by Exley Avis
His eyes drank in her beautiful face, memorising every detail. “In which case, I’ll be sure to take extra special care.”
The car had barely stopped under The Savoy’s canopy before the door was opened by her bodyguard, letting a blast of cold air into the overheated interior.
Erika climbed out, feeling stiff after the long drive from Yorkshire and wishing she could stretch her legs, but half a dozen photographers already lay in wait. She suspected they’d been tipped off by Marty to make her return to London an open secret. Irritated, but conscious she might need the press on her side soon, Erika posed beside the car and gave them a brilliant smile.
Not that she felt like smiling. The thought of facing Marty in a few minutes nauseated her and, despite having slept for most of the journey, she felt bone weary and unable to cope.
What she wouldn’t have given to have Aiden walking beside her. But the one person she needed the most, was the one most likely to make matters worse.
Erika’s anxiety redoubled when she passed through The Savoy’s revolving door and into the lobby. The excited expressions of the hotel employees, and the whispered comments of passers-by, told Erika she was as instantly recognisable in England as in America, and any hope of passing unnoticed in London was immediately banished.
Even if she could escape Marty and her bodyguards, there’d be little chance of her slipping away to meet Aiden without having a hundred witnesses on her tail.
Her heart sank.
“Mr Cooper has reserved a river view suite for you on our fourth floor,” the concierge told Erika when she eventually signed the register, her luggage already having been whisked away.
Although Erika disliked a great deal about Marty, she had to admit he had a knack for securing the most beautiful rooms a hotel could offer. The view from her suite down the Thames to the London Eye was simply stunning, even on a grey, overcast day, and Erika couldn’t help crying out in delight.
She wanted to phone Aiden to tell him about it but he’d had to detour into Birmingham to check on a building project. Looking at her watch, Erika guessed he’d either still be on site or on the road and, rather than leave a message, she delayed calling until they could talk in private.
In any case, a heavy thump on the door heralded the arrival of Marty and adrenaline surged at the idea of being trapped in a room with him again. After three days’ freedom, she didn’t relish listening to his constant whining but forced her face into a cheerful expression to hide her true feelings and opened the door.
Without a word, he barged past, barked at a security man to wait outside and strode across the sitting room to the window.
Erika didn’t need three guesses to work out that he was furious about something and slammed the door after him.
“Good afternoon, Marty,” she snapped. “Nice to see you too.”
Marty was back beside her in an instant, enraged and struggling to speak. “How dare you?” he spat. “You lied to me.”
Erika feigned innocence but her heart pounded while she wondered exactly how much Marty knew. She played for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Aiden Thirstan is what! You’ve spent the entire weekend with him. He crept back into the hotel after I’d left, didn’t he?”
Rather than deny it, Erika told him some of the truth. “OK. I admit it. But there’s no law against it.”
“How far did it go?”
“What?”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“It’s none of your damned business!”
“Anything that affects your image is my business,” Marty reminded her, flipping open his iPad cover. “Did you sleep with him?”
As lying was Marty’s speciality, and Erika didn’t want to descend to his level, she told the truth.
“Yes I slept with him. But there’s no need to worry. He won’t say a word to the press. Had he wanted to, he could have sold his story years ago.”
Marty turned the iPad toward her, revealing a grainy photograph. The lighting was dim but it showed a couple on a dance floor – him in a white shirt and her in a blue silk dress – arms around each other and kissing passionately.
“Where did you get this?” Her heart clenched in horror as she recognised herself and Aiden, completely lost in one another.
“It’s not me you need to worry about. This picture’s in every tabloid newspaper and gossip magazine on both sides of the Atlantic.”
So much for keeping their relationship secret. She wondered how much else Marty knew and nausea rose again.
“Seems your boyfriend hasn’t exactly led a blameless life,” Marty said. “The press has gone to town on his reputation as a womaniser.”
Aiden would hate that, Erika knew, but there was little they could do about it now. She guessed one of the wedding guests must have sold the picture and cursed herself for not having been more careful.
“Aiden’s changed,” she told Marty instead. “That’s all in the past.”
Marty laughed cynically. “People rarely change. They just get better at making fools believe they have.”
He thrust the photo at her again. “This doesn’t look like a couple who’ve just met. There’s too much history there. So exactly how long were you and Thirstan planning this little reunion?”
“What?” There’d be even more trouble if Marty believed Erika and Aiden were involved in a long-term conspiracy. “Our meeting wasn’t planned. We met by chance. I had no idea I’d see him.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re very friendly considering you’ve not seen or spoken to him in five years. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type to jump into bed with a man on a first date.”
Enraged, Erika leapt to her own defence. “How dare you? I’m twenty-seven years old. What I do in my private life is no concern of yours.”
“Then how about this?”
He snatched the iPad from her and opened a video on YouTube of Erika at the wedding reception, belting out a Robbie Williams track and accompanying herself on the guitar.
“Sore throat better, is it?” Marty voice dripped sarcasm.
