Close Up and Personal (21 page)

His calm assessment helps quell my rising panic. It is such a relief to have someone who knows what to do.

The barman has returned, uncertainly clutching a bottle of sugar syrup.

In my panic, I had forgotten all this. But now it’s all flooding back to me.

Of course
. I’ve known this for years. Better, probably, than Lorna herself. Alcohol lowers blood sugar, which can lead to fainting. She needs a quick fix of something sweet.

The sugar syrup comes with a speed pourer for easy shots into cocktails. I would never have thought of that.

Berkeley lowers the metal spout into the side of Lorna’s mouth and administers a trickle of sticky liquid.

He tilts her head back.

“It should be absorbed by the back of her tongue,” he’s saying. “It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t swallow it.”

There’s a tense few seconds, and then Lorna groggily opens her eyes
properly, and gulps down the syrup.

She stares
up at James.

For a moment
, she blinks comically, trying to figure out how she woke up staring into the face of a famous movie director. Then she gives a little shudder and looks around.

“What happened?” she mumbles, her words slurred.

“Here,” says James, handing her the orange slices. “Suck on these.”

She allows him to push the first slice into her mouth, and I feel a flash of jealously.

Then I hear the sirens outside.

“The ambulance!”

“I don’t need an ambulance,” says Lorna, looking confused. “I’m fine now. Really.” She rubs her forehead with her hand. “I shouldn’t have had so much Champagne,” she admits.

“It’s better she goes
out to the ambulance,” says James, “just so they can check her out.”

I nod, feeling exhausted suddenly. “I’ll go with her,” I say.

“No,” says James, “you get her coat and purse. I’ll carry her out.”

James leans into the booth and lifts Lorna’s long limbs with ease. I feel another stab of jealousy, seeing her in his arms.

I busy myself collecting Lorna’s coat and purse from the cloak room. No easy task when her ticket is somewhere on her person. Likely in her bra, knowing Lorna. But the barman comes to my aid, and the reluctant cloakroom attendant relinquishes her fur coat and designer purse.

I gather them up and turn to leave.
But now James is back inside the bar.

“She’s fine,” he says. “The ambulance crew say she doesn’t need to be admitted to hospital.
They took her blood sugar levels and tested her pupil contraction and said she’s in good health. Though they said it’s better she goes home early.”

“Where is she?”

“Sitting outside smoking a cigarette. She came around pretty fast after the sugar.”

I nod my thanks and turn to head outside, but James grabs my arm.

“I can’t come outside with you,” he says, “there’s paparazzi all over the place, and I won’t risk your face in the papers again. But I’ll be waiting here, if you’d like to come back and have a drink with me.”

“I… I don’t know,” I say. “I think I might need to make sure Lorna gets home
ok.”

He nods. “I underst
and completely. But I’ll be here waiting for you if you change your mind.”

I rush outside to find Lorna is, as James said, sat on a step smoking a cigarette. Lorna doesn’t smoke, but she occasionally has a few puffs if she’s getting tired on a big night out. She looks as though nothing has happened and gives me a wide grin as I join her.

“Where’s the ambulance?” I say, looking about in confusion. I expected it to be chaos out here.

“They went pretty quick,” says Lorna, blowing out a column of smoke. “I was fine really, as soon as the sugar syrup hit my mouth. But I couldn’t miss the chance to be carried out by Mr James Berkeley now, could I?”

She gives me an impish grin, and I laugh in relief. I’m so glad she’s
alright, she could say almost anything right now and I’d forgive her.

“He’s quite a guy,” she says wistfully.

I nod at the truth of this.

“I wasn’t so sure about him at first,” she continues, “
after that thing with the taxi and Ben. But I’ve changed my mind. He’s your regular knight in shining armour isn’t he? How did he even get here so fast?”

“
He was only a few doors down in another bar.”

Lorna nods. “Makes sense. All the big premiere
parties are in this part of town.”

“So shall we grab a cab
, Lorna? I’ve got your coat and purse.” I wave away a plume of her smoke, and she respectfully drops the cigarette and grinds it out.

“You’re not going back inside to see Berkeley?” She sounds surprised.

I shake my head.

“Of course not. My best friend f
ainted tonight. Admittedly through her own stupid actions,” I add, waggling a finger at her. “But there’s no way I’m letting you home alone.”

“And there’s no way I’m ruining the rest of your evening,” says Lorna. “Honestly
, honey. I’m
fine
. More than fine.”

She stands and does a little energetic dance on the spot.

“See? I’m even thinking of heading over to Camden to party.”

I laugh, dragging her back down to sitting. She clearly is restored to health.

“No way,” I admonish. “You’re not going out partying, Lorna Hamilton. You are going straight home to bed.”

“Yes
, mum,” Lorna mock salutes, and then her face turns serious. “I would never forgive myself if I ruined any more of your night on my account. So just do me a favour, ok. Stay and have a drink with Mr Rescue. It’s the least he deserves.”

“Lorna. I’m not sure about that.”

“Well you might as well get sure. Cause if you don’t let me get a cab home by myself, I’m not doing washing up for a month. And you know how that would bug you.”

I mock sigh and smile at her. Staying for a drink with James
is
tempting. I’d been so sure I should stay away. But seeing him in person… I’m not sure I have the strength to leave him sitting alone in the bar. Not when Lorna is clearly in such good health.

