London Celebrity @LondonCelebrity. 3h
Are things over between Richard Troy and Elaine Graham? Actress looks grim as more details emerge of Troy’s dodgy past...goo.gl/2D5Gk8
This was, no doubt, the place in the script where Lainie was supposed to take to her bed, sobbing out her broken heart into a carton of ice cream. She had taken that option when Will had fractured her pride.
She wasn’t letting go of Richard so easily.
After a terrible night’s sleep, she got up on Monday morning and put on one of her favourite outfits. As a little confidence boost to start the day, a flattering jumper ranked dismally below a naked, sleepy cuddle with Richard.
Her bed smelled like his cologne. He’d left a shoot-’em-up spy novel on her coffee table. Her chocolate biscuit supply was suspiciously depleted. His presence was all over her flat.
Stuck fast in her heart.
She had left Bob’s office, a hundred years ago, in a complete strop because she was going to have to put up with Richard Troy out of work hours. And he had changed her life—in every way—for the better.
She had to fix this.
God. She hoped she could fix this. Because if not—
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t think about that.
She rang Sarah before her sister-in-law left for work. “You’re a subcommittee member for the Literary Society,” she said, without any preliminaries, and Sarah yawned. Lainie heard the sound of clinking china and cereal falling into a bowl.
“Good morning to you too. Was that a question or an accusation? Yes, I am, for my sins. Why? Do you need a book rec? I’ve heard good things about the new Booker Prize winner.”
“And the Literary Society occasionally attends the same events as the Royal Society of the Performing Arts, yes?”
“Again, yes. Unfortunately, I do associate from time to time with the RSPA and the giant stick up their collective derrieres. I repeat: why?”
“I need contact details for the current president of the RSPA. I’ve already tried online. It’s like looking for info on the Secret Service.”
There was a pause and a crunch while Sarah ate a mouthful of her breakfast. “I imagine I can find out for you. Do I want to know what you’re up to?”
“I just...” Lainie stared into her untouched cup of tea. She couldn’t break. She wouldn’t. This was too important. This was the rest of her life. “I need to put something right.”
“I see.” Sarah hesitated. “Didn’t you say Richard was angling for the next chair of the RSPA?”
“Yes. He was. Is.” Lainie sighed and shoved back a loose strand of hair. “Long, ugly story. I’ll fill you in when I know how it’s going to turn out.”
Well. Let it turn out well.
“I’ll hold you to that. Hang on a tick. I’ll make a few calls and get back to you.”
Armed with an address from an amused Sarah, who said it was all jolly fun, really, like a spy film, Lainie splurged and took a taxi to Mayfair. She still had a few hours before she had to be at the theatre for a rehearsal with the other three principals.
Which at this stage was shaping up to be a right barrel of laughs. Will had left two messages on her phone. He’d sounded drunk in the first one and sulkily defensive in the second. She’d deleted them both, cutting him off halfway through an inadequate apology. She’d tried to call Richard, but his phone was off. The landline at his house had rung eight times before a breathless woman had picked up, sounding as if she’d either run up the stairs or been interrupted midorgasm. Fortunately for all of them, she had identified herself as Richard’s housekeeper, thus saving her boss from castration.
No, Mrs. Hunt was sorry, but Richard wouldn’t be available all morning. He was meeting with his agent and a PR team.
Ominous.
Lainie stared bleakly out the car window. As usual, it was raining. The weather was so wet and foggy that she couldn’t even tell where they were for most of the journey. She tried to pick out familiar shops and landmarks, keeping her mind directly in the present, refusing to let it wander down dangerous alleyways that made her stomach feel hollow with anxiety.
Jeremy Steinman, the current president of the RSPA, was a retired barrister who lived in a block of mansion flats. Fortunately, he was at home. She had very little patience for anything else going wrong today. A tall, handsome man in his late sixties, he eyed her with twinkling curiosity as they shook hands. “Not that I’m not gratified to receive a visit from a reigning princess of the London stage,” he said, smiling, “but to what do I owe the unexpected honour?”
