Love in La La Land Read online

  ‘What’s a nappy?’

  Scott sounded so bamboozled by Jane’s tirade, Jack involuntarily snorted with laughter…then froze in horror. But luckily, Jane’s chuckle disguised the sound, so he escaped detection.

  ‘Oh sorry, of course, I forgot. I mean diapers.’

  Hearing Jane’s amusement, Scott obviously thought her barriers were lowering. Jack could hear him edge close again.

  ‘Look, little lady,’ he soothed in his best screen voice, ‘I don’t want diapers…er…nappies, either, and I can make sure—’

  ‘Oh, that’s what you think.’ Jane’s tone was dismissive now. ‘Nope, I’m just not risking it. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am and…up the duff.’

  ‘Up the duff?’ Scott’s bewilderment was plain to hear.

  ‘Yup, bun well and truly in the oven.’

  ‘Bun…oven?’ Scott clearly hadn’t a clue what cooking had to do with all this.

  Jack’s sides ached with suppressed laughter. All those schoolboy years in England had familiarised him with colloquial expressions for pregnancy, but Scott was obviously all at sea.

  Jane continued in her best schoolmistress voice, unaware of Scott’s total bafflement. ‘I’ll quite happily stay here as long as you want me to, but I want no more of this seduction nonsense.’

  There was no reply; Jack could imagine Scott’s stupefaction.

  ‘So, thanks, Scott, for the very flattering offer and all that, but no thanks. I’m much obliged, of course, but quite happy to stay as we are – friends, or even landlord and lodger. But nothing more than that. OK?’

  Before Jack slipped quietly away into the night, he heard the sound of a pecking kiss then Jane obviously left the room, leaving behind a no-doubt stunned Scott and a grinning, and much relieved, Jack.

  Jane’s knees were shaking as she made her way upstairs. Emboldened by the lunchtime drink, she had decided to take the bull by the horns and confront Scott head-on with her fears. She was glad she had done so, but it had taken a lot of guts and left her feeling drained.

  And worried.

  Had she got away with all that stuff about not wanting babies? Did it sound convincing? It seemed to have worked. Scott had looked bemused but not offended by her babbling about babies.

  But the whole thing had been a total invention born of desperation. Although there was a kernel of truth in her excuses, most of it was a wildly inspired exaggeration.

  After all, what reason can you give for turning down a genuinely hunky Hollywood love god?

  You can hardly tell him the truth, can you?

  That you just don’t fancy him. Don’t fancy him at all.

  Chapter Ten

  Next morning, Jack phoned Jane and was surprised by how long it took her to answer. He was just about to leave a message when a breathless voice answered.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Oh hi, Jane, how are you?’

  ‘Oh, hello, Jack. How lovely to hear from you.’ Her voice was instantly warm, but she sounded distracted.

  ‘Are you OK? Are you busy with something?’

  ‘Oh yes. It’s just that I’m in the middle of faking it.’

  ‘What?’

  Jane giggled, ‘Oh, I suppose strictly speaking I should say “being faked”.’

  There were voices in the background.

  ‘Jane, what are you talking about?’ Jack asked, bewildered.

  More voices could be heard clearly admonishing her.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just that they are a bit cross with me for answering the phone in case I get smears.’

  ‘Jane.’ Jack voiced his exasperation. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘Oh, I’m being spray-tanned…getting a fake tan.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s part of a day’s grooming that Scott has organised for me. I’m having all sorts of things done, apparently – manicure, pedicure, hair, make-up…um…and loads of other stuff I’ve never heard of.’

  ‘Jane, just be careful,’ he warned.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. I have refused anything to do with a needle and injections. And anything to do with…’ she paused and whispered, ‘embellishing my private parts.’ Her voice broke off hurriedly. ‘Oh, what have I just said? I mean…well, I can’t believe I just told you that. I’ve totally embarrassed myself now. Oh, please, please wipe that from your mind.’

