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Authors: Adrienne Vaughan
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well, just Paul. The young, cub
reporter, she laughed and joked with. The typical younger brother she never
had, who still got smashed, went on disastrous dates and seemed to maintain a
wide-eyed wonder on the world, no matter how hideous the assignments Jack
Buchannon managed to fling at him. She was his mentor. He was part of her job.
It would never even cross her mind that he might be someone she would have a
proper, grown up relationship with, and anyway, Marianne knew her last chance
of ‘happy ever after’ had died with George. She had her career, she had Monty,
she had a lot to be grateful for.
Unlike the effervescent Osborne siblings, Mike was a quiet,
thoughtful soul; the type Marianne considered saw everything and commented on
very little. On the occasions they had met, Marianne felt a connection through
their shared Irishness and they would gently tease each other for becoming ‘Englified’,
a word she recalled her Head Nun used for anything she found too Anglican for
her taste.
Mike hugged Marianne in welcome. As he released her, she
caught her heel, losing her balance, to topple backwards into the arms of the
man standing behind her. It was Mike’s father, the surprisingly youthful
American TV star. He grasped her elbow swiftly and propped her back on her
heels. She caught his scent, a delicious blend of wood and amber. It was Zara
who took her arm, turning her fully to face him.
“Marianne, this is Ryan…” Marianne beamed upwards. Flinty
eyes glinted down at her. He was tall, tanned and smiling. Marianne caught her
breath, only just managing to prevent herself wobbling off her heels again. The
fabulous creature beside him was equally statuesque. Marianne’s gaze swept
upwards. The couple were stunning, luminous and just beautiful.
“The pleasure is mine.” He smiled, eyes crinkling. “But I
think we should have met before. I was scheduled to present the National Media
Awards and couldn’t make it. I’m sorry I let you down and I’m sorry I didn’t
show, because I heard it was a great night.”
Marianne was taken aback. She looked across at Paul,
delighted but surprised he had briefed her fellow guests so thoroughly. Paul
was oblivious, totally awestruck as a gaggle of soap stars hoved into view.
“It was indeed a great night.” Marianne smiled, glancing at
Mike. “You two look more like brothers. I can’t believe you’re Mike’s father.”
“I was a child bride.” Ryan laughed and then turned to
introduce the goddess at his side. “Angelique, this is Marianne Coltrane.”
“Delighted, you’re a journalist; award-winning too I’m
told,” the actress said in a sultry, Texan drawl. Marianne beamed back at them
both, all apprehension dispersed, she was looking forward to a truly memorable
evening. They took their seats in the middle of the auditorium, right in front
of the stage.
Marianne checked the place names, Paul to her left and Ryan
on her right. Ryan held out her chair, doing the same for Angelique. He took
his seat when the ladies were settled. He poured wine and water, handing her a
menu, passing her the order of events. He was attentive, he was easy. Marianne
felt her heart miss a beat, for half a millisecond, he reminded her of…
“George said you were a very special lady and he wasn’t
wrong. Brains and beauty.” Ryan was reading the list of nominations. He raised
his glass, “Here’s to him, God bless him, a great bloke.”
Marianne left her glass untouched.
“You knew George?”
Ryan was immediately apologetic; he had taken her by
surprise.
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew. George and I go way back. We
were in a band together in the early days, just after he left University and I
landed here from Ireland. We both thought we’d be rock stars one day, as you
do.”
“No, he never said. Well if he did, I didn’t register. You
seem an unlikely alliance.” She smiled and so did he.
“Not at all, he was the suave English gent and I was the
wild
reporter, she laughed and joked with. The typical younger brother she never
had, who still got smashed, went on disastrous dates and seemed to maintain a
wide-eyed wonder on the world, no matter how hideous the assignments Jack
Buchannon managed to fling at him. She was his mentor. He was part of her job.
It would never even cross her mind that he might be someone she would have a
proper, grown up relationship with, and anyway, Marianne knew her last chance
of ‘happy ever after’ had died with George. She had her career, she had Monty,
she had a lot to be grateful for.
Unlike the effervescent Osborne siblings, Mike was a quiet,
thoughtful soul; the type Marianne considered saw everything and commented on
very little. On the occasions they had met, Marianne felt a connection through
their shared Irishness and they would gently tease each other for becoming ‘Englified’,
a word she recalled her Head Nun used for anything she found too Anglican for
her taste.
Mike hugged Marianne in welcome. As he released her, she
caught her heel, losing her balance, to topple backwards into the arms of the
man standing behind her. It was Mike’s father, the surprisingly youthful
American TV star. He grasped her elbow swiftly and propped her back on her
heels. She caught his scent, a delicious blend of wood and amber. It was Zara
who took her arm, turning her fully to face him.
“Marianne, this is Ryan…” Marianne beamed upwards. Flinty
eyes glinted down at her. He was tall, tanned and smiling. Marianne caught her
breath, only just managing to prevent herself wobbling off her heels again. The
fabulous creature beside him was equally statuesque. Marianne’s gaze swept
upwards. The couple were stunning, luminous and just beautiful.
“The pleasure is mine.” He smiled, eyes crinkling. “But I
think we should have met before. I was scheduled to present the National Media
Awards and couldn’t make it. I’m sorry I let you down and I’m sorry I didn’t
show, because I heard it was a great night.”
Marianne was taken aback. She looked across at Paul,
delighted but surprised he had briefed her fellow guests so thoroughly. Paul
was oblivious, totally awestruck as a gaggle of soap stars hoved into view.
“It was indeed a great night.” Marianne smiled, glancing at
Mike. “You two look more like brothers. I can’t believe you’re Mike’s father.”
“I was a child bride.” Ryan laughed and then turned to
introduce the goddess at his side. “Angelique, this is Marianne Coltrane.”
“Delighted, you’re a journalist; award-winning too I’m
told,” the actress said in a sultry, Texan drawl. Marianne beamed back at them
both, all apprehension dispersed, she was looking forward to a truly memorable
evening. They took their seats in the middle of the auditorium, right in front
of the stage.
Marianne checked the place names, Paul to her left and Ryan
on her right. Ryan held out her chair, doing the same for Angelique. He took
his seat when the ladies were settled. He poured wine and water, handing her a
menu, passing her the order of events. He was attentive, he was easy. Marianne
felt her heart miss a beat, for half a millisecond, he reminded her of…
“George said you were a very special lady and he wasn’t
wrong. Brains and beauty.” Ryan was reading the list of nominations. He raised
his glass, “Here’s to him, God bless him, a great bloke.”
Marianne left her glass untouched.
“You knew George?”
Ryan was immediately apologetic; he had taken her by
surprise.
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew. George and I go way back. We
were in a band together in the early days, just after he left University and I
landed here from Ireland. We both thought we’d be rock stars one day, as you
do.”
“No, he never said. Well if he did, I didn’t register. You
seem an unlikely alliance.” She smiled and so did he.
“Not at all, he was the suave English gent and I was the
wild
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