Prosecco & Paparazzi (The Passport Series Book 1) (37 page)

I accepted the offer of an escort and down the hall we trudged.
Trudged
because Mr. Williams was in no hurry and didn’t seem to sense my need to get this over and done with. As we wandered the halls of the Met, he kindly pointed out popular attractions, restrooms, maps, historical facts, the color of the sky in a painting (not cerulean…)—whatever seemed to drift through his mind.

My nerves were stretched thin and my chest felt tight. Under my breath, I chanted, “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.” I felt my pulse slow and my shoulders drop; my stomach no longer seemed to quake.

“Here we are, Miss,” Mr. Williams informed me as we stopped outside a spacious room that housed the painting. I took a Kleenex from my briefcase, dabbed at my face, smoothed my straightened hair, and used the side of my finger to scrub any lipstick from my teeth. Mr. Williams, having stayed to observe my preparations, remarked, “You look just fine, young lady.” His kind words lifted my heart and put a big smile on my face.

“Thank you, Mr. Williams. Wish me luck!” I felt a surge of confidence that I hadn’t felt in a very long time skip across my psyche.

“I’ll wait out here, in the hall. Call if you need anything.”

I took a deep breath and walked at what I hoped was a normal pace toward the man viewing
The Block
. He wore dark denim jeans and a fitted navy blue linen shirt. His outfit reminded me of the one he wore in one of his recent movies
.
About five feet behind him, I came to a stop.

I took a final deep breath to calm myself and spoke his name. He turned from the painting. “Ms. Young, Charlotte. I see you’ve made it.” He was calm, which I took as a good sign.

“Not a surprise, then!”

“Not really. I do know whom you work for. Now that we’re here, thank you for providing the opportunity for me to come to the museum. I rarely find the time to do such things. Odd, really, considering how much travelling I do. Would you like to sit or wander?” He pointed to both the bench in front of the painting and the room around us.

“Moving would be best.” I was sure I exposed my anxiety.

“Moving it is.” He kindly extended his arm to suggest a direction. “I hope the use of Mr. Pan didn’t confuse you. It’s for Peter Pan, really. It’s silly, but I rather like the idea of using cartoon names. It was Julia Roberts’s idea. She often uses a princess’s name to hide from the press.”

“
Notting Hill.
”

Smiling at me, he walked slowly about the room, his eyes taking in the artwork. “So, Ms. Young, what are we doing here?”

“Well, if I were to follow Taylor Clarkson’s plan, I would be selling you on the finer points of using Faith Clarkson’s services. But, since meeting you, nothing has gone according to plan, so why start now?” I had humor in my voice as I stopped to face him. His blue eyes slowly lifted to mine. The thought ran through my mind that I had seen many of his personal mannerisms in his movies and wondered where real life stopped and make-believe began. “I want to know what the state of the restraining order is.” I was proud of my calm, straightforward manner.

Folding his arms in front of his chest, he looked me squarely in the eye. “Right! Well, let me just start by saying that the whole revelation was truly dramatic. I had no idea real life could be that way. Ah, let me take that back. I have had my own moments bandied about the press for over a decade.” He paused briefly, his eyes glazed over, giving the impression he was reliving another moment. I only had to wait shortly, before he continued speaking. “In any case, after hearing Tiziana’s confession followed by your trouncing and then being assaulted by Marian, Kathleen, and Hillary the night you left, I think I have a much better understanding of the world, egotism, honesty, true love, and one more thing… which right now seems to escapes me. So, I returned to England the next day, called my lawyers, and had all the formal details dealt with. I didn’t know you were in New York until seeing you at The Volstead yesterday. Which explained, perhaps, why the legal papers couldn’t be delivered to your London address. Yesterday afternoon I asked my lawyers to arrange a meeting with you, but apparently there was only an answering machine. Frankly, I just want the whole thing over with.” He nodded with a swipe of his hand through his hair.

That was it. It was over. It was very anticlimactic. I stood looking at him and waited for the sadness to retreat, the knots in my stomach to unfurl. I waited for it to all go away. But it didn’t. Realizing now was not the time to try and unravel this mystery, I did the next best thing.

