Read Online The Hollow Heart (The Heartfelt Series) by Adrienne Vaughan - Free Book Online
Authors: Adrienne Vaughan
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borrowed midnight blue velvet dinner jacket, had
managed to smooth his wayward locks, although his navy blue bow tie flopped to
one side and the frill of his dress shirt had been singed, due to overzealous
ironing. His eyes sparkled and, placing Marianne’s golden pashmina around her
shoulders, he stood back from the doorway to reveal the waiting car.
She checked Paul’s expression to ensure this was a joke.
“Great isn’t it? On the company, of course.”
They said goodnight to Monty and, pulling the door closed,
tangoed, giggling, along the pathway. Marianne laughed even louder when Ted
Cassidy, one of the Chronicle’s long-serving photographers, jumped from the car
to open the door. Ted apologised for being inappropriately attired for his role
as chauffeur but explained he had been commissioned to take some shots to
accompany the article, Marianne would no doubt be writing.
“No such thing as a free Awards dinner either then?” She
smiled as they posed, glasses in hand, for Ted and the neighbours, who had
gathered to see who was responsible for the white monstrosity filling half the
cul-de-sac.
‘The Power 2 The People
Awards’ extravaganza was highly organised; it had to be. Marianne’s invitation
had come with an allotted time for her party to arrive; ensuring all guests and
celebrities could be photographed and interviewed at manageable intervals along
the stretch of traditional red carpet.
Paul had another surprise for Marianne. His sister Zara and
her husband Mike were also on the guest list; as was Mike’s father, the
American TV star who had failed to make it to the National Media Awards; his
actress girlfriend, and their New York agents, Leeson & Leeson. But just
hours before the event, Zara called to say the New York team had to bow out and
the American TV Star, a great friend of the Baroness, had arranged for Marianne
and her guest to join their table. This meant Marianne and Paul would be seated
in the centre of the arena, flanking the huge stage and catwalk that had been
designed to bring the live action right into the heart of the auditorium. If
Marianne’s campaign was to win an award, she would be perfectly placed to be
called to the stage to receive it.
Paul and Marianne smiled graciously at the crowds as they stepped
from the limousine onto the crimson strip of runway stretched before them. She
dug her fingernails into his hand, as various stage whispers of, “Who’s that?”
“What are they in?” flew about them. Flashbulbs popped, as they sashayed
onwards, just fast enough to keep onlookers and photographers guessing, before
Paul broke into an undignified canter, waving his arms madly.
“Hey sis, look it’s me, we’re here!” he called out.
Marianne, now stranded on the carpet, maintained her regal
swish until she reached the little group and, then joining in the laughter,
shared embraces and kisses all round.
Marianne liked Paul’s older sister, Zara, she was warm and
friendly, if a little protective of her idealistic younger brother. When they
first met, Zara often hinted, despite the age difference, and the fact that
Marianne was technically Paul’s boss, that she hoped their relationship would
develop beyond friendship. When Marianne became engaged to George, Zara
graciously put that ambition aside and had telephoned Marianne personally to
congratulate her. She had also been genuinely upset when George died. In fact
the last time Marianne had seen Zara, was at George’s funeral, although she
could barely remember if they had spoken.
Zara wrapped her arms around her.
“You look fabulous, you look amazing. How are you, really?”
She took Marianne’s hands and looked into her eyes.
“I’m alright,” Marianne held her gaze, “honestly, I’m doing
okay.” Zara beamed. She could not deny she was again hopeful, that once a
certain amount of time had passed, Paul and Marianne might become an item. They
seemed so good together.
But to Marianne, Paul was,
managed to smooth his wayward locks, although his navy blue bow tie flopped to
one side and the frill of his dress shirt had been singed, due to overzealous
ironing. His eyes sparkled and, placing Marianne’s golden pashmina around her
shoulders, he stood back from the doorway to reveal the waiting car.
She checked Paul’s expression to ensure this was a joke.
“Great isn’t it? On the company, of course.”
They said goodnight to Monty and, pulling the door closed,
tangoed, giggling, along the pathway. Marianne laughed even louder when Ted
Cassidy, one of the Chronicle’s long-serving photographers, jumped from the car
to open the door. Ted apologised for being inappropriately attired for his role
as chauffeur but explained he had been commissioned to take some shots to
accompany the article, Marianne would no doubt be writing.
“No such thing as a free Awards dinner either then?” She
smiled as they posed, glasses in hand, for Ted and the neighbours, who had
gathered to see who was responsible for the white monstrosity filling half the
cul-de-sac.
‘The Power 2 The People
Awards’ extravaganza was highly organised; it had to be. Marianne’s invitation
had come with an allotted time for her party to arrive; ensuring all guests and
celebrities could be photographed and interviewed at manageable intervals along
the stretch of traditional red carpet.
Paul had another surprise for Marianne. His sister Zara and
her husband Mike were also on the guest list; as was Mike’s father, the
American TV star who had failed to make it to the National Media Awards; his
actress girlfriend, and their New York agents, Leeson & Leeson. But just
hours before the event, Zara called to say the New York team had to bow out and
the American TV Star, a great friend of the Baroness, had arranged for Marianne
and her guest to join their table. This meant Marianne and Paul would be seated
in the centre of the arena, flanking the huge stage and catwalk that had been
designed to bring the live action right into the heart of the auditorium. If
Marianne’s campaign was to win an award, she would be perfectly placed to be
called to the stage to receive it.
Paul and Marianne smiled graciously at the crowds as they stepped
from the limousine onto the crimson strip of runway stretched before them. She
dug her fingernails into his hand, as various stage whispers of, “Who’s that?”
“What are they in?” flew about them. Flashbulbs popped, as they sashayed
onwards, just fast enough to keep onlookers and photographers guessing, before
Paul broke into an undignified canter, waving his arms madly.
“Hey sis, look it’s me, we’re here!” he called out.
Marianne, now stranded on the carpet, maintained her regal
swish until she reached the little group and, then joining in the laughter,
shared embraces and kisses all round.
Marianne liked Paul’s older sister, Zara, she was warm and
friendly, if a little protective of her idealistic younger brother. When they
first met, Zara often hinted, despite the age difference, and the fact that
Marianne was technically Paul’s boss, that she hoped their relationship would
develop beyond friendship. When Marianne became engaged to George, Zara
graciously put that ambition aside and had telephoned Marianne personally to
congratulate her. She had also been genuinely upset when George died. In fact
the last time Marianne had seen Zara, was at George’s funeral, although she
could barely remember if they had spoken.
Zara wrapped her arms around her.
“You look fabulous, you look amazing. How are you, really?”
She took Marianne’s hands and looked into her eyes.
“I’m alright,” Marianne held her gaze, “honestly, I’m doing
okay.” Zara beamed. She could not deny she was again hopeful, that once a
certain amount of time had passed, Paul and Marianne might become an item. They
seemed so good together.
But to Marianne, Paul was,
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