Where the Ivy Grows (#2 Bestselling Devoted Series) Page 17

  I flatten myself against the nearest wall, my heart pounding. Then I hear another voice – a female this time.

  ‘How was I to know she wouldn’t be there?’

  And then the man again.

  ‘You’d better not be playing games with me.’

  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

  The man is Giles Getty.

  73

  My throat goes thick and hot, and my fingertips cling to the crumbly wall.

  Every sense in my body tells me to run in the opposite direction, but if I move, he might see me.

  Giles’s quick, smart voice floats into the night air again.

  ‘You’ve blown it. She must be with him. I’ll have to come back another time.’

  There’s the smack of leather on concrete, and I realise someone is heading my way.

  Pushing myself flat against the wall, I inch away from the voices. My feet are in a flower bed, and I winch as I realise the damage I’m doing to the winter pansies, but still I creep, creep along, towards a privet hedge near the edge of the building.

  Giles turns the corner, just as I pull myself into the hedge and feel twigs poke and stab my face and hands.

  He stops dead and looks right at the bush, but it must be too dark for him to see me because he walks straight past.

  I hold my breath, feeling the agitation and anger in his movements. He is not a happy man. Not a peaceful man. I remember what Marc said about him liking to see women hurt, and feel sick to my stomach.

  I’m still hidden, too scared to move, when I hear a sound that cuts right to my stomach.

  It’s the deep, haunting sound of sobbing, and every muscle in my body tenses. It’s awful, that sound. Frighteningly. It seems to suck the joy from my very soul.

  Tentatively, I step out from the bush, still feeling afraid, but sad too, for whoever is sobbing. It’s a crazy kind of crying. Unnatural.

  I peer around the corner.

  Oh my god.

  It’s ... Cecile.

  She’s leaning against the accommodation block, head in her hands, whole body shaking with grief. She was the woman Getty was speaking to.

  Cecile lets out a long, piercing scream that makes me jump and wrap my arms around myself. Then she vanishes inside the accommodation block.

  I stand there, open mouthed, shivering in the thickening snow.

  74

  When I get to my room, I turn on every single light, sit on the bed and pull the duvet around my shaking body.

  Did Getty come here for me? What if he’s still on campus and sees my lights on?

  I leap up and turn all the lights off again. But I can’t sit here in the dark. It’s way too creepy. I bundle the duvet around myself and hurry down to Tanya’s room.

  Knock, knock.

  No answer. I knock again, louder this time.

  Still no answer.

  It’s cold out here in the hallway. And dark. I don’t want to be out here alone. I call Tanya’s number, but it goes straight through to answer phone.

  What’s going on? Where could she be? It’s term time and a weekday.

  I try her door one last time, then give up, letting my thumb run over my phone. I should call Marc. And not just because I want to talk to him. I should call him because I need someone to protect me right now. But no. He made his feelings clear today. He wants us to stay apart. We’re teacher and student only.

  Just as I’m about to call Tom, there’s a bleeping sound and I see a new text message.

  Tanya, I think. But the message is from Leo.

  ‘Hey honey, has your singing lesson finished yet? Fancy a drink?’

  I slam the phone to my ear and call Leo’s number.

  He answers on the third ring. ‘Hey Sophia. I -’

  ‘Leo!’ I breathe. ‘Something happened. Are you on campus?’

  ‘Hey, hey. Slow down. What’s going on?’

  I look up and down the dark corridor.

  ‘I can’t talk here. Can I come meet you?’

  ‘Sure you can. I’m in my room. Come right on over. Two zero three on the second floor. Are you okay? You sound out of breath.’

  ‘No, just ... scared.’ I hurry down the dark corridor to the stairwell.

  75

  Leo throws the door open before I have a chance to knock.

  ‘Enchante,’ he says, standing aside. ‘Welcome to the pleasure palace.’

  I hurry inside, pushing the door tightly closed with both hands.

  ‘What’s up?’ Leo asks.

  ‘He was ... someone was on campus,’ I say, seeing a fireplace and antique wooden bed just like the ones in my room. Leo’s space is bigger than mine, but it doesn’t have the balcony or the views. Just a huge closet and bathroom, and enormous silver fridge.

  ‘Whoa,’ says Leo, going to the fridge and pulling out a Budweiser. ‘Calm down and tell me what happened. You want one?’ He waves the bottle at me.

