The Final Act (#4 Bestselling Spotlight Series) (18 page)

Chapter 24

It turns out that I’ve made two key errors. Firstly, it turns out many casino games do require skill. And secondly, James is highly adept at gambling.

He beats me at every card game in quick succession, with enviable ease.

“I thought casinos were about throwing dice,” I sigh as James motions for the dealer to draw another card.

“They’re the games you’d have a chance of winning,” he says, his eyes flashing. “Why would I play you at those
, when the stakes are so high?”

“
And how is it that you’re so good at cards?” I ask in exasperation as he lays yet another winning hand.

“Misspent youth,” he admits. “Boarding school evenings with nothing to do.”

I consider my options. So far, I’m $4000 down to James. And there’s clearly no chance at beating him at a game of skill.

My eyes drift to the roulette table.

A game of luck
, I decide.
That’s my only chance.

“Roulette next,” I say, taking his arm and drawing him over.

“However you want to lose your money is fine with me,” says James, grinning.

We arrive at the table, and James begins laying his money on carefully chosen
bets. He’s spreading chips over the dealer bets and roulette numbers with practised ease.

I put my hand on his arm, stopping him from laying any more chips.

“Wait,” I say. “This is all or nothing. Everything on red or black.”

He turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

“Making this luck alone, Ms Green. Not very sporting.”

“You have to give me some chance of winning,” I say.

James tilts his head slightly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ms Green. I don’t intend on giving you any chance of winning. The prize, you see, it’s just too tempting for me to risk.”

“What about being a gentleman?” I protest weakly, melting under his dark gaze. I’m aiming for his Achilles, since I know how important his gentlemanly manners are to him.

James shakes his head, his green eyes pinning me. “You set the stakes. Every man has his price, Isabella,” he murmurs. “The price at which their usual courtesies are forgotten.” He moves his hand to sweep along my body, and I find myself pressing into his touch.

“My price
, it seems,” he whispers. “Is you.”

I lift my eyes to his.

“If you win this game now,” I say, “we’ll go back to your apartment right away. And you can do whatever you like with me.”

I
feel his body tense.

“But if we play your way,” I say slowly, toying with a gaming chip and filling my eyes with pretended innocence
, “I’ll just have to keep putting on small bets. Making my chips last.”

I land my eyes squarely on his.

“We might not finish the bet until the early hours,” I add, putting a little feigned sadness in my voice. “And I know how impatient you are.”

The expression on his face is admiring.

“That’s almost cheating, Ms Green,” he breathes.

“Almost,” I agree, “but I think you’ll find it’s in the terms of our agreement. And you’ve already set the precedent for dishonourable play,” I add.

“You’re quite right,” says James, considering me. “I have.”

He pauses for a moment. “Very well, Ms Green,” he says. “We’ll play it your way. All or nothing. Red or black.”

He leans in close to my ear.

“But when I win,” he says in deadly tones
, “I will show you no mercy,
whatsoever
.”

I feel my body constrict.

“So then,” says James, straightening up. “What will you choose? Red or black?”

“Red,
” I say, my voice trembling slightly.

“You don’t sound certain,” he says silkily, enjoying the moment.

“I am.”

“Very well. Then I
’m black.”

The roulette wheel is spinning to a close from the last bet, and we wait for a long moment whilst the croupier clears the chips.

Every muscle in my body is tense.

“Place your bets,” murmurs James.

I slide my remaining chips onto red.

James
places his far larger pile onto black, and regards me dangerously.

“Last bets,” announces the croupier.
“And this is the midnight bet folks. Winners are paid out the entire table winnings for the night.”

He regards James and I, the only gamblers on the table.

“So I guess that will either be you, Mr Berkeley, or the lady,” he adds.

“It will be me,” says James. He’s not smiling.

The croupier shrugs. And then he leans in and gives the large wheel a practised spin.

I watch with my heart in my mouth as it wheels round and round, and slows, clicking towards its eventual destination.

Red. Black. Red. Black. Red. Black. Red. Black.

I can hardly bear to watch.

Red.

Black.

Beside me, I can feel James’s taut body. Every muscle in him is strained, staring at the ball as it bounces across the roulette wheel.

Red.

Black.

James turns to me, victorious. And then the wheel gives one last movement.

Red.

Red!

I gasp in delight. Beside me, James shakes his head and curses under his breath.

“Surely you’re not a sore loser,” I admonish, taking in his dark expression.

“No,” he admits. “But you must expect there’ll be some payback for this.”

