Page 137
Forty
Two weeks later
The private-hire SUV lurched ahead in the drop-off queue outside the Royal Albert Hall. Alex finished emailing Lucy a revised section of graphic novel copy and grinned at Tarquin, sat beside her on the middle seat.
She clasped his hand, her eyes squinting in the late June sunlight as they skimmed down his tailored dark grey suit. “You look extra handsome tonight.”
He kissed her temple and pulled back, admiring her slim, long white dress. “Just trying to make a good impression.”
“You and me both.” Alex exhaled heavily.
“Sunshine, you already have! You’ve sealed the deal.” Tarquin’s smile squinted his eyes. “Channel Four is in the bag.”
“I hope so. Their TV development scheme is an in, but that’s all it is.” Alex picked at the beading on her new clutch. “There’s no guarantee they’ll take what I write, and as their guest, I need to make sure they see me as a good fit tonight—”
“You’re a great fit: smart, talented…gorgeous.” He nuzzled into her waves, inhaling the beachy scent of jasmine and amber left behind by her shampoo. “Only a showbiz idiot would think otherwise. Honestly, these people…” He huffed and leaned back, his eyes shifting to the window. His dimples slowly evaporated into a pout.
Alex tightened her grip of his hand. “Tarq, I meant it. We’ll stay two hours, tops, okay? Then, I’m all yours until my flight tomorrow morning.”
A sharp exhale left his lips. “What’s this bloody thing called again?” He pulled a ticket from his jacket’s inside pocket. “A Celebration of British Television. God, if that title is any reflection of how boring it’s g—”
“We won’t stay long.” She let go of his hand. “You might surprise yourself—you might have fun.”
“Hanging with self-absorbed C-list celebs?” He stuffed the ticket back in his pocket. “I knew I should’ve packed a flask—”
“I told you…you didn’t have to come—”
“I want to support you, Lex…”
Whining? Some support…She rolled her eyes. “Well, why are you so pissy, then? Is it your mum? Was she invited tonight?”
“Now, there’s a boner killer.” He flung his head backwards on the seat, staring at the SUV’s ceiling. “No, she wasn’t.”
Alex shook her head and looked away. The SUV slowed to a stop.
“Hey…” Tarquin pulled her in, kissing her cheek. “What am I like? I’m being a dick. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She half-smiled. “I know you hate these things, but sometimes they’re part of my job…sometimes I have to socialize with these people…”
“I know, it’s just…I didn’t want to share you tonight. Two weeks apart, Lex…? I’m going to miss you.”
“I know. I’m going to miss you, too.”
He left a kiss on her shoulder and glanced out the window. “Uh, why aren’t we moving?” He leaned towards the driver. “Excuse me, mate, is there a problem?”
“Paparazzi at the backstage entrance,” the driver replied, looking in his rearview mirror at Tarquin. “Someone up ahead just got ambushed from the looks of it.”
Tarquin lowered his window and leaned outside. “Blimey.” He blinked several times. “They’re surrounding an accessible van. That’s not cool.”
Alex climbed across his lap and stuck her head out the window. Her stomach flip-flopped. “It’s Niamh!”
“Who?”
“Mark’s mum.” She frowned.
The photographers, at least twenty or more, baited Mark and crowded closer.
“Mark, mate! Pose with our old mum!”
