Part 12 (1/2)

'I don't mind, but ' But I want to tell her that since we were in the flower shop I've thought of little other than Scott's tantalizing caresses and kisses. Through clothes I've felt his throbbing hardness and now I want more. Or less, actually less clothes.

'Good. Plus there will be a full range of Molton Brown bath products for you to use. I love their stuff, don't you?'

'Very nice, but ' I mutter, and before I realize quite what's happening I notice that Scott's manager, Mark, is shooing Scott up the mahogany staircase and Saadi is leading me back out of the reception and through the courtyard to what must be the coach house.

'The doctor did say you need a rest,' she insists quite firmly. 'And Scott has a lot to talk about with Mark. It's been quite a surprising night for everyone.'

'Yes,' I manage feebly.

Saadi looks at me with a peculiar mix of sympathy and envy. 'Especially you, I suppose.' I nearly squash a tabby cat that's sleeping outside on the warm gravelly forecourt; as I stumble Saadi shoves me over the threshold into a beautiful room. She hands me the key and says, 'Good-night, we'll talk tomorrow.' She speaks in a tone of voice that makes it quite clear that no further discussion is required, expected or permitted.

30. Fern

The room, or rather rooms, are more beautiful than any hotel rooms I have ever seen let alone stayed in. I've clearly stumbled into a movie set. The place is decorated in dramatic contrasts. White walls meet black wooden floors, there's a snow white, inches thick, s.h.a.ggy rug waiting for me to sink my toes into and a huge squashy white corner sofa (leather) waiting for me to throw myself upon. I only just resist doing this right away because I'm distracted by a circular, transparent plastic chair hanging from the ceiling like a swing. That That, I have to sit on. For a moment or two I dangle my legs and try to make myself go backwards and forwards but it doesn't really swing, more just hangs there, so I hop off and wander through to the bathroom where there is a free-standing bath and, as promised, shelves of beautiful-smelling products. Then I wander up to the mezzanine, where there is an enormous bed.

That I'm supposed to sleep in all alone alone. I recall his fingers skittering across my groin and his deep, pa.s.sionate kisses, his tongue touching mine. Aaghh, I can't believe we're expected to sleep separately.

What a waste.

I flop on to the bed but I'm not in the slightest bit sleepy. In fact I am more awake and alive than I have ever been in my life. Scott Taylor has just asked me to marry him and I've just agreed! Oh. My. G.o.d. It does not seem possible. I have to talk to someone, anyone, who can confirm that this is all happening. I reach for my handbag and scramble around for my mobile.

Who to call?

Not Adam. Usually I turn to him before anyone but that clearly wouldn't be right under the circ.u.mstances. I can hardly ring Adam and say, 'Hey, honey, am I really engaged to another man, a man other than you that is?' Undoubtedly he could confirm or deny but it might be a tricky conversation. I shove Adam out of my head and determine not to think of him for as long as humanly possible. As soon as he comes to mind a lick of something disturbingly like shame engulfs my body. I guess there are kinder ways to show you've moved on from a relations.h.i.+p than getting engaged to your new beau, within twenty-four hours of splitting up and in front of an audience of ninety thousand. Still, at least there's no room for confusion and no one likes mixed messages.

I could call Jess. Where the h.e.l.l is Jess? The last I saw of her was before I fainted in the stands at the concert. Why didn't she come backstage with me? Why didn't Rick or Ben? I can't believe they just b.u.g.g.e.red off and left me to all this insanity without so much as a by your leave. I'd have expected Ben to come along for the ride at least.

Lisa? My mum and dad?

These are the people I do generally turn to in moments of extreme happiness or pressure. Normally, between them, these people congratulate, support, guide or yell at me and I feel somehow validated once they have done so. Mum and Dad endorsed my whooping and cheering (almost gloating) when I got the best marks in my year in the floristry exams. Lisa sympathized with my blind terror at a (false) pregnancy alarm just four weeks after I'd met Adam. Jess and Adam and I celebrated together when we finally found our little flat with affordable rent and just minutes from the tube. Ben comforted me when my bag was s.n.a.t.c.hed on Lavender Road and he instructed me to change locks and cancel cards while he put the kettle on for a calming brew. Part of existence is having experience substantiated, legitimized or authorized by your nearest and dearest. Eating a huge slab of creamy chocolate cake is fun but it is better if you do it with a mate. Finding a tenner in the street is a great piece of luck but telling your mates and buying them a drink is worth the same again. I'm the sort of person who likes to share, whether it be news, gossip, bills or heartache. I guess that's because I'm one of five. Secrecy is an alien concept.

But somehow tonight is different. I'm not sure who to call. I switch my phone on while I consider and it immediately starts ringing and beeping at me as though it's R2-D2 on speed. Apparently I have ten voicemail and twelve text messages. Congratulations pouring in already, I'll bet. I dial in for my voicemail. It's Jess.

'Er. Hi Fern, I hope you are OK. Sorry I couldn't stay with you. Give me a bell, huh. As soon as you can.'

And that's it. No congratulations. No shrieks of excitement. Actually, she sounded quite subdued. What's that about? I thought that now it's clear-cut that Scott is as crazily in love with me as I am with him Jess'd stop worrying. I press three to delete the message and listen to my second one.

