Page 87 of Famous Last

“Not yet. I was hoping to—”

Spencer turned his head away, unsure of how to continue. Only a couple of days ago, he had mused about that very scenario, wondering how his old and new friends would get along with Marshall. They had also made plans to spend Christmas together and meet his family in Bournemouth. Now, he had no idea if he would ever get the chance.

“Listen, Spencer,” said Darcy, correctly interpreting his silence, reaching across and squeezing his hand. “Of all the people I’ve known in my life, Marshall is one of the most resilient and resourceful. He’s been in a lot of sticky situations the world over, and managed to pull through. You need to stay strong for him, to stay positive.”

Spencer knew what she meant, but he had never been one for inaction in times of crisis.

“Isn’t there something more we can do? Call someone at the British Consulate in Kryszytonia? Surely being on the ground they’re going to know more than anyone in the press is saying? Or maybe we could look into getting a scheduled flight or, with Marshall’s contacts, hire a private jet—”

“Okay, Spencer. Enough. You are going to have to learn to be patient. Are you a religious person?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well, now might be a good time to reconsider. In the meantime, you’re coming to my place, where I have high-speed internet, working phones, and televisions in every room including the bathroom. And I know you probably feel the last thing you need is food, but I’m going to stand over you if I have to and force you to eat something when lunch is delivered. You’re no good to Marshall or anyone starving yourself. I’m also going to open a couple of bottles of wine I’ve been saving up for Christmas and tell you stories about your man that he has only ever told me.”

Darcy’s Chelsea apartment could not have been more different to the one Marshall lived in. Set in a pretty tree-lined square in the heart of the exclusive area, her residence felt like an extension of her personality—clean and sleek modernist artwork with a distinctive Japanese theme, perfectly complemented but subdued colours for her stylish but comfortable couches, Asian-themed sculptures in silver or limestone, and what appeared to be items of metallic junk, all staged beneath artfully placed spotlights.

Spencer had been to Darcy’s apartment in happier times, for the post-interview party. Back then, he hadn’t seen much of the place, had spent most of the time watching and waiting for Marshall to arrive.

Darcy settled him in the main living area. She took great pains to make sure he got comfortable, seating him on the sectional couch in front of the enormous flatscreen with the remote control within easy reach, and, without even asking, fetching him a large mug of freshly made latte. Once satisfied, and with the television volume on low, she set about completing other chores while Spencer made a call.

“Squirrel, I am so sorry,” said Bev, as soon as she answered. “Do you have any news?”

“Nothing at all. But I’m at Darcy’s place, and if anyone’s going to hear first, it’s her. Are you at work?”

“I am. Oh, and Squirrel. Your conspicuous absence is the talk of the office this morning. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I was in the kitchen getting a drink when Blake wandered in with a couple of his people. Before I had a chance to speak, Kimberley stood up in front of everyone and asked him what his mother was thinking, dismissing you. Said that you were one of the nicest employees in the place, and at least deserved the opportunity to say goodbye to your colleagues. She asked if that was the way people were going to be treated in future and said she didn’t want to work in a place with a family who treated employees like shit. She said the word ‘shit’, Squirrel. Out loud. And about four or five people chipped in and agreed with her. Blake stood there speechless. You should have seen his face, as white as a sheet. Priceless. He’s probably gone to mummy dearest to report Kimberley. The way Muriel’s going, by Christmas there’ll be nobody left working for her.”

At any other time, Spencer might have been pleased to hear the story. All he could think about was what was happening across the world. He signed off with Beverley, promising to contact her with any news. After that, he went through his phone and answered messages from Prince, and another from Nile.

Eventually Darcy stopped rushing about, doing things like checking messages and making calls, then brought her post and joined him on the sofa. Spencer watched, mesmerised, the way she ripped open letters, read quickly and either tore the thing up or placed pages in a pile for action. Eventually, she settled back and took a sip from her bone china mug.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Pretty useless.”

“Yeah, I know. Okay, I think you need a distraction. I’m going to tell you things about Marshall that few people know. But, Spencer, I honestly believe you’re the closest he has ever gotten to a genuine relationship, which is why I’m trusting you. I’m not sure how much he’s told you about his childhood, but he was a lonely kid. Having a famous mother and father didn’t help, especially when they were either away or in the headlines for all the wrong reasons. Making long-lasting friends at school was almost impossible with the family moving back and forth between London and LA for his father’s business, and Marshall being shipped off to boarding school in Scotland and then Eton. Eventually the family settled back in London, but almost straight afterwards they divorced and his father moved to San Diego with his new girlfriend. Poor Marshall might have wanted for nothing, and some might even argue that his father’s connections gave him a head start in the media business, but he knew very little about close relationships and friendship.”

“What about Alex, Joey’s brother?”

“He told you about him, did he? University was the closest he came to making any lasting friends. I still find it unbelievable that Alex and Joey are brothers. I know you’ve met Joey, and I’m sure you’ll get to meet Alex one day.”

“One day, maybe,” said Spencer, with as much hope as he could muster. “I know Marshall’s close to his mother, but he didn’t say much about his father.”

“They clashed. Still do. Almost came to blows one holiday, when Marshall was a teenager, and the old man tried to pick a fight with his mum. Highlander senior is in his eighties now and has kids from his second and third marriages. He’s still worth a small fortune and has threatened to leave Marshall nothing. Which is fine by Marshall, because he’s independently wealthy, money bequeathed to him by his grandparents. But, you know, even with all of that, he is a very humble, a very private person—

“I know—”

“—and terribly lonely most of the time. And he gives back so much to charities, not just in terms of his money, but also with his personal time and getting his hands dirty. And he’s doing so because he genuinely cares, not for any kind of publicity like some celebrities—”

“The day of my interview, he was going to help out at a homeless charity, in the freezing cold morning, to load boxes into vans.”

“Maybe I should have started by asking how much you already know. Sounds like he’s really opened up to you. Let’s play a game of things you know about him, and we can tell each other whether it’s something we already knew. I’m not a prude, exactly, but can you keep the bedroom shenanigans to yourself.”

Spencer enjoyed the diversion. Most of what Spencer knew, Darcy knew, too. Darcy knew lots of things he had no idea about, and each gem of knowledge made Marshall more human. As they talked, he kept one eye on the flatscreen on Darcy’s living room wall.

“Most of his clothes are chosen for him by his mother, or me,” said Darcy. “He’s pretty hopeless when it comes to putting an ensemble together, even though he looks amazing in the right outfit.”

“And out,” said Spencer, grinning. “But I totally agree. Okay, my turn. He cooks a mean steak dinner—”

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