Page 10 of Benidorm Again

Ping. Ping. Ping.

‘Don’t mind me,’ he says in a facetious tone. ‘You’ve obviously got more important things to do than focus on this tour.’

Gah!

‘And you’ve obviously got more important things to do than drive your own bus.’

This tit-for-tat is beneath me.

He studies me with an intense gaze. The azure blue of his eyes are framed with thick dark lashes for such a blonde-haired man. He does not look impressed. ‘Do I look like a bus driver to you?’

I deliberately look him up and down with a casual shrug, which seems to irk him more. He’s right. Too well dressed for a bus driver, but perfectly dressed for a pompous jazz musician, serial killer or worse, an opera-critic.

Just my luck.

Chapter 4

I break eye contact to check Liam’s message. ‘Well, that was weird,’ Liam texts me. ‘Make sure you keep me updated, otherwise I will assume some sort of Phantom of the Opera thing is going on.’

Christ Almighty.That’s all I need. Luke is probably the boss of the Sinfonia for all I know. I can feel cold, sticky tears drying on my face as I attempt to smooth my hair back into place and subtly give my cheeks a wipe.

Before things escalate, it might be best to check. ‘And what do you do exactly?’ I ask. ‘Besides hurrying people onto the bus.’

‘Does it matter?’

Good question. ‘It does if you’re the boss. And are you?’

‘I understand this is your first classical tour?’ he says, ignoring my question. ‘Apparently, your audition moved everyone to tears.’ Luke pauses to tilt his head. ‘I can see why.’

My God. Isthis going to haunt my career forever?

‘Is there a reason you’ve followed me down the aisle?’ I say, changing the subject. ‘Don’t you have any other musicians to harass?’

He seems vaguely amused at this.

‘I have to say. Considering this is my first tour with the Sinfonia, I’m not very impressed.’ I look him square in the eye, fully aware that the pot is calling the kettle black.

‘Touché,’ he says calmly, not rising to the bait. For some reason, probably my own nerves, I find him instantly antagonising.

I should tell him to move and give me some space. One more inch, and he’ll be able to tell me what type of foundation I’m wearing. Powder. In hindsight, a cream would have been sturdier against the streaking. He watches me dab at my cheek.

Suddenly, a thought occurs. His handkerchief is screwed up in my hand. ‘Oh. You’ve come to get this back,’ I realise, holding it out. Of course, his posh monogrammed handkerchief.Gah!It is filthy with black mascara.

‘Keep it. You seem the emotional sort. You may need it for your… frequent outbursts.’

‘How do you know they are frequent?’ I’m immediately rattled by his rudeness.

‘Just a hunch.’

‘Perhaps you could find a seat elsewhere,’ I say. I’m fraught enough as it is. I don’t need this level of stalker vibe from a complete stranger.

‘Perhaps I should introduce you to the designated Welfare Officer for the tour.’

‘Why would I be needing a Welfare Officer, exactly? I’m perfectly well-adjusted and capable of doing this tour.’

He’s just seen me clinging onto Liam, begging him to take me back home and weeping my way onto the bus, but I’d hate to give the impression I’m incompetent and unable to hold my own on tour. And I could do with dropping the posh accent I’ve suddenly acquired. Lord knows where it has sprung up from.

He continues studying me as though he’s going to paint my portrait. ‘You don’t seem okay. You seem very on edge.’

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