Do You Want to Know a Secret? (39 page)

‘Eh . . . lemme think,’ I say teasing, pretending to be ticking guys off my fingers. ‘No, he’s not around, emm, no . . . he’s having electric-shock therapy . . . ehh . . . no, he didn’t make parole this week, nope, you’re in luck . . . this weekend is clear.’

‘And you have the cheek to call me a messer?’

I just laugh and look at him adoringly, in all of his gorgeousness, still unable to believe my sheer good luck.

‘No, Daniel, there’s no other man in my life. Hand on heart; I’m not involved with anyone else. Believe me.’

‘Not to put too fine a point on it, or anything, but
any
time I bump into you socially, you are with someone else.’

His tone is light and breezy, but . . . for some reason, he’s not smiling now.

‘Hey, can I help it if I’m like . . . this irresistible sex goddess that men go bananas over?’ I tease. Jaysus, if he only knew the irony of that statement.

‘Vicky . . .’ he’s turned to me now, and is focusing on me in that dark, intense way he has. ‘I’m serious. Believe me, I’ve been down this road before and it’s . . . well, it’s not something I’m prepared to do again.’

A hint of an ex-girlfriend in the air, one who cheated on him, maybe? Not that it matters, not now that we’re together. As if I’d ever treat him like that,
ever
. . .

‘There’s no one else. I swear.’

‘Final answer?’

‘Final answer.’

I remember reading somewhere that the first signs of a couple having a hot office romance are: a) they arrive in separate cars; b) they studiously ignore each other in front of other people; and then c) they leave within a few minutes of each other.

Not me and Daniel though.

I’m as happy as a sand boy, really, nauseatingly Broadway happy, singing away in the car as I drive to the studio, absolutely bursting to have a full de-briefing session with the girls about this latest, miraculous,
unbelievable
twist. Memories of last night keep flooding back to me in wonderful, glowing waves. No, there’s no doubt about it. I’m in love. Funny, I think, pulling my car through, the things that life can throw up at you. One day I’m tearing my hair out over Ex-Files, sorry I mean Peter, then Dipso Man turns up just to shatter any romantic illusions I might have had about him, and then . . . Daniel. They were like the warm-up act to The Real Thing.

I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Seven a.m. Well, there is one person I know who’ll be up and about at this hour who I can share this unbelievable news with . . . Laura. I ring her from my mobile and she answers straight away.

‘Vicky! I didn’t expect to hear from you today, isn’t your first big shoot for the commercial this morning?’

‘On the way there now. I just had to tell you . . . oh Laura, last night I had the most fantastic, mind-blowing sex I have EVER had in my entire life!’

‘Oh really? Because I cleaned up baby vomit and unblocked a toilet. But please, continue.’

‘With . . . now are you ready for this? Daniel Best!’

‘Oh my God! Full story, please. And omit nothing, however trivial.’

‘I’ll have to fill you in later, I’m almost at the studio now. I’ll call in after work and go through it forensically with you. All I’ll say for now is, prepare to be truly
astonished
at just how miraculous the law of attraction can be.’

‘Yes, and on that very subject, I have a news bulletin for you, too. I had tea with Desmond and his mother and he’s asked me out again. To a black-tie charity do at the Four Seasons, no less. Can you believe it?’

‘Oh my God, you just up-sexed me! I’ll call in to you tonight for the full truth and nothing but!’

I’m thrilled, 100 per cent ecstatic for Laura that everything’s finally turning around for her, and Barbara and me . . . but very quickly go back to daydreaming about Daniel again. Oh God, I feel all warm inside just thinking about him. This really, really is it, I think, this is him, this is The One.

All I have to do is not mess it up. That’s all.

With perfect synchronicity, his car arrives at the same time as mine, we jump out together and hug like we haven’t just parted company twenty minutes ago. I know, all a bit syrupy/gooey, especially at this hour of the morning, but then that’s just what LURVE does to me.

Don’t mess it up, don’t mess it up . . .

Something vaguely comes back to me about the bit he read from the law of attraction book this morning, the part about whatever you dread you attract, but I shove it to the back of my mind where it belongs. No, life at the moment is like in a sitcom, where
the
lead character says, ‘What can possibly go wrong?’

Turns out I don’t have to wait too long to find out.

