Wishful Thinking (8 page)

Two hours later, when Steve Grayson walked into his study, Christian remembered why Tom Powers had earned his nickname of ‘The Powerhouse’. Grayson, a former Metropolitan Police detective, was quiet, unassuming and brim full of confidence. He took control from the moment he entered, asking all the questions and dismissing everything he felt was irrelevant. His mind seemed to work like a computer. He didn’t care about Christian’s reasons or feelings – he cared about plain facts and delivering the necessary information in record time. He promised Christian results within 48 hours.

****

Jess finished her editing job well ahead of schedule but didn’t check it in immediately or offer her help to the other two. Instead she spent the morning following up on the research she had started the night before. Using Katya’s blog as a starting point, she began tracing the story of Wishful and its rise to fame. Her particular focus was on Amber Rayne. If you can’t beat them, join them, Jess thought.

But Amber’s life story, from what she could uncover, did not make pleasant reading. I don’t think I could bear to write this woman’s biography if she paid me in gold, Jess thought sadly. No wonder no one has done it before. She seemed almost destined to go the same tragic route as so many other highly talented young singers before her.

“It looks like Plan B, then,” Jess muttered under her breath. She looked up the ‘Good Rest Ye’ hotel to check the directions and ensure she would find the right exit for it off the motorway – not a route she felt willing to traverse again in any hurry, but one she felt she should.

She saw to her surprise and then amusement that the proprietors’ names were not registered as ‘Goodchild’ but as ‘Goodison’. The naïve attempt at disguise only made them more endearing. She presumed they had altered their name in order to avoid the wrong kind of clientele. Goodchild, Goodison or whatever, they had shown her great kindness and refused to accept any payment. The need to show her gratitude had been weighing heavily on her mind and as tomorrow was Saturday, she planned to retrace her journey of the previous week and take them a few small gifts by way of thanks.

*

She managed to go astray three times on her way to the hotel, despite carefully following her satellite navigation system’s confident directions. Either she took the wrong turning or the little hotel was even more off the beaten track than she had remembered. When she pulled into the forecourt, she was surprised to see it filled with vehicles. The front entrance was ablaze, the hotel clearly fully open for business.

Her look and doubting tone made Jess cringe with embarrassment. She wanted to grab Ben’s hand and run, but instead took a deep breath and lifted her and Ben’s gifts onto the reception desk.

“No. We just wanted to leave these to say thank you for their kindness last week. If you could please see that they get them?” Jess slipped the little cards from her and Ben underneath the wrapped gifts and then led Ben quickly back out of the hotel.

“Aren’t we going to see Chris?” Ben asked once they were outside the door.

Jess had to fight back her tears. What a waste of all that nervous energy. “No, darling. I told you he probably wouldn’t be there. Let’s just go home before it gets dark.”

Ben nodded. “The snow’s all gone anyway. It doesn’t look as nice.”

****

Fake snow lay all around the Surrey mansion and three snow machines were being set up for later. The party planners had been decorating the place since early morning and the predominantly white decorations lent a bridal look to everything. Amber decided she could get up to greet the guests after all – most of whom she had invited anyway. In fact she seemed to have made a complete recovery. Christian just wanted to escape the bustle of the planners and the caterers who were unloading crate after crate of champagne. The snow made him think about the beautiful woman with shining eyes, rosy cheeks and the sweetest pink-tipped nose he had ever seen. The magic of that night a week ago seemed like a dream now. But it was one of those haunting dreams, those impossible-to-shake-off dreams that refused to be forgotten.

He was not in the mood for this party. Everything that had happened in the past week had turned all his thoughts and feelings upside down. Just when he thought he had managed to set things back to normal some great cloud of dissatisfaction washed over him. The dissatisfaction was something he recognised intimately. Another missed opportunity. One of those times he would one day look back on and ask himself:
I wonder what would have happened if…?
How many of those had he known in his life? When would he ever recognise the signs?

He checked his watch. He wanted to call his parents before the party started, knowing it would be impossible to do so later. But he knew they were busy that afternoon with a local function and didn’t want to disturb them. On the other hand, he didn’t want to leave it until tomorrow. He felt like touching base now. One thing being around Amber did was make you feel acutely aware of your own mortality!

“Hey mum! I’m just getting ready for my party and I wondered how yours had gone – is it over?”

His mother mumbled something about going somewhere more private and the line went quiet for a full two minutes. When he next heard her voice, she sounded much more relaxed. He visualised her reclining in a comfortable chair and putting her feet up somewhere – probably in the tiny sitting room off the kitchen and almost certainly with a cup of tea in front of her. They made small talk for a while and she amused him with anecdotes about her afternoon party.

