Page 10 of Healing Hearts on Thistledown Lane, Part #4

Taking a deep breath, Fraser stepped towards him. ‘You wouldn’t know the truth if it punched you in the face. Now get lost before I have you done for harassment.’

Backing away, the journalist glanced at his photographer. ‘Come on, Kev. We’ve got what we need.’

Scowling, Fraser watched the pair scurry away.

He knew about the underhand techniques of some members of the press – Nick had plenty of horror stories about their sly tricks – but this was the first time he’d experienced it first hand and it had left him shaken, not least because he had a crawling suspicion that the unnamed source could only be Naomi herself.

She’d messaged a few times since the news of the Minelli film had been leaked and he’d been polite but firm in resisting her flirtatious tone.

Could she be trying to exact her revenge for his most recent rejection?

He had no idea, but he couldn’t imagine where the story had come from otherwise. And who else would know about Maura?

‘Um…’ The voice behind Fraser was hesitant. ‘So, is this part of the tour?’

Remembering where he was, Fraser slipped automatically back into character. ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, turning round with an apologetic smile. ‘Tabloid reporters are not actually evil ghouls who prey on the living but, like Edinburgh’s ghosts, sometimes there’s no escaping them.’

Laughter broke out, much to his relief. Determined to restore normality, he swept a sombre gaze around the group, pausing to linger at random on a face here and there. ‘Now, shall we continue our dark business? Stuart the Slice and his dripping blade await.’

The first message on Sunday morning was from Fraser’s agent. It contained a screenshot of the Daily News website, which showed a close-up picture of Fraser, his face angry and menacing as he loomed over Charlie Fleming. The headline screamed MINELLI’S NEW STAR SHOWS UGLY SIDE.

Heart pounding, Fraser zoomed in and scanned the story beneath it to see if Maura was mentioned.

To his utter relief, it seemed Charlie had taken his threat seriously and had merely accused Fraser of threatening to punch him in the face – which was nowhere near the truth, but Fraser could live with that.

Sam was less relaxed, accompanying the picture with a terse instruction to call him.

The second message Fraser read was from Nick.

I see you ran into Gnarly Fleming. Don’t tell me – he wound you up, you took the bait and his faithful photographer was there to capture the moment.

Fraser sighed. Nick had no way of knowing the journalist had threatened Maura but it was still a shrewd description of what had happened. Pretty much , he replied.

It took a few moments for his phone to buzz again. Don’t worry. Everyone will see it’s a non-story .

But everyone did not include Fraser’s mother, who rang as he was making a much-needed first coffee of the day.

‘Oh, Fraser, what have you done?’ she said, her tone a mixture of bewilderment, worry and disappointment that instantly made him feel six years old again.

‘It’s all over the papers that you threatened to punch a journalist. Bessie from next door brought her copy in to show me. Is it true?’

‘No, Mum, it’s not true,’ Fraser said patiently. ‘You raised me better than that.’

‘Oh,’ she said, sounding slightly less panicked. ‘So I did. But it’s there in the paper and I must say the photo makes you look very angry.’

‘That’s because I was angry. A reporter interrupted one of my tours and let rip with some fairly nasty accusations. I told him to go away and he did, but not before his sidekick had snapped a picture.’

His mother’s voice went up a note or two. ‘What kind of accusations?’

Fraser closed his eyes for a moment. He had no intention of repeating Fleming’s lies; the mere thought of Maura’s name on his lips sent a spike of fury coursing through him and the last thing he wanted was for his mother to pick up on his anger. ‘It doesn’t matter. None of them were true.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘So you didn’t threaten to punch him?’

‘No, Mum. I threatened to sue him,’ Fraser reassured her.

‘That’s alright, then,’ she said, sounding mollified. ‘I told Bessie you couldn’t have actually hit him. Remember that time at drama school when you broke three bones in your hand pretending to throw a punch?’

He did. The intended recipient of his stage punch had panicked at the last second and moved, leaving Fraser to connect with the wall behind. ‘I’ve got a bit better at it since then,’ he said dryly. ‘But don’t worry, my hands are fine. It’s a story about nothing.’

Once he’d made a coffee, he took it through to the sofa and sat down to call Sam. His agent answered on the second ring. ‘Bloody reporters,’ he said, when Fraser offered his explanation. ‘But it goes with the territory, unfortunately. The important thing is that you’re okay.’

The important thing was that the more damaging lies hadn’t made the papers, Fraser thought, as a vision of Maura popped into his mind.

