Souvenirs (27 page)

Chapter 23

After a great week, Grace took Friday off to celebrate. Still, she woke early for her planned trip to the National Gallery. Then her feet hit the floor and her muscles ached all the way to her knees. Her fingers hurt from typing, and her neck was strained. She needed a massage and, given the chipped polish on her toenails, a pedicure.

Wincing with every step, she walked into the bathroom. Hotel room air was taking a toll on her hair and skin, and her sinuses.

This called for a spa day.

Suddenly lighter on her feet, she trotted around the bed to the phone. The concierge would help her.

And no doubt tell Ben.

He knew everything. Emily told him what Grace ate for breakfast and dinner. Fe updated him on headlines and damage control. And Ivy, the front desk manager, had become part of the team. If Grace mentioned ice cream to Ben, Ivy stocked her favorite. If she asked Ivy about train schedules, Fe gave her a rail pass. Yesterday, she and Ben had discussed her weekend presentation, and Ivy had pushed walking directions to the library under her door.

Screw Cinderella. Grace felt like Rapunzel. Besides, she wanted to surprise him.

After researching spas and checking reviews, she made an appointment with a cheerful receptionist. The price made her blanch, but she pressed on. Meg would’ve been proud of her.

The phone rang as she was tying her shoes. She checked the number and sighed. Maybe Ben had her room bugged.

“Hi, Fe.”

“Hiya. Can I talk you out of the National this afternoon? I need a friend for an errand.”

“Our last trip together didn’t go so well.”

“This is different,” Fe whispered. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, and I’d rather not have Noah with me.”

“Are you ill?”

“Right as rain, but it’s an, um, obstetrician.”

“Fe! That’s—”

“It’s not a sure thing, and we’ve tried for so long. Noah will get his hopes up, and what if it’s nothing?”

“Sure,” Grace said. “When and where?”

Fiona gave her the address and hung up. Grace was saving directions to her phone when it rang again.

“No, Paul,” she sighed her greeting. “I want a day off.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You don’t have to. We’re on schedule and on budget. There’s no reason for you to call me.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “I do need a favor, but it’s one you’ll like. I swear.”

“Unless it involves getting my nails done, I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Ignoring her, Paul continued. “Harry Levy is in London, and I’m stuck in Berlin. Can you meet him for coffee this afternoon? He knows a video game designer who could replace the one who flaked out on us.”

“This isn’t a favor. This is work. You’re asking me to work on my day off.”

“I need you, Gracie.”

The video game excited her as much as the movie, and it would be great to see Harry. “Fine,” she muttered.

Paul kept talking about his trip, ignoring her attempts to end the conversation. She finally hung up on him and rushed down the stairs to the lobby. She didn’t have enough time to walk now. She’d get a cab.

Spa, coffee with Harry, then the doctor with Fiona. It would be a tight schedule but she could do it, though she wouldn’t have as relaxing a day off as she’d planned.

Ivy looked up from the desk. “Do you need a taxi to the National, Grace?”

Damn it. She was tired of this. “No, thanks. I’ll take the tube.”

“Do you have fare? Bennett left extra cash for you.”

“I have plenty, Ivy. Thank you.”

Grace scowled for the first ten minutes of her trip down the block, into the station, and through the first two stops. Afterward, she researched coffee shops and the doctor’s office, and called Harry to rearrange their meeting place to put everything in easy reach. Then she settled in to people watch and scan the headlines held in other traveler’s hands. Thank God her picture wasn’t under any of them.

Ben’s was, though. He always was. Ben in front of his home, Ben on the set, Ben with Susan, Ben with Fe. The worst one had been him with Hillary at the coffee shop. He’d put the paper on her desk and explained while he’d paced her office. He’d gone to his favorite spot and Hillary had fallen in line behind him. They hadn’t spoken.

He hadn’t needed to explain. His uncomfortable expression in the photograph had spoken volumes. Yet somehow his panic over it had made everything worse.

