Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

If you are in love with your chap, tell him. There isn’t a Good Man in the world who doesn’t like to hear that he is adored by a Good Woman.

Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955

I literally can’t speak. My heart is thudding so hard, it must be making my boobs jiggle with the force of it. What the hell is Summer doing here? What’s she going to say? My mouth loses all moisture in an instant. My tongue won’t work. I stare at her, open-mouthed. Leo gives me a puzzled look.

‘Lucille? Are you OK?’

‘Hi, Leo.’ Summer leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek like they’re the bestest of friends. She looks amazing in a long, red clingy dress, her dark hair piled stylishly on top of her head.

‘Hi?’ Leo says, unsure.

‘Sooo lovely to see you again. We met in Brooklyn last year?’ Summer reminds him. ‘I was with Anderson?’

‘Oh.’ He nods with recognition. ‘Anderson, right. Yes. Good to see you. What brings you here?’

‘I’m with Anderson again actually!’ She points over to the back of the room, where I spot Anderson Warner wearing an electric-blue tuxedo. He’s grown a huge beard and is chatting to a couple of corporate-looking types.

‘He’s here with the guys from Saatchi & Saatchi,’ Summer explains. ‘They’ve just signed him to be the face of the new L’Oréal beard conditioner range in the UK. Massive beards are so in right now.’

I swallow. ‘Are you two . . .’

‘Maybe, yeah. He’s been in London doing promo and, well − ’ she flicks her hair back, even though it’s all pinned up. It makes her look like she’s got a tic − ‘we just couldn’t stay away from each other. We’ve always had this amazing magnetism.’

I suspect it was more a case of her stalking him, sending him nude selfies until he relented. I wonder how Holden took it. Probably crying into his lumberjack shirt, listening to She & Him on repeat. Poor sod.

‘You look lovely,’ Leo says politely. He seems to sense that I’m uncomfortable and gently winds his arm round my back.

‘Thanks,’ Summer says, turning around slightly so we can get a good look at her almost award-winning bum.

‘You look lovely too, Lucille,’ she enthuses.’ Soooo super different. It’s an amazing transformation.’

Huh. She just called me Lucille? What’s she playing at? What does she know?

Shit. If Leo wasn’t here I’d just tell her to fuck off. But I need to remain demure while telepathically telling her to fuck off. I try to do it with my eyes. She just smirks in response.

‘Yeah,’ she goes on. ‘I saw you guys in the Telegraph last week, in that piece about the Van Gogh acquisition. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you together. Leo Frost with the latest in a long line of romances, Lucille Darling.’ She does actual air quotes. Was she always this much of a twat? ‘I was totes shocked. You should have told me you were dating, Lucille.’

Fuck. I didn’t know that article was out, that there was a picture of me in the newspaper. Dammit. She clearly knows I’m pretending to be someone else. Is this why she’s here? To spill? To get me back for nicking Mr Belding?

‘How do you two know each other?’ Leo asks as the band segues into a smooth-as-silk version of ‘Fly Me to the Moon’.

‘Oh, we’re old friends,’ Summer laughs in a hollow way, and then lowers her voice. ‘I know all her secrets!’

SHIT.

Leo nudges me, gives me a naughty grin ‘Lucille’s secrets? Well, now I’m very intrigued . . .’

Summer rubs her hands together. ‘Oh, I know them all. For example, Leo, did you know that . . .’

I completely freeze, every muscle in my body locking. It’s all going to come crashing down. Everything. Right here, right now.

I don’t know what I’m more worried about, the fact that the project will be ruined after all this effort, or the fact that Leo will no longer be able to look at me like he’s looking at me right now – like I’m the coolest, most interesting woman in the world.

Just as Summer is about to reveal some horrible truth about who I really am, the band stops playing and a voice booms out over the speakers, cutting Summer off.

‘Ladies and gentleman, please take your seats. The London Advertising Association Awards are about to be announced.’

Leo grabs my hand. ‘Looks like it’s time. Good to see you again, Summer.’

Summer’s confident smile drops slightly. ‘Yes, definitely. I’ll come find you guys later.’

Not if I have anything to do with it.

With a last stony glance at Summer, I follow Leo to where we hurriedly take our seats as an air of excited anticipation settles over the room. There are two empty spaces at our table. Peach and Gavin’s spaces. I squint, scanning the rapidly emptying dance floor for them. Where the hell have they gone?

