Off the Record

by Rose, Alison

  ‘I guess so. But kids aren’t always logical, y’know?’

  ‘Well I hope you don’t blame her now. And I hope I’ve done the right thing letting your dad have her address,’ Kate frowned.

  ‘If she’s anything like her daughter, my guess is she’ll handle him OK.’

  Kate gave him a startled glance. ‘I’m not sure I like the idea of my mother handling anyone, let alone a megastar like Johnson Brand.’

  ‘Hey, that megastar is just a man. He sweats and bleeds and …’

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ she interrupted, unwilling to hear what other unpleasant functions he might perform. ‘But Mum’s been very vulnerable since Daddy died, and it’s not as though your father will be paying more than a passing visit, is it? Their lives are so different now. What if …’

  ‘Kate, stop it,’ he smiled, reaching out to take her hand. His warm grip soothed for a moment, before her pulse began racing out of control. Kate took a deep breath, willing her senses to calm down. After all, Paul Brand was just a man too. He sweated, he bled, he … The memory of his soul-scorching kiss sent her heart rate into the stratosphere. Kate pulled her hand away and stood up. Paul looked up at her, his blue gaze questioning.

  ‘I … er … I need to … I’ll be back in a minute,’ she muttered, heading for the ladies.

  In the sanctuary of the restroom, she ran cold water over her wrists and tried to make sense of her racing thoughts. What was freaking her the most – the thought of her mother with Johnson Brand, or her own reaction to his son? She’d never been affected by a man like this before. She’d had plenty of boyfriends, and enjoyed kissing and flirting like any girl. But Paul Brand was nothing like the boys she’d been involved with, and she doubted he’d be content with a few kisses. What worried her was that she doubted she would either.

  With a strangled cry, she brought cold hands up to her burning cheeks. What was she thinking? No way would she sleep with him! It would go against every principle she’d ever had. She’d made that mistake once, with a boy she’d met at university, and been left heart-broken and humiliated. She hadn’t realised that what she thought was mutual love was no more than a fleeting lust on his part. The next time she slept with a man it would be the man she would marry. Paul Brand was definitely not marriage material. Half the time she didn’t even think she saw the real man, he seemed to have a knack of playing a part, putting up a smokescreen to obscure the man behind it. He’d enjoy a brief affair with her, and then swan off back to the States as soon as the tour was over.

  The thought of the tour brought her up sharp. The tour! Paul’s father wanted her to report on it, to spend the next three months with the band. How on earth could she do that if she couldn’t control her reaction to his son?

  The door opened and a couple of women came in. Kate reached for a paper towel and wiped her face. Her sanctuary had been breached. It was time to go back. As she turned to the door, she heard them.

  ‘Oh wow, I can’t believe we’re in the same restaurant as Paul Brand! Isn’t he the sexiest man you’ve ever seen? I thought his dad was gorgeous, but the son … well, I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed!’

  ‘Too right,’ her friend agreed. ‘The woman who’s with him is such a lucky cow. Imagine taking him home with you? I wouldn’t sleep for a week! I hear he’s a real stud.’

  Kate closed her eyes and pushed her way out. Great! By just being with him, people assumed she was sleeping with him. Her rebellious heart asked whether it would really be so bad if she did, while her sensible mind insisted that she wouldn’t be one of the crowd. And she would be one of many. Just as she had unwittingly been before.

  Those women hadn’t even realised that she was the same woman who’d been sitting with the object of their lust. They hadn’t bothered to look at her. She was simply the ‘lucky cow’. As she sat down, she found herself staring at him.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Do I have spinach in my teeth?’

  She shook her head. ‘You’ve been recognised. Two women were talking about you in the ladies.’

  He sighed. ‘Did they bother you?’

  ‘Not exactly. They didn’t even notice me. They were too busy discussing your legendary sexual prowess.’

  ‘How flattering. But you shouldn’t believe everything you hear in the ladies’ room, Kate, any more than we can rely upon the press to report the facts without making two plus two become five, six, or seven.’

  ‘I’m not like that. I write the truth. I’m a journalist, not a fiction writer.’

