Just Breathe (23 page)

A woman at the next canvas spun around. ‘Ethan, darling, how are you? It’s been ages.’ Too old by several decades to be a Roxburgh Girl, she air-kissed both of his cheeks.

‘Mrs Reynolds, could I get you to join the photo?’ the photographer asked.

Ethan stepped away from Dee, turning a shoulder to her while pulling Mrs Reynolds closer. ‘How’s that?’

The photographer pointed at Dee, who was now well out of the picture. ‘How about …’

‘I think this is fine,’ Ethan said firmly. ‘Don’t you think, Josie?’

‘God, it’s wonderful, darling.’

As Josie Reynolds fluffed her hair and dipped her chin, Dee had a sudden urge to drop-kick the puffed-up old bag and leap into the shot.

Get a grip, she warned herself. She didn’t need to be a Roxburgh Girl when her basket was already stowed in Ethan’s car.

‘Is the property up for sale again?’ Dee asked Arianne as she pulled on yoga tights before the Friday evening class. She’d taken to running up the extra flight of stairs to the apartment to check in on Arianne while she changed.

Her friend was tired and bored today. ‘No, why?’

‘There’s a guy taking pictures of the building. That’s how you found out last time, wasn’t it?’

Arianne rolled off the bed and walked to the window. ‘I hope not. I couldn’t deal with lease negotiations at the moment.’

‘Maybe a new owner wouldn’t want to change the lease,’ Dee suggested.

‘That’s about as likely as me touching my toes anytime soon. I’d better ring the agent tomorrow. At least that’s something I can do from bed.’

Dee made her a cup of herbal tea before going down to the yoga room, let herself in, lit the incense sticks, started the CD player and was pulling out the money drawer when the first student came in. It took a second to put a name to his face. ‘It’s Ian, isn’t it? The reporter from the club.’

He shook her hand. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember me.’

‘How could I forget? You kept me laughing all night.’

‘And you got me thinking that I haven’t done a yoga class in ages. Thought I’d start with the beginners and see how I feel.’

‘Great. Thanks for choosing my class.’ She took his fee and, as no one else had arrived, showed him to the mats in the storage room.

‘You were about to make a DVD for Health Life last time I saw you,’ he said. ‘How’d it go?’

‘We start shooting on Tuesday.’

‘Is that right? Where is it being filmed?’

‘There are about four locations around the city. One of them is a helicopter pad on top of an office block. Not sure what that’s got to do with yoga but they think it’ll look great for aerial shots.’

‘So it’s a big budget production.’

She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m just hoping the helicopter doesn’t blow me off the building.’

He was laughing with her when the next students arrived.

‘Sorry, got to go. Feel free to ask questions during the class.’

Ian the Reporter was out of practice but clearly knew what he was doing on a yoga mat. Dee kept an eye on him, aware that the first time back in a while can make muscles sore and turn people off.

He waited for her after class. ‘The meditation was great. I feel like I’ve slept for an hour.’

‘Hope to see you back then.’

He stalled for a moment while she packed up. ‘Have you got time for a bite to eat?’

Dee glanced up, surprised. ‘Oh, thanks, but I’ve got a heap to do when I get home. I’m consulting on the script for the DVD and I haven’t read the latest version yet. Sorry.’

‘No problem. I’ll walk you out then.’

As she switched off lights and they started down the stairs, he asked her about Graeme Paffe, cracked another joke about his Lycra tights and mentioned someone else from the meeting she didn’t know.

‘So have you seen Ethan Roxburgh lately?’ he asked.

She pulled the street door closed, hoping he didn’t want to keep talking. She’d lied about the script; she wanted an early night. ‘Sure. He’s still giving out free business advice.’

‘Haven’t seen him with a Roxburgh Girl lately. Maybe he’s found an astrophysicist after all.’

Dee remembered his joke from the club – models-slash-actors-slash-singers. ‘Or a physiotherapist.’

‘Or a yoga teacher.’

Pulling the key from the door, her eyes flicked to his reflection in the glass. ‘Now that’s a funny one.’

‘You think?’

‘Well, if he is, it’s no one I know. Anyway, gotta go. Hope you’re not sore tomorrow. Bye.’ She waved as she turned for her car, desperate now to end the conversation.

Ethan rang as she was driving home. ‘I predicted you wouldn’t have time to shop today, so I’ve got dinner here waiting if you want to drop around.’

She wished he wasn’t quite so nice. He was making it very hard not to hold on tight. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’ Revising the script would be much more interesting at his place.

The next morning, Dee left the home of her private student and ordered breakfast at her favourite café. It was her Saturday treat – she didn’t have to teach again for three hours so there was plenty of time for digestion. She’d just sat at a table when Ethan called.

‘Have you seen the papers yet?’

Something about his voice sounded a warning. ‘No,’ she answered cautiously.

