“Hello, Adam? This is Jess Danvers. I don’t know if Christian mentioned but I’m helping him write his autobiography. He said I might contact you to ask you questions about the early days of Wishful.”
“Yes, of course, Jess. Do you have your questions ready? Fire away.”
“Oh! Umm…well, I was rather hoping we could meet so I could talk to you in person.” Damn! Jess thought, he must hear that all the time from fans. He probably thinks I’m coming onto him. She listened to the long pause and winced.
“Well why not, Jess? Why don’t I let you buy me lunch tomorrow so you can ask me your questions in person?”
Jess swallowed hard. She hoped he wasn’t going to suggest anywhere wildly expensive. Christian had given her a credit card before he had left but she hadn’t yet used it and hoped not to have to do so. However, she had not received the promised advance from Melissa nor any kind of expense allowance and, straight after Christmas with its unforeseen bills, had precious little to spare.
“So, let’s say Regent’s Park at midday – and mine’s a ham sandwich – is that okay?”
Jess laughed with relief. “Yes of course. How about by the bandstand, then if it’s raining, we’ll have somewhere to shelter?”
*
It wasn’t raining. In fact it was one of those golden-bright, crisp, cold days when the sun dazzles the eye but affords no heat to the skin. When he rose to greet her as she crossed the grass verge towards the bandstand, she thought he looked like some sort of minor deity, with his long dark leather coat floating out around his thin – too thin, she thought – figure, also clad entirely in black. And he was tall, very tall as he descended the steps of the bandstand and held out his hand to her.
“The funeral was yesterday, I’m afraid,” she teased, shaking his hand and surveying him from top to toe. “What’s with you guys? You seem to be either all in black or all in white – don’t you like the colours in between?”
Adam glanced down at his attire as if noticing it for the first time, then grinned at her.
“It was unconsciously done. I tend to dress in the dark. It’s nice to meet you at last, Jess. Chris did tell me about you. However, you know, it’s far too cold for a picnic. You can see how exposed the bandstand is and there isn’t a warm spot to be found anywhere. I have a little garret just round the corner from here in Baker Street – it’s nothing grand but at least it’s warm. Shall we go there?”
Jess smiled her acquiescence – her fingers were already turning numb from the cold even inside her gloves and she gratefully relinquished the basket to Adam. Less than fifteen minutes later, they were entering one of those quaintly elegant lifts with outer metal doors which have to be closed by hand before the inner doors can lock and the mechanism start operating. As the lift trundled slowly upwards, Jess was able to make out several floors of stylish art deco grandeur in the 1920s building. She thought it was like entering a shrine to a bygone era – the whole place was so silent that it had almost a religious feel to it.
“I know it’s very slow, but I feel it’s worth it,” Adam said apologetically.
Jess nodded. “It’s beautiful. I was wondering why Baker Street. Is it the song, or Sherlock Holmes?”
He gave her an appreciative grin. “Elementary my dear Watson. A little bit of both, of course – plus the fact that I couldn’t resist the building.”
“It is very charming,” Jess agreed and immediately felt that was the understatement of the century when she stepped out of the lift and into a spacious black and white reception area decorated in genuine deco style. “In fact it’s wonderful!”
“Glad you like it, Jess. It’s not to everyone’s taste, you know. Amber hates it.”
Amber! Jess badly wanted to hold onto that thread and pursue it further. Amber was exactly the subject she hoped to get Adam talking about but had been unsure about the best way to introduce her name. Now he had brought her name up much sooner than anticipated and in her anxiety to grab the thread, had to forego her questions about the lovely building and its opulent interior.
“I suppose it couldn’t be more different to her Docklands apartment,” Jess conceded.
Adam looked at her in surprise. “You’ve been there?”
Jess nodded. “She invited me for lunch.”
He chuckled. “I bet that was a meal to remember. Still there is a McDonalds just around the corner. A life-saver for those who need slightly more than a peanut and a lettuce leaf at lunchtime. So, does that mean you and Amber are bosom buddies now?”
“Hardly,” Jess replied. “I think I was just summoned so she could warn me off…” She stopped and bit her lip, unsure about how to continue.
He gave her a knowing nod. “Shall we eat in the kitchen? I’d love to suggest the balcony, but it’s so cold out there – I’ll show you the view later though, you’ll love it.”
He led her into a spacious, pristine kitchen – decorated all in white and black, though with a good deal of gleaming chrome which sent light glinting and skidding off the uncluttered surfaces. They sat on tall stools at a central granite-topped island and ate their sandwiches. Jess was pleased to see Adam eat with great relish, so very different from Amber.
“This is such a beautiful flat. Do you live here alone?” She stopped suddenly and felt herself blushing deeply. “I’m so sorry! That’s none of my business.”