‘Wow, I’m actually a little nervous,’ Leo laughs, squeezing my hand under the table.

‘You’ll be great,’ I say in the soothing voice. ‘Good luck.’

‘Luck has nothing to do with these things!’ Rufus Frost sniggers from the other side of the table, signalling over to one of the stewards for more champagne. I throw Rufus my most subtle withering glance. Leo kisses me on the neck. I lean into him and rest my head against his shoulder.

Summer, about four tables away, stares at me as I do this, one eyebrow raised. I lift my head back up instantly. Shit. She’s totally gunning for me. As soon as the awards are announced, I’m going to have to come up with some way to get Leo out of here, and fast. I can’t risk Summer talking to him again. Or Peach. Or Gavin, for that matter, wherever they may be. This is Def-Con 5 and I have to rescue our mission.

We sit through thirty minutes of really boring awards for things such as Best Use of Typography and Best Utilities Branding. The lights are dimmed, so no one notices as I drift off a little.

‘And now we come to the award for Print Campaign of the Year . . .’ the host booms into the mic. I feel Leo sit up a little straighter beside me and that pulls me out of my daze. I wipe away the little bit of drool that has puddled at the corner of my mouth.

‘This is it!’ Leo whispers.

The host opens up a folded red card, and reads the result.

‘And the winner of LAAA’s Print Campaign of the Year goes to . . .’

Leo squeezes my hand even tighter.

‘Leo Frost at Woolf Frost for Drive Alive!’

How? How?

Despite my befuddlement that anyone could think that that advert is anything other than ridiculous, I cheer and clap along with the rest of the room.

Leo pulls me up from my chair and bends me over his arm for an extravagant Hollywood Kiss that leaves me breathless, before jogging to the stage area to collect his award.

‘Wow,’ he laughs into the microphone, examining the silver trophy. In his hand. ‘Not in a million years did I think I’d be winning this. Especially not when I’m up against such incredibly talented competition. Thank you so much to the incredible team at Woolf Frost for your hard, smart work and huge thanks to the LAAA judges for voting for me.’

We all clap.

Leo takes a deep breath.

‘I’ve actually had quite a journey these past few weeks. Some revelations about my work and, well, about the direction of my life, I suppose. Some of you, well, most of you, will know me as something of an eternal bachelor.’

There’s a polite laugh from the audience and a shout out from the back by someone who says, ‘That’s putting it bloody lightly!’, which gets an even bigger laugh.

‘All right, all right!’ Leo holds up his hands, grinning, his eyes searching me out.

‘Three weeks ago, at a client funfair, Lucille Darling jumped into my dodgem car, and, at the risk of sounding cheesy, into my heart.’

The audience go aaaah. I turn a bit red and take a sip of my drink.

‘Not many people can stand up to my father,’ Leo continues, getting another laugh from the audience. ‘But Lucille is one of them. She’s also unusual and creative, a passionate philanthropist who’s not afraid to be herself, to be different from the crowd. It’s a complete bonus that she’s also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. What I suppose I’m saying is that . . . Lucille, you’ve changed me. You’ve lit me up. And in front of the press, in front of my peers, in the interests of being as bold and as honest as you . . . I want to tell you . . .’

What . . . What does he want to tell me?

‘That I . . . I think you’re kinda terrific.’

I throw my head back and laugh out loud. ‘I think you’re kinda terrific’ is a line from Grease 2.

As the audience burst into applause, Leo hurries down off the stage, races over to me, swoops me out of his chair, up into his arms, and spins me round with glee. I laugh into his neck, and as he puts me back down, he leans in close and whispers into my ear.

‘I love you, Luce.’

I stop mid-chuckle.

What?

He loves me?

Is this a joke?

I peer up at him. He’s staring tenderly down at me, and not at all in a jokey way.

God. I can’t believe it.

Matilda Beam’s tips worked, and Leo . . . loves me?

Does this mean that we did it? That the experiment has succeeded?

Wow. Wow.

I expect to feel a surge of relief. Finally, I can go back to Grandma and Valentina and tell them that, yes, How to Catch a Man Like It’s 1955 has worked. I don’t have to see Leo again, I don’t have to risk any more of these dangerous feelings.

