The shakespeare sisters.., p.29
The Shakespeare Sisters--The Complete Box Set, page 29
‘He’s totally talking about you, right?’ Kitty shouted. ‘I mean, you’re a writer and you were in Italy. Oh my God, Cesca, this is so exciting. I live in LA and I meet actors all the time, but even I’m fangirling a bit right now.’
Cesca didn’t know how to feel. She’d walked away from him in Italy, after all. To hear him say on national television that she was special to him made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.
So she did. ‘Oh God, Kitty. What does this mean?’
‘It means you need to call him, you idiot.’
‘I don’t have his number.’
‘You don’t?’
Cesca shrugged. ‘No. I didn’t have a mobile over there, and his didn’t work. We communicated the old-fashioned way.’
‘Oh I bet you did. The universal language of love.’
‘Shut up.’
‘Make me.’
It was like they were twelve again. Bitching at each other, in a good-humoured way. Cesca welcomed the break from her emotional turmoil.
‘Oh for goodness sake, do I have to do everything?’ Kitty asked. ‘I’ll find his number for you and message it over, OK? But only if you promise to actually call him.’
‘How are you going to find his number?’ Cesca asked.
Kitty tapped her nose with the tip of her finger. ‘Contacts, of course. I know people who know people. Or at least I know nannies who know people. Leave it to me, I’ll sort your love life out for you.’ With that, Kitty ended the Skype call, no doubt to get a head start on her search. Cesca watched the clip at least five more times before she closed the laptop down and popped her head around the door of the living room to tell her father she was going to bed.
It was midnight by the time Kitty sent a text, with Sam’s phone number included. Cesca lay in her bed, surrounded by darkness, staring at the lit screen of her own, cheap, phone.
When she’d left Italy she’d thought her heart was breaking. By the time she landed in London she was sure it had. And for the past two weeks, no matter where she went, he was always the first thought in her mind. She’d serve a customer and wonder what Sam was doing then. She’d walk past an Italian restaurant and remember Sam’s obsession with pasta. She’d walk into a newspaper shop and see Sam’s face staring out of a magazine.
Her Sam.
That was who he was. Not Sam the boy who ruined her play, or Sam the actor who spoke to her so callously. No, he was Sam, the guy who edited her words, who teased her mercilessly, who kissed her until her lips swelled up. The golden boy who spoke perfect Italian with the sexiest accent, who could seduce her with his words.
Definitely her Sam.
Cesca sat up in bed, grabbing her phone, tapping on the number her sister had texted over. A green phone symbol came up and she clicked it, waiting breathlessly as the call tried to connect. It was going to cost her a fortune, one she definitely didn’t have, but right at that moment it couldn’t care less.
Then there was a click, and the call was diverted straight to voicemail.
Disappointed didn’t cover it. She left a stuttered message, telling him she’d seen the show, that she wanted to talk to him, and could he please call her back. Reluctantly she hung up, putting the phone on the table beside her bed, leaving it on in case he called back soon. It was only four in the afternoon in LA, he could call her at any time.
Except he didn’t. And as Cesca lay in her bed, watching the hours tick over on her alarm clock, she could feel sadness suffuse her. When morning came, and there was still no call, she was more disappointed than ever.
31
What a pretty thing man is, when he goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit – Much Ado About Nothing
Sam scrawled his name across the contract, passing it back over to the woman on the other side of the desk from him. Marcella Di Bacco took the papers from him, flashing him a brief smile. A fifty-something blonde, she was every inch the professional. Her clothes, her hairstyle, they all added up to somebody who was totally in control.
‘Thanks for organising the interview,’ Sam said. ‘I know it must have taken a lot to get me on there so quickly.’
Marcella nodded. She wasn’t one for showing emotions, Sam noticed, but then that wasn’t what he was planning to pay her for. One of the biggest publicists in the business, she had connections most people in LA only dreamed of. That’s exactly what the dollars were getting him.
