A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (34 page)

I bet Katia bloody Slagface the actress has got there first
, I thought sadly, remembering the look of love on that invite. No actor was good enough to fake something like that.

The shoot eventually took place, with me in the lovely tight plum-coloured trousers I'd bought, worn with a compromise top, which sat halfway between my tasteful jumper and Kate's chiffony dress shocker. My hair had been returned to normal – save for a Kirby-grip that swept my fringe off to the side – a look I rather liked, in fact – and I was back in the flat brogues I'd rocked up in.

Sam and I were draped artfully over each other on the couch and were instructed – repeatedly – to throw our heads back and laugh youthfully. At first, this had been excruciating and we'd looked about as youthful and carefree as a pair of Victorian state officials. But after a few attempts Sam had whispered to me that Kaveh had turned up this morning in a purple cape, and I whispered back that I'd found his teddy bear and named him Bowes Junior, and we'd got the giggles, Kaveh had got what he wanted, and the whole agonizing affair was brought to
a timely end. After an ‘afternoon tea' of tiny morsels of sushi (‘Don't they fucking
eat
anything in this city?' I muttered to Sam) we sat down for what turned out to be quite a nice interview with Anna the journalist. The more we talked about our business, the more we glowed. Watching Sam, I knew he was as proud of it as I was, and I felt even sadder that he was in the process of throwing himself back into acting. We were a brilliant team! He should be up in Edinburgh with me, making terrible omelettes and emailing mad people!

Towards the end of our interview, a very smart woman arrived in the studio. It took a few seconds for me to work out who she was or where I knew her from but, as she whipped out her BlackBerry and started hammering out an impatient email, I remembered exactly who she was. I broke into a grin.

‘Shelley!' I said, walking over to her after the interview. ‘At last!'

Shelley looked up from her BlackBerry and once again I had the sensation of looking straight at myself. Only this time something was different. I might not have mastered the art of relaxation yet but, as we eyed each other, I knew that we were no longer in the same world. I was not on that BlackBerry, or in that suit, or indeed in that head any more. I was not a Power Woman. I was just a Normal Woman. Who now got a stonking eight hours' sleep every night and was learning that there was a life beyond the office.

‘Charlotte Lambert,' she barked, shooting a hand out. ‘My God! What a bloody pleasure, at long last!'

Without any self-consciousness she stood back to
appraise me. ‘You look quite good,' she announced eventually. I nodded a thank-you and wondered if I would ever get used to the way she behaved. Sam snorted and tried to turn it into a cough, and Shelley's eyes swivelled to him. ‘Well,' she said, again standing back to look him up and down. ‘Sam, Shelley Cartwright. I'm one of Charlotte's clients. Or, at least, I was,' she added, with a fleeting, blissful grin. The grin quickly closed down and Margaret Thatcher came back. After a quick appraisal of Sam, she nodded. ‘Were you satisfied with the interview?'

‘Yes,' Sam started. ‘Actually, it was great that she was so interested in –'

‘Excellent,' Shelley boomed, cutting him off. ‘I believe it will be in the paper this Sunday.'

‘Thank you very much for this, Shelley,' I said. ‘It'll really help us.'

She waved a hand. ‘Yes, yes. How long are you down here, Charlotte? Do you two have time for dinner?'

I wished fervently that I did. I was still on a high from Sam marching off and demanding that I wear my glasses and some marginally less stupid clothes; I was desperate to be with him for longer. ‘My train's in ninety minutes,' I said sadly.

Shelley nodded vaguely and I realized her head was elsewhere once again. What was going on with her at the moment? Sam's phone went and he retreated to answer it with a very happy look on his face.
Arrgh!
I thought.
Fucking Katia!

Shelley watched him go and I wondered once again if she, too, was after Sam. It seemed pretty improbable but, there again, every woman on earth fell in love with Sam at
some point. I just hoped that my turn would prove brief and merciful.

‘I hear they're very excited about him over in rehearsals,' she remarked.

I was surprised. ‘How do you know that?'

‘Oh,' she said airily, ‘David, the director, is my cousin. Couldn't believe it when he told me he'd cast Sam. I thought, I know that bloody name! Anyway, David's been raving about young Master Bowes.'

I swelled with pride. Of course he bloody was! My clever Sam!