“Their singer couldn’t make it so I filled in.” She hurried to minimise the damage. “I couldn’t stand by and watch their wedding ruined.”
“…although you’re more than happy to wreck your voice.”
“Not so. It was a small venue and I took lots of breaks. My voice is precious. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt it.”
Marty dismissed her protests. “All this got me thinking, if you’ve lied about Thirstan and what you were doing this weekend, what else aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. I swear.” Panic raced through her. Had Marty stumbled upon her plans to escape? But how could he know? Only Aiden and his advisors had access to the information. “Meeting Aiden again was a complete fluke.”
Ignoring her, Marty searched again on YouTube, coming up with a long list of videos, the first dozen of which had been uploaded on Sunday morning. From the high quality, Erika guessed the wedding photographer had been responsible for sharing the footage of Erika dancing on stage with the bridesmaids, leading a conga line and performing Bee Gees’ tracks. She groaned.
“You doing an impression of Kylie Minogue isn’t what bothers me though,” Marty said, clicking on another link.
As soon as Erika heard the opening notes of Breach Of Trust her throat clenched shut.
Mesmerised, she sat through Prove Myself and Hole In My Heart, wishing for all the world that she didn’t have to look at Marty’s contorted face while the beautiful lyrics floated from the iPad. She signalled she’d heard enough.
“Where did they come from?” he demanded. “And why didn’t I know about them?”
“Because I wrote those songs years ago. Long before I even met you.”
“So what? When I signed you up, I got complete control over your back catalogue.”
“But not these,” Erika argued. “They’re way too personal. They’re my privat
e feelings about Aiden, not for recording.”
“Who cares? They’re solid gold. They could have made us a fortune. You should have declared them.”
“Why? That’s like asking me to publish my love letters. I only sang them on Saturday because Aiden was there. I thought it was time he finally knew how I felt about him.”
“Then send him an email. Tell him face to face. Send flowers. But don’t set it to music and let someone post it to fucking YouTube for free!”
Erika recoiled, revolted by him. “We were at a private function. I had no idea what would happen.”
She heard her own naivety and cringed. Wherever she went, there’d always be someone waiting to share her every move with the rest of the world.
Marty could hardly draw breath for rage. “We’re reduced to damage limitation now. I’ve spent this morning trying to work out how we move on and get what the songs are worth.”
For once Erika’s thought processes outstripped Marty’s. “Oh no you don’t. There’s no way I’m going to record them.” She grabbed her bag, preparing to leave but Marty blocked her path.
“I can do anything I like. And if I say I want you to record these new songs, you’ll do it because otherwise I’ll sue your ass off.”
Erika flew at Marty, calling his bluff. “Do it then!” she dared him. “Ruin me. Bankrupt me. Sue me to high heaven. But I swear I’ll never sing another note for you as long as I live.”
“Let’s just see about that,” Marty warned before holding out his hand. “Give me your cell phone.”
“What? No!”
Not prepared to argue, Marty snatched the bag out of Erika’s hands and rummaged inside while she fought to retrieve it. The last thing she needed was Marty seeing the risqué texts and photos of Aiden stored on her phone. But, as soon as he found it, he threw it on the floor and stamped on it, smashing the screen with his heel.
“Try phoning your boyfriend from that,” he sneered, ripping her laptop violently from her and subjecting it to the same treatment.
“You bastard,” she raged, shoving him out of the way and bending to collect the pieces of broken plastic at their feet. “I’m calling a solicitor, right now. Let’s see who’s getting sued.”
She picked up the house phone and was on the verge of asking to be connected to Aiden’s advisors when she realised it would play straight into Marty’s hands. Talking to the top entertainment lawyer in London would only set off alarm bells in Marty’s head when he started wondering how she had the name so readily to hand.
She couldn’t jeopardise her case against him so carelessly and hesitated.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Marty barked.
“I don’t know who to call,” she lied.
Marty laughed derisively and mouthed the word, pathetic. “Don’t push me, Erika,” he warned, leaning his face so close to hers she recoiled from his tobacco breath. “And don’t threaten me either. Not when I’m standing here holding all the cards.”
“Get out,” she screamed, desperate to be alone. “I can’t bear to look at you.”
Marty shrugged. “Don’t get settled. Thirstan knows you’re here so we’re moving out to Claridges. Your luggage is already on its way over there.”
Erika reacted furiously. “Don’t I have any say in this?”
“No. The sooner we shake him off, the better. And don’t call him from the house phone either. All calls are logged and, if you send so much as a carrier pigeon, I’ll know about it.”
“You can’t do this.” Anger restored the strength that ten minutes with Marty had stripped away. “You can’t take me prisoner.”
“I’m not. You’re free to go at any time but consider what a spell in prison would do to your friend’s reputation.” When Marty saw she wasn’t following him, he took great delight in explaining. “I’m a firm believer in insurance so I bought a copy of the car park security tapes giving me a crystal-clear shot of your man assaulting me. I still have the bruises to prove it and a medical report backing up my story. All I want now is an excuse to call the police.”
