Chapter 36
36
‘So, what’s he like in bed?’ Marisa blurted out as she mixed up ingredients for the wedding-day sauce.
It was another sweltering day and the complex was rife with golfers, media, holiday-makers and celebrity spotters. They were all making the most of the Spanish sun and the opportunity to get a real tan, rather than one sponsored by Piz Buin.
‘Marisa! What are you like? We agreed not to talk about it!’ Helen exclaimed.
‘I didn’t agree. You told me we wouldn’t talk about it; I said I wouldn’t shout it from the rooftops. It’s only us girls and that’s the sort of thing girls talk about. Besides, if my employer has been having it off with the hottest rock star on the planet, I think I deserve details!’ Marisa told them.
‘He’s not that good,’ George replied, roughly chopping herbs.
Marisa stared at her, a look of total disbelief and disappointment on her face.
‘OK, I’m lying,’ George answered with a smile.
‘I knew it! So does he do that thing, you know when the guy—’ Marisa started.
‘Er, I don’t want to worry you, but Taylor Ferraro just got out of a golf buggy and she’s heading up here,’ Helen interrupted, looking out of the window of the catering wagon .
‘Shittin’ hell! What are we going to do? Do you think she knows about you and Quinn?’ Marisa questioned.
‘We’re going to act normal, because everything is normal, right?’ Helen ordered her daughter.
George hurried to the door and opened it before Taylor had a chance to knock. She was wearing a figure-hugging, lemon-coloured dress with high, peep-toe shoes. A pair of large sunglasses were sat on her face and she had a lemon and white handbag on her arm.
‘Ms Ferraro,’ George greeted formally.
‘Ms Fraser,’ Taylor replied stiffly.
She gingerly removed her sunglasses and George got a look at her badly swollen eye. It was heavily covered in foundation.
‘I am so sorry about last night. Your eye…’ George remarked as Taylor brushed past her and entered the catering wagon.
‘Yes, it’s a mess. I’m having hourly ice compression. Luckily, the make-up artist thinks the swelling will have decreased considerably by tomorrow. Even so, he will definitely be earning his fee trying to work miracles,’ Taylor told her, putting her glasses back on.
‘Look, I’m really sorry about last night. I apologise unreservedly and—’ George began.
‘She was under a lot of pressure and the bachelors weren’t making it easy for anyone. I mean, they were so drunk and completely out of control and—’ Helen piped up.
‘Believe me, if it wasn’t for the fact I’m getting married tomorrow and over 200 people are expecting food, I would fire you right now, without hesitation,’ Taylor spoke firmly.
‘I realise that and of course that would be no more than I deserve,’ George replied .
‘But Michael insists you stay. He keeps saying you’re brilliant and I haven’t got the time or energy to look for an alternative,’ Taylor continued.
‘She is brilliant. We’re all pretty brilliant, actually. And we’re just preparing everything so it’s all perfect tomorrow,’ Marisa chipped in.
‘All on schedule? You have everything you need?’ Taylor enquired.
‘Yes, everything’s fine,’ George answered.
‘And where are your staff? I thought Pixie had arranged a team of helpers,’ Taylor spoke, looking around for signs of other people.
‘They were…’ George began.
‘Surplus to requirements,’ Marisa added quickly.
‘So how are you going to serve everything tomorrow if there are only three of you?’ Taylor wanted to know.
‘That’s for us to worry about Ms Ferraro, not you. Now, why don’t you go and have a rest? Get some more ice on that eye and leave the catering to Finger Food,’ Marisa spoke, putting an arm around Taylor’s shoulders and ushering her to the door.
‘I’ll call Pixie. I’ll have her look into it,’ Taylor said, walking down the steps of the wagon.
‘Everything’s under control. It’s going to be the perfect wedding, better than – well – better than any wedding there’s ever been and any wedding to come. The best! The wedding of all weddings,’ Marisa told her, smiling broadly.
