on the wall the moment they'd met each other. The shock would have been greater for Lionel, for at least Robbie had been aware of the actor's existence. He’d even admitted to me that he’d been mistaken for him more than once. I actually wondered, for the first time, if perhaps Robbie already suspected that Lionel was his twin. He would have wondered about the possibility if he'd read about Lionel's past. Both adopted. The similarity in looks and age. I would have wondered, too, had it been me – though I'm not sure what I would have done about it.
For the second I stood unnoticed, I took in how alike they indeed were. Lionel, considering his lifestyle and who he was, was the more spruced-up of the two, with his deeper tan, flashing white teeth, finely-groomed hair and clean-shaven face. Robbie, on the other hand, had his hair standing up on end and he was still unshaven – although, thank goodness, now fully dressed. Other than that, it was like looking at a mirror image of the same person.
A Little of Chantelle Rose Page 23