Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (18 page)

‘Uh, Sophia?’ Leo fixes his twinkly green eyes on me. ‘I wondered. It’s been a long day, and I thought ... if you hadn’t eaten yet, you want to grab a bite?’

‘With you?’

‘Sure, with me.’ He gri
ns, showing his dimples. ‘I know some great places in London. Places the press aren’t allowed.’

I look at Tom and Tanya. Tanya is giving nothing away, but Tom is grinning and nodding like an idiot.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But I’m really tired. I might just grab a sandwich and get an early night.’

‘Oh. Well. Hey, I’ll be on campus for another hour or so. They gave me a guest suite here, so I’m going to go grab a shower. Call me if you change your mind, okay? Here’s my number.’ He hands me a business card with a black and white shot of him on one side, all muscles and brooding eyes. ‘Ignore the photo. That was my agent’s idea. Maybe see you later, okay?’

‘Okay.’

He jogs away over the gravel.

When he’s gone, Tanya gives me a little punch on the arm. ‘Why didn’t you say yes? Are you blind? He looks like one of those Greek statues.’

‘I just ... it didn’t feel right.’

‘Tanya, my love,’ says Tom ‘Can’t you see she’s still pining for Marc? She can’t just switch her feelings off like a tap.’

‘But he’s so
hot
,’ says Tanya.

‘Is he indeed?’ Tom raises an eyebrow.

Tanya smiles. ‘Not as hot as you. But hot.’ Her hand rests on his shoulder, and suddenly something clicks.

‘What’s going on with you two?’ I ask.

Tanya and Tom look at each other, then quickly in opposite directions.

‘Nothing,’ says Tanya, her hand sliding from Tom’s shoulder.

Tom looks at his lap.

Tanya’s pale skin has turned a bright red. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so uncomfortable.

A smile spreads across my face. ‘Are you two ... has something happened? What’s going on?’

Tanya scratches her neck, and looks pointedly at Tom.

‘Oh, you know us,’ says Tom. ‘Boring as usual. Food. Pub. Lectures. Food. Pub. It’s a hard life. Missing our friend, Sophia.’

‘Shall we go to the pub?’ says Tanya.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?’ I ask.

They shake their heads far too quickly.

‘Okay.’ I’m prepared to let it go for now. ‘The pub sounds good. But I have to learn my lines too. Promise you won’t let me get too drunk, okay? I’m so stressed, I can see myself downing two bottles of wine.’

‘Promise.’

The campus pub is as cosy as always, with its beer barrel stools and rope dec
oration. There’s a roaring fire and mulled wine on sale.

Tom and I take a round wooden table in the corner, while Tanya brings over three steaming cups of wine with cinnamon sticks floating in them.

The wine is comforting, and it feels nice to be here with Tom and Tanya – like when we first came to college and I had no troubles.

As I take a sip of hot wine, Tanya nudges me.

‘Look what the cat dragged in.’

I turn to the door. ‘Oh no.’

It’s Cecile, arm in arm with Ryan.

Ryan glances at me, then looks away, but Cecile doesn’t even look in my direction. She’s wearing the same outfit from earlier – tan riding boots, jeans and a blouse. Her icy blonde hair is tied in an elegant chignon that makes her cheekbones look especially pointy.

‘Christ, why is there no champagne in this dump?’ I hear Cecile say. ‘It’s like being in some northern town.’

Beside me, I see Tanya gripping the table, her white cheeks flushed red again. She leaps to her feet.

‘Cecile. I want a word with you.’

Cecile blinks, her spiky little face perfectly composed. ‘Oh, our resident northern monkey. Don’t blame me if they don’t serve
proper
drinks up north, Tanya. I’m just telling it like it is.’

‘I couldn’t care less what you think about life up north,’ says Tanya, climbing around the table. ‘I care about Soph. You should be ashamed of yourself, spreading all that rubbish.’

Cecile gives a tiny, smug smile. ‘It wasn’t rubbish.’

‘It bloody was, and you know it.’

