Say it with Sequins

The Waltz

Georgia Hill

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Georgia Hill 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Georgia Hill asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

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available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © March 2014

ISBN: 9780007562183

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Contents

Copyright

Georgia Hill

Dedication

Say it with Sequins.

Step One.

Step Two.

Step Three.

Step Four.

Step Five.

Step Six.

Step Seven.

Step Eight.

Step Nine.

Step Ten.

Step Eleven.

Step Twelve.

Step Thirteen.

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Georgia Hill

I used to live in London, where I worked in the theatre. Then I got the bizarre job of teaching road safety to the U.S. navy – in Marble Arch!

A few years ago, I did an ‘Escape to the Country’. I now live in a tiny Herefordshire village, where I scandalise the neighbours by not keeping ‘country hours’ and being unable to make a decent pot of plum jam. Home is a converted oast house, which I share with my two beloved spaniels, husband (also beloved) and a ghost called Zoe.

I’ve been lucky enough to travel widely, though prefer to set my novels closer to home. Perhaps more research is needed? I’ve always wanted to base a book in the Caribbean!

I am addicted to Belgian chocolate, Jane Austen and, most of all, Strictly Come Dancing.

Keep dancing, everyone!

To Sarah, who loved Strictly Come Dancing.

Say it with Sequins.

The Waltz: a dance full of romance.

“The waltz really is the most romantic of dances. With the right pairing, costumes and music, it can transport you into a fairyland. How lovely to find your very own Prince Charming to hold you in his arms.” Tabitha ‘Whiz’ Wisley, Tattin and Brownlow Literary Agency.

Step One.

Lucy sat back on a gilded chair and watched as the studio party got going. The ninth series of the ever-popular Who Dares Dances competition had just wrapped its first show – and she had been in it.

Her lips curled into a relieved smile. No one milling round on the famous dance floor, champagne in hand, could possibly know how much it had cost Lucy to dance that one short waltz in front of a studio audience of two hundred, and a television audience of, well, it was anyone’s guess. Lucy tried not to think about the millions of viewers examining every fluffed move, every faltering missed beat that she had taken – for a recovering agoraphobic that was a dance step too far.

“Ready to join the party, Cinders?” It was Daniel Cunningham, her professional dance partner, bowing with theatrical extravagance and holding a hand out to her. Lucy leapt to her feet with a triumphant smile, ignored her sore feet and, once more, allowed Daniel to lead her onto the dance floor.

As they reprised their dance, she couldn’t help but think how lucky she was with her partner. Patient and kind-hearted, Daniel had been nothing but encouragement. The weeks of training had flown by and now, unbelievably, it was the launch show party. The show itself had passed in a blur. Lucy had seen it as though through another’s eyes – it was as if she hadn’t been there. She had no recollection of actually performing the dance, of even walking down the famous gilded staircase to the dance floor. But she supposed that somehow she must have done it. The judges remarked that her waltz had been competent, which she felt damned it with faint praise but she’d gotten through. It was only after the show had finished that she realised what she had achieved. And that was when her legs threatened to give way and she had sought out a quiet chair, away from the hubbub of the manic chatter and post- show analysis. Back to what she was good at – watching.

“You okay, Lucy?” Daniel peered down at her. “You’re deep in thought.” He swung her round and made her bend backwards, making her giggle.

“I’m fine. Better than fine,” she grinned back at him. “I’m marvellous!”

As she straightened, one of the other celebrity contestants, Max Parry, captured her attention, not difficult considering he was six feet five or so. He was one of the loveliest men she had ever met, not that she’d met all that many. A gentle, shy man, he possessed an all too rare smile, which, if you were lucky enough to be a recipient, warmed you from head to toe. He’d spear headed the successful Team GB claim and had come home from the competition triumphant with an unbelievable three gold medals strung across his broad chest.

Daniel noticed who she was staring at. “Poor Max,” he said. “He may be the world’s fastest man in water but he’s struggling on the dance floor.”

Lucy and Daniel trained in the dance studio next door to Max and his beautiful American partner Lola, and Daniel was forever feeding her information about Max's progress. Daniel had taken the swimmer under his wing and was helping him as much as he could. Despite Max’s lack of natural dance talent Lucy knew that, underneath the reserved exterior, there lurked a fiercely competitive streak.

Lucy apologised as she accidentally trod on Daniel’s foot. “Max is working harder than any of us,” she said hotly.

