The Hollow Heart (The Heartfelt Series) (27 page)

She looked up as a battery of flash bulbs heralded the
entrance of yet another
A-lister
.

She smiled. He was tense, eager to be gone.

“It will be alright tonight.”

He shrugged. “It will or it won’t. Those bastards never give
up in my opinion.” A goal scored, he tuned the radio, and turned the wheel.
“Have a good night, love.”

 He sped quickly away.

Marianne pulled her hood around her, more against the flash
bulbs than the weather. She passed through security easily, the invitation had
an indelible watermark according her special status as a survivor of the
bombing. A tall man in a black tuxedo directed her into the VIP area. She
walked straight into Paul Osborne with his latest squeeze; a singer from an
all-girl rock band.

“Marianne,” he boomed. She immediately noticed his teeth had
been fixed. He flashed her a smile, “Stunning as ever.”

“Paul,” she said coolly, offering her hand.

He introduced the singer, a mere teenager beneath the false
eyelashes and spray tan.

“What are you doing now?” he gushed, “working, writing,
travelling, what?”

“Resting.” She eyed him icily. “Though your career seems to
be going from strength to strength.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Another time.” Marianne took a glass of champagne from a
tray.

“Ah, you mean Jack.”

“I mean everything. You were good Paul, looks to me like you
sold out.”

“Principles are expensive, Marianne, I was broke.” He pulled
his puppy-dog face.

“Principles are priceless, Paul. We were a good team you,
Jack and I.”

He shrugged and turned to gaze across the room. He nodded as
a flurry of activity signalled the arrival of the world’s most popular film
star. Marianne’s heart leapt, she longed yet dreaded seeing him. She turned
away, praying this would prevent her from melting into a pool of desire, right
there on the carpet in front of them all.

“Well, he’s here at last,” Paul’s tone was disparaging,
“shame we’re not good enough to sit with him this time.”

Checking the table plan, Marianne saw the organisers had
re-seated guests in their original groups, although Ryan had been seated with
the hostess and other lumini. Angelique de Marcos was not on the list. Heart
beating uncontrollably, Marianne was relieved to see Ryan’s son Mike and wife
Zara heading towards her. They greeted each other warmly as they were called to
their seats.

“I believe you’d a wild old time over in Ireland, with the
storm and everything. Pa said you were a great help through the worst of it and
that you helped him with his script. Which was the more testing I wonder?” Mike
smiled then asked quietly, “Is it a dreadful load of old dross?” He gave her an
exact replica of his father’s unmistakable twinkle.

“Not now Marianne’s had a go at it,” Zara interjected, and
they laughed.

“The merest tweak,” Marianne offered.

“God he could do with someone like you giving lots of things
in his life the merest tweak,” Mike whispered.

“It’ll be alright,” Zara patted Mike’s hand, “it won’t last
forever.”

As Paul Osborne took his seat beside Marianne, the
conversation stopped. Mike and Zara nodded at his companion but both chose to
ignore Paul.

The stage burst into light and the atmosphere which had been
surprisingly relaxed was instantly electric. The show began. The auditorium
held its breath, in unison with the worldwide audience of millions. They were
not to be disappointed. 

As the crescendo of the first act came to a close, Marianne,
desperate for the loo through nerves and too much wine on an empty stomach,
left the table, making for the lift and a not-too-crowded restroom on an upper
floor.

Heading along a quiet corridor to return to her seat, a hand
flew out of a doorway, grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her inside. The door
slammed behind her. She gasped as she was spun round. It was pitch black. She
could smell mechanical oil mixed with expensive aftershave; she could hear the
whir of the lift, a soft chime at each floor. She felt breath on her cheek. She
inhaled to scream. A hand covered her mouth. As a cigarette lighter streaked a
flash across a face, he took his hand from her mouth.

“Shit, you scared me half to death!” She thumped him in the
chest.

“I was scared I wouldn’t see you. Didn’t you get my
message?”

“Oh, please.”

“Seriously? Asking you to join me tonight.”

“It’s been months.”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“What?”