Taylor smiled at her unconvincingly and got back into the golf buggy where her driver was waiting for her.
‘Bye!’ Marisa called, waving a hand in the air.
When she was sure she was out of sight, she ran back into the catering wagon and picked up her mobile phone.
‘I’ve still got Sally’s number. I’ll call her, get half a dozen of them back. Not the smelly one, or the one with the grim beard, or that girl with the plaits who thought she was like sooo cool, but the best ones… well the best of a bad bunch,’ Marisa said, looking through her contacts.
‘Marisa, you don’t have to do that. Let me do it; I’m the one who sacked them all,’ George reminded her.
‘Exactly. Do you think they’re going to come back for you? No, I’ll do it. I’ll put on my best grovelling voice and we’ll have six people in here to help sort out the food today and serve tomorrow,’ Marisa spoke, taking charge and putting the phone to her ear.
‘What about Adam?’ Helen suggested.
‘I don’t want to rush him into anything. He made it clear last night…’ George started.
‘Oh don’t you worry about him. So his sister’s really his mother. So what? Happens all the time on Jezza Kyle. Doesn’t mean he can bail out on us. Leave him to me,’ Marisa insisted.
George exchanged a look with Helen, taken aback by Marisa’s positive attitude.
‘Hello Sally, it’s Marisa from Finger Food. Now, I know you’re probably down the beach, but I need you here…’ Marisa began as she strutted up and down the wagon.
Within half an hour, Marisa’s persuasive skills had managed to entice a small group of catering assistants to return to work for Finger Food and by lunchtime, all the preparation that could be done was completed.
‘I don’t know how to thank you enough, guys. You’ve all worked so hard this morning,’ George told them all as the last bits of clearing up were done and foodstuffs were put back in the fridge.
‘Bonus would be nice,’ Marisa called out loudly.
‘How about lunch?’ George suggested .
‘Yeah, I’m like starving. But nothing accompanied by a sauce because I’ve been looking at sauce like all day,’ Marisa said.
‘OK then, let’s hit the clubhouse. Lunch and drinks on me,’ George announced.
‘Are you serious? You’re going to pay?’ Marisa quizzed, looking at George with suspicion.
‘That’s what I said. So come on, how about it? Before I change my mind,’ George said, taking off her apron.
‘Come on Team Marisa, let’s go!’ Marisa said, leading the charge for the door.
He wasn’t listening to a word that was being said. They could have been talking in Hebrew and he wouldn’t have noticed. He was circling his glass of wine with the thumb on his left hand. He had another headache, but he was damned if he was going to tell Roger that. There was no use thinking up excuses to stop the wedding now; it was too late. The snowball was of avalanche proportions and there was no halting it. He closed his eyes and immediately, she came to mind. If he tried really hard, he could almost block out the incessant American drawl of Roger, running through the projects Brand Blake would be involved in straight after the nuptials.
‘Quinn! Are you listening to me?’ Roger barked.
He snapped his eyes open and swallowed, steadying the glass of wine as it rocked on the table.
When they arrived at the clubhouse, they were stopped at the front door by a moustached Spaniard in the La Manga Resort’s green and yellow uniform.
‘I am afraid there is a dress code,’ he said, looking at the jeans, cargo trousers and shorts worn by the majority of the group .
‘Since when? I had ice cream sundaes in here the other day and I was wearing jeans then. You’re making it up,’ Marisa announced.
‘I am afraid we have a private function in the Ballesteros suite…’ the man began again.
‘Well, which is it? Either you have a dress code or you have a function we’re not invited to! Make your mind up!’ Marisa exclaimed angrily.
‘We’re here for lunch,’ George informed him.
‘A la carte, table d’h?te, we’re not fussy. Table for ten,’ Marisa continued, her new-found confidence bubbling over.
‘I’m afraid—’ the employee began again.
‘No, “I’m afraid” doesn’t cut it. We’re guests of Quinn Blake. Don’t make me call him,’ Marisa said warningly.