  ‘I hope so. Although in my experience, honest journos don’t last long. You’ll either become like all the rest or they’ll eat you alive. As for those women, they know nothing about me. If I had as many conquests as they believe, I’d have no time for anything else. The truth is much less exciting – I work; I spend my free time alone or with family and friends; end of story.’

  ‘So all those pictures of you with actresses and models at showbiz parties are all fake?’

  ‘There are a lot less of them than you might imagine. Most of the women I’m seen with are old friends who grew up like I did – kids of actors and musicians. We’re a kind of mutual support group. Others are artists that I’m working with. If we need to attend an award ceremony or a premiere, we buddy up. It saves a lot of hassle, and keeps the press happy creating wild stories about us.’

  ‘Don’t you get sick of it?’

  ‘Sure, but what can I do?’

  ‘I don’t know, but …’

  ‘Look, my friends know the truth. The rest of them can go hang. I don’t owe them anything.’

  ‘“The rest of them” buy the records,’ she reminded him.

  ‘That gives them the right to listen to my songs. It doesn’t mean they’re entitled to know every little thing about how I live my life, any more than someone reading your paper has the right to know about your private life.’

  ‘OK. I can see what you mean. Has it been a big problem for you? I mean, you grew up famous because of who your dad is, didn’t you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sure, but others have had it worse. My parents were pretty protective. Now, do you want some dessert?’

  Kate had a feeling he was making light of it. Despite his dismissal of the subject, she saw the shadows in his eyes. She shook her head. ‘Just coffee for me, thanks.’

  ‘You’re sure? I have a fancy for something sweet and sinful,’ he grinned.

  Before she could answer, she spotted the women from the restroom making their way towards them. ‘Er, don’t look now, but I think you’re about to be offered just that.’

  ‘Say what?’ He looked up and saw them. ‘Damn! … Hi, ladies. I hope you enjoyed your meal?’

  ‘Oh we could hardly eat a bite once we realised who you were,’ one of them laughed. ‘We just had to come over and say hello.’

  ‘Well, that’s mighty kind of you.’

  ‘We’re on our way to a party, and wondered if you’d like to join us? It’s not far from here, and our friends would love to meet you. We all love your music.’

  ‘Sorry, ladies. My friend and I have other plans.’

  ‘Are you sure? You can bring your … er, friend if you like.’

  Paul seemed to consider, raising an eyebrow at Kate in question.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, raising her hands in surrender. She doubted if any of them would want her along, and it was the last thing she wanted, but it occurred to her that she’d get a heck of a story if she did join Paul Brand at a party with these women. But she didn’t have the stomach for it.

  ‘Maybe another time?’ Paul looked regretful as he refused. The bolder of the two women took that at face value and insisted on giving him her number.

  ‘Call any time,’ she said, pressing her card into his hand. ‘We can have a party whenever you like.’

  They finally left Kate and Paul alone, waving and blowing kisses at him as they exited the restaurant. Paul dropped the card on the table.

  ‘Yo
u could have gone to the party if you wanted,’ said Kate. ‘I’m sure you could catch up with them if you change your mind.’

  Paul sat forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his joined hands. ‘Do you want to go party? With strangers?’

  Kate matched his pose. ‘Only if I can write about it.’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening to a word I said, Ms Armstrong? I don’t provide stories for the papers. If you want to write about it, you’ll have to make it up. I just wanted a quiet meal getting to know you, off the record.’ He picked up the woman’s card and carefully tore it in half, and then in half again. The pieces fell like confetti onto the tablecloth. ‘If you want something for the record, I’ll tell you this. I would never, ever accept an invitation like that. I don’t know those women, or their friends, and frankly I don’t find that sort of approach attractive. I like to do my own asking.’

  ‘But … you looked as though you were considering it.’

  He shook his head. ‘Kate, Kate. My papa taught me good manners. Can you imagine the fall-out if I’d told those chicks there was no way in hell I’d party with them? At least this way they’ve gone away happy.’