‘It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. You’ll find that’s what I’m best at, finding fast solutions to problems. I’ll also be sitting down to work out a long-term strategy for you, too. I’ll need to work with your agent on that.’ She looked up at him. ‘Have you signed with one yet?’
‘I’m going with Larry Morgan.’
‘From the Creative Artists Agency? I thought he wasn’t taking anybody on.’
Despite being in the middle of a sprawling city, Hollywood was a small place. Everybody was in everybody’s face.
Sam shrugged. ‘What can I say? Larry called me as soon as I landed in LAX.’
‘Lucky boy. When do you start shooting the next Summer Breeze movie?’ Marcella asked.
‘In a month.’
‘And what are your plans after that?’
‘I want to take a break for a bit. Maybe do some theatre work. Get out of the Hollywood rat race for a while.’ He felt relieved just saying it.
‘OK, well leave me with this, and I’ll start drawing up some plans. We want to avoid all that speculation about your relationship with your co-star this time, as well as countering the publicity the Serena Sloane incident created. Maybe we can have some print interviews with you and your new girlfriend, use it to dampen down all the speculation.’
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ Sam pointed out. Not yet, anyway. And possibly never, if the way she left Italy reflected her feelings for him.
‘Well, keep my team updated, OK? Let’s schedule another meeting for, say, two weeks’ time. Then we can make some concrete plans.’
He nodded. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be in town, but we can Skype, right?’
‘Of course. Oh, and just to let you know, Serena Sloane’s publicist has emailed me. Serena isn’t at all happy about the backlash she’s had. She’s planning to set the story straight, to admit there was a lot of fabrication. This should be good for us.’
Sam raised his eyebrows. Even thinking about Serena left a bad taste in his mouth. That’s why he paid a publicist – to deal with the people he didn’t want to. ‘I’ll leave it with you, then.’
The sun was beating down on the sidewalk when he emerged into the street. A late heatwave had descended on the city, and the warmth radiated from the pavement as he crossed the road to find the parking lot. As he reached his car, he flicked on his phone, and it rang almost straight away.
There were only a few people he answered immediately. His mother was one of them.
‘Hey, Mom.’
‘Sam? I just saw your interview, who’s this girl you were talking about?’
‘Nobody.’ Sam’s reply was terse. He wasn’t quite ready to start talking about his personal life with his mother. Not yet. They were slowly building bridges back toward each other, but he couldn’t help but feel a shot of anger at her wanting to know his business when she’d lied about hers for so long.
‘Thank you so much for not mentioning your father.’ She sounded conciliatory, as though she understood his emotions. ‘I really appreciate it.’
He waited for the usual panic to descend at the mention of Foster, but shockingly it didn’t. ‘I promised you I wouldn’t say anything, and luckily she didn’t ask. Though I’m not willing to keep it a secret for ever, I’ll wait until things have calmed down, OK?’ After six years of living a lie, he was ready to climb out of that particular prison. ‘How are Izzy and Sienna doing?’ Two of the main reasons he was keeping quiet about his parentage – they were still coming to terms with the lies they’d been told for their entire lives. They all were. It was going to take some time for them all to get over it.
‘Surprisingly well,’ his mother said. ‘Though of course neither of them are talking to Foster. Nor am I, come to that.’
‘Is he bothering you?’ Sam asked, climbing into his car. ‘If he’s still being an asshole you need to tell me, OK? I’ll speak to him if you want.’
‘Not really, my darling. He’s got his tail between his legs for now. He’s still in Paris at the moment, finishing things up there. I guess when he comes home we will talk, but until then I’m quite happy giving him the silent treatment. It’s a lot less than he deserves, after everything he did to you. I’m still not sure I can forgive him for that.’
Sam swallowed. He hadn’t told her everything, but then she didn’t need to know it all. It was in the past. Foster couldn’t hurt him any more.
The same day Sam had left Varenna to return to LA, Lucia and her daughters had caught a flight to London. They had left a very hung-over and sheepish Foster to return alone to Paris, where he’d committed to seeing out the season at a theatre there.
