55. Brendan
CHAPTER 55
Brendan
O rganising a first date with the woman you’ve given your heart to should be easy when you’re a billionaire.
We’ve all seen Pretty Woman , right?
Take a jet to another city for an evening at the opera.
But while Marlowe would love a night at the opera, she’d hate the flashy side of that gesture.
The unnecessary expense.
So I have to tread carefully here.
Here’s the thing, though.
I want to spend money on her.
She’s squirrelling every last penny away for Tabby’s future medical needs, a fact that breaks my heart and terrifies me in equal measure, because once she’s happy that that pot is adequate, she’ll be handing in her notice and running for the hills.
She’s far too proud to keep taking her current salary for a regular EA role.
My only hope is to win her trust so fully in the meantime that she agrees to enter into an official romantic relationship with me.
After extensive mulling over it, I decide to call in a hefty favour from my good mate Santi to make this an evening for Marlowe to remember, and so it is that she and I meet outside London’s iconic jazz club, Ronnie Scott’s, one Friday night.
She refused to let me pick her up, so I make sure I’m waiting on the street when she turns up.
‘You look absolutely beautiful,’ I tell her sincerely before planting a chaste kiss on her cheek.
It’s true. She looks knockout in heels and a little black dress that shows off her toned arms and legs.
Her hair is long and straight, and I wish I could bury my nose in it.
‘Thank you,’ she says a little breathlessly.
‘Tabs doing okay this evening?’
I’ve seen Tabby with Marlowe four times since our weekend at my parents.
Given it’s the end of August and the construction industry is as dead as a dodo, I’ve enforced early departure times for the two of us whenever I can.
Just this week, we’ve taken Tabs to play mini golf one evening and do roller skating on another.
She was excellent at the latter, Marlowe looked like one of the newborn foals at my parents’ stables, and I was pretty fucking awesome.
At least it gave me a chance to hold Marlowe’s hand a lot .
I also gave her the afternoon off to take Tabs back-to-school shopping.
‘You’ve both been through a lot,’ I pointed out when she protested.
‘The summer holidays have been seriously rough for both of you. She’ll be back at school next week.
Take some time with her while you can.
’
She kissed me on the cheek then, which sustained me through her absence for the rest of the afternoon.
‘She’s okay,’ she says now.
‘A bit tired, maybe, but her sats are normal. She’s with a sitter tonight.
’
I’m instantly on alert.
‘Are you worried? Do you want to go home?’
‘No, I’m good.
’ She lays a hand on my arm.
‘Robbie has her in hand. I use a babysitting agency that’s staffed by paediatric nurses.
It’s probably just that she’s had a hectic week—far more active than she’s used to.
’
‘Okay. If you’re sure.
We can leave at any point, you know.
’
She smiles at me.
‘I hope not. I’m excited.
Who’s playing tonight?
It didn’t say anything on the website.
’
I tut. ‘Such a nosy girl. It’s a private event.
You’ll see soon enough.
’
In reality, I’m thrilled that she’s excited about being out with me.
I made it very clear that this was a date.
Not my usual kind of “slutty first date” where I try to get in my date’s knickers, and definitely not like our first “date” at that club.
But I wanted her to acknowledge verbally that this was a romantic date.
It feels to me like we’re making progress, and I need her on board with that.
I’ve told her I’ll wait as long as it takes to prove myself to her, but in reality, I am not a patient man.
And definitely not when I know exactly what and who I want.
We’ll be sitting at one of the best tables in the house tonight with a great view of the stage.
But before we take our seats, there’s someone I need to introduce Marlowe to.
Santiago Vale, AKA Santi, is an old mate of mine.
We were at uni together and have always stayed tight.
He’s achieved great success, not only as the CEO of his family’s multi-billion pound classical music label, but also with his career as a tenor.
He tours with Andrea Bocelli and regularly sells out the biggest arenas in every city around the world.
Tonight’s intimate audience isn’t a money-spinner in the slightest; it’s a way for him to indulge his great love of singing in an intimate setting and a way for punters like me and Marls to enjoy a truly unforgettable evening.
