The Honey Trap. Mary Baker Jayne
they were finally satisfied she wasn’t a terrorist with a vendetta against the British film industry and let her through, she’d spent another fifteen minutes in a cloakroom queue so she could see her favourite jacket thrown into a pile with a raffle ticket pinned precariously to the collar. By the time she made it to the black gloss bar, trying to do a bit of subtle spying into the roped-off VIP area where she knew Seb and Carole would be seated on the way past, Leo was already there with a pint of something amber and a white wine served in a miniature milk bottle. Nice touch…
‘For the lady,’ he said, nodding towards the wine. ‘Probably a bit warm by now. I see you made the rookie mistake of bringing a coat.’
She threw herself on to a barstool. ‘Yeah, could’ve warned me, couldn’t you? Plus they insisted I had to be Sarah or the computer would apparently get very upset. Steve forgot to get the guest list updated.’ She looked at the pint in his hand, already half gone. ‘How’d you get through security so fast anyway?’
He shrugged. ‘They should know me by now; I’ve been to a few of these things. Just had to hand my camera in at the door until the end. They don’t like press photographers creeping about trying to catch out the celebrities. There’ll be an official Tigerblaze camera chimp somewhere around here.’
Angel sighed and took a long swallow of wine. ‘You know, I’d expected this thing to be all Ferrero Rocher pyramids and free booze, not just a glorified clubbing trip.’
She flung a worried look at the pint glass in Leo’s hand then yanked her gaze away, but he’d already caught her eye.
‘Just apple juice, Ginge. Still on the wagon, eighteen months and counting.’
‘Em said you’d stopped going to meetings…’
He knitted his eyebrows and angled his face away from her, staring down into his drink. ‘Will you girls ever stop worrying about me?’ he said, swirling the liquid around the sides of his glass. ‘I’m fine, honestly. I’ve just been busy with work stuff. Look, I’ll go back just as soon as I’m on top of things again, promise.’
She put a hand on his wrist and twisted her face around to his to look into those dark brown eyes, always so mournful even when they crinkled with laughter.
‘There’s no cure, Leo,’ she said, her voice soothing and gentle. ‘Only control. Remember what you had to go through, how hard it was in those early days of cold turkey? You couldn’t have done it without the meetings to support you. I think after everything we went through together trying to get you off the stuff, you can trust me on that one.’
Leo jerked his hand away and stood up, his eyes flashing with resentment. ‘Yes, and you’re always ready to remind me, aren’t you? Still trying to ‘fix’ me. Well you’re not my girlfriend any more, Angel. Is it really too much to be allowed to forget and move on?’ Grabbing his drink, he stormed off into the crowd.
Great. Angel Blackthorne, man poison. First Seb, now her ex the recovering alcoholic, who she’d managed to take on an emotional rollercoaster from hysterical laughter to growling rage in the space of just under two hours. You’re on fire tonight, girl…
Man poison of sorts anyway, she thought, clocking the pinstriped specimen eyeing her with interest from across the bar. Picking up guys in bars was clearly something for which she had an innate talent. If only she’d realised earlier in life, while she was still choosing her future career. She could have earned a small fortune in folded fivers as a pole dancer by now.
Angel finally pinned down the nagging sensation that the man ogling her was someone she’d seen before. Of course. It was Seb and Carole’s PR guy, the one who’d waited for them on the red carpet and guided them into the cinema.
PR Guy edged smoothly over to where she was sat. ‘Top up?’ he asked, gesturing to the barman. She could see him skimming her body with approval. The silver taffeta had made its first conquest.
‘No thanks, but there is something else you can do for me.’ She forced her voice into a seductive purr, and the PR man’s self-assured smile told her he had every expectation he was about to get lucky.
‘And what’s that?’
She dropped the simpering smile and pulled her press pass out of her bag. ‘You can get me an interview with your boss.’
The man’s face hardened as he took the photocard from her. ‘Serves me right for going slumming in the pleb section. You do know you’re supposed to wear this at all times?’
‘What, and ruin my pretty dress?’
‘Sorry, darling, but you’re wasting your time. Wilchester never gives interviews after premieres.’ He cast a cursory eye over her pass and his lip curled into a sneer. ‘Particularly not with the hacks at this rag, I rather think, don’t you?’
‘Oh, he’ll see me,’ she heard herself say with a calm confidence quite unlike her normal voice. ‘Just show him that, will you? I’ll be waiting here for his answer.’
PR Guy gave a loud scoff. ‘I told you, you’re wasting your time. But if you must insist…’
‘I must.’
She watched him square his shoulders and march back to the VIP area. I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Angel Blackthorne. I just bloody well hope you do.
Okay, top marks for speed, Angel thought as she felt someone slip onto the stool next to her a few minutes later. But when she swung round she found it was only Leo, looking sheepish.
She should have known his temper by now. A quick flare-up, a five-minute sulk and then he’d be back to his usual self, all schoolboy charm and wearing his best hangdog expression.
‘I’m a twat,’ he said by way of an apology.
She glared at him. He’d get no disagreement from her, not unless he could do better than that.
‘I spose I should realise by now you’re only looking out for me.’ He scuffed his foot against the polished-steel crossrail of the barstool. ‘But it just makes it so difficult when I know you and Em are constantly fidgeting about, watching and fretting like – well, like you’re my mums or something.’
He raised his eyes to hers and searched them keenly. ‘Look, Angel, I know when we were together I let you down time and again, and put you through hell besides. I know it was me and only me who ruined whatever chance we had to make it work as a couple. It means a lot that you forgave me. I can be a moody sod, but I want you to know I won’t throw away what we have now. You’re my best friend and this time I promise I will fight to keep you.’
Angel blinked, touched and surprised by the rare display of affection. ‘Soppy git,’ she said. He wrinkled his nose as she ruffled the rough fuzz of black hair. ‘I thought you’d have realised it by now. You don’t get rid of me that easily.’
He looked down at his feet, suddenly bashful. ‘Alright, Ginge. You don’t have to show me up in front of all the top totty in this place. I’m losing vital macho points here.’
‘It is about time we both got back on that particular horse,’ she said, smiling. ‘The dating one, I mean. Not any other horse you might have in mind. Not that I really want to know, but how long has it been for you anyway?’
‘Oh, nine months or so, give or take a few millennia. But who’s counting, really? I’ve decided to become a tantric hippy sex celibate, actually, like Sting or one of those guys. I could live to be a hundred and thirty-five.’
‘It’ll certainly feel like that long anyway,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Come on, mate, spill. You know all about my disaster of a love life, just like every other reader of the bloody Investigator.