Love won’t get the better of me again.
CHAPTER ONE
FIVE MONTHS LATER
“You didn’t hear this from me.”
I jump at the sound of a whispery voice over my shoulder and spin round to see a young woman in her late twenties dressed in a figure-hugging black dress and towering heels, holding a half-empty champagne flute loosely in her hand.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Are you talking to me?”
She nods, glancing up and down the pavement to check that we’re alone while the noise of the party rages from the building a few yards behind her. It hadn’t been easy to retrieve my jacket from the cloakroom attendant, who was irritated that his celeb-spotting was being interrupted. More than a few A-listers are here to mark the release of a highly anticipated album from Mercury Prize–winning band Dark Lights.
I scrutinize the woman’s face—hazel eyes framed with heavy black-kohl eyeliner, perfectly arched full eyebrows, flawless skin, delicate features, and a sharp jaw—attempting to work out which genre of celebrity she belongs to. She’s gorgeous, tall and willowy, so she could easily be a model or actor, but she is so stylish and well turned out that she could also be in fashion, makeup, or hair.
I suppose there’s a chance she could be a journalist, like me—although judging by her outfit she probably works for one of thehigh-end glossies with access to the fashion closet, as opposed to the weekend magazine supplement of a national newspaper.
“Like I said, you didn’t hear this from me,” she repeats in a low voice, “but Audrey Abbot has accepted the lead role in a new play. Rehearsals are about to start.”
“What?”
“It will be directed by Gabrielle Reed,” the woman continues.
“The one who directedA Streetcar Named Desireat The Old Vic last year?”
“That’s her. She wanted Audrey to take the role from the moment she read the play. It will be Audrey’s first acting role in—”
“Sixteen years.” I look at her suspiciously. “Who are you? How do you know this?”
She smiles at me guiltily. “I’m Gabrielle Reed’s PA. Nicole. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I say. “But I need to tell you that I’m a journalist. So, if you want to take any of this back, we can pretend this never happened. I don’t want you getting in trouble.”
“I know who you are, Harper Jenkins,” she says, raising her eyebrows in amusement. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone all night.”
I blink at her. “I… sorry, I’m a bit confused. I’m obviously grateful that you’ve approached me—”
“Audrey Abbot is a good person,” Nicole says firmly. “She didn’t deserve how the press portrayed her after…The Incident.”
“I’m sure she didn’t.” I think back to the whirlwind that surrounded Audrey in 2007.
“She deserves to have her story told by the right person.”
I smile at her. “I’m flattered. But Audrey Abbot notoriously hates journalists. She hasn’t spoken to one, not even to give a quote, since ‘The Incident,’ as you put it. If what you’re saying is true and she has agreed to take a role, I doubt she’ll be doing any press.”
Nicole nods. “But that won’t stop everything from being dragged up again, and she won’t have her side of the story told.” Her jaw clenches. “It’s not fair.”
I jump at a horn beeping behind me and realize that my Uber has arrived. I offer the driver what I hope to be a winning smile and hold up a finger to signal that I’ll be just a minute, before turning back to Nicole.
“I think you should be the one to do the profile on her comeback,” Nicole says hurriedly. “Not the guy atExpression.”
“Jonathan Cliff?” I wrinkle my nose. “Does he know about this?”
“Not yet… this is a very well-kept secret. But I heard one of the producers saying that he’d be worth considering.”
“Terrible idea. He wrote a snarky piece about Audrey at the time.”
“I know. Why would they even think about asking someone like that?”
