Page 92 of Mistaken Impression

“When?”

“When I was three.”

Dear God. I pull her hard against my chest, and feel the sense of abandonment pouring off of her. My parents might have been taken from me, but at least I have a wealth of happy memories to look back on. She doesn’t have any of that, and while I may not be able to say as much – yet – I make a silent vow to myself that I will never leave her.

I sense she’d like a change of subject, but I still have so many questions.

“Did you keep your wealth a secret from me on purpose?”

She pulls away, shaking her head. “No, of course not. It’s just not something I feel the need to talk about.”

“So you keep it from everyone?”

“Yes, I suppose so. No-one in London, or Madrid, or Paris had any idea.”

“They didn’t guess from the way you lived your life? From the lavish apartments and houses you lived in?”

“Very few people ever came to my apartments. But in any case, I didn’t live anywhere lavish. In London, I rented a one-bedroom apartment in Belsize Park. It was only a quick ride on the underground to the cookery school, and it had the best kitchen of all the places that were available.”

“What about Madrid?”

“Again, I rented a little one bedroom place. It was in the centre of the city, on the third floor, above a delicatessen. The kitchen wasn’t the best, but the delicatessen was fabulous.” She smiles and I have to smile back.

“And Paris?”

“I struck gold there.”

“Oh? You rented rooms in the Palace of Versailles?”

She slaps my arm. “No… you idiot. I rented a tiny apartment in Montmartre, near to the Sacré-Coeur. The living room had the loveliest arched windows that led out onto a balcony overlooking Paris. There was even a view of the Eiffel Tower.”

“And the kitchen?”

“To be honest, with a view like that, for once in my life, I didn’t care.”

I chuckle, unable to help myself. “It sounds very romantic.”

“It was, although I didn’t see it that way at the time.” She leans in, raising her face to mine, and waits for me to close the gap, kissing her. Our tongues meet, exploring, and she crushes her breasts to my chest… making me feel at home again… even in a palace. After a few minutes, she pulls away again. “Happy now?” she says.

I suddenly hate the thought that anyone else – especially someone at the studio – knows more about her than I do. “Does anyone at work know?”

“Just Kennedy.”

“You told her?”

“No. She found out somehow and confronted me about it. Oddly enough, ever since then, she’s been a lot nicer to me.”

I roll my eyes. “Why am I not surprised by that?”

“Well, I guess she worked out she had no choice in the matter. Unlike you, I might be eminently replaceable…”

“Hey… you’re irreplaceable to me.”

She smiles, resting her forehead against mine. “Thank you for saying that.”

“You know I’m not talking about work, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I also know the show is about you, and not me. Even so, I don’t think Kennedy wanted the hassle of trying to find someone else who’d do my job for the pittance of a salary they’re paying. When she realised I don’t actually need to work, and could walk out anytime I liked, I think she decided to play nice. Either that, or it was the thought that I could buy the studio and become her boss whenever I felt like it.”

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