‘You mean – when you were there recently?’ I ask. ‘On your way to London?’
‘Oh, no,’ he says. ‘I mean when we were there years ago. Working.’
Is he lying? I can’t tell. He sounds very plausible, but that doesn’t make sense: why would he mention it if it was years ago?
‘Oh, right,’ I say. I know I should just drop it but, like my mosquito bite, I can’t leave it alone, and I can’t help adding, ‘I kind of got the idea, at one point . . . I thought that there might be something between you two. When I first met you, I mean.’
He’s silent for a moment.
‘We did date. When we first met, before she got married, we had a brief relationship. It didn’t work out. But we stayed in touch.’
I don’t say anything. I can’t.
‘Does that bother you?’ he asks, looking over at me.
‘Of course not,’ I say, too quickly.
But it does. It bothers me because I know I can’t measure up to Marisa. She is stunning and intelligent and sophisticated as well as being a genuinely lovely person. That they were together makes sense, because he is out of my league. And at the same time I can’t help thinking: is this what he does? Does he just have mini-romances every time he sets foot in Italy, or France, or England? And then leaves, to go back to soulless LA and his hundred-hour work week and no dating actresses? Either way it looks as though I was wrong about his charms only being obvious to me.
I have to change the subject. I clear my throat. ‘Listen, you know, we’ve almost finished with the interviews. Luther tells me that he doesn’t need to read the book. Do you think that’s true? He suggested you could read it for him.’
He’s still looking at me. Then he looks back to the road. ‘Sure. I’ll read it. He really needs a manager for this stuff,’ he adds under his breath.
We drive on in silence, and when we arrive back at the house, I get out of the car as quickly as I can.
‘Thanks for a lovely day, and evening,’ I say, not meeting his eye. ‘Gosh, it’s getting cool.’ I start walking towards the house, pulling my wrap around me before realising it’s all sandy. What a lame excuse; it’s a lovely warm night.
‘Wait,’ he says behind me. I turn around. He’s standing beside the car, looking astonished. ‘Are you serious? That’s it?’
‘I don’t – I’d better check in with Luther.’ And I hurry inside before he can stop me.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I walk out to the terrace to find a scene of domestic bliss: Marisa and Luther drinking tea and playing cards. Marisa kisses me, and when Sam comes in behind me she kisses him too. I have to look away while this happens.
Sam sits down. ‘Sorry we’re back so late. Hey, did you read that script yet?’
‘Alice, bella,’ says Marisa. ‘Why don’t we leave these two to chat? We can go inside and watch TV.’
‘No, stay,’ says Luther.
Marisa glances at Sam. ‘Actually,’ she says, ‘I should go home. Poor Federico will wonder where I am.’ She picks up her bag and gets up, saying, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ to Sam.
Marisa goes off to the bathroom, while I check my email. There’s a message from Brian. It’s the manuscript. He’s done his first draft in less than a week. This is unbelievable! I hook up the laptop to the printer and start printing it out, half listening to Sam and Luther talking outside.
‘Luther,’ Sam is saying, ‘We’ve talked about this. You know I can’t make you into Depp or Clooney overnight. But of course you can develop. I just think, if you want to do that, you’re going to have to take more risks.’
I don’t hear what Luther says then, but Sam continues, ‘I’m not so sure. Roman Holiday was a good start, but you could do more. Why do you think I’m suggesting this part?’
‘That’s not a risk, that’s TV,’ Luther says.
‘It is a risk, because it’s something different. It’s an excellent part. It’s a complex character, and it’s brilliantly written. That’s the kind of risk I think you should be taking – not just following an action movie with a rom-com.’
Luther says something I can’t hear. Marisa emerges from the bathroom, and I get up to walk her to the door. As I walk beside her I can see there’s a huge mosquito bite on her shoulder. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before.
‘Were you in Rome recently, Marisa?’ I ask her.
She looks very startled, almost shocked. ‘How do you know?’ she says.
‘I just . . . wondered. I know Sam was there recently.’
