‘She hasn’t taken her eyes off you for a single minute,’ I whisper. And as though to demonstrate, Birdie screws her eyes at me before fluttering her lashes at Matteo from across the table.
‘This reminds me of the last time we ate food like this,’ she says and continues the rest of the story in French. It’s very reminiscent of when he and David Guetta were catching up on that multimillion-dollar superyacht we very nearly burned down.
Matteo’s ear for languages is highly impressive but his cheeks flame as everyone around the table fails to follow.
‘Remember?’ says Birdie with a laugh, taking a huge slug of champagne. ‘Oh God, where were we again? Some hotel in Paris, I think. It’s such a funny story…’
‘Seriously?’ he says through clenched teeth. This is the third ‘funny story’ about Matteo that she has told in the last hour. Each time she is making sure we all know that they have enjoyed an intimate relationship. And each time Matteo has pretended not to hear because he has been gazing adoringly into my post-coital eyes while absent-mindedly kissing the back of my hand and stroking the base of my spine.
Matteo raises his eyebrows at me. I can see he has had enough of her.
‘Sorry,’ says Birdie, chuckling to herself. ‘Old habits and all that.’ She twists round to Hank sitting next to her and lays her hand possessively on his arm. ‘I’m always overthinking things. When a Frenchwoman gives her heart, she gives it so very completely.’ She flutters her lashes at him before checking that Matteo is watching. ‘Isn’t that right?’
‘Well, pet,’ says Tash, sounding annoyed. ‘You really need to find yourself someone else to give that shrivelled-up heart to because that one’s clearly taken.’ She points a chopstick at Matteo.
Birdie feigns an innocent expression.
‘And so is that one,’ Big Sue joins in, pointing a chopstick at Hank.
I feel helpless as Matteo visibly swallows, clearly uncomfortable. Birdie is really laying it on thick. Fortunately, Liberty is on to her. She puts a hand on Hank’s chin and rotates him to face her. She stares at him until he breaks into a wide smile.
‘You sure are pretty, aintcha?’ he murmurs.
Liberty, cool as anything, blinks slowly at him. She has made her point. Hank Junior doesn’t take his eyes off her again.
This causes Birdie to talk about work. ‘I’ve worked with all the biggest names in pop. They say I am a creative genius. They always ask me how I do it. But only Matteo knows my secrets, don’t you?’
‘And how do you do it?’ asks Ged politely. Bless him. He has tried all sorts to stop Birdie and her ridiculous quest to make Matteo jealous by flirting with Hank Junior. It has been hard work.
‘I never question the process. I collaborate with only the best,’ she says, boring holes into Matteo. ‘And when I commit, I demand the same commitment, don’t I?’
I let out a silent groan. This is torture. ‘It sounds to me as though you are overly clingy and controlling. The exact opposite of a creative genius. Don’t you find that method stifling?’
Birdie’s eyes flash at me. ‘Why don’t you ask the millions of fans who buy my records?’
Ah. Tit for tat. My speciality.
‘I think the actual artists would say that those records belong to them. After all, they are the ones doing the singing.’
There follows a few moments of verbal ping-pong that descend very quickly into childish bickering, ending in Birdie screeching that she has known Matteo a lot longer than me.
‘Who are you anyway? Some cheap karaoke singer he picked up in Benidorm? You are out of your depth, little girl,’ she says, flinging down her napkin and getting to her feet. ‘Matteo, I will see you tomorrow. We have much work to finish for our client. That is… if you still want to commit?’
With a hard edge in his voice, Matteo tries to placate her. ‘Birdie, I think you’re taking this a little too far.’
A little?
‘It’s a simple choice. Make the right one,’ she says in a threatening tone before marching away, leaving us all gobsmacked.
10
The next morning, I am woken by a tap on the door. Throwing on a hotel bathrobe, I drag myself over to open it. Cherry is standing outside, holding a massive bouquet of flowers. ‘These got delivered to my room by mistake. The hotel has you down as sharing with Liberty,’ Cherry says, stomping past me into the room.
‘Are you sure they’re for me?’ I say, sounding disappointed as I take the bouquet from her.
‘I’ll give you a hand arranging them.’
‘You could always take them back to your room?’