“Oh no
,” I shake my head. “You lost, fair and square.”

He frowns. “You used your feminine wiles on me,” he protests.

I kiss him on the cheek. “
Never
underestimate your opponent,” I admonish, “particularly not when she risks a spanking if she loses,” I add, leaning to whisper this last part in his ear.

James grins at this, and I
move to collect my winnings. But the croupier holds up a hand.

“
Yours was the midnight bet,” he says, “so you win the value of all the bets placed on this table this evening.”

This gets better and better.

I beam at the croupier.

“So how much have I won?”

The croupier slides chips at dizzying speed.

“This was a popular table,” he says. “It’s a good win.”

He begins pushing towering stacks of chips towards me.

“$100,000,” he says. “And your original stake. $1000.”

I turn to James, my smile wide. “The Vespa!” I say. “I can claim it.”

James smiles back.

“Yes,” he says, “you can. But don’t think I’ll let you ride it without lessons.” He turns to the croupier. “Could you arrange to have the ladies chips cashed and exchanged for the Vespa?”

The croupier nods and begins scooping back chips.

“Oh, wait!” I say, grabbing up two $500 chips. I turn to James. “Can I use chips as a tip?”

James nods. “The croupiers can redeem them, the same as the guests.”

I wave at the croupier. “Here. Your tip.” I place the tips by the croupier and he smiles in acknowledgment.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” I admit to James.

He takes my arm.

“I’m afraid I ca
n’t allow you to cash your bet with me tonight,” he says, leading me gently towards the door of the studios.

“Oh? And why not?”

“Because I’ve been watching you in this rather skimpy outfit all evening,” he replies, “and if you don’t let me take you home and fuck you, something very bad might happen.”

I smile at him. “
I guess I can let the bet slide for one night. But what happened to romance, Mr Berkeley?”

“We’ve got plenty of time for that.” His face softens, and he pulls me close. “Issy, we have the entire summer ahead of us. We don’t have to hide anymore, and
all the drama is behind us. Believe me, I’m going to take full advantage of it.”

I smile at him, my mind drifting to the months to come. We have a few more months of filming. Then James will be in production, putting the movie together. After that we’ll have the premier.

Just the idea of attending a premier as an actual actress is beyond exciting.

But as I allow an image of James and I, in party clothes, to flash into my mind, another dark image strikes. The stalker.

My body tenses, and James pulls me close, frowning.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like the idea of a summer together?”

“No… I…” I force a smile, forcing the image away. “I’m just a little chilly is all.”

James smiles. “I knew you weren’t wearing enough clothes. Let’s get you back.”

I let him lead me, trying to forget the strange foreboding I’d just felt.

Please
, I pray,
let us just enjoy each other now. Let us enjoy this summer.

Chapter 25

The next few months pass in a delirious daze. Filming with James is a dream come true. Natalie is finally behaving herself. And everything is working perfectly.

Bradley has fit in just fine. And it’s obvious to anyone that he and Camilla are made for each other. They’re taking it slow, because of the filming. But you can see they’re madly in love.

It’s summertime, and life is good. Better than good.

On Madison’s advice, I’ve taken on the role of
caring for Natalie. And it’s proved so successful, I’ve grown in confidence. More recently, I’ve begun extending my maternal nature to the rest of the crew as well.

I’ve even made a few suggestions to James as to how we might all work more comfortably. And the result has been a real feeli
ng of team camaraderie. There is genuine mutual respect between us all. So we’re working as a great team, the cast and crew. All of us are enjoying a secret feeling that we’re working on something really special.

In theory, this film is a romantic comedy. Not something likely to attract great critical acclaim, but robust enough f
or box office profits. In reality, there’s so much more to this film. The depth which Grace is revealing and the transformation in Tom’s hard-bitten editor character is so moving.

James has done exactly what he told me he would. He’s brought a fairy
tale to life, made it real. At the heart of the movie, Grace’s purity is what saves Tom and transforms him from a monster back into a man.

Acting together has brought James and I closer than I thought possible.

Our days are spent making scene after scene. But as promised, James and I have also started working on a script. And this project has begun to fill me with as much excitement as the filming.

Every evening
for the past month, we’ve slipped away for a private dinner and a glass of wine, to bounce ideas off each other for the characters and the story.

In terms of script
writing, we seem to be the ideal foil for one another.

The gaps in the plot which I was struggling with, James intuitively knew how to fill. And the character parts, which James admits he’s less adept at, I’m growing with dialogue.

But there is one issue which prevents my total happiness.