Then Shelley dropped a bomb. ‘The chemistry between him and the girl playing Miranda is extraordinary,' she said knowledgeably. ‘Part of the reason that Anna, the
Times
journalist, wanted to do this piece was that she'd recently read an article in the
Stage
describing them as the most beautiful couple in Theatreland.'

Shock and disappointment smashed into me like an iron weight. The most beautiful couple in Theatreland?

Oh, God! Of course they were! Had I not looked at Katia Slagface and thought she was the very embodiment of Sam's perfect woman? ‘Yes,' I said bravely. ‘I reckon they're a couple offstage as well as on.'

Shelley nodded confirmation and I decided that I'd like to die.

The cruelty of this timing was intense. The
day
I'd grasped how I felt about Sam he'd gone to London and fallen for someone else. It was beyond cruel.

I tried, with limited success, to pull myself together, aware that Shelley was watching me curiously. ‘It's a shame
you're not here tonight,' she said thoughtfully. ‘A contact of mine wants to channel some funds into a UK venture and he's specifically looking for something with popular appeal. He's trying to increase his portfolio of fluffy investments.'

I winced.

‘Not that First Date Aid is fluffy,' Shelley continued smoothly, ‘but in comparison to Middle Eastern oilfields it's fairly homely.' Sam wandered back over to us. ‘Just telling Charlotte about a contact who's keen to invest in a company like yours,' Shelley explained. ‘He loved the sound of First Date Aid. Was keen to meet you while you were down here.'

Sam looked at me, but I couldn't meet his eye.
You're shagging Katia Slagface
, I thought miserably.
Just go away and leave me alone.

‘I'd love to meet him!' Sam said, just as I said, ‘I'm really sorry but I can't.'

Shelley was annoyed: ‘Are you absolutely
sure
, Charlotte? Could you not go back in the morning?'

I glowered. All I wanted now was to get the hell out of there, away from Shelley, Sam and all the beautiful people in that studio. ‘No,' I said shortly. ‘Sorry, but I have a dog to look after. My parents are abroad.'

Sam looked surprised. ‘You're looking after Malcolm?'

I was not. I had put in a bid but my mum had rejected it, opting to accommodate Malcolm with the Joneses in East Linton so he wouldn't miss out on his daily splash in the River Linn. ‘Yes,' I lied.

‘But Hailey could look after him?' Sam sounded
confused and I wanted to punch him.
Fuck OFF!
I thought angrily.
Leave me alone and run off to your pretty little girlfriend!

Shelley folded her arms. ‘I'm offering you something very special here,' she announced unsympathetically. ‘Most small businesses never get within a hundred miles of an opportunity like this.'

Sam was staring at me. I knew the face he'd be making, kind but a little frustrated. And then I realized I was going to start crying.
No!
I thought.
NO! Please, please no!
Without looking up I tried to locate the door so I could make a run for it. I didn't care how odd a galloping exit would be: all that mattered was that I didn't let them see that I was crying. But just as I worked out where the door was, I felt a hand close round mine.

‘Charley?' Sam said gently. My face was hot and red, and I knew I was sunk. Two large, helpless tears slid out of my eyes and on to the floor. ‘Charley!' Sam repeated. ‘What's wrong, dude?'

I shook my head, hoping I'd disappear in a puff of smoke. I felt Shelley shift uncomfortably in front of me.

‘Sorry,' Sam said. ‘Can you just give us a sec?' He held on to my hand and led me outside, where I bawled on to his shoulder for two whole minutes. Huge sobs racked me and I clung to him for dear life. I knew that this was just about the worst shoulder to be crying on but I had little choice in the matter: these sobs were coming whether it was convenient or not. When they finally subsided into snotty sniffs and little spasms, Sam took my handbag and pulled out the packet of tissues that he knew would be there. He held one over my nose and instructed me to
blow, which I did, expelling a vast river of snot. Sam sniggered. ‘Nice,' he said, dropping it delicately into a bin.

I tried a smile. I could see my red nose and couldn't even begin to imagine how mad I must look with mascara and thick studio make-up running down my face.

Sam put a hand on each of my arms. ‘Please tell me what's going on, brother,' he said quietly. ‘You've been on edge all day.'