Lainie hadn’t really thought this through. She had just needed to do...something. Losing Will had led to an embarrassing, wallowing period of self-pity. Losing Richard was unacceptable. Ditto to treading all over his life goal.
This, at least, she could try to put right.
Her intention had been to assess the situation when she arrived and could see for herself what type of man Steinman was. If he was another Westfield, the mission was futile.
He was not another Westfield. Steinman’s brown eyes were clear and kind. There was a gentlemanly dignity in the way that he regarded her. She put the chances of his groping her knee across the coffee table at zero.
She had come prepared to leave her own dignity at the door, to schmooze and network and be horribly fake if she had to. After a few minutes of conversation with Steinman, she decided to just be honest. Accepting his invitation, she sat down on a comfortable chair and she told him about their abbreviated dinner party with Westfield the night before. The way the other man had acted toward her, his parting sally to Richard, and the apparent ruination of Richard’s chances at succeeding Steinman.
“I’m aware it’s not very pretty behaviour on my part either,” she said bluntly, nervously crossing her feet at the ankles. “Coming here to tell tales. But it’s unfair if this is the reason Richard loses his nomination. I don’t know if he’s the lead contender.” She paused, but Steinman’s face remained imperturbable. “But he should have his chance. He’s ambitious and...well, atrociously rude at times, but he gets things done and he has integrity.”
She didn’t think it necessary to add the unspoken: “Unlike some people.”
Her decision to accost Steinman felt disastrously impulsive as he regarded her in silence. At last, he smiled ruefully and said, “Troy’s a lucky man.” He sobered. “First of all, I sincerely apologise to you, Miss Graham, on behalf of the Society, for last night’s disgraceful behaviour. It will not be swept under the rug. And I’m not at liberty to comment on the pending decision regarding my successor, but I assure you that Troy will not be blackballed through the prejudice of one member. Regardless of the position that person currently occupies on the committee.”
She got the impression that Steinman wasn’t the biggest fan of his veep either. Perhaps that was why he was stepping down.
Lainie didn’t particularly want a cup of coffee, but she accepted Steinman’s pleasant offer and stayed for almost an hour, chatting about a number of current plays and art exhibitions. It seemed less melodramatic than marching into his house, pointing an accusing finger and storming out again a few minutes later.
Halfway home on the bus, she changed her mind and switched to the route for the theatre district. She felt too antsy to lie around the flat. She would rather go early to work and rope someone into reading lines with her. Might as well earn a few goodwill points with Bennett while she was at a loose end.
She was relieved to find only a few tourists outside the side door of the Metronome. She paused for autographs and selfies, produced a Mona Lisa smile and noncommittal answer in response to questions about Richard, and headed straight for her dressing room. A team of builders were doing spot repairs on the upper floors, and she was grateful to get away from the noise. Her mood was precarious enough without constant hammering and drilling.
Sitting down at her vanity, Lainie checked her watch. Too early for Meghan to arrive yet. She wondered if Margaret was around.
She had been sitting there for less than thirty seconds when the door opened again without warning. “Before you chuck that at my head,” Will said, nodding at the powder compact she held in her hand, “hear me out.”
Lainie’s fingers tightened until her knuckles bleached white. “Get out.”
“No.” Will’s face was pale. He leaned back against the door as if anticipating her next move. “Listen.”
“You listen.” Lainie rose to her feet, so angry with him she was shaking. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing.” She let out a half laugh, half sigh. “And I mean that literally. I don’t know what you thought were going to achieve.”
“I don’t know either!” Will burst out. He shoved a hand through his usually impeccable hair, and the gesture was so reminiscent of Richard that Lainie caught her breath. “I don’t know,” he repeated more quietly. He grimaced. “I was pissed. In every meaning of the word. The paps were there, and it just...”
“Slipped out?” Lainie suggested with biting irony.
“Would it help if I said again I was sorry?”
