“Four hours.” The interview couldn’t have gone better. She had enough material for a biography. She’d text Gigi that they should run the interview as a Sunday feature, both print and online, the monthKing Stephen Iopened in the States. “I can’t thank you enough, Clive. You are quite an amazing man.”
“What do you think they’re singing?” he said. “The bells?”
She peered into his deep brown eyes. “I’m not sure, but in my head I hear, ‘Glory to God in the highest. Peace on earth, goodwill to men.’ ”
Clive inclined his ear. Was there a soft mist in his eyes? “ ‘Glory to God . . . peace on earth . . . goodwill to men.’ ”
“Such a beautiful, powerful sound.” One that reminded her she had a secret.
“I know it’s late, love. As I said, I’ve thisthingtonight, Children’s Literacy Foundation Art Auction at Royal Galaxy Hall. Would you care to go? You do owe me a dinner.” Clive splashed Corina with his smarmy Hollywood smile.
“I don’t know.” She patted her messenger bag. “I should get these notes organized.” Besides, Stephen would be there. According to theLibP.
“Pffftt.” He waved her off. “Let them simmer. I find things are more clear when I leave them be.” He stood, reaching for her arm. “Come, I need a date tonight or I’ll be mobbed. A beautiful lass is the best deterrent. Besides, you can dispel the rumors. Tomorrow the headlines will be ‘Is She the Prince’s Girl or Clive Boston’s?’ ”
“Very droll, but I’m not interested in any more headlines.”
“Do you protest because your prince is the foundation’s patron?” Clive folded his arms and leaned against the ornate iron pole holding up the awning.
“Clive,” Corina said with a punctuated sigh, “I think you have a thing for the prince yourself.”
His hearty laugh garnered the attention of those around them. The whispers started.Clive Boston.“It’s just I know what I see.” He tapped the corner of his eye. “I see love.”
“You see nothing,” Corina said, standing, slipping her iPad into the messenger bag.
“There are none so blind as those who will not see.”
“Whatever, Clive.” Blind or not, he’d managed to circle the conversation back around to the beginning. Speculation about Stephen. The truth? She wanted to see him. Save for the annulment papers, last night’s hasty good-bye in the amber lights of the Manor might have been their last.
“Come, I’ll drive you home.” Clive roped his arm around her, steering her away from the café toward a private car park. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
“In the car or at the auction?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Then you’ll go?” He clapped his hand over his heart. “Be still. I may never recover.”
“As a friend.”I am a married woman.
“But of course.”
Clive drove a Lamborghini, which had more horsepower than the Cathedral City streets could contain. Corina gripped the door handle as the actor gunned the gas, then eased off, then gunned it again to the rhythm of a blaring Steven Tyler song.
“Which hotel, love?” he said. “The Wellington or Royal Astor?”
“Neither. I’m at this quaint inn called the Manor between Gliden and Martings.”
“The Manor? Why aren’t you at The Wellington? Or the Astor?”
“The Wellington was booked. I never made it to the Astor.”
His expression said he didn’t believe her, but he zipped on through traffic, jerking the wheel of the Lamborghini as he changed lanes, belting out “Walk This Way” an octave higher than Steven Tyler.
When he turned down Market Avenue, he cut across two lanes to a flurry of car and lorry horns, careened around the corner to Crescent, and crashed-stopped on the curb by Gliden. He leaned to see out her window. “Where did you say you were staying?”
“There.” She rapped her window, pointing out the small, thick-beam structure. “The Manor.”
Clive turned down the music, squinting. “Corina, sweetheart, I see nothing between Gliden and Martings but a narrow, old alley.”
“Where are you looking? It’s right there.” She powered down her window and pointed. “It’s small but you can’t miss it. See the light in the window?”
