by Lynne Shelby
I was drifting off to sleep, when he said, ‘It’s so good to hold you. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve wished that you were there beside me.’
‘You have?’
‘I’d have asked you out months ago if you hadn’t been involved with another guy.’
‘Really? You told me you wanted to be my friend.’ I was wide awake again now.
‘I was attracted to you the moment I first saw you,’ Owen said, ‘but it would have been a little unprofessional of me to hit on you when you were auditioning me for the agency. Or the first time you came to see me perform on stage. I was planning to – ah – make a move at the Reardon Haye Christmas party, but I could see that I didn’t stand a chance with you that night.’
If I hadn’t only had eyes for the Fallen Angel, I thought, Owen would have asked me out that night. If I hadn’t gone to that club with Daniel…
‘I wanted you, Lucy,’ Owen said. ‘I wanted to be with you. I told myself that you and I were never going to happen, and I would settle for being your friend, but it was never enough.’
‘I’d no idea you felt that way,’ I said.
Owen smiled ruefully ‘I’m a good actor.’
‘Until today I really did think of you as my friend,’ I said. ‘But for a while now… let’s just say that I’d noticed you have great abs.’
‘And there was I thinking you fell for me instantly after just one kiss.’
‘That kiss may have had something to do with it,’ I said. He held me just a little tighter. I sighed contentedly and shut my eyes. Whatever mistakes I’ve made in the past, I thought, I’m with the right guy now, and that’s all that matters.
I was almost asleep again when he whispered my name, ‘Lucy? Are you still awake?’
‘Just about.’
‘Do you remember the day we went rowing on the Serpentine?’
‘Yes, of course. It was lovely.’
‘I realised something that day – I nearly told you –’
‘What was it?’ I said.
‘I love you.’
My heart brimmed over.
‘I love you too, Owen,’ I said.
EPILOGUE
A year later…
I arrive at the restaurant, to find that Daniel has got there before me and is already seated, sipping a glass of wine and studying a menu. I make my way towards him through the crowded eatery, conscious of the sidelong glances of the other diners. I arrive at his table, and one woman actually takes our picture on her mobile phone. Four girls of about my age stop drinking their spritzers, nudge each other with their elbows, and whisper to each other behind their hands.
‘Lucy. Hi.’ He smiles at me, a little uncertainly.
‘Hello, Daniel.’ I sit down opposite him, and lean back in my chair. It’s strange, being here with him after all this time. I can see that his face is still beautiful, if rather more tanned than the last time I saw him, but I’m no longer physically attracted to him. I don’t feel anything for him at all. It’s as though I’m looking at the photo of a beautiful stranger in a magazine.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ Daniel says.
I nod my head. I plan to go back to the agency after this lunchtime meeting, but one glass of wine won’t affect my work.
‘It’s good to see you,’ Daniel says, ‘I thought you might stand me up.’
‘I wouldn’t do that to anybody.’
‘You didn’t come to the premiere of Fallen Angel II. I know everyone at Reardon Haye had tickets.’
‘I didn’t come because I didn’t want photos of Daniel Miller’s ex-girlfriend on the red carpet all over the internet. Is that why you asked me here? To complain that I didn’t come to a premiere?’
‘No, of course not. I –’
He breaks off as a waitress comes to our table, and the next few minutes are taken up with her writing down our order. I watch, half-amused, half-irritated, as she lavishes attention on Daniel, explaining various dishes to him, while I’m left to interpret the menu on my own.
‘I’d forgotten what it’s like being out in public with you,’ I say to him, when the waitress has gone.
He grins, a flash of white teeth in his sun-tanned face. The four girls at the next table give a collective sigh. His eyes flicker towards them.
‘Daniel – I know you have trouble focusing on just one woman, but I’ve only got an hour.’ I sound much more acerbic than I intended. I’m not sure why I agreed to meet him, but it wasn’t to give him a hard time.
Daniel doesn’t take offence. ‘Owen Somers must get recognised as often as I do these days,’ he says.
‘Not really. Well, he has been recognised a couple of times, but only when he hasn’t shaved. Which suits him just fine.’ Even a year later, I feel absurdly pleased and proud that Owen was cast as the lead in Alpha Male, rather than the lead’s brother. The show is extremely popular, and another series is planned. I tease Owen that he only got the part because of his designer stubble (and, crazily enough, this is partly true), but we both know that it was his talent as an actor that got him the Best Newcomer award at the Baftas.
Daniel says, ‘Cassie told me about you and Owen.’
‘I know,’ I say, ‘I remember you phoned her before you went to the States.’