“I’m hardly the one who needs an apology.”
“Well, I’m not apologising to bloody Troy!”
Lainie suddenly felt very tired. “No, I didn’t expect you would.”
Will reached out and touched her arm. “Lainie...”
She pushed his hand aside. “No. It wouldn’t help if you said you were sorry, because you aren’t. Not really. I can only assume this is exactly what you wanted to happen. I just hope you didn’t think I would turn to you for comfort after Richard performed on cue and dropped me like a hot brick.”
“I told you,” he muttered, flushing. “I wasn’t thinking at all.”
“That, at least, sounds plausible.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s ended it?”
Lainie didn’t reply, and he shrugged. “It’s for the best.”
“Thank you for that unbiased take on the situation,” she said sarcastically. “I don’t recall asking for a quote from you.”
“Lainie, would you just—”
She cut off his exasperated rejoinder. “For the rest of this contract, I will love you and die for you on that stage. But when the curtain comes down, that’s it. We have nothing left to say to each other.”
A sense of the dramatic wasn’t the sole prerogative of the men around here.
She fiercely shook her head when he began to protest. “No. Seriously, how could you? How fucking dare you go public with something you knew was private and...and hurtful? Not just to him. To me, as well. After everything you’ve done already. We are so done, Will.”
He took a few deep breaths. Then he turned abruptly and left, closing the door behind him.
Lainie sank back down on the vanity stool and closed her eyes. For long moments, she just sat. She had been intimate with Will. Not only in bed, but in spending time alone together, in touching, in kissing, in conversation, she had shared part of herself with him. She hadn’t loved him, but she had liked him. She’d been attracted to him.
Now that feeling seemed so negligible she could no longer recognise that version of herself. The Lainie of even a few months ago was a stranger past and gone, a girl who’d had no idea how much she was compromising.
The woman she was now knew what she wanted—and she intended to have him. She would pit her personality against his any day.
But he had a right to be seriously pissed. And she knew him. Even on his best day, Richard couldn’t be described as charitably forgiving. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
At noon, she heard the sounds of more cast and crew arriving, but she suspected Richard would make a point of being even later than usual today.
Her surmise was correct—they were already ten minutes into the main stage rehearsal by the time he turned up. He ignored Bennett’s tantrum and seamlessly inserted himself into the scene. Lainie watched him out of the corner of her eye as she ran through her dialogue with Chloe. He looked tired. It was one of the few areas in which men were shortchanged by social mores: no camouflaging makeup unless they were in full costume. She had slathered about half a bottle of concealer over her own dark rings.
He was in an absolutely foul mood, as well. Even Bennett seemed mild-mannered by comparison. By the end of the first act and Richard’s fourth sarcastic outburst, whispering broke out among the crew. Onstage, Will was tight-lipped, and the usually patient Chloe was beginning to look a bit frazzled around the edges. Lainie remained stoically unmoved, aided by the fact that Richard’s temper was never directed at her. He had reverted to his previous habit of ignoring her existence.
With an annoyed look at Richard, Bennett called an intermission. “Do I look like a bleeding nanny to anyone here? If you’re going to keep tossing your toys out of the playpen, Troy,” he said nastily, “we can find you somewhere else to play.”
Richard wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist and drained a bottle of water. He didn’t bother to acknowledge the dig.
Muttering under his breath, Will brushed past him, and Richard fixed him with a level, chilling stare. He didn’t speak, however, and Will continued into the wings with one backwards, slightly uneasy glance.
Chloe played with the ends of her chic pixie cut and looked uncertainly from Lainie to Richard. “Do you want to come and get a coffee with me?” she asked Lainie, who smiled at her.
“Thanks. Maybe later.”
Chloe’s eyes went to Richard again. He was adjusting the strapping around the handle of his sword with jerky movements. “Okay,” she said dubiously, and disappeared in the same direction as Will.
Lainie walked over to Richard’s side and deliberately let her arm brush against his shoulder. He clenched his jaw under the thick growth of stubble. “In the interests of my new open-book policy, you should know that I had coffee and shortbread with Jeremy Steinman this morning.”