‘I apologise, madam. This way, please,’ the employee said and he proceeded to lead them into the restaurant.
‘Marisa! You name-dropper!’ Sally shrieked excitedly.
‘Oh dear, I don’t think this was exactly what you meant to happen,’ Helen said, reddening as she saw what was about to occur.
Quinn was sitting at a table with Michael and Roger. The La Manga Resort employee was directing their group to join them.
All three men stood up as the Finger Food party of ten arrived and the employee started to pull out chairs for them to sit on.
‘What’s going on here?’ Roger demanded to know.
‘Er, it’s a mistake. We aren’t appropriately dressed and Marisa said we were your guests so we could get in and eat and…’ George began, trying not to notice how hot Quinn looked in the thin white shirt he was wearing .
‘A mistake?’ the waiter asked, almost upending a chair as he pushed it back in and left Helen without a seat.
‘ Pablo, está bien. Ellos son mis invitados. Más vino para la mesa por favor ,’ Quinn spoke hurriedly.
‘What did you say to him?’ Roger wanted to know, sitting down again.
‘I said it was fine and I ordered some more wine. Hello everybody,’ Quinn greeted, smiling and retaking his seat.
‘Hello,’ everyone muttered nervously.
The catering assistants were overawed by being in the presence of someone as famous as Quinn. The girls started to giggle and nudge each other.
‘George darling, a bad night last night. All your lovely food going to waste and those naughty chaps thinking it was fun to make an idiot out of me. Thank you so much for coming to my rescue. She’s a hero, I tell you; stepped right into the breach,’ Michael remarked as George sat down opposite him.
‘I’m not sure about that,’ she answered, feeling Quinn’s gaze falling on her.
‘This is insane. How can we discuss anything now?’ Roger wanted to know, throwing down his napkin.
‘I thought we’d made all the decisions we had to,’ Quinn replied, not taking his eyes from George.
‘There are some matters that haven’t been finalised. The honeymoon photo shoot, the press release for the perfume, the film premiere in Cannes, the—’ Roger rattled off.
‘Christ, Roger! Can we not have lunch without discussing a freaking strategy?’ Quinn blasted. He picked up his wine and downed the contents.
‘Perfume? Ooh, what sort of perfume?’ Marisa queried, biting into a bread roll.
‘It has lavender in it. It smells like a mortuary; don’t buy it,’ Quinn told her .
‘QUINN! You can’t say that! You’re endorsing the product!’ Roger yelled.
‘If you don’t want to stay and eat with us then feel free to leave,’ Quinn said, staring at him.
‘Are you trying to tell me what to do?’ Roger wanted to know.
Quinn ignored him and poured himself another glass of wine.
The table silenced as everyone waited to see what was going to happen next.
‘I’m done here. It’s a circus,’ Roger said, rising to his feet and pushing in his chair.
‘No, that’s tomorrow,’ Quinn muttered under his breath.
‘Roger, come, my man. You ordered the liver and onions, didn’t you? Don’t let it go to waste; I’ve heard it’s divine. Think of the succulent, velvety meat washing over your taste buds. Bliss,’ Michael said as Roger brushed past Helen on his way out from behind the table.
‘You eat it, Michael. You savour every last morsel. I haven’t the stomach for it,’ Roger growled.
He turned his back on the party and strode out of the room.
‘Ooh, get him. I like liver and onions. What can we have, George? Just one course? Because if it’s just one course, I might just have to have ice cream,’ Marisa announced.
‘Have whatever you want; I’m paying. Pablo, un poco de champán ,’ Quinn ordered.
‘You don’t have to do this. It’s my treat because they worked hard,’ George told him.
‘And you’re all working for me, so I insist I pay,’ Quinn spoke.
‘Is there room for one more?’
George looked up at the sound of Adam’s voice. He looked pale and exhausted, but he smiled at Marisa, who stood up and threw her arms around him .