Lucy had lived a solitary existence until recently and had never had a proper boyfriend. Instead, she fell victim to intense crushes on actors on TV, characters in books – in short, on anyone so remote so as not to demand anything like a relationship with her.

“I know you’ve got a soft spot for him and I know he’s working his balls off,” Daniel said, as he steered them expertly around the dance floor, “but sadly, I don’t think he’s going to last long in the competition.”

Lucy looked up at him indignantly. She was going to say something else in defence of Max but thought better of it. Since beginning Who Dares Dances, Lucy had broken the habit of a lifetime. She had developed a raging crush on Max Parry, lanky Olympic swimmer. The crush was a familiar feeling; that it was focussed on someone real, someone she had to encounter most days with, was most definitely new. Her feelings were acutely and wholly distracting and Lucy sighed as she watched Lola glide Max across the floor in an easy waltz. He was chatting to his partner, obviously relieved at scraping through after being saved in the judges' vote off. Lucy continued to gaze, as she danced, allowing Daniel full control of where they were headed. She luxuriated in being able to gaze at Max undetected. He was in perfect physical shape; he had a typical swimmer’s build, with wide powerful shoulders narrowing dramatically to a muscular pair of hips and long, long legs. A tan he had collected during the recent big competition emphasised every hard toned muscle.

It was just such a shame that he was gay.

Sensing his partner’s concentration wasn’t entirely on her waltz, Daniel suggested a drink. “Don’t know about you but I’m gasping for one,” he said as he led her to the bar in the corner of Fizz TV’s studio one. Lucy took a last look at Max’s elegantly shaped head as he was swirled around by Lola and then obediently followed her dance partner.

After their first round had been gulped down, Daniel excused himself and went to intercept Max, who had been released by Lola and was looking a lot happier for it.

As soon as he’d gone, Lucy called over the barman, asked for another drink and then nursed a cold lager shandy as she watched Daniel and Max while they talked. They made a striking pair. Both men were extremely tall and tanned and attractive. Her good friend and finalist from last year’s competition, the actress Julia Cooper, had been delighted when Lucy had told her who was to be her partner. She’d raved about Daniel but had confided that he was probably gay. Looking at the body language as the two men strolled towards her, Lucy had a feeling Daniel might have made a conquest.

“Lucy lovie, ready for another yet? No?” Daniel peered at Lucy’s glass with interest. When he’d ordered drinks before, she’d had wine. “You should’ve told me you preferred lager. How refreshing. Don’t mind if Max joins us, do you?”

Lucy shook her head and indicated the empty stools at the bar. Daniel took the one to her right and she sensed Max slide onto the one on her left. She sensed it because she was too mortified by her suddenly hot face to actually look.

Daniel cheerfully summoned the barman. “Another pint, Lucy?”

“N-no thanks.”

“Max, what would you like? Weak orange squash? Are you serious? Oh well barman, a G and T for me, with extra tonic and a pint of squash for my aquatic friend. Oh and nuts and crisps. I’m ravenous. Four packets of each, please.”

Daniel turned to Lucy. “Got to say it’s nice to see a girl enjoying a pint after a hard night’s work.” He was obviously amused.

Lucy knew she should have chosen something more sophisticated to drink but she’d been thirsty. Feeling foolish, she pushed her glass away.

“Great show tonight, wasn’t it Lucy? Shame Lester had to go out.” Daniel shovelled crisps into his mouth.

“Y-yes. He was a nice man.” Lester Harris, the well-known and eccentric sports commentator had been voted off that night.

Lucy eyed the crisps desperately. She was starving but found it impossible to eat in public.

“Lousy dancer though, despite all the work he put in.” Daniel turned and waved at someone on the other side of the bar. “Darlings, will have to love you and leave you for the moment. Just seen Kevin.”

At that, Daniel gathered up his glass and two packets of nuts and disappeared in the direction of the show’s harshest judge.

Lucy didn’t know where to look. She couldn’t look to her left as she hadn’t got her face under control yet. Instead she stared at the pile of crisps and nuts that Daniel had left. She felt her tummy give a furious growl. She inched her pint nearer and took a tiny sip. It was deliciously cool so she took another.

There was a very long and very awkward pause.

Somewhere to her left she heard Max clear his throat.

“Don’t drink much really,” he said. He had a nice voice, light with the slightest touch of the north.