“Thank you. Taylor Clarkson is also my housemate. She was terrified when she saw Mead, Jameson, and Kelly on the caller ID yesterday. Right now she’s probably waiting for a phone call from the police station. I’d better give her a call. After that, would you like to go to the Gordon Ramsey opening dinner?”

Surprisingly, he said, “He comes across as a bloody prick. I’d rather not, actually. Do you know anywhere that serves good seafood?”

“I have a few suggestions, just a minute,”
How bizarre life could be? One minute you were having the weight of the world lifted off your shoulders, and the next you were going out for seafood.
Honestly, there was no point in trying figure out what normal was.

He roamed around the room while I made a reassuring call to Taylor. I blatantly disregarded the fact that I had been instructed to turn my cell phone off by the many museum docents and signs. And I ignored Mr. Williams, who was glaring at me.

“Are you in jail?” she asked instead of saying hello.

“No! He had his lawyers formally request the restraining order be withdrawn just after I left Saint-Tropez. So, it’s all over. I’ll fill you in on the details when I get home. As odd as it may seem, we’re going out to dinner.”

Between her gasps and questions she said, “Well, you’d better give Liam a call as soon as possible. He called just after you left, and I told him what you’re up to.”

“All right, thanks.” As the guard approached me, I preemptively apologized. “It was a life or death situation.”

Neutrally, he said, “It always is.” I walked over to Des. His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets while he stared at a pastoral painting.

“I don’t understand this kind of bucolic art. Ready?” I nodded and we were escorted through the empty corridors of the museum. At the entrance, we extended our thanks to Mr. Williams and the concierge.

“Right, now, where the bloody hell is the car?” He glanced about the busy streets.

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite ready. I just couldn’t handle Mr. Williams’s wrath. One more phone call, I’m afraid. Liam wants me to call.”

“No worries. If I were in his shoes, I’d want to know that the love of my life wasn’t in the tabloids or jail.” He grinned.

I moved away a short distance and called across the miles of choppy gray water. Liam snapped the phone up halfway through the first ring. I reassured him that all was fine and that Des had withdrawn the restraining order.

Liam let out a breath. “Well, that’s a massive relief. How do you feel?”

I was touched by his concern. While I knew that he loved me and would have bailed me out of jail, I had never stopped to think about how this might be affecting him. “I feel great. Thanks for being on my side! I wouldn’t have done it without you. Well, not quite so soon. Do you mind if I fill you in on the details later? I’ve asked Des to dinner, just to finish clearing the air. I’ll have more to tell you then. Should I call tonight or wait until tomorrow morning?”

“Whenever, I don’t mind.” With that, we said our goodbyes.

Then, as if it were the most natural experience in the world, Des and I walked down the steps and into the summer evening. I walked without fear and began to feel elated. As we approached the curb, a black town car with tinted windows pulled up. “Your car, I presume,” I said. It all sounded James Bond-y.

“Yes, someone from Faith Clarkson International set this all up!” Des teased.

We slid inside and settled ourselves on the soft buff leather. Returning to the task at hand, I asked Des if there were any restrictions on where we could go and received the green light to select anyplace that had good food. I asked the driver to take us to the Grand Central Oyster Bar.

As we slowly pulled into traffic, he turned to face me, then surprised me by gently taking my hand and looking into my eyes.

Good Lord, what is this
? In alarm, my thoughts banged around my head.

Seeing my fear, he quickly said, “I’ve suddenly remembered what else your friends enlightened me on—friendship. Yes, that was it! Charlotte, what are you going to do about Tiziana? She’s in misery. By the way, you look terrible in whatever you call that neutral-colored businesslike affair. I much prefer the scarlet frock you were wearing last time I saw you.”

He let me change the subject entirely. As we drove from Central Park, down Fifth Avenue, I pointed out the sights along the way. “I’ve been in New York City before,” he said kindly. I stopped the dialogue and laughed, remembering Hillary acting as tour guide when Liam and Michael had come to London.

The driver pulled up to the curb and let us out. The hustle on the street left us anonymous, at least so far as I could tell. A beautiful quality of the Grand Central Oyster Bar was that it was vast, noisy, and busy. So, while a few women did go gaga over Des while we waited to be seated, we were mostly left to ourselves.