Daniel and I head into the studio, which is looking just
amazing
, far more impressive even than the designer’s sketches, a girlie boudoir come to life, all in black and white, with a huge, Victorian gilded mirror dominating the set.

‘What do you think?’ I ask Daniel, proudly.

‘Talk about the wow factor,’ he says, squeezing my hand.

To be honest, when Sophie approved the preliminary sketches, I was kind of afraid it would end up looking like an amateur production of
Gigi
, but it works, even beyond my wildest dreams. Our two models – the one who’s going on a first date, and the one whose Original Sin products she’s busy coveting – are in the make-up trailer and I’m just about to call Amanda to see where she is when Sophie strides over to us, in top form.

‘Daniel, sweetie,’ she coos. ‘And Vicky, doesn’t this look fantastic?’

And I’m not joking, the bobbed hair is so perfectly executed, she must have been up since about four a.m. getting it to sit so obediently.

‘Always good to see a happy client,’ Daniel smiles, shaking her hand.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.’

‘Actually, I just came to support my girl here,’ Daniel
says
, cool as a fish’s fart, and as if to further highlight our ‘new couple’ status, the dote even slips his arm around my waist. I glow, then blush as Sophie gives a knowing, woman-of-the-world-type nod.

‘I see. Well, our director’s here too, come and say hi. He’s just over here, setting up.’

‘Oh yeah,’ says Daniel as the three of us walk over towards a vast lighting rig, where there’s a few guys with their backs to us. ‘Somebody . . . Howard, isn’t that who we normally use?’

‘Yes. Tom? Come and meet Daniel Best. And Vicky Harper too, of course.’

Oh f**k.

No. No, this cannot be happening.

It’s him. Tom, no Tim, no Tom. Dipso Man himself.

He turns around, spots me and is straight over, planting a stale boozy kiss on my cheek.

‘Vicky! Yes, you could say that I certainly met Vicky,’ he says in the gravelly voice.

Please don’t say any more: I’m looking at him, willing him to shut up with the panic in my eyes . . . please just go back to your rig now, and I’ll somehow get Daniel out of here and everything will be OK . . . please . . .

But Daniel picks up on something. Don’t ask me how, but before I know what’s going on, he says to Tom, ‘So have you two worked together before, or something?’

Please, Tom or whatever your bloody name is, just say yes and leave it at that, please, this man is too important to me . . .

But he doesn’t.

‘As a matter of fact, Vicky and I are dating. Hey, yesterday does count as a date, doesn’t it, my dear?’

Chapter Twenty-Six

THE CHANCES ARE
I might, just might have been able to get away with that. That’s if I’d been lucky enough to drag Daniel out of the studio, sit him down and explain.

The whole truth, everything. I had brunch with the guy and that was it. And OK so maybe I did end up with Daniel that night, but it was all unplanned and . . . and maybe we’ll even end up having a laugh about it. I mean, it is kind of funny when you think about it really, I wonder weakly. You know, what are the odds and all that . . .

But it’s mayhem on the set, completely hectic, I’m being dragged in about twenty different directions and I’m not even sure where Daniel is. Then just as we’re going for a lighting rehearsal, I spot him, over by a monitor, arms crossed, standing alone and looking deep in thought. But as I move over to him, smiling
hopefully
, shrugging, wanting to talk to him, desperately needing to explain, he moves off.

‘Everything OK?’ is all I get to say to him.

‘Not now, Vicky.’

‘Look, I know this looks terrible, but you have to let me explain . . .’

‘Nothing to explain. You went straight from one guy to another. On the same day, for Christ’s sake. And what’s worse is that you lied to me.’

‘It wasn’t like that! You have to listen to me, Daniel . . .’

‘You looked me in the eye and you lied.’

‘I didn’t! You have to hear me out . . .’

‘Time and a place, Vicky.’

And he strides off, ostensibly to look at the set but really to get away from me.

None of this is helped by Tom in an embarrassingly loud voice clapping me on the back and saying: ‘So we must have that night-time date we talked about soon, my dear. Day-time socializing isn’t really me, somehow. Maybe dinner after the shoot tonight?’

I glance around, hoping, praying that Daniel is too far away to have heard, but he’s actually a lot closer than I’d have thought.

