by Jules Wake
Richard leaned down and muttered something in her ear. They both turned and looked at Carrie, Jade with a calculating gleam. Carrie ignored them and turned to Angela.
‘What would you like to drink? Our host is being rather slack.’
Richard grinned. ‘Sorry, ladies. Can I get you something? Champagne? A cocktail?’ He called over a passing waiter, dressed all in white.
‘Come and meet Savannah. She’s fun.’ He tapped Jade on the nose. ‘Will that do you, brat?’
She batted his hand away with a giggle. ‘You’re horrid to me, Uncle Richard.’
Savannah turned out to be charming and very friendly. Not at all film-starry, as Jade declared later.
‘Hi,’ she said, when they’d been introduced. ‘Lovely party, isn’t it. Richard’s always so kind. Not like some of the co-stars I’ve worked with.’
‘Really?’ asked Jade. ‘Isn’t he old and boring?’ She shot Richard a triumphant grin. ‘Not like Jason Flemming.’ She named Savannah’s last co-star, a few years younger than Richard with something of a reputation. ‘Is he that much of a bad boy?’
Savannah laughed. ‘Jason’s problem is that he’s bonkers. Brilliant fun, totally unreliable and can’t string more than three words together when he’s off-camera. He’s fine as long as you don’t sign up to be his girlfriend.’ She shared a couple of stories about his all-night party habits and his last poor girlfriend, who’d he forgotten to take home at the end of a party.
To Jade’s delight Savannah happily name-dropped and gossiped as they gravitated to a small table. Despite Carrie’s misgivings that the four of them would end up at a table tucked in a corner on their own all night, Richard turned out to be a consummate host and very good at introducing them to people they at least could talk to, even if they had nothing in common with them.
Before long Angela and Phil were chatting with a group of other people who had been extras in the film, many of whom were ex-pats and had taken part as a fun one-off.
Savannah seemed quite happy to talk to Jade and when her audience swelled with the addition of a couple of girls who were the daughters of the producer who’d flown out for the summer, she became even more loquacious, although it didn’t stop her sending periodic glances Carrie’s way.
‘Shall we have a wander?’ asked Richard. She’d expected him to do his bit and then disappear but he stayed with her, his hand straying to her back periodically or to stroke her forearm.
At first it had unnerved her, as he introduced her to person after person. No one questioned how they knew each other. He simply introduced her as Carrie, and then proceeded to chat away before excusing themselves and moving on.
Jade might be impressed and from where Carrie stood, she could see her still enthusiastically bombarding Savannah with questions, but she was getting a little tired of the meaningless chat. Some of the people took great delight in talking about people and events it was obvious she knew nothing about. It seemed rude, but they clearly took some sort of petty satisfaction from it. Others, so self-absorbed they didn’t even realise they were doing it.
‘You’re very good at this,’ she observed.
‘At this?’ He raised his hands in question.
‘You know, social small talk. Chit-chat.’
‘You don’t make it sound like a compliment.’
She shrugged. ‘They’re not my sort of people.’
‘Which is why I throw a big party, get it all out of the way in one go.’ He ran a finger down the edge of her upper arm. ‘Then I can spend time with the people I really want to be with.’ He stopped in front of her and surveyed the room. ‘It’s part of the job. Networking. Schmoozing. Being seen. This way, I don’t have to spend too much time with anyone. A quick chat here, a few words there.
‘Come and meet Miranda, you’ll like her. She was very interested in your ideas on her script.’
‘Miranda?’ A sense of foreboding trickled down Carrie’s back.
‘There she is.’ He tucked his hand under her elbow and led her over.
‘Richard,’ Another tall blonde woman in among a small group turned and beamed at him, ‘How are you? Lovely party, by the way. You managed to keep most of the riff-raff out, although I spotted Fabio oozing his way about earlier.’
