My glance wandered to the luxurious king-size bed behind him. I bet Jean-Luc Ressier often entertained women here, once his daughter was safely tucked up in bed. Why not, after all? He was not only vastly wealthy and influential, but tremendously good-looking too. The man probably had women all over Paris, tripping over themselves to be the latest on his arm. It was probably the Cristal – good grief, the stuff was lethal to my inhibitions! – but I could not help wondering what he would be like in bed.
‘I’m glad you agreed to come to Paris,’ he said, raising his head. He met my eyes. ‘It felt like a real achievement when McDowell phoned me back to say you’d agreed.’
He had made the initial arrangements behind my back, in fact. But I did not correct him. ‘An achievement?’
‘You’re a very beautiful and talented singer. I wanted you here for Zena’s birthday concert, and I knew how difficult it was going to be to persuade your manager to approach you with the idea. Given your past association with Paris.’
I thought of the girl downstairs, struggling to breathe. ‘It was an honour to be asked.’
His smile disturbed me. For a moment I thought he would move closer, and was a little apprehensive but not entirely unhappy about that idea. That damn champagne again, working its dubious magic on my hormones. But then he seemed to shift deliberately into a different gear. ‘Bien, if you do not wish to use the bathroom, shall we go back downstairs? I imagine Dupont will have made some fresh coffee for us by now.’
I imagined us back in that room again, the candles, the wine, the soft music, Dupont pouring fragrant coffee into delicate bone-china cups …
‘I’m tired, actually,’ I told him, speaking out of some deep-buried instinct for self-preservation. My inner Brummie came out too, gabbling away inanely to cover my embarrassment. ‘It’s been great. Especially that dessert, oh my God. Give Serge my compliments. Heaven on a plate. He deserves a cookery medal or something. But it’s been a long day and I want to go back to my hotel now.’
Jean-Luc Ressier studied me silently, his hands in his pockets again.
For one breathless moment I thought he was planning to refuse. That he would keep me locked up forever in his remote French mansion, like a wicked magician in a fairy tale.
Which would make me the helpless princess, I realised. Not a role I particularly wanted to play.
Especially if it meant I could never leave here and go back to my very homely suite at the Hotel Meurice, with its heavy drapes and silk sheets and gloriously comfortable sofas with velvet-fringed cushions.
Then he nodded. ‘As you wish.’
‘Though I still need to pee,’ I said desperately, destroying all hope of a cool exit.
CHAPTER NINE
It was always slightly surreal, rehearsing to a vast empty arena, only Damian and a few technicians and other random people dotted about in the auditorium. Rehearsals were nothing like a live performance. There was no buzz, for a start, no excitement, no vibe, and the musicians kept stopping, mid-song, to ask about a chord change or suggest sound level adjustments on the amp or because a guitar string had broken.
In one of these frustrating breaks, Sasha fiddled with her mic stand in another attempt to get the height of her microphone right, then stared out past the white and blue glare of stage lighting to the raised seating at the back. Music always sounded different without thousands of warm, sweaty bodies jumping up and down in front of the stage, and today there was an odd echo on the mic when Lisette was singing. Like a ghostly version of her voice floating out a split-second after each note.
Lisette kicked her mic stand when it happened for the third time; it fell over with a clatter, and one of the stage hands ran across at once to pick it up for her.
‘For fuck’s sake, can’t anyone fix that? I sound like one of those bloody idiots who needs a backing track to be heard.’ Lisette glared across at Damian in the auditorium, but he wasn’t paying any attention, deep in conversation with some stranger, a man in a dark suit with a matching hat. ‘Is anyone even listening to me? What the hell is causing that echo?’
‘Little gremlins in the system,’ Simon suggested drily, dropping to his knees beside the amps and reaching round to check the wiring at the back. He winked over his shoulder at Lisette. ‘Thought you’d be used to hearing two of you by now. Being a twin and all.’
‘Oh, forget it.’ Lisette grabbed her leather jacket and stalked off-stage. ‘I’m going outside for a smoke. Someone call me when it’s sorted.’