Frosty veneer shattered on the first try. She allowed herself a tiny, satisfied smile when he turned on her. “You did what?” His glare was incredulous. “Where did you meet Steinman?”
“We bumped into each other in the pyjama section of Primark. We’re both really into the onesie this year.” Lainie rolled her eyes. “I met him in his lounge. When I went to his flat.”
“You went to...” Words seemed to fail Richard for a moment. The man had so much to learn about her yet. “How did you even know where he lives?”
“I have my methods, Watson.” Steeling her spine against his hostility, Lainie bent down and picked up his spare water bottle. He was big on hydration. Cracking the seal on the lid, she opened it and took a sip. “He was very nice. It’s heartening to know that the RSPA doesn’t turn all of its members into handsy, middle-aged perverts. I can stop worrying about your future.”
Richard firmly removed the water bottle from her grip. “Get your own drink. Why did you call on Steinman?”
“To tell him about his VP’s idea of a postprandial nightcap.” Lainie flicked a speck of fluff from her jumper. She closed her fist when she saw that her fingers were unsteady. “And to provide you with a character reference in case he was under the impression that you’re an impatient, irresponsible, sarky git. Which is only partly true.”
“We are in a chipper mood today.” The observation was cold.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Lainie’s smile was nothing less than the raising of a metaphorical blade. Pure challenge. And no one was seeing through it to the insidious little ribbon of fear underneath. Because she was a damn good actress. Even Richard had said so, in a roundabout, somewhat half-assed way. “You were totally right yesterday.”
Richard’s eyes had narrowed. He merely raised an eyebrow in response, conceding no further advantage.
“You have no idea what you’ve let yourself in for.”
Bennett came slamming back into the stalls from the administration offices, and she turned to resume her position on the stage. “By the way,” she said, looking over her shoulder, “you were also wrong yesterday.”
He remained entirely still.
“We’ve never pretended with each other, you and I.”
From Bennett’s perspective, the second act rehearsal was as disastrous as the first. Richard had stopped behaving like a first-class grump, but now seemed distracted. For the first time in their entire run, he had to be prompted on a missed line, which at least had the effect of shaking him out of his trance. The prompt received scant appreciation for her help when he scowled fiercely at her.
And the love scene between Lainie and Will, always awkward for at least one of the participants, now had the effect of making everyone in the vicinity uncomfortable, for one reason or another. Will almost kissed Lainie’s chin instead of her mouth; his eyes kept straying to the dark, dangerous presence over her shoulder. Richard’s hand tightened around his tankard with such force that the handle cracked and a grip had to run for a spare. Chloe’s gaze kept darting anxiously between the three of them.
It was with utter disgust that Bennett called an end to the run-through. “But don’t think you’re going anywhere. And get me a coffee,” he snapped at Margaret, who rolled her eyes as she walked away. “We’ll have an understudy rehearsal of the second act, so we can all compare performances and wonder why the fuck the four of you are receiving principal pay. At three o’clock, we’ll take another stab at the final four scenes. Endeavour to make them less of a travesty. Tonight’s audience paid to see a Bennett production, not a free-for-all at the local kindergarten.”
Lainie followed Chloe into the wings, grateful to get out from under the lights and away from Bennett’s critical eye for a while. It was uncomfortable, having her relationship dynamics witnessed and dissected by most of her coworkers.
Will tried to speak to her again, but she pulled her arm free of his grip. Richard stalked past them without even a sidelong glance.
She went back to her dressing room. She needed to gather her defences, raid her chocolate stash and get her act together. They couldn’t behave like that onstage tonight. Professional standards didn’t need to go out the window with her relationship status.
In a ridiculous flash of hope, her breath caught when someone knocked on the door. Sanity returned quickly. Richard was not going to seek her out right now for anything less than a civil emergency, and he wouldn’t politely knock under any circumstances.
