Baby Be Mine Read online

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true. Still working for Rod?’

  ‘Yep, but who cares, right? You’ve got Johnny Jefferson’s son on your lap! I cannot believe this hasn’t hit the press yet.’

  ‘Shh! It’s only a matter of time with you talking that loudly!’

  ‘Sorry!’

  I giggle, then fall serious. ‘Really, though, I’m sure it is only a matter of time. Not something that I’m happy about.’

  ‘Jeez Louise, are you ready to be flung into the spotlight like that?’

  ‘What do you think? Don’t you remember that time Johnny took me to the Ivy when I was just his PA and the paps thought I could be “somebody”? I looked like a rabbit in the headlights!’ I shudder at the memory. ‘No, I am definitely not ready to be flung into the spotlight.’

  When I get home, Johnny has already gone out. I put Barney to bed and go downstairs. Lena doesn’t work on Saturdays unless there’s an emergency, so I’m on my own. I wander into the kitchen and aimlessly look in cupboards, even though I’m not hungry, before making myself a tea and heading to the office. I stand inside the door. It really doesn’t look any different to how it was years ago; there are even a couple of sacks of fan mail propped up against the wall. I never managed to make a dent in them. More letters would always replace the ones I’d dealt with. It’s actually insane that Johnny doesn’t have a fan club. Maybe he thinks that’s a bit too ‘pop’ for him. I might try to convince him otherwise, because I’m sure Lena has enough on her plate without replying to his often demented fans.

  I have a weird urge to tackle some fan mail now. I know Lena wouldn’t mind. If anything she’ll be grateful – I would be. I put down my tea on the spare desk and try not to remember how Christian once sat there working on his Johnny Jefferson biography. I dig into the nearest sack and pull out a handful of letters.

  I work quickly and quietly and find it’s soothing being back in this frame of mind. I locate standard fan-mail responses on the server and adapt them appropriately, then print them out, attach a signed photograph and stuff everything into addressed envelopes. The time flies and I don’t even notice Johnny at the door until he clears his throat.

  ‘Hello, there!’ I say. ‘What are you doing home so early?’

  ‘Couldn’t be arsed,’ he replies with a shrug and I remember he always did have the attention span of a gnat.

  ‘Is Dana with you?’

  ‘No, she wanted to stick around.’

  I stifle a sigh of relief. I haven’t enjoyed my encounters with her these last few days. Luckily she hasn’t been here too much.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Johnny asks, standing by my desk.

  ‘Sorting through fan mail, would you believe?’

  ‘Are you billing me for this work?’

  ‘Consider it a freebie.’

  I may have been irritated initially about Johnny’s credit-card comment, but, in all seriousness, I do want to earn my keep. I’m not, and have never been, a freeloader. I didn’t like relying on Christian to bring in the dough once we had Barney, but it was preferable to paying someone else to look after him while I went out to work. In any case, what was I going to do? I dallied with waitressing for a while when I returned to the UK, but, in truth, I was a good PA. Organisation has always been my forte. I just couldn’t bear the thought of running anyone else’s life for them after I left LA.

  Johnny pulls up a chair and sits down next to me, just as he used to. I lean back in my chair and put my arms on the armrests.

  ‘It’s weird seeing you here,’ he says.

  ‘It’s a bit strange being back,’ I admit. ‘But everything’s different now. It’s the way it should be.’

  ‘Definitely different,’ he agrees, looking away and raising his eyebrows. I don’t know what he means by that so I move on.

  ‘I sat in on those interviews with Lena yesterday.’

  ‘For the cook?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Opinion?’

  ‘Honestly? I liked Eddie.’

  ‘The guy?’ He sounds surprised.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Very grounded, young and upcoming. He can turn his hand to different styles, but it’s all good home-cooking, not too wanky.’

  ‘Wanky?’ He looks amused.

  ‘Not wanky, I said.’

  He laughs. ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘I should have known that would be your next question.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He was alright.’ I play it down, because, actually, he was pretty damn fine.

  ‘I want to meet him before he starts.’ Shame. ‘Not that I don’t trust you,’ he adds. ‘On hiring a cook, at least.’

