Chapter 11
‘But why? How?’ My instinct is to run after the coach. I don’t want to be treated any differently. We’re supposed to be a team. One big happy family. Well, except for the poor musicians who are herded into the Premier Inn everywhere we go. And their coach doesn’t have a toilet or TV screens or a drinks service. And they don’t get anywhere near the pay that we singers do. But apart from that, we’re all in it together. Now it seems only me and Luke are in it together. Segregated from the rest. ‘There must be some mistake. Quick, call Dolly. Tell them to come back.’
Luke gives me a sheepish smile. ‘Well, I’m happy to stay here. It’s an amazing hotel. There’s a spa. A music room for practising. A private dining room. Massage therapy treatments. Hot tubs. Serenity grounds to walk in. We are here for three nights, remember? Back-to-back shows can be very demanding. This place has everything we need.’
I gulp. It certainly does have everything. As I cast my eyes around, it has everything that a couple of loved-up, randy honeymooners could possibly need. The place is positively oozing charm and lavish decadence. And it would be a complete first for me. Liam is always saying I should step out of my comfort zone. And this is as far from a budget hotel as you can get.
Once we’re checked in, the concierge shows us to our rooms. Big old wooden doors creak open as we pass along ancient corridors lined with warm, plush carpets and stone walls. Windows show off the beautiful grounds and glimpses of York Minster as we walk along. Talk about atmospheric. This place is fit for kings and queens. No wonder Luke seems to fit right in. We come to an abrupt halt.
‘Your room keys, madam. And sir.’ He holds out two old heavy metal keys, each with a leather-covered keyring embossed with the hotel logo and room number in goldleaf.
Feck!Our rooms are right next to one another.
‘When the luggage arrives, freshen up, and we’ll take a tour of York together before lunch. There’s something you must see,’ Luke says, disappearing into his room with a loud creak as the door shuts behind him.
I glance at the concierge. He must be used to wandering dignitaries issuing orders. Well, I’m not. I won’t be bossed around by anyone. Especially not handsome co-workers with a potentially hidden agenda.
‘Maybe,’ I say to the closed door. ‘I’ll see how I feel.’
The concierge smiles politely as my words hang in the air and walks me into my room.
Oh. My. God.
The walls are lined with expensive-looking mustard wallpaper. There are beautifully drawn branches, flowers and brightly coloured peacocks scattered across the walls. Bookshelves line the main wall on either side of a grand fireplace. A huge deluxe four-poster bed dominates the room with gleaming walnut pillars and soft silk drapes at the headboard. It is like something out of a swanky wedding magazine.
‘Are you sure this is the right room?’
The concierge says nothing but walks over to the bookshelf and presses on it.
I see that it is not a bookshelf but a secret door leading to a very sumptuous ensuite. It has a huge deep, stand-alone, copper bath in front of a massive sash window overlooking York Minster. What an incredible view. I’m drawn to the neat rows of bottles. Expensive hair and skin products line the shelves. Piles of fluffy white towels tower beside the bath. More soaps and potions sit by the large double sink. The smells blooming out are incredible. It’s like wandering through Fenwick’s perfume counter. I feel like running a hot bath just so I can pour them all in and soak in the expensive bubbles.
‘The rest of your luggage will arrive imminently and be unpacked for you,’ says the concierge. ‘Anything you need, just ask.’
As soon as the concierge has gone, there’s a knock at my door. It must be the porter with my luggage. I will ask him if all the chocolates by the tea and coffee machine are free because they are from an artisanal chocolatier. Ditto the bathroom things and ditto the minibar. I have no idea. I also need my dress dry-cleaned and ready for tonight now that Dolly is not here to sort things out for me. I pull open the door, expecting to see a trolley with my cases, but Luke is leaning casually in the doorway.
‘Room, okay?’ he asks, casting his eye around.
I will stop him in his tracks. There’s no way I have time to go exploring. Not when I have a Vegas pre-moon to organise. He’s about to step across the threshold when I yelp, ‘Ready to go?’
Gah!I didn’t even want to go exploring with him, but I feel that’s a better option than him coming into my room. My bedroom. Where’s there’s a huge four-poster bed everywhere you turn.
Luke bows elaborately. ‘As you wish.’
