Close Up and Personal (26 page)

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Again his eyes are on mine, searching. Damn my mother for bringing this up.

“You must ask her to show you,” insists my mother. “She really is incredible. I have never seen better. Not in Spain or anywhere. The way she dances brings tears to my eyes every time. You really would imagine her to be broken-hearted.”

I can see where this is going. In a moment she’ll be reeling off sad memories of my father’s death and how it scarred us both.

“Enough, Mami,” I interrupt quickly. “James doesn’t need to hear any more childhood memories.”

“As you wish,” says my mother, with a wink at James. He supresses a smile, and then reverts his features to an innocent blank as I catch his eye, glowering at him.

I have to admit that James is getting on with my mother better than I could have hoped. Not everyone responds well to her effusive Spanish warmth and larger than life personality. But they seem to be the best of friends already.

Chapter 22

My mother insists that James join us for lunch, and before I know, it we’re all packed into her favourite Spanish restaurant, hidden away down some steps, off Tottenham Court Road.

Inside
, the cavern walls are cosy, and decorated in the warm yellows and oranges of my mother’s native country. And with the English streets up above hidden from view, it’s easy to forget you’re not in Spain.

“Did you come here before?” my mother asks James, delighted to share her secret Spanish communities with an Englishman.

“I haven’t,” says James, taking in the colourful décor and Spanish staff appreciatively. “It is wonderful, Mrs Green.”

The complement
is enough to bring a Cheshire cat smile to my mother’s face.

“Please. Call me Maria,” she says, making a little playful strike of his arm. “We are practically family now,” she adds, with a teasing glance at me.

I signal her with my eyes.
Mami! Enough.

She understands the gesture and
opens her eyes wide in feigned innocence.

We sit
on little Andalucía-style wooden chairs, and the manager and waiting staff descend in force, chatting to Mami in Spanish and welcoming her back.

“The manager is an old friend,” she explains to James as the
staff depart to bring wine and appetisers. “Oh!” she stands suddenly and turns to see my Uncle Robin and Aunt Carol descending the steps into the warm cavern of the restaurant.

“Robin! Carol!”
my mother rushes towards them and embraces them warmly. I wait until they approach the table and then stand to hug them both, hard. I realise how long it’s been since I’ve seen them last, and I’ve missed them.

They look, as usual, like the perfect London media couple.

Robin wears his usual jeans, tongue-in-cheek arty T-shirt, and converse trainers. He used to have an unkempt mop of brown hair, but since a little bald spot appeared a year ago, he reluctantly cut it all off and now wears it short. Aunt Carol loves to tease that her Peter Pan husband has grown up into a media executive.

My aunt
has immaculate blonde-highlights in her shoulder-length hair. She is dressed in knee-high boots and tight dark-blue jeans with a seventies style blouse. They’re both in their forties, but look about ten years younger. Though I often think there is a touch of sadness about them from not having children of their own.

It’s wonderful to see them, though I
see them both do a double-take when they lay eyes on James.

At first I think this is because they haven’t seen me with a boyfriend since Jerome. Then I realise they both recognise him.

How could I forget? James is famous. Perhaps not to my mother – the creative hermit. But certainly to Robin and Carol, who are firmly in the media scene. My aunt and uncle both run successful media businesses in the city. He owns a design studio and she works in marketing. It goes without saying they know exactly who James Berkeley is.

I feel a wave of uncertainly. How do you introduce someone who is already known? I see Robin and Carol pause, doubtless thinking the same.

Luckily, James fields the introductions expertly, stepping in with a firm handshake and kissing Carol on both cheeks.

The appetisers arrive in
a whirl, and the table is suddenly festooned with green olives, fresh bread, and dark olive oil which my mother swears is the best in the world.

Soon
, we are all eating and enjoying ourselves, and I marvel at how James gets into the swing of things. You would imagine he’d known my relatives for years, rather than having just met them.

At one point, James asks my mother aside for a private conversation, and I wonder what on earth could be going on. But it gives my aunt and uncle a chance to nestle forward and quiz me.

“So, Issy,” says my uncle. “No boyfriends for years and then you find yourself a famous film director.”

I laugh, not knowing what to say.

“You look great together,” says Carol, nodding and smiling. “How did you meet?”

“At an audition,” I say, realising I’m not yet totally prepared to answer questions about James.

“Well, he obviously likes you,” says Robin. “I’ve never seen a man look so much in love.”

I flush with pleasure, but it is dawning on me that there are so many things I haven’t thought out. This has all happened so fast.

Can I really expect to have a relationship with James Berkeley?

Seeing my relatives
’ reactions has brought it home to me. He’s a famous man. I’m a normal girl. Could that ever work?

“Good for your acting career too,” adds Robin, ever career-oriented.

I begin shaking my head, but then James and my mother return. What could they have possibly been talking about? I search my mother’s face for clues, but she gives nothing away.

“Issy, I have to go,” says James, “I’m so sorry. I had work today which I rescheduled, but I can’t put it off any longer.”

I nod in understanding. I didn’t expect him to come meet my mother today, let alone stay for a long lunch. I check my watch. It’s already 3pm.

He makes his apologies to the rest of the table, shaking hands and kissing cheeks as he eases himself out of the tightly packed group.

