Lucy Gordon - Plain Jane in the Spotlight

Returning a few minutes later, she could see that Joe was on the phone and was about to retreat when she heard him say, ‘Look, Travis, why don’t you just marry the girl? All right, all right, no need to blast my ear off-yes, I know but-Travis, will you listen to me? Charlene’s good for you. I can see how well you get on and she’ll keep you safe-there’s no need to say that-I didn’t mean to offend you. We’ll say no more.’

Now she backed away hastily. She desperately needed to be alone to come to terms with the devastating conversation.

She hadn’t heard Travis’s end, but she didn’t need to. At the thought of marrying her he’d exploded. The mere idea of it offended him. Joe had spoken of safety and ‘getting on well’. He was promoting a convenient marriage, and clearly Travis wanted none of it.

How ridiculous her dreams appeared now! All the signs had been there when they’d swapped jokes about their unromantic friendship.

‘You’re safe with me,’ she’d said. ‘You’re not my type.’

He’d pretended to be insulted, but actually he was relieved.

Marry her? How he must be laughing at the thought!

When she was finally calm enough to return, she found the call finished and Joe cheerful.

‘Travis called to say work’s finished and we need to get over there fast. He’s all ready to go and the photographers are in place.’

‘Oh…yes,’ she said uneasily.

‘What’s the matter? Why do you suddenly look like that? Not getting cold feet, are you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Too late for that. Travis needs you.’

‘I’m ready,’ she said at once.

She couldn’t back out now without explaining why, and there was no way she could reveal what she’d just learned.

So she became an actress again, smiling for the camera, smiling for Travis, embracing him, letting him usher her into the car, waving to the little crowd that had gathered.

‘I really need this!’ he exclaimed, squeezing her hand. ‘Time off in Paris, and you all to myself.’

‘You’re always with me,’ she said lightly. ‘You need to be with your family while you have the chance.’

‘The family, yes.’ His sudden beaming look touched her heart. ‘As many of them as we can get together. Maybe all of them, I don’t know-’

She gave a theatrically blissful sigh. ‘Oh, I’m looking forward to this trip. I’ve always wanted to see Paris. And look, I can go exploring on my own if you want to spend time with your brothers with no womenfolk around.’

He eyed her ironically. ‘Nice try, but I’m keeping my eye on you at all times.’

Charlene shook her head. ‘That’s one thing you don’t need to do and you know it. Now, wave at the crowd. They’re calling to you.’

As always, he did as required, performing perfectly, while wondering exactly what she’d meant by ‘and you know it’.

THE flight from Los Angeles to Paris was thirteen hours. Charlene dozed as much as she could manage, sometimes awakening to find him holding her hand. After many hours had passed they found themselves over the Atlantic.

‘Is anything more boring than flying?’ she murmured.

‘Not much,’ he agreed. ‘You just end up staring at clouds that go on endlessly.’

‘At least we’ve got this to read,’ she said, taking out the brochure of La Couronne, the magnificent hotel that was the heart of Marcel Falcon’s empire, which was where they were to stay for the next few days. The gloriously coloured pictures showed a building that was several hundred years old, originally built as a palace, home of the nobility, whose portraits were also included.

‘They were executed in the Revolution,’ Travis said. ‘The house changed hands a few times until Marcel bought it and turned it into a hotel. Last year he bought up a London hotel with the idea of duplicating La Couronne as The Crown. That’s how he met Mrs Henshaw, who turned out to be Cassie, a girl he’d been in love with eight years ago.’

‘Eight years,’ she marvelled. ‘And they found each other again after so long?’

‘It’s incredible, isn’t it? But I guess if love is real it can overcome time.’

‘That’s not all it had to overcome,’ she reminded him. ‘His clumsy proposal-without asking her first.’

Travis grinned. ‘That’ll teach him not to take any notice of me.’

‘Anyway, they got it right in the end.’

‘So much so that Marcel has created a wedding chapel in the hotel, something he always refused to do before.’

‘What about your father? Will he be there?’

‘It isn’t settled. He’s not pleased about this wedding either. He wants one of us to marry Freya, his stepdaughter, but she actually helped Cassie raise the money to buy into the business.’

‘I thought you said she raised it modelling.’

‘Some of it, yes. But Freya topped it up with a loan of money that Amos had given her to provide a dowry. He hoped she’d use it to entice Marcel. Instead, she used it to see him married to someone else. According to Marcel, Amos is still seething.’

‘Did you never talk to him again after he called from the airport?’

‘No. I might as well not exist as far as he’s concerned. The last time I saw him was almost a year ago, in Monte Carlo, where he lives for tax reasons. He had a heart attack and we all went there to be with him, in case it was the last time.’

‘But he recovered, and you had the chance to talk to him.’

‘Yes,’ Travis said wryly. ‘The chief thing I remember is him grunting, “Don’t give up. You can still do better.”’

‘I suppose that’s a kind of encouragement.’

‘He didn’t want to encourage me. Quite the reverse. He wanted me to get a “serious job”. He’s not going to change now. I just hope he’s there and we can meet cordially.’

They started the descent. She looked down with fascination as Paris came into view below them. Whatever else happened, there were things about this trip that she was going to enjoy.

When they had reclaimed their bags Travis looked around. Suddenly his face lit up.

‘Marcel!’

There at the barrier a tall man in his thirties was waving eagerly. Beside him was a truly beautiful young woman, whom Charlene recognised as the glamour model in the magazine.

Their meeting was joyful. Marcel thumped his brother’s shoulders and was thumped in return before everyone calmed down for the introductions.

