Page 44 of All Summer Long
Back home, back to earth with a bump. Marsh had Robinson working around the clock and Lena was making what little down time he had as difficult as she knew how.
She was clearly going with the idea that she’d crack his resolve if she just kept chipping away at him, and after two relentless weeks he still hadn’t worked out how best to handle her without bringing a storm down around his shoulders.
He wasn’t sure he had it in him to cope with her drama; all he could think about was getting through until the concert.
He had one week of final rehearsals and publicity to make it past and then afterwards he’d take stock, decide how best to deal with Lena once and for all.
Maybe he’d also be able to work out why the hell he felt as if he’d been blindsided by a freight train.
He didn’t think of England. Or else he did, but he shut down all thoughts as soon as they arose because it was the only way he could function.
He didn’t miss England. Or else he did, but he shut down all of his emotions outside of his professional ones because he needed to keep going, to give his fans what they’d paid good money for almost a year previously.
He was a showman. He could, and would, do this.
Marsh, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.
He’d been at every rehearsal and frankly, he was concerned.
It wasn’t enough to have the star up there on the stage.
Thousands of people were coming to see Robinson Duff perform, to bask in his star quality, not to watch him just turn up and go through the motions.
The way Marsh saw it, he could either wait it out and pray that things clicked into place on the night, that the lights and the adrenalin and the crowds were enough to kick-start some star quality in Nashville’s favourite son, or he could do something risky to force Robinson’s hand.
Marsh wasn’t a wait and see kind of guy.
He hadn’t got where he was today by leaving things to chance.
He dealt in certainties, and right now he wasn’t at all certain that Robinson was going to pull this one off without intervention.
Lena had turned out to be precious little help, either.
He’d been on the phone to the woman most days and from what he could gather she was making no inroads with Robinson, much to her own shock.
The inescapable truth was that there was something huge missing from Robinson’s performance, and Marsh knew exactly what it was.
However tough and uncompromising he might appear to be to the outside world, Marsh had an innate sense of how to get the best out of his stars and he’d made a handsome living on the back of it.
Sitting in the stands watching Robinson rehearsing up there on the stage, he shook his head and cursed under his breath, sourly acknowledging the fact he’d been trying to avoid.
He knew precisely what was missing from Robinson’s paint-by-numbers performance.
His heart. Heading out of the stadium, he hurled his breakfast roll in the nearest trashcan and yanked his cell phone from his pocket, stabbing his fingers at it viciously, as pissed off as a cat served curdled milk.
Back in Borne it was a little after three in the afternoon as Alice paced the floor of her bedroom, running through her words for the hundredth time as she adjusted the uncomfortable waistband of the only remotely official-looking skirt suit she owned.
Robinson’s rental period covered the manor for a few weeks longer and then it was going to be open warfare with Brad.
He was still holed up at The Siren and badgering her endlessly to take him back.
His moods swung wildly; some days he was contrite, almost begging her forgiveness and for a second chance in her heart and her bed.
Other days he was furious, screaming at her down the phone or through the letterbox that he was going to take the manor and change the locks so that she was homeless and destitute the very minute the rental agreement expired.
A lot depended on today. Everything, in actual fact, because if the bank manager didn’t see enough potential in ‘To The Manor Borne Glamping’, as the site had been unanimously christened by the villagers, then Brad would get his way and she’d have to hand over the keys in defeat.
Giving herself one last glance over in the mirror, she nodded assertively at herself and headed downstairs, picking up her business plan from the hall table as she strode out to the car, brimming with determination.
At the bottom of her handbag, her mobile went straight to voicemail as instructed that morning.
There was no way that Brad was going to harass her today of all days.
Half an hour later, Alice stalled momentarily as she walked in to the small branch of Bibbs it was just a shame that the same could not be said of Rambo, who timed his moment to mimic Hazel to perfection as always.
‘Come here, handsome, let me rub your big, bald head!’
The bank fell completely silent, and no one moved aside from Stewie who slowly removed his feather headdress and stroked a proud hand over his shiny pink head.
Hazel had made it clear on several occasions that she found it a wild turn on and had set a special duster aside to buff him up in what some might consider a bizarre form of foreplay.
It had clearly made quite an impact on Rambo, and now on the staff and customers of Bibbs & Downey too.
Ewan’s shoulders shook as he tried to hold his laughter in, Hazel went scarlet and threw herself bodily over the cage to prevent the bird from revealing any more of her secrets, and Niamh mouthed sorry over and over as Alice walked slowly towards the glowering bank manager.
She felt about thirteen years old, dragging her feet after being sent to the headmaster’s office.
Stewie, completely unfazed, buffed his head with his handkerchief and then offered it to the equally bald man standing stiffly beside him.
Alice grabbed it and thrust it back at Stewie, then smiled broadly at the clearly outraged bank manager, who eyed Stewie through narrowed eyes, and then stepped inside his office and indicated for Alice to follow him and close the door.