He heard whispering coming down the line, followed by a strange scuffling noise. Then silence for a moment, as some kind of argument continued.
‘Izzy, let go of the telephone.’ His mom sounded fainter now. ‘Sam, your sister insists on talking to you,’ she managed to say, before the excited voice came on the phone.
‘Sam, who’s this girl you were talking about?’ Izzy was breathless, from wrestling the phone away from her mother, no doubt. ‘You never told me about a new girlfriend?’
‘What girl?’ He was stalling for time.
‘That writer you talked about, the one from London. Why didn’t you invite her to the party? Was it because of Dad? You know the party would have been so much better if he wasn’t there, the miserable git.’ Izzy barely took a breath. ‘You’re coming over here to see her, right? When are you coming? Will you bring her over then? Sam, does this mean you might move back to London after all? Oh God I hope so.’
He laughed. ‘Izz, calm down, take a breath, OK? I’m not going to talk to you about my love life right now. But yes, I’m planning on coming to London soon, to check if you guys are OK more than anything.’
‘Oh, that’s fantastic, make sure you come for a long time. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’
‘You start at university next month,’ he pointed out.
‘Then you can drive me there, can’t you? My friends would love to meet you.’
He tried to picture himself turning up at her college, surrounded by paparazzi. It wasn’t a pretty image. ‘I’ve got to come back to film the Summer Breeze movie,’ he reminded her. ‘But I promise I’ll see you before then.’ He was keeping secrets again, but this time with a purpose. He had plans to go to London, but his family would have to wait. There were other things to attend to first.
‘OK.’ He could almost hear the pout in her voice. ‘I guess that will have to do.’
He was still smiling when he said goodbye and rang off, flinging his phone on the passenger seat as he fired the engine up. Switching on the satnav he scrolled through the favourites, coming to LAX in the list. It seemed like he spent half his life in that airport, either departing or arriving, but never before had it sent a pulse of excitement through his veins as soon as he tapped on it.
It was time to go home. To his real home. And it wasn’t a city or a town, or even a house on the edge of a lake. Home was where she was, wherever that would be. London . . . Varenna . . . it didn’t matter. Because what he’d learned over the past few months was that home was a feeling. It was the thing that relaxed your muscles, that made you breathe a little easier. It was the place that you looked forward to being all through the day.
Home was Cesca Shakespeare. Even if she didn’t know it yet.
The rain had been pouring all day without letting up. Every time a customer walked into the restaurant, they left a puddle in front of the doorway, a hazard-in-waiting that Cesca dried with a mop as soon as possible. It was nearing the end of the tourist season, but even that didn’t account for the drop in business. Half the tables in Cereal were empty, looking forlorn with their clean china crockery and sparkling glasses all neatly laid out. The novelty was obviously wearing off. Cesca wondered if Simon could keep the place going for much longer.
‘Can I have the bill, please?’ a man called over to her from the corner. He was sitting opposite two teenage children. They’d barely looked away from their phones for the entire time they’d been there. A single father, Cesca had presumed, taking his kids out for the obligatory Saturday dinner. It didn’t look as though any of them were enjoying it much.
A huge flash of lightning lit up the glass front of the restaurant, and Cesca’s eyes blinked in protest. She waited for the clash of thunder to follow – the storm had to be close to be that bright – but her anticipation was in vain. Only silence followed.
Another flash. This time the door to the restaurant opened, and more flashes lit up the outside street. Cesca blinked again, her eyes attempting to adjust to the shock of the light, and refusing to focus on the doorway in front of her. It took a moment to realise the flashes were coming from cameras, not the storm.
The door slammed shut, a dark figure leaning his back on it, his chest hitching as though he were trying to catch his breath. He was dripping with rain, puddles forming at his feet, and Cesca almost turned around to grab her mop and bucket once again.
But then she worked out who it was.
For a moment she was frozen on the spot. Her mouth was ajar, her eyes wide open, but when she tried to talk no words came out. The few patrons still in the café turned around to stare at the newcomer, whispered words of excitement hissing out as soon as they realised who he was. She heard his name, over and over again, like a record on repeat.