‘Okay. Don’t be upset but there’s a story about us in the
Telegraph
.’

Upset? ‘What kind of story?’

‘It’s a beat up but it pretty much outs us. The pictures look like they confirm it.’

‘There are pictures?’ Dee had visions of grainy shots through bedroom windows.

‘Yes, but as outings go, it’s not too bad.’

‘So it’s another Roxburgh Girl story?’

He took a second to answer. ‘Not really. They’ve made it look like we’re sneaking around. And it’s possible someone’s been following you.’

Dee glanced suspiciously around the café. ‘Who? When? Oh my God. There was a photographer outside the yoga school yesterday.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘And that reporter from the club. He came to a class last night and asked about you.’

A beat. ‘What did you say?’

She repeated the conversation outside as best she could. ‘The astrophysicist thing was a joke from the club. About why you didn’t date ordinary people.’ Would he think she’d laughed at him? ‘I thought he was being funny until he said “yoga teacher”, then I just got the hell out of there. That gave it away, didn’t it?’

‘Dee, it’s not your fault. You wouldn’t have to worry about this kind of thing if it wasn’t for me. It was going to happen sooner or later. Just don’t take it personally.’

‘What do you mean “personally”? What does it say?’

‘You need to see it for yourself. Why don’t you come back here and I can show you.’

‘No, I’ll just go buy a copy.’

‘It might be better if you wait until we can read it together.’

That didn’t sound good. Made her feel a little nauseous.

As soon as she hung up, her phone was jangling again.

‘You’re sprung,’ Leon said.

A waitress appeared with her breakfast and cast a furtive backwards glance at her as she left.

Dee whispered into the phone. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’

‘Let’s just say you look great in the photos.’

She pushed her plate away. ‘I think I might throw up.’

‘I wouldn’t do it in public or they’ll be saying you’re bulimic as well.’

‘As well as what?’

‘Let me see.’ Dee heard pages being rustled. ‘It goes on about Ethan finding a new look Roxburgh Girl, recaps a bunch of old Roxburgh Girls and gives you pretty low odds of claiming the RG title. Then it talks about you. And I quote – “Nichols, the yoga girl in the successful Health Life Insurance advertising campaign, is renowned for her alternative lifestyle. She rarely wears make-up or jewellery, dresses like a hippie and has a penchant for arriving at parties without shoes. When not modelling, she teaches yoga at a private Eastern Suburbs ashram and is a devotee of its strict meditation techniques.”’

‘Oh my God.’

‘Wait, there’s more. It talks about an art show opening, says you were holding hands and
talking intimately, something about hanging out with his Aunt Grace Roxburgh … Oh, here we are, I quote again – “Nichols is a regular visitor to Roxburgh’s harbourside penthouse apartment and there are rumours she has already moved in. One source said she refers to Roxburgh’s apartment as home. She told me she was going home to do some work then called me from Ethan’s apartment, the source said.”’

‘I never did that.’

‘Just as well or I’d be really pissed off you hadn’t told me you’d moved in.’

‘I sound like a fruitcake.’

‘You are a fruitcake but not for anything that’s in the paper. In fact, I think the story proves Ethan Roxburgh has finally come to his senses and found a nice, non-conformist, anti-shoe kinda girl.’

She was glad Leon was around to take the anxiety down a peg. ‘What am I meant to do now?’

‘The same thing the soap stars do when they get splashed all over the paper. Go back to work and get on with it.’

After five more calls, she turned off her phone. It was irritating trying to explain she hadn’t
arrived
at Lucy’s party with no shoes. And the question about Ethan – what could she say? For two weeks, she’d avoided putting a name to what they were. The word ‘relationship’ implied a future – and that was something she didn’t want. Call them a couple and she might begin to have expectations. Say he was her partner and she might be tempted to cling.

She just wanted to enjoy his company and walk away when she had to. Because she would have to. He was Ethan Roxburgh. There was only so long he’d want to hang out with her – the newspaper confirmed it.

When she turned her phone back on later that afternoon, the message bank was full. There were calls from her mother and Amanda and a heap of text messages, most of which she deleted without reading. There was a call from Ian the Bastard Reporter, a couple of other journalists and several from Ethan. He sounded worried.

‘I thought you might have a paparazzi pack following you around,’ he said when she rang from the car before her last class.

‘God, no. That’d be awful. I was just sick of answering questions.’

‘Have you read it yet?’

Her eyes flicked quickly to the newspaper on the passenger seat. ‘I couldn’t not.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Sure. I’ve been to one of those strict meditation sessions and I feel great now.’

‘Don’t go home tonight.’

‘Which home? Apparently I have two.’

‘It’s bullshit, Dee. Let me make it up to you. We can have dinner and burn the paper, page by page. It’ll be fun.’

She smiled. ‘Okay. Should I wear a disguise?’

‘Just wear shoes. No one will recognise you.’