I just hope the surprise I have planned for her proves the icing on the cake.
MARLOWE
‘So,’ Brendan says as he leads me by the hand between the tables in the direction of the stage, ‘tonight’s performer is Santiago Vale.
I hope you’re a fan.
’
I stop still and tug on his hand, my jaw dropping.
‘ Santiago Vale is performing here this evening? What the hell?’
He grins at the look on my face.
‘So she is a fan.’
‘Of course I’m a fan,’ I hiss.
Hard not to be. The man is a dead ringer for Tom Ellis and has a voice like an angel.
‘But he usually plays massive venues, and he’s not a jazz singer.
What on earth is he doing here?
’
‘He likes to do the occasional small venue, just to keep it real, you know? And I’m glad you like him, because we’re going to go and say a quick hello.
’
I stare at him in horror.
There’s no denying Brendan is an entitled git, but thinking he can waltz backstage and say “a quick hello” to one of the most famous tenors in the world is another level of cockiness.
He laughs. ‘Relax. Santi and I are old mates. I’m his daughter’s godfather, actually.
Violet.’
My jaw is officially on the floor.
I will never get used to this strange, incestuous world of the super-rich.
They all seem to know each other.
It’s seriously weird.
But I allow Brendan to tug me through a door by the stage.
When he drops his name, we’re waved on.
It seems “Santi” is expecting us.
By the time we enter Santiago’s dressing room, I have serious butterflies in my stomach.
This man is a living legend.
I don’t know how many times I’ve played his album Reflections in various hospital wards over the years.
Sometimes, his voice is the only thing that calms my soul.
But in the flesh he’s all white teeth and devastating, black-eyed charm, his lean, rangy body shown to elegant perfection in a black shirt and black suit.
‘Sullivan!’ he shouts, jumping to his feet at the sight of us.
‘Mate, it is so good to see you.’ They hug and slap each other’s backs before Santiago pulls away and flashes me his gorgeous smile.
He broke hearts everywhere when he announced that he was marrying his family’s chef.
‘And you must be Marlowe,’ he says with a wink.
‘I’ve heard so much about you.
’
Before I can even speak, he grabs me and kisses me on both cheeks.
‘I’m such a huge fan,’ I stammer.
‘I really am.’
Brendan grins at me.
‘I think I’m getting jealous.
’
‘I’m delighted to hear you’re a fan,’ Santiago drawls, ‘because I hear you and I are doing a little number out there tonight.’
I think I may have fainted.
That’s the only explanation for my hallucination.
I stare blankly at Santiago.
‘I asked him to invite you up to sing with him later,’ Brendan explains in a kindly voice, like I’m a dim-witted toddler.
I. Am. Mortified.
‘No you didn’t.
You did not.’
‘He did,’ Santiago tells me cheerfully.
‘He said you’re amazing.
And classically trained.
You trained at King’s College, correct?
’
‘Yes, but—’ I have to make him understand.
‘I’m out of practice, Santiago.
I haven’t performed for years, and even then, only as a student.
I?—’
Santiago cuts me off smoothly.
‘Call me Santi. I thought we could sing Summertime together. Everyone likes a bit of Gershwin on a warm evening, even if we are stuck indoors. Don’t worry, we’re going to rehearse it right now.
’ He gestures at the piano.
If I were a multi-platinum-selling artist and my mate was suggesting I bring some random woman on stage to sing with me, I’d be freaking out.
But not Santiago. Santi .
Oh my God, what is this rabbit hole I’ve fallen down?
Brendan doesn’t stop grinning as Santi leads me over to the upright piano and opens a Porgy and Bess sheet music book.
‘Let’s have you sing the soprano part like normal first time around and I’ll just fit in around you,’ he explains, as though there’s anything normal about this situation.
‘Second time, feel free to ad lib. This one is just the best for playing around with—especially those second and third verses where you can really sock it to ‘em.
’
He’s so casually, easily charming.
The star quality positively shines out of him.
I’m sure he’s used to people doing everything he tells them to do.