“Come with me to the door,” he murmurs in my ear as he bends down to kiss me lightly on the mouth.

I put down my napkin and follow him
, a slightly questioning look on my face.

My mother gives me a knowing
glance which I ignore.

When we’re out of view of the table, just b
efore we reach the stairs, James beckons a waiter, and requests the cheque in perfect Spanish.

“You’re paying the bill?
” I ask. “My uncle will be offended.”

James waves away my concerns. “Your uncle will understand. It is my first meeting with your family. It is my pleasure to pay.”

I decide not to argue as he picks up the tab for the entire meal and leaves a generous tip. My mother will be even more delighted with him than she already is. I wonder if Carol and Robin will fill her in on his fame, and hope they don’t.

He takes my hand and guide
s me up the narrow staircase that leads from this underground slice of Spain to the English streets above.

“What were you and my mother talking about?” I ask,
now we’re comfortably out of earshot of the restaurant.

“Nothing you need to know about just yet,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. He’s obviously enjoying teasing me, so I decide not to give him the satisfaction of continuing to ask.

“Why did you want me to come with you to the door?” I ask.

“To say goodbye properly
, of course.” He smiles, sweeping me close against his body, and I breathe in the smell of him.

“I couldn’t kiss you as I wanted to in front of your relatives,” he adds. “It might give your aunt and uncle a heart
attack.”

“What about my mother,” I joke weakly as he tilts my chin up so I’m looking directly into his green eyes.

“Your mother is a woman of the world,” he says, and before I can answer, he catches me in a deep kiss.

I feel myself surrendering to
it, letting his mouth draw me into him.

“Issy,” he says, between
long kisses, “you have no idea how hard it is to leave you today. All I want to do is carry you to the nearest hotel and have my way with you.”

I smile through the kisses at his choice of phrase. Sometimes
, he really does sound like a knight of olde.

“But
that will come later,” he says, kissing me more firmly now, as though steeling himself to go.

“Ok,” I say as he pulls away. I feel the same way, I realise. I don’t want him to leave.

“You never answered my question,” he adds, looking intently at me for a moment.

“What question?” I’m looking at him in confusion.

“The most important question of all, of course,” he says with a slight smile. “Will you be my leading lady?”

For a moment
, I’m confused by the question, and then I realise he’s talking about the movie. I let out a breath.

“I…
I want to,” I stare up at him. It’s true. I want more than anything to work with him. To find out every little bit about him. And I loved what I read of the script.

“I’m scared I’ll let you down,” I admit.

His eyes widen.

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“I’ve never acted in a movie before,” I say. “I’ve never played a lead role before. How can you possibly have so much faith in me? What if I screw up? What if I’m terrible?”

To my amazement
, he throws back his head and lets out a deep laugh.

“Oh Isabella Green,” he says, “your humility is very becoming. But it is misplaced.”

He plants a kiss on my forehead.

“Who is the director here?
Me or you?”

“You,” I mutter, wondering where this conversation is going.

“And how many actresses who have stared in my movies have been slated for bad performances?”

I scowl at him, not liking to have answers drawn from me.

“None,” I admit.

“Don’t scowl,” he whispers, “it could become a disciplinary matter.”

His hand slides to my behind, and I swallow, letting the scowl drop from my features.

“I am the director and you are my actress,” he says. “My job is to guide you into your best performance. I wouldn’t have cast you if I didn’t know I couldn’t get something incredible out of you.”

He’s staring at me now, as though his words have a double meaning.

“Wha
t about your working style?” I press. “You said yourself you are difficult.”

“It is nothing you can’t handle, I promise you that
.” There is a glint in his eyes. “I will have my secretary send you all the movie terms and information this afternoon. You will find out more detail about your character, who you will be cast alongside, your working hours, where you will sleep. Everything.”

Where I’ll sleep? Was it my imagination or did I see something flash in his expression as he said that.

James pulls me close again, and this time his hand strays to my breast. I feel my body pushing forward, closer into him.

He kisses
me again, and this time he is rougher, more urgent. I know what he wants by the way his mouth moves on mine, and I can’t help but respond. A sudden lust for him arcs up in me like a storm.

His fingers close on my nipple
, tweaking it hard. I gasp, pushing deeper into the kiss.

I
feel his other hand slide down my body. His fingers pick up the hem of my dress, working underneath between my legs.

We’re standing in a narrow ha
llway near the entrance with no one to see or hear. But still my hand automatically grabs his wrist.

“Wait,” I whisper, my voice tight with lust, “not here.”

He kisses me deeply, and his hand continues to slide up under my dress, prying apart my legs. The feeling of his fingers as they glide over the skin between my upper thighs is almost too much to bear. I feel my grip on his wrist weaken. His hand is stronger, pushing further up.

“Wait,” I say again, but it comes out more feebly this time. The tips of his fingers gently stoke
further upwards. They slide up my inner thigh, and I feel my breath grow shorter and my body tighten as desire floods through me.

The fingers slide upwards, silky on my skin, questing towards where my w
armth is growing.

Then the very edges of his fingertips flick softly over where I am wet.
They move lightly, teasing me. I feel as if I’m going to explode.

T
he feeling of his touch is too much, too good, and I don’t want him to stop. I need more. This must be what addiction feels like. My body is begging for him.