A few days after we broke up, Daniel had phoned Cassie and asked how I was. Having berated him for precisely twenty-two minutes and forty seconds (Ryan was with her when she took the call, and he’d timed her), she’d told him that I was doing a lot better than he might have expected after the way he’d treated me. In fact, I was doing great, because I was with Owen, and the best thing he, Daniel, could do was stay out of my life. Which, to be fair, he had done. But then, it was only a week or so later that he’d got the call from the American producer he’d met in London inviting him out to LA to star in his first Hollywood movie, so it hadn’t exactly been difficult for him. Even before he’d left for California, my fears that breaking up with one of Reardon Haye’s star clients might affect my position at the agency had proved groundless. On my first morning back at work after my holiday, I’d announced that Daniel and I were over and I was fine about it. Eleanor had merely commented that she knew I was a thorough professional who would always leave my personal issues at the door of the workplace. Neither she nor Maria had seemed particularly surprised when after an interval of about a month, I’d let slip that I was dating Owen. Adrian had remarked that he’d thought he was working in a theatrical agency, not a dating agency, but he’d smiled as he’d said it (and he’d done the sandwich run that day), so I’d forgiven him.
Daniel had visited England several times since then, but we hadn’t run into each other. While I knew that our paths would probably cross at some point, it’d been a shock when he’d phoned me out of the blue, informed me that he was in London for a few days and asked me to have lunch with him before he flew back to the States. I couldn’t imagine why he would want to see me after all this time, and had no particular desire to see him, but he was most insistent, and somehow I’d found myself agreeing to meet him.
‘So,’ Daniel says, breaking in on my thoughts. ‘You and Owen. How’s it working out?’
I hold up my left hand so that Daniel can see the diamond ring on my third finger.
His eyes widen in surprise. ‘You’re getting married?’
‘Yes,’ I say, happily. ‘Next year. In the spring.’
‘But that’s great, Lucy. Congratulations. Many, many congratulations. To both of you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, taken aback that Daniel’s reaction on learning of my and Owen’s engagement is almost as enthusiastic as that of our friends. My parents and Dylan are delighted that Owen is going to be a part of our family. To my surprise, because she’s never been the least bit interested in fashion (or weddings, for that matter), my mother is enthusiastically trying on mother-of-the-bride outfits, including hats.
‘How did Owen propose?’ Daniel says. ‘Did he do the whole down on one knee thing
?’
‘He did. Both knees, actually.’ I’ve no idea if Daniel is genuinely interested or if he’s just making conversation, but I’m always happy to talk about Owen’s proposal. ‘We’d been to see a show in the West End and were walking through Piccadilly Circus to get the train home – we’ve been living together in our own place for a couple of months now – and as we went past the statue of Eros, Owen staggered and said the god of love had shot him with an arrow in the heart, and collapsed onto his knees on the pavement. I thought he was just messing about, but then he reached inside his jacket and brought out a ring…’
I’m melting inside just thinking of that moment.
The waitress returns with my salad and Daniel’s risotto. She spends an inordinately long time ensuring that he has enough parmesan and black pepper, and I have to admire the way she manages to hold a pepper grinder in a manner that can only be described as suggestive. Daniel thanks her, reading her unusual name off her name-badge, and asking her how she pronounces it. She returns to the restaurant kitchen with an exaggerated sway of her hips. I think, I have more important things to do this afternoon than watch my film-star ex-boyfriend flirt with a waitress.
Aloud, I say, ‘Daniel, why did you ask me to have lunch with you? What was it you couldn’t say to me on the phone?’
Daniel swallows a mouthful of risotto and lays his spoon and fork down carefully on the side of his plate. His brown eyes lock on mine.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about the day we broke up,’ he says. ‘I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am that I hurt you. I really am sorry, Lucy.’
This is so unexpected that I stare at him, speechless.
‘What I said to you that day –’
‘The day I found you in bed with that slutty girl who sold her story to the press?’
Daniel winces. As well he might. Nadia’s kiss and tell, ‘I Fell for the Fallen Angel,’ had been shockingly explicit, (I’m sure she made most of it up – he certainly never did those things with me) and had brought her the proverbial fifteen minutes of the fame (or notoriety) that she presumably craved. What it hadn’t done was resurrect her acting career, and her descent from the giddy heights of a centre page spread in a Sunday tabloid to total obscurity had been swift. As the wronged girlfriend, I’d been papped a couple of times, but my own brief moment of celebrity as the girl who’d failed to tame the Fallen Angel was fortunately soon forgotten. Strangely enough, I’d spotted Nadia once, just a few weeks ago, walking along Oxford Street with Poor Leo, looking bored. And, no, I did not feel any sympathy for her when I saw her pinched, miserable face. Why Poor Leo was still with her after her antics in the media, I couldn’t imagine. Maybe he was being punished for something terrible he’d done in a previous life.
‘Yeah, that day,’ Daniel says. ‘When I said that you and I were just about sex… it wasn’t true.’
‘Is that so?’ Where is he going with this? I have absolutely no desire to discuss my sex life with my ex.