Lorna.

When I’m not inventing an exciting new world with James, or immersed in acting, Lorna is always on the back of my mine.

S
he’s always been difficult to get hold of, but now she’s gone completely incommunicado.

I’ve not heard a word from her since the pregnancy revelation, despite what now amounts to hundreds of phone calls and messages.

I’ve returned to our Chelsea flat to find her clothes still there, and waited hours for her return. But to no avail.

In the end,
I called Lorna’s mother, and to my great relief, found she’d spoken to Lorna recently. So at least I didn’t have to start thinking about a missing person’s report.

But
I didn’t feel able to grill Lorna’s mother for details, since she obviously had no idea her daughter is pregnant. And I know Lorna is scared to tell her mum.

On my insistence,
James has called Ben, but he too has mysteriously vanished. So I’m nursing a secret hope that the two of them have gone off to start a life together.

But overall, I’m faced with a horrible fact.

My best friend is pregnant. And she doesn’t want to talk to me.

By the time we’re shooting the last movie scenes, I’ve all but given up hope of hearing from Lorna.

Then, on the very last day of filming,
my phone rings. And I nearly drop the handset in surprise to see my best friend’s name.

“Lorna!” My voice is a mixture of relief, shock and accusation. “Where on
earth
have you been? Are you ok?” My words come out as rapid staccato.

“Chill, chill,” says Lorna, sounding amused. “Good to hear from you too. Can you come let me in?”

“What?” Her question momentarily throws out the interrogation I’m about to launch on her.

“Come let me in,” she repeats patiently, as though asking the most normal thing in the world. “I’m outside the studio.”

“You’re… You’re outside the studio??” I take a hasty step, trip on a lighting cable, and begin marching away from the set with my phone glued to my ear.

I see a couple of crew members glance at me, and raise my hand to signal I’m
ok.

“Yup,” says Lorna.

“Are you ok? Where have you been?” I demand.

“I’m all good,” says Lorna. “Just come get me.”

“You do mean Berkeley Studios right?” I clarify, breaking into a fast stride now and trying to deal with the strangeness of her sudden appearance.

“Well,” replies Lorna, “
there’s a big sign here saying Berkeley Studios. So that sounds about right. But there’s a gate too. And some job’s-worth who won’t let me in without a pass.”

“Wait there. I’ll be right there. Just tell me you’re
really alright,” I add, thinking I won’t be able to bear the few minutes journey to the studio entrance without knowing.

“I’m fine. Totally fine,” says Lorna, sounding
confused. “See you in a sec.”

She hangs up before I can launch any more questions. So I focus on racing to the studio entrance as fast as my legs will carry me.

I pass by the parking lot, which houses the various classic cars and other vehicles for filming.

It now also hous
es the shiny new Vespa, won at the studio party casino a few months back. I glance at it longingly. I’ve had a few lessons and have been bombing around the studio on my free time. Much as I’d love to leap aboard now and get to Lorna all the faster, I don’t have the keys with me.

Continuing on foot
, I try not to torture myself with ideas of what may or may not have happened.

Did Ben reject Lorna? Or did he promise to stand by her?

It’s been a few months, so Lorna might well be showing by now.

She’s so lean that the slighte
st little bump on her long body will probably be quite obvious.

I reach the gate a bundle of nerves and see Lorna, standing casually in a tattered looking purple maxi dress and a pair of battered DM boots.

Her Afro is in slight disarray, and her make-up is smudged around the eyes, as though she’s slept in it. My eyes drop to her midriff.

Oh no. There’s n
o bump.

The observation fills me with slow dread.

No bump?
What has Lorna done?

Please. Please. Don’t let her have aborted
the baby because of Ben.

I pass through the gate, showing my pass to the guard, and virtually fall on Lorna in a torrent of hugs and questions.

“Are you ok? Where have you been? Are you ok? What happened? Are you ok?”

Lorna laughs, hugs me tight, and then pulls back a little.

“Issy. I’m
fine
. Stop worrying!”

“But…” I whisper, putting out a hand towards her belly but not daring to touch her. “The baby?”

“Oh, well, that’s a funny story.” Lorna rubs at her mussed hair.

“A
funny story
?” I virtually scream the words. This is no time for Lorna’s gallows-humour.

“Yeah.” Lorna looks at me in surprise, as if my reaction is unexpected. “
The pregnancy. It was a false alarm.” She gives an adorable little shrug.  “They always tell you to do two pregnancy tests, right? I shoulda listened.” She rolls her eyes. “Would have saved me a lot of worry.”