‘Sit down, you idiot. Who cares who your mum is? You do not leave me in charge of peeling oranges; we agreed at the start, remember! We’re both going to get citrus fingers on this job,’ Marisa said, pulling out the chair next to her and virtually forcing him down into the seat.
‘Good, everyone’s here. Let’s get your orders taken,’ Quinn said, beckoning another waiter.
Adam hadn’t spoken to her, but he had joined in with conversation at the table. Quinn had sung his praises and professed him to be his successor in the music business. George had seen Adam bristle with pleasure at that. He was enjoying knowing someone so highly regarded held him in high regard too. It was a start, sitting at the same table, but it still felt awkward. She didn’t want to catch his eye. She didn’t want to make him feel embarrassed, or talk to him and have him ignore her. But at least he wasn’t shouting at her. It was a definite improvement on the night before.
After they had eaten, George went out onto the terrace. She had a headache and she needed some fresh air. She took a swig of her lager and looked out over the golf course. The middle-aged men playing in the Spanish sun made her think of her dad. She had never really understood how someone as placid as her dad had ended up marrying someone as ferocious as her mother. Perhaps he’d been forced into it. Maybe forced marriages weren’t uncommon. Perhaps there were thousands of forced marriages no one knew about. Or it could simply be that opposites did attract.
‘Hey,’ Quinn greeted, pulling up a chair next to her.
‘Hi.’
‘You OK? ’
‘Headache. Think it’s the garlic fumes from the wedding breakfast I’ve been preparing.’
‘Sounds terrific,’ Quinn answered with a smile.
‘Good. We’ve worked our fingers to the bone this morning.’
‘Taylor came to see you.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And how was that for you?’
‘Embarrassing, totally as it should have been. I’m lucky she didn’t thump me back.’
‘That isn’t her style. I guess she might have swung her handbag at you, but that would have been as far as she would have gone.’
‘I’ve seen how big her bag is. It could do some serious damage,’ George replied with a smile.
Quinn smiled back at her and moved his chair until their knees were touching. It was both agony and ecstasy all at once. As usual, he was so close but still so far away.
‘I want to kiss you but everyone’s in there and—’ Quinn whispered to her.
‘I know.’
‘George, you do know I don’t want to marry her, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I get that. I think.’
‘And you know how I feel about you.’
‘I think so.’
‘Believe it.’
‘I do. It’s just now the wedding’s tomorrow, it all seems a bit final.’
‘It isn’t final.’
‘Marriage should be, though.’
‘So George Fraser is a believer in the sanctity of marriage, is she?’ Quinn said with a laugh.
‘Why is that so hard to believe?’
‘Because I had you down as someone who would burn her bra for equal rights, not someone who would want to dress up in a white meringue and waltz down the aisle.’
‘Just because I wear a lot of jeans and drink beer doesn’t mean I’m not a traditional girl at heart.’
‘So you’d do the whole white wedding, chicken and garlic sauce, chocolate flan thing if you were asked?’ Quinn enquired, taking off his sunglasses and surveying her.
‘Well, I’d have to check out a whole range of white jeans for the occasion, obviously,’ George answered, playing with the ring around her neck.
Quinn smiled and then he took a long, drawn-out breath.
‘Look, I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to interrupt me or say anything, OK?’ Quinn told her seriously.
‘What?’
‘Promise me. Don’t stop me. Let me get it all out there. Yeah?’
‘OK,’ George agreed.
‘OK,’ Quinn said, taking another deep breath.
He looked nervous and George wanted to reach for his hand, but Michael and the table of catering assistants were just inside, parted from them only by the glass doors. Michael was onto another bottle of fizzy apple and Marisa was tucking into her third ice cream. Adam looked happy too, sat close to Marisa, filling up her glass with water every now and then.
She looked back to Quinn and saw the tension in his face.
‘The accident I had really messed me up. I mean, really messed me up. Apart from almost dying and being in a coma for all that time, my body was wrecked. When I hit that truck, I wasn’t wearing a helmet and when they removed the bandages, I looked something like Freddy Krueger. I was hideous. I looked like something out of a freaking horror movie,’ Quinn informed her .
