Watching Willow Watts (26 page)

‘
Oh, yeah? What, did you catch him shagging someone else?’

Willow shuddered at the thought, but she had to admit that right now, nothing would surprise her. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but Jay has me locked into a ten-year contract doing this Marilyn thing.’

There was a silence. ‘What? What do you mean, a ten-year contract?’ Paula asked finally.

Willow explained the disastrous details of the document she’d signed, nausea rising again at the thought of spending a decade as Marilyn. ‘I know I should have read the contract more carefully,’ she said, before Paula could chastise her. ‘But I didn’t have any reason not to trust Jay at the time, you know?’

‘
I know.’ Paula’s tone was sympathetic, and tears pushed at Willow’s eyes. How she wished she was home right now with her friend, instead of in a hotel loo in London. ‘Are you all right? I mean, I know you snogged him, but you and Jay weren’t
together
, were you?’ Paula’s voice was lower than its usual boisterous volume and Willow could tell she was still being somewhat cautious.

‘
Well . . .
’ Humiliation mixed with fury shot through her as Willow recalled how Jay had played her. ‘I thought we were.’

‘
God, if I ever see him again
, I’ll snip his balls. So what are you going to do now?’ Paula asked.

Willow clutched the phone
, wondering how her friend would react to the news that she was done with the whole Marilyn thing. Would Paula try to convince her to stay the course; remind her how dull life in Belcherton had been, anyway? Well, whatever she said, Willow knew what was right for her. And it wasn’t being Marilyn.

‘
I don’t want to do this anymore – to be someone else. I need to get back to
me
.’ The words tumbled out and Willow braced herself for Paula’s rebuttal.

But
all her friend said was: ‘I get it, Wills. After seeing everything you dealt with over the past few weeks, I can’t say I blame you. Anyway, I’ve missed you.’ Her voice was so warm it was like a hug, and tears dripped down Willow’s cheeks.

‘
Me too.’ She drew in a ragged breath and the two were silent for a second. ‘So, I really need your help,’ Willow said, wiping her eyes. ‘Please tell me you have some idea
how I might get out of the contract?’ She prayed her clever friend might be able to think of a way around it. If anyone could, it would be Paula.

‘
Wills, I’m sorry,’ Paula said softly. ‘But you probably need a lawyer to look it over; see if there are any loopholes. Find someone who specialises in showbiz law, or whatever it’s called. Do you know anyone in London who could help you track down a reputable lawyer? You don’t want to run into someone dodgy again.’

Willow
’s mind raced, but she could only think of one person. ‘Just Alex.’ God, she wished she’d kept in contact with some other friends here, but they’d all drifted away.

‘
W
hy don’t you get in touch? You guys are friends now, right?’

Willow dropped her head and stared at the marble floor, heart sinking as she remembered Alex’s face when Jay kissed her, and his abrupt departure from the village. ‘I don’t really know,’ she sighed.

‘
Well, you’ve got to start somewhere,’ Paula said in a practical voice. ‘And I reckon in London, Alex is the best place to begin.’

*

Bett
s wiped her forehead and tried to get comfortable on the cracked plastic chair by her daughter’s bed. Why didn’t hospitals ever have comfortable seating? The past three days had been absolute hell, and Betts was near collapse.

She’d headed
over to Lucy’s house that first night back in Georgia, irritated and tired. The only thing keeping her going was the thought of calling Dickie in the morning and saying just how much she loved him. But when Lucy had fainted in pain, Betts had forgotten everything in Belcherton. In severe agony, her daughter was admitted to hospital for an ultra-sound then wheeled straight into surgery. After an operation to remove her appendix, Lucy was fighting some kind of infection with the surgical incision. Now her temperature was down and thanks to the course of antibiotics that had kept her mostly knocked out, she seemed to be okay. It was the first time Betts had been able to actually breathe – or think about Dickie.

Now that a few days had passed,
though, Betts was starting to wonder if there really could be a future for them. She didn’t even know if Dickie wanted a committed relationship, for goodness’ sake – or one with her. Maybe she’d just been a holiday fling; someone to pass the time with, safe in the knowledge she’d go away eventually. And now that she
was
gone, well . . . perhaps it was best to leave it?

Bett
s shook her head as Lucy’s chest rose and fell under the white of the hospital sheet.
This
was her life; here and now. She might have thought it could change – goodness, she’d even considered going out for a job – but what was the point? Maybe Gord was right. Maybe she was just a big fat dreamer after all.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE SUN WAS SHINING
when Willow awoke on the sofa where she’d fallen asleep last night. Looking at her watch, she noticed it was almost seven-thirty, and judging by the snores coming from the bedroom, Jay was still sound asleep.

She’d tossed and turned all night, wondering if she really
should
go see Alex and ask for his help. She knew he would oblige – he was that kind of man – but she couldn’t bear to think of the pitying look in his eyes after hearing what she’d got herself into. Sometime around four, Willow decided to bite the bullet. Yes, she’d made mistakes, but she had to be strong now if she wanted to move on.

Willow crept into the bedroom, eased open the wardrobe, and selected one of the more conservative Marilyn
outfits she could find: a pencil skirt, tailored jacket, and a white shirt with large lapels. Hurriedly, she changed, cursing as she nearly rammed a toe through her stockings. She did her heavy make-up in a flash, teased her platinum curls so they floated around her shoulders like a halo, and jammed her feet into some pumps.

