by Karen Clarke
‘It’s lovely,’ I said to Simon, but he only grunted and snapped off his seatbelt, as if he regretted being nearly civil to me earlier. ‘Shall I wait here?’ Now we’d arrived, I was oddly reluctant to get out of the car. What if Jay wasn’t here and this was where Simon was planning to hold me hostage? I knew nothing about him, other than that he was fiercely loyal to Jay. This could be Simon’s place – although, knowing how expensive property was here, I doubted he’d be able to afford it. Unless Jay had bought it for him. It wouldn’t be surprising, considering how he felt about helping people, especially those closest to him.
‘Are you going to stay there all night?’
Simon’s voice jolted me. He’d come round to open the car door and was giving me a stranger look than usual. ‘Maybe you could let Jay know I’m here and he can tell me if it’s OK to come in,’ I said, smoothing the wrinkles out of my top, wishing I’d had time to get changed. I was wearing the same outfit I’d had on that morning, but then again, if this was a hostage situation, my clothes were the least of my worries.
‘I’m not planning to keep you here against your will,’ said Simon, as if he’d read my mind. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t be hanging around.’
‘I’m not worried,’ I lied, flushing to the roots of my hair. Oh God, my hair. I wanted to take out my compact mirror (an urge I’d never had until yesterday) and check that I looked respectable, but not with Simon watching my every move. Instead, I climbed out onto the white shingle drive, my legs as unsteady as if I’d been on a roller coaster, and tried to inspect my appearance in the window as we approached the front door. I looked tiny behind Mount Simon, but although my hair looked vaguely the right shape, I couldn’t make out any details – which was probably just as well.
Simon knocked, the same four sharp raps he’d made on the hotel-room door (was it only that morning?) and turned a brass key in the latch. ‘We’re here,’ he called, stepping over the threshold, and I wanted to snigger. He was like a husband, back from the office, but without a briefcase or any social graces. ‘You there?’
There was silence from within and I’d just dug my hand in my bag to retrieve my phone, trying to remember the number for the police, when I heard Jay call from a long way off, ‘Come in!’
Relief swept over me when Simon stepped back. He gestured for me to go past with a sarcastic twirl of his hand.
‘Sure you don’t want to search me?’ I said, my sudden giddiness tinged with guilt that I’d doubted his motives. ‘I could be packing a weapon.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’ He eyed my bag as if it might contain a revolver. ‘Jay trusts you.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘I don’t trust anyone where he’s concerned.’
‘Maybe you need to get over that.’
‘Maybe I will.’
‘Good.’
‘Good.’
A subtle alteration around his eyes suggested he might be close to cracking a smile, but it didn’t make it to his mouth. Though it was hard to tell inside the giant beard. ‘I’ll be back for you later,’ he said and headed towards the car.
Grinning, I closed the door and turned to look at my surroundings. I was in an airy, white-and-wood kitchen, which opened onto a large sitting room with oak floorboards, a tasteful grey sofa and contemporary paintings on the walls. At the far end of the room, a pair of patio doors stood open, leading to a sun-filled terrace. As I made to move towards them, Jay came striding in.
‘Simon gone?’
‘Yes,’ I said, willing my heart to calm down before it burst out of my chest.
‘I’m glad you came.’ He stopped in front of me, smelling deliciously of woodsmoke and a subtle, spicy scent that made my senses reel. ‘I didn’t want to presume you had nothing better to do, but… I don’t know.’ He ran a hand over his hair, his sheepish smile yanking at my already overworked heart. ‘After you’d gone this morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and when I came back to the hotel and realised you’d left your bike, I thought I’d take a chance and invite you to see the cottage, but I don’t have a phone, or your number, so…’ he paused and I realised he was nervous. Jay Merino was nervous. I had to stop thinking of him as Jay Merino instead of just Jay.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, relaxing a fraction. ‘I was only going for a walk, to have a think about our, er, interview this morning. My dad brought a date home and I couldn’t face hanging out with them.’
Jay pulled a comical face. ‘What was she like?’
I gave him a rundown, playing up the language mismatch, and he doubled over, laughing. ‘I wouldn’t have minded hanging around there, it sounds like comedy gold.’