There was another pause.

“What with all the training I usually do, it doesn’t fit in.”

Lucy willed herself to say something. Something witty. Something funny. Blimey, it shouldn’t be that hard, she was a writer after all.

“N-no, I’m sure it doesn’t.”

Was that it? Was that the best she could come up with? She dropped her head slightly and let her hair hide her face. Oh God, this was embarrassing. To have these strong feelings descend on you was so inconvenient. And then to have to face the subject of your crush in person was simply mortifying. Get a grip. He’s gay, she reminded herself, and he’s just trying to be friendly, so make an effort. She blew her fringe out of her eyes and twisted on the stool, tensing herself to finally meet his eyes. But she needn’t have worried as Max was staring into the distance, his drink untouched. Oh, but he was so beautiful she thought, a little incoherently. Given this rare opportunity to stare at close quarters, she gazed greedily. His thin face had a strong forehead and deeply set eyes. An aquiline nose swooped down to a firmly shaped mouth that had full, sensual looking lips. His hair was that lovely colour somewhere between blonde and brown and reminded her of the butterscotch Angel Delight she’d always had for childhood Sunday teas. It was cut savagely short in the way some gay men adopt and curled tightly against his head. Lucy felt her mouth drop open and hoped she wasn’t drooling.

Max must have felt her gaze upon him because he met her look and smiled.

Her heart gave a sudden and painful lurch. Now Lucy was certain she was drooling. She felt a wave of heat spread through her and basked in his gaze. He had grey eyes, she noticed. Slate grey. Cool and clear.

“Lovely,” she breathed.

“Sorry?”

Lucy shook her head. Had she really said that out loud? “The, erm, the show. It was l-lovely. The dresses and sequins and things.” Oh God, this was getting worse. At this rate she’d get the Nobel Prize – for inanity!

Max’s smile broadened into a grin and a deep groove appeared on his left cheek. It made the smile even more wonderful.

“Of course, you’re Who Dares Dances’ biggest fan, aren’t you?”

“I am?” To distract herself from his mesmerising smile Lucy took a long swallow of lager. “Wh-what makes you say that?”

“I saw you in an interview. Last year sometime. You said you were addicted to it.”

“Did I?” Lucy’s brow furrowed in an attempt to remember. Since ‘coming out’ as she privately termed it, she’d given so many interviews it was hard to recall exactly what she said in every one. “Oh! Y-you mean, Who Dares Dances Again,” she said, referring to the Who Dares Dances sister show. “I love that programme. Everything about Who Dares Dances is so minutely examined.” Lucy gave a nervous laugh. “That’s how I ended up here. Well, not here exactly,” she waved a clumsy arm in the direction of the studio bar, “in the competition, I mean.”

Max nodded and picked up his drink. “I remember you saying you’d like to be in it.”

“Famous last words!” Lucy relaxed infinitesimally; he was proving easy to talk to.

Max grinned and took a sip of orange squash. “You were promoting your latest book. The Black Lamp was it? My nephew loves your Davy Jones books, he’s got the whole set.”

“Thank you.” Of course, a man like Max would be close to his family. And, even in this day and age, it was still difficult for gay men to have children, so he must enjoy having nephews. Lucy beamed at him. “I’ll sign a few for him, if you like. I’ll dig out some DVDs as well, get them gift-wrapped as an early Christmas present.”

“Oh, that would make Will’s year, let alone his Christmas. Thank you.” Max rewarded Lucy with another entrancing smile.

She grinned back at him, happiness at being in his company – and lager on top of the wine - creating a deliciously fuzzy feeling.

It was still wonderful to hear of a child enjoying her books. Since the first in her series of adventure stories had hit the best seller list, they had rarely left it. The film adaptations meant she was comfortable enough to indulge in little fancies like Who Dares Dances. Nowadays life was good. She had fame, fortune and a nice house in the country. Her life lacked very little. Well, maybe a man. She looked at Max who was tearing open a packet of nuts with very white teeth. Not likely to find him here either. But he might be a friend and you could always do with friends. And it was one of her new resolutions that she would make new friends. She felt herself relax just a little more and took another drink.

“So, are you still Who Dares Dances ‘ biggest fan?” he asked. He nodded to the dance floor behind them, still thronged with party goers. “I thought you looked pretty good tonight, with Daniel.”

