Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (10 page)

‘Oh, I still have my moments behind closed doors.’ Marc’s eyes flick in my direction, and I give him a frown and a ‘not here’ glance. Oh Marc, Marc. How can you melt my insides with a few well chosen words and one look?

‘Don’t we all,’ says Danny amiably, seemingly oblivious to the simmering Marc just created inside me. ‘Are you two all costumed up?’

‘Costumed up?’ I ask.

‘Is that what you want to wear?’ He points his camera at my dress.

I look down. ‘That’s what I planned.’

‘Great. You look great. Right, I had a few props in mind.’

‘Props?’ Marc raises an eyebrow.

‘See what you think.’ Danny disappears behind the giant screen, and we hear clunks and bangs as he rummages through the prop boxes.

There’s a knock at the door, and a delivery boy leans his head into the studio. ‘Drinks for studio two?’ He has a tray of paper cups in his hand and wears a Daryl’s Deli baseball cap.

When he sees Marc, his mouth drops open, but he recovers himself, str
aightens his cap and holds out the cardboard tray.

‘Great timing. Thanks.’ Marc takes the tray.

‘Can I have your autograph?’ the delivery boy stammers. He must be all of seventeen and has bright red spots on his cheeks.

‘Of course.’ Marc sets down the tray on the white paper floor and pulls a parker pen from his pocket.

The boy holds out a napkin. ‘Will this do?’

‘Oh, I think we can do better than that,’ says Marc. He kneels on the floor and signs the white paper covering, then
carefully tears off a corner and hands it to the boy.

The boy looks so overjoyed, I think he might faint. ‘Thank you, Mr Blackwell, thank you, thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ says Marc. ‘Here. Have this, too.’ He hands him the pen.

‘Really?’ The boy’s voice grows high pitched. He does a funny sort of bow and backs out of the room. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ says Marc, his eyes softening.

The boy grins and closes the door, and I picture him leaping into the air outside.

I smile at Marc.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘I just never thought of you as the ‘talk to fans’ type.’

‘Just because I like my privacy, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the people who put me where I am today.’

‘Yes, but ... I didn’t realise you could be so sweet.’

‘
Sweet?
’

There’s that electricity again. How can he have this effect on me, from the other side of the room?

‘Yes, sweet,’ I say. ‘You were very sweet just then.’

Marc smiles one of his dangerous, curvy smiles. ‘Not a word many people use to describe me, Miss Rose. But still, I’m curious. You thought I wouldn’t speak with my fans?’

I shrug. ‘I wouldn’t have pictured you signing autographs like that. It was nice of you.’ A grin is sneaking onto my face. I know things are getting dangerous. Hot dangerous. But I can’t help it. I’m loving teasing him about his softer side.

In two strides, Marc is beside me.

‘Any more of that talk, Miss Rose,’ he whispers, ‘and I’ll put you over my knee.’

My face flushes, and the grin leaves my face.

Danny appears from behind the screen, and Marc and I turn to him.

‘What do you think?’ Danny asks, holding up a huge black umbrella. ‘I thought the two of you could stand under it together. I can add a rain effect afterwards. Just the two of you together, in the storm. Very London, don’t you think?’

‘I love that idea,’ I say quietly, glancing at Marc. ‘It’s ... sweet.’

Marc frowns at me, but his eyes are smiling.

‘So, I’d like the two of you standing close together,’ says Danny, handing Marc the umbrella. ‘But I don’t think it should be a soppy ‘arm around the shoulder’ sort of shot. I’d just like the two of you side by side.’

I stand by Marc’s shoulder, feeling awkward, and not knowing what to do with my arms. I wish he
would
put his arm around my shoulder. But I think I understand what Danny is trying to do. He’s going for subtle. Elegant. Not a cheesy family portrait.

Snap, snap, snap. Danny takes shot after shot, from every different angle.