  ‘And they’ll tell anyone who listens that you want to party with them – adding to your playboy reputation.’

  ‘You see? It’s all smoke and mirrors. Nothing to it.’ He laughed at her expression. ‘So, are you up for some death by chocolate?’

  She shuddered at the thought that he was so used to this sort of attention and misinterpretation from women. The fact that he had dealt with it so skilfully bothered her. Who was the real Paul Brand? Was his father like this too? So cynical and manipulative. She hoped not – Johnson Brand was going to see her mother! What if he … if they …? She shook her head, banishing unwelcome images. The Brand men might be dangerously attractive, but her mother had resisted his father once, and was older and wiser now. As for herself, well, she would keep an open mind and guard her heart around Paul Brand, no matter how intriguing she found him. Even if it killed her.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex walked home on Friday evening with a new spring in her step. Everyone had been so sweet about her new look, and now that she’d had a chance to get used to it, she’d enjoyed their reactions. She felt good, really good, and she couldn’t wait to see Kate again to show her.

  Her step faltered as she remembered the conversation she’d had with Kate a few days ago. Kate had met Johnson. Alex wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Part of her wanted to leave Johnson in the past, in her memories. The thought of him meeting and talking to her daughter spooked her. Alex sighed, knowing that she was more regretful than relieved that she hadn’t had the chance to see Johnson face to face again, but maybe it was for the best.

  As she neared home, she saw that her neighbour, Mrs Smith, was in her porch, speaking to a man. His back was to her, and he was leaning forward, talking to the elderly woman. She thought he looked vaguely familiar, but it was difficult to tell from that angle. Anyway, it wasn’t any of her business who visited the Smiths. With a shrug, she decided it didn’t matter, and turned into her garden path.

  ‘There she is! I told you she wouldn’t be long, didn’t I? Alex, dear, you’ve got a visitor.’

  Alex stopped. She knew. She just knew. The man straightened up and she saw that particular shade of golden hair, shot with silver now, before he turned to face her.

  Startled, she met his blue gaze. In the back of her mind she could hear a voice telling her to be careful what she wished for. For what seemed like an eternity they stood frozen. Then Alex smiled. A brilliant, joyful smile, letting the girl she had once been shine out. She felt something around her heart loosen as his lips curled into an answering grin. He stepped out onto her neighbour’s path.

  ‘Hey, Sandy,’ he greeted her softly. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  The sound of Mrs Smith’s voice jarred, bringing them both back to reality. ‘I was just going to offer your friend a cup of tea. Would you like one, dear?’

  Alex blinked, amazed that she was capable of recognising speech, let alone understanding Mrs Smith’s offer. ‘Er, no, thank you,’ she responded, her voice sounding rusty to her ears.

  ‘No? Oh well, have a nice visit, my dears.’

  She acknowledged the elderly lady’s goodbye as she closed her door. Alex knew that Mrs Smith would be straight on the phone, reporting her visitor to her network of friends around the village. Thank goodness her neighbour’s hearing wasn’t very good; otherwise they’d have faced an enquiry about Johnson calling her Sandy.

  ‘So,’ he stepped over the flower border separating the two garden paths and came to stand in front of her. He was just as tall as she remembered, but he’d filled out too. She didn’t recall his shoulders being that broad before. ‘Are you going to offer me a cup of tea?’

  She smiled again. His smile – that teasing, cajoling, cheeky grin that was guaranteed to get him whatever he wanted – hadn’t changed at all.

  ‘Oh, I think I can manage that,’ she responded. ‘It’s good to see you, Johnson.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s been too long.’

  ‘Come on in.’ She led him into her kitchen. He looked huge in the low-ceilinged room.

  ‘Have a seat.’ She waved him to the oak table and chairs under the window where she usually ate alone these days. ‘Tea? Or would you prefer coffee?

  ‘Real coffee?’ He asked cautiously.

  She chuckled. ‘Yes. Kate exists on the stuff in London, so she insists on real coffee here too.’ She put the kettle on to boil and spooned coffee into a glass cafetière.

  ‘You know I met her?’

