Love Beat (36 page)

I trudge along the drive in the early chill. My mind’s still blank, but I think vaguely that on the main road I might hitch a lift to a town. There I can pick up a taxi, train—whatever.

At that moment I hear the crunch of gravel as a large, darkened car draws up beside me.

Cade.

I try to hurry, but it’s hopeless. My case is too heavy.

“Miss Vale?”

I pause and turn as Mason, Cade’s driver, calls after me. “I’m to drive you wherever you want to go, miss. Mr. Fitzlean insists. He’s concerned for your safety.”

I glare at him. “Is he in that car?”

“No, miss. Where are you headed?”

I hesitate. I’m miles from anywhere. It’s probably the best option. “That’s kind of you, Mason, but I’m going back to London. If you could drop me at the nearest railway station?”

“What address in London, miss?”

Impatiently I rattle off the address of Mel’s flat in Hammersmith. He turns and opens the passenger door, his face impassive. “If you’d get in, miss.”

* * * *

Mason’s a fast, efficient driver. In just over two hours, we’re blending effortlessly into the early traffic on the Chiswick Flyover and heading for central London. Without being told, Mason takes the north exit to make the right turn for Hammersmith and soon we’re nosing into the alleyway outside Mel’s tiny apartment.

A tousled Mel answers the door in pajamas, toothbrush in hand. “
Tunis
. Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick.”

I turn and wave to Mason, still sitting in the car on the street below. Lifting a gloved hand, he slowly draws away.

Mel stares after him. “Who’s that?”

“He gave me a lift. Sorry to barge in, Mel. I need somewhere to stay for a few days.”

“Who is it?” In the tiny kitchen, Ben looks up from a sizzling pan full of bacon and eggs. “Hey, good timing. Take a pew.”

“I don’t want anything to eat. Just somewhere to sleep.” I shake my head at his polite offer to share breakfast. I accept a small glass of juice.

“You look terrible.” Mel scans my face. “Have you been with the Panther all this time? What’s he done to you?”

I sigh. “Please, Mel, not now. I’m fine, just tired. That’s all. So, can I stay?”

Mel throws an arm around me. “Sure you can. Take the spare room. You’ll have to squeeze in with Ben’s stuff. He’s moving in later this week.”

“You’re together at last? I’m so glad for you. Mel, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Mel arches an eyebrow at Ben. “Girl-talk, Ben. Okay?”

When he’s gone, Mel fixes me with a worried stare. “What?”

Rapidly I explain about Cade and his sister, and why he was covering for her. Mel’s eyes glow. “Wow. That’s terrific. His
sister?”

I take a deep breath. “But he wants it kept quiet. Please don’t use it. And don’t tell anybody, not even Ben—as a favor to me.”

She looks aghast. “For Pete’s sake, why ever not?”

I want to tell her that I love him, and it’s the last thing that will ever be in my power to give him, but I’m too shaky. “It’s for Cade. It’s just… I owe him. It’s…complicated.” I break off and my eyes fill with tears.

She’s frowning. “You’re
keen
on him?”

I nod. “Yes. Truly.”

“As in—madly, deeply? The real deal?”

I nod again and bury my head in her neck.

She pats me on the cheek, hands me a tissue and gives me one of her tough, pale smiles. “Okay, done. We’ll drop it.”

* * * *

Two hours later, after a shower, a nap and a reviving cup of coffee, I hurry through the busy streets to the small cluster of warehouses and workshops housing our editing studio. Waving to the technicians, I pick my way past delivery crates and banks of recording equipment to the small, familiar group of people in a booth at the end of the building.

They’re like family. It seems a long time since I saw them.

“Hi, stranger. Ready for the big finale?” For once Jake’s relaxed and happy. “Sonja’s worried about you.”

“You’re together?”

Ben claps him on the back. “Yep. I’m moving in with Mel and Sonja’s moved in with Jake. Happy families all round. You?”

“Free as a bird.” I avoid Mel’s eye. How can I tell them I’ve got no plans, no prospects and never even had a career?

“So, the voiceover. Where do I start?”