Lucy leaned perilously back on her bar stool. Two years of therapy and a stepped progress of mini challenges had resulted in the biggest challenge of them all – entering this part reality show, part fierce dance contest. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the kind expression in Max’s eyes but she wanted to talk, to share her triumph, to make up for all the years living so solitarily.

“I love to dance,” she began. “Always have, from ballet lessons at school to jiving around to the radio at home,” she giggled. “But for the last six years, in between writing my books, I’ve only danced in private. The only audience being Basil.” When Max looked puzzled, she added as explanation, “My cat.”

“Ah,” he said and settled back on his own chair, to listen, an intent look on his face.

“When Who Dares Dances started, a few years ago, I adored it from the word go.” Lucy smiled, getting into her stride, almost forgetting it was Max she was talking to. “I loved the camp glitz, the frothy neon dresses, the elegance and excitement. But I never dreamed I could ever be part of it.”

“Why?” Max frowned. He couldn’t think of a reason that this gorgeous creature wouldn’t be able to do anything she liked.

Lucy held up a finger to shush him. It wavered only slightly. “I’m just coming to that. The books got successful. I began to get invites to places.” Lucy bit her lip as she pictured her mantelpiece, awash with cards inviting her to parties, book awards, literary lunches. She gulped more lager. “I couldn’t go to any of them,” she said, mournfully, almost to herself. “Nobody knew, you see, nobody knows now, it’s a secret. Best selling writer Lucy Everett didn’t go out, didn’t leave the house. The only people who knew the truth were my father, my best-friend Julia and Whiz.”

Max raised his eye-brows. “Whiz?”

“My agent,” Lucy explained. “Whiz by name, Whiz by nature.” She hiccoughed a little and drained her glass. The barman, seeing it empty, swiftly replaced it with another pint.

“Erm, are you sure you want another drink, Lucy?” Max was disconcerted. He hardly knew the girl and she was getting very drunk. She was also telling him things she might regret sharing in the morning, when sober.

Lucy nodded. “I want to start living a little, Max. I haven’t done very much of that so far.”

“Well, okay but have something to eat as well.” He retrieved her forgotten packet of crisps, opened it for her and put it next to her glass. “Go on, eat. They might soak up a bit of lager. Look, let’s grab some of these little sausages too and these mince-pies.” Max slid a plate of forgotten bar snacks over to her. “It’s supposed to be the season of indulgence and I reckon, after all that dancing, you’ve earned it.”

Lucy made a face. “Very bossy.”

“That’s me.” He took a crisp himself, and was mollified to see her begin to nibble too. “Are you happy telling me all this, Lucy?”

She nodded vigorously. “I know I can trust you. Don’t know why, I just do.”

Max took another crisp and eyed Lucy thoughtfully. Whatever was nagging away at her was desperate to come out. “Okay, let’s hear the rest. And yes, you can trust me not to let it go any further. I’m all ears.”

“Lovely ears,” murmured Lucy and then shook her head. “Sorry. I meant you’re a good listener.”

Max grinned. “Come on then, I’ve only had half the story, I’ve a feeling there’s more.”

Lucy nodded and continued. “Once the film rights to the first Davy Jones adventure had been sold,” she explained, “Whiz was determined that I should change.” Lucy recalled her agent, in her no-nonsense, hectoring fashion, forcing Lucy to see the best psychotherapist in the country. As Whiz had said, money was no longer an issue. And what was the good of having money when you couldn’t use it?

“So I went to have therapy.”

“What was it? Agoraphobia?” Max asked.

“Amongst other things,” Lucy answered, with a tight smile. Then she lapsed into silence as she remembered.

Progress in her rehabilitation had been slow, painful and erratic. And then, on one glorious spring day, a breakthrough had been achieved. She managed to walk from her father’s Oxford home into the nearby park. Dr Frank Everett and Whiz had watched Lucy’s stumbling hunched progress, witnessing her tense face and rigid shoulders. She had reached the park, paused, then turned and given two wobbly but triumphant thumbs up.

“After time, I began to improve and now there’s no stopping me! Look at me, in Who Dares Dances.”

Since her recovery, Lucy had gone onto greater things and had even managed a number of public appearances. She coped best if Whiz was on hand to groom her and coach her on what to say to whom. With the publicity, sales of the books rocketed even further. Whiz was ecstatic and Lucy found she could easily afford the house that she had bought in the Oxfordshire countryside which she shared with Basil, a nosy tabby with a penchant for garlic.