The thought of her name being dragged through the mud made cold beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

‘I’m fine,’ he reassured Sam. ‘Do you know if Minelli has seen it?’

‘He’s back in LA, so I doubt it. Which brings me onto something else – they want you to fly out there for on-screen chemistry tests with Priscilla de la Cruz and Juno Crosby.’

Fraser tried not to groan. He’d known there would be demands like this but he’d hoped they might be restricted to London. ‘When?’ he asked, mentally shuffling through his commitments for the coming weeks.

‘Tomorrow,’ Sam said.

‘Tomorrow?’ Fraser echoed in dismay. ‘But I’ve got meetings – tours to run.’

‘Cancel them,’ his agent said. ‘You’re booked onto the 6.25am flight from Edinburgh to Heathrow, then on a connecting British Airways plane to LA at ten o’clock. You’ll land at 2.30pm local time, where you’ll be met and taken to your hotel. Screen tests at the studio the next day.’

Fraser’s head whirled with the sudden onslaught of information. He’d done screen tests before, of course, but never anywhere remotely as glamorous or distant Los Angeles, and never with such famous names. He seized on the most obvious question. ‘How long will I be away?’

‘As long as it takes,’ Sam said pragmatically.

‘And it might not be a bad time to get out of the country. Tabloid reporters are like cockroaches – if you can see one, there are another ten scuttling around out of sight. And as you’ve discovered, when they’ve got nothing on you, they make something up. ’

With some reluctance, Fraser accepted the argument made sense. Like Nick, Sam had no idea how close to the truth he was, but his words reminded Fraser of the need to put some distance between himself and Maura. Leaving the country might well be the best thing for both of them. ‘Okay.’

‘One other thing. Disney have been in touch – they’re casting a new Jilly Cooper adaptation and want to know if you’re interested. What shall I tell them?’

Fraser blinked. Sam sounded utterly matter of fact, as though gigantic corporations enquired after his clients every day. Perhaps they did, he thought faintly. ‘I don’t know. Doesn’t it depend on Minelli?’

‘Disney won’t start filming until next year,’ Sam explained. ‘But I’ve seen the script. There’s a nude scene.’

Leaning back against the sofa, Fraser puffed out his cheeks.

It shouldn’t be a surprise – there’d been an adaptation of another Jilly Cooper novel that had been filled with raunchy scenes and it had proved a runaway success.

But he’d never had a role that demanded he strip off.

He’d have to cut down on the chocolate digestives. ‘Let me think about it.’

‘No problem,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll send you the flight details. I know it’s an early start but Minelli’s assistant has booked you into business class so you should be able to sleep on the plane.’

Thank you, Krystal , Fraser thought. He’d never flown anything better than premium economy before. ‘Okay. Thanks, Sam.’

‘A final piece of advice,’ his agent went on. ‘It’s probably time to step back from the ghost tours. I know you enjoy them but they make you far too easy to find. That’s going to be a problem once you become more widely recognised, and not just with the press.’

It wasn’t anything Fraser hadn’t worked out for himself, but the warning still caused his stomach to clench in resistance. Sam was right – the run in with Fleming had proved that – but it didn’t mean he enjoyed hearing it. ‘I’ll think about that too.’

‘Sure,’ Sam said. ‘Enjoy LA. Oh, and don’t take any of the CDs on Venice Beach – it’s a scam.’

‘CDs?’ Fraser repeated, wondering if he’d heard correctly. ‘As in, compact discs?’

Sam laughed. ‘It’ll make sense when you get there. Have a good flight. Speak soon.’

For the second time in his life, Fraser was met at the airport by a chauffeur carrying a sign bearing his name.

The journey had been smooth, if long, and made much more bearable by the champagne he’d been offered as they’d travelled.

He hadn’t managed to sleep, despite the seat that reclined fully into a bed.

Instead, he’d watched several Marco Minelli films and read through the scenes he was due to work on at the studio the following day.

By the time he located his driver, he was feeling the effects of his 4am alarm call.

It might be three o’clock in the afternoon in LA, but his body was telling him it was bedtime.

He stifled a yawn as the car eased out of the airport and onto the freeway, which was crawling with traffic even though it wasn’t yet rush hour.

Perhaps he’d have a nap once he reached his hotel.

Then again, since Krystal had booked him into the five-star Beverly Hills Montgomery, he might take a dip in the luxurious, palm-shaded pool first and marvel at his incredible good luck.