“I called you. No reply. I left umpteen messages. I texted.
No response.”

“Oh, stop it, Ryan.”

“No, listen, Lisa rang the newspaper and you got them to
tell her you’d left.”

“I have left.”

“And the phone?”

“Went with the job. I changed it.”

“Didn’t think to let me know then? How do you think I felt,
a romantic weekend in a beautiful hotel and then dumped?”

“Oh.”

“I kept thinking, maybe she doesn’t like me at all, maybe
she is going to write a story about my bedroom prowess or lack of it. After
what we shared? I said to myself, no, there’s no way you could fake that.”

“Ryan I am not that kind of journalist, and not that kind of
person!”

 “I know, I’m sorry, Marie…” He held her tightly.

“Maybe it was just a romantic weekend, maybe we should leave
it at that,” she heard herself saying.

“I can’t. I can’t get you out of my mind.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her, missing her lips in the
dark, his mouth somewhere between her cheekbone and ear. She freed herself.

“You could have found me if you really wanted to.”

“I tried, I tell you, and I did find you, finally got your
new number from Miss MacReady. I left you a message about tonight. Still no
response, how do you think I felt? You could have contacted me, through Lisa.
When you didn’t, I guessed I’d been had, literally. I kept waiting for the
story to be published.”

“I’ve told you, I’m not interested in the story.”

 “Interested in me, the person?”

“I have missed you,” she said, softening.

“And I you, so much.”

“I kept thinking, if it’s a fling, I can deal with that, you
go back to your life and I’ll go back to mine.” She forced steel into her tone.
“If it’s to be more than that, he’ll be in touch and we’ll work something out,
if that’s what we both want.” She was quiet for a moment. “I did feel
abandoned.”

He stepped back.

“I can see that, I’m sorry,” he said, softly into the dark,
“so did I.”

The bell rang for them to return to their seats. He opened
the door. They were caught in a sliver of light from the corridor. They looked
at each other, two pairs of eyes, bright with tears and fear.

“I just want you to know, through all of this there’s you.
Only you,” he whispered, as he stood back to let her pass.

She spun round, closing the door abruptly behind her. She
pulled him to her, taking his head in her hands, pushing her fingers through
his hair as she repeatedly kissed his face. He responded, pressing her against
him, his hands all over her, trying to absorb every inch of her body as their
mouths sought each other.

They wrestled in the tiny space. She could feel him hard
against her thigh. She unzipped and released him as they slid to the floor. He
ran his hands up her thighs, pulling her underwear aside as she knelt to
straddle him. He dragged the fabric down past her shoulders to reveal her
breasts, clad in lace, and biting through it, licked and teased her nipples
with his tongue until they were wet and hard. She lifted herself onto him and
sighed with pleasure as she felt him push deep inside her. They moved together
slowly. He kneaded her breasts, pulling at them, pinching and tweaking. She
moved rhythmically, her fingers pushing through his hair, then faster and
faster, harder and harder, he thrust his hips up into her, pounding and pounding
against her. Until, grinding their bodies together in tiny rapid movements, she
arched her back and they came in a huge, stuttering shudder, barely able to
breathe, let alone speak. They stopped, silently suspended in ecstasy. Ryan sat
up slowly and, clamping her to him, rocked her gently in his arms, as their
pounding hearts stilled. She wrapped her arms around his head, kissing his
hair. He stroked her throat with his fingers.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he told her.

They were quiet for a long moment. Finally she stood up,
rearranging her gown. He zipped his fly. She opened the door to let in enough
light to re-tie his tie and find her hairbrush.

“When this is over...”

“I’m not waiting for you. I won’t play second fiddle,” she
said evenly.

“I’m not asking you to. I’m not with anyone.”

“Well whoever you are not with, is soon to have a child, I
hear.”

“Angelique’s pregnant, there’s no denying that, but we’re
not together and haven’t been for months. Who’s to say it’s mine? It’s like I
said, it’s messy.”

“Un-mess it.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.”

