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‘Why don’t you girls all mind your own business?’ said Adele suddenly. ‘Worry about your own love lives or lack thereof!’ She reinforced this uncharacteristic show of support by leaning down and murmuring, ‘I’ve got your back, Lu.’
That Adele should prove to be her ally wasn’t so unexpected, Lulu guessed. Since she’d stopped worrying about people discovering her condition she’d developed a backbone and had been getting a lot of the respect she’d missed out on in the past.
‘Thanks, Lulu, for helping out,’ Romy said, hopping over on one leg and lowering herself into a chair. ‘I just keep it to a figure eight, but make sure you only drop two scarves at a time—no more, or you’ll run out…’
Lulu waited for more instructions, but Romy had stopped speaking.
In fact everyone was quiet.
She looked up and everything went haywire.
*
Alejandro had never been backstage at a theatre.
Up until the moment he’d stepped through the stage door he had pictured L’Oiseau Bleu as a girly joint.
He hadn’t been far wrong.
The first person he ran into was a topless peacock, or so she appeared to be, who shrieked, clapped her arms over her breasts—and then changed her mind, asked if he was Alejandro du Crozier, and if so could he sign her…?
Then he slammed into a stagehand who told him to go around to the front of the building and approach the booking office. No members of the public were allowed backstage during a performance.
‘We’ve got a nudity clause,’ the guy said.
‘I’m not interested in the nudity. I’m looking for Lulu Lachaille,’ Alejandro told him.
‘You’ll have to speak to the manager—’
‘Who is on her honeymoon,’ Alejandro cut him off.
He could hear music. Knew that elsewhere in this place there was a show going on. He wanted to get to Lulu before she hit the stage, because he had this crazy, unrealistic idea that if he didn’t he would have lost her.
He couldn’t wait until eleven o’clock. He’d already waited six weeks.
‘I mean the assistant manager,’ the guy fired back, looking uneasy.
‘Who is…?’ Alejandro was ready to slice and dice this guy.
‘Alejandro du Crozier!’
He turned around. The feather-clad blonde hip-swinging towards him was vaguely familiar.
‘Susie. Susie Sayers.’ She gave him a speculative sweep, from his boots to the curl of his overly long chestnut hair.
He remembered. Susie. The bridesmaid with the wandering hands.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded without preamble.
‘Come this way, gorgeous. Follow Susie!’
He followed the bouncing ostrich feather tail down a corridor, and he heard the sound of shrill female voices before he saw the dancers.
A couple of naked women shrieked, and one or two just put their hands on their hips and watched him come in.
Then he saw her.
Or he thought he saw her.