George swallowed. She reached for him but loud laughter suddenly filtered out from inside and she quickly retracted her arm.
‘Reconstructive surgery isn’t cheap and I didn’t have insurance. Back then, I thought I was destined to look like The Elephant Man for the rest of my life. There was stuff they could do, but it wasn’t very sophisticated and I wasn’t likely to see any real improvement for years. But one day, I don’t know why, I just decided to stop hiding in my room and I went to the communal area where they had a piano. I played, all day that day and every day after that. My sight still wasn’t great, but I played from memory. I have no idea where the music came from, or even how I knew how to play, I just did. It was like it came naturally. Then, one day, one of the plastics doctors hears me play, and a few weeks later, Roger comes into the hospital. He sits and listens to me. I have no idea who he is, but he tells me he likes my music and he’s willing to pay for state-of-the-art, breakthrough surgery that’s never been tried before as long as I agree to sign for his record label. It was like a miracle. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Here was someone who was going to fund my treatment, radical, life-changing, treatment, and all he wanted was for me to sign a record deal with him. I mean, can you imagine that? I had this fucked up face, this broken body and here was a guy offering me the world,’ Quinn explained.
‘Is this what you’ve been trying to tell me? Is this the hold he’s got over you?’
‘Please George, let me finish,’ Quinn begged.
George watched him take a deep breath, seemingly collecting his thoughts and marrying them up together.
‘I had the treatment. God knows what it involved; I think I’m some sort of mishmash of latex and pigskin. I didn’t ask. But whatever it was, it was pioneering and it was miraculous. I haven’t one scar on my body and they made me into every woman’s fantasy. You’d think what’s not to like, right? But with every procedure, it bound me more to Roger. He paid for it all. He got rid of my hideous face and I owed him. At first, it was OK, you know; I love music and I found out I could play lots of instruments, not just the piano. My first album went platinum within a month. It was critically acclaimed, it won awards and I’m thinking, life doesn’t get any better than this. But it isn’t enough for Roger. He wants an album a year, he wants constant touring, he wants me to meet film producers and then he introduces me to Taylor. Before I know it, we’re living in a mansion in LA with a butler, two housekeepers and a cook.’
‘But if you hate it so much, you have to leave.’
‘I can’t leave. I wouldn’t know where to start. That’s the problem; I don’t have a beginning.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘George, Quinn Blake doesn’t exist. Roger created him, created me. I didn’t just lose my memory in the accident; I lost my identity. When I woke up from the coma, I had no idea who I was. I was John Doe, the guy with no name and half a face. I still have no idea who I am or where I came from and before, when all I could think about was not having the face of a monster, I could deal with that. But now, now I’ve met you, it isn’t enough. I want to know who I am, I want to know how I can play music, how come I can speak three different languages, why I can’t face eating a freaking banana any more. I want to know who my parents are and I don’t. No one does,’ Quinn told her tears brimming up in his eyes.
Forgetting about the others sat inside, George took hold of his hand and held it in hers.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before? What were you so afraid of?’
‘Roger doesn’t want anyone to know about the accident and how we came to meet each other. He’s created a back story about me. I come from Arkansas, my parents are dead, and before their death, we travelled a lot, so no real roots. It seems to be enough for the public, but it isn’t enough for me. I mean I could be a wanted felon for all I know and I don’t know! I go and make him millions every year, but that still isn’t enough. He wants me to marry Taylor and give him grandchildren, musical protégés, Rock It Music’s future security,’ Quinn explained.
‘Do you think he knows who you really are?’
‘No. No one knows. I had no ID on me after the accident, no distinguishing marks. They checked the missing persons register; it was like I never existed. It was like I wasn’t important to anyone. The only thing I had on me was a kind of friendship bracelet they had to cut off my arm. I kept it and I still have it. It’s all I’ve got of whoever I was before I was Quinn.’