Sasha turned uncertainly to watch her go, unsure whether or not she should follow.
‘Better give Lisette some private space, yes? That’s what she needs right now,’ Missie remarked huskily from behind her in the wings. ‘I know you twins. You go everywhere, do everything together. But maybe it’s not such a good thing every time.’
She clicked across the stage on insanely high heels, holding out Sasha’s blue cashmere jumper. ‘You left this in the dressing-room, darling.’
‘Thanks, Missie. I’m freezing my arse off out here.’ Sasha slipped the jumper over her head. It could get cold during rehearsals, standing about for hours in an unheated auditorium, even with the stage partially lit up. ‘You really sure Lisette will be okay?’
‘She’s going through a difficult time. She’ll get over it.’
The petite Russian seemed to be the only other person in their entourage who had noticed how oddly Lisette was behaving these days. Though Missie was clearly not as worried about the situation as Sasha. Perhaps she was used to that kind of prima donna behaviour in pop stars and had seen it all before.
‘I wish I knew what’s upsetting her.’
‘Men, darling. In this business, it’s always a man.’ Missie shook her head darkly, then shrugged and minced away again on her heels. ‘Well, it’s too cold out here for me. Look at my bloody nipples, they stick out like bullets. I see you in the dressing-room later, darling.’
‘Yeah, thanks. See you soon.’
But Sasha felt sure this sudden change in her sister’s behaviour was not solely down to the stress of celebrity, nor even to Damian and her splitting up, whatever Missie might believe.
Something else was wrong. If only she could get Lisette to talk about it …
She turned to look at Damian and the guy in the dark suit, but they had moved further into deep shadow and she could no longer see them properly. Just two dark shapes, head to head.
‘Try it now,’ Simon told her, standing up, and she spoke a few words into her mic.
‘That’s fine,’ one of the sound technicians said from the auditorium. ‘Now try Lisette’s mic, would you? That’s the one with the echo.’
She crossed to her sister’s mic and spoke into that as well. Someone on the lights panel must have switched on the spotlight above her, because she blinked as she looked out at the auditorium, momentarily dazzled by her a sudden halo of white light.
‘Testing, testing, one, two, three,’ she said, then tapped the mic twice for good measure.
There was a muttered conference below in the glare of lights, some of it in French, then someone shouted up, ‘Sorry, Sasha. Can you try that again? Maybe sing something this time?’
She glanced round for Jeff and the boys, but the musicians were not there. They must have gone for a break too. She took a deep breath and launched into the words of their new song without accompaniment.
She sang, ‘Never go back to where you came from. Never return to what you knew.’
The dry ice machine had been turned on, she realised. Its thick white smoke began curling along the stage towards her. Unaccountably nervous, she gripped the mic stand and stared out into darkness through the bright white haze of smoke.
The words to the song were suddenly incredibly important, as though she was only just hearing them for the first time as she sang.
Damian had come forward a few steps out of shadow; he was looking towards her, frowning. Then the man in the dark suit turned his head too, as though sea
rching for the singer …
She shivered again, despite the cashmere jumper. It was strange to be standing here alone, singing without Lisette’s husky voice alongside her own.
‘Never say, ‘Yes,’ and risk it going wrong,’ she continued, her voice strengthening to fill the arena. ‘Never let them get to you.’
‘Thanks, that’s perfect,’ Damian said, clapping his hands as she came to the end of the chorus. ‘Take fifteen, everyone.’
She made her way to the back door, expecting to find her sister still there, sitting on the metal steps down to the artists’ and staff car park and smoking a cigarette, as she had done every few hours since they arrived that morning. But Lisette had gone.
She stood at the top of the steps, shielded her eyes and looked across the city. Paris was not as large as London. She could see the top of the Eiffel Tower from there, its cast-iron framework hazy in the distance, and caught the occasional glitter of the Seine as it snaked between old French buildings and under vast, ornate bridges. The sun was low; it would be setting soon.
