Christmas on Primrose Hill (21 page)

‘I was,’ Nettie giggled. ‘But at least it meant I didn’t lose!’

‘You play strip poker,’ Jamie said, almost to himself, watching her closely, laughter in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Very badly.’

‘Excellent.’ His smile widened. ‘Well, I’m more than happy to play tag if those are your plans.’

There was a horrified silence, and Nettie could guess from the boys’ faces that the prospect of stripping down to their boxers in front of Jamie Westlake was as appealing to them as trying on a bikini next to Miranda Kerr would be to the girls.

‘Actually, that was just a one-off,’ Dan said quickly. ‘It wasn’t that good playing like that. Bit gimmicky. It’s much better actually focusing on the cards, you know?’

‘Eh?’ Stevie spluttered, coughing on his beer. ‘Listen, you weren’t saying that when Em sat on your lap in her undies.’

Jamie looked down at Nettie. ‘What do you want to do? I don’t want to get in the way of your plans, but I’m pretty busy the next few days; I don’t think I’ll get any more free time before Christmas, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I just left you
unable to skate
.’

Nettie looked back at Jamie. His gaze was steady and warming. She felt like a flower opening up in a sunspot. Without a word, she raised her hand to his and he pulled her up.

‘See you tomorrow, then,’ Jules said with unconcealed excitement. ‘Have
fun
.’ Though she didn’t say the words out loud, her tone of voice implied the unspoken ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

Jamie nodded down at them all. ‘Good to meet you, guys. See you again soon, I hope.’ And putting his hand on the small of her back, he guided her quietly out of the pub, every single set of eyes upon them.

Chapter Twelve

They sped through London like city sprites, his moped weaving easily through the heavy traffic, her grip round him so tight that her arms ached. It had been a shock to see his bike parked outside the pub – she had expected a chauffeured car, or at the very least that he’d hail a cab; she would have been less surprised to find a chopper on the roof than the Vespa, but she understood it now – the full, tinted visors on the helmets were an effective disguise, and as the bright lights gleamed on them, he moved through the city easily, hidden in plain sight.

Her cheek had to rest against his shoulder; there was nowhere else to put it – looking over his shoulder was too scary – and she tried to calm herself as they cut through the dark. If she’d thought sharing a stage or sharing a pint with him was overwhelming, riding pillion on his bike, her arms and legs round him, was almost enough to stop her heart. She could feel his muscles tighten as he angled the bike round cars and corners, the bass of his voice as he muttered at cyclists getting in the way, reckless drivers not seeing or caring that he was there. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of their faces, should any of them be so stupid as to knock him off and see who they’d cut up.

And what was going to happen when they got to where they were going? Were they really even going to Somerset House? Or had that just been an excuse, a cover story to peel her away from the others and get her alone? Because she had no doubts that he was chasing her. Every look he gave her – since that first moment at the premiere in Leicester Square – confirmed that the heat between them wasn’t imagined. He felt it; she felt it. The difference was, he probably did this every night of the week, pursuing every girl who took his fancy – and who would say no to him?

She knew she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Her head told her one thing, her body quite another. Her blood felt sparkling, bubbles of excitement fizzing down her limbs, flushing her cheeks, quickening her breath.

She watched as London rolled past them – along Regent’s Park and down to Fitzrovia and Soho, over Piccadilly Circus and down the Strand, the distinctive humped arches and pillars of Somerset House cresting before them in under fifteen minutes, Jamie bringing the bike to an easy stop, his feet flat on the ground as he kicked the stand down.

Reluctantly, she loosened her grip and hopped off, handing him the helmet and quickly raking her fingers through her hair before pulling her beanie from her coat pocket and tugging it on, as though trying to hide.

He smiled, somehow sensing her anxieties and taking her by the hand again. ‘Are you nervous?’

She nodded.

‘You should be.’ His eyes danced with amusement as he saw the worry leap in her features again. He laughed, toying with her. ‘Relax, I’m joking. I won’t let anything happen to you.’

Nettie blinked, still wrong-footed and insecure. Since when had she become someone he protected?