At the proper stop, Grace followed the throng of people upstairs, onto the sidewalk, and into the stream of humanity that was London. Buildings, ancient and modern side-by-side, lined the streets. She loved it here, and she fought the urge to look for apartments or make plans past filming. She’d be needed in L.A. for post-production, and she missed her lakeside home and her visits with her mother.

And Ben had never mentioned her staying.

With crisp white trim and nature themed décor visible through wide windows, the spa was easy to find. An efficient receptionist handed her off to a beautiful brunette in scrubs, a smock, and comfortable shoes.

“I’m Stella,” she said in a Scottish brogue as she offered her hand. “You’ll be in my care today, Ms. Donnelley.” Her eyes widened. “Should I not have said it out loud?”

“You’re fine, but please call me Grace.”

“Would you like to be in a private room? I can bring everything in and out as you need.”

They walked past a room, and Stella stood aside. Grace compared the dark, small space to the bright main room.

“Can we work out here instead?”

“Certainly,” Stella said. “I’m so glad. Sunshine is rare this time of year in London. We can do all but your massage out here. There’s a robe waiting in your changing room, and here’s your lock. I bought it not five minutes ago when Lydia told me I’d be responsible for you today. We decided you should have a locker with us. It’s not as posh, but no one will think to look back there. Let me show you.”

With her clothes stored, Grace padded to Stella and the waiting pedicure chair. It was heated, and the gentle massage had barely begun when Grace dropped her head against the leather. Stella wrapped warm towels around her unresisting hands.

They were halfway through the pedicure when a pair of clients entered the room.

“If you’ll remember, he’s done this before. He always comes back to her. It’s the excitement of the chase for him. The new wears off, and it’s back to the familiar.”

Knowing it was snooping, yet unable to resist a story, Grace cracked one eye open and watched the women at adjoining manicure tables.

“I don’t know, Violet, this time seems rather serious,” the shorter of the two cautioned.

“What could possibly come of this?” Violet asked and then continued without waiting on an answer. “He’s not going to move, and she’s not going to stay. If she were, she’d be living in his house, and she’s not.”

“I hate to see Hillary hurt again,” the other woman reasoned. “Ben plays with her feelings far too much, if you ask me.”

Grace slammed her eyes closed. That’s what she got for eavesdropping.

“He isn’t going to leave Hillary for some American mouse with no sense of style.”

Grace had stiffened in the chair, now she winced against the massage pressure.

“I’ve finished everything but the polish, love,” Stella whispered as she patted her foot. “Why don’t we go in back and start your massage?”

Resisting the urge to slouch and scamper, Grace walked through the room and down the hall. Stella closed the door.

“I’m sorry, Grace.”

“Not your fault, and thank you for looking after me. Was it obvious?”

“Slightly. They’d have figured it out and fawned over you just to make it worse. They’re hateful. Have been since they started coming here. Hillary’s usually with them, thank God she wasn’t today.”

Yes, thank God she’d managed to stay of out
Hillary’s
way.

“May I suggest something?” Stella asked.

“Anything.”

“Let me do you up. Nothing major, just enhance your natural prettiness. I have a friend in a boutique around the corner. She could do some personal shopping for you while we finish here.”

“I won’t hide in this room,” Grace stated.

“Of course not. I’ll send for Natalie, she can get your sizes, and we’ll do your massage. Then we’ll get started.”

Grace nodded, refusing to overthink. “That would be lovely, Stella. Thank you.”

Natalie was as bright and cheerful as Stella, and she was fabulous at her job. After the massage, Grace sipped tea and reviewed several outfits, including shoes and jewelry, and bought everything.

Ushering her back into the main room, Stella went to work.

“I’m not adding color to your hair,” she explained. “Yours is lovely as it is, and it’ll be less maintenance. And we’re putting shellac on those nails. I have a pretty almost nude pink, and it’ll last about a month. We’ll do your toes in a similar color.”