She sighs. ‘He wasn’t meant to tell anyone. I can’t let Federico find out – will you promise?’ She grabs my hand and looks at me imploringly. She seems genuinely apprehensive. God, is she scared of him? How horrible, if that’s the case.
‘I promise,’ I say, feeling awful. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t say anything.’
‘Thanks, bella,’ she says. ‘You’re a real friend. Ciao.’ She kisses me again and slips out the door.
I walk back and sit down at the computer, which is still printing away. So that’s that. Sam was in Rome with his beautiful ex, who I didn’t even know was his ex until an hour ago. And whatever the reason for their trip – even if it was totally innocent, which I’m dubious about – he lied to me about it. He lied to me, after we’d slept together and spent an idyllic day and evening together.
I’m starting to doubt everything he said. Was he even in London at all? Did he make all that up about walking along the river, looking at my office on a map? I suddenly have a vision of the two of them in Rome at some glossy dinner full of film people, talking shop in a mixture of Italian and English, her in a beautiful evening dress, his hand on her arm. Or wandering past the Colosseum hand in hand . . . coming back to their hotel room late at night, her wearing his dinner jacket . . . oh, God, I feel so stupid.
I wait until the manuscript has finished printing, and I take it in to my room to finish reading it. My room is a total mess – almost as bad as Annabel’s was, except with fewer expensive clothes and products. My drawers are still open from when I charged in like an over-excited child and got ready for my day out with Sam. I can’t think about that: it’s too painful. I take a deep breath and decide to focus, as I should have from the start, on doing my job.
I’ve read about three chapters when the phone rings. It’s Olivia.
‘Hello, Olivia,’ I say in the smallest, least offensive tone I can manage.
She just says, ‘I’ve finished reading Brian’s draft.’
I’m closing my eyes and crossing my fingers.
‘It’s generally in good shape.’
Hallelujah! In Olivia language, that’s practically the Nobel prize for literature. Could this be a reprieve? Is she going to say I’m forgiven?
‘There’s just one thing,’ she continues. ‘I am disappointed that there’s nothing more behind the whole episode of the year he disappeared. Which, as you know, was one of the subjects we wanted him to cover in the contract.’
OK. Point taken.
‘It’s just an anti-climax that all he did was sit on a beach. Are you sure there was nothing more to it than that?’
Oh God. It’s an obvious, yet terrifying question. I can feel my hand turn damp as it clutches the phone.
‘You see,’ she says, ‘I don’t think we can trust him to tell us everything. And now I don’t know whether I can trust you.’
‘I know,’ I mutter. ‘But . . . that’s all he’s said . . . so far.’
‘I’m not convinced. I think there’s more to the whole thing, and if you value your future with us, you’ll make sure to find it out,’ she says. And hangs up.
I thought I’d been scared before. I thought I’d been worried about my job before. But I have never felt such terror as now. This is it. If I don’t tell Olivia what Luther told me, I could get fired.
I should have told her. It was said during an interview; therefore there is no reason not to put it in the book, if Luther agrees. In fact, surely I would
be more to blame if I left it out of the book. If Olivia ever finds out what Luther told me, and that I didn’t tell her – she wouldn’t just fire me. She’d kill me.
But what would it do to Luther’s career? And would it be good for him to have it in black-and-white for ever? I remember, uneasily, what I was thinking earlier, about him needing a therapist rather than a book contract.
Well, that isn’t my responsibility. If Luther doesn’t want it in the book, he can say so. But there’s no point in me holding back to protect him. I have to save myself. I go to my computer, and I fish out the tape where Luther talked about the whole sordid thing, and start to type it up. It doesn’t take long. When I’ve finished, I print it out so I can show it to Luther, and I attach it to an email ready to send to Brian and Olivia. My cursor hesitates over the send button. Strange: just by pressing this I can affect Luther’s entire career. And mine. And Sam’s.
Can I do that? Am I really prepared to ruin Luther’s career to save my own?