But I don’t feel relief. I feel happy and fizzy and guilty. Really fucking guilty. And a bit sad, like I’ve lost something, which is stupid, because you can’t lose something that is based on a lie.

Leo loves me.

And . . . I think, shit, I think I might love him. Fucking hell. I don’t know what to do. I can’t love Leo Frost. Surely it’s impossible after only three weeks. Not to mention the fact that he thinks I’m someone completely different. And the fact that I don’t fall in love.

Is this how love feels? Like the most amazing, inconvenient fucking nightmare?

At my hesitation, Leo searches my face, his expression melting from one of joy into one of nervousness.

I open my mouth to respond. I think I’m about to tell him that I love him too when, suddenly, Postman Gavin appears in front of me, a concerned look on his boyish features.

‘Peach is really drunk and I’m worried. She needs you. She’s in the cloakroom.’

Oh no.

‘Take me to her,’ I say immediately.

As Leo blinks in confusion, I throw him an apologetic shrug before dashing off with Gavin to find my friend.

Gavin hurriedly leads me to the small church cloakroom. He waits outside while I go in to where Peach, massive ballgown pooled in the space around her, is sprawled on the floor under a rail of coats, head leaning dozily against the wall.

‘Peach, are you all right?’ I squat down to her level.

‘I don’t feel too good,’ she groans, mascara smudges smeared on her cheeks. ‘Am really drunk. Think it was the tequila.’

Damn right it was the tequila. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have told her to have a shot. I knew how nervous she was tonight. I should have kept a better eye on her. How could I not have predicted this?

‘Everything is spinny, so spinny.’ Her eyes close slightly. She’s absolutely fucked. Shit. Is this the state I used to get myself into?

‘We need to get you back home,’ I say, helping her to her feet.

‘Bed.’

‘Yup. That.’

Outside, Gavin is waiting on a bench in the church foyer. He looks worried, and decidedly more sober than he did earlier. ‘Are you all right?’ He hurries over to us, taking Peach by the arm. She leans against him, swaying from side to side.

‘Just a bit too much to drink. She’s all right,’ I reassure him. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go back in to get my handbag.’ I cast my thumb in the direction of the Nave. ‘You guys sit down there − ’ I point to the bench − ‘and I’ll be back in a sec.’

Gavin nods, rubbing Peach’s back as he helps her over to the bench.

Right. OK. Bag. I dash back into the ballroom. I move quickly through the bustle and towards our table, when I spot Leo sitting there deep in conversation with Summer. She’s showing him something on her mobile phone. His cheeks are red, his handsome face is stony.

Oh my God.

He knows.

He knows.

I halt right in front of the table, my hands starting to tremble.

The pair of them look up at my arrival. Summer gives me an innocent smile. Leo looks at me in astonishment, blinking furiously, his eyes watering.

‘Leo, I can explain—’ I start, but before I can even finish my sentence, he’s shot up, his chair toppling over on the floor behind him.

‘I don’t want to know,’ he says in a strangled voice, darting right past me, his head down to the floor.

I turn back to Summer, my whole chest thudding hard.

‘What did you say to him?’ I hiss.

Summer shrugs delicately and picks up her champagne flute. ‘The guy just publicly told everyone he’s infatuated with you. He deserves to know the truth. That you’re the woman in the onesie who humiliated him at The Beekeeper launch. That – for whatever bizarre reason – you’re lying to him and pretending to be someone else. That you’re not exactly the demure woman you’re painting yourself to be.’ She chuckles to herself. ‘Though maybe I shouldn’t have shown him the picture of you mooning someone on that night out in Leeds last year. He seemed pretty shocked about that one . . . hashtag awkward.’

‘You’re a fucking nasty piece of work,’ I spit, grabbing my bag from under my chair and racing after Leo.

‘You cause destruction wherever you go, Jess!’ She calls out after me. ‘You really need to sort yourself out!’

I flip her the bird and dash back out into the lobby, where Peach is dozing on Gavin’s shoulder. I spot Leo slamming out of the front doors of the building.

‘Hold on right there,’ I shout over to a puzzled-looking Gavin, as if he’s a dog and I’m telling him to stay. ‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a second.’

* * *

When I get outside I can’t see Leo, but I do spot three town cars from the company he hires lined up on the road. He must be in one of them. He’s got to be.

I open the first car door.

‘Leo?’ I pop my head in. The car’s empty apart from a sleeping driver, who jumps up in shock as I bellow right inside his earhole.