“A false alarm? There’s no baby?” I can hardly believe it.

“Yep,” nods Lorna. “No baby. Never was one.”

“And Ben?” I am so washed with relief I can barely speak.

A false alarm. Thank God.

I’m so happy
, I’m finding it hard to even be angry with Lorna. Though I know I should be.

“What does Ben think of it all?” I
add.

Lorna shrugs again. “You know what? The whole situation kinda put me off Ben,” she says, her expression philosophical.

“Did he react badly to the news?” I am imagining Ben behaving appallingly.

“
No.” Lorna shakes her head. “I never told him. Found out the pregnancy test was wrong before I had to. But the idea, you know, of being shackled to that idiot for life.” She gives a little shudder. “It was like the spell was broken, you know?”

This is so much to take in, that I hardly know what to say next. Then a burst of anger sets in.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I rage, my voice louder this time. “I called and
called
. Lorna. I was worried
sick
.”

Lorna’s face looks guilty now.

“I’m sorry, Issy,” she says. “I just hit the festival circuit for the summer. Didn’t take my phone. I just wanted to let my hair down and party for a few months after all the stress. I didn’t think.”

The festival circuit. That explains her bedraggled appearance.

“That’s right, you didn’t think,” I rage. “I was about to take out missing person’s for you. It’s only because I spoke to your mother that I even knew you were still alive.”

The anxiety of the last few months is pouring out in a torrent.

“How could you do that to me?” I storm. “I thought you were pregnant and alone somewhere.”

Lorna is laughing.

“What are you laughing at?” I demand.

“I’m sorry
, Issy,” says Lorna. “I am completely thoughtless. And you are my best friend, and I love you. I should have known that you would worry. Even my mum doesn’t fuss about me as much as you do,” she adds, smiling.

“You should have called,” I complain, some of my anger subsiding.

“Yes. I should have. I’m really sorry. Truly. Please forgive me. I was having a bad time. Well. A bad time, and then a really good time,” she adds grinning.

I glower at her.
She gives me her special Lorna-pleading look that she knows I can’t stay mad at her with.

“You are in big trouble,” I say, batting her arm. But I can’t keep from smiling. “But I am so relieved that you’re not pregnant with Ben’s baby,” I add with a sigh.

She nods. “Me too.”

“So it’s all over between you and Ben?” I ask,
unable to believe it.

She frowns. “When
the doctor did a scan. Well. I was sooo relieved. Being bound to Ben Gracey for life was the most terrifying thought.”

“I thought you liked Ben,” I say weakly, thinking of all the times she agreed to meet with him despite his messing her around.

“Well, you know,” says Lorna. “I’m not used to men giving me the run-around. At first it was intriguing. Then. I don’t know. I guess I’m just over it. His games got boring.”

She says this casually. As though Ben were an old dress, or a song she’d heard too much.

“
Really,” I ask, curiously. “You’re not interested in him anymore? Not at all?”

Lorna has always been incredibly fickle where men are concerned. So this isn’t out of character for her. But I always feared that Ben had a stronger hold.

“Yeah,” Lorna breathes out. “Weird huh? It was just,” she snaps her fingers, “like that. No baby. No Ben. Big relief.”

She ponders this for a moment.

“Ben only spoke about himself, you know,” she says. “That gets pretty old pretty quick.” Lorna leans closer. “And in the bedroom,” she holds up a crooked little finger. “
Not
all that.”

I let out a great gasp of laughter, pushing her hand back down.

Now
this
is the old Lorna.

“Lorna!”
I admonish.

“What?” She affects innocence. “I can’t help it if it’s true. Ben Gracey is not blessed in the trouser department.”

I grin at her, delighted to have her back.

“So you’ve just been at festivals this whole time?” I say, taking in her grungy appearance.

“Yup,” Lorna nods, and puts up a hand to her hair. After a moment’s searching, she pulls out a stubby little dreadlock. “See? I’ve even managed to grow a real dreadlock.
The modelling agency is going to go insane with me when I get back.”

“They’ll probably make you shave your head and front Benetton campaigns,” I say. “It will serve you right.”

She grins. “Totally worth it. Two months camping, a tonne of bands, and
a lot
of partying.”

“You are impossible,” I say. “Come inside, and let’s get you
some clothes that aren’t mud splattered.”

Lorna salutes. “Yes mum. Just show me to the bathtub.”

As w
e walk back through the studio, Lorna’s launches endless questions about the movie.