Call Jackson
Call Evelyn
Call Astrid
Call Erika.
Between us, Jackson and I will have taken a few years off our manager’s life by the time this Burberry deal is signed.
I have no choice but to wake Jackson up. He answers on the third ring.
‘Babe? You okay? Wait a sec.’ There’s a shuffle and a muffled voice and a pause. God. He’s with her. He can lie there and spoon his mistress all he wants, and I’ve never even had a night with Noah. And now I have to lie to everyone because my relationship needs to stay in the shadows. It’s not fucking fair. My eyes sting with tears.
I brief Jackson quickly. ‘There’s a problem. ThePostgot a shot of Noah helping me down the steps of the hospice last night—it was raining and I was in heels—and they’ve made it look incriminating. It’s on their homepage and it’s being picked up everywhere. Mara’s going to crucify them, but I wanted to let you know.’
‘Jesus Christ. What a load of bollocks. Don’t they know or care that you were coming out of a fuckinghospice?’
Amusement and irritation flash briefly. It would genuinely never occur to Jackson that I may have strayed from him.
‘Believe me, they’re going to know by the time Mara’s finished with them. But I wanted you on the same page.’
‘What a bunch of dickheads. Why the fuck didn’t Mara stop it?’
‘She tried. She’s been up all night, but there was nothing she could offer them that was any sweeter than this story. They wouldn’t drop it. Don’t worry, it’s going to bite them in the arse.’
‘Will Noah be a problem, do you think, if the presssniffs around more generally? Do we need to get Alex to draw up an NDA for the hospice?’
‘Jackson!’
If my husband was here, I’d likely throw something at him. Something heavy. Jesus Christ. The guy has lived this toxic lifestyle for so long that he thinks bribing and threatening people is the normal way to go. As if Noah would ever betray me. As if I’d ever let Alex, Jackson’s odious little fixer, anywhere near him.
‘Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Just checking.’
‘They’re family friends. Elaine has been so hospitable to us all. Of course Noah would never betray our confidence. Besides, they’re all bound by patient confidentiality.’
‘I’m so sorry, babe. About all this.’ Jackson sighs. ‘D’you want me to come home early?’
‘No, don’t worry. Thanks though. I’ll be fine.’ It’s far easier having Jackson out of the way.
‘Well, we’ll do Fashion Week next week, all right? Lots of good photo opps there. And then we can get this Burberry thing closed once and for all and we’ll go celebrate. You and me.’
CHAPTER 29
Noah
Ibarely manage a couple of hours’ sleep on the emergency staff bed at Good Vibes, and the sleep I do get is restless. Troubled. I didn’t dare go home last night, and since Honor’s text first thing this morning to let me know the photos have hit the web and that she’s working on a retraction, the whole of Avondale Park has been crawling with press.
That flash of white light last night, intruding on a relaxed, private moment between Honor and me, was the truest form of violation I’ve ever experienced. I understand now what it’s like for her every day. I thought the scene at Heathrow was bad, but at least that was set up. Last night shook me to the core: this unacceptable idea that a private moment between two people can instantly become global news.
And the worst part was that I was powerless. I had to do what she said, had to let her walk out there alone in a blinding haze of flashes and shutter myself in the hospice like she asked. She knew best—and I’d do anything to diffuse the situation—but I felt fucking useless.
She messaged me last night to say she was dealing with the situation, but beyond that I had no colour. I was a cagedanimal, practically making tracks as I confined myself to pacing around the kitchen table so as not to wake the guests upstairs.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I can’t tell anyone, ask anyone for advice. There’s no one I can think of to call, except perhaps Mum, but I’m not sure what my official line should be. Presumably, Honor’s going to go for an outright denial that there’s anything personal going on between us. Until I have a chance to speak to her properly, I’m staying silent.
When I finally collapsed on the narrow bed upstairs, the smallest bud of a thought crept into my mind, tentative and fragile. What if this was the push we needed? Would Honor ever consider using this betrayal of her privacy as a signal to reevaluate what she wants from life? I’ve never asked her to, beyond my declaration of love the other day. Any move would have to come from her. I’d be asking her to give up too much.
My rational mind batted the tiny bloom of hope right back down. She couldn’t even tell me she loved me the other day. She told me she wasn’t in a position to make any commitment to me. This doesn’t change that. If anything, it’ll send her running for the hills.