“Ok…” I say, “maybe just one drink.
But you call me when you get home to say you arrived safe.”

“Atta girl!” Lorna slaps me on the back.

“Promise you’ll call. And I’m seeing you directly into a cab first.”

Lorna rolls her eyes. “Ok
, fine. But it’s really not necessary. And that poor hot guy is waiting in there all alone. Someone else might get to him before you do.”

Chapter 19

Having seen Lorna safely into a black cab, I head back into the Met Bar. The glittering décor has taken on a new look now I know Berkeley is in here. It seems more sensuous and decadent.

But as I enter the main bar, there is no sign of him.

Lorna’s words come back to me –
someone else might get to him before you do.

I dismiss the unwelcome thought, but it still brings with it a flash of jealously. I wonder if I can get through all these
emotions which this situation is causing. I feel as though my heart might explode if I’m subjected to much more, and it’s been less than a week since we met.

Then I remember Berkeley saying that I should be taken in hand. Is that what he means?
Freedom from all these thoughts? All this energy trying to work out what he wants with me? Maybe I should just trust and let go.

I smile to myself, resolving he’ll never hear me say that out loud.

Then I see a single rose on the table where Lorna and I were sitting. I move towards it, wondering if it was left for Lorna by Ben.

The bloom is orange rather than red.
An unusual choice for romance. And it’s also perfect, I see, as I pick it up from the table. Every crisp petal is flawless.

There is a cream card underneath and I flip it over.

Isabella
, says the familiar writing. My heart skips in my chest.

Orange is for passion.
Join me in room 9.

Oh no. He got a room?
Orange for passion? The message brings a thrill of anticipation and anxiety all in one.

I
t’s yet another cryptic flower bouquet from Berkeley. The last roses he bought me signified jealousy. These mean passion. So I suppose I should be grateful for the improvement.

I call to mind the newspaper article.
He has never given a red rose since the death of his mother.

Is he making a point? That our relationship is not about love?

I shake the thought away, returning to the situation in hand.

J
oining him a hotel room. That wasn’t part of the deal.

My phone beeps and I look down distractedly. It’s from Lorna.

Got home safe.

I smile and ring her number.

She answers immediately.

“Get off the phone
, Isabella Green, and stop worrying about me.”

I laugh.

“Ok, fine. But you really are ok? You don’t need me to come back?”

“And tuck me into bed? Purlease
, Issy. I’m fine. I told you. I’ll watch a movie and go to bed. Scouts honour.”

“Ok.”

We both hang up, and I return to considering the perfect orange rose in my hand.

Flipping to the message screen I
begin writing a text. This time, to James Berkeley.

Your room?
That wasn’t the arrangement.

Almost immediately the phone beeps.

Forgive my discourtesy. We cannot be seen together in public. This is for your protection.

So.
The old issue of the press and Madison. I purse my lips. My phone beeps again.

You can be assured that as a gentleman I will take no more freedoms than I would in an open bar.

I smile at this. Then I text back.

So formal Mr Berkeley.
And what if I wanted to take freedoms with you?

There. That will give him something to think about.

There’s a pause. Then a message appears.

I am open to negotiation.

I toy with my phone, wondering what to do. He has, after all, changed the rules. We were supposed to be having a drink in a bar. A room in a hotel is very different. And I’m still reeling from what Ben Gracey told me. That James has a drug problem.

I begin tapping out a message.

I am not sure you’re playing fair.

“I have no intention of pla
ying fair,” says a deep voice at my shoulder. I jump, halfway to sending the message, and see James standing right behind me.

His cheek is almost against mine, and he wraps his arms around me from behind and eases me phone from my hand.

“Better we do without this,” he murmurs. “It seems to make you even more rebellious than usual.”

“We were supposed to be meeting in the bar,” I say stubbornly. But my body is pressing back into his, relaxing into the strength of his arms.

He turns me around to face him.

“Isabella, I have explained to you the situation. Things with Madison are currently in flux. Until then
, we cannot be seen together in public.”

“Then why are you here?
”

“I realised that it wasn’t gentlemanly to expect you to find the room by yourself,” he concedes. “So I have come to escort you personally.”

He takes my arm firmly in his.

“And I don’t expect to find any re
sistance.”

Before I have a chance to protest, he walks me across the bar and into the sumptuous carpeted corridors of the Metropolitan Hotel.

“It’s not far,” he murmurs in my ear as we turn a corner. “I am always sure to get a room a convenient distance away.”

And with the highest price tag, I think to myself, wondering what a last minute room
at the Metropolitan would have cost.

I find my legs are betraying me, and I follow him without a word to the door of his room.

“Here we are,” he says, opening the door and gesturing I should walk in first.

“This isn’t m
y usual choice of hotel,” he adds, as I’m greeted by a vision in deep purple carpets and an enormous bed decked in sumptuous deep white bed linen and designer pillows.

“Oh?” I say, trying to keep the wonder on my face in check.

“I like hotels with a little more boutique about them,” he explains, shutting the door behind him. “Places which feel more intimate.”

He’s standing facing me now, his lips only inches from mine.

“You made me a promise,” I say in a quavering voice, trying not to react to his proximity. I am determined to question him about the drug issue.