The Hollow Heart Part 20

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"What do you mean?"

"Another time." Marianne took a gla.s.s 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.

"G.o.d 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.

"s.h.i.t, 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 pa.s.s.

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 s.p.a.ce. 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s, 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s, 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 gla.s.s 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.

Chapter Nineteen .

Moving Mountains

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."