Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) (36 page)

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that Liam and I had done just that. We lived in different countries. We were prepared to fly back and forth. But her question was a good one. How long could this continue? I shook my head clear. I didn’t need something else to contemplate.

Changing topics dramatically, I distracted her with stories about the boat, about Kathleen sashaying around the harbor in Saint-Tropez looking for her prince, of Marian and Kathleen exhausting Alessandro and Paolo, and Hillary’s cool, aloof exterior crumbling when near Michael.

Reluctantly, we got ready to leave. Outside Bertorelli’s, we breathed in the London night air, listening to the buzz of people and traffic. We made it only a few blocks before we gave in and hailed a taxi. Between the wine and the events of the last few days, we were both exhausted. We decided to head straight to bed. It would take all our strength to deal with Faith Clarkson.

***

The next few days proved to be the longest of my life. I didn’t have time to worry about Tiziana, Taylor, Marcus, or anyone else. It was every man, woman, or child for themselves when Faith Clarkson was around. Liam had left messages, but I hadn’t found time to call back.

Every nook and cranny of the facilities had been inspected. Every employee interviewed, every document read. The only thing she hadn’t done was comment on the toilet paper. Well, she had remarked on its stiffness but hadn’t demanded we find a replacement. What a difference one week could make!

I was summoned to Faith’s office at the end of the day on Wednesday. Taylor and I ran into each other on our way there.

“Now what? I wish she would just go home. Not only am I being flogged for what still needs to be done, she’s been anything but motherly about Marcus and me splitting up. I can’t wait to see her back.” Taylor, who was clearly irritated, took her mood out on the hair that insisted on falling into her eyes by shoving it back aggressively.

I put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t worry. As soon as she’s safely on a plane and in the air, you and I are taking a break! Maybe we can take a long weekend somewhere.” I really needed to get a hold of Liam. I hoped he hadn’t booked a ticket yet.

Arriving in the conference room, the bane of our existence ignored us as she stacked papers into piles then shuffled them into folders then into a briefcase. She looked cool as a cucumber, literally. She was wearing a soft green sheath dress and jacket, her blonde hair perfectly in place, her makeup without a smudge.

“Ladies, go home and pack a suitcase or two. We’re leaving on the 9:00 plane to New York tomorrow morning. I’ve already notified your groups. Your staff will carry on without you for a while.” She finally lifted her demon eyes to us before returning to shuffling papers fast and furiously. Secretly, I was hoping she’d get a paper cut that became infected.

“What? Mother, really. There’s too much work to be done here. Why do you need us to go to New York?” I certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask that.

“Taylor, when your employer tells you to get on a plane, you get on a plane. I’m only answering you because you’re my daughter. A few issues still need resolving, and I need to head home. Therefore, you’ll accompany me, we’ll sort them out in New York, and then you can return. That is all!”

It was obvious the conversation was over. Without uttering another word, we turned around and walked out of the office, different emotions on each of our faces. Taylor was elated, and I was irritated.

“This is so good. This means she respects my opinion and needs my help,” she giggled, like a school girl.

“Well, this is completely annoying. I have a life. Liam is expecting to see me this weekend
and
I have a massive amount of work to do here.” I was angry.

We dashed back to our offices and packed up what documents we thought we might need for the next however-long. Taylor stopped by my office as I was placing my laptop into its bag.

“Ready?”

“I guess!” Without a backwards glance, I walked out of my office, flipped off the light switch, and shut the door.

We had barely walked in our front door when the bell rang. Taylor hopped to answer it, struggling to take one shoe off while she carried the other.

I rummaged in the fridge, looking for something to eat. There wasn’t anything all that spectacular to be found. A wedge of cheese, some cherries, milk, and what appeared to be a very despondent tomato, all wrinkled and splotchy. I stuffed a chunk of cheese into my mouth and peeked around the corner to see what was going on.

I saw incredulity on Taylor’s face. Gemma Newley was standing in the foyer, looking as stunning as a film star should, in a deep blue, tailored halter dress. The sun and surf of the last week had agreed with her.