Richard’s mouth pinched. ‘Much as I would have preferred not to, after consultation with our dear director,’ he flashed a grin at the man next to the blonde, who Carrie recognised as one of the very scruffy men she’d seen on set in Ramatuelle, ‘we agreed it would have caused on-set friction if I’d excluded him from the invitation list. My consolation is he’ll find this party far too tame and will soon slope off somewhere more interesting.’
‘Hopefully slither back into the sort of hole he came from,’ said Miranda, her mouth turning down in disgust.
‘Miranda, this is Carrie. She’s the scriptwriter I was telling you about, the one who made the suggestion about Frank’s character.’
Carrie braced herself, wondering what sort of reception she might receive. An amateur like her did not critique the work of someone like Miranda’s work. This was Miranda Buckley, for God’s sake. She’d won an Olivier last year for a play at the National.
‘Hi, great to meet you. Richard, be a dear, go get us some drinks. I want to have a proper chat with Carrie.’ With a push, Miranda sent him off like a bellboy to do his errands while she led Carrie to a leather couch on the far side of the deck, slightly away from the majority of people, who had accumulated in the centre. Was this how the sacrificial lamb felt when it was led off?
‘Phew, its busy. I hate these shindigs, although Richard does it better than most. He gets that his guests might want to talk to each other. Usually the music is so effing loud at these things, I spend the whole evening nodding and smiling, I could be grinning away while they’re tell me their dog’s just died, for all I know. You have to be bloody careful. It’s not that great and it’s all about networking.’ She let out a loud belly-deep laugh. ‘It’s pretty shit if you are trying to network and you piss off some major producer because you’ve laughed in the wrong place when he’s just told you he forked out twelve mil in alimony. And I talk too much. Wish my bloody characters could speak this quickly when I’m trying to get the words down. The buggers all stay schtum. It’s like pulling teeth, don’t you find?’
Carrie laughed. ‘Yes, or they don’t say the right things.’
‘I loved what you suggested. Although I hate you too,’ she said, with a warm, open grin that almost took up her whole face, belying the words. ‘It sucks when you’ve spent weeks rewriting the bastard and you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong and someone comes along and nails it. What you said about Frank’s motivation. That was it exactly.’
‘If it’s any consolation, it was more of a help to me.’ Carrie wanted to pinch herself. ‘I was working on something and it highlighted what was wrong with mine.’ Could she say that? Of course it would help, Miranda was the expert and here she was, some complete nobody.
‘Isn’t that a pig? I usually find when I get stuck it’s because something like that is wrong. The structure, the character.’
Carrie couldn’t believe she was sitting here talking to Miranda Buckley as if they were equals and that the other woman was so friendly.
When Richard reappeared with two long, tall glasses of Kir Royale, they’d established they both loved Finding Nemo, hated the film version of Pride and Prejudice with a passion and that Memento ranked in their top-ten films and that Miranda knew Andrew Fisher rather well. Carrie couldn’t help letting her pride show when she explained about the Gold Medal award she’d won and that Andrew wanted to direct her play.
Richard hung about in front of them for a minute or two until Miranda said with a very wicked twinkle. ‘Can we help you?’
‘Am I being dismissed?’ he asked.
‘Yes, we don’t need you. Go and talk to some other hapless guests.’
Richard raised an eyebrow and checked with Carrie in o
ne quick glance.
‘She’ll be fine with me. I won’t eat her, I promise, which is more than can be said for Savannah. The poor child might burst with curiosity, whereas I am taking my time, teasing out how Carrie has the misfortune to know you.’
‘Be gentle with her.’
Miranda glanced from Richard to Carrie. ‘She’s a big girl, I’m sure if she can handle you, she’ll be fine. Now run along.’ She flapped her hands in dismissal and burst out laughing as he slunk away.
‘He’s a very nice man. And if I were that way inclined I might be tempted. How do you know him?’
Carrie hesitated.
‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me and if it’s a secret I’d rather not know. Too many of the bloody things to keep, most of the time for the most spurious reasons. I have a hard job remembering what I am or aren’t supposed to know.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Food was served at nine and Carrie caught up with Angela and Jade at the buffet table.
