Private Lives

Katie ran her finger down his shoulder.

‘Can’t you just stay for half an hour?’

He was tempted. And not only because her hard nipples were rubbing against his arm. The truth was, he was lonely. Three hundred days of the year he was in bed alone. At any one time he and Jessica were in different parts of the world, shooting films or hopping from city to city on promo junkets, answering the same inane questions about their relationship. Yes, we’ve been together for four years; no, we haven’t set a date just yet. And yes, we’re still madly in love.

‘Sorry. I wish I could,’ he said truthfully. In another time, another life, he would have crawled back under the duvet, ordered room service, then maybe taken her out for dinner, cocktails. Had a normal conversation about music or art or just swapped a few jokes. She seemed like the sort of fun, feisty girl he used to go for before everything became about work, even his love life.

‘I understand, don’t worry,’ she sighed, reaching for her dress, casually thrown over a chair. ‘Listen, do you want me to pay the bill? I realise it might be a bit . . . sticky for you.’

Sam instantly felt a surge of guilt for wondering if she was some kiss-and-tell set-up, closely followed by relief and the glimmer of hope that he might actually get away with this indiscretion. He pulled out his wallet and handed her some crumpled bills.

‘Thanks, Katie, that should cover the bill and a taxi to get you home. I feel awful about doing this to you.’

She smiled, slipping her knickers on under the folds of her dress. ‘No worries.’ Her eyes met his. ‘You’re lucky, you know.’

‘Oh, I know that.’ He couldn’t resist smiling wolfishly.

‘No, I mean to have the problem of getting out of a hotel without anyone seeing. Must be nice being that successful.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Sam, pulling on his own clothes. ‘It can be a complete pain in the arse sometimes, being constantly followed by the paparazzi, having them go through your bins. At least that’s what it’s like when I’m with Jess. Without her they seem a little less interested.’

‘Sounds like a fair trade to me,’ said Katie. ‘The money, the fame, getting to do something you love.’

‘I guess,’ he said, knowing he sounded ungrateful.

‘What’s your secret?’

He shrugged. ‘Right place, right time, I guess. As you say, I was lucky.’

‘Well, do you think you could give me your rabbit’s foot? The luck has eluded me so far.’

He frowned at her. He had the vague sense that he should understand what she was talking about, as if they’d already had this conversation.

Catching his blank expression, she rolled her eyes.

‘You really don’t remember much about last night at all, do you?’

He pulled a face.

‘I can remember something about tequila.’

‘Ah. Well, we spent a long time talking before you turned into Mr Disco. About how I’m trying to make it as an actress?’

Another flash of memory. The two of them singing Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’ in the corridor of the hotel.

‘Didn’t you go on X Factor?’

‘No!’ she said, slapping him playfully on the arm. ‘I went to Guildhall for three years.’

‘Ah. Sorry.’

He looked at her with sympathy. Now he understood what she was talking about; it hadn’t been so long since he was exactly where she was. Desperate for anyone to help him, take notice, give him a leg up.

Had she seduced him? No – he was pretty sure that after a bucketful of tequila, he’d have come back to this hotel very willingly. And anyway, he could hardly blame her. However talented you were, everyone needed a little luck. Sam had got his own break when he’d met Sir Andrew Kerr, an RSC actor, in a café just behind St Martin’s Lane. He’d known Andrew was gay and almost certainly interested in him sexually – the decent thing to do would have been to let him down gently when he invited him out for dinner. But he didn’t. Neither did he refuse to go on to a party and a club afterwards. The proposition from Sir Andrew, when it had finally come, several weeks and nights out later, had been rebuffed politely, and accepted with grace. But by this point Andrew had introduced his dazzlingly good-looking new protégé to a powerful inner circle of agents, producers and dir

ectors. And Sam had ruthlessly used the contacts to climb the ladder. A couple of years ago he’d bumped into Sir Andrew at the BAFTAs and the old man had been heartbreakingly decent about it. ‘An actor must do what an actor must do,’ he had said, offering Sam a brandy. ‘It’s all for our art, dear boy.’

He looked at Katie as she tied back her russet hair. She really was beautiful, and that body was sensational. If there were any justice in the world, she would be a huge star. But Sam knew he couldn’t help her in the way Sir Andrew had helped him. Getting texts or phone calls from a gorgeous starlet really wouldn’t help his already strained relationship with Jessica. Even so, he felt terrible leaving it like this.