He pulled his beanie down and his scarf up, so that only his eyes and nose could be seen, but even that was enough, and as he led her quickly through the arches towards the rink – a smile on his face and utter certainty in his steps, marching past people before they had a chance to process him – Nettie caught the frowns and puzzled stares on his back, before heads were shaken and the thought tossed away.
No, it couldn’t be.

It was late now, but the rink was still half full. There was no queue at the entrance, thanks to a ‘Sold Out’ sign propped up in the window of the cash booth, and he walked straight up to the woman at the till. ‘I’m sorry, but we haven’t booked. Is that a problem?’

It took the girl only a moment to register the VIP standing before her.

‘Of course not, Mr Westlake,’ she said hurriedly, lifting the barrier for them and picking up the phone on her desk.

‘
Un
believable,’ Nettie said as they walked towards the desk where the skates were held in racks.

‘Hey, there are enough downsides, trust me,’ he said, glancing down at her. ‘I’d happily give this up to get my privacy back.’

He shook her hand, waggling her arm about. ‘Although, if it impresses you that I don’t have to pre-book, then maybe it’s a sacrifice worth making.’

She laughed, just as they arrived at the desk.

The assistant had clearly been notified of his arrival because she was standing with a manager behind her, ever-ready smiles on their faces, eyes gleaming as though they’d been waiting their entire lives for this moment.

‘Mr Westlake, it’s a pleasure to have you join us here tonight. What sizes would you like?’ the assistant asked.

Jamie gestured to Nettie to answer first.

‘Thirty-eight, please,’ she mumbled.

‘And I’ll have a forty-three,’ he replied, his eyes on her. ‘Stop looking so scared.’

‘But I’ve never done this.’ Oh God, what if she fell badly and broke a leg? Or a hip? Fell down and someone sliced over her fingers?

They walked over to the benches and changed their shoes in silence, Nettie tying double knots in the laces.

She stared down at the white boots, the flash of the sharp blade beneath the arch of her feet sliver-thin. She bit her lip, anxiously. This was a really bad idea.

Jamie was standing, waiting for her. ‘Ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said with a grimace. She pushed herself to standing, walking with a peculiar knock-kneed gait over the rubber mats and reaching for the glass barricades that bordered the ice rink.

It was vast and beautiful, a huge Christmas tree bedecked in white lights at the far end, people sluicing past, the gentle crunch of the ice beneath their blades almost obscured by the music that blew out from the large speakers in every corner.

There weren’t many beginners there. No doubt they took the earlier slots, hiding among the toddlers, who didn’t have so far to fall. She watched as people glided by in smooth, repetitive laps, arms relaxed and swinging lightly by their sides, the more advanced skaters attempting pirouettes and turns, spraying arcs of ice flakes into the air, laughing when they occasionally got it wrong, slamming into the barricades or sliding into the backs of each other.

Only a couple of people were wobbling around, arms out like scarecrows, legs as stiff as forks. She saw one girl at the far end, almost bent double as she gripped a plastic penguin that appeared to be the skating equivalent of a buoyancy device.

Nettie looked around desperately, knowing salvation when she saw it and finding a rack of plastic penguins lined up by the gate.

‘Oh, I’ll get one of those!’ she said brightly, heading towards it.

But Jamie shook his head, his khaki eyes shimmering with amusement. ‘No need. I’ll be your penguin.’

She laughed. ‘You’ll be my penguin?’ It sounded so funny, ridiculous. It
was
ridiculous. But he was still standing by the gate, an arm outstretched to her.

Her laughter died in her throat. He could have been standing at the edge of the cliff, enticing her to jump, and she’d still take his hand. She stepped towards him and onto the ice, her fingers gripping the sleeves of his jacket in panic as she felt the perilous smoothness beneath her feet. The last time she’d felt this sensation, she’d been whizzing down it on a seventy-degree slope dressed as a bunny, and she suddenly wished she was in the costume again now. It had protected her then and she felt exposed and vulnerable without it now.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said quietly, his body relaxed and stable as she tried to settle to the feeling, trying not to wince as the other skaters flashed past, making her feel giddy in their backdraughts. ‘Ignore them. They’ll go round us. Just take a deep breath and look at me.’

She did as he told her to, trying to calm her breathing, but looking into his eyes had a stimulating, not sedative effect on her and she felt her pulse rocket again.

