The Honey Trap

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‘Okay, so I was sent by my editor to honey trap you, I think that’s pretty plain at this point. But I was only supposed to get you up to the hotel room, get one compromising shot and come away. The rest – well, you know the rest. I didn’t know we were still being filmed. You saw me block the camera with that towel. And for what it’s worth, I apologise, to you and your wife. I don’t know what made me do it. I’m a sizzling mess of a human person and just like you I ballsed things up, for all three of us but especially for her. And you can bet I’ll beat myself up about it every day of my life from now on. But if you want to know whether I regret the time we spent together, then I don’t know how to answer you.’

Seb loosened his grip on her wrist and just stared at her. His expression was unreadable, his face unflinching. She glared back, trying and failing to make her face as emotionless as his.

‘Look, I’m sorry.’ Her voice cracked as he continued to stare at her in total silence. ‘It doesn’t fix things but it’s all I’ve got, Seb. I’m sorry. And for what it’s worth, I thought The Milkman Cometh was a masterpiece. Original, compelling, unbelievably tight. Wilder would have been proud to call it his.’

Out of the corner of her eye she’d seen Kev heading back towards their booth, and now he reached the table, dumping two champagnes down in front of them.

‘Right, there’s your drinks. Shall we get on with the interview?’

Seb stared straight into her eyes for what seemed like an age, his fingers still loosely circling her wrist.

‘No need, Kev. Interview’s over.’

Chapter 9 (#ulink_ddb60df5-4c6a-5d2a-a14f-5b7243d1878b)

Angel staggered to the VIP lounge toilets, blinded by tears that wouldn’t now be held back.

The club became a blue mist as the stinging saltwater seeped out. She lurched past the queue for the champagne bar and felt her way through the door marked Ladies, gripped the cold porcelain edge of the sink hard and gave in for a moment to convulsive sobs.

Oh God, what had made her do it? Interviewing Seb had been the single worst experience of her life. The way he’d looked at her; that hard, biting dislike…

Struggling to regain control, she looked up at herself in the mirror. The face glaring back seemed hollow, somehow catlike; the peppering of freckles standing out against ghastly white skin, a feverish spot of pink on each cheek. The green eyes were bleared and lined with red.

She splashed some cold water over her face, experienced a surge of blessed relief as it revived and healed her.

A noise came from behind and in the mirror she saw the lock of one cubicle was drawn to the red engaged position. Fantastic. So someone had heard her little meltdown.

The noise came again: a strange, strangulated gurgle. Sounded like whoever it was had knocked back one milk bottle too many…

Turning around, she thumped on the door. ‘Hey. Are you okay in there? Can I call anyone for you?’

There was no mistaking the noise this time. It sounded like someone trying to speak with a tongue too thick for their mouth.

‘Hey!’ She banged harder. No answer, just that odd strangled sound again, something between choking and dry heaving.

This was seriously not her night.

Leaning her weight against the cubicle door with one shoulder, Angel gave it a couple of firm, hard shoves. The lock couldn’t have been drawn all the way across. It snapped back with relative ease and the door swung open.

She recoiled in shock. The scene in front of her could have come straight out of a horror film. A woman was slumped in one corner, her skin so papery-pale as to be almost transparent and her lips tinged with blue. Her eyes had rolled back into her skull so only the whites were visible and the face was smeared with make-up. Blood from a nostril had dried into a trickle, staining the peacock-motif white chiffon dress that hung by one strap from her shoulder.

It was Carole Beaumont.

‘Jesus Christ! What the hell have you taken?’ Angel hurled herself forward and shook the lifeless figure. A stab of fear slammed through her as Carole’s head lolled on her shoulders.

She moved her face to the actress’s mouth and felt hot, shallow breaths against her cheek. Once again, she heard the strangulated sound gurgling from the back of Carole’s throat.

She needed an ambulance. Right now. Angel turned to the mirror, which flashed her own frantic, horror-struck face back to her. Where the hell was her handbag? Did she leave it back in Seb’s booth?

Then she spotted it, under the sink where she’d dropped it when she first came in. Snatching it up, she fumbled for her mobile. Oh God, what if the ambulance didn’t get there in time? This woman needed medical attention right away!

Should she run outside, call for help? Someone there would be bound to know first aid. But there was also the room full of press just behind the velvet rope, all on the lookout for fresh scandal. In her mind she could already see Carole Beaumont’s blood-caked face on every front page…

Seb. He’d know what to do. Surely he must have dealt with something like this before. But how could she fetch him without drawing attention to them both? And she didn’t want to leave Carole alone.

With a sudden thought, she rifled through the contents of her bag. She’d given herself a mental slap at the time for being weak enough to hold on to it, but yes, there it was still, tucked into her purse behind her Visa card. The note from Seb telling her what a great time he’d had with her that night at the hotel. The one with his mobile number scrawled underneath.

Thank God she’d kept it! She tapped out the digits, hoping to heaven he’d answer. He certainly wouldn’t if he knew it was her, but of course he didn’t have her number.

She listened to the phone ring, once, twice… come on, come on! Finally she heard it click as Seb picked up, answering with a crisp ‘Yes?’.

‘It’s Angel. Listen, you have to get to the ladies’ loos behind the champagne bar right now. I’m with Carole. Jesus, Seb, hurry, can you? It’s an emergency.’

Without waiting for an answer, she hung up and threw the phone back into her bag.

She shot a panicked look at Carole, wondering if she should put her in the recovery position and then what the recovery position was. She had a vague idea tongues were important and stopping unconscious people from choking on them, but that was about the sum total of her first-aid knowledge.