“Come in.” If it was Will, she was letting fly with her powder compact this time.
The door opened and Lynette Stern came in. She surveyed Lainie where she sat sprawled in front of her vanity table, then sat down on the armchair and helped herself to a few chocolates. “We seem to have our first hiccup.”
Lainie rescued the remaining chocolates before Lynette could eat all the strawberry creams. She made a pile of her particular favourites on the table. She was not having a good day. The prospect of comfort sex was exceedingly slim, so she was going to require her full quota of chocolate.
“No offence, but I don’t recall agreeing to a ménage. ‘We’ is Richard and me. And we stopped being PR property quite some time ago. And I don’t think he views the situation quite that lightly.”
“And how exactly did the ‘situation,’ as you put it, arise?” Lynette warily bit the corner from a chocolate and peered into its interior. “Richard is far too wily to bleat to the press about his father. I was unaware of that particular blip in his history. He doesn’t seem to have made a habit of sharing confidences over a cuppa. Logic would thus condemn you as the weak link.”
Okay, not exactly a morale boost, but hard to dispute.
“It was my fault, yes.” There was no point in mentioning Will’s involvement. It still came down to her, and she didn’t really want anything to do with him at the moment. She sighed. “How bad is it?”
“It’s unfortunate. If it had been a less controversial suicide,” Lynette said, with quite appalling callousness, “I could easily have worked it to Richard’s advantage. Father commits suicide due to mother acting like a tart. Sympathy abounds.”
“Enjoying sex doesn’t make you a tart,” Lainie said. “I merely mention.”
Lynette ignored the interruption. “However, nobody likes a dirty politician. People aren’t all that fond of the politicians who don’t fiddle with the public funds.”
Lainie accidentally squashed a wrapped caramel in her clenched fist. “Has that got out?”
Bloody Richard. Always right.
“Sketchy allusions to dirty dealing. No specifics. Someone’s been digging, but most of the records were sealed by a previous government. The press have got enough to run with, but nothing they can actually pin down.”
She bit hard on her lower lip. “Exactly how bad is this for Richard?”
“The effect on his career should be minimal. Most people expect there to be a few skeletons in the Troy closet. Right now, he’s the smouldering, brooding half of the West End’s golden couple. The average blog reader isn’t that interested in twenty-year-old gossip. They’d rather speculate on what goes on behind closed doors when you disappear into his mansion flat.”
Lainie didn’t take much comfort from the assurances. She could hear the giant looming but. She was almost afraid to ask. “What about the RSPA chair?”
“Too early to tell, but I’ve been poking my nose into a few nests, and little birds inform me that he’s still Jeremy Steinman’s favourite candidate. Steinman has a weighty influence. Nor would it help the committee if they openly punished the son for the father’s sins. It’s fairly widely known in administrative circles that Richard doesn’t share his father’s prejudices.” Lynette hesitated. “I should warn you, though, that when I left Richard five minutes ago, he was taking a call from a ministerial secretary about the conference next month. First impression—not looking good.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“I understand the sentiment.” Lynette unwrapped another chocolate. “So I’ll excuse your French.”
“Merci beaucoup,” Lainie snapped as she stomped toward the door, “but I didn’t say merde.”
What a shit of a day.
She tracked down Richard in a corridor outside the greenroom, which was still reverberating with noise from the builders’ drills. He had just ended a call and was sliding his phone into his back pocket.
“What did they say?” She anxiously scanned his face, trying to read something into the bland mockery, searching for a trace of the shiver-inducing feelings she had caught lurking there recently. “They haven’t dropped you from the conference, have they?”
“They have.” His voice was remote. “It’s understandable. The Ministry wants to keep media attention focused on their agenda. Not on the resounding irony of Franklin Troy’s son waving a banner for increased cultural funding, after the father manipulated the system to line his own pocket. And made such a tremendously poor job of it, too.”
Absently, she reached out and gripped a handful of his jumper. And hopefully a bit of accidental chest hair; otherwise, she wasn’t thrilled about the visible flinch. “What can I do?”