Hearing voices in the corridor behind her, she hurried back inside. The backstage corridors were all black, lit discreetly at intervals by fluorescent tubes, and the signs were in French. It had taken her the first hour to memorize the route from their dressing-rooms to the stage area, making Lisette laugh because she kept making mistakes, taking the wrong ramp and ending up on the floor below.
Now she hesitated, thinking, left or right?
‘Lost again?
She turned, startled. But it was only Damian, coming out of the shadows, his jacket slung over his shoulder.
He smiled. ‘Sorry, did I make you jump?’
‘No, it’s fine. I was looking for Lisette. But now I can’t remember … ’
‘I’ll show you.’ Damian held out a hand, his expression indulgent. ‘You want the dressing-rooms?’
She grinned and took his hand. ‘Yeah, thanks.’
‘You kids.’
‘Hey, hardly a kid.’
He laughed. ‘Okay, fair enough.’
Sasha followed Damian through the backstage area until they reached the dressing-rooms. ‘Thanks,’ she told him again at the door. ‘You want to speak to Lisette?’
He hesitated, his look suddenly awkward. ‘Maybe not right now. We had a row.’
‘So make it up. No time like the present.’
Damian smiled, but shook his head. ‘Later, perhaps. You two are going out together after the show tonight, aren’t you? So I’ll catch Lisette when you get back. No hurry.’
She was not sure leaving it so long was a good idea. But it was their relationship, not hers. And she hated it when Lisette interfered with her own friends.
‘Okay, whatever.’
She gave her manager a little wave, watching thoughtfully as he walked away. She liked Damian, even if it had become a bit awkward since he started up an affair with her sister.
Suddenly Sasha frowned.
Where the corridor bent out of sight, she had caught a brief impression of movement. Narrowing her eyes in the gloom, she recognised the man in the dark suit again, standing in a shadowy doorway. He was leaning on the wall as though waiting for someone, his head turned towards her, hands in his trouser pockets.
It was a casual pose, but there was a tension about him too. As though he were poised to respond at any moment to some unknown threat.
She still could not see his face. He was wearing a hat, tipped forward on his head, and besides, had drawn too far back into shadow for her to see him clearly. But there was something about his presence that made her uncomfortable. She knew all the security guys on their detail. This man was not one of them. But it must be okay for him to be backstage; she had seen Damian talking to him during rehearsals, hadn’t she?
Turning away, Sasha slipped inside the cheerful warmth and light of her dressing-room. Lisette was sitting in front of the mirror with a distinct pout on her face, leaning forward to examine the ring of dark shadows under her eyes.
She smiled brightly across at her sister. ‘Hey, how are you doing?’
Lisette raised her chin but said nothing, acting as though Sasha were not there.
She decided not to mention the man in the dark suit. It would only freak her sister out and that was the last thing they needed right now. But as she got changed, she felt strangely on edge herself, knowing that a stranger was hanging around out there.
Who was that creepy man?
And why the hell was he lurking outside their door?
CHAPTER TEN
To my relief, Damian kept me busy while I was back in Paris. Too busy focused on the present moment to dwell on the past, or his strangely threatening comment. I remember what you said, that you never wanted to talk about it again. Instead of constantly worrying what ‘it’ was, there were some wonderful distractions on hand. High-profile photo shoots in chic French studios, visits to haute couture houses for clothing acquisitions and – of course – more photo opportunities, a few drop-in calls to other recording artists, followed by the usual French television, news and radio interviews.
After that flurry of activity, Friday was spent in a less stressful manner. I went shopping again in the morning. Les Galeries Lafayette, as always. ‘De rigueur for a trip to Paris,’ Missie said, sniffing the air with satisfaction as we entered the vast, multi-level store. Clothes, make-up and the perfume department.
In the afternoon was a beauty salon visit for nails, waxing, and a relaxing facial, followed by a fabulous whole-body, fingertip massage that left me floating in heaven, every bone melting.
I also rang Nan at the home, and spoke to her for ten minutes with the help of her nurse, though it was quite a one-sided conversation. I didn’t tell her I was in Paris, as I felt the reminder would only serve to upset her, and she wouldn’t understand anyway.
