Her instinct was to wait. This moment was almost forty years overdue, and now that she’d finally plucked up the courage to come here, she wasn’t sure she could leave without an answer. Besides, if she returned tomorrow, she’d have to find some cash for a taxi.
But then… She spotted the Neighbourhood Watch plaque on the wall next to the window and had a realisation. Security. What if Nancy’s lights were on an automatic timer to make it appear that someone was home, but she was currently lying on a sunlounger on a fortnight’s holiday in Benidorm? Okay, maybe not a sunlounger at this time of night, or in February, but she could certainly be sipping sangria on a hotel terrace somewhere.
‘Odette, come on, darling, let’s go. If Harry puts his foot down, we’ll still get there before they cancel our table. I hadto practically offer my body to get that reservation and I’m not giving it up.’
Odette reluctantly – oh so very reluctantly – conceded the argument. She would come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And keep coming until she found Nancy. After all, she had plenty of time on her hands.
‘Odette! Dear God, you’re swaying all over the place there. That’s the plonk from the reception earlier. Champagne, my arse. That was fizzy wine, straight from a screw-top bottle. Here, grab on to my arm and let’s get you back in the car.’
Odette allowed herself to be guided back down the path, and the relief of getting back into the warm comfort of the limo was so overwhelming that tears pricked the back of her eyes.
‘Okay there, Odette?’ Harry asked, and she met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘Where to now?’
Odette really, really wanted to say home. Her head was still pounding so hard, she felt dizzy and every fibre of her being wanted to be in bed, with a cup of tea, and some true crime show about solving a murder in twelve hours on the telly. But she also recognised how much effort Calvin had gone into planning this dinner – mostly because he kept reminding her – and she didn’t want to disappoint him, especially since he was one of the very few people in her life who still gave a toss about her.
‘The Oyster Lounge, please, Harry.’
Next to her, Calvin muttered, ‘Blessed be the fish,’ visibly relieved that they were finally on their way.
Now that the rush-hour traffic had dissipated, the journey back into the city centre was much quicker than the gridlock of earlier. Calvin finally relaxed, after calling the restaurant and letting them know they were on the way. Odette took two paracetamols, then closed her eyes and let her head rest. She must have nodded off, because the next thing she knew, Calvin was gently nudging her awake.
‘Okay, my darling, let’s go.’
Odette’s first reaction was to snap at him that she wanted to sleep longer. Her second reaction was to say that she really didn’t want to do this, and tell him she was cancelling. Her third was resignation that she just had to suck it up and get on with it, and ignore the fact that she felt awful, she was exhausted, and she was still in the same outfit she’d had on all day. Oh, the shame of it. Hopefully, she could sneak in, sneak out, with as few people as possible seeing her.
‘Odette! This way!’ The flash of a paparazzo on the way into the restaurant squashed that hope.
Bugger. She should have known they’d be here on a Friday night. This was the hottest restaurant in town at the moment.
Putting her head down so they couldn’t get a shot, grateful that Calvin had his arm around her and was ushering her into the grand entrance, she tried to blink away the pain behind her eyes and gave herself an internal pep talk.Come on, Odette. You’re a bloody actress. Just a couple more hours of pretending you want to be here. That’s all. Easy. You’ve got this.
Inside the foyer, a maître d’ held his arms out in greeting. ‘Miss Devine, it’s our pleasure.’
Somehow she managed to muster a smile. Curtain up, performance under way.
‘If you’d just like to come this way,’ he offered, with a theatrical flourish of the hands.
Calvin slipped behind her, as Odette followed the maître d’s direction. Hopefully, they’d be sat at a corner table, far from prying eyes, then she could get this over with.
Passing the main glass doors into the restaurant, he steered them to another door a little further on, to what Odette assumed must be one of their famed private dining rooms. Relief. And gratitude. Calvin had really pulled out the stops for her tonight. She flushed with shame that she’d been trying to get out of this,after he’d gone to so much trouble to give her this wonderful end to her career. Even if she still wanted to go home and put her nightdress and slippers on.
The maître d’ swept the door open, then stood to the side. Odette lifted her head, resolved to make an effort to get through this. It was just a dinner. Just a quiet, intimate, private meal that…
She stepped forward, and right at that second, the whole room exploded in a cheer of ‘Surprise!’
Odette lurched to the side, and only Calvin’s quick reflexes caught her. In the name of all that was holy, what the hell was going on?
Three things happened in a split second. First, she scanned the room and saw that it was full of people who mattered. Or at least, used to matter to her. The head of the studio, all the producers, Carl, the director, and three or four of the other stars of the show, including that twit, Rex. Calvin’s partner in the management agency. A couple of the ladies fromThe Clydesidecanteen that she had known for ever. Tress, the set designer that she’d grown fond of.
The second thing was that she spotted the documentary crew in the corner, taking in her reaction for posterity.
And the third thing was that, from somewhere inside her, Odette Devine, superstar, icon, actress, found the strength to snap into character, slap on the widest grin, clutch her heart and act grateful and humble as she chirped, ‘Oh my goodness, what a shock. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you all so much for this.’ She turned around, threw her arms around Calvin and gave him the most vociferous hug, her gleaming smile still on her face as she whispered, ‘I’m going to bloody kill you.’
‘Yes, well do it tomorrow, darling, because tonight, I wasn’t going to let this pass without real champagne, wonderful food and the kind of send-off that Odette Devine deserves.’
As he said that, a chill ran from the top of Odette’s aching head, all the way down to her palpitating heart.
The truth was that Odette Devine might deserve all the acclaim, the cameras, the champagne, the applause.