“Gemma! Hello, how are you?” I dashed forward to give her a kiss, hoping I didn’t smell like musty cheese. Taylor looked a bit dazzled, but when I made the introductions, she managed to pull it together and offer a normal greeting.

Leading the way to the terrace out back, I left them to search for glasses and a bottle of white wine. When I returned and everyone had a drink, we talked for a short while before Taylor graciously excused herself.

As soon as we were alone, Gemma said in her straightforward fashion, “Tiziana was devastated when you left. We didn’t see her until the next afternoon, and I’m sure that was only at Ted’s cajoling.”

I should have brought another bottle of wine,
I noted to myself as I gulped the air in my glass. She continued, “Des would only say that the two of you had a falling out over what happened in Chamonix. As you undoubtedly know, I have experience in forgiving someone who has hurt and humiliated me. Des wasn’t very discreet with his indiscretions. But when the person who did the hurting is genuinely sorry, you must forgive them. She loves you!”

I was having enough difficulty absorbing the fact that I was returning to New York the next day for an indefinite amount of time. So the fact that Gemma Newley was sitting in the back garden pleading Tiziana’s cause seemed like a hallucination. Finding my voice, I told her as succinctly as possible all that had happened since my return to London.

“I know it sounds terrible, but I really don’t have time to deal with this right now. My being in Saint-Tropez was a fluke, a gift from the gods. Then I got a call saying I had to return to London just before things with Tiziana blew up. Now I have to explain to Liam that I’m going to New York for god knows how long. My brain hurts from all of this. I haven’t even begun to figure out how I feel about anything. I’m just running right now, trying to keep all the balls in the air.”

“Well, it must be a bit much!”

We sat in silence for a moment. Clearly, Gemma was invested in Des or Ted or both, so I confided, “You probably understand better than most, it isn’t pleasant to be caught up in the public eye. Especially when you don’t want to be. It’s not like I had any idea what it would be like. At least when you’re a celebrity, you have experience with billions of flashbulbs and lies. What hurt me the most was being on the receiving end of everyone’s judgment, including Des’s. I wasn’t given the opportunity to ask questions, explain my side, or say how I felt. I just had to live with it.”

She nodded, understanding. “Look, he’s open to talking to you. He’s become a very decent person. Call him and sort it out. Then call Tiziana. She needs you to forgive her.” With this, she gave my hand a quick squeeze, and I followed her as she walked to the front door. We gave each other air kisses, and then she disappeared into the evening.

While I stuffed clothes into suitcases, Taylor hovered in the doorway, asking for a recap. I gave her some details as I tried to figure out how much to pack. I glanced at my watch and saw it was getting quite late. I still needed to call Liam.

I dashed down the hardwood staircase and into the unlit sitting room to call him, kicking the door shut behind me. After a few rings, his voicemail kicked in. “Liam, it’s Charlotte. I’m sorry I haven’t called. I received your messages. Faith has us running in circles. Call me when you get this.”

I sat in the oversized chintz armchair for just a moment and looked out the window. The streetlights reflected off cars passing by and lit the way for a few couples taking late-night strolls.
Why are other people’s lives so calm, so easy?
I found myself wondering.

After I had had enough of pondering the mysteries of life, I took the phone upstairs and stuffed toiletries into a bag. Taylor and I shouted back and forth down the hallway about our unexpected visit from Gemma and what to do about Des. I was so thankful Hillary wasn’t here. She wouldn’t appreciate our noise and confusion.

Eventually, the phone rang. “Hello!” I said anxiously.

“Hello, gorgeous. How is everything? You sound exhausted,” Liam asked.

Phew, his broody glance a few days before was forgotten
. Apparently, he wasn’t a person to harbor anger. I filled him in on all the details: my sudden trip to New York, Gemma Newley showing up, Taylor and Marcus’s break-up, and the grueling three days I’d had.

“That’s a hell of a few days. How long will you be gone?” Silence hovered between us when I told him I had no idea.

“Liam, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to go. We’ll make it work, I promise. I don’t want to end up like Marcus and Taylor.” Another prolonged silence. I felt more and more anxious.