Just for a second I considered telling him. What did I have to lose? Sam was going out with a beautiful actress; I'd lost already. But I couldn't. I couldn't bear to watch his face cloud over with pity and listen to his gentle explanation that he ‘really valued me as a friend but …' And, anyway, I'd begun to understand that Sam and I just couldn't communicate in real life the way we could on email.

There was no point. No point trying to talk to him.

‘Just having a really hard time coping with everything,' I said eventually. ‘You know those days when you wake up and everything's too much?'

Sam nodded sympathetically. ‘You've been through some huge shit,' he said. ‘Like, multiple cowpats. Of course you're feeling bad.'

We stood looking at each other, Sam smiling in a kindly way and me gazing at him through sad, swollen eyes. I looked away first. It was too painful. I needed to get out of there, on a train and back up to Scotland where I belonged.

But Sam had other plans. ‘Stay,' he said. ‘Let's hang out tonight. We don't have to meet the investor, we can just
bimble around if you want. You can come and see my horrible flat in the ghetto! I'll even make you some healthy shit!'

I wanted to. I wanted to be spontaneous and, more to the point, to hang out with Sam, but I felt too raw. What would I say to him? What would I have to talk about beyond the fact that I'd gone and fallen in love with him?

‘Please, Chas,' Sam said. ‘I miss you.'

I sniffed loudly. ‘You won't be hanging out with Katia?'

‘Actually, I was meant to be. We were going to rehearse at mine.' A smile crossed his face quickly, which stabbed me in the heart and then in the womb for good measure. ‘But I spend all my time with Katia. I'd like to hang out with you tonight, my brother.'

And then I had no option but to sniff, attempt a smile and say yes.

‘If you don't fancy the ghetto we can just find a pub and have a pie,' Sam said. ‘Or a salad,' he added quickly.

I smiled. ‘Thanks, Bowes,' I snotted. ‘You're the best.'

When we went back in, Shelley resumed bullying us about meeting her contact. ‘A drink! An hour of your time, for God's sake!' she foghorned. ‘There'll be plenty of meetings further down the line … For now he just wants to meet you. Come on!'

Sam tried to hold her off for my sake, but I gave in. It was clear that we would not be leaving the studio until we said yes and, in spite of my fragile state, I did know this was a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Shelley marched off, delighted, to call him.

‘Seven o'clock, Mandarin Oriental in Knightsbridge,' she snapped on her return. Her face softened briefly.
‘With your help I met the man of my dreams, Charlotte,' she said. Her voice was suddenly quite human and sweet. ‘I really wanted to return the favour and this was the only thing I could think of. Good luck.'

And then off she swept, shouting into her BlackBerry, the click-click-click of her heels ringing out around the studio.

‘I wish she'd stop sending us to posh hotels,' Sam said wistfully. ‘I have fuck-all idea how to behave in those places, Chas.'

I looked at him and – forgetting my anguish over the Most Beautiful Couple in Theatreland – I laughed. ‘Do you know what, Bowes? Me neither. Let's have one drink with him and then get the hell out of Knightsbridge.'

We shook hands.

Sam went off for the final two hours of his rehearsal and I went for a mini pedicure and a coffee in Harvey Nichols, sitting in gay denial about Sam being part of the Most Beautiful Couple in Theatreland. I fantasized about him ending his romance with Katia Slagface because she was uncomplicated and carefree (he preferred difficult, uptight workaholics). And I prayed that his kindness towards me today had been a sign of a deep and all-consuming love.

When six forty-five came, I felt reluctant to leave. I didn't want to go back into reality. Reality involved pretty much none of these things being true.

We met outside the hotel and, even though I'd seen him two hours before, my heart still leaped.
LOVE ME!
I implored him.
NOT KATIA!
He looked madly
handsome and also a little bit tired, which just made me want to put him in my pocket and take care of him.

We gazed up at the imposing edifice of the hotel, straightened ourselves out and marched in.

Almost immediately, we found ourselves in a strange situation. The bar was almost empty, save for a rich-looking couple from the Middle East, so Sam and I sat down and ordered drinks. But before they even arrived the receptionist appeared at my elbow, asking if I was Charlotte Lambert, here to meet someone from Holden Steiner. ‘Er, yes?' I said. It sounded about right.