I had assumed Friday evening would be spent resting in the suite, ready for tomorrow’s big concert. But Damian had other plans for us.
He dropped by the suite at ten o’clock, by which time I was already in my night clothes – thin cotton shorts and a vest top to deal with the snug environment of a city hotel – and suggested an impromptu appearance at a top Parisian night club.
I let Damian into the sitting room of my suite, but stared, arms folded, at his request that I get dressed again and accompany him out into the night.
‘Are you kidding? After the week I’ve just had?’ I checked the time on the mantel clock. ‘We wouldn’t be back until the early hours. I need to rest before the concert tomorrow.’
‘I’ll get you back for midnight. Maybe a tiny bit later.’ Damian gave me his best pleading look. ‘Come on, Sasha. This isn’t like you.’
‘Sorry?’
His eyes narrowed on my face, his mouth thinning to a flat line. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’
‘No, actually, I don’t.’
‘The old you would have been up for it. Party, party, party. Nothing was ever too much. All night, all day – ’
‘I think your memory’s playing tricks on you. That sounds more like Lisette. Not me.’
He looked at me for a moment without speaking, then made a face. ‘Is that so? Well, silly me. What a mistake to make.’ He shook his head. ‘Christ, the games you play … ’
I studied him, unsure what he meant and a little nervous.
I remember what you said, that you never wanted to talk about it again.
My heart began to pound erratically.
‘Just get dressed, would you?’ He turned away, getting out his phone. ‘I’ve arranged for the car to be at the front in half an hour.’ He punched the screen, then put the phone to his ear, ignoring my protests. ‘Missie? Come to Sasha’s suite, would you? We’re going out. She needs hair, make-up, one of those new outfits from today … Yes, the whole works. And don’t complain, this is what you’re paid for.’
Then he ended the call, and strode to the suite door. ‘Don’t mess me about, Sasha. I’m not in the mood
for it.’
‘Damian, for God’s sake!’ I followed him to the door, struggling to contain my temper. ‘Don’t ever talk to me like that again. Or Missie. You’re my manager, not my boss, and you’re certainly not her boss either.’ I put a hand to my mouth, feeling myself tremble. ‘I’m so sick of this.’
He whirled, glaring at me. ‘Sick of what?’
‘Your crazy behaviour.’
‘You’re accusing me of being crazy?’ His laughter was harsh. ‘Take a look in the mirror, Sasha.’
‘What does that mean?’
But he refused to elaborate. He made a rough gesture instead and left the suite without another word, slamming the door after him.
I stared at the shut door so long and with such fierce concentration that I didn’t even realise someone was ringing the suite bell until it had buzzed several times. Then I fumbled with the door handle and let Missie in, who looked at me with consternation.
‘Are you okay, Sasha? What’s happened?’
I couldn’t answer her, not really being sure myself.
‘Oh my God, what does that nasty man do to my poor Sasha now?’ Clucking under her breath, Missie guided me gently to a sofa, pushing me down amongst the soft cushions even though I was resisting her. ‘No, you must sit, sit, sit.’ She rubbed my hands energetically as though they were cold, her wide gaze fixed on my face. ‘You want that I call a doctor?’
‘What?’
‘You’re shaking, dearest. Shaking so hard.’
‘Oh.’
‘Did he hit you?’
Shocked by that question, I stared up into her flushed face. Missie was angry on my behalf, I realised. Concerned too.
‘No, of course not.’
‘I call a doctor anyway.’ She dragged her phone out of the pocket of her generous harem trousers. ‘You need something, poor darling. Pills. Therapy. I don’t know what.’
‘No, no …’ I stopped her, getting up off the sofa. ‘I lost my temper, that’s all.’ I concentrated on controlling my shaking, on getting myself back on track. It had been a difficult week, that was all. ‘Damian’s right. I need to get out to the clubs and be seen. This trip could break me out internationally.’
Lie For You Page 8