'What the heck is going on? This is wild. Call me the second you get a chance,' insists Lisa. That's a bit more like it. This is is wild. Wildly exciting, wildly wonderful, wildly different. Again there are no actual congratulations, which is a bit weird. I whooped and hollered when she told me that Charlie had finally popped the question. Mostly out of relief; we'd been waiting for him to do so for months and I figured once he finally had, she would at least have a different topic of conversation from second-guessing where and when he'd do the popping (she did she talked about where and when he'd take her on honeymoon). I'd have thought Lisa would be a bit more openly ecstatic though, not least because Scott is a zillionaire; that's her currency. Although I don't suppose she's heard that I finished with Adam last night; I suppose, even if she has, it's still bizarrely sudden. I can't blame her for not understanding our speedy certainty as it wasn't like this for her and Charlie. wild. Wildly exciting, wildly wonderful, wildly different. Again there are no actual congratulations, which is a bit weird. I whooped and hollered when she told me that Charlie had finally popped the question. Mostly out of relief; we'd been waiting for him to do so for months and I figured once he finally had, she would at least have a different topic of conversation from second-guessing where and when he'd do the popping (she did she talked about where and when he'd take her on honeymoon). I'd have thought Lisa would be a bit more openly ecstatic though, not least because Scott is a zillionaire; that's her currency. Although I don't suppose she's heard that I finished with Adam last night; I suppose, even if she has, it's still bizarrely sudden. I can't blame her for not understanding our speedy certainty as it wasn't like this for her and Charlie.

'Fern, darling, call me this instant,' insists Ben excitedly.

'Fern fella. What a mind blower. How long have you been secretly s.h.a.gging Scottie Taylor for? Call your bro and give me the lowdown,' says Rick. Well, at least he sounds impressed, even if he has got the wrong end of the stick. This is whirlwind and romantic, there haven't been any deceitful long-term shenanigans.

The fifth message is from Adam, 'You b.i.t.c.h.'

I stop listening to my voicemail right there. The text messages are along a similar line. There's one each from Ben, Lisa, Jess and Rick, all insisting I get in touch. There are eight from Adam.

You b.i.t.c.h.

You b.i.t.c.h.

You b.i.t.c.h.

You get the idea.

I switch off my phone. I don't want to read or hear any more. The lack of congrats is disappointing; I'm not in the mood to call any of them.

I know! I need Scott. Of course I do. He's the one I should be turning to now. I'll call him and tell him that I'm feeling exhilarated, nervous, and confused all at once. He's my fiance. He'll hold my hand through this. He knows about jealousies. I bet he went through this with his friends when he got his mega record deal. People aren't very gracious in the face of good fortune at least not other people's good fortune. I pick up my mobile, but as I'm about to press the b.u.t.tons it occurs to me that I don't know his number. We haven't exchanged mobile numbers. d.a.m.n.

I pick up the phone by the bed and press 5 for reception.

'Can you put me through to Scott Taylor, please,' I say in my most confident voice.

'I'm sorry, Madame, who?'

It's Miss actually but I don't bother to correct him. 'Scott Taylor.'

'We don't have a guest of that name staying with us I'm afraid, Madame.'

'Yes, you do, we've just checked in together. Oh I get it. Sorry, Scottie Taylor, you'll probably know him by that name but in fact his friends and his fiancee call him Scott,' I say with just a smidgen of self-satisfaction.

'I'm sorry, Madame. We do not have a Mr Taylor staying with us. You are mistaken, goodnight.' The line goes dead.

b.l.o.o.d.y cheek, why won't they connect me? I know he's in the hotel. Then it occurs to me that the receptionist is probably under strict instructions not to connect anyone for security reasons. But I'm not anyone. I'm his fiancee. I wonder if I should call back and spell that out to the pimply, pompous moron who is standing between me and my man.

I could go and look for him or for Saadi at least; I know they are in the main house. There can only be a dozen rooms at most. Didn't Saadi say that we've rented them all? I could knock on every door and insist on being told his whereabouts. I'd only be disturbing Scott's entourage and as his fiancee I must be ent.i.tled to do that, mustn't I?

Suddenly I'm overwhelmed with shyness. I'm not sure I want to knock on the doors of the band and crew and explain that I don't have the mobile number or even room number of my fiance; it looks weirdly desperate. It isn't the way things should be.

I sigh and slip my feet out of my shoes. I rub the arch of one foot against the under part of the other. It's comforting, and oddly, I need comfort. How mad is that? I should be dancing a jig, cracking open the champagne, feeling those liquid gold bubbles on my tongue then s.h.a.gging my fiance until I drop with exhaustion. I'm newly engaged!

Instead, fully clothed, I slip between the sheets. All at once I'm very tired. Maybe it's the after-effects of the faint. Perhaps I ought to follow doctor's orders and get some rest. I'll feel right as rain in the morning. It's been a big day. Bigger than I could have possibly imagined in my wildest dreams. I ought to get some beauty sleep and tomorrow I'll get Scott's number. In fact from tomorrow I'll insist that we are never apart from one another, no matter what his manager or PA says. I'm his fiancee.

I'm Scott Taylor's fiancee.

Oh. My. G.o.d.

31. Fern

It seems as though my eyes have just closed when they spring open again. Light and about a hundred people flood through my door. I only have eyes for Scott. He is breathtaking. He bounds up the mezzanine stairs and nosedives on to the bed and starts to kiss me, seemingly unaware of the other ninety-nine people in the room. All of whom are carrying fresh flowers and fruit or clean towels and toiletries to replace the untouched ones in the bathroom.

His kisses are gentle and erotic at the same time. Excitement starts to snake in my stomach and I forget to worry about morning breath or what I must look like (a state, I'm in last night's clothes and makeup, my hair will be frizzy and knotty rather than tousled). Neither of us seems to care.