The Waltz. Georgia Hill
on hand to groom her and coach her on what to say to whom. With the publicity, sales of the books rocketed even further. Whiz was ecstatic and Lucy found she could easily afford the house that she had bought in the Oxfordshire countryside which she shared with Basil, a nosy tabby with a penchant for garlic.
“Whiz has been amazing. A wonderful help. A really great friend. But I wanted to see if I could stand on my own two feet, so to speak,” Lucy laughed. “I wanted to try something without Whiz or my father’s help. When the invitation came to do this, I jumped at the chance.”
It had actually been the third offer in as many years and Lucy, a great believer in the power of numbers, this time accepted.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” She smiled a little drunkenly, her eyes shining. “So I suppose, yes, you could say I’m the show’s biggest fan!” Lucy took another long drink. The unexpected talking had made her throat sore.
Max stared at her. He wanted to react. Wanted to tell her how amazing he thought she was. His innate shyness held him back. Besides, he had a feeling Lucy still hadn’t finished her confessional.
He was right. After ordering yet another pint of lager, Lucy continued to talk, this time almost to herself. It was as if she’d forgotten he was there. She told him about her lonely childhood in Oxford, how she had retreated from life once her mother had died, how devoted she was to her father. Throughout, his admiration for her grew.
Finally Lucy quietened. She slumped back on her stool, her chin sinking onto her chest in sudden exhaustion. The gruelling day of rehearsing, dancing and filming, and now this unburdening of her past had divested her of all energy. She felt emptied, purged but also strangely free. She turned to Max, grateful that he’d been her confessor.
Max gazed at her. Inside him something changed. Then his protective instinct took over. “Maybe it’s time we called it a night?” he suggested, gently.
Lucy nodded at him and managed a small smile.
“And I don’t know about you but I’ve got Lola rehearsing me at eight thirty sharp tomorrow morning. I need my beauty sleep. Come on,” he continued, as he manoeuvred her off the high bar stool. “Let’s get you a taxi and home to your hotel. Are you staying at the Artemida with the others?”
Again, all Lucy managed was a nod. In her head and heart though, the crush shifted and she knew she was in big trouble.
Step Two.
In her stuffy hotel room the next day, Lucy woke up with a raging hangover. She’d never developed a head for alcohol. As she lay there, willing the pain to subside and for her head to stop thudding, she thought back over the previous night. Once the first painful few words were over, Max had proved good company. He was shy, she’d heard he was, and self-contained, but he was good fun. He was an amazing listener and she’d found herself opening up to him in a way she hadn’t for years, certainly not to a man, certainly not in a public place. Perhaps it was true that every woman ought to have a gay best friend! Tentatively, she raised her head and tested whether she was able to sit up. Mmm, not too bad. She eased herself into a sitting position and gulped the tepid water from the glass on her bedside table. She was sure she’d made a new good friend, she just wished she hadn’t drunk so much.
She rested against the headboard and rubbed her temples, it always eased a headache. She really wasn’t very good with alcohol. She frowned and thought back, she hadn’t had that much surely? Only three pints; she wouldn’t have had two or four as she mistrusted even numbers and it had only been weak lager shandy after all. Oops! She’d had a glass of wine too. That was what had caused the damage, she decided, blearily. Four drinks. Four was never a good number. She’d heard hangovers got worse as you got older but she was only twenty-nine.
Lucy allowed herself a smile, who was she kidding? She was out of practice with more than the drinking side of being with people; she was woefully inadequate at talking to people. Her youth, the time when most people went clubbing, drinking, meeting others, had been spent in solitude, writing.
She’d produced five books in six years. It was only when she’d ‘come out’ that her existence had become interspersed with the odd book signing tour, interviews and, once the film rights had been sold and developed into a series of smash hit films, a few premieres. She’d been steered through the nightmare of publicity by her agent Whiz. As she’d explained to Max, Whiz lived up to her name and whirled round Lucy like a literary tornado organising her, batting away the unwanted, in whatever form it might take, and coaching her to say just the right thing at just the right time to just the right person. The result was that Lucy’s public persona was of a polished and professional person, beautifully dressed and smoothly coiffured. It couldn’t be further from the truth.
She groaned again and just about managed to ring room service. Once she’d drunk about a gallon of tea, she slid back under the covers to welcome oblivion.
Sometime later, her mobile trilled into action making Lucy wake with a start. Eyes half open, she located it vibrating under her pillow. How it had got there was lost in the fog of last night’s excess. She sat up cautiously. The tea and extra sleep seemed to have done the trick. The throbbing in her head had receded to a dull background ache. Pressing answer on her phone, she wondered if it was her new best friend, Max, ringing. She rather hoped it was.
“Hello Luce?”
Definitely not the slightly lazy voice, with its hint of a northern accent, from last night. This voice was throaty and female.
“Julia! Hello!” Lucy shook some sense into her head and settled back against the luxuriously padded headboard.
“Just thought I’d ring to say you were fab last night.”
“Oh thank you! I was so nervous though.”
“Well, it didn’t come across and you’ve got a real sweetie for a partner so don’t worry. Daniel Cunningham got me through last year’s competition. Couldn’t have done it without him. He’s a dream, isn’t he?”
“He lovely, so kind and encouraging. I love him already. Do you really think he’s gay?”
Julia laughed. “Oh Lucy, you’re not developing one of your famous crushes on him, are you? They’ll get you into trouble one of these days!”
“No! Just wondered, you know.”
Julia blew out a breath and Lucy could hear her thinking. “I never made up my mind about him. I never saw him with anyone, he never mentioned anyone. He just seems married to the dance world if you know what I mean. I don’t think it leaves him much time for anything else. He is lovely though.” She giggled suddenly. “And I tell you someone else who caught my eye: Max Parry! Where’s he been hiding all my life?”
This time it was Lucy’s turn to laugh. “In swimming pools as far as I can see. I think he’s part fish. He’s such a lovely man though. I’m definitely half in love with him.”
“Well, he’s definitely gay. I told you before, Joe, a friend of a friend of Harri’s went out with him.”
“It is a shame – for women, that is! It’s just what I was thinking. He was in the bar last night and we got chatting. He’s unbelievably easy to talk to. I found myself telling him all about the weird kid I was and how difficult it is for me to be with lots of people.”
“Did you come clean over the agoraphobia? You hardly tell anyone about that. Was that wise? He could run straight to the papers, Luce.”
“What, Max Parry? No, He’d never do anything like that, he’s simply too nice a man. Besides, he must have had his fair share of hassle with the press himself.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I’d never seen anything about him before last night’s show.”
“Yes well, you’re well known for reading the sports pages, aren’t you?”
“I