‘Having a good time?’ she asked her niece, jigging about on the spot balancing a plate in one hand and a glass in the other.
‘Awesome.’ Her mouth moved but Jade seemed incapable of further speech.
‘That good,’ teased Carrie.
Jade nodded fervently. ‘The girls on WhatsApp are going crazy.’ She showed her phone, the screen featuring a scroll of more and more excitable emoji.
Clearly her street cred had hit stratospheric and likely to remain so until at least Christmas.
‘You would not believe who I’ve been talking to. Savannah is dead cool. She, like, knows everyone. I met Eddie whatsit, the Oscar bloke, that woman from Bridesmaids and a guy who knows Kanye West. And Savannah’s going to introduce me to Fabio, although I think I might faint, he’s so gorg. And there’s a disco on the deck upstairs. Starts at ten. Me and Dorrie and Carla are going to dance for the rest of the night.’ She giggled. ‘I might ask him to dance with me, what do you reckon?’
Carrie nodded, letting the words flow over her. She didn’t think Jade would be half as impressed with Miranda, who’d been fascinating and interesting, with lots to say about a wealth of subjects. A far cry from her usual conversations, most of which focused on school, the students, assessments and exams.
After the buffet, Richard appeared at her shoulder again, where she was standing watching Jade on the dance floor.
‘Disco or a walk on deck?’
‘I love dancing but I think I might cramp Jade’s style. She’s having a ball. Thank you for inviting us all.’
Richard stiffened. ‘Not sure I approve of her dance partner.’
‘He’s very pretty.’
‘He’s a pest.’ Richard’s words rang with irritation and Carrie wondered if there might be a little professional rivalry there and then recanted the thought. Richard radiated confidence, very much his own man and sure in his own skin. A very attractive trait. The difference between the young man she’d known and the man he’d become. A man she felt proud to know.
‘There’s a group of them. She’s a sensible girl. She’ll be fine.’
‘What were you smiling about, just then?’ he asked.
She blushed. ‘Nothing, enjoying myself.’
‘Having a good time?’ He touched her forearm, inviting her to walk along with him.
‘Surprisingly yes. Your friends, the real ones, are lovely.’
They weaved through the groups of people, sitting replete at tables, the detritus of empty plates being cleared by the unobtrusive but efficient staff.
‘It’s not always that easy to make friends in this business. You meet people, spend an intense period of time with them, then you spread out across the world. You tend to treasure those relationships where you click with people.’
‘I liked Miranda, a lot.’
Richard ushered her through a doorway, passing one of the security people, and nodded towards a flight of stairs.
‘You should hook up with her in London. She’s going back there this weekend. Doing a writer-in-residence thing at one of the theatres.’
Carrie made a non-committal noise, knowing full well that the chances of her ever running across Miranda were marginal to non-existent.
At the top of the stairs, Richard took her hand. ‘Up again.’
They emerged onto a much smaller private deck, with a semicircular couch tucked into the leeward shelter behind the bridge of the ship, where you could sit and watch the sea and the churning wake.
‘Wow, this is rather nice. What an amazing view.’
‘It is, isn’t it? I love watching the sea. You can’t ever think you’re too important when you see the size of the ocean. Brings you back to earth.’
‘There’s nothing grounding about the size of this boat. Is it yours?’
Richard laughed. ‘No, I chartered it for the party initially, for the one night. Arla found it. I was going to stay here for a week but,’ he winced, ‘it’s too opulent for my tastes. It’s mine until the morning.’
‘What’s opulent?’ she teased.
‘Lots of crystal chandeliers and satin-covered sofas. Gilt everywhere. Very rich oil sheikh. It’s not very relaxing. Too formal. Some of the cabins are okay but the staterooms are more like a royal palace than Versailles.’
‘Poor you.’
Richard reached out and swatted her bottom.
Despite the gesture being innocent, she was aware of the thin silk fabric. Did she imagine his hand lingered for a second?
‘Where are your knickers?’ asked Richard in pretend outrage. ‘Not commando, surely?’ He folded his arms as if waiting for an explanation.
