Chapter 9
Oh, God. There’s been a frisson between me and Luke ever since I ran off from him earlier like an Olympic sprinter hearing a starter gun go off.
I ran straight back to the hotel and didn’t even get my shopping done because I was so flustered.
Luke then messaged me to apologise for following me and that he hoped he did not overstep with his comments.
I replied to confirm that he did not overstep, and that I was looking forward to singing with him tonight. He replied with one word – ‘likewise’.
Now I fear that he thinks I fancy him. When I don’t.
To make things worse, Dolly has knocked on everyone’s doors to let them know the Royals are in attendance again tonight, and the Maestro wants everyone at the theatre earlier than usual and to play their best.
It took me four attempts to do my make-up after Ged and Liam had FaceTimed me to wish me luck. The conversation went like this:
Liam (gasps): Christ alive, what have you done to yourself?
Me: Whatever do you mean?
Ged: Your face is collapsing in on itself, like a melted welly. Why the radioactive blue streaks?
Me: It’s for the stage. I need heavy make-up. The lights are strong. I thought I’d try something new for His Royal Highness.
Liam: The one that’s coming to the show? Or the one you’re singing with?
Me: Ha ha, very funny.
Ged: You look like Barbara Cartland having an extremely bad day. Perhaps tone it down a bit?
Me (very childish): No, Ged. You tone it down a bit!
* * *
The journey to the theatre on the coach does nothing to help matters.
Luke and I, for some bizarre reason, choose to ignore each other completely, which causes raised eyebrows from all on board.
The ambience backstage is hostile at best. The chorus girls are refusing to speak to me because their chances of milking a Norwegian count have been severely reduced.
Dolly says nothing as we make our way to the dressing rooms.
‘I’m so sorry to drag you away, Dolly, but I can’t manage these ridiculous costumes on my own.’
‘It’s fine. Just don’t tell the others or they’ll all expect special treatment.
’ She helps me into my first gown while I diligently run through all my vocal warm-up drills and tone down my make-up (Ged was 100 per cent spot on – my attempt at thin wings would have put even Amy Winehouse to shame) and accompanies me to the stage.
Luke is already waiting in the wings. He nods at me, his face unreadable.
The musicians have taken their places, the lights are about to go down, the Maestro has scowled at both of us because he can sense somehow that there is a spark, a tangible electric current flowing between Luke and me.
And he was extremely displeased that members of the press were swarming around backstage, and none of them wanted to interview him.
They were after Luke. They have found out who he is and have become obsessed with making a story out of nothing.
To make things worse, the Royals have returned, again, but in droves.
Apparently, according to Dolly, everyone, royal cousins, aunts, sisters-in-law, etc, are intrigued to see what all the fuss is about.
Who knew singing for the Royal Northern Sinfonia would be so full of drama… or Royals? And I thought Benidorm had been bad.
‘Break a leg,’ whispers Luke, finally turning to look at me as we stand waiting at the edge of the stage.
‘Wait. You’ve got…’ His fingers lightly graze my cheek as he reaches out to remove a smudge.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he sees his thumb is now blue.
It’s such an intimate gesture, and in front of the watchful glare of the entire ensemble.
I blink rapidly. Why would he do that? To add fuel to the fire?
And, worse, why do I have a stomach full of butterflies?
My eyes roam the full length of him. He’s wearing a custom-made tuxedo like he was poured into it.
It clings perfectly to his lean frame. His body language is supremely confident.
His blond hair shines in the stage light.
His chiselled looks are classic and manly.
He’s got a voice to die for, and the stage presence of an A-list celebrity.
The more I see of him, the more I realise that he is talented and charismatic to a criminal degree.
He catches me studying him. There is a dangerous glint in his eye.
I hurriedly tear my gaze away and wait for the Maestro to introduce me on to the stage.
Deep breaths.
Deep breaths.
I can handle this. It’s just a form of Stockholm syndrome.
I’m reacting to Luke because I’m new, and I’ve never had a singing partner before, and he saved my life, for Christ’s sake, and I’m also missing Matteo like crazy.
That’s all. My heart is thundering in my chest as I hear my name called, but my whole body is frozen to the spot.
There’s a deafening silence while the Maestro holds out his baton ready to welcome me.