  I purse my lips at him and he gives me a slightly defiant look. ‘That was a bit below the belt,’ I say, because I’m sad to have lost his trust, even if I deserve it. ‘I won’t lie to you again,’ I add seriously.

  He leans forward in his chair. ‘You won’t lie to me again?’

  ‘No.’ I stare back at him, confused.

  ‘I am so going to use that against you.’

  My face heats up and he chuckles. I look away to the desk. ‘I think I’ll call it a night.’

  ‘Change the subject . . .’

  I glance back at him and smirk. ‘Can you blame me?’

  ‘Did you fancy the cook?’

  ‘He was alright.’

  ‘You’ve already used that word to describe him.’

  ‘Because it’s true. Not a lie, you see.’

  ‘Yeah, but would you?’

  ‘Would I what?’ I laugh, outraged.

  ‘You know.’ He whistles to signify naughty business.

  ‘Get out of here, Johnny Jefferson.’ I poke him on his arm.

  ‘I thought you were leaving?’ he says.

  ‘Maybe I’ve got a bit more work in me, but hey, if we’re both staying, let me show you this one.’ I riffle through the stack of fan mail and pull out a red envelope. ‘It’s freakin’ hilarious.’ I’m already sounding more American. I open it up and show Johnny the photographs that one bonkers fan has enclosed of her five previous boyfriends. Each and every one of them has a strikingly bad resemblance to Johnny.

  ‘Check out this guy.’ I show him a picture of a skinny forty-something dude with wiry dyed blond hair and leather trousers.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Johnny says, studying it.

  We both crack up laughing.

  ‘Is this the best you’ve got?’ he asks when we’ve calmed down.

  ‘It takes some beating,’ I reply, digging into the stack for another one of my favourites, this time from a foreign fan who tries to describe what she’d like to do with him in bed, but who can’t speak English to save her life. I put on a silly accent and read it to him and soon we’re both in hysterics again.

  ‘That is fucking funny,’ he says. ‘We should be drinking while reading these.’ He looks at me. ‘Actually, I could do with a whisky and a fag. Come to the terrace with me?’

  I hesitate.

  ‘Nutmeg, you’re not going to be able to stop me from drinking,’ he says. ‘So you may as well join me.’

  I sigh and smile. ‘Alright, then.’ The truth is I could do with some down time with Johnny. And a drink wouldn’t go amiss, either. I haven’t had one for ages.

  I follow him out to the terrace and in the direction of the outdoor bar. The pool fence has been fitted – if you can call it a pool fence; it’s so far removed from the metal bars that I envisaged. It’s clear glass with very few joins so there’s hardly any interruption to the view. No wonder Lena thought these installers were worth waiting for.

  Johnny opens up the outdoor fridge and light spills onto his face.

  ‘What’re you having?’ he asks. ‘Bubbles?’

  ‘Ooh, yeah, that sounds good.’

  He cracks open a bottle of Dom Pérignon Rosé without even blinking. I shudder to think of the cost.

  ‘What do you want me to
do about the car, by the way?’ It’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask for ages.

  ‘Which car?’

  ‘The GTI.’ I left it with my parents in Grasse. It was such a manic time getting ready for our trip that I forgot to ask Johnny if he wanted me to sell it.

  ‘Oh, that. Nothing. Your parents can have it.’

  ‘No, Johnny, that’s too much.’

  ‘It’s fine. Darn sight better than that shitty pile of junk that they drive.’

  I smile. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’

  ‘Yep. How do you like the Panamera?’

  ‘Amazing. Seriously amazing.’ I drove the family-sized Porsche this afternoon when I went to see Kitty. Scared the hell out of me at first – it’s properly powerful and there’s a weight behind it that I’m not used to – but I loved it. ‘Thank you so much, again.’

  ‘S’okay. Wanted my boy to be safe.’

  I smile at him. ‘You’re an old softy, really.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up and pass me the whisky.’

  I shake my head and pass it to him while he lights up. He takes a swig straight from the bottle then chinks it against the champagne bottle.

  ‘Am I not getting a glass?’ I ask him drily.

  ‘Come on, Nutmeg, you’re what – twenty-six?’

  ‘Twenty-seven next week.’

