She was in the main foyer, reading a message from Dexter, when he called her name. She turned, thinking – not thinking. Trying not to hope.
Justin was coming down the wide central staircase. He was wearing trousers, a shirt buttoned up the wrong way, and nothing else. His feet were bare. He took the last four stairs in one leap. Vera was vaguely conscious of the discreet stares of the night porter, the man behind the desk.
‘Don’t go.’ Justin caught her arm, pulling her over to a corner by the side of last night’s stage.
‘Justin, I…’
‘No, don’t, say it. Please, just listen. I know I don’t deserve it, but – let me explain. Please.’
She had merely been about to suggest they find somewhere a little more private, but he seemed so on edge she changed her mind. ‘Go on,’ she said.
He nodded. He raked his hand through his hair. ‘I hated what you said. That thing, about putting what you have learnt into practice.’
‘Oh.’ Her stupid parting dagger. The least important thing she’d said of all.
‘Don’t look so deflated. I don’t mean – I meant it was the thing that got through to me. Not the most important thing.’
‘Oh.’ She had butterflies now. She mustn’t read too much into what he was saying. Hope was a killer.
‘I wanted you to walk away. I said all those things, the lies about the exposé – I wanted you to go, but when you did, and you said that thing…’ Justin shook his head. ‘Do you ever get that feeling, where you think your head might explode?’
‘Not now,’ Vera said. ‘But before.’
Justin smiled, a lop-sided smile that made her want to pull him into her arms. She held her hands rigidly at her side.
‘All those things you said about yourself, you could have been talking about me. Acting a part. Running. Not belonging. It all hurt so much, I didn’t want it to be happening. It reminded me – too much. Like looking over a cliff edge and wanting to jump just to stop it.’
Beside the blue-black sheen of his stubble, his skin seemed unnaturally pale. His eyes were dark. ‘Oh God, Justin, I didn’t mean…’
‘No. I’m fine. I thought it was the same, but it wasn’t.’ He took her hand. ‘It really wasn’t the same. I’m not the same. You were right. Last night, it changed things. Me. At least, it made me want to change. Not to play a part any more. Not to be so angry. To see if it was possible to live. You were right. You were very aptly named after all, Verity.’
‘No-one calls me that.’
‘I like it.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles. ‘Last night, we said we wanted to stop the clock. This morning, you made me see that I want to move it forward.’
Her insides were doing strange things. She felt as if she was on a swing. Or up high. She was dizzy. Frightened. Excited. Hopeful. ‘What does that mean?’ Vera asked, because hope really was the killer.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Justin said with a crooked smile, ‘but I think I’d like to find out. Want to help me?’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘I don’t know that either. Say yes, Verity.’
‘What to?’ She didn’t care, but she had to be sure all the same.
‘Taking a chance,’ Justin said. ‘Us. Together.’
‘Why should I?’ she asked, not a question, but a plea.
‘Because I think we could make a difference. I don’t know how, but I think we could. Because you’ve opened my eyes, and maybe I’ve opened yours, and I think maybe we need each other to keep them that way. Only that’s not it. Not only it. Not the real reason.’
Justin led her across the foyer, to the front door of the Chatsfield. Outside, the sun was shining. ‘Say yes, Verity, because you’re done with being a vampire. I want to be the one you see the sunrise with, whenever you see it. I want you. This. Us. Whatever it is. Say yes, Verity, because you want it too.’
Vera looked at him. And smiled at him. And leaned towards him. ‘Yes,’ she said. And kissed him.
Chatsfield, The Next Chapter
Style! Spectacle! Scandal! The newest and surely the most illustrious of London’s hotels, the Chatsfield, has all that and more, as regular readers of this column will know. Since it opened in April, guests have included royalty, high society, stars of the silver screen, the London stage and Broadway too.
Rumour has it, Dear Readers, that this weekend, the exclusive Dream Suite will be occupied by none other than newlyweds, Mr and Mrs JUSTIN YORKE. Mrs Yorke, the former Miss VERA MILTON-KERR, was also, formerly, most often seen about town with the most eligible bachelor, Mr DEXTER MAXWELL, who has now established himself in Hollywood as a film producer. The split between that formerly golden couple was revealed in this very column, you may recall, when Miss Milton-Kerr and Mr Yorke were caught on camera in the early hours, after the Chatsfield’s opening night party. A kiss, Dear Readers, full on the lips, and in case you missed it first time around, we’ve thoughtfully reprinted it. Now, they do say a picture paints a thousand words, so you don’t need me to explain what their very dishevelled apparel, to say nothing of that embrace, say about how the pair spent the night. And if a fraction of a doubt lingers in your mind, look closely, and you’ll see that Dream Suite key right there, dangling from Mr Yorke’s trouser pocket.
‘Dare to Dream,’ Mr Yorke said to me that morning when I asked him for a quote. That phrase, which you read here first, has become synonymous with the Chatsfield’s Dream Suite, and I am very relieved to say, that though it has taken them six months, the new Mr and Mrs Yorke’s dreams have finally come true. We congratulate them. And we hope that in future, which rumour has it will involve both of them taking a place on the political stage, they set a rather better example.
Cordelia Confidential, Daily Express, 28 October 1921
This will be Red Lancaster’s last column. With the strong possibility of an election taking place next year, I have taken the decision to put myself forward as a Labour Party candidate. I have no idea if I will be selected, never mind elected. I do know that it is the best way I can think of to try to implement some of the changes I have been advocating in this column recently.
Some of you have commented on my change of direction. You are concerned that I have lost my invective. That I’ve become soft. That I have given up. Not so, I absolutely assure you. Red Lancaster will be no more, but trust me, I have merely changed tactics, not given up the fight.
I hope you will join me in the battle for a better world. I truly believe there’s a chance we may win. All of us. Men. The women who will be able to vote for the first time. And those who we will fight with and for, to earn that same right the next time.
‘Red’ Lancaster, The People’s Tribune, 28 October 1921
*
If you enjoyed this book,
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Unwed and Unrepentant
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ISBN: 978-1-474-00050-5
The Couple in the Dream Suite
© Copyright © 2014 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgement are given to Marguerite Kaye for her contribution to The Chatsfield series.
Published in Great Britain in 2014
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