Like this is somehow my idea?I need to get a grip. I am panic deciding instead of being more focused and standing my ground. I have a million things to do and not much time to do them.
I lock the door behind me. I will sort the dry cleaning out later. And the shopping for the Las Vegas outfits. And the research for the pre-moon spree will have to be done after the performance tonight. Things will have to be booked in advance, so I need to check in with Nancy about which nights we are singing and where, so that I can book restaurants and VIP areas for us. I will also have to check that we will be allowed into America looking like pornstar versions of Barbie and Ken. The list is endless!
‘Okay, what did you want to show me? But make it quick because I have things to do,’ I say, sounding a bit like an ungrateful brat.
I see a hurt expression cross his face.
‘Sorry,’ I quickly apologise. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I’m still on edge. It’s not every day you’re accused of… being in a love triangle. In the national newspapers. It’s just all been a bit surreal.’ I chew my lip as I study him. Suddenly, the weight of the past two bonkers days and the next few bonkers weeks that lie ahead falls heavily onto my shoulders.
Luke remains quiet for a while.
‘I’m truly sorry you’ve been dragged into it. I’d like to explain.’
‘Sure,’ I inwardly sigh. I’m not sure in the slightest. The more personal distance we can keep the better. ‘Okay.’
A short while later, Luke and I are wandering through the cobbled lanes of York, taking in the sights, the beamed architecture on wonky old houses and shops that are centuries old and straight out of Harry Potter. The place is so charming and atmospheric that I forget he has yet to explain himself. I am catapulted back to a time when my parents first brought me here. We had such fun finding the many cat statues that dot the rooftops and chimneys.
‘Did you know some of the cats date back to medieval times?’ Luke says, catching me staring at one of the cats on the eaves of a shop, as I’m lost in thought. ‘Supposed to scare off rats and pigeons, but I like to think they are there to bring good luck.’
That’s what my mother once told me. A warm image of her hugging me pops into my mind. I can almost feel her arms around me.
‘How come you know York so well? Do you live here in England? Have you been with the Sinfonia long? ’ I’m curious to know. ‘I can’t trace any Norwegian accent.’
‘I’ll tell you over lunch,’ Luke says with a warm smile.
‘I am starving,’ I say. ‘I skipped breakfast.’
‘Also, probably my fault,’ he says. ‘Bet you didn’t think these classical tours would be so full of drama.’
‘Or scary Maestros. What is his deal?’
‘Ah. He’s not without his own salacious gossip either. The tales I have heard about him!’
I have to admit, Luke is very easy company. Maybe I have been too hasty to judge. Maybe the frisson between us is all in my head. Maybe he views me as nothing more than a platonic co-worker that he once saved from being flattened by a bus.
‘Seeing as it is such a lovely day, would you like to take lunch al fresco?’ Luke asks.
‘Lovely,’ I say. The more open and public the space, and the more platonic, the better.
‘The hotel has great private dining options.’
Gawd.I’m about to protest politely when he qualifies his statement.
‘In case there are press lurking around with microphones,’ he says, gazing about. ‘You can’t be too careful.’
It sounds too reasonable to object to, so I walk with him back to the hotel. When we reach reception, he asks for the summer house private dining. We are shown through the elaborate grounds to a glass gazebo with a beautifully made-up dining table for two. Ornate flowers weave in and out of strings of lights strung up around the antique-looking brass and glass structure. The menu is as exquisite as the surroundings.
Once we have ordered elaborate-sounding salads containing pomegranate seeds and mozzarella pearls in a cress and cucumber foam, Luke picks up his napkin and gently shakes it out. I find myself doing the same. I sit up straight and try to appear interesting and posh. This whole place is a bit much and has me on edge.
‘Wine?’ he says. ‘Just a tiny drop to cleanse the palate?’
I really shouldn’t, but I feel nervous around him now that we are enduring what many would call intimate fine dining for two. Plus, I’m still vaguely haunted by that rude dream I had last night, that he featured pretty heavily in.
I nod. ‘Just a small one.’
There’s no such thing. I know this. I live with two highly functioning wine enthusiasts. There is no such thing as a small one when it comes to wine, and ohmigod, I take a sip of the cold, white wine that the waiter pours into my glass. It is divine. I feel my eyes balloon with excitement.
