Part 6 (2/2)

The car turned out to be a Ferrari sleek, black and s.h.i.+ny, and Mark's apartment was in a smart block of luxury flats built conveniently handy for the main shopping centre and the Underground station. Mark drove into the bas.e.m.e.nt car park where he had his own numbered s.p.a.ce, and then whisked me up to the penthouse apartment in the fastest lift I'd ever experienced.

The apartment was gorgeous, even more lavish than Paul's. The kitchen had every modern convenience. The furnis.h.i.+ngs were a little old-fas.h.i.+oned maybe, but I had to remind myself that an elderly man had lived here and Mark clearly hadn't updated anything.

The large living room had ma.s.sive sliding doors, leading out onto a s.p.a.cious balcony, and I stood in the middle of the room and spread out my arms.

'Oh, Mark, it's lovely. I have to say, you certainly fell on your feet, inheriting all this.'

He smiled. 'It is rather nice, isn't it? I suppose I really ought to change things round a bit bring it up to date but it always feels like too much ha.s.sle. What do they say if it ain't broke, don't fix it?'

'Well, there's nothing broke about this place.' I kicked off my shoes and threw myself onto the enormous corner settee. 'I'm surprised you can ever tear yourself away from all this to go on tour.' I sat up and looked at him. 'Er what are the arrangements where do I sleep?'

He laughed. 'Don't tempt me. Seriously, there are two bedrooms so you can take your pick. They both have their own en suite so we won't b.u.mp into each other in the nude first thing in the morning.' He grinned impishly. 'More's the pity!'

'In your dreams!' I said, laughing as I got up and followed him to the spare bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was luxurious but I hazarded a guess that I wouldn't be staying in it for long.

I made spag bol for supper the only dish I can actually cook from scratch and we sat and ate it at the kitchen table. I'd hastily unpacked all the frozen Christmas fare I'd stocked up with at the supermarket and hidden them in Mark's ma.s.sive freezer when he wasn't looking. The turkey was already defrosted (at least I know that much) and I slipped it onto a large serving dish and put it in the fridge. Luckily there was plenty of room. All it contained was a pint of milk and some cans of beer. Obviously Mark was no Gordon Ramsay and I guessed that he existed mainly on takeaways.

After clearing his plate, Mark leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the wine he had produced from a well-stocked wine rack. At least he didn't stint himself on that. 'That was delicious,' he said with satisfaction. 'This is really great. How long can you stay?'

'I think you could have timed that question a little more tactfully,' I told him.

He laughed. 'You know what I mean. Who would have thought a week ago that I'd be sitting here, looking forward to spending Christmas with the love of my life I'd given up hope of ever seeing again.' He drained his gla.s.s and refilled it, holding the bottle enquiringly towards my empty gla.s.s.

'Yes, please.' I took an appreciative sip. 'You're right. We never know what's round the corner, do we?'

'So how long can you stay?'

Quickly, I calculated. Di was away till the day after Boxing Day. I'd give her a day to feel flat and miss me. 'Four days,' I said. 'That is if you can put up with me for that long.'

'I can put up with you for as long as you like,' he said.

'You might not be saying that a few days from now,' I warned him. 'You're still wearing those rose-coloured gla.s.ses you wore twenty years ago.'

'And very comfy they are too,' he said, holding up his gla.s.s. 'Here's to our meeting again and to our renewed acquaintance.'

'And to the new show.' I touched my gla.s.s to his. 'To it being a hit!'

Suddenly Mark was serious. 'About the show,' he said, putting his gla.s.s down. 'Isn't it usual for a show like this heading for a West End theatre to be backed by a consortium of people; you know, impresarios?'

'It will be,' I told him. 'Paul said that borrowing money from us to get off the ground is only temporary. He'd got someone lined up. And it's only been difficult because he hasn't booked a star attraction for the lead role.'

'OK, but where's the director?'

'He's been searching for the right person,' I explained. 'He has a really big-name guy interested.'

'Oh, yes who?'

'He didn't tell me.'

'Well, I hope you're right.'

'I'm sure everything is in place,' I a.s.sured him. 'Harry Clay, my agent, is in on the whole thing. I've been with him for years and I trust him.'

Mark took a reflective drink of his wine. 'I was invited up to his flat to audition me for the part,' he said. 'My agent was as surprised as me. He Paul showed me the sketches for the sets; very impressive. He said they were already being built up in Yorks.h.i.+re somewhere. After that we had tea and cakes and he asked me for money.'

'It was similar for me,' I told him. 'Although he'd already seen me in a show, I was in back in the summer. At his flat he played some of the songs for me and I sang one or two.'

'Then you had tea and he asked you for money?'

'Well yes.'

'Are you with me in wondering if it's all completely kosher?'

'No. I told you; Harry, my agent, is in on it too. He's very shrewd. He'd never risk his money if he had any doubts and he certainly wouldn't let me be taken for a ride.'

Mark was shaking his head. 'It's all a bit odd,' he said. 'I mean, who's ever heard of Paul Fortune anyway or any of those weirdos we met at the read-through the other day?'

'I told you, there are no big names.'

'Mmm.' He stroked his chin. 'You have to admit, Lou, it's one h.e.l.l of a risk.'

'Well, that's up to Paul, isn't it? It's his risk and he seems confident enough.'

'I hope you're right.' He took a deep breath and smiled. 'Let's not be pessimistic. It's Christmas, you're here with me and tomorrow I'm going to have the first home-cooked Christmas dinner I've had in years with my first love cooking it for me.' He raised his gla.s.s. 'Here's to us!'

I clinked my gla.s.s to his. 'To us! And to being optimistic about the show.'

'Absolutely!' Mark said. 'What do I know anyway?'

Later, as I lay in bed surprisingly alone I couldn't help thinking about Mark's words. He was wrong, of course he was; he had to be. Paul had promised to make me a star. Your face will be on the cover of all the magazines, he'd said. He had to be on the level. I couldn't bear it if he wasn't. This was my very last chance.

Christmas dinner was a success as much to my surprise as anyone else's. Though you have to be a complete loser to mess up a frozen, pre-cooked meal. Mark was delighted. If he suspected that it wasn't exactly home-cooked he didn't mention it. His pessimistic mood from the previous night had gone and instead he was on form in the style of the old Mark I remembered so well. After lunch, we watched TV and dozed in front of the realistic living-flame electric fire. After a couple of bottles of champagne, Mark grew amorous and we ended the day in bed together. He'd always been a good lover and he certainly hadn't lost his skills, making me ever so slightly curious about whom he'd been practising on in my absence.

Chapter Ten.

Karen was up early on Christmas morning. Peter had wakened them at six, bouncing on the bed and dragging a pillowcase full of presents.

'Open, Mummy!' he demanded.

Simon groaned and turned over, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as Karen switched on the bedside lamp. 'Take him back to bed, for G.o.d's sake. It's the middle of the night.'

<script>