“You can’t do anything.” He shrugged. “We turn the page and move on.”
His indifference would have been harder to handle if it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes. For the first time in his adult life, Richard Troy’s acting ability was letting him down with a thump. Lainie caught her breath.
Before she could respond, a callboy stuck his head out of the greenroom door and politely delivered Bennett’s order to return to the stage.
“Er, as soon as possible,” the kid said, glancing uncomfortably between them. “Like, now, really.”
Richard started to move past her and she caught his arm, ignoring his impatient glance. “This isn’t over,” she said warningly.
He gave her another long, tumultuous look before he turned abruptly and walked away.
Bennett foiled any further attempts at reconciliation that afternoon by turning completely neurotic. He refused to let any of the cast out of his sight, and started demanding peer critiques, as if they were doing group exercises back at drama school. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was far too self-absorbed to care about his minions’ sex lives, Lainie would have suspected him of deliberate troublemaking. For the last hour before they had to report to makeup and wardrobe, he forced Richard and Chloe to sit in the audience and observe the “total lack of chemistry” between her and Will. Richard sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. When Bennett requested constructive criticism of the love scene, he turned a stare on the director that could have whittled the edges from a diamond.
It wasn’t the strongest performance of the run, but they made it through the evening without incident. Lainie intended to tackle Richard again after the curtain call, but was ambushed backstage by Victoria and a couple of her friends, whom she’d completely forgotten were coming. She wouldn’t have minded so much if it had been Sarah, but Vicky wasn’t shy about expressing unsought and usually unwelcome opinions.
“Where’s Richard?” Vicky looked around the dressing room and peered under the vanity table. As if they’d been interrupted midtryst and he might be crouching naked under there.
Lainie drew on every remaining scrap of patience. “He’s gone home.” Damn it.
Her sister-in-law checked her watch and exchanged knowing glances with the other women. “He doesn’t hang around, does he?”
“He has an early meeting tomorrow,” she lied stiffly, but the attempt at deflection only resulted in more arch smiles.
“Oh,” said Vicky. Another one bites the dust, said her expression.
Lainie smiled serenely at her brother’s ever so slightly unfortunate choice of wife.
Inwardly, she curled into a ball and reached glumly for the ice cream spoon.
* * *
Richard was woken at nine o’clock by his phone, after lying awake until almost five. The first thing that registered on a conscious level was the faint scent of perfume. His vision was bleary; his eyes felt red and gritty from lack of sleep.
Red. He’d always associated his father with the colour red. The redness of rage. The red bloom of whisky. The red stain of blood.
Of shame.
Red. Lainie’s hair, smooth and silky around his fingers. He clenched his jaw as he stared up at the ceiling.
Everything was temporary. It didn’t last—the bad.
Apparently the good was equally short-lived.
Without looking at the phone, he reached out and grabbed it from the side table.
“Yes?” His tone didn’t encourage loquacity. He was going to be running on caffeine and obstinacy today.
“Richard? It’s Greg. Were we supposed to meet this morning? I’m outside your front door, but there’s no answer.”
Fuck. Richard threw off the bedcovers and reached for the trousers he’d left on the floor. “I slept in. Sorry. Two minutes.”
When he opened the front door, his assistant was holding a briefcase in one hand and a tray of coffees and bakery bags in the other. The daily papers were wedged under his elbow. Richard looked at the disposable cups and his mouth curved. “Expect a Christmas bonus. I’ll have a shower and meet you in the study.”
They were halfway through a stack of financial grant contracts, and Greg Worth had doubled the size of his impending bonus by not mentioning the morning tabloids, when the doorbell rang. The document Richard was holding creased under the pressure of his grip.
Greg glanced at him. “I’ll get it, shall I?”
“Thanks.” He tried to concentrate on the contract, but the words swam into illegible nonsense. He threw it down on the desk in disgust, and turned to wait for her.