‘Okay,’ I manage, shooting Brendan a last save me glance, but he just grins at me and squeezes my arm.
‘Break a leg.’
I roll my eyes at him and stand behind Santi, looking over the sheet music.
He begins to play, and the part of me not currently shitting herself thrills at being in a room with the Santiago Vale as he plays the piano.
‘We’ve got a nice little jazz sextet tonight,’ he tells me, his fingers flying over the keys, ‘but I’ll lead us in for now.
’
I’ve already made the split-second decision to give this one a very languid, jazzy arrangement.
I’ve seen it sung in operatic style, but that’s not right for a jazz club with as devastating a performer as Santi.
I’d rather give it a sexy, sultry delivery that speaks of that lazy drift of a summer’s day.
When I open my mouth, to my surprise, that’s exactly what pours out, the very first word setting the scene for what’s to come.
Santi joins me, and we find our rhythm.
It’s a short song, the third verse a repetition of the second verse (a fact that makes it far easier for me to remember the lyrics).
What’s incredible is how evocative it is from that very first note.
I have an oh holy crap moment when I realise that I am singing with Santiago Vale.
His voice is low and rich and decadent and just so fucking gorgeous, and it would be an absolute crime not to embrace this moment.
I decide to ditch the idea of sticking to the notes on the first round, and I really go for it on verse two.
When I do, Brendan lets out a positively orgasmic groan, and Santi shakes his head in a damn, girl way as his magical voice and fingers do their thing.
I let rip at the end.
I may be out of practice.
I may be a rusty amateur at best, but I can tell when two performers make magic together.
And we just did.
Santi laughs aloud.
‘Fucking brilliant! That was immense! You could hear that, right? We were good.’
I can’t stop smiling.
‘Yeah. We were.’
‘Your voice is fantastic. Rich and so fucking sexy. Where the hell have you been keeping this one hidden, Sullivan?’
‘Locked up in my office,’ Brendan says, ‘which is fucking criminal.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he says it.
‘Amen to that,’ Santi says.
‘Okay, one more time, from the top.’
W e’re sitting at our table, and I’m clutching my champagne coupe like it’s a life raft.
I’m trying really hard to enjoy Santi’s incredible set from this excellent position right in front of the stage, but the nerves are real.
I’m glad we’re doing drinks and not dinner.
I’d never be able to get anything down.
Then Santi’s talking and winking right at me.
‘Ladies and gentlemen. I have a special treat for you tonight. To sing Gershwin’s Summertime with me, please welcome to the stage Ms Marlowe Winters!
’
Oh fuckity fuck.
I give Brendan a panicked glance, and he grins back.
‘You’ll kill it. Go show everyone you were born to be a star.
’
That’s ridiculous, but I can’t keep Santi waiting.
I rise and walk as elegantly as I can to the low stage.
A roadie helps me up the steps, and then I’m joining Santi onstage and taking my seat on a bar stool next to his.
He flashes me a warm grin as the audience applauds me and the same roadie hands me a mic.
It feels so different being up here, so atmospheric, with the stage lights and the sublime jazz band and all the eyes on me.
I look down and see Brendan leaning forward, his expression rapt, phone held up to record this historical moment.
He’s gunning for me one hundred per cent, and it gives me the shot of confidence I need.
I glance back at Santi, who raises his eyebrows.
You ready? I nod. Ready as I’ll ever be.
And then the gorgeous jazz intro kicks in, and we go for it.
I don’t know if it’s the orchestra, or that I’m playing to a crowd, but this performance is far more charged than it was back in the dressing room.
We riff off each other, but I get the sense that he’s holding back, maintaining the melody so I can shine.
I act on instinct, embracing the improv nature of jazz as much as the uniqueness of this opportunity, my body producing trills and flourishes in real time from seemingly nowhere.
I go a little crazy on the final notes, and when I still, the crowd and Santi are on their feet, clapping and stamping and yelling and wolf-whistling.
It’s the most astonishing hit of adrenaline.
The performer in me, deliberately dormant for so long, is still there.
She loves this. She thrives on it.
It’s what makes her feel alive.
And that’s dangerous.