‘Madam?’ he asks, waiting for me to decide whether it is any good. My taste buds zing to life. If this is what proper wine tastes like, what the heck have I been drinking all my life? Paint stripper? This wine is incredible.
‘It’s delicious, thank you,’ I tell him and watch as the waiter pours Luke and I hefty measures. I remind myself that this does not mean that I have to drink it all. I will sip like a lady.
‘I’m so glad you like it. This is my favourite wine,’ Luke says holding it up, twirling the glass, inspecting the liquid as it rolls around.
‘Mine too,’ I say without thinking.
‘Really? What a coincidence.’
I have not thought this through. It is probably six-hundred pounds a bottle. There were probably only two barrels ever made.
‘I mean, it is now. It’s delicious.’ I relax when Luke starts to chuckle.
‘I was a little surprised. It’s not to everyone’s tastes. Or budgets. No offence.’
‘None taken. As long as the Sinfonia are paying, I will drink it.’
Tiny pink spots appear on his cheeks. ‘Connie, tell me, where have you been hiding all this time? How did you come to have such an extraordinary gift for singing?’
Oh, my. He’s brought up my favourite subject again. Luckily, I’m wise to these tactics.
‘I’ll tell you all about me, right after you explain why I’m caught up in some Royal love triangle and why you led me to believe Dolly was your wife.’
I watch Luke’s cheeks redden even further. Embarrassed, he dabs his lips with his napkin before putting it down.
‘Firstly. I’m sorry about calling Dolly my wife. I just went along with you at the rehearsal because we’d gotten off on the wrong foot and well, because I see more of Dolly than any other human on this planet.’ He clears his throat. ‘As for the articles in the press. Our families go way back. Hermione and I were at school together in Switzerland.’
Of course, they were. Of course.
‘We haven’t seen each other for a while. Until recently.’
Luke fidgets with his napkin.
‘And the old flame has reignited?’ I say, finally relaxing. This is brilliant news. Luke is spoken for, and I am off the hook tabloids-wise. ‘I’m very happy for you both.’
‘She’s very… how do I put this?’ Luke throws me an earnest look.
‘Shy?’
‘No. She’s the opposite of shy.’
‘Rich?’ You do hear about these billionaires wanting to keep it all in the billionaire family.
‘No. Not that. Well, obviously, yes, she is but…’
He seems uncomfortable, as though he’s hiding something. Something big.
‘She’s very…’
‘Oh,’ I whisper. ‘She’s very pregnant?’ He’ll be wanting to avoid a royal scandal.
‘Can you be very pregnant?’ He throws his head back and sighs loudly. ‘No. She’s not pregnant.’
‘Well, what is she then?’
‘She’s very gay.’
I did not expect that.
‘Can you be very gay?’ I ask stupidly. Of course, you can. Just look at Ged and Liam.
Luke gives me a half-smile. ‘She’s an avid member of the all-women’s rowing club. Chair of the women-only wrestling society. She founded the women’s Vote Minge annual jamboree, and she lives in Hebden Bridge on a barge with a woman called Stevie. They share several cats and want to get married. I’d say yes, she’s very gay.’
That all makes sense.
‘She’s not very happy about the article, but the Palace seem pleased to have her linked to a man. Especially my family. We all go way back. My father has insisted I play along.’
I’m appalled. How awful. ‘What can you do about it?’
He shrugs in a way that suggests he has already tried to get out of it.
‘Is that why she came to see you perform last night too?’ I ask.
He nods his head. ‘She relies on her trust fund, so… we may have to play along for as long as it takes, perhaps years.’
‘Sounds like she doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s not very progressive, is it? Personally, I think you should make a stand. It’s not your sacrifice to make. What if you fall in love and want to get married yourself some day?’
Luke fixes me a strange look. ‘Exactly, what I was thinking.’
I sip at my wine, but I can still feel his eyes on me. ‘I have to say. You seem to be a magnet for gay wives. Dolly, Hermione… there has to be a less gay wife for you somewhere.’
‘Precisely. What if I’m already engaged to be married?’ he says, smirking. ‘To a non-gay wife. Then they’d have to find someone else.’
‘Are you?’
He puts down his knife and fork and leans back in his chair regarding me. ‘Not yet.’
‘Oh.’
And just like that, there’s a bit of tension.