Page 31 of Just Like in the Movies

‘Don’t look so concerned,’ Luke said, and she spotted a quirk at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, exactly, but not entirely stony faced. ‘The Capra Nut Magistrate wasn’t wrong about my construction skills.’ He glanced over at the vintage refreshments counter and the ticket booth. ‘Luckily, the place looks structurally sound. I’ll get some surveys done to check that out first, but I can schedule at least a hundred hours of work in here alone once we know there aren’t any nasty surprises waiting for us.’ He cast his constructor’s gaze over the foyer, which looked a lot more shabby than chic in the daylight streaming in from the theatre’s glass frontage. ‘You’ve got the beginnings of wet rot in the wall over there.’ He pointed to the corner he’d been inspecting when she arrived. ‘I’ll have to hack back the top layer, most of which has already blown and install some damp proofing before I replaster and redecorate.’

‘That … that would be incredible.’ She hadn’t doubted his construction skills for a second; what she had doubted was his willingness to do something she had assumed he could easily get out of. But she was not about to correct his assumption any more than she was going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Having Luke here for three hundred hours, getting stuck into a

ll the repair jobs she and Matty had neglected over the past decade free of charge, wasn’t just a gift horse, it was a gift unicorn.

Not only could they use the repairs, but there would be a Devlin in the theatre again.

‘Is there a bar around here with low lighting where we can talk without an audience?’ Luke said, kicking the Mariachi Band back up to coke speed.

Low lighting? Was he coming on to her? But just as the question threatened to torpedo the last of her lung function, Luke’s gaze flicked to her staff. The wary glance reminded her of the look he’d sent the poster of his father three weeks ago.

Whoa, girl!

She gulped down a steadying breath. Of course, he needed low lighting so as not to be harassed by any lingering Falcone nuts.

‘Absolutely. Jacie can you finish off the meeting while I take Mr Devlin to Brynn’s …’

‘We can handle Hugh Grant, dear,’ Beryl – who was supposed to be deaf but suddenly seemed to have better hearing than Sandra Bullock in Bird Box – said loudly. ‘You go on and have a nice time with Mr Devlin, I’m sure there’s lots you need to discuss.’ The twinkle in Beryl’s eye was bright enough to illuminate Greater London.

So much for discreet, then.

‘Okay, thanks everyone.’ Ruby grasped Luke’s arm, ignoring the renewed buzz in her fingertips as his forearm flexed.

All the better to cure wet rot with, she determined.

***

Five minutes later, they walked into Brynn’s Babes, the bar owned by their legendary local drag artist, Brynn Da Mood for Love. Round the corner from the cinema, Brynn’s had become a local hang-out for Matty and The Royale’s staff over the years and offered Royale customers two-for-one themed cocktails with daft names like Bridget Jones’s Daiquiri and Slumdog Martini. Luckily, it wasn’t happy hour yet, and the only clientele were a couple of tourists soaking up the local atmosphere.

‘Take a seat,’ Ruby said as she perched on one of the bar stools. ‘What’s your poison? It’s my shout,’ she added, as Brynn’s partner Thérèse approached to take their order.

‘I’ll buy,’ Luke said, then had a brief conversation with Thérèse about the beers on draft before settling for a bottle of Sam Adams.

‘Really, you don’t have to pay for the drinks,’ Ruby began. ‘I feel like we owe you—’

‘Ruby, just order a drink,’ he said, riding roughshod over her objections, but the quirk of his lips had practically become a smile, so she didn’t take offence.

‘I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow morning,’ he added. ‘And I don’t want to miss another.’

‘Oh, okay, absolutely,’ she said, quickly ordering a lemon-tini, because it was Matty’s favourite and right now she needed some Matty courage. Thérèse walked off to get their drinks after sending Ruby a conspiratorial wink.

‘I’m sorry to keep you, you could just email me about anything you need to …’ she continued.

‘Relax, Ruby,’ he said. ‘I was kidding about the flight.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said, deflating. ‘So what did you want to discuss?’

Thérèse slid her the lemon-tini. As Luke paid for the drinks and thanked Thérèse, Ruby tried not to chug the fortifying cocktail in one go.

‘We need to work up a schedule,’ he said. ‘I can come by to hammer out a checklist of work that needs doing but I have to return to New York for a few days to rearrange my schedule first.’ He stroked his thumb down the side of the beer bottle, creating a trail in the cold droplets clinging to the glass, but his gaze remained fixed on her face. ‘How does Saturday sound? Then I can start work Monday.’

‘That would be beyond wonderful,’ she said, suddenly struggling to resist the urge to fling her arms round his broad shoulders and hug him.

He was actually genuinely serious about helping to repair The Royale. Surely that had to mean he might be softening towards West London’s Premium Art-House Institution? And even if it didn’t, it would give them time to work on him. Work with him, she corrected, trying not to get fixated on his shoulders.

Don’t hug him Rubes, you don’t want to scare him off.

Although Luke Devlin didn’t look like the type to be easily scared off by serial huggers, she wasn’t taking any chances.

---