‘Who?’ Zoe asked. ‘Go on.’
‘Boy George from Culture Club.’ Joanna blushed and looked down.
‘But he’s—’
‘Iknow!’
When Marcus came back in with his cigarettes, the two women were giggling together.
‘Was my sister telling you some hilarious titbit from my infancy?’
‘Why is it that men immediately presume we are talking about them?’ Zoe shot back.
‘Because they have an inflated sense of their own importance.’
‘Don’t they just?’
Both women rolled their eyes and laughed.
‘Could you both control yourselves enough to begin the starter?’ Marcus said sulkily as the waiter arrived at their table.
Two bottles of wine later, Marcus was feeling like the odd one out. Although it pleased him to see that Zoe and Joanna had hit it off, he felt like he was gate-crashing a girls’ night out as they shared stories from their teenage pasts that he really didn’t think were that funny. Besides, it wasn’t getting them anywhere in terms of what he needed to know. Zoe was in full flight about a prank at boarding school, involving a hated teacher and a Durex full of water.
‘Thanks, Marcus,’ Joanna said as he poured more wine into her glass.
‘That’s okay, ma’am. I aim to please,’ he muttered.
‘Marcus, stop sulking!’ Zoe tapped her nose as she leant across the table to Joanna. ‘A tip from one who knows: if his lips pucker and he goes slightly cross-eyed, it’s a sign he’s throwing a moody.’
Joanna winked. ‘Message received and understood.’
‘So, brother of mine, how’s the memorial fund going?’ Zoe asked him.
‘Oh, you know, plodding along. I’m arranging the launch in the foyer of the National Theatre in a couple of weeks’ time and getting an audition panel together at the moment. I thought it should consist of one head of a drama school, one director, one well-known actor and one actress. I was wondering if you wanted to be the actress, Zo, seeing as it’s Sir Jim’s fund.’
‘I’d definitely like that. Lots of gorgeous eighteen-year-old males who I’ll have to wine and dine to make sure they’re of the right calibre . . .’
‘Can I have the ones you don’t want?’
‘Joanna!’ cried Marcus.
‘A sort of alternative Miss World,’ added Zoe.
‘You should have them audition in their swimming trunks,’ Joanna hooted.
‘Whilst reciting a speech fromHenry V. . .’
Marcus shook his head in despair as the two women giggled hysterically.
‘Sorry, Marcus,’ Zoe said as she wiped her eyes on her napkin. ‘Seriously, I’d be honoured to be on the panel. Oh, talking of actors, I had a fascinating conversation with William Fielding, who’s playing my father inTess. Apparently he knew James way back when.’
‘Really?’ Marcus replied casually, his ears pricking up.
‘Yes.’ Zoe took a gulp of her wine. ‘He told me some outrageous yarn about James not being “James” at all when he first met him. Apparently he was Irish, from Cork, and called Michael . . . O’Connell, I think the surname was. He was doing some music-hall show at the Hackney Empire and suddenly disappeared out of the blue. Oh, and William also mentioned something about letters that were written, some kind of tryst James was having with a woman.’
Joanna listened in amazement. Here was absolute confirmation of her theory on the two men being one and the same. Excitement crackled up her spine.
‘How would he know about the letters?’ asked Marcus, as calmly as he could.