Lainie came in ahead of Greg, offering his assistant a polite smile when the other man bowed out, closing the door behind him.
“Good morning.” Her voice was quiet.
Richard noted the heaviness around her eyes, which she’d tried to hide with makeup. Her hair was in a long, thick plait over one shoulder, and she was wearing a woollen bobble hat. Probably hand-knitted by Rachel Graham. There had been a basket of wool and knitting needles at her parents’ house. Lainie came from the sort of family where people made things for each other, gifted things simply because they wanted to.
The two of them were worlds apart.
“Good morning.” He sat down on the edge of the desk and nodded toward a leather chair. “Do you want to sit?”
Lainie’s air of trepidation was rapidly dissolving into more familiar sparks. “No.” The line of her pretty mouth was mutinous. “I want you to stop treating me like I’m here to audit your taxes.”
He surveyed her. “If you were here to audit my taxes, I would have offered you a coffee.”
A flush rose up her neck, and the urge to follow it with his lips was a sharp twist in his gut.
She inhaled deeply, visibly gathering her patience. She jerked her chin toward the closed door. “Was that your assistant?”
“Yes.”
“He was very polite. You haven’t told him, then?” She looked at him pointedly. “That you think we’ve broken up?”
She could dig in with her fingers and push his buttons like no one else, and she knew it, but he ignored the bait. “It’s none of his business. He’s my assistant, not my psychologist.”
She started to reply, then paused. “Do you have a psychologist?”
“On and off since I was fourteen.” He shrugged. “I was okay with any suggestion that minimised the chances of turning into my father.” He lifted an eyebrow at the curious look on her face. “What? You disapprove?”
“No. Not at all. I was just thinking that I don’t give you enough credit.”
Unsettled, he moved irritably and dislodged a morning newspaper from the pile on the desk.
Lainie looked down where it had fallen. “Is there...more today?”
There inevitably would be. The media was relentless. They would wring any profitable topic dry. “I haven’t looked.”
She pulled hard on the end of her plait. “I had a call from a reporter this morning. Wanting to know if I’m standing by you in your time of trouble—” she seemed barely able to get it out “—or ratting on the sinking ship. His actual words. He’s left three more messages since.”
A pulse of fury penetrated the cold, bleak feeling in his chest. “What’s his name?”
“Anthony...something.”
“Not Sutcliffe?”
“That’s it. Do you know him?”
“He usually works for the London Arts Quarterly. They don’t scavenge for cheap sensationalism. He must be freelancing. I’ll deal with it. He won’t be harassing you again.”
She came closer to him, reaching out to touch his arm. He looked down at her fingers. He wanted to hold them. He wanted them tangled in his hair, flirting with his lower lip, stroking his back, running down his chest.
He needed her to leave.
* * *
He was distancing himself again. She could almost see his features icing over, after that protective reflex when she’d mentioned the stalker reporter.
“Richard...” God, she didn’t know what to say. She’d still been so determined when she woke up this morning. So insensitive, really. She’d thought she could come here and make him forgive her.
She’d been prepared for his usual armour, the frosty shell and snotty comments. She hadn’t expected him to look so...tired.
“I’m sorry.” She held his arm tighter, and he didn’t push her away this time. He didn’t do anything. “You know I’m sorry. I would never hurt you on purpose. You know that. I realise you don’t always listen when people speak, but you at least know me as well as that by now.”
“Lainie—”
“What can I do?” She bit her lip, hard. “Seriously, what can I do? I can’t...I can’t just undo it. I can’t stop them writing about it.”
“Do you think that’s what matters?” The words seemed to have been pulled from Richard with force. He bent down and picked up the paper, jerking it open. There was a large article on the third page with an appropriately lurid headline: Richard Troy Recalls Finding Father’s Body. “Factually incorrect, as usual. By sheer chance, I wasn’t the one who found him. It was a Monday. When I was home from school, I was expected to report to my father’s study on Monday afternoons to discuss what I’d achieved in the previous week. And what I could do better during the next.” His lip curled. “I was late. I got caught up at a friend’s house. The housekeeper found him. Screamed the place down like some bit part from Midsomer Murders.”