  Jack grinned, imagining her blushing confusion on the other end of the line and, like a true gentleman, tried not to think of what she was talking about.

  Unsuccessfully.

  But then all his concern came flooding back.

  ‘So, why have you agreed to all these treatments?’

  ‘Oh, Scott’s trying to beautify me for the party tonight.’

  ‘First,’ Jack said sternly, ‘you of all people don’t need any beautifying.’

  He heard a little gasp of astonishment. ‘And secondly, what party?’

  ‘He’s taking me to a party to meet some influential people who might want to option my book. It’s at someone called Bruno’s, I think.’

  ‘Bruno?’ Jack felt himself go cold.

  ‘Um, yes. Do you know him?’

  ‘Oh, I know him all right.’

  She couldn’t fail to pick up on his change of tone.

  ‘What’s the matter? It will be all right, won’t it? He won’t mind if I come, will he?’

  There was a brief pause before Jack answered, ‘No, I’m sure you will be made most welcome.’

  She still sounded worried when she asked, ‘I hope you will be there. Have you been invited?’

  ‘No, I certainly haven’t been invited.’

  Should he tell her more?

  But while he was debating what else to say, the voices around Jane became more insistent.

  ‘Look, Jack, I have to go.’ She sounded forlorn; all the elation and excitement had been driven out of her voice. Jack felt guilty that he had changed her mood so much.

  ‘OK. Have fun and enjoy your day, but remember, Jane, whatever anyone says, don’t do anything you don’t want to do.’

  ‘I won’t, but…what do you mean?’

  ‘Just be careful. Not too trusting, that’s all.’ Jack’s expression was grim as he ended the call.

  As he put the phone down, Jack ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. So that was Scott’s plan.

  After the failed seduction attempt he had overheard the previous evening, he had hoped Scott would give up. But no, it seemed he was going to try and breach Jane’s defences another way. A more underhand and devious way.

  How clever of Scott to dangle the carrot of introducing her to important people who might buy her book. Jack knew it was highly unlikely, but Jane wasn’t to know that.

  Why was she so keen to sell her new book? Jack was intrigued, especially after she had disparaged what had happened to her first one. Was there a touch of hypocrisy there, or was it desperation? She was certainly very conscious of her finances, but also proud. He remembered how she had flared up when she’d thought he was offering her money towards her new clothes at Mimi’s.

  He knew the party would be different to anything she had ever been to before, and Jane would be totally out of her depth. There would be drink and all sorts of substances at Bruno’s, and an unworldly, trusting soul like Jane would be easy prey. He couldn’t believe Scott would be so devious.

  But what could he do?

  Jack paced the floor. He wasn’t used to being so indecisive…or so involved.

  Although he was tempted to tackle Scott about his underhand tactics, he hesitated, as it would show he had contacted Jane. And Scott would easily realise that he cared about her welfare. Jack’s instincts told him that the more Scott knew of his concerns, the more determined he would be to thwart him.

  Jane wasn’t Scott’s type. Too intelligent, for one thing. So, was he just trying to make Savannah jealous? To annoy Jack? And, no doubt, there was the added allure of stalking, and seducing, someone he thought was an innocent abroad.
r />   Jack hoped Scott wasn’t motivated by that stupid offhand remark about a bet – a bet he had refused to countenance, but might still mean something to the film star’s puffed-up pride.

  Lately, Scott had been revelling in his new-found fame as a pin-up movie idol, but Jack hadn’t thought he was bright enough to be too manipulative. This cunning behaviour was certainly a surprise.

  What to do for the best?

  Annoyed with himself for caring so much, Jack suddenly stopped pacing. Why should he do anything at all?

  Jane was a grown woman. He had heard her rebuff Scott’s seduction attempt the previous evening; she’d shown no signs of giving in.

  The whole affair was nothing to do with him anyway. Why on earth should he get involved? This was stupid. He did not do involvement or relationships, or anything other than casual affairs.