  ‘So live a little.’ He chinks the bottles together again before taking another swig. I follow his lead and drink straight from the champagne bottle. The bubbles hit the back of my throat and immediately add warmth to the heat that’s already inside my stomach because he remembered what age I am. He grins at me and indicates the polished concrete bench table overlooking the city. We walk over there, bottles in hand, and sit down beside each other.

  ‘So what do you think of Dana?’ he asks.

  ‘She’s nice,’ I reply.

  ‘You said you wouldn’t lie to me again.’

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  ‘She has a good heart,’ he says. I don’t know why he’s trying to convince me. ‘You’ll get to like her.’

  Another swig, another drag on his cigarette. I take a deep breath. The night air is warm and the scent of pine trees mingles with the smell of Johnny’s smoke. The lights of the city blink and twinkle in the haze and far away a police car whizzes around the bends on a hill, its sirens blazing. A cricket chirps in the undergrowth. Johnny scratches at his stubble and gazes sideways at me before straddling the bench seat and facing me full-on.

  ‘You’re different,’ he says.

  ‘Am I?’ I change position so I’m also facing him. ‘In what way?’

  ‘More confident. You’re not blushing like a schoolgirl with every word I say.’

  I take a drink and raise one eyebrow at him.

  ‘Only every second word,’ he corrects himself.

  ‘Bugger off.’ I kick his leg.

  ‘There,’ he says. ‘You see? More confident. I’m serious!’ he insists when I roll my eyes.

  I rest my elbow on the table and prop my head against my hand. Thinking about it, he’s right. I’m no longer just his PA, an employee who fell in love with him. I can no longer be accused of being the same as all those nameless groupies. I’m the mother of his child. We are forever tied to each other. I guess that thought gives me comfort – and security, in a weird kind of way. That’s why I’m more relaxed. He might be one of the world’s most famous people, but he’s also just a man. A parent. And in that respect, at the very least, we’re equals.

  He takes another swig and stares across at me. The way he’s looking at me is starting to make me feel a little funny. I take another drink myself, but don’t break eye contact.

  ‘Do you ever think about that day?’ he asks.

  ‘What day?

  ‘London, two years ago.’

  He doesn’t say ‘Christian’s house’, but I know what he’s talking about. The last time we slept together.

  I nod and he lights up another cigarette, scrutinising me. The alcohol has made him more blatant. It’s making me feel warm and fuzzy and somewhere, deep inside, I know this is a bad thing, but I don’t want him to stop looking at me. I want to go to bed with him.

  Meg! What the hell are you thinking?

  He jolts suddenly and reaches into his pocket for his vibrating phone, and like a bombed submarine, my heart sinks.

  Dana . . .

  ‘Hey,’ he says into the receiver, looking away from me. ‘Just having a drink with Meg.’

  He never calls me Nutmeg in front of her. I wonder if she has a nickname. I haven’t heard him use one.

  ‘No, we’re outside on the terrace,’ he says. ‘Sure.’ Pause. ‘Okay, see you in a bit.’

  He hangs up.

  ‘Dana?’ Although I know I don’t have to ask.

  ‘On her way over,’ he says.

  The bubbles go flat. What a waste of good champagne.

  I yawn. ‘Well, I’m knackered.’ I don’t want to see Dana, not at the best of times, but definitely not when I’ve been thinking dirty thoughts about her boyfriend.

  Johnny gets up and follows me inside, stubbing out his fag in one of the tall steel cylindrical ashtrays on his way past.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ I say, not looking back as I head towards the stairs.

  ‘Nutmeg,’ he calls and I turn reluctantly to face him. He’s standing there in the middle of the room, clutching a half-empty bottle of whisky. His eyes are intense, even from this distance, and he looks hurt, like he’s in pain. Suddenly I want to run to him, to throw my arms around him, to kiss him, but I don’t. My feet stay rooted to the spot.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ he says in a gruff voice.

  I nod, and then I turn and walk up the stairs.