“Whiz has been amazing. A wonderful help. A really great friend. But I wanted to see if I could stand on my own two feet, so to speak,” Lucy laughed. “I wanted to try something without Whiz or my father’s help. When the invitation came to do this, I jumped at the chance.”

It had actually been the third offer in as many years and Lucy, a great believer in the power of numbers, this time accepted.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” She smiled a little drunkenly, her eyes shining. “So I suppose, yes, you could say I’m the show’s biggest fan!” Lucy took another long drink. The unexpected talking had made her throat sore.

Max stared at her. He wanted to react. Wanted to tell her how amazing he thought she was. His innate shyness held him back. Besides, he had a feeling Lucy still hadn’t finished her confessional.

He was right. After ordering yet another pint of lager, Lucy continued to talk, this time almost to herself. It was as if she’d forgotten he was there. She told him about her lonely childhood in Oxford, how she had retreated from life once her mother had died, how devoted she was to her father. Throughout, his admiration for her grew.

Finally Lucy quietened. She slumped back on her stool, her chin sinking onto her chest in sudden exhaustion. The gruelling day of rehearsing, dancing and filming, and now this unburdening of her past had divested her of all energy. She felt emptied, purged but also strangely free. She turned to Max, grateful that he’d been her confessor.

Max gazed at her. Inside him something changed. Then his protective instinct took over. “Maybe it’s time we called it a night?” he suggested, gently.

Lucy nodded at him and managed a small smile.

“And I don’t know about you but I’ve got Lola rehearsing me at eight thirty sharp tomorrow morning. I need my beauty sleep. Come on,” he continued, as he manoeuvred her off the high bar stool. “Let’s get you a taxi and home to your hotel. Are you staying at the Artemida with the others?”

Again, all Lucy managed was a nod. In her head and heart though, the crush shifted and she knew she was in big trouble.

Step Two.

In her stuffy hotel room the next day, Lucy woke up with a raging hangover. She’d never developed a head for alcohol. As she lay there, willing the pain to subside and for her head to stop thudding, she thought back over the previous night. Once the first painful few words were over, Max had proved good company. He was shy, she’d heard he was, and self-contained, but he was good fun. He was an amazing listener and she’d found herself opening up to him in a way she hadn’t for years, certainly not to a man, certainly not in a public place. Perhaps it was true that every woman ought to have a gay best friend! Tentatively, she raised her head and tested whether she was able to sit up. Mmm, not too bad. She eased herself into a sitting position and gulped the tepid water from the glass on her bedside table. She was sure she’d made a new good friend, she just wished she hadn’t drunk so much.

She rested against the headboard and rubbed her temples, it always eased a headache. She really wasn’t very good with alcohol. She frowned and thought back, she hadn’t had that much surely? Only three pints; she wouldn’t have had two or four as she mistrusted even numbers and it had only been weak lager shandy after all. Oops! She’d had a glass of wine too. That was what had caused the damage, she decided, blearily. Four drinks. Four was never a good number. She’d heard hangovers got worse as you got older but she was only twenty-nine.

Lucy allowed herself a smile, who was she kidding? She was out of practice with more than the drinking side of being with people; she was woefully inadequate at talking to people. Her youth, the time when most people went clubbing, drinking, meeting others, had been spent in solitude, writing.

She’d produced five books in six years. It was only when she’d ‘come out’ that her existence had become interspersed with the odd book signing tour, interviews and, once the film rights had been sold and developed into a series of smash hit films, a few premieres. She’d been steered through the nightmare of publicity by her agent Whiz. As she’d explained to Max, Whiz lived up to her name and whirled round Lucy like a literary tornado organising her, batting away the unwanted, in whatever form it might take, and coaching her to say just the right thing at just the right time to just the right person. The result was that Lucy’s public persona was of a polished and professional person, beautifully dressed and smoothly coiffured. It couldn’t be further from the truth.

She groaned again and just about managed to ring room service. Once she’d drunk about a gallon of tea, she slid back under the covers to welcome oblivion.

Sometime later, her mobile trilled into action making Lucy wake with a start. Eyes half open, she located it vibrating under her pillow. How it had got there was lost in the fog of last night’s excess. She sat up cautiously. The tea and extra sleep seemed to have done the trick. The throbbing in her head had receded to a dull background ache. Pressing answer on her phone, she wondered if it was her new best friend, Max, ringing. She rather hoped it was.