She was horrified. “Did he intend for you to find him?”
“No. It just wouldn’t have occurred to him. I doubt he gave me a second thought that day.” Richard sat down on the desk again.
How could he be so calm about that? He should be outraged.
He deserved so much better.
“I’m ashamed of him.” There was no heat in the statement. “Not because of the suicide, but for everything he did before that. Everything he was. It’s shameful.” He met her gaze. “But I’m doing my best to ensure he doesn’t have a lasting impact. Not on me. Not on anyone. The press can say what they like. They can dig out the truth—they can make up something more saleable. If anything, it’ll probably give my career a boost. An interesting dark past. Finally—the reason why he’s such a bastard.”
“But—”
“But it came from you.” He shook his head before she could interrupt. “I know. I know you didn’t do it on purpose, Tig.”
At the sound of that stupid nickname, Lainie’s throat constricted. She felt a burning sensation at the back of her eyes and swiped her thumb across her lashes.
“I still feel like I got shafted. By my lover, my best friend and my family, all at once.” His mouth twisted. “All you.”
Oh God. This was the problem with falling head over heels for a spectacularly good actor. He had a way with words that could cut her off at the knees.
“I trusted you. Against my better judgement.”
Ouch.
The room was so quiet that she thought she could hear the sound of her own heartbeat.
“However this started—” Richard was grim “—I can’t be your rebound relationship.”
“Rebound...?” she repeated blankly.
“Farmer.”
“Uh, has nothing to do with this.”
“Doesn’t he?”
“No. He doesn’t.” His face didn’t change. He didn’t believe her. Maybe didn’t want to believe her. “Do I throw your exes in your face all the damn time? What, am I just never going to be allowed to forget that mistake?”
“Do you want to forget about it?” Dark cynicism.
Lainie folded her arms, as much in need of comfort as to express her frustration. “I had.” She spoke slowly. “I almost had forgotten about the whole thing. I was too busy being happy.”
She sought for the right words. They were there, but she couldn’t say them. Not right now. “God. You’ve kind of got me over a barrel here.” She looked at the floor. “There are things I was going to say, and now I can’t, or they’d turn into bargaining chips. Like I’m just using them to get you to forgive me. If you even believed me.” She lifted her head, met the intensity of his gaze. “I won’t cheapen my feelings like that. They’re worth more than that.”
That caused a flicker of expression, but the cynicism was still deeply engrained when he spoke. “Sounds like a cop-out.”
Right.
She stood up straighter. “I’m going now.” She held up her hand with her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Because you’re this close to pissing me off. And I don’t want to have more things to apologise for later.”
She turned at the door. He was still and watchful. “But I wouldn’t breathe too easy. This is not me giving up on us.” It was a vow. “I won’t turn my back on you.”
She wasn’t even tempted to cry on the Tube. She was beyond that. Fortunately, it wasn’t too full and she was able to find a seat. The exhaustion was a constant tug at her mind and muscles.
She couldn’t think. It was as if she was standing at a crossroads. Her life could go one of two ways from this point, and she didn’t dare visualise the dark route, in case it was encouraged into existence. The words teased at the recesses of her mind: What does my future look like, if he can’t get past this?
An elderly woman took a seat opposite her. She was carrying a mesh bag filled with cans of cat food, her hair was sticking straight out and her black trousers were covered with pet hair.
Lainie chose not to interpret that as a bad omen.
* * *
Richard dismissed Greg early after Lainie flounced out, plait flying, almost crackling with indignation and determination. He sat in the study for a long time, thinking. In a totally misguided move, he went so far as to smoke one of the cigars on the desk.
It was totally rank, did nothing to help clarify his thoughts, and he felt sick for the rest of the morning.
But by the time he left for the Metronome, his coat buttoned up to his throat against the cold, he was finally being honest with himself.