Chapter Twenty-Three

The days slip by faster and faster now as Theo and I settle into a nice companionable routine. I sit and type at my laptop – not quite acknowledging that I'm working on a book, but not exactly denying it either – and he sits on the sofa and writes. Sometimes he doesn't have his guitar, just the notepad and a pencil. Other times he plays quietly, hums something. It's all still fragments. Bits of something. But I can tell it's going to be good. You don't have to know anything about music to know Theo Eliott has it.

These moments feel special. Both of us creating, making something – not together but in the same space. When we pause for breaks, chat over a drink about how our work is going, it feels like I'm taking myself seriously, throwing myself into it. Just like Theo said.

About a week after I start writing, Theo sits at the kitchen counter reading The Canterbury Tales while I cook dinner. Spread on the surface beside Theo are the shells and bits of sea glass we just picked up on our walk. Later I'll add them to the jar on my bedside table which is already half full – each shell a reminder of the time we've spent together.

‘Hey, Clemmie.' Theo lifts his head from the book. ‘What does "queynte" mean?' He chokes on a laugh. ‘Wait, never mind, now I say it aloud I think I've got it.'

‘How are you and Chaucer getting on these days?' I ask, grating some cheese into a dish. Theo leans over and pinches some between his fingers, stuffs it in his mouth. I notice he's not so bothered about the piles of raw vegetables I've already chopped.

‘I love it,' Theo grins. ‘I wish they told us when we were kids how filthy it is, then I'd have paid attention much sooner.'

‘Philistine.' I shake my head.

We're interrupted by Theo's phone ringing and when he pulls it out of his pocket I see the name of the caller flash up on the screen: Cynthie.

‘Sorry,' Theo says. ‘I need to take this.'

I try not to react as Theo picks up the call but makes no move to leave the room. Cynthie. My casual internet search of Theo had been more than enough to fill me in on his on-again-off-again relationship with Oscar nominee Cynthie Taylor, an actress with the delicate features, luminous porcelain skin and waif-like figure of an elf-princess (in fact, she's played two). I know Theo and Cynthie were together for years – and there are plenty of fans who still love the idea of them as a couple.

‘All right, trouble?' Theo smiles as he speaks into the phone. ‘I thought you were living it up in the South of France.'

Whatever Cynthie says has him guffawing. ‘Sure, I believe you.' His eyes flicker over to me and I busy myself with measuring out the flour for the bechamel. It's none of my business. None. Of. My. Business.

Should I leave the room? But I'm the one cooking. Why doesn't he leave the room? Why am I listening to him having a conversation with his ex-girlfriend? Not that he can't have a conversation with her, or whoever he likes. God, why am I spiralling about this?

‘Not much, just reading Chaucer while a beautiful woman cooks me some carbohydrates. Living the dream,' Theo says, pinching some more cheese. He pauses as she says something. ‘Yeah, of course Clemmie. She's right here.'

My hand freezes. Did it just sound like Theo had told Cynthie Taylor about me, like she asked about me by name? That's when it hits me that she was the one he'd been complaining to on that phone call weeks ago – I knew I recognized that voice.

Theo pulls the phone away from his ear. ‘My friend, Cyn, says hi.'

‘Say hi back,' I reply mechanically.

He does and I seem to be the only one finding this whole thing surreal. ‘Anyway, how's filming going?' Theo asks.

The two of them chat for a bit and I manage to largely tune out, focussing very hard on putting the lasagne together.

‘Wait, what do you mean they called you?' The hardness in Theo's tone has me looking up. His gaze meets mine, and I see annoyance flicker in his eyes as he listens to what Cyn is telling him.

He huffs out a long breath. ‘What a load of bullshit. They must be desperate. Well, thanks for the heads up. I guess David will pass it on to the label and they can handle it from there.'

I stir the sauce.

‘No, we don't need security, Cyn. No one knows where I am. It's quiet here. No one recognizes me. I like it.'

My heart squeezes at the way he says the words. A minute later he puts the phone down. I stay where I am at the hob and the silence stretches between us.

I feel him come and stand behind me. After a moment, he puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘Aren't you going to ask me what that was about?'

‘I don't want you to think I was listening in on your phone call,' I say primly.

He laughs. ‘If I was worried about that I wouldn't have had the conversation in the room with you, would I?'

He tugs gently at my shoulders, pulling me around to face him.

‘Okay,' I roll my eyes. ‘What were you and two-time Golden-Globe-winner Cynthie Taylor talking about, Theo?'

‘Put that together, did you, Poirot?' Theo cocks an eyebrow.

‘Let's just say it wasn't one of the world's great mysteries. And I prefer Miss Marple.'

‘So you maybe know that Cyn and I were a couple once upon a time?'

‘That's none of my business.'

‘God, you're stubborn.' Theo's hand runs down my arm from my shoulder. He closes his fingers around mine and takes the spoon from my hand, gently bumping me aside so that he can stir the sauce himself. ‘How about we just say that friends know things about each other? And we're friends, aren't we?'

I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. ‘Of course we're friends.'

‘Right,' Theo nods. ‘So Cyn and I, we dated for about five years. It was a long time ago now. We're still good friends. Just friends. I think the two of you would get on really well.'

‘That's nice,' I say, trying not to be thrown by this bizarre image. ‘I'm not sure I've ever managed to stay friends with an ex.'

‘I'm guessing you've been going out with the wrong kind of men.'

‘Not sure there's a right kind at this point,' I grumble.

Theo treats me to a simmering look.

‘Focus on the food, please,' I say. I don't think he can go too wrong with stirring, but with Theo you never know what culinary disaster will occur next.

‘Anyway,' Theo says, ‘Cynthie wanted to give us a heads up: she had a call from one of the tabloids, reaching out for comment on a story about me being in rehab.'

‘Rehab?' I feel my eyes widen in surprise.

‘Apparently the fact I've been totally off the grid for four weeks has people speculating. They don't know where I am so they've decided I've been shipped off for treatment somewhere. Probably got a "source" claiming to be a close friend to say how sad it all is.'

‘That's outrageous!' I exclaim. ‘They can't just print whatever they want…' I trail off, and my stomach lurches because I know first-hand that they absolutely can. They can and do print lies about people all the time. They did it to me.

‘It's not a big deal,' Theo shrugs. ‘If they want to write that, it's fine with me – let them think I'm in rehab if it means they leave me alone, but the problem is that the paparazzi have got a little mystery on their hands and I'm worried they're going to put some effort into solving it.'

‘You're worried they'll find you here?'

He stops stirring. ‘Let's just say, I'd rather they didn't.'

‘Yeah, me too.' I shiver.

‘So we'll just be a little more careful, right?' Theo says, and I hear the edge of anxiety in his voice.

‘No leaving the house without your false moustache,' I say weakly.

I'm glad when he smiles. ‘And my rubber nose.'

‘Okay,' I agree. ‘Now move out the way because somehow you actually are managing to burn the sauce.'

With that we go back to our evening. Although we don't talk about the paparazzi again, the conversation about them lingers like a bitter taste on my tongue. The thought of them intruding here, into this place, this magic slice of time Theo and I have somehow carved out together – it stings.

We have less than two weeks left here now, and I don't like how sad that thought makes me. I don't like how much, if I'm really honest with myself, I'd like to stay here, in this bubble, for a long, long time. I don't like how much of that is about being with Theo. So I push those feelings firmly aside and do what I do best: pretend nothing is wrong.