“I know you’ve been working really hard at the conference, in part because I haven’t been around,” James says. “So I thought today we could have some fun.”
“Fun?” Anna is not sure her definition of fun coincides with his.
“I’ve booked us an open top tour of LA. It’s on me!” James looks at her expectantly, much like a dog bringing its owner a grubby, drool-socked sock.
“Oh, babe! You’re so thoughtful!” Bella chimes into the silence. “That’s a fab idea.”
It is thoughtful. Anna appreciates that. But she had been looking forward to a day alone, doing precisely what she wants to do. Still, James is her boss, and her friend. They need to have a good working relationship and James is trying to make amends. She gives an internal sigh and then, only slightly belated, replies, “A tour? That sounds awesome.” She quickly shovels in more pancake, proud she has managed to keep all signs of sarcasm and dubiousness from her voice.
“The bus is picking us up from the lobby in a half hour. Will you be ready by then?”
Anna shrugs. What choice does she have? “No problem. Thanks.” She manages to squeeze out a smile and James beams in response.
“See, babe. You have the best ideas,” Bella coos, and James’s face flushes with pleasure.
Anna has to restrain herself. James is normally a sensible, intelligent man. What is it about the Y chromosome that turnssuch a person into a simpering fool when given praise from a beautiful woman? She catches herself. It works the other way, too. She has seen all manner of women make extremely bad choices when smiled at by a handsome man. If ever there is an advert for caution in love, it is right in front of her. She can’t take much more of it. She pushes her plate away.
“You’ve not finished,” Bella notes.
“You’ve plenty of time,” James adds.
Anna shrugs. “I’ve had enough. Thanks for this.”
She picks up her coffee and stands. With the excuse of needing to fetch her sunglasses, she heads out of the restaurant, leaving the lovebirds canoodling in the corner.
She checks her phone in the lift. Nothing. She doesn’t like the way the absence of contact makes her feel, like her world is empty. Tolly is one man. A handsome man, certainly. A virile man, definitely. But still just a man. She has always been so sure of her place in the world, taken all the love she receives from family and friends for granted. This sensation of being unimportant is destabilising. Perhaps she should be grateful for James and his bus tour. It will be a distraction at the very least.
Having added a light jacket, changed her shoes and located the essential sunglasses, Anna exits the elevator in the foyer at the appointed time. James is sitting on one of the leather sofas, his arm draped around Bella. They are an odd pair. James is wearing a pair of short shorts and a white T-shirt with a large pale blue overshirt. When he stands to greet the driver, the shirt drops and it looks like he has forgotten to clothe his bottom half. In contrast, Bella is in wide-leg, highly patterned trousers and a cap-sleeved top that cuts short, showing her midriff. On another woman the outfit might look like pyjamas, but on Bella it looks like she has just risen from her sun lounger in Cannes, stylish and elegant.
Anna stops short. Another tawny blond head has joined them. Fashionably frayed cutoff and leather sliders showcase tanned legs. A loose tee hides an equally loose middle. John. Bella catches Anna’s eye. She gets up and crosses the foyer.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ve had a word with him. He knows you’re not interested. He won’t do or say anything to make you uncomfortable. Besides, I couldn’tnotinvite him. He’s my brother. I’m only here a couple more days. Before James came along, we had all these plans for stuff we’d do together. He’s kind of got a point about being neglected.”
Anna nods. If it were one of her sisters, she too would move heaven and earth to spend time with them. “It’s not a problem. It was good of James to arrange this,” she says, knowing Bella is sure to relay her words to her lover. She takes Bella’s arm. “Let’s go see some of those LA highlights.”
As she and Bella join the others, James gives them a happy smile. Anna is sure it is aimed at Bella rather than her but even so, she feels she is doing the right thing in taking part. John glowers.
“John,” she greets him pleasantly. The thought that her being nice might irk him more than her being frosty brings a certain satisfaction. She can’t resist. “I’m surprised you’re joining us. A bus tour isn’t really your scene, is it?”
“Like it’s yours?” he asks. It is a fair point.
“Bella asked me to come,” John adds and although Anna dislikes him, she has to accord him this at least. He plainly loves his big sister. And after all, how bad can an hour in a bus trapped with John be?
Sabotage
The bus has a roof to keep the sun off but no side windows. With a sinking heart, Anna realises the seats are in pairs and the bus is almost full. A group of German tourists are already seated in the rear. A large family of Texans occupy the front. James and Bella take a pair of seats in the middle, leaving the last pair of seats for Anna and John. With an obvious lack of chivalry, John takes the outside. Anna almost chuckles. She will have to lean past John’s massive frame in order to see anything. Her expectations of the tour are already low. She revises them further downwards.
When they’re safely seated, the tour guide greets them. Anna’s prospects of enjoyment hit rock bottom when the guide announces they are on the Celebrity Home Tour. A quick whizz around the key sights was fine if frustrating, as there would be no chance to explore further, but gawking at the homes of film and television stars wasn’t on Anna’s hit list. Having been raised in a five-hundred-year-old, stately home, Anna is no stranger to fine art and large houses. Many of her friends also live in homes designed by world-famous architects. But James was not to know that, as Anna had been careful not to mention her privileged upbringing at work. And, she suspects, he chose the tour to please Bella, not her.
As the bus pulls away from the kerb into the ever slow-moving Los Angeles traffic, the drawbacks of the open sides become immediately apparent. The traffic noise is overwhelming, the heat from a thousand engines adds to the already furnace -like warmth of the day to make the exhaustfumes nauseating. But as the bus eventually climbs into the Hollywood Hills, some of the discomfort falls away. The noise lessens, a cooling breeze picks up, and the trip becomes almost pleasant – if Anna could forget about the companion beside her. John produces a pair of sunglasses and slides them on his face, hiding his eyes. Then he turns his head very deliberately to look away.
They wind through the Hollywood Hills as the guide talks through the real estate. Anna struggles to see anything remarkable about the homes. Most of the modern ones look like the collection of boxes stuck together so beloved by contemporary architects the world over. Many of the older ones look like the mock Tudor or mock Georgian houses found on most executive estates. More often than not, the house is not visible, hidden behind fences and high hedges, and the tour group is merely staring at the gate. But Anna’s cynical take is not shared by the occupants of the bus. There are soft wows of awe and thrilled muttered echoes of the guide’s words.
To Anna, what is jaw-dropping is the three-metre-high security fencing topped with barbed wire needed to keep intruders out. She can’t imagine having to live that way, like a prisoner who’s chosen to live in jail. She thinks about her family’s estate, criss-crossed by public footpaths and protected only by the low walls that keep the stock from wandering onto the road. She wonders if this is how Tolly lives now. If he doesn’t already, the news from this morning probably means he soon will.
Beside her, John yawns. As the Hollywood sign draws into sight, he cannot resist the opportunity to show off.
“I climbed that,” he says. He pulls out his phone, pages through his pictures until he comes across one. He shoves it under Anna’s nose. Where John is concerned, Anna is naturally sceptical, but there is a photo of a guy standing on the top ofthe H of the Hollywood sign. Of course, the person in the image is too small to tell if it is John, but for the sake of peace, Anna acknowledges it. “Wow,” she says in echo of the tourists and John’s chest puffs.