‘Why do you sound ashamed?’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know; Roger says people won’t feel the same way about me if they find out Quinn Blake’s a fabrication. He doesn’t want them to find out I was designed to look this good. He thinks they’ll feel cheated and lied to.’
‘You don’t really believe that, do you? People aren’t like that.’
‘They are in this business.’
‘Well, so what? Who cares? It doesn’t matter who you were then. You’re the same person with the same amazing talent; you’ve just got a different name.’
‘But the thing is, without Roger, I wouldn’t have a name. I wouldn’t have a face I could look in the mirror at and I wouldn’t have the career I have now. He’s given me everything,’ Quinn continued.
‘And that gives him the right to make you marry his daughter? ’
‘I wouldn’t have cared so much about that if I hadn’t met you.’
George looked at him, her heart aching for him.
‘I’ll marry her. But I can’t give you up, George. I just can’t,’ Quinn said determinedly.
‘It’s never going to work. I live in England; you live in LA. You’re going to have a wife and children. I don’t fit anywhere in that picture.’
‘Move, move to LA. I’ll get you a place.’
‘Are you crazy? I have a business I’ve worked my arse off building up and I’ve got Adam. He needs me now more than ever. I can’t just move, to be what? Your mistress when you can get away? It would never work. People would find out and I couldn’t live that way,’ George exclaimed, standing up.
‘Then I’ll move to England. To Basingstoke even.’
‘Don’t be stupid, Quinn. There’s nothing for you there.’
‘There’s you. I don’t want to lose you. When we’re together, everything seems to make sense. It’s like I can be me; it’s like you’re what’s missing from my life. We connect in every way and I don’t know what to do,’ Quinn admitted, looking at her with his wide, perfect eyes.
‘You have to do what you want. Forget everyone else. If you want us then you’re going to have to choose us. And that means turning your back on Roger and Taylor and stopping this wedding,’ George spoke, standing up from her seat.
‘Don’t go,’ Quinn said.
‘Shall I tell you how I really feel, Quinn? About this whole thing? I’m in Spain catering the most publicised wedding of the century and I hate every minute of it. This was supposed to be what I dreamed of: big catering contracts, travelling, getting well-known for my food. But it’s turned into a nightmare because of you. You came into my life and you turned it upside down. Most of the time, I can’t think about anything else but you and it’s driving me crazy. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You get under my skin, you mess with my head and most of the time, I can’t decide whether I love it or hate it. You confuse me, you get inside me, you make me feel like I’ve never felt. And tomorrow, I’m going to have to watch you promise eternal love to someone else,’ George spoke, staring at him.
‘But—’ Quinn began.
‘Don’t you dare say I should know it isn’t real. It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not; you’re still going to do it. You’re still going to say those words,’ George snapped back.
Quinn just looked at her, his eyes filling up.
‘We’ve had the most amazing time together, Quinn and I will never forget you. But I won’t play second fiddle to a make-up obsessed shopaholic. I’m worth more than that, and if you really care about me, if you really love me like you say you do, then you should know that,’ George insisted, her voice breaking.
Quinn got up from his chair and took hold of her hand, putting it to his chest.
‘I’m yours, George; you should know that.’
‘You were never mine, not really. You were only ever on loan,’ George replied, taking her hand away and heading for the door.
‘George, wait, please – look – marry me – when all this is over, marry me,’ Quinn called after her.
George looked back at him and shook her head.
‘I can’t.’
He could just step off the roof. He could just jump. He’d almost fallen climbing up after three bottles of wine, and now he was finishing the night off with a bottle of Jack Daniels. What was the point? What was the fucking point of any of it? He had fame, he had money, he had status. He was doing a job he loved but he couldn’t be any more fucking depressed. He didn’t care about any of it. He just wanted her and if he couldn’t have her, nothing else mattered. He took his phone out of his pocket and looked at it. No messages, no missed calls, nothing.