‘If you’ll
excuse
me,’ says Cecile, draping her arm around Ryan. ‘We’re celebrating. The
Daily Sport
has just written me another great big cheque for telling the
truth
about Sophia.’

The look on Tanya’s face tells me she’s about to storm across the bar and punch Cecile on the nose. I grab her arm.

‘No, Tanya. It’s not worth it. You’ll just give her another story to tell the papers.’

‘It bloody well
will
be worth it,’ Tanya shouts, her eyes fixed on Cecile’s. Tanya struggles, and I’m losing my grip on her arm.

Cecile has the sense to look frightened, and she clutches at Ryan. ‘Stop her, Ryan. She’s crazy! You know what they’re like up north.’

That was the wrong thing to say.

Tanya launches herself across the pub, grabs Cecile’s shoulders and wrestles her to the floor.

‘You lying, two-faced stuck up cow,’ she shouts, raising her fist. ‘See how much acting work you get with a broken nose.’

‘No!’ Cecile covers her face, and I charge over and grab Tanya’s wrist.

‘No, Tanya, don’t. She’s not worth it.’ I manage to haul her off and back towards our table. ‘I don’t want to see you in the papers tomorrow.’

I push her onto a seat
and hold her arms down. ‘Please, Tanya. For me. Don’t get in trouble over her.’

Cecile pulls herself up and looks warily at Tanya and
me. She takes a bar stool, dusts her jeans and checks her fingernails.

The pub door creaks open.

‘Sophia,
look
.’ Tanya’s mouth drops open.

Leo Falkirk stands in the doorway.

Poor Leo. The whole pub is staring at him. But I guess he must be used to staring.

He’s wearing a thick green duffle coat that looks pretty strange against his tanned face and sun-bleached hair.

I notice Cecile sla
p a sickening smile on her face and pat her hair. She slides from her bar stool, all long legs and white teeth, and holds out a perfectly manicured hand.

‘Leo,’ she says, shaking his fingers. ‘I heard you were on campus.’ She puts a hand to her chest. ‘I’m Cecile. I know Duncan Granger.’ She gives a smug smile. ‘The
Perfect Weddings
director? He comes to all my family parties. My mother plays tennis with him sometimes. It’s a dump in here. Full of morons. How about I take you somewhere more interesting?’

‘You know Duncan?’ says Leo, catching my eye. ‘Well, you say hi next time you
see him. Good to meet you, Kelly.’ He walks past her.

Cecile’s lips pull tight
, and she glares as Leo comes to my table.

I can almost read Cecile’s mind:
What does that girl have that I don’t?
And truly, I don’t know. I mean, Cecile’s beautiful, blonde, rich and well connected. I’m just ... ordinary.

‘Hey, Sophia.’ Leo slides onto a chair beside me. He grins at Tanya and Tom. ‘Hey guys. Good to see you again.’

‘Do you ... would you ... like a drink, Mr Falkirk?’ Tom asks. ‘The mulled wine here is
very
good.’

‘Please.’ Leo holds up his hands. ‘Call me Leo. I’m good for drinks. I just wandered in here thinking I might find Sophia. I thought I could convince her to come to dinner after all.’

Behind Leo, Cecile’s lips practically disappear, and she whispers something furiously into Ryan’s ear.

Across the table, Tom mouths,
Go on.

‘We can talk more about the play,’ Leo says. ‘I know it wasn’t the best day. Maybe I can help you get in
Davina’s good books. You’re looking way too sad right now. Let me cheer you up.’

I notice Leo’s large, tanned hand on the table and suddenly think of Marc’s hands – large and strong too, but with slender, pale fingers. I think of them sliding around my back, winding my hair around them ...

‘Yes,’ I say, jumping up, my hands on the table. ‘Yes, why not? Let’s get out of here.’

Cecile’s face is a picture as Leo and I leave together. We head across campus side by side, but he doesn’t try to take my hand or link arms with me, which is good. I’d probably have cancelled dinner if he did. I want a distraction, not a date.