Then she
shoved her butt cushion into a bag for later, grabbed the contract, and scrawled a note to Jay, saying she’d meet him in time for their first engagement of the day: a ten o’clock brunch at the BAFTA headquarters on Piccadilly. If everything went to plan, she should get to Alex’s firm on Fenchurch Street by half eight, leaving plenty of time to scoot over to Piccadilly. Of course, she’d need to endure an endless number of questions from Jay, but it wasn’t like he was going to drop her, was it? She’d love to just ditch the gig, but that would definitely raise Jay’s suspicions. The less he thought she knew, the better. Willow shook her head as bitterness twisted her stomach. She still couldn’t believe he’d faked that caring facade.

Willow took one last look
in the mirror before opening the door. Now that she desperately wanted to ditch Marilyn, everything about her reflection just felt wrong, as if she’d poked her head through one of those wooden cut-outs at a funfair. God knows she’d love to meet Alex as Willow, but time didn’t allow for her to come back to the hotel and change.

Despite her conservative outfit, heads still turned as she walked quickly down the Strand toward the Tube. A cab would have been faster, but Jay had only given her a twenty-pound note for the week. She’d been about to grab her wallet before leaving Belcherton when he’d told her not to bother, saying he’d be with her and could pay for everything. It was a great way to keep her under his control, she now realised.

The Tube rattled into Monument station and Willow got off, picking up pace as she followed the familiar route to Alex’s office. Although it had been more common for him to meet her at work before they’d head out to dinner in nearby Carnaby Street, she’d come to a few champagne receptions here, and really enjoyed them. Her face reddened as she remembered how she’d first met Claire at one such gathering. Willow always loved to examine the floral arrangements, forever on the look out for new techniques. She’d been peering closely at an elaborate bamboo-shoot and hydrangea creation when Claire had approached.

‘
Excuse me,’ Claire had
said in her posh, haughty voice. ‘I’m allergic to hydrangeas. Please have it removed at once.’

Willow’s mouth dropped open. Did she
look
like staff? She’d bought the fitted black trousers and crisp white wraparound top just for this occasion. Catching sight of a waitress circulating around the room, Willow noticed her black and white ensemble did mirror the staff’s. Great. Before she could respond, Alex swept over and eased an arm around her waist.

‘
Willow, there you are.
You’ve met Claire?’

Claire’s eyes widened and she brought her perfectly manicured nails to her mouth. ‘Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. Willow, is it?’ Claire extended a hand. ‘Pleasure to meet you. So what is it you do?’

‘
I’m a florist at Liberty’s,’ Willow said
, grateful for the chance to clear up the earlier confusion.

‘
So
that’s
why you were studying that horrific arrangement – professional interest. You know, I’ve never understood the whole attraction to flowers. Once they’re cut, they just die after a couple days. It’s like giving someone a decaying carcass. Oh look, there’s Liz. I must go have a word . . .’ Claire had drifted away in a cloud of Chanel, leaving Willow still flushed with embarrassment. The rest of the reception had passed in its usual champagne-fuelled blur, but Willow had never forgotten how she’d been mistaken for catering staff.

‘
I’m here to see Alex Fielding,’ she said now to the skeletal blonde at the reception desk.

‘
Oh
my God, you’re that new Marilyn, aren’t you?’ the woman squealed. ‘Brilliant! Go on, give us a little tune!’

Willow barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. She couldn’t wait to take off this get-up. ‘Is Alex in yet?’ she asked, ignoring the request to sing.

The
receptionist shot her a curious look, likely wondering what a Marilyn Monroe impersonator could want with an architect. ‘I’ll see if he’s here. One moment, please.’

Willow nodded and tried to breathe as the receptionist clacked away on the keyboard. Why was she so nervous? It was just Alex, she reminded herself as she stretched out her fingers, trying to ease the tension.

Finally, the woman
looked up. ‘Did he have an appointment with you?’

Willow shook her head. ‘No. But if he’s busy, I don’t mind waiting.’

‘
It’s just, according to his schedule, he’s taken this week and part of next off. Antigua, it says. Lucky bloke.’ She leaned closer to Willow, covering the microphone of her headset. ‘His associate is gone, too, for the exact same time – and at the same hotel. Wonder what they’re up to, hey?’

Willow stared, her heart plummeting. His associate? Was that Claire? She tried to block out the image of the two of them lolling about in each other’s arms on a deserted beach, complete with arching palms.

‘
Would you like to make an appointment for when he returns?’ The receptionist
tilted her head to the side.

‘
No.’ Willow could barely force the word past the lump in her throat. She turned on her heels and walked blindly down the hallway.

‘
I’ll tell him Marilyn Monroe came by, shall I
? Come on, sing!’ The receptionist’s cackle echoed through the corridor, but Willow didn’t – couldn’t – respond.

Out on the street, she stood stock still and watched the rush of the office workers and the double-deck
ers lurch by, fighting the push of tears. She hadn’t realised how much she’d been counting on Alex for help. Swallowing hard, she headed back toward the Tube.

*

Jay jerked awake to the sound of his own snores. Yawning, he stretched out his
arms only to encounter . . . an empty bed. Shame, he was feeling a little horny, and it would be good to let off some steam before the day ahead. It was a wonder there was any steam left after Luscious Lynda’s moves in Soho last night. But, as she’d said, he was
quite
the male specimen.

He cocked an ear to see if Willow might be up an
d eating already – he’d put in a standing request for two full English breakfasts plus an extra basket of croissants to fatten her up – but the outer rooms were silent. Hmm. Rolling out of bed, he didn’t even bother pulling on a robe. She’d seen it all before.

But
the lounge was empty. He peered into the loo. No sign of her there, either. Where the hell could she be? She knew she wasn’t allowed out of his sight, and they had an engagement in – he stared at his watch – a fucking
hour
! He scanned the room frantically, as if she’d magically emerge from the walls, then marched back into the bedroom to double-check the address of the day’s first gig. If it wasn’t too far, they just might be able to make it on time. Pulling open a drawer in the bedside table, his heart dropped.