  ‘Yes, she rang me. She wrote a good article about you, don’t you think? Or am I just being biased? She’s my pride and joy.’

  ‘It was good. She had an interesting angle. She’s a talented writer, and a credit to you. I liked her a lot. After I’d gotten over the shock of thinking she was you, of course.’

  Alex turned from getting a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and leaned against the counter, regarding him thoughtfully. ‘It’s been long time since I looked like that, Johnson,’ she said softly. ‘Time doesn’t stand still.’

  He ran a hand through his hair, bringing her attention to his silver-shot locks. ‘Yeah, I know,’ he slanted a wry smile. ‘But I’m guessing you’d have the same reaction if you saw my son Paul.’

  ‘Really? Is he a lot like you?’

  ‘A regular chip off the old block.’

  She smiled. ‘It must be nice for you to work together.’ Alex brought the mugs to the table and poured the coffee before taking the chair next to him. She angled it so that she was facing him and sat down. Johnson glanced at the drinks, then slanted her a quizzical look.

  ‘What?’ she asked, then began to rise. ‘Oh, sorry! Do you take milk and sugar? I forgot to ask. I just assumed you still drink it black.’

  He put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back into her seat. ‘You remembered how I like my coffee?’

  ‘It’s a gift,’ she shrugged. ‘Or a curse, I can’t work out which. I have an incredible memory for trivia. How people like their drinks, what the weather was like three weeks ago …’ She lost her train of thought as she realised that his hand was still warm on her shoulder.

  ‘That must be tough,’ he commiserated.

  ‘It’s awful,’ she responded, feeling his heat radiate through her body. ‘Doesn’t leave any room in my brain for …’

  ‘For?’ he asked, leaning closer.

  ‘Important stuff,’ she sighed, giving in to the urge to meet him halfway.

  It was a sweet kiss. A hello. An I’ve-missed-you kiss. Alex’s heart swelled. It had been so long since she’d been kissed with such sweetness. Not since she’d lost David … with a gasp she sat back, breaking contact. What on earth am I doing?

  Johnson opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to lose the moment. No one else tasted as good as Sandy. He’d spent most of his life searching f
or that taste. Now he’d found it – her – again. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but pushing through the joy he felt fear. He’d lost her once. Did he want to go through that again? He knew nothing about her life now, the person she was now, apart from the fact that she was widowed two years ago. Perhaps she was already committed to another man. Why the hell hadn’t he asked?

  Alex studied his face, so familiar, yet so different. For a moment she had been a teenager again, but that was an illusion. She knew that she ought to feel guilty about kissing him, but she just couldn’t. This was Johnson, her first love. Even though decades had passed, she couldn’t help but remember what a sweet boy he had been. But that didn’t mean she should lose her head over the man sitting at her table now.

  His blue gaze was filled with desire, regret, confusion, mirroring her own emotions. For a moment they just stared at each other. Then he broke eye contact and reached for his coffee and took a sip.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That was presumptuous of me.’

  Alex nodded. ‘It’s been a long time. We don’t know each other anymore. I suppose we were both curious.’

  He picked up his drink and took a cautious sip. ‘Good coffee,’ he rasped before taking another.

  ‘Thank you. It was a good kiss too.’

  Johnson choked on the hot liquid, almost dropping his mug. He put it down carefully.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I can’t believe you said that!’ he said, laughter hovering.

  Alex put a hand to her mouth, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not usually so forward. Goodness, it feels like I’m in a time-warp!’

  He smiled, reaching out and tracing her jawline with his thumb. ‘Yeah, I know how you feel,’ he confirmed. ‘Damn, it’s good to see you. I thought you looked so different when I first saw you outside, but you’re just the same.’

  Alex grimaced. ‘Hardly!’ she denied, her hand creeping up to touch her white hair.

  ‘It suits you. And your eyes are the same, and your smile. And your humour. Hell, it feels weird, sitting here, kissing and talking like we’ve never been apart.’ A shadow crossed his gaze, reminding her of the pain of their parting. ‘Yet it’s well over thirty years. Where the hell has the time gone?’