“Oh by the way, you remember that nice young woman who turned up here just before Christmas? The one with the little boy?” His mother asked.

“Oh, we didn’t actually see her, darling. She just left some gifts for us at reception. Chocolates, you know and the sweetest basket of flowers from the little boy. What was his name?”

“Ben.”

“Yes of course. He signed the card himself. Very sweet.”

“She left a card? What did it say?” He sat bolt upright and fully alert, but his mother began to sound rather too relaxed and sleepy.

“Oh, just thank you – you know the usual.”

“
Mother!
Did she mention me?”

She sounded surprised by his question. “Well yes, of course. She asked us to convey her gratitude to you and to say, umm…”

He heard her cover the phone to speak to someone in the background, probably his father. He wanted to shout down the phone in impatience.

“Oh just, you know, that she was sorry not to be able to thank you in person and hopes you are well. The usual niceties, but she expressed them very well. But then she would, of course, wouldn’t she, being a writer?”

“A writer? She works for a publisher.” It disturbed him that his mother knew these things which he didn’t. Had he really been so unobservant?

“Well yes, because she’s interested in writing; don’t you remember her saying that? She does ghost-writing and editing - that sort of thing.”

“I remember her saying she was thinking about training to be a teacher because she didn’t like her job…”

“Well she does have a child to support. It’s a very practical solution. I don’t think writers make any money these days - except for that…Harry Potter woman – didn’t you meet her once? Oh but then she wouldn’t need a ghost-writer, would she? I really must go, darling. Your father needs me. Have a wonderful party tonight. I’ll be thinking about you and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Wait, mother! One last thing. Did she…” he paused and took a deep breath, searching around his desk drawer for a pen and some paper. “I suppose she didn’t leave a phone number?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact she did. And I’ll be calling her tomorrow to say thank you for the presents. I’ll tell her you asked after her. Happy New Year, darling. Talk to you tomorrow.” And maddeningly, frustratingly, she hung up.

8

Jess smiled. She’d been telling Ben a story her grandmother had told her when she was very young and her own reactions had been very similar. She claimed to have looked out of the window on New Year’s Eve and seen a man with a hundred noses walking past the house. “He went out with the old year,” she told Ben solemnly.

“Yes but where did he
go?
Did he go to his own house? And what happened when he sneezed? I bet he needed lots of tissues when he had a cold.”

Her smile turned to laugher. “He wasn’t real, Ben. I told you it was just a story she liked to tell me every New Year’s Eve – I don’t know why. She said he left with the old year – in fact I think she said his name
was
Old Year and then a young man with a brand new nose arrived and he was New Year.”

Ben put his hand to his own nose as if checking it for size. “If you had a hundred noses, you wouldn’t have room for your mouth, would you?”

“You’d have to drink your milk through your belly button,” she teased, lunging at Ben and tickling his tummy. “Now it’s bed time for you. If you are not asleep in ten minutes, I won’t wake you up to see the fireworks at midnight.”

Just as she was ushering Ben into his small bedroom, she heard a knock on the door. She wrinkled her nose, wondering which one of her neighbours it was and what they wanted. It had to be someone from inside the building as a visitor would have had to ring the bell downstairs. She threw open the door and gasped in surprise.

Christian Goodchild stood before her, holding a bottle of champagne and a bunch of long-stemmed white roses. He looked truly amazing in a white dress suit - though with the tie askew - which accentuated his tanned skin more strikingly than ever, and looking every inch the superstar as he smiled down at her. It was Ben who came to his senses and spoke first.

“Did you see a man with a hundred noses outside?” He asked.

Christian laughed and shook his head. “No, but there were a couple of people with at least one nose each just leaving. They let me in, actually. Sorry if I startled you, but I… I hope I’m not…”

Ben considered his options for a moment and trudged off reluctantly as Christian entered the small flat, closing the door behind him.

“I came to take to you to a party,” he said. “How are you, Jess? It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” she said, sounding breathless. “But such a surprise.” She stared at him feeling foolish and irritated with herself for looking so dowdy and unglamorous compared to him. “I wish I’d known.”

“I’m sorry. I only just found out where you lived and wanted to surprise you. I was hoping to persuade you to come back with me – there’s a party going on at my place.”

She looked him up and down, cocked her head on one side and smiled appreciatively. He looked amazing, more so perhaps because of his wonky tie. “I thought it must be something like that. But I can’t possibly. Ben…”