Page 19 of Benidorm Again

The next morning, I drift downstairs feeling a little smug with myself. I really did give a top-notch performance last night. I wish I could ring Matteo and tell him all about it. Instead, I left him a rather excitable voicemail. Hopefully, the Sinfonia will be in the local news today, and I can send him the link. I hope they feature me singing in that ruby-red costume. It was divine. I looked amazing in it.

‘Hey, Constance,’ Dolly calls over to me. ‘You’re late. And what did I tell you last night about not getting involved with Luke? Now BBC radio Manchester wants an interview with the pair of you later this morning. Maestro is not pleased, let me tell you.’

‘Is this about Luke saving my life?’

‘Saving your life? No. He never mentioned that. It’s the other thing.’ She shakes her head as though I’ve done something Ishouldn’t and returns her attention to the plate piled high with eggs and sausage in front of her.

I have no idea what she means, but as I walk towards the buffet counter and pick up a hot plate, a hush settles across the dining area, and I feel like I’m being watched. I circle slowly while musicians and choir members whip their heads away, busying themselves, poking food around on their plates. There is definitely an atmosphere.

The only people not inspecting their continental breakfasts are the group of chorus girls who are regarding me with cold and hostile expressions.

I grab up a few pastries and sit down at Dolly’s table. ‘You haven’t seen the reviews,’ she says. ‘Have you?’

‘No, not yet.’ I won’t bother telling her that I didn’t think newspapers did that anymore. Who reads them anyway?

‘They’re over there.’ She nods to a table covered in newspapers.

I get up and go over to the table. Nobody is even trying to pretend they’re not watching me.

I take in the papers spread out, open at the appropriate review sections.

Shitting, shitting Hell.

Once back in my hotel room, I’m straight on the phone to Ged. His lovely face pops up on my screen immediately, and I sweep the camera over the newspapers so he can take in the headlines.

‘Oh My God! What will I do?’ I plead.

‘Calm down. Matteo’s in LA. He’s not going to see you making out on stage with the UK’s most fanciable tenor. Although, those headlines are a bit much.’

‘I can’t believe this is happening. It’s a nightmare. And I wasn’t making out with him. We were acting. Immersed in the part.Mi Amore Mi Amoreis quite demanding, emotionally.’

‘Hmmm. I’m sure it is, love. But the pictures do make it look like you’re about to kiss.’

‘It’s the angle. I don’t even know who took those pictures.’

I stare blankly at my face glowing up the tabloids. The reviews are incredible. It’s the headlines that are the worry. And the accompanying pictures of me gazing lovingly at Luke mid-song that they’ve chosen to print. Opera’s newest power couple bring the house down while Lady HermioneGreene , who just happens to be related to the Royal family, looks sadly at us from the imperial box. I examine the pictures of Luke and me on stage, practically in each other’s arms, singing, while she gazes at us with a wistful expression on her face. She was probably swept up in the emotion. You could hear a pin drop once that song was over. There are false accusations that I have stolen her first love away from her. The article insinuates that the three of us are swept up in a royal love triangle. There is hardly any mention of the Maestro or the musicians or the Sinfonia.

‘That’s certainly one way to get yourself noticed,’ says Ged.

Judging by the hostile reaction of everyone downstairs, after only one night, I have alienated the entire ensemble of singers and musicians, the tour manager and our precious Maestro yet again.

‘Is any of it true? Did Luke mention that he went to school with a princess?’ Ged asks, still collecting evidence. ‘Were they childhood sweethearts? Does she still have a crush on him?’

‘How would I know? I only met him yesterday! We’re not at the who was your first crush, or how do you feel about throuples stage yet. Besides, I haven’t seen him today. He could be furious about it.’

‘Or he could be the one behind it. Orchestrating his own publicity. Like you say, we don’t know him.’

‘What if Matteo sees it?’ I say, suddenly realising how the article might look to him. After all, we never did discuss whether our relationship is exclusive or not.

‘Matteo isn’t daft. He’ll know it’s just clickbait. You could try ringing him to explain.’

‘He said his phone will be switched off most of the week. Do you think this is important enough to disturb him?’

‘Depends. Which artist is Matteo working with? Did he say?’

‘No. It’s top secret. He’s signed a — ‘

‘An NDA! Fucking hell, Connie. Please let it be Harry. Or Swiftie! Birdie produced two songs on her last album.’

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