“We won’t. That’s the last thing to worry about. I was just wondering what we could do to help them. Maybe you could encourage her to see him while you’re there. I don’t know if that’s a good idea, if they’re determined to end things, though.” I loved him all the more for thinking about this and simultaneously felt a whole lot better about our situation. The same thought had rushed through my head a few hours before, but I was afraid to approach Taylor with it.

“What about Des? Are you going to call him?”

“I suppose I should. I’d like to know the state of the restraining order. I’d love to believe it’s over. I guess it will have to wait until I get back. I’m sure all my time in New York will be taken up with work.” I took a deep breath and blew it out. The chaos was still swirling around in my normally well-ordered mind, and I was struggling to find the silver lining. “It all seems overwhelming right now. I just want to go to New York and get that finished up. The quicker I can get that sorted out, the sooner I can come back, see you, and start to figure all the
other
stuff out.”

Pointedly, we changed the subject for a few minutes to catch me up on Liam’s life over the last few days. “Well, it certainly hasn’t been as exciting as yours!”

“Just hang out with me, and I can promise you all the excitement and chaos life has to offer!”

“I was talking about Faith Clarkson, you eejit! Look, we’re in agreement that your life’s pathetic. You live in a tip, you have no friends, and your job is complete crap and unchallenging…”

I should have known I would have my pity party all by myself.

Chuckling, I promised to call when I got settled in New York and then said goodbye. I felt weepy at the thought of not knowing how long I’d be gone.

While I got ready for bed, I found myself thinking about Liam’s comments and Gemma’s advice. Did I dare contact Des? He had acknowledged my innocence, and I had apologized for my presumptions about him and his enormous ego. As I threw myself into bed, I found myself grateful to be returning to New York and escaping England, with all those questioning eyes. I needed time to think. I just needed a few quiet hours to myself to figure out what the next step was.

SITTING IN TRAFFIC
on a Friday night in New York City during the summer was generally hideous. Having left the cooler and less humid climes of London just over a week before, I was grateful to be sitting in the air conditioned town car provided by Faith Clarkson International. I was finally on my way to talk to Des Bannerman regarding the insanity of the last eight, almost nine, months; my stomach churned with excitement and dread. If nothing else, I was sure we would mutually agree to conduct ourselves in a fashion that wouldn’t put us on the covers of tabloids.

Edging toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I told the driver, “I’ll get out and walk from here.” I walked at a brisk pace, shaking off the melancholy I’d felt while sitting in the car, ruminating about the past. Looking at my watch, I saw that it was 8:47. I had thirteen minutes to get to the museum, find
The Block
by Romare Bearden, and come face to face with Des. I also had to pray that my new Fendi sandals were actually meant to be walked in.

Moving through the crowded sidewalk was much more pleasant than observing the hustle and bustle through the car window. The evening was warm. Golden light ricocheted off windows and through leaves on the trees to cast shadows on the cityscape. The smell of a recent summer shower lingered in the air. Groups of people milled around on the terraces in front of the museum.

Climbing the steps, I felt sweat trickle down my back and registered my sweaty palms. I quickly glanced at my watch and saw that I had eight minutes—hopefully enough time to speak with the necessary person, do a quick mop-down, find the painting, and then meet Des. The last two words seemed fatal.

Months’ worth of uncertainty, hurt feelings, and anger were parked inside of me. “Just be yourself, get the answers you want,” I said firmly to myself. “Don’t let your emotions get the best of you.” My foot rolled over and I cursed the Fendis. “They should be called O-ffen-sive,” I continued to myself, but immediately felt remorse when I saw a scuffmark on the soft buff-colored leather.

Upon entering the museum, I found the concierge. Taylor had taken the necessary measures with the museum to allow Des to view the painting in privacy. The museum was expecting a representative of Faith Clarkson to join him. After my ID was handed over, my briefcase was discreetly searched.

Calmly, the bushy-browed man said, “You’ll find Mr. Pan waiting for you in the correct gallery. Would you like Mr. Williams to escort you?”