“As flexible as ever,” he sulked, “lots of women would love
the chance to have an affair with me.” And for a second, she heard the old
arrogance in his words, but his eyes were burning into hers with love. She
laughed and flung open the door. People were returning to their seats.

“You’re only an actor, Ryan, you don’t even say your own
lines. You’re not such a brilliant catch, you eejit,” she teased, striding out.

“Marie.” He caught her hand, his eyes were full.

“Ryan,” she said, and touched the tip of his nose with her
forefinger. She hurried to find her seat, not looking back, suddenly lonely
amid the throng.

Paul and Mike rose as she arrived.

“Where’ve you been? You nearly missed it?” Mike whispered,
as the second act began. Paul noticed the red rash of excitement on her chest.
He looked across to the top table, where Ryan O’Gorman, smoothing his hair back
with his fingers, was also late back to his seat. Marianne put her hand to her
throat. It flashed through her mind, had she properly disabled the mobile she
sent back to the newspaper? If Ryan had been leaving her messages, had they
been found?

“You were gone a while,” Paul said, pointedly.

“Unfinished business,” she replied, smiling broadly as she
reached for her glass and gulped back her wine.

The news reports following
the event were unanimous, a spectacular beyond compare. The amount of money
raised was vast. Terrorism was for one night obliterated; for one night the
world was a good place; to be human, a good thing.

For Marianne, the whole event had confirmed one thing. Ryan
O’Gorman was the love of her life, gloriously so, but love of her life, or not,
she would never play second fiddle to Hollywood, his career or anyone else
besides. She had her own life to live, with or without him, and as Miss
MacReady had said, a child changes everything, especially if the child is your
own.

Marianne was not altogether surprised
to see Paul Osborne at her door the next day, but he was far from welcome.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“To talk, explain.” He gave her a dopey, schoolboy grin.

“Save it. I’m not interested.” She went to close the door.
He placed an expensive boot in the gap.

“We can’t all be as altruistic as you, you know?” The smile
fixed on his face.

“What do you mean?” She stood in the doorway, barring his
entrance.

“Well for one thing, we didn’t all have a George.” He
glanced over the front of the building, referring to her inheritance. “Please
Marianne, hear me out.”

Marianne shrugged and let him in. Monty leapt around him,
pleased to see his old friend. Paul tugged at his ears, Monty rolled onto his
back.

“Paul, make it quick I have a lot to do.” She stood, arms
folded, glaring at Monty for the traitor he was. Paul sat on the stairs with
Monty on his lap.

“We were so close once,” he began.

“Cut to the chase, Paul.”

“I’ve been commissioned to write another book, well a series
of articles that will become a book; Ryan O’Gorman’s biography, the making of a
movie star, that sort of thing.”

“And why would I be remotely interested?”

“Because I know you’re having an affair with him. You were
together in Ireland, you had a romantic weekend in Berkshire and I’m pretty
sure you had a liaison the other night at the ‘Phoenix Fights Back’ dinner.”

Marianne did not flinch, she just looked at him coldly.

“And now your house is up for sale. Where are you running
away to, I wonder?”

“Listen to yourself, Paul. You even sound like tabloid
trash.” She took Monty from his lap. “Please leave.”

“Marianne, don’t be a fool, you could give me your side of
the story. That way you know it will be told the way you want it.”

She opened the door.

“You’d be well paid. Name your price?”

“Out! And take your thirty pieces of silver with you.” She nodded
to the street.

He stood up to go.

“You’re not denying it, then?”

“Go! And if we ever have the misfortune of meeting again,
for the sake of Jack’s memory, do me a favour and pretend you don’t know me.”

“I could never do that, Marianne. After all, I know you
better than anyone. Better than you know yourself.”

“What absolute crap,” she hissed. “Now, get out!”

She could not bear to look at him. She slammed the door
behind him and, with Monty still in her arms, rushed to the study to call
Ryan’s personal assistant to warn of Paul’s plans. She stopped. Who could she
trust? Someone was leaking all sorts of information to Paul. She went instead
to her computer and emailed Oonagh, asking her to send an urgent message to
Ryan via his fan club.