* * * *

For the next few days I sit in a soundproofed booth in front of a small screen and a script and read aloud. Sometimes I falter when my narrative touches on times when I recall what Cade and I were doing in other parts of the Hall.

The hardest parts are when I see him on screen. Several times Ben’s voice breaks into my headphones. “Cut, cut. Sorry, Tunis. We lost you there. Go again.”

The work’s tiring and slow, but it stops me thinking.

During breaks I chat to the engineers and peer over their shoulders at the screens. They’re on a tight schedule. Post-production usually takes months but the team here’s got just three weeks. It’ll be a marathon. Most of it’s on computer, but some of Jake’s footage is old-style film and takes even longer. Discarded pieces roll about on the floor in curls like carpenter’s shavings.

Idly I pick them up and hold them to the light. One shows the roofs and turrets of Beat Hall, another shows blurred close-ups of Garth Delaney leering at Mel. There’s even a strip of interior shots of Cade’s office. I peer more closely and Izzy’s lazy drawl drifts through my mind.

That photo in his office? Take a good look at it, honey. Says it all.

I hold the strip up to the light and there it is—the Gemmell photo of the two children.

So what’s it saying?

Jake
walks over, curious. “Thought I’d get a print off that strip. It’s the only way I’ll ever get my own copy if Mr. Megabuck’s bought up all the rights.”

I frown at the picture, trying to see what it was that had caught the photographer’s eye.

A boy and a girl sitting on a bank… The boy is reaching out to the little girl in a simple, protective gesture. In the space between them is a blur of shapes—an overturned car, police, maybe an ambulance.

It makes a graceful, striking composition. But that’s all I see.

It must be something here. “Jake, can we enhance this?”

Ten minutes later I’m staring at an enlarged, clarified section of the picture on his computer screen. I flip the image so it shows the car upright. Inside a figure slumps at the wheel. The car bonnet’s badly crumpled, the marque unrecognizable, the number plate indistinct. It’s short, distinctive. OPL? OPI?

I look again and something clicks into place.
It has to be…

“Jake? Look at the number plate. It says GF1. That must be Sir Gerald’s car. This is a picture of Cade and his sister at the scene of the crash that killed their mother.”

Is this the final piece of the puzzle?

His mother’s life was out of control, like the car that killed her.

Control… He always has to be in control, and this is why. It’s the only way he feels safe.

* * * *

Somehow I survive as one day follows another, but the pain stays the same.

Other people break up. Other people survive.

Now it’s my turn.

Our report’s done. We deliver on time and it airs to instant acclaim. Public interest in the movie and the launch spikes. Our viewing figures hit the roof.

I even manage to say how much of a pussycat the Panther is, without saying who he is and without breaking down.

Now for the premiere.

With my voiceover finished, I go home. Janice is back now, rested and pleased to see me. There’s no mention of clinics.

On the second morning, I’m sitting in the kitchen, my head in my hands, unable to face breakfast. Janice gives me a hug.

“You must eat, Tunis. Being miserable won’t bring him back.”

“Why should I want him back?”

I’ve told her nothing, but she’s a good guesser.

Janice sits down next to me. “Because he’s nice. He cares for the people he loves. And you love him, don’t you?”

She’s right. I do.

“And he’ll be at the premiere, right?”

She kisses me on the cheek. “Then you’re going too. Leave this to me.”

* * * *

Janice may know nothing about Chinese jade, but as a former dancer herself, she knows plenty about premieres. She does me proud. On the evening of the premiere, I step onto the red carpet looking—and feeling—like a queen. The roar of the crowd and the flashing cameras tell me my stunning Millin lace gown, my matching heels and my piled hair look perfect, as does Cade’s beautiful necklace with the little key—the key to his heart.

Sadly a key’s not much use without the lock it fits.

I smile brightly as I mingle with the stars. I’ve seen so many of them
in extremis
or under a whip that it’s hard to feel shy with anyone here.

