Love Lies

29. Fern

We leave the gig via helicopter (it’s so incredibly noisy my ears hurt but it’s fast). I look down on the tens of thousands of fans swarming out of the stadium, walking back to their cars, or the tube or train, and I can’t believe I’m not among those hordes. That is where I’ve always been. I thought it was my place. Within minutes we leave behind the marching crowd and are soon above black fields of countryside. We land in the grounds of a smart country house, one of those impressive Georgian things that pops up in movies of adaptations of Jane Austen novels.

Saadi practically jumps from the helicopter before the blades have stopped rotating; she’s talking down her mobile to the person on reception just a few feet away. A number of staff in black rollneck jumpers and dark grey trousers emerge from the house and pounce on us with almost terrifying efficiency. Despite the fact that it’s a balmy night they offer blankets to put around our shoulders as we make the short walk from helicopter to hall. Scott shrugs them away; politely but firmly. I follow suit, fighting the urge to collapse into giggles – it’s not like I’m ninety.

‘There are twenty-eight bedrooms here,’ Saadi tells me. The word bed practically makes me come. I glance over at Scott; he’s divine. I want him with such a heady ferocity. Saadi goes on, ‘We’ve booked the lot so there shouldn’t Privacy, that word pokes and jabs me. I am sick with excitement that within minutes Scott and I will be able to enjoy some of that privacy; enjoy each other. Saadi, oblivious to my lusty thoughts, continues, ‘We’ve changed hotel every night for the last three nights to keep the press from finding us, which has worked so far, although it’s a pain having to pack up every morning. But if we stay longer than one night anywhere hotel staff always leak our whereabouts to the tabloids. It’s frustrating.’ Saadi shoots a lethal look at the bellboy who is currently scuttling past her and taking her bags upstairs. He looks terrified – trialled, hung, drawn and quartered in one look; I feel a bit sorry for him. ‘This lot are under contract to keep their mouths shut so we can set up camp for a few days if Scott wants to. There are bedrooms in the main house, the coach house, the stable block and the lodge. I’ve put you in the coach house. Scott is in the main house. There’s better security there.’

‘But –’ I look around for Scott so that he can back up my objection. Surely we are going to share a room. ‘But –’

‘Don’t worry.’ Saadi cuts me off by waving her long hand in front of my face as if pre-emptively batting away any objections I could possibly make. ‘There’s no security risk to you yet. No one knows who you are. Once they do we’ll have to think about hiring a big burly bloke to watch your back. Scott’s fans will hate you. There’s bound to be trouble. There’ll certainly be nasty threats, although I doubt any actual attacks, but you can never be too certain.’

‘Right,’ I mumble, suddenly feeling much more nervous

‘Oh, don’t worry. You’ll have a lovely room. All the bedrooms are large, individually designed and equipped with the latest technology from Sony LCD screen TVs and Sony DVD players to wireless internet access. The bathrooms have stand-alone or sunken baths. Do you have a preference? Whichever it is I’m sure it can be arranged.’

‘I don’t mind, but –’ But I want to tell her that since we were in the flower shop I’ve thought of little other than Scott’s tantalizing caresses and kisses. Through clothes I’ve felt his throbbing hardness and now I want more. Or less, actually – less clothes.

‘Good. Plus there will be a full range of Molton Brown bath products for you to use. I love their stuff, don’t you?’

‘Very nice, but –’ I mutter, and before I realize quite what’s happening I notice that Scott’s manager, Mark, is shooing Scott up the mahogany staircase and Saadi is leading me back out of the reception and through the courtyard to what must be the coach house.

‘The doctor did say you need a rest,’ she insists quite firmly. ‘And Scott has a lot to talk about with Mark. It’s been quite a surprising night for everyone.’

‘Yes,’ I manage feebly.

Saadi looks at me with a peculiar mix of sympathy and envy. ‘Especially you, I suppose.’ I nearly squash a tabby cat that’s sleeping outside on the warm gravelly forecourt; as I stumble Saadi shoves me over the threshold into a beautiful room. She hands me the key and says, ‘Good-night, we’ll talk tomorrow.’ She speaks in a tone of voice that makes it quite clear that no further discussion is required, expected or permitted.