“My god, look at this menu. It’s fabulous. So American! Too many choices! That’s the benefit of going to hoity-toity restaurants—they offer some form of a special menu and all decisions have been made.” Des perused the sheet in his hands. Quickly, he looked up from the menu. “Before you even say it, I know the word ‘special’ in this case offends you!” Looking back down at the menu, he muttered as he searched through the list. A fleet of waitresses arrived at our table to take our order; well, his, really. He politely looked up, smiled, then glanced back down and tugged on his lip. This was becoming a familiar sight.

“Ready?” he asked me a minute later.

“Yes.” I gave my order, not certain that I would end up with my crab Caesar order, given how distracted the waitresses were, staring at Des.

When he spoke, they jumped to life. “Yes! First, a bottle of the champagne. Then, we’ll start with an order of the fried oysters and poached mussels. For my main course, I would like the pan-roasted lobster.”

Once we were alone, I took the opportunity to make a deeply-rooted complaint. “This is exactly the problem. This is how the whole mess came about. They don’t even have champagne on the menu and yet you ordered it. Where are they going to get it? Why do you think you’re entitled to order something not on the menu?”

He tugged at the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and then folded his arms on the table in front of him. Leaning toward me, he replied, “First of all, I’m not evil. I’ve been here before. In fact, the kindly gentleman who ran the place let me know that there’s a stash of the stuff. So I doubt anyone is being asked to rush out to purchase a bottle or two. Secondly, I don’t think I’m entitled to
anything
special! Some celebrities do, and they make the rest of us look like spoiled brats. To be fair, at times I take advantage of it. Trust me when I say that, at times, it’s very hard not to. You, yourself, do it. You didn’t think twice about asking the blokes on the boat to bring you cocktails or schlep picnic baskets to and fro. In my defense, I would say that, for the most part, I’m reasonable.” He sat back in his chair, waiting for my retort.

“Oh!” I said, but because Taylor and Marcus had just entered the restaurant. They looked nervous and were standing a healthy distance from each other; with any luck, it was a start.

Des followed my eyes. “Friends of yours?” I filled him in on the superficial details.

We watched them get settled in. A waitress hovered nearby, discreetly staring at Des. I quickly called her over. “Could you please send a bottle of champagne to that couple over there?” I carefully pointed out Taylor and Marcus.

“Certainly. Would you like anything else, Mr. Bannerman?”

He looked startled. “No, that’s all, thanks.”

As she walked away, he laughed at me. “You see, we all do it from time to time. You had no compunction about using your connections to get what you wanted. I say, what’s wrong with that? The restaurant has sold two bottles of champagne, four customers are happy, everyone wins.”

I let myself be teased into agreeing with him but made clear it was okay only in circumstances where everyone won. “You know, in a non-romantic way, you broke my heart. I’ve seen most of your films, and I just assumed that you were this really likeable guy. Then, after chatting with you at the casino, I really liked you, in a platonic, non-sexual way. I felt really hurt and confused.”

“Well, now you know that in real life I’m an arrogant prick.” He smiled even when I didn’t laugh, then reached across the table and took my hand. “Sorry! I do understand, and for that I feel awful. Now, could we please move forward? I’m dying to try the mussels.” The appetizers arrived and the bottle of champagne was ceremoniously uncorked.

I heard another ‘pop’ a minute later and looked up to see Marcus and Taylor raise their glasses to us. I raised mine in salute, and Des very kindly joined in.

While I ate I realized just how thoroughly stress had affected my life. Food hadn’t tasted this good in quite some time. From his happy hums and sighs, I assumed Des was enjoying his as well. While we ate we talked about everything from my move to London to Des’s new film. While we were discussing the merits of working with someone like Olivia Wilde versus Keira Knightley, Taylor and Marcus came over to the table. Des stood up to shake Marcus’s hand and gave Taylor a quick squeeze on the shoulder. They didn’t linger, but Taylor gave me a happy grin.

Marcus bent over to kiss my cheek and said in my ear loud enough for Des to hear, “Careful, no more tabloid photos!” I whacked his arm and sent them on their way hand in hand.

I quietly clapped my hands. “Oh, I’m so happy. I hope it works out.”