Every so often, he comes up to us and adjusts things – my hair, Marc’s jacket, the way we’re standing. But mostly he just snaps away, saying, ‘Great, you look great. Beautiful.’

It’s hard work standing in one position
, and my body is soon aching from the effort. Just when I’m thinking about asking for a glass of water, the door creaks.

I see
Arabella in the doorway. She’s wearing black-rimmed glasses, and her hair is tied more tightly in its ponytail, with no strands escaping around her face.

She smiles when she sees us. ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘There’s certainly chemistry between you two. I can feel it from over here.’

I look at Marc and see he’s half smiling, half frowning. ‘What brings you down here, Arabella?’

‘Not you, Marc Blackwell, if that’s what you’re asking.’ She gives him a teasing smile, which I don’t like at all. ‘Actually, I wanted to talk to Sophia. There have been some developments.’

‘Developments?’ Marc snaps.

Unease stirs in my stomach.

‘What sort of developments?’ Marc’s body moves protectively against mine.

‘We’ve heard on the grapevine that Sophia’s going to be offered a part,’ says
Arabella. ‘In the new
Beauty and the Beast
musical. In the West End.’

I stare at her.

‘Beauty and the Beast?’ says Marc, slowly. ‘At Tottenham Theatre?’

‘That’s the one,’ says
Arabella.

‘Who gave you this information?’ says Marc.

‘It was leaked by the director’s assistant,’ Arabella replies. ‘No one is supposed to know yet. The leading lady had a breakdown. Personal problems. And they want an understudy who can get them a bit of press attention, and I guess Sophia will do just that.’

I think I’m about to have heart palpitat
ions.

‘No, that can’t be right,’ I say. ‘How can that be right? I’ve never even auditioned ... no one has seen me perform ... I can’t sing.’

‘Welcome to show business,’ says Arabella. ‘They don’t care if you’re any good. Notoriety is much more valuable than talent.’

‘
She
is
talented,’ Marc barks.

‘But I really can’t sing,’ I say. ‘A musical? I mean, that’s way out of my league.’

‘You
can
sing,’ says Marc. ‘But that’s irrelevant.’ He turns to Arabella. ‘When will they make her the offer?’

‘They’re making calls right now, trying to find out who her agent is. So I’d say, as soon as they can get a hold of her. It changes the interview slightly. We don’t want to look out of date, so I need to know whether Sophia will take the part.’

‘With Getty sniffing around, this is a bad time,’ says Marc. ‘It wouldn’t be clever to accept.’

I smile. ‘Marc, I can make my own decisions.’

‘I’m aware you can make your own decisions. But this is a new world you know very little about. Anyway, this part hasn’t been offered for the right reasons. And the male lead – he’s not what I would call a high calibre actor.’

‘Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Marc Blackwell?’ says
Arabella.

‘Jealous? Of Leo Falkirk?’ Marc frowns and slips his hands into his pockets. ‘Hardly.’

‘
Leo Falkirk
is the male lead?’ I squeak.

Marc raises an eyebrow. ‘Please don’t tell m
e he was on your bedroom wall.’

‘No,’ I say.
But he was on Jen’s.
‘But he’s just ... well, really famous. I’m flattered anyone would consider casting me beside him. I’m nobody.’

‘
It’s all far too dangerous,’ says Marc. ‘That particular production of
Beauty and the Beast
only has two actors. Belle and Beast. All eyes would be on you. Lots of press attention. Including Getty. You’re not ready.’

Arabella
looks from me to Marc to me again. ‘You’re sure?’ she says. ‘I mean, lots of young actresses would kill for that role. And to play beside Leo. Whatever you might think of him, it’s quite the opportunity.’

‘They’ll be others,’ says Marc.

‘Maybe you’ve forgotten, but being a young, unknown actor is no picnic,’ says Arabella. ‘Are you sure you’re not giving Sophia the wrong advice for your own purposes?’

Marc frowns. ‘My own purposes? I’m trying to keep her safe.’

