Page 21

21

It’s a military operation as one stretch limousine after another pulls up beside the red carpet that runs all the way from the roadside and up the steps to the Royal Albert Hall. The nation’s press waits with bated breath as each foot appears from beneath the car door, second-guessing which legend from the music world is about to grace them with their presence.

Tina Turner steps out in a red leather minidress, her shaggy, supersized golden mullet instantly recognizable. Next comes Michael Jackson in his signature shades, waving to the screaming crowds with a crystal-gloved hand. But it’s the bare foot that follows him out of the car that sends the flashbulbs into a frenzy.

The splayed toes of a hairy primate jump down onto the carpet, dressed as if he’s going to a baseball game.

“It’s Bubbles!” shrills the girl next to Cassie, taking her Instamatic camera and winding it on.

Once upon a time, Cassie would have killed to be up close and personal to the man who brought her Thriller and the dance routine that her mother had spent hours teaching her. But all she can think of right now is the promised arrival of Ben Edwards.

The band had gone to ground for the best part of a month, ever since the album launch, and the official word from the record company was that they were holed away, making bonus tracks. But Cassie and Amelia have been to the studio they usually frequent and there’s been no sign of them. She only needs to see him once to know that what they shared on the night of the police raid still stands. That her pledge to stand by him is still deserved.

He’d disappeared so quickly that night at the museum—no doubt whisked away by security guards before he could say goodbye—that she hadn’t had a chance to give him her phone number. And without being able to track him down since, she’d been left in an excruciating sense of limbo, knowing that she couldn’t reach him, and he couldn’t reach her.

How had he been managing, she wondered. Having to trust that she would eventually find a way to contact him—he must have felt so powerless.

There’s an uptick in anticipation as girls on the other side of the red carpet become restless and agitated. From their vantage point, they get a sneak preview of a leg or an arm as the car door opens. Shrill shrieks ring out when a cowboy boot makes its mark on the ground. There’s no other movement for what feels like a minute as the suspense is intentionally ramped up.

“It’s Micky,” says Amelia, an authority on the subject.

Butterflies take flight in Cassie’s stomach. This has felt like such a long time coming, and her excitement is infused with a tangible relief that she and Ben are finally going to be together again.

The crowd goes wild as Michael lifts his six-foot frame out of the car, and he milks it for all it’s worth. Despite the long line of limos queuing up behind his, he keeps them waiting as he ducks in and out of the blacked-out back seat, as if playing a game of cat and mouse.

“He’s such a wind-up,” says Amelia, smiling, while Cassie just wishes he’d move on so they can get to the main event of the evening.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” says Michael over-theatrically. “May I present Samantha Redgrave…”

Photographers fall over themselves to capture the coming together of one of the country’s biggest pop stars and the current Page Three model of the year.

“What the…?” says Amelia, as Samantha steps out in a full-length fur, despite the heat.

As soon as she’s found the perfect spot on the red carpet, Samantha makes an elaborate show of peeling the coat tantalizingly slowly off her shoulders, before dropping it to the floor to reveal a sheer dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.

“I can’t believe it,” says Cassie, knowing that Amelia had held as high hopes for her and Michael tonight as she did for herself and Ben.

Though, if she were honest, the likelihood of Michael seeing Amelia as anything more than an easy lay was doubtful. But she would never say that to her friend, and they’d happily spent the past month fantasizing with great enthusiasm about how the four of them would secretly meet in London, giving the ever-present paparazzi the slip so they could nurture their fledgling relationships.

Amelia’s lips pull tight and her nostrils flare. “Bastard.”

“It might not mean anything,” placates Cassie. “It might just be a publicity stunt.”

“He’s making me look stupid,” seethes Amelia. “He can’t just pick me up and put me down whenever he feels like it.”

Cassie sucks in a relieved breath, suddenly grateful that she and Ben hadn’t had a chance to do anything other than talk before the police burst into the hotel room. She may have spent every second since wishing that they had, but if she wanted to be different from every other girl and earn his respect, then she’d played it right. She didn’t want to be a one-night stand; she wanted to be his girlfriend.

“I’m so sorry,” she says to Amelia. “But I’m sure it’s all for show. I’ll have a word with Ben if you like—he’ll know what’s going on.”

Amelia nods, biting down on her bottom lip, as if to hold back tears.

“Oh my god, here he is,” says Cassie in a rush, any thoughts of her friend’s heartbreak already forgotten.

Dressed in black-leather trousers and a chained waistcoat, Ben’s eyes scan the crowd as if looking for her.

“Over here!” she calls out, jostling to the front, so that he can see her.

His whole face breaks into a smile, so delighted to be reconciled. He walks toward her and Cassie wonders if he might just kiss her here and now, in front of the world. She prepares herself for the eventuality and reaches out for him, but he stops just short to greet a woman with a microphone, kissing her on both cheeks before moving to stand next to her for the cameras.