A small silence fell as we discreetly assessed each other. He was casually dressed in black jeans with a plain, grey T-shirt and looked more approachable somehow; like someone I could have met at a bar, rather than an out-of-reach, mega-famous actor.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t have time to get changed,’ I said, self-conscious under his gaze. ‘I promise I do have more than one pair of jeans.’
‘You’ve nothing to apologise for. I like the way you look.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Sorry, that sounded too much.’
I laughed too, because it was so unlikely. Maybe he preferred the natural look and the women he met were too groomed, but whatever the reason, I believed him. ‘It’s just as well,’ I said. ‘I don’t own any designer outfits, and my hairdresser’s given up trying to sort out this mess.’ I flicked at my hair, thinking, why draw attention to it, you idiot?
‘Your hair’s lovely.’ Reaching out, he tucked a strand behind my ear, and it was such a gentle and intimate gesture, I felt as if I couldn’t breathe for a moment.
‘I’d like to say the same about yours, but honestly, it’s still a bit too short.’ I couldn’t believe I’d said it, but he laughed as though it was the funniest thing he’d heard in ages.
‘My mum says the same,’ he said, resting his hand on the wooden kitchen counter. ‘She looks at photos of me when I was younger, when it was long and wavy, and says she laments the day I had it cut.’
‘She actually said “laments”?’
His eyes crinkled. ‘She did.’
‘You can grow it back once you retire.’
‘I’ve already started. I might grow it down to my waist.’ He rubbed the back of his head. ‘Only another three weeks of filming and then I’m done.’
My heart jerked. ‘You’re here for three weeks?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ His mouth turned down. ‘Budapest next, then Hong Kong, then I’ll visit home for a few days and come back here.’
Our eyes locked. Did he mean… he was coming back because I was here? No, of course he didn’t. He was talking about the cottage. Obviously. He had a home here now. ‘It’s lovely,’ I said, tearing my gaze from his to look around, trying to ignore the wings flapping in my stomach. ‘Was it like this when you bought it?’
‘Pretty much.’ He followed my gaze. ‘The paintings are my mum’s,’ he said with a hint of pride. ‘She took up art therapy as part of her recovery after Sonny died, and unlocked a hidden talent.’
‘Wow, they’re good.’ I wasn’t usually a fan of abstract art, but could see they were from the heart, and the colours – great sweeps of blue and grey – were somehow calming.
‘The place needs personalising a bit more, but that’s something I can sort out down the line.’ He smiled. ‘For now, I’m just glad to have somewhere to call my own, where I can be myself. No one here cares who I am.’
I care. ‘Well, thank you for inviting me,’ I said, suddenly wondering why he’d invited me. ‘Did you want to continue the interview? Jay Merino at home.’ I struck a pose, leaning against the worktop. ‘It’s a bit more Hello! magazine than Magnifique.’
He grimaced. ‘Definitely no more interviews. I invited you here because I wanted to see you and to cook you dinner,’ he said simply.
‘Oh.’ I managed not to clap my hands to my cheeks like a star-struck fan
. ‘That’s… thank you.’
‘When I say cook, I mean barbecue,’ he added with grin. ‘I’ve not had much opportunity yet to hone my cooking skills.’
‘Well, it sounds great.’ My stomach gave an obliging growl. ‘I thought I could smell something smoky.’
‘I was getting it going when I heard Simon,’ he said. ‘That’s why I didn’t come in right away.’
‘Do you want a hand?’
‘You can come out and keep me company and have a glass of wine,’ he said. ‘With any luck, there’ll be a nice sunset soon.’
An inner voice was crying OH. MY. GOD! but outwardly, I smiled modestly and said, ‘A sunset should always be shared.’
‘So true.’ He thought for a second. ‘Sunsets are proof that even bad days can end beautifully.’
‘Today’s been a bad day?’
He laughed. ‘That’s what you took from my stolen quote?’
My cheeks turned to fire. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s a beautiful quote.’
‘Today’s been a good day and it’s definitely going to end beautifully.’ His eyes held mine until I thought I might combust. ‘You’re not vegetarian, are you?’
