‘I know the one,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
*
I was there in under fifteen and seated by the steamed-up window, a pot of green tea in front of me on the crisp white tablecloth.
My stomach growled as the scent of chicken noodle soup wafted past. There was only one other couple in the restaurant; most of Soho had moved on to pubs or gone home.
The door swung open and Nick appeared on the threshold. He paused to scan the room, and when he saw me, came over.
There were dark circles under his eyes that I hadn’t noticed earlier and his collar wasn’t sitting quite right over his tie.
He sat down opposite me. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m well, thanks.’ It was an automatic response; well was not how I felt.
A waiter appeared with two single-page laminated menus, but I didn’t look at mine.
‘The noodle soup that went by smelt delicious – I’ll have that.’
‘Make that two,’ said Nick.
‘How’s Marcie?’ I said, after the waiter had left.
‘Sleeping.’
‘It’s not my fault she was drinking, Nick.’
He exhaled. ‘I know.’
Well, at least he was no longer being combative.
I sipped my tea, comforted by its warmth.
‘I’m sorry about how things went today, I really am. But you’ve got to let me have another chance with Marcie.’
‘I’m the latest in a long line of publicists who can’t convince her to talk to the press. Marcie’s just not interested in being interviewed.’
My fragile nerves jangled. ‘So, you’ve been playing me all this time? All those hoops I’ve jumped through and you knew they would count for nothing.’
‘They weren’t for nothing. You had an audience in her house, didn’t you? It’s a lot further than any journalist has got for a long time.’
‘I went for an interview, not to admire her soft furnishings.’
‘The more you can do to get Jessica on speaking terms with Marcie, the better your chances for a proper interview.’
‘Do you think I still believe this story you’ve been spinning?’
‘It’s the truth,’ he said.
‘Well, give me the whole truth, then. Why are you so cagey about what Marcie did that she needs to atone for?’
Nick flattened his tie against his abdomen. It was a tic; but was it also a tell that he was about to lie?
‘After she found out that Jess and Benedict were sleeping together, Marcie dropped Jessica from the tour. Patrick tried to talk her out of it, so she sacked him, too.’
The mention of Patrick’s name was like a flame to a raw wound. ‘You’d better not be lying.’
He held my gaze. ‘I wouldn’t. Not about Patrick.’