My legs won’t move. I find the Maestro terrifying. His beaky nose is pointing skyward while his cold eyes slide over to meet mine. He arches an eyebrow at me. I see a tic pulsing in his left eye as he pierces me with an unfriendly glare. He, too, seems suspended in time.
What if I peaked too soon last night?
‘You’ve got this,’ Luke murmurs in my ear.
And like a cattle prod, I am jolted into action. I glide onto the stage, relieved to hear the audience erupt into applause.
It’s showtime.
* * *
A few hours later, it is all over. We bow to the Royals. They are the only audience members not standing. The thunderous roar of applause rips through the auditorium. We have brought the house down, as they say.
‘Unbelievable. Incredible. Insane!’ Luke is repeating himself over and over to anyone who’ll listen.
Tonight’s performance went ridiculously well. Both of us were on top form and we had the highest recorded number of standing ovations the theatre has ever seen. It was a massive success.
Adrenaline is pumping through my veins like rocket fuel.
I’m giddy.
Drunk on endorphins.
Dolly is charging towards us as we come off stage.
‘What a performance! It was out of this world. You two have unbelievable chemistry together. I’ve never seen an audience react like that.
Connie, you had them in tears again with your lament.
In actual tears! I thought even Maestro was going to well up at one point. ’
She is ecstatic. I will not burst her bubble and tell her that I have a strong history of reducing my audience to tears, especially at weddings and birthday parties.
‘Thanks, Dolly.’
‘Your mother would be so proud.’
This makes me immediately choke up as we share an understanding look.
‘Your father will be very proud of you, too. Is he coming to see us in Newcastle?’
‘Yes,’ I say, swallowing back my emotions.
‘He’s coming to both performances.’ My father will be in bits.
I know he will. He’s also bringing Madge to the final evening, which might be strange.
Seeing him with a woman who isn’t my lovely mother will take quite a bit of time to get used to.
But I’m very happy to see him smiling again and doing things that spark joy.
Even if it is hiking across lumpy fields and staying in B&Bs with chintzy pelmets.
I wish he had been here tonight to see me.
The chorus girls rush up to Luke, all but pushing me and Dolly out of the way.
They get busy kissing his cheeks, praising his magnificent singing abilities and trying to drag him away to speak to the paparazzi who are waiting outside.
I imagine they will want to be photographed at his side.
I will have to think of a way to sneak past them when I leave.
As if sensing my turmoil, Luke bats them away and swoops in beside me. ‘Hurry. Grab your stuff, and let’s get back to the hotel to decompress. I have a private car waiting at the side exit.’
I nod, grateful for the chance to calm my nerves. I still feel like I’m floating on air in some incredible dream.
‘I’ll deal with the press,’ Dolly is telling everyone. ‘No one is to make any comments. There’ll be no attempts to seek a quick buck on my watch. No selling stories or telling lies online just to get more followers. Do you understand?’
The three chorus girls protest loudly, but Dolly screws her eyes as though she suspects them of being behind the leaks.
‘Wait!’ comes a sharp instruction. ‘Not so fast.’
The Maestro is hurrying towards us. ‘The Royals have requested a private audience with myself and Count Nikolai. Come with me,’ he orders Luke. Luke just has time to give me an apologetic smile before they rush off.
The chorus girls are quick to turn their attention to me.
‘What’s going on?’ Florrie accuses openly.
‘Yeah,’ chips in the one that sings in the middle and whose name I can no longer remember. ‘You know he’s spoken for, don’t you?’
Ah, it’s the one who is hoping to pull on his teat. As opposed to the one who is hoping to ride him like a bike.
‘Just because you throw yourself at him on stage, doesn’t mean you can do it off stage. He’d never be interested in someone… so… council estate, no offence,’ Florrie says in her posh, plummy accent.
Whaaaat?
I stand up straight. I am the lead female singer on this tour.
More than that, I’m a proud Geordie woman, and I don’t give a flying fuck what they think.
They can’t tell me what to do. I won’t stand for this kind of attitude.
It’s time to put the people-pleasing wimp in me to one side.
Besides, I’m high on endorphins and confidence.
I jut out my chin, ready to put them firmly in their place.
‘Ladies. Whatever is or isn’t going on between me and Luke is absolutely none of your fucking business.’
They seem immediately shocked at me standing up to them.
‘I’m not in the habit of milking my leading man like a farmyard animal,’ I say very loudly, using their own vulgar terminology, so they know that I’m on to them. ‘But my point is… if I want to pull on Luke’s big, hairy udder till the cows come home, I will!’
There, that’s them told.
The chorus girls are standing with their mouths hanging open. Dolly is standing with her jaw also wide open. They appear to be staring past me. A sinking feeling invades my stomach as I twist slowly round.
My eyes come to rest on the Maestro first. He looks livid, as always. Behind him, Luke appears vaguely amused. He is quick to interject. ‘Excuse me, but I think you’ll find there’s nothing hairy about my udders.’
Some polite coughing alerts me to some shocked yet familiar faces whom I slowly recognise as famous royal figures, and finally, my eyes are drawn to a scruffy-looking man who leaps towards me with a microphone in his hand.
He thrusts it towards me. ‘So, you’re admitting that you’d like to…
did you say “milk the Count like a cow”?
’ He is doing air quotes with his fingers.
‘Is that a sexual reference? Does he wear a costume when you do the milking? Do you sit on a stool? Are you two having an affair? How long has it been going on?’
Fuck me.
* * *
It only took the Maestro to snap his baton in half, grab the nearest sheet of music to crumple into a ball and shriek, ‘Get her out of my sight!’ for the entire backstage area to empty as though a nuclear warning had sounded.
Dolly grabbed my arm and whisked me away before I had time to set the journalist straight.
Half an hour later, the whole ensemble is crowded into the hotel bar for a nightcap.
Tomorrow morning, we will set off for a three-night run in York, and Dolly has ordered everyone to have an early night.
Especially me. They all think I have caused enough trouble for one day.
‘I’m so, so sorry.’ I have been apologising non-stop to Luke since we arrived back at the hotel. I can only imagine the dreadful headlines.
‘These things happen,’ he says. He still has a dangerous sparkle in his eye, as though he is thoroughly enjoying the attention but doesn’t want anyone to know it. ‘The Royals have heard worse, believe me.’
‘And I didn’t mean to say…’ That your schlong is big and hairy. I mean, how would I know?
‘Don’t worry about it. It’ll all blow over.’ He starts laughing suggestively. ‘No pun intended.’
Oh my fucking word. What if he thinks I want to blow him like a trumpet? I don’t! I don’t!
My eyes are popping out of my head. How do I explain? How? A hot flush envelops me as I turn to face away from him.
‘It’s sweet how embarrassed you are,’ he says. ‘I’m just joking around. Take no notice. I know exactly what those chorus girls are like.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumble.
I should mention that I am with Matteo, and I’m simply not interested in Luke that way.
Who would be, with Matteo waiting for me in LA?
Gorgeous Matteo. I know we have only been together for a week, and under any other circumstances, perhaps if I was single, I might be attracted to Luke, but right here and now, I only have eyes for one hot guy, and that’s Matteo.
‘I’d hate you to get the wrong idea. Especially when I have a commitment to—’
Luke cuts me off. ‘Forget it. Even if you did have a crush on me, I’d be fine with it.’
‘I don’t!’
‘But even if you did, it would be okay, really. I’m used to it.’ He pantomime-winks at me.
‘But I don’t. I absolutely don’t.’
He smiles maddeningly, then blinks slowly while he relaxes further into his seat, oozing self-confidence. ‘Okay. I’m sure you don’t. But even if…’
Grrr! This conversation is going nowhere. I throw my hands in the air. ‘Goodnight!’ I swirl round and stomp over to the lifts in the reception area and start jabbing at the buttons. My heart is thumping out of my chest. I’m both infuriated with him and mortified that he thinks I fancy him. I don’t!
Gah! Trust the hotel to have a million floors. I continue to jab at the lift button.
He’s insufferable.
Jab. Jab. Jab.
He’s arrogant.
Jab. Jab. Jab.
He’s too cocky and full of himself.
I risk a sly glance over.
Oh God. He’s watching me with a huge grin plastered on his face.
I. Do. Not. Fancy. Him.
I do not.