21 I Miss You (2/2)
She smiled in spite of herself. ”Liar.”
”Not one single woman. I'm here tonight with Artie Thatcher.”
”The friend of your dad's?”
”The one I'm staying with. He said I hadn't seen London if I hadn't seen the RSC. And you?”
Gemma was brought back to reality.
She was here with Chance.
It had been stupid, unthinkably stupid, to let Paolo derail her.
She had been leaving the theater. But then he'd brushed her cheek with his lips. He had touched her fingers. He noticed her hands and he'd said God, she was pretty. He'd said he wanted to call her every day.
Gemma had missed Paolo very much.
But Chance was here.
They couldn't meet. Paolo must absolutely not see Chance.
”Listen, I have to—”
Chance appeared at her elbow. He was languid and slouching. ”You found a friend,” he said to Gemma. He said it as if speaking to a puppy.
They had to leave immediately. Gemma stood up. ”I'm not feeling well,” she said. ”I got a head rush. I'm nauseated. Can you take me home?” She grabbed Chance's wrist and pulled him toward the lobby doors.
”You were fine a minute ago,” he said, trailing behind her.
”Great to see you,” she called to Paolo. ”Goodbye.”
She had intended Paolo to stay rooted in his seat, but he got up and followed Gemma and Chance to the door. ”I'm Paolo Vallarta-Bellstone,” he said, smiling at Chance as they walked. ”I'm a friend of Willow's.”
”We have to go,” Gemma said.
”Chance Smith-Martin,” Chance responded. ”You've heard, then?”
��Let's go,” said Gemma. ”Now.”
”Heard what?” said Paolo. He kept pace as Gemma pulled Chance outside.
”Sorry, sorry,” Gemma said. ”Something is wrong with me. Get a taxi. Please.”
They were outside now, in heavy rain. The Barbican Centre had long walkways leading to the street. Gemma pulled Chance along the pavement.
Paolo stopped under the shelter of the building, unwilling to get wet.
Gemma flagged a black taxi. Got in. Gave the address of the flat in St. John's Wood.
Then she took a deep breath and settled her mind. She decided what to tell Chance.
”I left my jacket on my seat,” he complained. ”Are you sick?”
”No, not really.”
”Then what was it? Why are we going home?”
”That guy has been bothering me.”
”Paolo?”
”Yes. He calls me all the time. Like, many times a day. Texts. Emails. I think he's following me.”
”You have weird relationships.”
”It's not a relationship. He doesn't take no for an answer. That���s why I had to get away.”
”Paolo something Bellstone, right?” said Chance. ”That was his name?”
”Yeah.”
”Is he related to Stuart Bellstone?”
”I don't know.”
”But was that the last name? Bellstone?” Chance had his phone out. ”On Wikipedia it says—yeah, the son of Stuart Bellstone, the D and G trading scandal, blah, blah, his son is Paolo Vallarta-Bellstone.”
”I guess so,” said Gemma. ”I think about him as little as I possibly can.”
”Bellstone, that's funny,” said Chance. ”Did Willow meet him?”
”Yes. No.” She was flustered.
”Which is it?”
”Their families know each other. We ran into him when we first got to London.”
”And now he's stalking you?”
”Yes.”
”And it never occurred to you that this stalker Bellstone might be worth mentioning to the police in terms of investigating Immie's disappearance?”
”He has nothing to do with anything.”
”He might. There are a lot of things that don���t add up.”
”Will killed herself and there's nothing more to it,” snapped Gemma. ”She was depressed and she didn't love you anymore and she didn't love me enough to stay alive, either. Stop acting like there's anything else that could have happened.”
Chance bit his lip and they rode in silence. After a minute or two, Gemma looked over and saw that he was crying.