“Why are you doing this?” Grace asked.

“Because I like you, and I don’t like
her.
Now relax.”

They talked through the rest of the appointment. Stella told stories about her family as she showed Grace how to manage her new hairstyle and makeup. When she left, Stella hugged her goodbye and promised to have everything delivered to the hotel.

With a new outlook, Grace walked the short distance to the coffee shop where she’d arranged to meet Harry.

Her phone rang, and she smiled as she answered. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Hullo, Idgie. How’s the National?”

Now wasn’t the time to talk about this. “I’ve had a wonderful day. How about you?”

“Gino misses you like crazy,” he teased, “and Ted’s working us into exhaustion to make up for the rain on Monday. He didn’t enjoy it as much as the rest of us.”

They’d spent most of Monday in Ben’s trailer. She’d worked while he’d played his guitar. And they’d practiced how to have sex without making any noise. Twice.

“I’ll be home late,” Ben said. “I’m sorry. I know we had plans, but something’s come up. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah? After my meeting with Clive. I’ll come to the library.”

I could wait at your house.
The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she wouldn’t say them. She wouldn’t force her way into his life. “All right.”

“I miss you, doll.”

“Ben—”

“I have to go.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

Grace rounded the corner and came face to face with Reg Drew, her personal paparazzi. He blinded her with the flash, forcing her to slow down.

“Not in Yorkshire today?”

“Everyone gets a day off at some point, Reg. How’s the family?”

“Did you know Hillary Dunham’s there?” he asked. “She’s rented a house in Skipton.”

“Skipton’s a pretty town. I hope she enjoys herself,” Grace said, careful to keep her voice level and her eyes straight ahead.

“Rumor has it she’s seeing Ben for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t believe everything you hear,” she quipped as she paused at the shop’s door. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Once inside, she stood while her eyes adjusted to the light. Ben was working. He was. He’d said he missed her. He wouldn’t see Hillary.

Harry waved from his seat near the window. Rather than suggesting a table near the back, Grace joined him. Stella was right, sunshine was rare.

“It’s good to see a familiar face,” Grace said as she hugged him. “How are you?”

“Fine. Tired, though. Thanks for doing this. Andrea is anxious for me to get home. Both kids have nasty colds. I really didn’t want to tell her I had to stay an extra day to meet with Paul.”

They were in the middle of discussing the developer’s credentials when her phone rang. Again. She should have gone to the set.

“Hey, Idgie.” Gino’s booming voice had her pulling the phone away from her ear. He was yelling over what sounded like wind.

“Gino, what’s up?”

“Nothing. We got done early, and I thought I’d see if you wanted to have dinner. My family’s over for a few days.”

“You finished early?”
My voice will not squeak. I will not cry.

“Yeah, we’re about halfway back to London. We could meet at six. Sound good?”

“Sure, see you then.”

She hung up and blinked. And blinked again. If she cried, her new mascara would run.

“Dab them, don’t wipe,” Harry whispered. “Andrea taught me that. Look up to stop them and dab.”

She followed his instructions. “Thank you.”

“I’ll get the check.”

“No, I have it. It’s a business meeting. You’re doing me a favor.” Grace fumbled with the clasp on her new bag.

Harry’s warm hand covers hers. “It was impossible not to hear that prick outside. Ben’s nuts about you, Grace. It takes about two minutes to see it.”

“Thanks.” She paid the bill and stood. Harry walked with her out the door. Photographers, and their blinding flashbulbs, were waiting, crowding them while they fought toward the waiting cab. “I’m sorry about this, Harry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll call Andrea on the way home and explain. She’ll think it’s funny. As if you’d choose me over him.”

“And you’d leave her for me,” Grace teased. “But I certainly can’t strand you here. Hop in.”

The ride to the clinic was quick, given the parade following them.

“Around back, miss?” the driver asked.

“No,” Grace said. “They won’t bother to say it, but I want them to see me
alone
and Harry driving away.”