“Alesha, good to see you again,” he says, with a megawatt grin. “How are you?”

“All the better for seeing you,” says the woman, blushing.

Cassie keeps the welcoming smile she’d proffered fixed to her face, but the corners of her mouth are twitching against the possibility that this isn’t going to play out quite as she’d expected. The sexual chemistry between Ben and the other woman could power the entire evening’s event, and Cassie can only assume that it’s the consequence of a previous liaison. Because she won’t allow herself to imagine it might be the prelude to an encounter yet to come.

“Secret Oktober are up for two awards this evening,” says Alesha, losing herself in Ben’s come-to-bed eyes. “Which is the most important to you? Best Album or Best Group?”

He strokes his square chin and throws a glance in Cassie’s direction, but it’s too quick for her to grab hold of. Still, she’s sure he knows she’s here; he just has to bide his time and work the floor.

“That’s a tricky one,” he says. “But I guess I’d be prouder to win Best Album, as we worked so hard on it.”

“Michael’s just made quite the entrance with Samantha Redgrave. Is that a serious relationship? Something the fans should be worried about?” Alesha laughs, as if it will make the question seem less incongruous, but Cassie can see Ben’s jaw tense, even if the TV cameras can’t.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” he says, with a saccharine-sweet smile. “You’d have to ask him.”

Alesha tilts her head to the side coquettishly. “And what about your plus-one? Is there someone special you’re having a clandestine meeting with inside?”

Ben laughs, and Cassie half expects him to turn to her and hold out his hand, inviting her to step under the roped cordon. But instead, he places a hand on Alesha’s taffeta-clad behind. “Are you offering?” he asks.

Cassie swallows her contempt at the discourtesy, knowing it’s all a game he has to play, a character he has to portray until they’re on their own again.

The cameras stop rolling straight after Ben’s fake laugh.

“If you want to hook up later…” purrs Alesha, attempting to be seductive. “I’ll be done by ten.”

“Ah, I’d love to,” says Ben. “But I’m not intending to stay around for too long.”

He reaches a hand out behind him and Cassie grabs it, feeling her heart soar as she squeezes tightly.

“Ben,” she sighs, as he turns to look at her.

“Hey,” he says, smiling. “How are you?”

Cassie fights back the happy tears that her nervous energy has spent weeks provoking. “I’m good; I’m so happy to see you.”

“Ah, that’s so sweet,” he says. “Now, can I have my hand back?”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” she says, releasing it as she ducks under the barrier to join him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” barks a security guard, stepping into action. “You need to stay behind the rope.”

“It’s OK,” says Cassie, holding her hands up as she looks at Ben. “I’m with him.”

The security guard furrows his brow dubiously, as he waits for confirmation and, for a split second, Ben looks as if he might not acknowledge her place by his side. But his rigid jaw suddenly slackens, and his narrowed eyes widen.

“It’s all right,” he says. “I’ve got this.”

Cassie falls into him gratefully and slips her arm through his.

“OK, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” he whispers into her ear. “You see that camera up ahead?”

Cassie looks ten feet in front of her to see a camera operator accompanying another earnest woman holding a microphone, ready to pounce.

“I’m going to walk with you until then and then I need to get on.”

“OK,” says Cassie, breathlessly. “Then where do I go?”

“Back to where you came from,” says Ben, through gritted teeth, at pains to keep up appearances.

“But… but how will we find each other again?”

Ben turns to look at her with a vexed expression. “Why would we need to find each other again?”

An ice-cold hand reaches into Cassie’s chest and tightly squeezes around her heart, but she fights against the remote possibility that she’s got this all wrong.

“Look, it’s been lovely meeting you,” he says, dropping her arm. “But I really do have to be getting on…”

“But I thought we’d spend the evening together,” says Cassie, her voice breaking. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

The nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough to summon security and Cassie feels herself being strong-armed away from Ben. “Wh-what are you doing?” she calls out. “Ben! Ben, help me!”

He turns away without a second glance, and Cassie finds herself being lifted up, carried behind the crowd, and ejected onto the concourse like a regurgitated nuisance.

She twists her ankle as she lands, but her wounded pride hurts her more than the physical pain ever could.

“Are you OK?” asks Amelia, running to her and helping her up.

Cassie goes to shrug her off, but the rejection stings so badly that she allows Amelia to take some of the weight, both literally and figuratively.

“They’re fucking bastards,” cries Cassie, feeling as if her insides have been hollowed out. “They don’t give a shit about us.”

“It’s going to be OK,” says Amelia, unable to hide the bitter vitriol from her voice. “I’m not going to let them get away with this.”

And as Cassie looks at her twisted features, she doesn’t doubt that she means it.