‘Sam. Sam Carlton. The one from all those films. You know, the one who broke that girl’s heart, oh, I don’t remember her name.’
If this was a movie, she would be running towards him, throwing herself into his arms and letting him kiss her, as the water from his clothes seeped into her own. She could almost picture it, damn, she could have written it, but somehow, she still couldn’t get her feet to move.
‘The bill?’ the man at the table next to her said. ‘Can you get it for us?’
‘Shut up, Dad.’ The eldest teenager, a girl, finally dragged her eyes away from her phone. ‘That’s Sam Carlton.’ A blush stole over her face, and Cesca wondered if her own cheeks were just as crimson.
She was starting to shake. Staring at this man, this glorious, soaking wet, beautiful man, standing only ten feet in front of her. It was unmistakably Sam – her Sam – the boy who could make her laugh and cry almost at the same time.
‘Cesca?’ He took a step towards her, still dripping wet from the rain. If she cared at all, she might have told him it was a health and safety hazard.
‘I think so.’
He smiled. ‘Hey.’ His voice was soft, low. Beyond him, through the frosted glass, she could see a crowd of people gathering. An audience of a kind, watching the story play out in front of them as the rain poured down. The people in the cheap seats.
‘I see you brought your friends with you.’
This time he laughed. Twisting his neck he looked out at the paparazzi and fans who were clustered in front of the window. Some of them were practically pasted to the glass. ‘They told me to say hi.’
She lifted a hand up. ‘Hi.’
Was this what it was like to be Sam? Living a life bleached by a dozen photographers, your movements feeling like a stop-motion video every time they went off? She felt a fresh flood of sympathy for him. No wonder the villa in Varenna had seemed like a haven to him.
Sam came to a stop in front of her, catching her waving hand in his. He folded his palm around it, his skin warm and wet where he held her.
‘Hi,’ he said again.
‘Hi.’ Her voice was soft. ‘This is a long way to come for dinner. Even if you like cereal.’
He bit down a smile. ‘I’m a big fan of cereal, but that’s not why I’m here.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s not?’
Sam shook his head. He was still holding her hand. It felt nice . . . natural. ‘I’ve heard they’ve got a gorgeous new waitress. I came to check her out.’
She was aware of the silence in the restaurant. Of the intense scrutiny of everybody in the room. Yet somehow it didn’t matter, because standing in front of her was the man she’d spent all night thinking about, the one who had pretty much anchored her thoughts for the past six years. He’d been the villain of her life for so long, yet now he was every inch the hero.
‘I saw you on the TV,’ she said. ‘Something about falling for some English girl?’
‘You did?’ He looked surprised.
‘And I called you.’
Sam frowned, grabbing his phone from his pocket. The screen was black. ‘I forgot to turn it back on when I landed,’ he said. ‘I was too busy thinking about finding you.’
‘How did you find me?’ she asked. ‘Or has word of Cereal spread far and wide?’
He smirked. ‘I got my mom to call your godfather.’
Good old Hugh. He might have been her godfather, but he was also a sucker for a good story. She could only imagine the grilling he’d give her when she next saw him.
‘And here you are.’
‘Yes, I am.’ There were only inches between them, but the gap still felt too big. It was overwhelming having him so close. The dampness of his clothes magnified his fragrance, until it felt as though the whole room smelled as good as him.
‘You left without saying goodbye,’ he said.
She took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her down. Her senses were too full of him. ‘You were a bit busy. I waited for you that night, but you didn’t come.’
‘Why didn’t you come and find me?’ A flash of pain crossed his features.
‘I tried,’ she told him. ‘But you were with your sister, and she sounded so upset. Then she asked you to come to London and . . .’ She trailed off. Was she really strong enough to have this conversation in front of all these people? God, what the hell would everybody say? She wasn’t used to being the centre of attention. She liked to write the action, not star in it.