Nera greets me with a tight smile. “You look ravishing, Tunis. And your report was terrific. We’re all really pleased. “

She leans closer and lowers her voice to a fierce hiss. “And if we were alone, I’d slap your face. What the fuck have you
done
to him?”

She strides off before I can ask her what she means—or where he is.

Now I’m worried. What does Nera mean?
Is he ill
? I start to panic. If he’s not here, I may never see him again.

Soon I’m swept upstairs by the press of stars making their way to the circle balcony overlooking the auditorium. As I walk through the curtains, the crowd thins out at either side to reveal the deep cavern of the theater yawning below.

I’m suspended in space over a sea of faces. The audience clap and roar approval as the stars line up along the rail, me included.

Just then I see him.

He’s standing a little apart, somewhere on the other side. He looks stunningly handsome in formal dress. Our eyes lock. The scene around me starts to sway then he’s gone.

Oh no.
He’s avoiding me. I should never have come.

But I had to. I promised.

With a supreme effort, I smile down at the upturned faces. I’m just one in a bevy of stars here. My part in all this is very small. In this sea of celebrities, I don’t count for very much. But the rail’s swaying toward me now and the edges of my vision are starting to blot out…

“
Tunis.
Come away from the rail.”

Strong arms slide around me and haul me to safety. A warm, powerful presence covers my back and a deep, familiar voice growls in my ear.

He’s here
.

I spin round to see him looking down at me, his eyes filled with heat.

“Where have you been? Please, please don’t do this. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being without you.”

Eager starlets push forward to fill our places at the rail. No one’s looking at us.

We stand close together, completely unnoticed in the crowd as people flow past to get to their seats before the movie starts.

He ignores them, his eyes locked on mine. “Do you really want to see this thing?”

I gaze up at him, my throat almost too tight to speak. “No.”

His eyes narrow and I see the hint of a smile at the corners of his beautiful, sculpted lips. “Hungry?”

I lean up and kiss him gently on the jaw. “What do you think? It’s been weeks.”

His jaw line tenses. “I’ve got a car waiting. Your hotel or mine?”

I can hardly speak for joy. I simply stare at him. “Which is closest?”

“Does that mean…you’re coming back?” His voice is husky with emotion, full of pain.

Of course I’m coming back. He’s my life now. He’s everything I need, everything I’ve ever wanted or ever will want.

But even I have limits, and he’s crossed one.

I suppose, given all the things I’ve let him do up to now, it’s a fine point. But manipulating my career is a step too far. However much I love him, he has to know I’m not a puppet.

I smile serenely and lay my cheek against his. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

As the houselights dim for the movie to start, we’re already heading for the exit, hand in hand. The gleam in his eyes tells me we’ve a long and glorious night ahead. Maybe a lifetime—who knows?

If he asks, I’ll tell him that tomorrow, too.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

The Blackened Window: Wrecked

Corrine A. Silver

Excerpt

Chapter One

Xander

3OH!3
Double Vision

At the beginning of my second year of medical school, I was ambivalent, at best. Sometimes I felt right on the edge of something amazing, but mostly, it felt like waiting for the real thing to happen. It didn’t help that I wasn’t hooked in and invested the way most of the Ivy League overachievers were.

My mentor had told me the first year was the most traumatic. He didn’t know shit. It was the second year that fucked my world up, and it wasn’t school. It wasn’t medicine. It was her. She nearly destroyed me.

* * * *

“Hey, Xander! Hold on a second.”

I paused, turning to see Dr. Sanderson waving to flag me down before I left for the day. He taught Anatomy to the first years—cadavers, dissection, the whole bit.

“Yeah? Hi, Dr. Sanderson.” I waited, noticing Stacy waiting down the hall, watching me. The world of history I shared with Stacy flashed through my head and came back to what it always did with her, the way we’d nearly destroyed each other.

She doesn’t fucking get it.

Dr. Sanderson shook my hand as he spoke, “Xander, would you be interested in tutoring anatomy? We’re short a tutor and you were top of your class. It would really help us and the first years, and we could pay you. I mean, it’s just something like nine or ten bucks an hour, but still… Students can usually use it, right?”