‘Sorry!’

I race to the second car.

‘Leo?’ I call again. But this car’s just got Benedict Cumberbatch inside, tapping something out on his phone. He looks furious at my interruption. ‘Excuse me, this is a private vehicle,’ he says imperiously.

‘Oh, bloody fuck off, Benedict,’ I grump, throwing him my mightiest withering glance.

He stutters furiously and I slam the door on him.

I go to car three.

Leo has to be here.

I yank open the door. There’s no driver, but there Leo’s in the back seat, staring forlornly at his trophy. He looks up at me, his eyes steely. I slide into the car and close the door behind me.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I choke out. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

He looks absolutely gutted. I’ve made such a huge mistake. As soon as I found out about his past, as soon as I realized that he wasn’t all bad, as soon as I thought we might be developing real feelings for each other, I should have put a stop to the whole project. I should have come up with another way to get the money for Grandma. I’m such an idiot.

‘Why?’ he asks me, his lovely moss-green eyes now distressed and desperate. ‘Why would you not tell me that we’d met before? That your name is − is Jess? I don’t understand. Was I really so rude to you that night at the book launch that you felt like you had to pretend to be someone else.’

Fuck. All he knows is that I’m not who I say I am. I have to come clean.

‘It was for a book,’ I say quietly, embarrassed.

His eyes widen in horror. ‘What?’

‘We wanted to write a book about how my Grandma’s 1950s romance tips would work in the modern day. And . . . we chose to try them out on you.’

‘Who’s we?’ he asks in dismay.

‘Um, me, my Grandma and . . . Valentina Smith.

He blinks. ‘Your Grandma? And Valentina? My ex. She put you up to this? Fucking hell, what is this?’ He puts both hands to his head.

‘I didn’t think that you’d fall for me. Or, well, for Lucille. Valentina told us you were a sleazy eternal bachelor!’

Leo shakes his head. ‘What the fuck? This is sick. I told you I regretted the way I treated my exes. I apologized to Valentina so many times. I told her when we first hooked up that I wasn’t looking for anything serious, that I was seeing other people. But she still got angry when I didn’t want to commit. I felt shitty for hurting her, I said sorry a million times, but she didn’t want to know, told me that I was evil. I’m not evil. I don’t deserve this!’

‘I didn’t know you’d apologized,’ I protest. Valentina left that bit out. I reach out to touch him, but he shoos me away as if I’m a fly.

‘I can’t believe you would take part in her getting some sort of fucking revenge on me.’

‘It wasn’t revenge,’ I urge desperately. ‘I didn’t think you’d actually like me . . .’

His voice breaks. ‘Well, I did.’

‘God, I like you too,’ I plead. ‘More than like, Leo, but it’s complicated. I’ve never—’

‘Get out,’ Leo interrupts, his face stony, his usually amused eyes flat and hard.

‘Just let me explain, Leo,’ I try. ‘I think I might be falling in lo—’

‘GET OUT!’ He dives across me and throws open the car door. ‘Please, Luce . . . Fuck, I mean whatever your name is.’

I nod slowly, gathering my bag from where it’s laid on the car seat beside me. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper, climbing out of the car. I turn back to say something else, anything else, that might make this better, but Leo’s already slammed the door closed. He’s gone.

I stumble, dazed, back into the Christ Church lobby. It feels like I’m walking through water.

‘Are you all right?’ Gavin says when he sees me. ‘You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’

His voice sounds echoey and far away

‘I’m fine,’ I swallow, pulling out my phone to call a cab. ‘I just want to go home.’

* * *

Peach dozes the whole way back. Gavin, now fully sober, is back to his awkward, shy self, though he does keep checking to see Peach is all right.

After dropping Gavin off at his flat, we drive back to Bonham Square. I can’t get Leo out of my head. The expression on his face in the car. Betrayal. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that.

Back home, Grandma is tucked up in bed. I know Peach would be distraught if Grandma saw her in this state, so I help her up the stairs as quietly as I can and into my room. I make her down a pint of water, help her to get changed into a nightie and tuck her into my bed, turning her over onto her side.

I get in beside her. She murmurs something that sounds like ‘sorry’.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll be OK,’ I whisper, stroking her hair away from her face.

But I’m lying. Because the truth is, I don’t think any of this will ever be OK.