Adam laughed. “It’s not a problem. When I do stay here, I’m alone, yes. It’s my bolt-hole in town, I suppose you might say. I do have another one down in Hampshire – but please don’t tell Amber – she thinks I got rid of both of them. Anyway Amber always considered this place far too small and pokey.”
Jess gave a little gasp and looked around her. The kitchen alone was probably larger than her entire flat. “But it’s so beautiful, so elegant. It has much more charm than that place in Docklands.” Again she stopped and bit her lip, wondering if she had overstepped the mark, given that Adam might have had a say in the décor of Amber’s apartment.
“I know. It’s like living in a giant aquarium, isn’t it? Maybe Amber was a goldfish in a former life.”
“A koi carp, maybe?” Jess ventured. “They are extraordinarily beautiful and flamboyant. How did you actually meet? I mean, I know it was something to do with her auditioning for Wishful, but that’s all.”
Adam bit into his second sandwich and chewed for a while before answering. “Justin discovered her, actually, singing at some student gig in the Midlands and told Christian about her. So Chris and I went to check her out and we invited her to come and audition with us. She had a stupendous voice even then, before she’d had any formal training. We knew she’d give the band a new image, so we had a makeover, gave ourselves a new name, wrote some new songs and the rest, you probably know.”
Jess felt a little embarrassed at his assumption. Her research had been sketchy to say the least and she knew far less than the average person in the street - and certainly than kids like Katya with her encyclopaedic knowledge. “You mean the band wasn’t always called Wishful?”
“Good lord, no! We must have had four or five names before that – one of which – in our rebellious student days, I hasten to add - was Hugger Mugger!” He peeled the tab off his Coke and drank deeply before shaking his head at the distant memory.
“Would you say Wishful’s success was due to Amber, then?” She knew she should focus on Christian and Adam in those early days but couldn’t seem to move her thoughts very far away from the subject that intrigued her the most. It equated to picking at a sore – something you know you shouldn’t do, but can’t seem to stop.
He looked thoughtful for a moment as if considering her question. “Not entirely. We’d already established a name and had a couple of pretty good hits before she joined us; we might have gone on to enjoy a different kind of success without her – who knows? But I think we were already looking for something else even then and Amber brought along a diversion sign. I think you might call a symbiotic arrangement. We w
ere only recording together for a couple of years but we did a lot for each other in that time. Of course, you know, the chemistry did help.”
“Chemistry?”
“Amber and Christian on stage with their on-off relationship – the fans couldn’t get enough of it!”
It was Jess’s turn to pause and think. Could she ask? Did she even want to know? Wasn’t this just inviting more pain? She quickly tried to visualise herself as a potential reader of Christian’s autobiography. How prurient would her curiosity be if she was an avid fan finally getting her hands on the long-awaited definitive autobiography of her hero? Might as well go for it, she thought. I’m only the ghost-writer – ultimately Christian will have to approve everything that goes into his book.
“Was it genuine, or just for display purposes?” She almost winced at her badly chosen words.
“Oh it was genuine – no doubt about that. Aren’t you going to finish the other half of that sandwich?” He asked, looking rather greedily at her unfinished lunch.
She shook her head and pushed her plate towards him.
“I hate to look like a pig but these are the best sandwiches I’ve had in a very long time,” he said, reaching out towards it. “Even my mother didn’t make better ones and she had years more practice than you. This ham is the best in the world and you’ve done something different with the mustard – does it have mayo in it?”
Jess nodded. “And a little dash of horseradish.”
He gave an appreciative nod before returning to her question. “It was very genuine – for about five minutes. After that it was a no-go. Those of us who really knew them could see that – they trapped themselves in their situation. Tell me, Jess, have you ever done something because it’s expected of you? People are so convinced that it’s right for you that you end up believing it and doing your utmost to make it happen, just to confirm what everyone thinks? No, I can see from your expression you haven’t. But people do…and it’s a big mistake, because you end up living a lie. You end up believing other people’s beliefs and not your own.”
Jess exhaled. She had barely been aware that she had been holding her breath so the relief of releasing it came as a surprise. She focused on trying to breathe normally for a few moments instead of the shallow little wisps of air she had been taking during the last few minutes. “And that’s because they played out their romance in the public spotlight?” she asked carefully, her voice not yet steady.
Adam looked at her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. He then pulled out a pen from an inner pocket and scribbled something down on one of the paper bags from the basket. He looked at Jess apologetically. “Sorry! You don’t mind if I write that down, do you? It’s just given me a great idea for a new song.” After he finished scribbling, he looked at her again. “Yes, I think that’s pretty much the way it was – though I’m still not convinced Amber sees it that way. Or rather, I think she probably does, but that she just refuses to accept it.”
“But I thought…you two…I mean…” She looked at him pleadingly. “From what I understand, you’ve been together for over a year now. How could that happen if they…or she…hasn’t moved on?”