‘It’s OK. It’s just you and me.’

Strangely, it was. The world fell away like shards of glass in a broken window, revealing nothing but black space beyond so that just the two of them were left, the night air cool on their skin and the earth slipping slowly under their feet. Being on the ice, being in his arms was like being weightless, living in a world with no gravity – she didn’t know how to push against anything; she couldn’t start or stop; she could only slide, spin, drift, fall, float . . .

The first time she realized they were moving was when he began to turn, leaning in slightly to change their direction. Her grip tightened again, panic like a bullet, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink and she felt her muscles soften, letting him lead.

She even smiled, nervous little laughs escaping from her like whinnies as she began to adjust to the sensation, trusting in him.

‘You’re so good,’ she gasped, wondering how he could do this backwards.

He shrugged. ‘I learned as a kid. It helps.’

‘Where did you grow up?’ she asked, feeling shy, wondering if she was allowed to ask, to know. Or was that prying? Did he have to keep his life a secret from people like her? Normal people?

‘Kent. My parents still live there.’

‘Oh.’ She blanched as a girl did a fancy jump as she passed them, landing on one foot, her other leg outstretched. ‘Do you . . . do you get to see them much?’

‘Not as much as I’d like, but then, it’s been hard recently with the tour. They flew out for some of the Oz shows, though.’ He shifted position slightly so that his hands were underneath her elbows. ‘How about you? Where did you grow up?’

‘Primrose Hill.’

‘Really?’ He seemed impressed. ‘So you’re not part of the fashionable influx, then?’

‘No. I’ve lived there all my life.’

His eyes danced. ‘What do they call locals from there? “Primrosers”?’ His look became devilish. ‘Surely not “prim roses”?’

She laughed at the pun, wishing she could smack his shoulder, but she didn’t dare move her hands off his arms. ‘No!’

‘Very glad to hear it,’ he murmured, making her laugh more.

The ornate embellishments of the neoclassical building slipped past in her peripheral vision, the white lights twinkling as though the stars had dipped down from the sky just for them, and she felt like Cinderella at the ball, dancing with the prince. Her eyes brightened with amusement as she remembered Jules’s excitement on the park bench only the weekend before, telling her she would have this, her Cinderella moment.

The colour in his eyes deepened as he watched her smile and laugh and panic and gasp and smile again. ‘And have you got any brothers or sisters?’

She swallowed. She had always hated that question. ‘No. You?’

It was his turn to pause. The silence dragged on so long she again wondered whether maybe she wasn’t allowed to know personal details about him. Maybe this wasn’t a two-way street. Perhaps, as a celebrity, he had to keep those details hidden from people like her: fans, the public.

‘Two little sisters,’ he said finally. ‘One’s a teacher; the other’s a quantity surveyor.’

She laughed. ‘Imagine how much more interesting it is for them when they get asked the same question. “Oh yes, my sister’s a surveyor, and my brother’s a global superstar.”’

Jamie smiled, but his eyes darted away, as though embarrassed and she felt like she’d trodden on a landmine, made a wrong move that had blown them into the sky.

She swallowed, hearing the slice of ice from his skates. Her legs weren’t moving at all. She was simply gliding along after him, being pulled like a cart.

There was another flash of colour and energy beside them and Nettie gasped, almost losing her balance, as a girl – the same one as before – leaped and pirouetted on her way past them. Nettie stared after her, wondering whether her timing was coincidental or deliberate. Had she recognized Jamie? Was she trying to impress him? Get his attention?

She felt Jamie’s grip tighten on her arms, a silent pulse of communication, and she looked back at him, his gaze a steady horizon she could cling to.

‘So, what about Dan?’ he asked.

‘Dan? What about him?’

‘You’re obviously close.’

‘Yeah,’ she smiled, groaning gently. ‘I guess you’d say he’s the nearest thing I’ve got to a brother.’

He paused. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t say that at all.’

She frowned. ‘Huh?’

‘Well, he clearly doesn’t see you as his little sister.’

Her lips parted as she got his meaning. ‘No, it’s not like that.’

His eyes scanned her. ‘For you, maybe.’