  ‘No right now,’ I say.

  Leo bangs the bottle on the mantelpiece so the lid goes shooting off. ‘Who was on campus?’ He takes a swig of beer.

  ‘Giles Getty.’

  Leo chokes on his beer, coughing and wiping his mouth. ‘You’re kidding me. The pap guy?’

  ‘I think Cecile let him in.’

  ‘Who’s Cecile?’

  ‘You met her once. In the campus pub. Blonde hair.’

  ‘Oh, sure. The director’s friend. Spiky face. Had that look about her that nothing was ever good enough.’

  ‘She’s sold some stories on me, and I guess she and Getty must be planning to sell a few more.’

  ‘So he was here? Actually on campus?’

  I chew my thumbnail again. ‘Yes. And I think ... maybe he was trying to get a picture of me. Or something. But I was out. At my singing class. So my room was empty.’

  ‘Are you sure about all this?’ says Leo. ‘You’re not just getting paranoid? When the press start hounding you, it can send you boo loo for a while.’

  He jumps onto the bed, crossing his legs and resting his beer in his lap. ‘Tell me what happened exactly. Where did you see this Getty guy?’

  ‘Right outside,’ I say. ‘Outside the accommodation block. He and Cecile were talking. They were saying something about ‘she’s not in’, or something like that.’

  ‘And you’re sure it was Getty?’

  ‘I saw him. It was really dark, but I think ... I’m pretty sure it was him. It was his voice I recognised, mainly. He’s got this really manic way of talking. He says everything too fast.’

  Leo takes a swig of beer. ‘You’ve been working so hard. You must be pretty tired. Are you sure this wasn’t ... you know, like one of those dreams you have when you’re still awake?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You seem jumpy,’ says Leo. ‘On edge. Maybe you just need a break for a few days. When I shot Everlasting, we had to do all this night filming on Hollywood Boulevard, and man, I just got so tired, I started seeing things. Weird things in the shadows.’

  My phone rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

  I pull it out of my pocket and see Tanya’s name flashing on the screen.

  ‘Are you going to answer that?’ asks Leo. ‘Or just stare at it?’

  I blink and put the phone to my ear. ‘Tanya?’

  ‘Hey,’ she croaks. ‘What’s up?’ She sounds so sleepy. I can almost picture her, bleary eyed, red hair standing two inches above her head.

  ‘I’m sorry to call so late,’ I say. ‘I just ... had a bit of a scare.’

  There’s a scuffling sound, and I hear a bang and ‘shit’ floating down the phone.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

  76

  ‘Fine,’ says Tanya. ‘But you don’t sound okay. What’s up? It’s not Marc, is it? Has he done something to you?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that.’ There’s another bang.

  ‘Tanya? Where are you?’

  A pause.

  ‘Um ... in my room.’ The words a
re sort of squashed and squeezed, and I get the feeling she’s not telling the truth.

  ‘But ... I knocked on your door not five minutes ago. You didn’t answer.’

  ‘Oh Jesus. I’m a terrible liar. Okay. Soph, I’m in Tom’s room. And in answer to your next question, yes.’

  ‘The two of you ...?’

  ‘Yes. Hang on. Tom wants to say hello. I’ll put you on speaker phone.’

  There’s a crackle.

  ‘Soph!’ calls a familiar, friendly voice. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Hi Tom.’

  ‘Sorry about the deception. We didn’t want to say anything, in case this is just ... you know, a stupid fling,’ Tom continues. ‘What’s happening? You sound tense.’

  ‘Something really weird’s going on.’

  ‘What is it, Soph?’ asks Tanya.

  I glance at Leo. ‘Giles Getty was outside just now. At least, I think he was.’

  ‘Who on earth let him in?’ says Tanya. ‘We should call security.’

  ‘I think it was Cecile,’ I say.

  ‘Even more reason to phone security,’ says Tanya. ‘Let’s grass her up and get her thrown out of college. Where’s my dressing gown? It’s freezing in here.’

  ‘It’s hanging on the door, my love,’ I hear Tom say.

  ‘There’s something else,’ I say. ‘When Getty left, I heard Cecile crying.’

  ‘And?’ says Tanya.