Charlene never forgot her first sight of Paris. It was a glorious day, with the city showing at its glamorous best as they made their way to La Couronne. From the outside, the hotel still looked like a palace. Inside, it presented a traditional appearance, but beneath the surface was every modern convenience.

A man with a faint resemblance to Marcel was waiting on the huge stone stairway that led up to the hotel entrance. This must be Darius, Charlene thought, watching him greet Travis.

‘Let’s leave the three of them to talk,’ Cassie said. ‘I’ll show you to your suite.’

Of course they had put them together, Charlene realised. To have asked for separate rooms when they were known to be living together would have invited suspicion.

‘You’re all on the same floor,’ Cassie explained. ‘Darius and Harriet have rooms just along the corridor, Jackson’s around the corner, then Leonid, and over here is for Amos and his wife, and Freya.’

‘If they come,’ Charlene said wryly.

‘I’m crossing my fingers. It will make Marcel very sad if Amos snubs him.’

They were accommodated in a grandiose suite, dominated by a double bed so huge that the occupants could hardly be described as sleeping together. Cassie showed her out onto the balcony, from where they could see a cab drawing up to the entrance and a young woman descend.

‘That’s Freya,’ Cassie said. ‘And she’s alone. Freya! Up here!’

But no Amos, Charlene thought with sinking heart. She knew a spurt of anger at the thought of Travis’s disappointment.

I’m being absurd, she reproved herself. It’s Marcel who’s being rejected, not Travis.

But she knew that he would feel it the most.

Freya and Cassie greeted each other as old friends, reminding Charlene that Freya had helped raise the money for the hotel investment. She was a brisk, efficient young woman, attractive without being glamorous. She and Charlene took to each other at once.

‘Why are you here alone?’ Cassie asked. ‘Aren’t Amos and your mother coming?’

‘I hope so. I left them arguing about it. Amos is still displeased with me for helping Marcel to marry you, but he doesn’t rule my life, and so I told him.’

‘Good for you,’ Cassie said at once, adding wickedly to Charlene, ‘You want to watch out. He’ll be trying to marry Freya to Travis next.’

Freya winked. ‘Don’t worry. Travis doesn’t interest me.’

‘It wouldn’t bother me if he did,’ Charlene said, laughing. ‘Be my guest. He’s all yours.’

‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from the door. ‘Did I hear that right?’

Travis was standing there, clearly enjoying the joke. Freya threw herself into his arms with a delighted cry.

‘Trust you to come in at the wrong moment,’ Cassie observed.

He gave a melodramatic sigh. ‘Don’t worry, I’m used to rejection. Freya, it’s lovely to see you.’

There came a noise from the corridor outside. Cassie and Freya dashed out, crying, ‘Leonid, Jackson!’ followed by Travis.

Charlene followed more slowly and received a surprise at the sight of the two men. One she recognised as Jackson Falcon, whom she’d often seen on television, fronting nature programmes. The other man bore such a strong resemblance to Travis that it was startling. He had the same lean features, generous mouth and dark eyes. The difference lay in the atmosphere that clung to him. Travis’s air was light-hearted and charming. Leonid Falcon carried a brooding melancholy that seemed to come from a darker world.

He greeted everyone with quiet courtesy, speaking in a heavily accented voice, but then seemed to stand back, watching with cautious eyes.

Now Marcel and Darius were there, revving up spirits for the evening ahead.

‘We’re going to have a great party,’ Marcel announced. ‘It’s too long since we all saw each other, and we’re going to make the most of it.’

A cheer went up. The fun had started.

The family dined together. Charlene got on especially well with Harriet, Darius’s bride from the island of Herringdean.

‘Everyone wants to meet you,’ she said, plumping down beside her and offering a glass of wine. ‘The girl who’s won Travis’s heart.’

Charlene made a laughing reply, but the words, If only, flitted through her brain.

‘You know, of course, how Marcel nearly ruined his own chances when Darius and I got married,’ Harriet added.

‘By taking my cue from my daft brother,’ Marcel put in, joining them.

‘Don’t blame me,’ Travis protested, appearing behind him. ‘It was the character, a virtuous, magical being, not me. Some people can’t tell the difference.’

‘Nonsense. I could tell the difference between you and a virtuous being without any trouble,’ Marcel declared, and a cheer went up from the others.

This was what Travis had secretly yearned for all his life, Charlene thought; the support and cheerful companionship of people who were linked to him by unbreakable ties. She felt a glow of pleasure in the happiness he must be feeling.

La Couronne prided itself on being international. English and American newspapers were on sale, and the guests could receive television channels in several languages. So it wasn’t a surprise when a pile of papers on a low table turned out to contain a showbiz publication, sporting the headline Who Will Be The Man From Heaven?

‘Why, that’s my brother, of course,’ Darius declared with mock indignation. ‘Nobody else need apply.’

Amid laughter, he read out a highly coloured piece about the rivalry between Travis Falcon and Alaric Lanley, phrased to make it sound as though the two were at each other’s throats.

‘“Both great stars,”’ Darius read, ‘“both poised to seize the next huge chance and brook no opposition, both ready to explode in the firmament. The entertainment world watches breathless as these two giants fight it out.”’

Cheers, laughter. Then sudden silence. Everyone looked up to see a man and woman standing in the doorway.

The man was in his seventies, tall, white-haired, with features that were stern and uncompromising. He stood looking around at the gathering, as though their silence was a tribute that he accepted as natural.

Amos Falcon.

‘Good evening,’ he said.

Charlene had seen his picture in newspapers, but in the flesh he was different, more vibrant, more-she fought for the words-more menacing.