I’m probably being overdramatic. Luther’s career won’t be ruined. Anyway, I don’t have a choice. I’m just about to press send when I hear a knock on my door.
‘Alice?’
It’s Sam. I’m not answering.
‘Alice? I know you’re there.’
He knocks again. A few minutes later, I hear him walk away. I bury my face in my hands. Today has just been too much. I won’t send the email yet: I’ll send it in the morning.
TWENTY-NINE
I’m awoken by yet another knock on my door. I look at my watch: it’s 7.15 a.m. Who is it this time, and what do they want? I can’t wait until I’m back in my own bed instead of being here on call twenty-four hours a day.
‘What is it?’ I call, foggy-voiced.
‘It’s me.’ Sam, again. I go to open the door, hopes rising despite myself. Is he going to tell me that the whole Marisa thing is a mistake? He hasn’t shaved yet, and he’s wearing his swimming things with a towel thrown over his shoulder, which is distracting.
‘Dominique’s on her way,’ he says.
‘What do you mean, she’s on her way?’ I ask blankly, looking past him as if she might be coming down the corridor.
‘I mean, she’s on her way here, now. Her manager called me late last night.’
So that was it – the reason he knocked on my door last night. It wasn’t to talk to me at all.
‘Why is she coming in person?’ I say, knowing I sound snappy.
‘I have no idea.’
‘Well, when is she coming?’
‘This morning. She has a few requests.’
‘Such as?’
‘Helicopter parking. The manuscript printed out in triplicate on cream-coloured paper. And mentholated cigarettes, and five litres of Fiji water.’
‘Very funny.’
‘I’m not joking,’ says Sam. ‘You know, that’s not a big ask by her standards.’
‘No?’
‘No. You got lucky.’ He’s not smiling.
‘We’ll do our best,’ I say. ‘Did she request any brand of mentholated – actually, what am I saying? There’s enough madness in her menthols.’
I’m about to turn away when he puts a hand on my arm. Looking down at me, he says, ‘Hey. Alice. Did I do or say something to piss you off?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then why are you being so weird with me?’ He looks around and continues, in a low voice, ‘Yesterday . . . I had a really great time with you, and I thought you did too.’
I consider telling him that I know about him and Marisa, to see if he might be able to explain. But what is there to explain? Even if there is some innocent reason why they jetted off to Rome together, the fact is that he lied to me; he didn’t tell me she was his ex until I asked him outright, and he and I are never going to be together again anyway. This whole thing with Sam was just as much of a fantasy as my crush on Luther.
‘Is this about me and Marisa?’ he says, seemingly reading my mind. ‘Look, it was a long time ago, and I can’t help having dated other people in the past.’
How dare he be so patronising? Now I’m definitely not going to let him know why I’m upset.
‘No,’ I say. ‘That has nothing to do with it. We did have a good time. I’m sorry if I seem distracted, but I’m here to do a job and I can’t afford to get sidetracked.’
He steps back. ‘Fine,’ he says shortly, looking annoyed. ‘Understood.’ And he marches off down the corridor. Watching him go, I still feel hurt, but I’m angry too, and in a strange way, that makes me feel better. It’s so much better than just feeling hurt.
The rest of the morning reminds me partly of a treasure hunt and partly of those fairy tales where the girl has to spin a barnful of hay into gold, or some such. While Luther sleeps the rest of us run around like mad things. Maria Santa serves breakfast at the speed of light and bustles around making everything look even more spotless. Sam reckons the best thing is if they land the helicopter on the beach, and he goes to look up the tides to see how much longer we have. I don’t know what to do about the manuscripts. There is a computer and printer in the house but they’re very slow. I swallow my pride and ring Marisa and cast myself on her mercy.
As I knew she would, she comes through. She says her cousin runs a stationery shop, and Federico has a printer in his office so she can print three copies there. She can get cream paper by nine, and can have it around at our place, printed, by ten. She’ll also buy the mint smokes, which have seriously made Dominique go down in my estimation. That was what we smoked in school – how is she still on them?