‘Oh come on, Marc. She’s going to have to experience the real world soon. With all its ugliness. She’s not a bird in a cage.’

I swallow and try to stand up straighter.
Arabella’s right. Most actresses would be over the moon to be offered this part. I shouldn’t turn it down just because Marc says so.

‘Well?’
Arabella asks me. ‘Will you take the part or not?’

I chew at my thumbnail. ‘I’d like to, but I need time to think.’

Beside me, I feel Marc stiffen.

‘You’re sure you don’t want to make a decision now?’
Arabella seems almost annoyed, and I can understand why. I’m holding up her article.

‘I wish I could, but I can’t make a decision like that
straight away.’

‘
The director will approach you soon,’ says Arabella. ‘One way or another. When she does, give me a call, okay? Tell me what you decide.’

‘Okay.’ I nod.

‘Oh, and one last thing,’ says Arabella. ‘The press know you’re at the Carlo. There’s a gang of paparazzi outside.’

‘How could they know?’ says Marc.

Arabella shrugs. ‘Someone must have told them.’

Marc and I lea
ve the studio hand in hand, both thinking our own thoughts. As we weave through the corridors and downstairs towards reception, I feel Marc’s grip loosen.

‘Marc?’ I say as we walk around a half-circle staircase. ‘Are you angry at me for considering the part?’

He’s frowning and barely glances at me. ‘I couldn’t be angry at you if I tried. You should know that by now. But ... I’m concerned about you.’

‘Concerned?’

He nods. ‘Concerned that if you don’t take my advice, I won’t be able to keep you safe.’

‘I have to live my own life, Marc. I have to make my own decisions, even if I make the wrong ones.’

Marc’s hand slips from mine.

We reach the first flo
or, and I see a ladies room.

‘I have to use the bathroom,’ I say. It’s not true, but I n
eed a few moments alone. And I want to phone Jen.

Marc gives a curt nod. ‘The limo is waiting out front. I’ll meet you in the back. It’s probably better we leave here separately anyway.’

So cold again.

In the bathroom, I pat my eyes and smooth my hair down. My nose and lips are red, and I know I’m on the verge of tears.

It’s okay
, I tell myself.
You and Marc are just starting out. There’ll be obstacles. When you overcome them together, you’ll be stronger.
That’s what my mother always used to say. But I guess she never met anyone like Marc Blackwell.

My phone has no signal to call Jen, so I just stare at myself for a moment in the mirror, thinking, thinking. Then I see someone come out of the cubicle.

I freeze.

Oh my god.

It’s Cecile.

Cecile from Ivy College.

She’s wearing very tight white jeans, high-heeled riding boots and a blue blouse tucked into her waistband. Even in jeans, she looks fancy.

I hold my head up as high as I can, and turn to her. ‘What are
you
doing here?’

Her eyes widen when she recognises me, but only for a second. Without saying a word, she waltzes up to the sink and turns on the taps.

‘Well?’ I ask as she washes her hands under running water.

‘The same thing as you,’ she says. ‘Doing a newspaper story.’

‘You’re here to tell more lies about me?’

Cecile f
licks her fingers into the sink and reaches for a paper towel. ‘The truth is different, depending on where you’re sitting.’

Anger races around my chest. ‘You know what you said wasn’t true. Why would you want to bad mouth me like that? I’ve never done anything to you.’

‘I beg to differ,’ says Cecile, drying her hands. ‘You always knew I wanted Marc. It’s me he should be with. Who are you anyway? Some small girl from a small town. I mix with all the right people. I wouldn’t be an embarrassment to him. Some girl he has to dress up.’ She looks icily at my dress. ‘I’m guessing that outfit is Marc’s choice?’

I look down at my dress, momentarily wrong footed. It wasn’t Marc’s choice, but it wasn’t exactly mine either. I mean, yes, I picked it. But I would never have even visited that store if it wasn’t for Marc.