“You can’t. I’ll say he acted in my defence.”
Marty pulled a face. “That’s not what it looks like on the tape. All you can see is a man, twice my size, pinning me up against a car and threatening to beat me to a pulp.”
Scorn contorted Erika’s beautiful face. “You’re the most dishonest and twisted man I’ve ever met but this sinks to new depths, even for you. You’ll never get away with this.”
“Play ball and we’ll never need to find out. But one single attempt to see or speak to Aiden Thirstan and I’ll pick up the phone to call the cops.”
He meant what he said. She’d been a fool to believe she could defeat Marty and overturn her contract. Whatever Aiden did, Marty would always be one step ahead of them, hedging his bets and covering his tracks until there was no way left to turn but his way.
“And if I do as you say?” she asked.
“I’ll finish up my business here and we can be back on a plane next weekend. Before you know it, everything will be back to normal and this guy Thirstan will be nothing more than a bad judgement call. In fact, I’ve even bought insurance there too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ben Ridley’s in London promoting his new film. By the time I’ve finished with the story, all the newspapers who ran your picture will be telling the world that Ridley’s flown in to salvage your relationship. A lover’s tiff. A passionate reconciliation. The golden couple back together again.”
“We’re not a couple!”
“No. And neither are you and Thirstan. After all, it’s difficult dating someone behind bars.”
Erika’s temper finally snapped. “You’re a prize bastard, Marty.”
“So what? You’re a lying bitch. Maybe we were made for one another.”
Marty had secured Erika a suite with a piano at Claridges, saying it would give her chance to work on the studio arrangements for the new songs, but the thought of playing music sickened her.
Instead, she lay on her bed with the curtains drawn and the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, plunged into a pit of self pity made even more stark by the happiness of the past weekend.
She knew Aiden would be frantic with worry and expecting to hear from her, but there was no way she could contact him without alerting Marty. He’d even posted a bodyguard outside her door, pretending it was to keep fans out, not to hold Erika prisoner. In a flash of inspiration, she had asked to borrow his phone but he’d been pre-warned and refused.
Even a bribe hadn’t worked.
Marty had even gone as far as cancelling her doctor’s appointment that evening to underline her captivity.
“I wouldn’t want you creeping out the back door to meet lover boy,” he’d said when she’d argued. “Looking at the videos, there’s nothing wrong with your voice and it’s pointless running up doctors’ bills. You know how these Harley Street guys charge. We can use the time to make plans for the European tour instead.”
“You can cancel that too,” she’d said furiously. “I won’t do it. Consider our working relationship terminated as of now.”
“OK. OK. Tell it to the judge when I sue you for every penny,” Marty had growled. “When I’m done, you won’t own the clothes you stand up in.”
It had taken every ounce of Erika’s restraint not to blurt out that she knew Marty had been stealing from her, and that he might be the one on the wrong end of a law suit soon. Instead, she’d physically manhandled him out of her suite, locked the door and gone to lie down on the bed, all the while fighting the paralysing panic that numbed her senses and threatened to drain every shred of courage from her.
At some point she drifted off to sleep, exhausted by her journey and the tension of going head to head with Marty again. The gentle knocking at the door barely penetrated her sleep at first and she came round slowly at the sound of someone calling her name. For a few confused seconds she thought Aiden had found her and got up q
uickly, but then realised the voice was American although, thankfully, not Marty’s.
“Erika. Are you there? It’s Ben,” he called.
Erika cried out in relief at the thought of finally seeing a friendly face and unlocked the door, pulling him inside. Before he could speak, she threw her arms around him and hugged him close; telling herself she must look like a mad woman with her tear-streaked mascara and her hair messed up from sleeping.
“Well someone’s glad to see me.” Ben laughed and held her away from him. His expression clouded at the sight of her puffy eyes. “You’ve been crying. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine now you’re here,” Erika assured him, going over to the mirror to wipe away the mascara trails. She forced a smile and explained the bare bones of her argument with Marty, including his plan to invent a passionate reconciliation between Ben and Erika. “But let’s not talk about Marty right now,” she went on. “It’s so wonderful to see you. Come here and let me have a good look at you.”
For his latest film role as an action hero Ben had built up the muscles in his torso so he’d doubled in size since she’d last seen him. It suited him. An injury whilst filming had left a scar across his eyebrow but this only enhanced his good looks, rendering his face more ruggedly handsome – if that were at all possible.
Erika understood why thousands of women the world over were in love with him – or at least, in lust. And incredibly, Ben Ridley was even better looking in real life than on film.
“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she said, knowing he’d never dream she was flirting with him. No matter what Marty might leak to the gossip columnists, there had never been any romantic spark; only an increasingly deep friendship. “The movie’s had great reviews.”
“It has. They’re talking about an Oscar for the special effects.”
His broad smile didn’t reach his eyes however. Erika felt guilty. She’d been so busy obsessing about her own problems she hadn’t noticed the lines of strain on Ben’s face and suspected they had nothing to do with either jet lag or a punishing filming schedule.