‘Oh, sex with you was always great,’ Daniel says, ‘but I liked spending time with you outside the bedroom as well as in it. And I don’t just mean that I liked walking into an event with you as my arm-candy. I liked it when it was just the two of us watching a movie, or sunbathing in the garden on a summer afternoon. I liked you, Lucy, but I wasn’t in love with you, and I never thought we’d be together forever. I’m sorry if I said or did anything to make you think otherwise. And most of all, I’m sorry that I cheated on you.’
I’m sorry too, I think. Sorry that I was stupid enough to let myself fall for you when I knew what you were like.
‘The thing is,’ Daniel says, ‘I’m a bit of a shite.’
‘Only a bit?’
He runs his hand through his hair. ‘You’re angry with me. Well, I don’t blame you.’
‘I’m not angry with you, Daniel. I was angry with you, but I got over it – over you – pretty quick.’ In a matter of hours. But you don’t have to know that. ‘It’s hard to stay angry with your shite of an ex boyfriend when you’re in love with another guy.’
Daniel risks a smile. I find myself smiling back.
He says, ‘So, while I’m back in London, if we happen to turn up at the same showbiz event, you won’t be throwing a glass of champagne over me?’
‘I’ll try and restrain myself. I hate wasting champagne.’
He laughs, and then he says, ‘Lucy, I know I messed up, but we had some good times when we were together, didn’t we?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We did.’
And suddenly we’re chatting to one another. He tells me about his life in California, his mansion in Beverly Hills (‘Yes, of course it has a pool.’), his cars (‘No, Lucy, I don’t walk anywhere. I don’t usually drive myself either. I have a driver. I have a PA and a publicist as well.’), the A-listers he hangs out with, and his next Hollywood film. I tell him about Owen and my terraced house in North London, Cassie and Ryan’s wedding (‘She looked like a fairytale princess, but don’t tell her I said that.’), and Cassie’s performance as Nora in a West End production of A Doll’s House (‘She was terrified she wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but she was really great.’). I don’t tell him that Cassie’s pregnant, because she and Ryan have only told their closest friends. He tells me about his trip to the Cannes film festival. I tell him about the weekend Owen and I spent in Paris with Michael and Annette.
The waitress comes to clear our plates, favouring Daniel with a beaming smile. I roll my eyes. Daniel grins, and asks if I’d like a coffee.
I shake my head. ‘I should make a move. I’ve a ton of emails waiting for me back at Reardon Haye.’
Daniel asks the waitress to fetch the bill. He phones his driver and tells him to bring the car round to the front of the restaurant. He pays for our meal, and we leave the restaurant together. A sleek black limo draws up by the kerb. A man in a dark suit gets out of the passenger seat and holds open the door to the back.
‘Who’s that?’ I ask Daniel.
‘My minder.’
‘You have a minder? Anyone would think you were a Hollywood star! Oh – you are.’ He has the life he wants. And so do Owen and I.
‘Thanks for meeting me, Lucy,’ Daniel says. ‘It was good to clear the air.’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Would you like a lift back to the agency?’
‘Reardon Haye is literally just round that corner. I’ll probably be able to make it on foot. It’s not like I’m a celebrity.’
He smiles self-deprecatingly.
‘Goodbye, Daniel,’ I say. ‘Safe journey back to LA.’ I turn to go, but he puts his hand on my arm.
‘Lucy,’ he says, ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you and I…’
He has got to be joking. I jerk away from him. Why am I shocked? I know what he’s like.
‘I’m not going to sleep with you, Daniel, so don’t ask me.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t planning to. Even before I saw that ring on your finger.’
‘Oh. OK. Good. Sorry.’ I can only hope my face is not as flushed as it feels. ‘So what were you going to say?’
‘I was going to say, do you think you and I could keep in touch? I’m going to be based in the States for the foreseeable future, but maybe we could email sometimes?’
I’m taken aback by this. ‘I don’t know, Daniel…’
‘It’s OK, Lucy, I understand.’
‘Oh, why not.’ I realise, with some amazement that despite everything, I like Daniel Miller. He is incorrigible – but what you see is what you get. ‘Email me a photo of your pool and your cars that you don’t drive. I warn you though, I have no intention of being impressed. And if I see something in the media that makes me think you’re behaving like a louse, I’ll tell you.’
We exchange air-kisses, and Daniel gets into the back seat of his limo. As the car pulls out away from the kerb, he lowers the darkened window, leans out and waves. I wave back, until his car is lost in the traffic.
I fish my mobile out of my bag and text Owen: Lunch better than expected. Will tell you all tonight. Love you. xxx
I smile. Only a few more hours and I’ll be with him.
Still smiling, I head back to work.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Massive thanks to Hazel and the team at Accent Press, and to my editor, Caz.
And to all my writer friends who have been so generous with their advice and support.
And last but not least, to Guy, Joanne, David and Sara, for putting up with having a writer in the family, and of course, Iain, Laura and Marc.
Proudly published by Accent Press
www.accentpress.co.uk