  Chapter 31

  I wake up early the next morning and glance across at the monitor. Barney has just started to stir. We’re both still jet-lagged. I climb out of bed and drag on my dressing gown, then go to the bathroom to take two Ibuprofen. My head hurts. That’ll teach me to drink champagne on a practically empty stomach. I stand there in the bathroom for a while, remembering my conversation with Johnny last night. I hate that I still have feelings for him. Bess was right: it’s my heart that’s the problem.

  It’s a bright sunny day and even though there’s a chill in the air, after breakfast I decide to take Barney for a swim in the heated pool. I don’t imagine Johnny and Dana will emerge for some time. We splash about for twenty minutes and are just about to get out when a familiar figure walks around the side of the house in khaki board shorts and a red T-shirt. Santiago! He stops in his tracks and then his face breaks into a grin.

  ‘Hello, stranger!’ he shouts. ‘How the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m good!’ I beam, getting out of the pool and wrapping Barney in a towel before seeing to myself. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Still the same.’ He shakes his head and stares at Barney. ‘I can’t believe it.’ He meets my eyes and I shrug.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘They made me sign another privacy agreement.’

  ‘Did they?’ I laugh. ‘Probably for the best.’

  ‘Jesus, the shit’s really going to hit the fan when this comes out.’ My face falls and he apologises. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I know you’re right. Guess we’ll cross that bridge, hey?’

  He looks older and broader – he must be twenty-four or twenty-five now. But he has the same olive skin, short jet-black hair and pearly white teeth. He always was good-looking, if a bit short.

  ‘What’s his name?’ Santiago asks, referring to the bundle in my arms.

  ‘Barney,’ I tell him and he holds out his arms to take him so I hand him over. I remember now that Santiago used to babysit his little brother when his mum – a nurse – had a shift.

  ‘How old is your brother?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s thirteen now.’

  ‘Not so little anymore.’

  ‘Still little compared to me.’

&
nbsp; ‘That’s true.’ I laugh. ‘Hey, listen, let me go and get us dressed and then we’ll come and keep you company. I want to know all the gossip.’

  ‘Oh, and there’s plenty,’ he says with a wink. ‘Let’s go out back to the hedges so we’re out of sight.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  I throw on some clothes and see to Barney and then root around in his downstairs giant golf-ball toy box for some children’s gardening gear I saw in there the other day. Then we go out of the front door and up the back of the garden to the hedges, where Santiago is already at work.

  ‘Tell me everything!’ I command, plonking Barney on the grass with a plastic spade.

  ‘You’ve met Dana, I take it?’ Santiago asks with an unamused look.

  ‘Not keen?’ I turn the tables on him.

  ‘Hell, no. Demented crazy bitch.’

  ‘Eesh.’ I sit down on the grass and cross my legs, staring up at him as he clips away at the greenery.

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ he says. ‘You know Rosa quit?’

  ‘She found Johnny after the overdose, right?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s not the only reason she left, though. She couldn’t stand Dana.’

  ‘Really?’ I sit up in anticipation.

  ‘Bad influence. You know it was her dealer that got them into that mess? So much for rehab.’ He snorts.

  ‘God.’

  ‘She was also always getting Rosa to do stuff for her.’

  ‘Bossing her about?’

  ‘No, that was the thing. She tried to wheedle her way into Rosa’s affections, batting her eyelashes at her, giving her shoulder massages, but Rosa was having none of it.’ He puts on a silly voice. ‘“Rosa, baby, you couldn’t do us some popcorn, could you?” There’s a friggin’ popcorn machine in the private cinema! All you’ve got to do is switch it on,’ he rants.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ I ask, because Rosa was no gossip.

  ‘Sandy told me.’ The maid. ‘She’s a friend of my aunt’s and we caught up at a barbecue recently.’

  ‘Can sign a privacy agreement, but can’t stop the staff from talking, hey?’

  ‘Exactly. Everybody’s gotta blow off steam.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Rosa?’

  ‘Nah, not me. We didn’t work together much. But I liked her. She was a nice lady.’ He looks down at Barney and then back at me. ‘So what about you? Are you going to tell me how this happened? I mean, Jesus, it was pretty obvious you were into each other. That time he flipped out when I gave you a cigarette? Jealous as hell, I knew that straight away. But a baby? A frickin’ baby, Meg? How did that happen?’