“Hello Luce?”

Definitely not the slightly lazy voice, with its hint of a northern accent, from last night. This voice was throaty and female.

“Julia! Hello!” Lucy shook some sense into her head and settled back against the luxuriously padded headboard.

“Just thought I’d ring to say you were fab last night.”

“Oh thank you! I was so nervous though.”

“Well, it didn’t come across and you’ve got a real sweetie for a partner so don’t worry. Daniel Cunningham got me through last year’s competition. Couldn’t have done it without him. He’s a dream, isn’t he?”

“He lovely, so kind and encouraging. I love him already. Do you really think he’s gay?”

Julia laughed. “Oh Lucy, you’re not developing one of your famous crushes on him, are you? They’ll get you into trouble one of these days!”

“No! Just wondered, you know.”

Julia blew out a breath and Lucy could hear her thinking. “I never made up my mind about him. I never saw him with anyone, he never mentioned anyone. He just seems married to the dance world if you know what I mean. I don’t think it leaves him much time for anything else. He is lovely though.” She giggled suddenly. “And I tell you someone else who caught my eye: Max Parry! Where’s he been hiding all my life?”

This time it was Lucy’s turn to laugh. “In swimming pools as far as I can see. I think he’s part fish. He’s such a lovely man though. I’m definitely half in love with him.”

“Well, he’s definitely gay. I told you before, Joe, a friend of a friend of Harri’s went out with him.”

“It is a shame – for women, that is! It’s just what I was thinking. He was in the bar last night and we got chatting. He’s unbelievably easy to talk to. I found myself telling him all about the weird kid I was and how difficult it is for me to be with lots of people.”

“Did you come clean over the agoraphobia? You hardly tell anyone about that. Was that wise? He could run straight to the papers, Luce.”

“What, Max Parry? No, He’d never do anything like that, he’s simply too nice a man. Besides, he must have had his fair share of hassle with the press himself.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’d never seen anything about him before last night’s show.”

“Yes well, you’re well known for reading the sports pages, aren’t you?”

“I am now, Harri makes me.” Harri was Julia’s boyfriend. They’d met while competing in last year’s Who Dares Dances.

Lucy laughed again. “Ah! And how is the Welsh Stallion?”

“Oh,” said Julia lightly, “stallion like, you know.”

“You lucky cow!”

“I am, indeed, a very fortunate girl. He sends his love by the way.”

“Send back a big sloppy kiss please will you?”. Lucy clamped down on her envy. Julia and Harri were a perfect couple and she wanted just a little bit of that for herself.

“Shouldn’t be a problem. We’re coming to next Saturday’s show, did you know? Can you fix it for me to meet Mr Fish?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Lucy echoed. “Daniel and I are doing the samba so watch out!” She stifled her unease. It would be her second dance. Number two. With an effort, she tuned out of her obsession with numbers and back into the conversation. “We’re doing it to ‘Santa Baby’, you know, the old Eartha Kitt classic. I’m going to be done up as a Christmas tree, I think. Should be interesting,” she added, sarcastically.

Julia hooted. “You’ll be a picture! What will they think up next? Although, I have to claim a fondness for the Kylie version. Is Max doing one too?”

“Yup.”

“I can’t wait! Look, I must go, got that read through this afternoon.”

“Good luck with it.” Julia was just about to embark on filming the third Davy Jones adventure. It was how they’d met. “I hear the writer is rather good.”

“Oh God yes but they’re nothing but trouble, don’t want the writer around.” Julia teased her friend fondly. “But seriously, read throughs, they’re always traumatic. Best over and done with. Take care of those two gorgeous men then. See you!”

“Bye, Julia.”

Lucy clicked off her phone and tapped it thoughtfully against her lips. Had she really told Max all about her lonely childhood with her eccentric and elderly parents? Had she mentioned St Ursula’s, the Spartan girls’ school with its old-fashioned emphasis on Latin, Greek and etiquette and, luckily in the light of recent events, ballet? Had she told him about dropping out of Oxford, of being unable to cope with the impossible standards she set herself? Yes she had. Did she regret it, now she was sober? Not one bit, she realised, to her surprise and joy. She trusted Max. She may not know him well but she knew she trusted him completely. And if someone had asked her why, she simply wouldn’t be able to explain it.

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