Fourteen
I completely lost track of the next few hours. After I had assured Jay I didn’t just eat vegetables, he led me outside to a balconied terrace with a clear view across flat green fields to the sea. The sun had tinged the sky apricot and the air was soft and full of competing scents – specifically, mimosa and barbecued meat.
Jay confessed that Simon had shopped for the ingredients, but only because he hadn’t had time himself. ‘I hate letting people do things for me, but it won’t be for much longer,’ he said. ‘I fully intend to do my own shopping in future.’
‘You might have got more used to being looked after than you realise.’
‘Believe me, Natalie, I haven’t,’ he said, looking at ease as he flipped a thick burger, his brow lightly furrowed with concentration. ‘I know actors often say they’ve never forgotten their roots and where they came from, but I can promise you, hand on heart, I haven’t.’
‘That doesn’t mean you want to still be that person.’
He considered this for a moment. ‘I often hated my circumstances, but never myself,’ he said. ‘I always found ways to be happy, even when things were really bad.’
‘Like watching a sunset?’ I teased, sitting at the table he’d dressed with silver cutlery and a fat candle in a jar, feeling as if I could stay here forever as I relaxed more and more in his company, helped along by the glass of fruity red wine he’d poured, and which I’d drunk too quickly.
‘Yeah, something like that.’ He gave me a lazy smile that made my heart trip. It kept happening. We’d chat for a while about ordinary things while we ate and drank, exchanging stories about growing up (he had some happy memories despite the tough times), laughing as we discovered things we had in common (loved Brussels sprouts, hated being cold, hadn’t watched Game of Thrones), then he’d give me a look that made my breathing falter. It was so different to anything I’d experienced in the past. I had a comfortable friendship with Charlie, and with Matt… well, we’d had more differences than similarities. He often used to say, why are you like this? and it wasn’t until after we’d broken up that I’d realised, if he’d had to ask, he couldn’t be right for me.
It was hard to fathom that Jay might feel the same way I did, but when he refilled my plate and handed it back and our fingers brushed, I could tell from his startled look that he’d experienced the same fizz of electricity I’d felt, from my fingertips to my toes.
‘Funny how we have fingertips, but not toetips,’ I jabbered, trying to gloss over my reaction to his touch. ‘Yet we can tiptoe but not tipfinger.’
‘What are you talking about, you mad woman?’ Jay’s look of baffled amusement almost made me snort out a mouthful of wine.
‘I’ve no idea.’ I broke down in helpless giggles.
Jay laughed softly, his eyes not leaving my (probably ruddy) face, then he reached over, removed my glass from my hand and pulled me to my feet. ‘I’m having the best time,’ he said, his forehead touching mine. ‘I’m so glad you threw yourself at me.’
‘Me too,’ I murmured, eyes level with his mouth, and before I could process what was happening, his lips were on mine, gently exploring at first, then building in intensity, his arms wrapping tightly around me. There was no hesitation this time, no pulling away and leaving – just more kissing that felt like it might go on forever, and I slid my arms round his neck, feeling a volley of fireworks go off in my chest. The kiss grew tender as Jay cupped my face in his palms, sweeping his thumb over my cheek, and when our mouths pulled apart, I had to lean against him or I’d have fallen over.
‘Did you hear the fireworks?’ he murmured into my hair. ‘Do you think they were going off for us?’
A giggle broke free. ‘I thought I’d imagined that,’ I confessed, turning my face up, stomach clenching when I saw my desire reflected in his eyes. ‘What’s going on here, Jay?’
‘I don’t know, but I like it.’ The hoarse catch in his voice made me feel light-headed and, for a moment, I thought my knees would buckle with the enormity of what was happening.
‘I like it too,’ I whispered.
‘I felt bad for leaving you the way I did that night, but I wasn’t ready...’
‘Ssh.’ I placed my fingers against his lips. ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘You didn’t break my heart or anything.’
His laugh was laced with regret. ‘I’m glad to hear it, I think.’
‘Maybe it was meant to be this way.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
We drew apart and studied each other, and I had a sense that the world had changed, that there was a different feel to the air – and sensed he felt it too.