The water is the hardest part. I’ve looked online, in vain, for suppliers in Italy. I ask Marisa, and she’s never heard of it.
‘I don’t think you’re going to find this in Sicily,’ she says doubtfully. ‘Maybe in Milan, but . . .’
I find myself thinking frantically of how to get water from Milan in time for this morning – FedEx? A concierge service like Quintessentially? But then I think better of it.
‘Forget it,’ I say to her. ‘We’re not going to be able to get it, and that’s that. Let’s just get some San Pellegrino.’
When Luther hears that Dominique is coming, he goes very quiet, but I can tell he’s excited, and also nervous. He doesn’t get involved in all the chasing around getting things straight. Instead, he paces around the terrace a lot. I feel sorry for him. And also nervous, albeit for different reasons. Because if she’s come here for some sort of showdown – if she’s decided not to co-operate – then we’re in deep trouble.
I’ve realised, there’s no point in sending anything to Olivia or Brian until we find out what Dominique is going to say. But meanwhile, I print out the page of what I’ve written up of the Hawaii story – Hawaiigate, as I’m now calling it – and give it to Luther to show Dominique. If he’s OK with it and if she doesn’t object, I’ll send it to the others.
‘You’re sure you’re OK with this going into the book?’ I ask him.
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘And it’s good that I can show it to her now.’
I nod, feeling uneasy.
At around 10.30, we see the helicopter arriving. It hovers for what seems like ages, then starts to descend towards the beach.
‘How on earth are they going to be able to land there?’ I say.
‘It’s flat and clear of rocks and the tide won’t reach it for another eight hours,’ Sam says, even though I wasn’t asking him. ‘It’s totally illegal, but they should be fine. They’re going to fly back to a helipad inland once they’ve dropped her.’
I wonder how Dominique is going to arrive up at the house. Is she going to be willing to climb the fifty or so steps? I suppose she could see it as part of her daily workout, which must be fairly punishing, judging from her slender figure. Or will she be carried on a litter or something?
Marisa, Sam and I peer over the terrace edge to look down. Luther is waiting down on the beach. We can’t hear anything because of the noise, but we see about
six people emerge, one of whom has Dominique’s distinctive long black hair. She steps forward and we see her kiss Luther, very formally, on both cheeks, without removing her sunglasses. They all stand around for a few minutes, presumably talking, before they slowly turn towards the house.
‘It’s like a state diplomatic visit,’ I say.
‘That’s exactly what it is,’ Sam replies.
A few minutes later, Dominique and her entourage, plus Luther, emerge on to the terrace. She looks exactly as she does in photographs: immaculate. The only surprise is how tiny she is – like a child. She’s wearing cotton cargo pants and a plain white tank top, with her wavy black hair tumbling down her back. Her entourage is made up of men and women, all seemingly laden down with bags and clipboards. It’s hard to look at anything but her, though. Her expression seems totally blank, but that might just be the dark glasses.
I feel genuinely nervous. Of all the famous people I’ve ever met, she is definitely the most famous. Or is ‘meet’ the right word? I’m not even sure if I am going to meet her at all. Marisa and Maria Santa have made themselves scarce, but Luther is introducing her to Sam. Sam seems to know one person in her entourage, and he greets both her and Dominique very nicely. Dominique extends a hand which he shakes.
Then Luther says, ‘And this is my editor, Alice.’
Her face moves in my direction, but it’s hard to say if she sees me. Perhaps she has a special kind of vision that can only see important people. There’s a faint nod, or twitch, and then she says something to a member of her entourage, who says something to Luther.
‘Please,’ he says. ‘Come and sit down.’
And he leads them all over towards the table under the canopy. I decide not to join them, and stay standing here. But strangely enough, I don’t feel humiliated – if anything, I feel excited and privileged to have seen her. I suppose that must be star quality.
Marisa appears beside me. ‘How was she?’ she murmurs.
The Out of Office Girl Page 23