There are
paps hanging around the college gates, so Leo orders a special VIP cab with tinted windows, and we drive from the college car park out into London.

I can’t help looking at my
iPhone every few minutes, but Marc hasn’t called or left messages.

‘It’s not me, is it?’ Leo asks as the cab shunts to a stop at traffic lights. He’s sprawled in the seat beside me, tapping his fingers on his knee in time to some imaginary tune.

‘What’s not you?’ I let my phone drop to my lap.

‘That’s making you look
so sad.’

‘Do I really look that sad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry.’ I sigh. ‘No. It’s not you.’

‘Am I to guess it’s Marc Blackwell who’s making you sad?’

Stupid tears. Back at the first mention of his name. I put my fingers under my eyes and pat.

‘Hey. Hey.’ Leo unbuckles his seatbelt and slides over, throwing an arm around me. ‘Did I cause that? I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ I hide m
y face in my hands and take a few steadying breaths. ‘No, it’s fine.’ I pull my hands away and force a smile.

‘Better,’ Leo nods. ‘Hey, I won’t mention the ‘B’ word again. Okay?’

‘Thank you. I’m sorry. I feel so stupid.’

‘Don’t feel stupid.’ His hand squeezes my shoulder. ‘Let’s change the subject. You know, this is only my second trip to London, but I love this city.’ He waves his hand at the passing buildings. ‘Bad food, sure. But
great
nightlife.’

‘Bad food?’ I’m smiling now, wiping tears away.

‘Oh, come on. It’s terrible. All carbs and oil. I miss Californian food. Have you ever been to California?’

I shake my head.

‘You should come. I have a place right on the beach. You’d love California. Best food in the world. Fresh fish, fruit. Smoothies. And the frozen yoghurt – I miss it.’

‘You do realise we’re going out to dinner in London,
don’t you?’ I say with a smile. ‘Are you going to tell the restaurant how bad British food is?’

Leo laughs. ‘I won’t mention it. I promise. Anyway, we’re going to one of the few places in London that
does
do good food.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah. Soba. Japanese place. You ever been?’

I shake my head.

‘You’ll love it.’

Soba is on the second floor of a big brown building overlooking Park Lane. It’s really quiet – a little too quiet for me. I’m used to bustling chain restaurants full of screaming kids.

All the seats are leather
, and there are more waiting staff than customers.

‘Nice, huh?’ Leo says.

I smile, but inside I feel nervous. I’m scruffy in jeans as always, but then so is Leo.

‘May I take your coat, sir?’ asks a waiter.

‘Sure.’ Leo hands it over.

If the waiter is at a
ll bothered by Leo’s scuffed duffle jacket, he doesn’t show it.

‘Madam?’

‘Yes?’

‘Your coat?’

‘Oh, of course. Sorry. Thank you.’

We’re shown to a table overlooking Park Lane, and we sit for a moment, watching cars zoom past. Leo is really easy company, and I feel fine to sit with him in silence.

‘I love cities, don’t you?’ says Leo. ‘So much going on. Such a buzz. I grew up in a small town in Texas where
nothing
happened. First time I went to Houston, I was like, whoa. This is where I want to be. And then the acting thing happened, and LA was like Houston only ten times better.’

‘How did you get into acting?’ I ask as the waiter presents us with steaming hot towels.

‘I did school plays,’ he says. ‘The usual stuff. And then I did modelling for a sports company and ended up in California for a shoot. Took up surfing, loved it, never went home.’

‘You were a model?’ I say, surprised. Leo seems too ... I don’t know, genuine to do all that preening and posing.

‘Sure,’ says Leo. ‘It was mainly sports stuff, you know. Athletic stuff. Why, did you model too?’

I laugh and shake my head. ‘I couldn’t think of a worse model than me.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, for a start, look at my fingernails. I’m not especially good at self
-maintenance.’ I hold out my hands, showing my bitten nails. ‘If I grew them any longer, I wouldn’t be able to garden.’