Page 130 of The Last Love Song
She took a shower, and after looking in on Sorcha one last time, Helen climbed into bed in the guest room, propped herself up on her pillows and opened her briefcase. The documentsprepared by the City accountants handling the share flotation had arrived this morning.
Columns of figures lay unread on her lap as she stared into space, her usual flawless concentration deserting her.
When Helen had heard that Sorcha had not boarded her plane to New York, she’d immediately assumed Sorcha had discovered Lulu’s affair with Con. The notion had sent her racing over to Hampstead. Helen had hoped to smooth things over (after all, she knew what it was like to be played by Con).
But now, Helen was sure Sorcha didn’t know. She’d been quite happy to let her telephone Con’s hotel. It was just a coincidence that she’d been too sick to make the flight to New York.
Nonetheless, Helen felt unsettled. Columns of figures were controllable. People’s emotions, however, were totally unpredictable.
Con’s suite at the Sherry Netherland was full of people he hardly knew. Representatives from the American record company, PR bods, journalists and photographers lounged around smoking, drinking and talking. It was an impromptu party with Con the forgotten host.
This was the usual scene when the band hit town, but tonight, Con was not interested. He wanted to have a relatively early night and try to get his head together for the concert tomorrow. The band had done a tech run that afternoon in Central Park. Considering the lack of preparation, it had not gone badly. But there was no doubting the tension between the four of them: Derek was hardly acknowledging him, still sulking because of the rejection of his song; Ian was on Planet Gaga as per, but it seemed at least that Todd had enough professionalism to put aside their differences and get on with the job in hand.
Con felt a hand sweep across his back.
‘Hello, Con.’
‘Lulu.’
He turned around and forced a smile. Con hadn’t felt comfortable in her presence since he had woken with her in his bed the other morning. He still had no memory of the occasion, and whenever he tried to establish the facts from Lulu, she simply giggled.
‘Where’s Todd?’ he enquired.
‘Gone to our suite.’ The hand snaked under his shirt. ‘Get rid of everybody.’
‘Lulu, Jesus Christ! We’ve got a room full of journos and paparazzi.’
‘As I said, get rid of them. You look tense. I’ll help relax you.’
‘Shh, please!’
‘As long as you promise.’
‘Okay, okay.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ladies and gents, the party’s over. I want some peace.’
There was a disappointed silence for a few seconds, then the conversation resumed its former volume.
‘They’re leeches, these people,’ sighed Con. ‘They grab hold, then hang on for dear life.’
‘Get your heavies to start removing people. That’s what they’re paid for,’ said Lulu, glancing across to the two muscular men who stood by the door.
‘Ivan!’ Con shouted over the top of a couple of heads.
Ivan acknowledged Con’s call and pushed his way through the crowd. ‘Yes, Mr Daly, what can I do for you?’
‘Empty this room, will you? I want to hit the sack.’
He nodded. ‘Leave it with me.’
Ten minutes later, the last straggler had been evicted, leaving only Lulu, Con and Freddy in the sitting room.
‘Bit early for you, isn’t it?’ Freddy remarked.
‘I’m fair exhausted.’
‘Well, go and get your beauty sleep. I’ll leave you in peace. Come on, Lulu, I’ll escort you back to your suite.’
‘I think I can manage to find it all by myself, thanks, Freddy,’ she replied tartly.