  The phone rang. It was his agent. A director wanted a meeting. He listened as his agent expounded enthusiastically about a very exciting and lucrative new project. Briefly, it struck Jack that they weren’t called movies any more; they were projects.

  But he was glad of the distraction.

  Despite Jack’s obvious reservations, Jane was looking forward to all the pampering and grooming, especially as it would keep her busy. Also, she feared her previous sleepless night had left her looking anything but her best.

  She was pleased how she had handled Scott’s attempted seduction and relieved to clear up the uncertainty surrounding his intentions.

  As unlikely as it seemed, he had been trying to inveigle her into his bed all along. Although she couldn’t for the life of her understand why.

  Scott was successful, gorgeous, famous, handsome …the list of adjectives about him were endless. Why on earth would anyone like him be remotely interested in her?

  How ironic. A week ago, she had been totally starstruck, and absolutely bowled over at the prospect of meeting someone she had fancied like crazy when she had seen him on the big screen. A week ago, she would probably have been so flattered she would have tumbled willingly into his arms, and his bed.

  Or would she? She wasn’t sure.

  But now, she was sure that Scott’s charms seemed so insubstantial, so superficial, that she couldn’t understand what she had ever seen in him.

  Thinking back, she was cross that she had given Jack very short shrift indeed on their first meeting, as it was he who now invaded her thoughts, her dreams, her yearnings.

  Unaccountably, she noticed her skin seemed to tingle whenever she thought about him. A weird fluttering sensation began in her stomach before travelling lower down her limbs. Her whole body seemed to ache to be touched by him.

  She admitted to herself she loved his easy athletic stride, his tall tanned body, his quizzical smile, his warm intelligent eyes. She loved making him laugh; loved being in his company, and loved the thought of him holding her, kissing her, making love to her.

  Oh dear. All those loves!

  Was this the dreaded love at first sight?

  Impossible. It might have happened to all the other females in her family, but she was made of sterner stuff. She had resisted longer than anyone the lure of marriage, domesticity, and babies. She had been proud to channel her creative instincts into her writing, into creating believable, quirky, fictional people, not actual, real, baby people.

  True, she had fancied men on first meeting in the past, as she had Darren. He had, it seemed, been all too aware of this attraction and then exploited it. Flattered that such a sophisticated, well-connected man had lavished such attention on her, she had even ignored the warnings from her more worldly-wise friends. More fool her. But the experience had definitely made her very mistrustful of the motives of good-looking men.

  And just as mistrustful of the notion of love at first sight. It was an alien concept as far as she was concerned. It wasn’t for her. And definitely not with someone as unattainable as Jack Clancy. She had certainly learned her lesson, and she wasn’t going to be humiliated again.

  It had worked for her sisters, but they were all beautiful. She wasn’t, which is why she had been such easy prey to Darren’s fulsome charms.

  And all her sisters’ husbands had fallen completely for them and, apart from poor Milly, had remained in love with them through the years. All six sisters had inherited her Italian mother’s petite, voluptuous body, dramatic dark eyes, and long, glossy, chestnut hair. They all shared her mother’s voluble, passionate nature.

  Whereas Jane, as the quieter, more thoughtful, book-reading sister, had always been marked out as different in the rowdy, noisy, yet very loving household. With her tall, slim frame, blue eyes and wayward auburn hair – taking after her father’s Scottish ancestry – Jane had always looked completely different, too.

  For years she had accepted the difference, was secretly proud to have inherited her adored father’s intelligence, his wry, witty view of the world and calm attitude to life.

  But an incident in her youth had made her very aware that, unlike her sisters, she was in no way beautiful.

  The discovery had come one dreadful day when, as a teenager, she had overheard the truth about her looks – or rather, lack of them – from her tactless and beauty-obsessed Nonna.

  It was during one of the Contessa’s infrequent, but nevertheless nerve-racking, visits. She would swoop unannounced into their large and slightly ramshackle home, look down her elegant nose at everything she saw, and wonder aloud for the umpteenth time why her beautiful, talented daughter had thrown her life away on a humble, albeit good-looking, English family doctor when she could have had any member of the Italian aristocracy she wanted.

