Chapter 45
Damien and Frances had spent many happy months together: dinners, walks in the park, a long weekend in Tuscany, working on her screenplay.
On graduation day, Damien came to the show. Held her hand in the dark.
So here he was again, Damien Spur the Svengali, sitting with a zany American whose raw ambition and enthusiasm had pulled him into her journey, just like Anna had.
He stole a glance at Frances, her eyes focused on the cinema screen.
Title up – Lost and Found : A short film by Frances Swift.
The opening shot – a little boy lost in a labyrinthian department store. The camera tracks him as he weaves in and out through a sea of legs and then the scene swiftly cross-cuts to a woman slumped in a chair in the manager’s office.
‘Please help me,’ she sobs. ‘It was my fault. Jamie was pulling my hand. Wanted to go to the sweet shop. And he tugged so hard that I lost my grip. The next minute he’d gone.’
The scene shifts back to the little boy.
The film swirls into a dizzying kaleidoscope of colour and sound as the little boy spins round and round, panic etched on his tear-streaked face. ‘Mummy,’ he sobs, his voice raw with fear. ‘Where’s my mummy?’
A woman materialises from the throng, her face obscured by dark glasses and a vibrant blue scarf. She clasps Jamie’s hand, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘Don’t worry, little one,’ she murmurs, her voice husky and strangely calming. ‘We’ll find your mummy. I know just where to look.’
Swiping a tissue from her bag she dabs his eyes. ‘I think she might be searching for you outside. Shhh, no need to cry.’ She puts her finger to her lips and with a predatory grasp steers him by his shoulders towards the exit.
The loud hum of voices fade into a murmur. Then, a crackle, a hiss, and a man’s voice on the Tannoy cuts through the silence echoing through the store.
‘Jamie Jones, stay where you are. Your mum is coming to get you.’
‘Wow! That’s me! I’m Jamie.’ The child looks up as the crowd of shoppers circle round him.
There was a palpable intake of breath from the audience as the tension rose.
For a brief moment the camera moves in on the woman’s face, her grimace swiftly masked by a forced smile.
‘Looks like your mum has found you, sweetie, so you don’t need me anymore.’
Jamie sees the bobbing head of his mother as she zigzags through the shoppers to meet him.
‘Jamie!’ she cries.
And they are in each other’s arms.
‘It’s alright, Mum, this nice lady was looking after me.’
But when Jamie turns back the woman has gone.
Jamie’s mum looks towards the exit and briefly catches the profile of a woman before she vanishes into the street, blue scarf fluttering.
The film ended in a hushed silence, then the theatre erupted in a thunderous wave of applause punctuated by whoops and cheers.
So, Damien, another of your prodigies on their way , said the Voice.
***
He was fond of Frances. She had terrific energy, she was interesting, warm, sexy… always there for the taking. When he needed a break, she would leave him alone. Very accommodating. She slipped in and out of his life without making waves. No surprises. He knew where he stood; she was an open book that was easy to read.
Yes, Frances was great, but she wasn’t a soulmate. Some people live without combat, settle for a restful life. Not Damien. No compromise.
***
That evening, as they lay in bed sharing a chocolate egg and drinking peppermint tea, Frances turned to him and said, ‘I love you.’
Oh no , said the Voice.
‘Frances,’ said Damien, ‘we need to talk. You’re such a gorgeous person. I’m really fond of you… but it’s not going to work.’
Her face drained, chalky white.
‘I don’t understand?’
He looked away.
‘Look at me,’ she said, prodding his chest. ‘I’m practically living with you! And now, in bed, you tell me it’s not going to work?’
He hated himself. A damaged man. Why couldn’t he love this sweet, intelligent woman?
‘I want to go home,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, Frances, but I can’t lie to you.’
Well done , said the Voice. There’s no point in beating about the bush.
***
Elizabeth was no ordinary shoplifter. She’d been caught in Alberto Firenze with a silk dress hidden inside her Hermès bag.
It gave the manageress a thrill to take her down a peg or two. The haughty perfumer had always been rude to the staff.
“Get me this, get me that,” she’d said. Never a please or thank you, leaving the garments on the floor for the assistants to pick up.
And now, finally, Lady Elizabeth Maitland was to be hauled over the coals. A hot potato who would soon be the talk of the gossip columns.
It wasn’t going to be easy to keep it under wraps. She would have to call in some favours.
Maybe the newspaper editor she’d bumped into at a naughty party in Halkin Street could help her? The one who was up and at it with two gorgeous Russkies in the middle of the sitting room, while his wife Olivia, whom she knew, was stuck in the country.
Elizabeth, who was astride the Polish ambassador, waved at him.
‘Hello, Ronald!’ she said. ‘Good to see you. Isn’t this fun?’
Maybe he could keep the paparazzi off her back.
She went down to the station and asked to phone her solicitor. Who didn’t pick up.
So she called Damien.
‘Elizabeth, why are you ringing?’ he said. ‘I told you to leave me alone.’
‘I’m in a terrible fix and you’re the only person I could talk to. Seeing as you’ve had your dramas, I knew you would understand. Please help me.’
‘What have you done?’
‘I’ve been arrested for shoplifting.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Shepherd’s Bush police station. Chelsea is closed. Will you come and help me?’
‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth. No can do. Why don’t you ask your man, Chang?’ And he put down the phone.
Good for you , said the Voice. Moving on…
***
Sophie’s phone pinged with a new text message:
Evelyn: Look, darling! Look what you’re missing!
Sophie clicked the link, and there he was.
Close up.
That smile. Those honest eyes. He was so confident. His deep liquid voice gave her a rush of pleasure. She’d missed him. It had been a long time. So many distractions. All those empty affairs.
She drifted. In her mind’s eye, he had slipped his hand round her waist and, pulling her towards him, he held her face and kissed her. Gently at first and then the wild Damien took hold and they both fell into a passionate embrace, the kiss more intense than any she’d ever had before.
Sophie blinked. Forced herself back to reality.
A young woman in a chic red dress was on the screen. Her long, elegant fingers curled round a microphone close to her mouth.
Sophie scanned her face. She was arrestingly lovely: cherubic blue eyes, turned-up nose, kiss-me lips. She asked her question.
Damien was back onscreen. A raised eyebrow and a smile. He answered her, his reply smooth as silk.
There was an intimacy between them. They spoke to each other as if there was no one else in the auditorium.
Were they lovers? He hadn’t mentioned her.
Maybe she would be for a few months. And then on to the next.
He was a free man. Why shouldn’t he pick and choose from all those delicious women who threw themselves at him?
Who are you kidding, Sophie? she thought. You want him. Come on. Show him that you’re ready – take him.