‘Tom, please stop this, you’re mortifying me,’ I hiss, not wanting my private business to become some kind of side-show.

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, Vicky. You were all on for it yesterday. Not twenty-four hours ago.’

Then I turn back to where Daniel was standing a second ago, but now he’s gone. Oh God, this is such a nightmare. Then, just as I think things can’t get much worse, guess what? They do. Amanda’s over, asking if the on-set rumour is true; that I’m simultaneously dating the director
and
Daniel Best? And doesn’t he have a girlfriend in the States anyway? Now I feel sick. I’m an ‘on-set rumour’, and am suddenly too weak and shaky to even care.

‘I . . . just can’t get into that right now,’ I say to her, in a tiny, weak voice. Because if I do, there’s a good chance I’ll burst into tears. Bad enough that the crew must think I’m some kind of tart-for-hire, but now I can’t get near Daniel, can’t even see him.

By lunchtime, hours later, we’ve three shots in the can, three more to do and there’s still no sign of him. He’s not in the canteen with everyone else, and when I try calling his mobile, he doesn’t answer.

I actually don’t know how much more of this I can take, so I slip outside for a breath of air. Kind-hearted old Amanda is straight on my heels, asking me if I’m all right, and offering me a cigarette, even though I don’t smoke.

‘You OK?’ she asks, genuinely concerned, bless her.

‘Mmmm,’ is all I can nod, by way of an answer.
Mainly
because if I elaborate further, the hard rock of pain and sheer disbelief inside me will dissolve in a big flood of tears. And I’ve too much to do today. Amanda and I have worked too hard, and there’s just too much at stake here. I have to put a brave face on things, suffer it out here today, somehow get through the day, then sort out my private life when I get home.

‘Emm, Vicky, it’s none of my business or anything, but just to let you know that Daniel said something about going back to the office. Anyway, he’s left and said he won’t be back.’

Right then. Message received, loud and clear.

We wrap on the dot of five, the first commercial successfully in the can, and everyone on the set is in high old form at how well the day’s shoot has gone, and dying to get to the nearest pub for a drink. Everyone except me, that is. Somehow, I managed to get through the awful, miserable day, but as soon as we’re wrapped, I can’t get out of there fast enough.

‘Are you sure you won’t come for a drink?’ Amanda asks, as we walk towards our cars. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you really look like you could do with one.’

‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘Just tired. I need to swing by my office and then just go home and collapse.’

‘OK. But, well, it’s none of my business, but . . . well, you know I’m here for you if you ever need to chat.
And
whatever is or isn’t going on between you and Daniel, well . . . I’m sure you can sort it out. He’s a nice guy, Vicky, he’s one of the good ’uns. I promise.’

I’m too touched to even answer her, so I settle for a big teary hug instead. Then when I’m finally, finally alone in my car I do what I’ve wanted to do all day . . . dissolve into a flood of hot, stinging tears. By far the worst kind, and I should know.

I can put up with bloody Tom and his boozy breath and all the lewd, suggestive shite he’s been coming out with all day. I can even put up with being the gossipy talk of the sound stage.

But I can’t put up with Daniel having the wrong idea about me, I just can’t.

I try calling him again from the car, but it’s his voice-mail, yet again, so I leave a teary message in a weak, wobbly voice just asking him to call. Which he doesn’t. So then I call Barbara, forgetting the time, and that she has a tech rehearsal tonight, so I’ve absolutely no chance of getting to comb things through with her either. Shit.

Force of habit more than anything drags me back to the office on my way home, just to check up on emails, and make sure everything’s on track for the big opening night of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
this Friday. The sheer bloody bad luck and unfairness of what happened this morning has now slowly begun to fade a bit, and
now
I’ve moved on to the second stage of getting a shock: anger.

For God’s sake, I’m now starting to think, in a sudden flash of irritation, if Daniel is going to flounce off in a snot without even listening to my perfectly innocent explanation, then sure what hope is there for us? I mean, yes, OK, in his shoes, if I discovered in front of a whole studio full of colleagues that he’d been with someone else the same day as me . . . OK, yes, I might be a bit miffed, but I’d at least listen to an explanation, wouldn’t I? Course I bloody would. And when I’d heard the full story, I’d laugh and then forgive, in that order.