  To her despair, her only daughter Aurelia had been married to the same man for nearly forty years, had seven daughters, and had wasted her beauty in a rural village in the depths of the Yorkshire countryside.

  The Contessa never ceased to be astonished, very disapproving, and, of course, very vocal about both.

  Ever since Jane had been a small child, her Nonna had always wafted around in a cloud of expensive perfume and wonderful couture clothes. The ritual was always the same. The Contessa would arrive bearing expensive and impractical dresses for her ‘poor’ grandchildren. These were always received with profuse thanks – as instructed by their mother – then put away for best and handed down, like all their other clothes, and saved to wear for the Contessa’s next visit.

  Their happy, chaotic household had just enough money to be comfortable but never profligate. Although she was different, Arabella Jane had always felt happy and accepted and comfortable in her skin.

  Until that fateful visit by the Contessa had changed her perception of herself for evermore.

  Her Nonna had been talking volubly to her mother in her eccentric accented English, proudly acquired from her second husband. She was, as always, criticising all and sundry round the house. As a teenage Arabella had been reading quietly, half-hidden in the window seat of their rambling Georgian rectory, her ears had pricked up when her Nonna mentioned her name.

  ‘So, Aurelia, when is Arabella going to stop growing? She’s too tall and skinny, it’s difficult to buy her clothes when I come. And her colouring is most disastrous.’

  Although unaware of her daughter’s presence, her mother had immediately leapt to her defence.

  ‘She has gorgeous hair, Mama, and she takes after Robert. She’s bound to be taller than the others, because he is so tall.’

  ‘But of all your daughters, why did you choose to name that one Arabella?’ her grandmother moaned.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Her mother’s astonishment was plain to hear.

  ‘Pah, you all call her Bella for short, when she’s plainly not bella at all. She is not a beautiful child.’

  Arabella vaguely remembered hearing her mother’s gasp of indignation and protest.

  But the Contessa had continued in full flow. ‘How could someone as beautiful as you have a child like that?’ There was an exaggerated sigh. ‘I tell you, that girl will ne
ver be able to find a man, a presentable man, who will look at her twice. She will have to, how you say, make do with—’

  At that point, her mother had interrupted the Contessa, loudly and vehemently defending her beloved daughter. But for Arabella, it had been too late. Those cruel words had cut deep.

  Not long after her grandmother left, she had announced to the family that she didn’t like her name Arabella, or Bella, and henceforth wanted to be called by her second name, Jane.

  Her parents must have guessed from the tight little face that there was a hidden reason for her decision, but they never knew that every time they forgot and called her Bella, she cringed inside.

  Bella meant beautiful, and she knew she definitely wasn’t beautiful.

  Even when she developed her curves and lost her gaucheness, and despite much interest among the village boys and later at university, Jane never truly believed she was worthy of attention, so never took any of their devotions seriously. And Darren’s duplicity had proved she was right not to do so.

  So, why was Scott paying her such attention, making clear his sexual intentions? It didn’t make sense.

  The only conclusion she could reach was that sex was the normal Hollywood payment for board and lodging. She was available, she was in his house, so he expected her to ‘pay him’ for the privilege of staying there.

  That was certainly a different set of principles from her own; something she was determined to make clear throughout her stay.

  But that morning, Scott had said he was determined to make amends for neglecting her so much during her stay, by showing her a proper Hollywood party. And he’d been quick to point out that it would be a good opportunity to circulate and make contacts with the movers and shakers of Hollywood, adding that his presence by her side would greatly help her chances of finding someone to take an option on her second book.

  Jane was still torn. She really, really did want to leave, but the lure of selling her book – and solving her financial worries – was so tempting. And Scott had looked so pleased when he announced he had organised a day’s pampering and grooming for her, that it seemed rude to refuse. She even allowed a chaste kiss on the cheek before he left for the studio.