  ‘And it was ... I’ve never heard crying like that before. It was desperate. Absolutely desperate. Like someone badly in need of help.’

  ‘We all know Cecile needs help,’ says Tanya. ‘Psychiatric help.’

  ‘Do you think she let Getty into the college?’ says Tom. ‘Or do you think he forced his way in?’

  ‘I think she let him in,’ I say. ‘I just ... got that feeling. They were talking like friends. I think she might even have let him in so he could get to me. But of course, I wasn’t in my room.’

  ‘That does it,’ says Tanya. ‘Next time I see her, she’s going to get what’s coming.’

  ‘I felt sorry for her,’ I admit. ‘When I heard her crying like that, I just couldn’t feel angry. She’s in trouble. I just know she is.’

  ‘Serves her right,’ says Tanya. ‘It’s nothing she hasn’t brought on herself. Bad things happen to bad people.’

  ‘Sounds like she’s made a deal with the devil and now he wants paying,’ says Tom. ‘Wasn’t she at the GMQ newspaper offices with him? Didn’t one of you two tell me that?’

  ‘Will you please let me call security now?’ says Tanya.

  I chew a thumbnail. ‘I should call Marc first.’

  ‘Yes, call him,’ says Tanya. ‘He’ll know security here better than anyone. Do you need us to come to your room?’

  ‘No, it’s okay.’ I glance at Leo again. ‘I’m ... I’m in Leo’s room.’

  ‘Ooo!’ says Tom.

  ‘No, it’s not like that,’ I say, turning red.

  ‘Well, we’re right here if you need us,’ says Tanya. ‘And listen. Soph. If you need anything. Anything at all, just call, okay? I’ll set my phone to mega loud.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘And Tanya? I’m really happy for you and Tom.’

  77

  ‘So.’ Leo interlaces his fingers around his beer bottle. ‘Is Mr Marc Blackwell going to come charging along on his white horse?’

  A smile pulls at my lips. ‘He’s not exactly the white horse type. More a dark Aston Martin.’

  ‘But you’re going to call him?’

  I sit next to Leo on the bed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you so sure you saw what you saw?’

  ‘Pretty certain. I know I’m tired, but ... no, I’m certain. And Marc will want to know about this.’

  ‘Well. You know best.’

  I call Marc’s number, my fingers scrunching up Leo’s duvet.

  Ring, ring.

  Will he think I’m calling to get back with him? To talk things over?

  Ring, ring.

  Perhaps this is a bad idea. The thought of him picking up sends shivers through me. Good shivers. A little too good.

  Ring, ring.

  I’m losing my nerve now. I’m about to hang up, when –

  ‘Sophia?’

  His voice is so deep, so familiar, that all my senses wake up, and I feel like he’s right here, sitting next to me. The hairs on my arms stand up, and my stomach goes soft.

  ‘Hi. I ... I didn’t expect you to pick up so late.’ I know my words are shaky.

  ‘Something’s wrong. What is it?’

  Panic and fear rush into my chest. ‘Oh, Marc. Giles Getty was here. In the college.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was right by the accommodation block.’

  ‘Do you know how he got in?’

  I hesitate, knowing Tanya would kill me for not mentioning Cecile. But after hearing that awful crying, I can’t drop Cecile in it just yet. I need to find out what’s going on with her.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ It’s the truth, just not the whole truth.

  There’s a pause, and I hear heavy breathing. ‘Where are you now? Are you alone?’

  ‘Still at the college. And no. I’m not alone.’

  ‘Who are you with?’

  I hesitate, gripping the phone tighter.

  ‘Sophia?’

  ‘I’m with ... Leo right now.’

  I hear a low breath, almost like a growl. ‘Fine. Stay where you are. I’ll have extra security called in.’

  ‘Marc, it’s not what you think. I -’

  But the line has already gone dead.

  78

  ‘Not what you think?’ says Leo, flashing his perfect, white teeth. He downs his beer, then slam dunks the empty bottle into a wicker bin. ‘You still have a thing for Mr Blackwell, don’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.’

  ‘And why would he get the wrong idea?’

  ‘It’s late and I’m with you. That’s enough to get anyone’s mind working. I’d hate it if I called him and he was with a woman.’

  ‘Really? You’d hate it?’

  I nod, feeling sick at the thought, and suddenly wonder ... will I ever get over Marc? