Star Struck (Yorkshire Romances #2)

Chapter Fifteen

Doused and damp, I lay on the bed, thinking about Jack.

Well, less thinking and more wondering. Why was he so . . . so? . . . cut off? I’d always expected the crew of Fallen Skies to be a rollicking bunch, full of in-jokes and private feuds, a tight-knit group who worked hard together for months on end. And, the others were . Felix had told me they crowded into the bar at night with the punters, joking and punching shoulders and telling elaborate stories about set-ups and on-screen mistakes.

But not Jack. I’d hardly seen him speak to a soul, apart from Gethryn and Lissa. Except for this Q and A panel he didn’t seem to mix with the others, neither actors nor crew; he just sat in his room and typed on his laptop rather than carouse and party the night away. All the magazine articles I’d read about Fallen Skies had the show-runner down as a loner; lured away from writing his best-selling sci-fi series of novels by the network’s head honcho to work on the now-defunct Two Turns North , then going on to mastermind his own show. So why did he come across as someone who kept himself a deliberate outsider? Why not enjoy his position, even exploit it a little? Why did he behave as though he was somehow ashamed of being successful? And why, in the name of all that was fashionable, did he go practically everywhere barefoot and put anything which even slightly resembled a cigarette into his mouth?

But he’s more than just a little bit cute, too, eh Skye? All those moody looks, those eyes like something out of a Poe novel? . . . come on, admit it to yourself, you quite fancy that serious thing he’s got going on, don’t you?

Michael had been reckless, apparently. Hell bent on success, on living life fast and long. Never sleeping while there was mischief to be made. That was my type of man, the fun-grabbing madcap sort, not the shy, retiring type. Previous boyfriends had all verged on the illegally wild side, or at least the ones I could remember had. Maybe my tastes had changed? Or maybe I had? . . . I rubbed the rough edges of my fingertips over my scar again and shook my head, troubled by the feeling that my life had become one huge stammer, disconnected ends that never met, a dotted line. Those gaps, they contained all the things that made me me , and I couldn’t get them to join up, as hard as I tried.

I finally twisted my thoughts away from the shadowy writer and back towards where I wanted them. Gethryn. That head-singing moment of absolute bliss when Gethryn had talked to me last night. That almost-promise of further talking. I rolled gleefully on the bed — it wasn’t my imagination, Jack had seen it too — Gethryn wanted me .

There was a knock at the door. I opened it. Felix stood there radiating a negatively attractive aura. He was horribly pale, his pupils were oscillating crazily and he seemed to have acquired a facial tic which caused his upper lip to wrinkle every few seconds. He had sand in his hair which fell like solid dandruff every time he moved, and either his eyes were extremely bloodshot or he’d been possessed by the devil.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Just don’t .’

Then he staggered into the bathroom and, without closing the door or taking off any clothes, turned on the shower and stood under it, eyes so wide open that his lids seemed to have been pulled up like blinds.

‘Fe?’

‘Is there any Valium left?’ he slurred through rigid lips. ‘And, please God, let the answer be yes.’

I fumbled two tablets from the little brown bottle and took them into the bathroom where he swallowed them, tipping his head back to let the water from the shower carry them down his throat. ‘Oh God. Oh God. I am wrecked .’

‘But you’ve been drinking? . . .’

One solitary, counter-rotating eye glared at me. ‘Lover, you are looking at the walking image of habituation here. I’d have to swallow the entire bottle before I felt even a little bit peaky.’ He slowly closed his eyes, letting the water pound down on the top of his head, slicking his hair flat until he looked like a Brylcreem advert. ‘Oh, my Lord. How did Jack stand it? He must be made of fucking iron .’ One eye opened again. ‘And if you have any information on that, lover, then give it up. Don’t think I didn’t notice the two of you dogging it behind us.’

‘We were worried.’

‘Quite right, too. She is crazy. Christ, she’s got some serious issues and she is not afraid to take them out on innocent bystanders.’ He winced. ‘I really need to sleep. Seriously.’

‘Oh, Fe . I thought you’d come with me to the Q and A session.’

‘Sorry, darling.’ Felix flopped out of the shower and started pulling off his soaking clothes. ‘All I’m fit for now is to sleep it off. Q and A is at seven, that’s? . . .’ he waved his watch in front of his eyes but was obviously focus-impaired at the moment, ‘ hours away. I’ll try and fit it in before I get busy. Okay, lover?’ Stark naked he stood in front of me, swaying.

‘You’re a mess.’

‘Yeah. Trashed.’ A quick, glorious smile. ‘That’s how you know you’re on holiday.’ Then he took a few, faltering steps into the bedroom and collapsed, still soaking wet from the shower, face down on the bed. ‘Thank God for Valium,’ he muttered into the duvet, and either passed out or fell asleep.

* * *

At five past seven I was hovering around inside the main doors to the motel. A few hardy fans were drinking in the bar behind me but the Q and A event and an impromptu Karaoke session, which had broken out in the diner, had soaked up most of the crowd. Felix was still out for the count on the bed and Jack was on the stage in Meeting Room One. A quick glance through the doors had seen him safely seated between a bearded special-effects wizard and a girl from the wardrobe department, holding forth in enormous detail on story-arc plotting.

Any other time I would have been entranced by just such a talk. To be honest, I’d have listened to Jack Whitaker reading from the phone book, under normal conditions. But, this was my only chance to get a glimpse of Gethryn, without Jack stomping around muttering psychological rubbish, or Felix’s hair-tossing attempts to be noticed. I’d got my breathing under control, slicked my hair with that miracle serum, covered my scar with a careful layer of make-up, and here I stood. Staring out through the tinted plate glass at the wide-stretched ridged brownness that was Nevada, heaped foothills on the horizon and air that smelled of boiled dust.

But there was no sign of Gethryn. I’d been hoping that he’d come to hang around the bar like so many of the other Fallen Skies crew members were doing, lounging around in their logoed T-shirts drinking cold beer and occasionally becoming involved in deep discussions with earnest fans. I knew he hadn’t dropped in on the Q and A; maybe he’d decided on an early night and was tucked up in the Winnebago with a whisky and a detective novel.

I’d give it another five minutes. I stood near the windows, my palms sweating, trying to look as though gazing out over the desert was my preferred way of spending time and hoping that Gethryn might at least choose to waft through with his posse once tonight. Thanks to the open-plan reception area with the bar at the back, I could look as though I was lost in thought and Nevada scenery whilst keeping my entire body on alert for his appearance in the reflections in the window. Just a little peep , I thought, longingly, just let me see him, and I promise I’ll go to bed without a fuss. Just a sight of those well-muscled hips striding through reception, maybe another of those saucy winks thrown my way? Was that too much to ask?

And then, suddenly, there he was.

I watched his reflection saunter across the carpet, unacknowledged. He was wearing jeans with interesting slashes down the thighs revealing toned muscles and tanned skin, and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to elbow height. A few of the drinkers greeted him, I saw his transparent self raise a hand in acceptance, but he remained unaccompanied as he approached the bar. Ordered a glass of something, then turned around.

I carefully kept my eyes front, still appearing to gaze out on the rapidly darkening landscape, but in reality unable to focus on anything other than Gethryn, who was staring at my back view in a very considered way. The expanse of tinted glass, silvered with night, was a perfect reflective surface and I could see every nuance of expression on his face, the slightly raised eyebrows and the half-grin that curled his mouth as he watched me. When I saw him ignore his glass and push off from the bar, I hastily wiped my hands down my skirt and made sure that I had a far away look on my face.

‘All alone?’ He spoke behind my left shoulder, and now I allowed my eyes to refocus, seeing his reflection embossed on mine. ‘You not wanting to hear all the backstage slander then, bach ?’

Play it cool, Skye. I didn’t turn around, but spoke to him whilst keeping my eyes on the desert. ‘It’s more interesting here, listening to everyone chat.’

‘Ah, they’re all talking bollocks, girl. We both know there’s more to the world than Fallen Skies , don’t we?’ His ghostly self stretched its arms wide and I felt the brief, thrilling press of his chest against my back.

My heart scuttered and my voice had to work to get past it. ‘But they’re here because Fallen Skies means something to them. It’s touched them in some way.’

I felt Gethryn’s hands come down from their stretch and lightly rest on my shoulders. Our reflections kept their eyes front. ‘Oh, our Jack is one fine writer, I’ll give him that. He gave me speeches that have stayed in my head; that one about “the horizons of all worlds are reachable by all races—”, not a pair of eyes without tears on set when we recorded that. But? . . .’ he lowered his voice and his accent became stronger and thicker like good coffee, ‘at the end of the day, bach , it’s just a TV show.’

I turned around. Over at the far side of the bar a small knot of women had realised Gethryn was in the room and a fumbling search for cameras and autograph books was underway. ‘Whoo-hoo, Gethryn honey!’ One of the women held up a pen. ‘Could you come over a minute, my friend Dorinda here wants to get your picture?’

Gethryn still had his hands on my shoulders. ‘Uh oh,’ he said lightly, close to my ear. ‘Bunch of menopausal matriarchs want some cuddle-shots. Better go, lovely.’ The hands ran away down my arms, skimming lightly over the skin and raising hairs as they went. ‘But, look. You go outside, I’ll get rid of the sci-fi Saga girls, and I’ll meet you out there. There’s this tree, out beyond the car park, wait by there.’ Then, as if he hadn’t just arranged an assignation that was making my skin heat up all over, he sauntered nonchalantly across to the bar where waiting hands seized him and pulled him into the centre of attention.

Oh God. Gethryn wanted me alone . Nevada, despite the perpetual brownness and heat, was now officially Paradise. A real-life, tawny-headed, lion-eyed bona fide TV star wanted to talk to me! Alone! Surreptitiously I watched him pressing flesh with the good ladies in the corner, and there was, despite their collective age, quite a lot of flesh on display. Low necklines, high hemlines and some well-preserved tanned skin on the peripheries, hair colours that could surely never be natural, and mountainous heels. Coral lips offered up kisses he couldn’t turn down and I had to grin. He turned, in the midst of it all, saw me watching and gave a heart-melting smile, raising his eyebrows to indicate the ridiculousness of it all.

I dashed outside and headed out across the car park. There, just beyond the ranks of cars, stood one of the few trees in the area, a species I didn’t recognise with scrubby, brush-like leaves. In fact, it didn’t so much stand as squat, as though the heat and dust had beaten a perfectly normal tree down over decades. I went and sat beside it. The heat pushed my head down onto my chest, and my breathing felt like artificial respiration by hairdryer.

I sat for a while, during which I lost track of time. Darkness thickened around me and there were weird noises floating through the air, but, to be honest, I was more worried about being discovered by Jack than I was about being eaten by wolves. His utter condemnation of Gethryn was so inexplicable and profound that I wondered if it was a form of jealousy. Perhaps he was tired of losing out to Gethryn’s burnished perfection, tired of his scratchy nature and persistent smoking habit being compared to Gethryn’s easy temperament.

I shook my head. Jack was attractive with all that dark hair and those intense eyes: I’d seen plenty of the women at the convention watching him. He could have taken his pick of a bunch of the hangers-on, wannabe writers and TV groupies. But he clearly wasn’t a groupie kind of guy. A little voice whispered in the back of my head ‘ and you really want to find out just what kind of guy he is, Skye, don’t you? ’

‘Hey, lovely.’ I shook my head again and raised my eyes to the skyline. ‘Sorry to take so long, got caught up. And the girls wanted to buy me a drink, would have been rude to refuse, wouldn’t it?’ The rise and fall of his accent was almost edible, like chocolate drizzled over cream, blunted just a touch by alcohol. He was carrying a bottle. ‘Fancy joining me in another?’

‘Well? . . .’ Gethryn Tudor-Morgan is offering you a drink! ‘Just a bit, maybe.’

‘Good girl.’ The bottle swung my way, dark liquid slopping at the neck. ‘Haven’t got a glass though, bach , we’ll have to drink it out of the bottle.’

It was sharp, whatever it was, and rolled down my throat like a razor blade. As I drank, Gethryn came and crouched beside me, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree. I watched as his eyes traced the line of my scar under the make-up down to my cheekbone, didn’t stop but wandered across the neckline of my shirt and halted at the depths of the V formed by the open buttons. Then his gaze moved up to my face again and his eyes were molten. ‘So,’ he said, taking the bottle back, ‘what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ I’d only managed to sip at the liquor. He gulped it as though it was water.

‘Oh, you know. Felix got tickets, thought I’d like to come.’ I wasn’t going to go into Felix’s treachery, my stupidity at believing him. Not with this sensational man leaning companionably close in the shelter of the little tree, passing me the bottle again and brushing my fingers with his as he did so. I managed a bit more alcohol this time; the sharpness was gone and the fire that replaced it was welcome. Gethryn’s touch had made me shiver.

‘Thought you might have been a friend of Jack’s.’ He watched me drink. ‘Has he warned you off me yet?’ My mouth was full so all I could do was shake my head. ‘Fucking Jack.’ His voice was sour now, accent hard. ‘Thinks he’s so fucking clever, and what is he? Just a jumped-up storyteller, that’s what.’ The hand that grabbed the bottle back had white knuckles showing. ‘If they really knew what he was ?. . . Well, who is he to dictate what we can and can’t do?’

Nearly all of the bottle’s contents had disappeared. I pinched my leg hard to keep concentrating. I was here sharing a drink with Gethryn Tudor-Morgan . It was like my own personal heaven. ‘What’s Jack got against you, anyway?’ My tongue felt heavy in my mouth and the words were imprecise.

Gethryn looked sideways at me. ‘He doesn’t like it that I’m a star, that’s what it is, cariad . I’m heading up his precious show, while all he can do is scribble away in the dark and smoke his fucking fags. And he hates it that I get the girls, oh yes, he hates that. Hates that all he can do is ruin ’em, when I know how to love ’em proper, like.’ A finger extended, ran down my throat towards the neckline of my shirt and when I looked up into his face I saw the heat in his eyes. ‘Skye,’ he whispered. ‘You are beautiful. Is it all right if I kiss you?’

Whoa. Oh ?. . . no, I mean? . . . what? Gethryn wanted to kiss me? Captain Lucas James, hero of the Shadow War wanted to kiss me? . . . ‘I’m not sure.’ The words came out as a whisper, but he’d already moved in for the clinch, both hands wound into my hair holding my head steady.

‘It’s fine, bach .’ His breath smelled of alcohol and felt hot against my lips. ‘Nothing to be afraid of, just a little kiss, yes?’ And then, before I could answer, he fastened his mouth onto mine in a bruising, hard kiss that battered against my lips. I stood up, trying to loosen his mouth but he rose with me, keeping his lips locked onto mine and dropping his hands to grip my shoulders. His tongue slipped between my teeth and licked the roof of my mouth and as a current of night air became more intrusive it dawned on me that he’d moved his hands, his fingers were unbuttoning my shirt, one hand hooking itself around the cup of my best bra. I was in a sweat of gratitude that I’d at least thought to put on my decent underwear, but disturbed that he was actually going to see it with so little preamble.

I struggled back and jerked my head away. Felt his tongue slide down my cheek as he aimed at my mouth again and missed. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know? . . .’ My heart was beating faster and I could hear a high drone inside my head. Lust or fear? Couldn’t be sure.

‘Oh, come on now.’ Gethryn moved in again and his grip tightened. ‘I’m not gonna hurt you, am I? Let’s just? . . . see how it goes.’ And the hand was on my bra again, fingers fumbling at the cup, until the tiny embroidered flowers that I’d thought so pretty began cutting into my skin. ‘No-one’s watching, you don’t need to worry.’

I could feel the rise of the panic now. Was I misreading this? Was he being flirty — a little over-forceful maybe but that could be my fault — or was this going further than I wanted? He was blocking my airway, his mouth not allowing enough space for breathing and the passage of his hands over my skin was getting dangerously close to needing a passport. But this was Gethryn Tudor-Morgan! Captain Lucas James . . .

‘Geth?’ Jack’s voice sounded like a klaxon above the noise of my pulse. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Oh, fuck .’ Fingers unwound from my underwire and the air came as a relief against my skin. There was suddenly a much larger gap between us and a hastened attempt to pull my shirt straight. ‘What’s up?’

‘Skye?’ I could see him now, silhouetted against the flickering neon of the motel sign, fingers flicking ash from a glowing stub. ‘Are you all right?’ He was moving towards me at the same rate that Gethryn was moving away; it was like standing in the middle of a weather-house. ‘Hey.’ The calmness of his tone steadied me and I breathed carefully, feeling the panic balance itself somewhere in the centre of my chest, pivoting on the moment. ‘Skye.’

‘I’m? . . .’ A sudden flare of pain as the wind reached the scoring along my cheek that I hadn’t realised was there. Gethryn’s picturesque stubble had rubbed my skin raw. ‘I . . .’

‘Get away from her.’ Jack’s voice was harsh now, sounding as though he needed a drink. ‘Geth. I’m warning you.’ A quick, angry movement of one hand. ‘Get inside.’

‘Or what?’ Gethryn had stopped moving now. I could see the shadow the moonlight gave him, stretching long and dark towards me from where he stood behind my left shoulder. ‘Eh, Iceman? What’s the bottom line here? What can you do that you’ve not already done?’

Jack stopped walking too. He was near enough for me to smell the smoke on him, to see the individual strands of his hair as they blew, reaching for me across the sand, as though they wanted to wrap around me. ‘Nothing. That’s the point, no threats, nothing. Just Leave. Her. Alone.’ And the words were like weapons in their own right.

The shadow moved and there was the sloshing sound of liquid moving on glass, a swallow. ‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. Scared that you’ll lose another one, are you, Ice? You know you’ve got nothing. Tell you this, Skye can see sense, she can see who’s got something to offer, who’s the fucking Hollywood star and who’s the punk loser.’ The shadow dwindled and his voice was more distant. ‘She’ll find out about you, boy. Sooner or later, she’ll know. And then? . . . I’ll be waiting. But I will tell you this, Ice? . . .’ There was a temporary strength in his words as though he’d turned back to face Jack or raised his voice, ‘She’s got a fantastic pair of tits.’

I didn’t move and neither did Jack, although I saw his fists twitch, just once. A few seconds passed and then Jack held out a hand. ‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No.’ I still stood. ‘He ?. . . kissed me.’

‘Did you want him to?’

‘I don’t know.’ Did I? Had I? How was I supposed to feel?

‘Oh.’ The hand lowered. ‘And the ?. . . ?’ Fingers made vague motions at the chest region of his shirt. ‘You might want to do up some buttons, by the way.’

Without taking my eyes from him I fumbled my shirt closed. Shrugged once.

‘ Skye .’

‘It’s all right, I don’t want to cause any trouble, we were having a drink that’s all, I think I got a bit carried away.’ I ran out of breath and stopped speaking on an inward sob of air.

Jack moved closer until he could put a hand on my arm. Stroked my shoulder for a moment, then shook his head slowly, not dropping his hand. I could feel the weight of his fingers, but no warmth; and a slight tremor, as though he was fighting the urge to grab at me. ‘I should have asked the security guys to keep a closer eye. I know what he’s like, Skye, I should have? . . .’

‘Like I said. I’m twenty-nine. I can look out for myself, Jack, don’t beat yourself up about it.’ My voice sounded surprisingly strong. ‘Nothing terrible happened, nothing was going to happen, Geth and I are capable of understanding the word “no”.’ Moonlight hit us both. Made Jack look haunted. As I already felt pale and stretched, it probably made me look like a movie version of some kind of ghoul.

There was suddenly too much sky.

‘Come inside.’ It wasn’t the sharp order that Gethryn had got, it was a gentle suggestion, accompanied by half an arm across my shoulder. ‘Come on. I’ll take you back to your room.’ The calm words and his even tone stopped the panic before it could rise, and the pull of his arm tugged me against his body as he started to move. It was protection against the wideness of the world and I found that I could keep everything scary at bay as long as I concentrated on the simple business of walking and the slightly swaying body of the man walking next to me.

We walked back to the main doors and immediately into Felix who was drinking Southern Comfort at the bar.

‘Well, look what the cat dragged in.’ Felix squinted at me. ‘You’re a bit pink. So, how’ve you been?’ He wagged eyebrows unsubtly. ‘Sorry I dipped out on you earlier but ?. . . well.’

‘Yes, I saw. I’ve been okay.’ My body shivered. ‘Well. Yes. Okay.’

Jack had dropped his arm from my shoulders and shoved both hands in his pockets. ‘Have you eaten, Skye?’

‘Eaten?’ I stared at him.

‘Yes, eaten. Food in, mouth move, num num. Eaten.’

I couldn’t see his eyes; he’d dropped his head so that his hair hung over his face, but his voice was tight. ‘No.’

‘Come on then.’ Jack put a hand on my forearm and closed his fingers around it. ‘I’ll get you some food.’

‘But I—’

Felix gave me a stern look and then rolled his eyes. ‘Go on, lover. You’re too skinny already. You need to eat.’

‘There’s no such thing as too skinny.’ I tried an uppish defence, even though I knew he was right. For my shape, I was too thin. I looked like a skeleton someone had thrown clothes at. ‘Oh, all right.’

‘So gracious.’ Jack headed away, not, as I’d thought, towards the diner but towards the stairs.

‘Sorry.’ I followed him. ‘I’m feeling a bit? . . . odd.’

‘Bit pissed you mean. What were you and Geth drinking out there?’ He’d stopped on a stair, back to me but rigid. Waiting.

‘Did I say we were drinking?’

‘You didn’t need to. But you didn’t admit to it — interesting. Did he tell you not to talk to me?’

We walked along the corridor to his room and I stopped to think while he unlocked the door. ‘No.’

Jack ushered me past him, but stopped me before I could get inside by putting both hands on my shoulders and pulling me around to face him. ‘Skye, look—’

‘Oh, don’t start again with all the “stay away from Gethryn” bullshit, please. I’m sorry if you two have problems and I’m sorry you’ve both got all this machismo shit going on, but I’m not your little sister, and I bloody well don’t have a virginity to lose, so just stop all these dire warnings and leave me alone. What happened out there tonight was — well, it was under control.’

He held both hands up in the air. ‘Under control. Okay. You’re right, you’re a big girl, you can decide for yourself who you see.’

‘All right,’ I said, dubiously.

‘But whatever you think of me, I don’t make a practice of riding in every time I see a couple in a clinch, you know. I’m not some big killjoy who can’t bear anyone to be happy. I saw your face , Skye, and happy was not on the agenda there.’

‘So you were watching because it was me ?’

Jack shook his head and moved inside the room. ‘You ?. . . you’ve just hurled in from home and I guess the accent and all, it’s making me feel a bit homesick. A bit ?. . .’ He tailed off, his eyes lost focus and he stared out of the window, hands working their way deep into the pockets of his black jeans. ‘Yeah. So. Food. These places are always rubbish at producing anything that’s actually good for you, so I brought some things along.’

‘Okay.’ What was he playing at? He seemed nervous, he’d lost that whole lone-hunter edge he’d had when we’d come in from the desert. Maybe he just needed a smoke.

‘Fine.’ He turned to the tiny fridge in the corner under the laptop and pulled out some fruit and a bar of chocolate, then plopped a pile of apples and oranges on the bed beside me and suddenly his words were coming in a breathless rush. ‘The fancy dress ball, Sunday night. Would you come with me?’

I let the apple I’d picked up drop back onto the duvet. ‘What, you mean like ?. . . a date?’

‘Well, I suppose? . . . kind of.’

‘But you ?. . . this isn’t ?. . . that’s just weird .’

Jack sat down and stared at me over an orange he was peeling with his teeth. ‘What’s weird? Asking you to the ball?’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘I like you. And I know that I’m a miserable old bastard who smokes under stress and has a variable sense of humour, and sometimes I don’t know when I’m talking to real people and when I’m talking to the people in my head, but I can be fun, too. I think we could have a good time together. Now tell me, in what way is that weird?’

‘Is this just to stop me from seeing Gethryn?’ I felt the strangest urge to giggle like a schoolgirl.

‘No.’ Jack cupped the orange in his hand, pulled a segment away and looked at it closely. ‘I’m crediting you with some good sense on that one.’ His expression was dark. ‘I’m just a writer, a nobody and he’s the star.’ Shadowed eyes met mine and he let the orange fall onto his lap. ‘Gethryn will go with Martha,’ he said, quietly. ‘They’re both part of the cast and we like them to appear at these things together. Come with me.’ Long fingers elegantly excised a pip from the flesh and flicked it accurately into an ashtray on the table.

‘Can you dance?’ Stupid question.

‘Only one way to find out.’

‘Can I think about it?’ I could see the individual lashes of his eyes, the unconscious twitch of his lips, and all of a sudden I knew if he kissed my mouth it would be gentle, and I found myself wondering how he would taste; what he looked like, naked.

He stood up abruptly and went to the fridge. Took a can out, popped it open and drank. ‘I guess so. Although I’m already disappointed that you need to.’

‘You fancy yourself a bit, don’t you?’

A quick smile and his saturnine looks lifted as his eyes gleamed. ‘I’ve already had offers. Ruth, girl who was sitting next you to at the quiz, she cornered me in the bar and asked me to go with her.’

‘The cow!’

‘She said she wanted to dance with me at the ball, and if I played my cards right she’d show me a few tricks later on in her room.’ Jack went back to concentrating hard on segmenting the orange.

‘You’re making it up.’

Another smile. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘You bastard.’

‘Now, eat something. There’s some bread. Or there’s some chocolate, if you’re going to come over all female on me.’

Listlessly I picked up the apple I’d dropped. Jack licked his fingers clean of orange juice and wiped them down his jeans, then poked his laptop into life and tapped away at a few keys, sucking orange segments in a way that made the juice spurt into his hair and down over his chin in an unwarrantedly lascivious way; I suspected on purpose. I refused to comment, kept my eyes down and bit the apple down to the core. A sudden flashback to earlier that evening caught me in the throat, Gethryn, fingers eager. Would he have stopped if I’d asked?

A loud bang at the door made me gasp in shock. An apple pip shot into my windpipe and I began to cough and choke. Jack opened the door and then came over and started slapping me between the shoulder blades. Lissa stomped into the room, took one look at me and rolled her eyes.

‘Is she doing it again?’

‘Choking.’ Jack banged me hard again on my spine, and with one loud cough the pip flew from my mouth and curled away across the room.

‘You really are quite accident-prone, aren’t you?’ Lissa sat beside me on the bed. ‘Perhaps you should stick to soft foods.’

‘Perhaps you should stop drink-driving.’ Jack stopped thumping me and looked at her.

‘Hey, cut me a little slack, Jackie-boy.’ Lissa glanced at my face and wrinkled her nose. ‘Sheesh. You Brits.’ Unexpectedly she reached into her bag and handed me a large tissue. ‘Here. Mop. And scrape, you might wanna scrape a little.’

‘Thanks.’ I mopped and, furtively, scraped.

My streaming eyes showed me a misty image of Jack looking sideways at Lissa. ‘What is it you want, Liss?’

She perched herself on the edge of the small table under the window, tiny buttocks barely causing it to tip forward. ‘Wanted to talk to you about this crazy idea you’ve got in your head about cutting out. Running for the border.’ She opened her bag and fussed with lipstick and a mirror. ‘You mentioned it, but are you serious about it? It’s not one of your, like, abstract concepts?’

He slumped, leaning his whole body against the wall. ‘Sorry, yeah, you’re right. We should have talked it through, Liss. Will you get onto the network guys? They should be fine with Scotty taking over, let’s face it, he was doing all the practical stuff during the first series anyway, and you can tell them I’ll turn in the scripts I’m contracted for? . . .’

I could only stare.

‘Mmmmm.’ She carefully outlined her mouth in scarlet and began filling in her lips. ‘I’ll do it, but — why?’

Jack shrugged and gave me a quick look that I didn’t think I was supposed to see. ‘I need a new life. This was fun when we started out; yeah, it all got a bit lairy when we thought we were being cancelled, but I liked all that, the uncertainty and everything, it kept me wired. The big bosses who hired me were loving the stories, the other writers were great and let me muck about with their scripts — it was all new , all exciting.’ He folded his arms and let his body slide a little lower down the wall. ‘Now it’s ?. . .’ He shrugged again. ‘It’s personalities. It’s the needs of the few outweighing the needs of the many; it’s people using their power and position and their name to get access to things they shouldn’t have. It’s all crapped up, basically, Liss, and I want out. I want home .’ His voice lowered, became so quiet I wasn’t sure either of us were supposed to hear. ‘I want peace .’

She snapped shut the mirror and twisted the lipstick away. ‘Gethryn,’ was all she said.

‘Partly.’

‘Even though you’ve done what you could? Won’t be a problem next series.’

‘No, but he can still do damage.’ He gave me a tiny, sideways glance. ‘Look, I’ve got an editor in Britain hassling me to pick up the novels again. It’s a whole different ballgame, writing the books, doing the signings, and it’s something I love. I mean, that’s how I made my name, after all. Don’t get me wrong, I was flattered when the network guys hauled me over here. It was a chance to do something new, and it’s been brilliant, the whole thing. Fantastic. But it was only ever going to be temporary, which is why I didn’t sell Beck Farm when I came over; this was just another move in the Fame Game, getting my face, my name out there. When it comes down to it, I’m a novelist, Liss, and Yorkshire is my home.’

Lissa turned abruptly to me. ‘What’s the story with Felix? He brings you over here but you’re not a couple. You share a room, a bed, but you’re not—’ she made little hooks in the air with her fingers — ‘ sleeping together . He’s heading for destruction-city and you seem to want to drive him there in your own little suicide-wagon ?. . . what is it with you two?’

I finished mopping my face. ‘He’s my best friend. That’s all.’

‘Uh huh.’ Lissa shot a quick glance at Jack. ‘Wow. Don’t envy you this one.’

He and Lissa exchanged a look that went on rather longer than I was comfortable with.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ I said, not sure that they’d hear me. ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

Jack pushed away from the wall. ‘They’re? . . . we are announcing the quiz results in the morning. Afternoon is all the practical stuff, setting up the prizes, then in the evening there’s another signing session — apparently I’m giving away signed copies of some scripts. And then everyone’s getting geared up for the fancy dress ball. Highlight of the event. People like to get together on the evening before it all to discuss costumes and stuff.’ He made a face. ‘Really it’s just an excuse for everyone to get lathered.’

‘Do you know who’s won the quiz?’ I asked quietly.

‘Nah. They get some kids trying to boost their college funds to the tune of a couple of dollars an hour to do the marking.’ He gave me a stern look. ‘And I wouldn’t tell you, even if I knew.’

‘No. Right.’

Lissa cleared her throat. ‘Think we’ve got some paperwork to cover, Jackie-boy. If you’re heading back to good old Blighty, that’s the end of my representation, you know that? It’s over.’

He nodded. ‘I know. And I’m sorry. I know we talked about it, but I never made it clear that I wasn’t just chucking ideas about, that it was something I really wanted to do. Should have told you earlier, but ?. . . I’ve really only just made up my mind definitely.’

I headed out of the door while they stood looking at each other, but I didn’t immediately head for my own room, because just as I pulled the door closed behind me, I heard Lissa say quietly, ‘So, Iceman. You really gonna throw this all over, huh?’

I instantly pretended an almost terminal case of untied shoelaces, ear pressed to the slim crack in the doorframe.

‘Come on, Liss, you know it’s for the best.’

‘Networks love you. Ratings love you. Hell, the fucking viewers all want to have your babies.’ There was a pause. ‘Sorry, Ice. That was cruel of me. Didn’t mean? . . .’

‘I know you didn’t. It’s okay.’

Heart pounding and holding my breath so that I could hear, I slid my body along the wall to the next doorway, flattened myself against it and tried the handle, to be pitched backwards into a cleaning cupboard just as the door to Jack’s room opened. I crouched in the bleach-scented darkness with my face against the door panel and wondered if I was falling into some kind of pattern of listening at half-open doors.

‘You really don’t have any emotion at all, do you, Jack? All this “Iceman” thing, you really got it down, man.’ There was a hint, just the merest whisper, of pain in her voice.

I heard him sigh, and it was a sound that pulled at something instinctive inside me. I wanted to touch him, to hold him, to reassure him that all the pain contained within that single outbreath could be forgotten. But I didn’t dare move.

‘Yeah.’ His voice faded. He’d probably gone back to stand by the window.

‘How long have I known you, Iceman, hey? And now — come on, this is me, I know you. You’ve never had any kinda feeling in all this time, even when ?. . . and now suddenly you’re overcome with wanting to go back the UK? Smells of fish, boy. How much of this is down to Geth? I could shoot myself over that one, I never thought? . . .’

A sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t you, Liss, it was? . . . I don’t know. Me. It’s all me. My head is? . . . I promise I’ll tell you when I get it sorted.’

‘Yeah. So. You want me to fetch over the paperwork or not?

‘I guess.’ I heard him sigh deeply, then a scratchy sort of noise as though he was running his hands over his stubbled face. ‘I guess.’

Abandoning the cleaning cupboard as soon as Jack’s door closed, I dashed back to my room to hug a pillow and wonder exactly what secrets were being kept by the reticent Mr Whitaker.