She lifted her chin, about to say that she couldn’t believe that all of his co-stars and the sophisticated women he dealt with on a daily basis didn’t wear thongs, when she realised he was referring to the time when she’d left their flat to go to an audition without any underwear on. She gave him a superior glare, before giggling.
‘You were the one that did that because you were too lazy to go the launderette. I did it once. And that was a VPL issue. I have plenty of clean underwear, thank you.’ With an arch look she added, ‘Are yours hand-pressed by an army of maids these days. Or do you throw them away and have a new pair every day?
Ignoring her question, his eyes slid to her bottom again.
‘Not cheese wire?’ He asked, referring to a long-ago conversation in the underwear department of River Island.
‘Not at this price, Lord no.’
They smiled at each other, lapsing into silence as they studied the view. To the right, the darkness of the Med with the occasional winking light, and to their left the lights and noise of St Tropez, throbbing out into the night in the distance, could be heard above the bass of the disco below. The temperature had dropped to a pleasant cooler heat. The sea breeze picked up slightly, lifting Carrie’s hair and blowing it across her face.
Richard brushed it away, his hand lingering on her face, his eyes darkening. Carrie’s heart tripped, awaiting the inevitable kiss. Turning to face him, she pressed her back against the railings. There’d been a dull ache in her heart ever since the first day she’d seen him in Ramatuelle. And she was sick of it. Sick of the constant pull, the tug at her heart, the quiver between her legs, the awareness in her nipples.
She’d had enough. Friends be damned. Like a diver, she tensed in preparation and then let go, hurling herself over the edge. She wound her arms around his neck, sliding a hand into his thick, dark hair and pulled him down to her. Her lips roving over his. She didn’t want to be kissed, she wanted to kiss him. She felt his lips curve in surprise but he slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her to him, his other hand skimming down her side, skirting the underside of her breast.
Arms and limbs entwined, their bodies one, they kissed, buffeted by the gentle wind. Searching and teasing, their soft sighs carried away by the airborne currents, until Richard tugged her over to the soft leather and they sank down, still kissing.
Li
ps, hands, whispering touches, soft skin, tongue to tongue, Carrie closed her eyes, her heart singing in recognition and pure pleasure.
Richard pulled back a little to trace her face with a gentle finger.
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ whispered Carrie, ‘But I don’t care any more.’
‘We should be doing this.’ He stilled, cupping her face in his hand, the expression in his eyes boring straight into her chest. ‘I was ready to throttle you the other night when you said we should be friends, but …’ he gave a very masculine smile, firing up her nerve endings in a very delicate spot. ‘I decided to play the long game.’
Her eyes met his and, with a feline smile, she reached up to trace his cheekbone, drinking in the familiar features, her heart singing with pleasure. ‘I think your strategy might have paid off.’ He turned his head to kiss her fingers. The soft touch sparked a reaction that tingled down her arm. She held up her palm and he laid his against it. Skin to skin. She wanted to press and press against him, their hands merging until neither of them knew where the other began or ended.
Her heart lurched and then, like an explosion in her chest as if everything burst out, there it was – the pure, unassailable truth. She loved him.
Stunned, she stared open-mouthed at him, trying to breathe normally, when agitated voices, like angry bees, floated up from the stairs, just out of view.
‘Ma’am, wait.’
Angela appeared, looking like an indignant mother hen, closely followed by a very red-faced Phil and an agitated female security guard
‘We can’t find Jade. Anywhere.’ Angela’s voice rose as the security woman tried to speak too.
‘I’m sorry sir, I tried to stop her.’
Angela shook her head. ‘Phil has looked everywhere.’
‘I have.’ Behind Angela’s back, Phil inclined his head, giving Richard a silent message. ‘Everywhere I can.’
Richard stood up, helped Carrie to her feet and crossed to lay his hands on Angela’s shoulders.
‘I’m sure she’s here somewhere. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.’ He held up a hand to halt the guard.