‘We’ve missed the sunset,’ he said, and I tilted my head to see that the sky was charcoal, and the world had narrowed to the two of us on the terrace, lit by the flickering candle on the table and a smouldering glow from the barbecue.
‘There’ll be other sunsets.’ It sounded like a cheesy line from a film – not Maximum Force – but Jay smiled, as if he thought so too, and I wondered how I could feel so in tune with someone I barely knew. Except – it felt as though I did know him. As if we understood each other. Which was clearly silly after such a short time, and probably due to the wine I’d drunk heightening my emotions, and to being a very long way from my normal routine.
‘What’s for dessert then?’ I said, to avoid doing something silly like dragging him off to the bedroom (not that I knew where it was) but before he could reply, four sharp raps on the door reverberated through the house.
‘Simon’s got a really loud knock,’ I said.
‘It’s his massive hands,’ Jay replied, and this struck us as so hilarious that we laughed for what seemed like ages, until Simon knocked more loudly and we heard him bellow, ‘I’m coming through,’ as if we needed rescuing from bears.
‘Out here, Si,’ Jay called, and by the time Simon materialised in the doorway, after flicking on the overhead light inside, Jay and I were sitting opposite each other, holding a wine glass each, smiling inanely, as though we’d been discussing the view.
Simon looked at me suspiciously, then at Jay’s half-empty glass, as if I might have laced it with venom like a villain in one of his films. ‘You told me to come back at ten,’ he said to Jay.
‘Thanks, mate.’ It was obvious from the friendly grin he gave Simon that theirs was an equal friendship, and not the master/butler arrangement it appeared to be on the surface. ‘All good at the hotel?’
‘Quiet.’ Simon’s voice grew more conversational. ‘Everyone was knackered after today and Brian flipped at Susie when she said she wanted to get pis… drunk at the bar.’ It was easy to picture the director losing his temper, less so to imagine Susie Houlihan taking it lying down, but I was probably mixing her up with her character, Nova. ‘Remember there’s a 5 a.m. start in
the morning.’
Jay groaned. ‘I can’t wait to have a lie-in,’ he said, rubbing his face. Our eyes briefly met and I wondered whether – like me – he was picturing a lot more happening in bed than sleeping.
‘Hey, I never got to see your room.’ I regretted my loaded tone when Simon visibly tensed. I shouldn’t have had that third glass of wine.
‘I’m sorry, I meant to give you a tour,’ Jay said, unfurling from his chair. ‘We got a bit distracted.’
‘We did indeedy.’ I caught the appalled look that Simon threw Jay. ‘Oh, lighten up, you big muffin.’ I giggled. ‘He’s so grumpy.’ I thumbed my nose and blew a raspberry, but Simon still looked dead behind the eyes. ‘Doesn’t he ever smile?’
‘Believe it or not, he does.’ Jay slapped him gently on the back before holding his hands out to me. ‘I think it’s past your bedtime,’ he said, gently. ‘And it’s definitely past mine.’
‘Had enough of me already?’
‘Definitely not.’ His eyes glinted. ‘But Simon’s right, I’ve an early start and I’m rubbish without enough sleep.’
‘I admire your dedication to your work, sir.’ My pompous tone made him smile.
‘Why thank you, ma’am.’
‘I can clear up here, if you want to take her home.’ Simon sounded less annoyed than I might have expected. ‘Unless…’ he nodded at the bottle of wine.
‘I’ve only had one,’ said Jay, and I felt a twinge of shame that I appeared to be drunk. I was a complete lightweight with alcohol. ‘Come on, you.’
By the time I’d fluttered my fingers goodbye at Simon and thanked him for bringing me over, and Jay – at my insistence – had shown me the rest of the cottage (which I barely took in, other than noticing the bed looked comfy, the shower inviting, and there were photos of his mum and brother around that I wished I’d looked at earlier), I felt sober enough to enjoy every second of the drive back to Chamillon, cocooned in the car with Jay, rock ballads playing on the radio as the night outside flashed by. Every now and then, he turned to look at me and smile (perhaps checking I hadn’t fallen out of the car). I smiled back goofily and wished our destination was further away.