Page 14 of The Love Letter
‘I know, I believe you. Really.’
‘Thanks. I mean, surely you must feel just a little pissed off with our grandfather too? Sorry, Zo, but what does a ten-year-old want with what must amount to millions of pounds? Can you imagine how much that will be in eleven years’ time when Jamie turns twenty-one?’
‘I understand how hurt you are about the will, but really, it’s not fair to blame Jamie.’
‘No.’ Marcus drained his glass and ordered another. ‘I’m just . . . at the end of my tether, I suppose. Everything’s going wrong. I’m thirty-four this year. Maybe that’s it – maybe I’m suddenly staring middle-age in the face. I’ve even gone off sex.’
‘Christ, now that is a sobering thought.’ Zoe rolled her eyes.
‘You know –’ Marcus waggled his Marlboro Light at her – ‘that kind of reaction is just what I expect from my family. You all patronise me, treat me as though I’m a child.’
‘Is that our fault? Let’s face it, you have got yourself into some scrapes over the years.’
‘Yes, but now, when I have a cause I’m totally committed to, no one will believe or support me.’
Zoe sipped her champagne and checked her watch. Twenty-five minutes before the premiere began – twenty-five minutes before she sawhim, in the flesh . . . Her heart rate gathered pace and she felt horribly sick.
‘Look, Marcus, we’ve got to be going. Get the bill, will you?’
Marcus signalled a waiter and Zoe took one of his cigarettes out of the packet.
‘Didn’t think you smoked.’
‘I don’t. Often. Listen.’ Zoe inhaled, felt even sicker and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘I’ve had an idea about how we might be able to sort out your problem. I’ll have to speak to Dad about it.’
‘Then it’s a non-starter to begin with. Dad’s as down on me as he could be.’
‘Leave it with me.’
‘What is it? Tell me now, Zoe, please. Let me sleep tonight,’ Marcus begged her.
‘No, not until I’ve talked to him. Thanks.’ The waiter handed Zoe the bill and she tucked her credit card inside the leather folder. ‘How are you for the moment? Do you need some cash to see you through?’
‘To be honest, yes,’ Marcus admitted, not able to look her in the eyes. ‘I’m down to my last few pounds and I’m about to be chucked out of my fleapit of a flat for missing last month’s rent.’
Zoe reached into her clutch bag and drew out a cheque. She handed it to Marcus. ‘There. It’s a loan, mind you. I took it out of my savings account and I want it paid back when probate comes through.’
‘Course. Thanks, Zoe. I appreciate it.’ He folded the cheque and slid it into his inside jacket pocket.
‘Just don’t spend it on whisky, Marcus, please. Right, let’s go.’
The two of them took a taxi to Leicester Square, and crawled through the traffic at Piccadilly Circus.
‘How big is your role in this?’ Marcus asked her.
‘Second lead. Even you might enjoy it. It’s a good film – low budget, meaningful,’ she added.
The area outside the front of the Odeon in Leicester Square had been cordoned off. Zoe nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Right. Here goes.’ She stepped out, shivering in the cold drizzle, and surveyed the crowd of eager onlookers. This was a production without a Hollywood star or special effect in sight, but she knew who it was they’d come to see. The huge poster on the front of the building was illuminated by numerous spotlights, Zoe’s profile part hidden by the lead actress’s face – the curvaceous Jane Donohue.
‘Blimey, wish I’d taken more of an interest while you were filming,’ Marcus quipped, looking up at the poster and the leading lady.
‘Be nice when you meet her, won’t you?’ Zoe grabbed Marcus’s hand instinctively as they walked onto the red carpet.
‘When am Inotnice to beautiful women?’ he asked.
‘You know what I mean. Stay close tonight, promise?’ She squeezed his hand.
Marcus shrugged. ‘If you want.’
