Page 105 of The Love Letter

‘I’ll get on to it, Warburton. I hear you’re having a busy time.’

‘Yes. I’m driving Miss Harrison down to Dorset tonight.’

‘Keep talking to her, Warburton. Sooner or later, something will slip out.’

‘I’m really not convinced she knows anything, but I will, sir. Goodbye.’

Simon hung up, drove off and managed to find a parking space in the NCP in Brewer Street and texted Zoe to tell her to call him when she was finished, and he’d pick her up outside the recording studio. Feeling suddenly hungry, he took himself off for a McDonald’s. He eyed the pub across the road, longing for a pint, but the image of Ian, disgustingly drunk and tearful, made him think better of it. He chomped his way through the tasteless hamburger and fries and tried to concentrate on his book, but visions of Zoe kept filling his brain as he recalled the touch of her hand on his.

Get a grip, Warburton, he lectured himself.First rule of operation: never become emotionally involved.Yet, as he waited eagerly for her call, he knew he’d already passed the point of no return. There was nothing he could do save execute a damage-limitation programme and expect to suffer horribly when his services were no longer needed and they went their separate ways.

When Zoe jumped back into the car two hours later, Simon noticed she’d added make-up to her face. He rather preferred her without, thought she was so beautiful that she didn’t need it . . .

Stop it, Warburton!

He started the engine and headed towards the M3 to Dorset.

‘Had a good post-thingy?’ he asked her casually.

‘Fine. Of course, everyone was far more interested in my relationship with Art than anything else.’ Zoe swept a hand through her long blonde hair. ‘Mike, the director, was very sweet, mind you. He told me he has an apartment in the south of France and he said I could use it any time I wanted.’

‘I hate to say it, but I suppose he’s also thinking how having the new girlfriend of a prince of England starring in his film might boost worldwide ticket sales.’

‘That’s awfully cynical, but you’re probably right.’ Zoe sighed as she looked out at the River Thames running underneath Chiswick Bridge.

‘Anyway, you seem much happier.’

‘Of course I am.’ She turned to him, her eyes full of warmth. ‘I’m seeing Art in a couple of hours’ time.’

Simon pulled into the drive of Haycroft House at just after six p.m. Inside, as always, it was freezing. And spread all over the sitting room were the higgledy-piggledy contents of a dozen boxes from the attic.

‘Damn you, Marcus!’ Zoe cried as Simon attempted to light the fire and she began to heap the piles of old paper back into the crates. ‘Iknewhe’d get bored halfway through and give up. Now it’s even more of a mess than it was before.’

‘Oh well, if you’re stuck down here for a while, I suppose it’ll give you something to do.’

‘I’m hoping Art might have other plans arranged. Maybe he’ll suggest we go abroad for a while, but then what about Jamie? Oh God, I don’t know, Simon. I’ll just have to wait till he gets here. For now, can you help me stack all these boxes in a corner?’

Eventually, with the sitting room tidied, the fire lit and the kitchen range coaxed into action, Zoe set about storing the food Simon had purchased earlier as she had hidden in the car.

‘Thank God I have some clothes still in my wardrobe here,’ she said distractedly. ‘I should go and change. Will he have eaten, do you think? Should I make something? Maybe put a casserole in the range so it won’t matter what time he arrives?’

Simon fielded her questions as best he could, sensing her tension. While she went upstairs to change, Simon walked outside with his binoculars to survey the lie of the land. His heart sank as he saw two cars parked beyond the gate, then a ladder being lengthened and balanced precariously against the hedge surrounding the house.How do these people do it?he wondered, as he garnered the courage to go inside to inform Zoe.

‘Oh God, no!’ She stood in the kitchen, a look of desolation on her face.

‘Zoe, I’m afraid I have to warn security the media are down here.’

‘Why can’t they leave us alone?! Why? Why? Why?!’ She thumped the table, harder each time.

‘I’m sorry, but I need to call now.’

‘Yes. Whatever.’ She slumped into a chair.

Simon left the room and duly delivered the message. He went back into the kitchen where Zoe was sitting smoking a cigarette.

‘Didn’t know you smoked,’ he commented.

‘Marcus must have left the packet here, and if there was Prozac, ecstasy or even heroin in the house, I’d take it tonight.’ Her eyes were rimmed red with exhaustion. ‘He won’t come now, will he?’