He reached into the basket and pulled out a large red apple which he turned around appreciatively in his hand, admiring its rubescent gloss before biting into it. “My favourite kind,” he said as he savoured his juicy mouthful. “Only please don’t tell my family I prefer my apples from America! I think I might marry you, Jess, if you’ve got nothing better to do with the rest of your life.”
Jess smiled at his gentle teasing and pulled a fat, waxy green grape from its succulent nest. “I thought you were supposed to be marrying Amber?”
“Looking more and more unlikely, wouldn’t you say?”
Jess caught her breath. Too soon! She’d allowed herself to become complacent too soon.
“Is it? Don’t you want to marry her?”
He swallowed another luscious mouthful of crisp apple before replying. “It’s no longer a question of what I want. It’s more a question of what Amber thinks is right for her…and the baby.”
15
You could never tell Amber what to do and if she chose to drink champagne instead of sleeping after an eleven hour flight, then she would. Especially if she thought she had an audience. Christian could see no audience, however – at least not the kind he worried about. The DJ had taken a break and people drifted back to their corners. A middle aged man sat down at the piano and began to play quietly to the accompaniment of a deep and moody sax player. The pianist caught Amber’s eye. He evidently recognised her and she made his year complete by joining him in a brief rendition of some of her latest US hits transformed into very sexy, bluesy mixes. She laughed at his jazzy accompaniment but adapted her rhythm and style with the versatility of a consummate and talented professional. The bar filled up in no time as people seemed to appear from the woodwork to listen and shuffle around to the sensuous sounds.
Christian kept a low profile, hiding in the shadows and refusing to be drawn into the spectacle. Amber sipped her champagne and crooned out her songs. Later she claimed it was a good warm-up for her forthcoming tour. When she started on her second glass of champagne, Christian gave her a clear signal that he was leaving.
“Okay you beautiful L.A. lovers,” Amber breathed into her microphone. “One last, very short number, then I really must go and get my beauty sleep. What’s it to be? Sweet Nights? Okay, darling. You’ve got it. Take it away you gorgeous piano-man – just like you’ve taken my heart!”
Ten minutes later they were leaving The Roosevelt and climbing into the limo that would take them the short journey up the hill to Amber’s hotel. Christian felt her lolling against his arm like a deflating doll.
“You will stay with me, won’t you, my darling?” she murmured drunkenly.
That was the problem with Amber. Once minute she appeared sober and rational and the next she was completely uncoordinated and slurring her words.
“Until I know you are safely in bed and asleep, yes,” he replied firmly.
She snuggled up against him. “Mmm…you’re going to tuck me up in bed, are you…daddy?”
Christian shuddered involuntarily, then shook his head and looked down at her slender body slumped against him. He wanted to be annoyed with her but, as usual, compassion prevailed over anger. She hadn’t deserved most of the horrors that life had hurled in her face from an early age. She especially hadn’t deserved what he had done to her. But he had spent too many years feeling that pity. It was, if not exactly destructive, certainly unproductive and he needed to move on from it. He glanced at his watch – something he barely seemed to have stopped doing since arriving in the U.S. – and did his usual calculation. With a bit of luck, he might catch Jess on one number or another before she started her daily routine and became inaccessible to him.
As the limo drew up outside Amber’s hotel, she roused herself and irritably slapped his right hand as it was busy texting. “Put your phone away! Surely you’re not texting your little ghost-writer friend are you?” she mumbled drowsily.
Christian froze but said nothing.
“You don’t have to worry, you know. I think she’s got the message by now.”
“What do you mean? What message? Have you seen her?”
Amber ignored him as they climbed out of the car and made their way into the hotel. The bell boy ushered them to the lifts in a proprietorial manner, pressing the discrete button to summon the VIP elevator. Christian held his mounting agitation until they were inside Amber’s suite.
“Have you talked to Jess?” he demanded as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Oh Jess! That’s her name, of course. I forgot. Oh, just look at that bed. Did ever a bed look more temptingly sybaritic?” She moved towards it as if hypnotised and dropped her full length onto its voluminous coverings. Her slight body hardly made a dent.
“When did you see her? Tell me what happened.”
“Mm�
�it was…I can’t remember. We did lunch one day. You know, she was interviewing me for your book. Is this autobiography idea wise, Christian? And also – shouldn’t you be writing it yourself? At the very least you should have a male ghost-writer.”
Christian sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at Amber’s body which wriggled on the satin coverlet as if burrowing into a downy den for a night of utter sensuality. He was completely unmoved by her suggestive writhing but realised he needed to try a different tack.
“So you think I’m wasting my money employing a ghost-writer?”
“Absolutely! The only person who can write your autobiography is you. How can she possibly understand your history?”
“And did you tell her that?”
Wishful Thinking Page 14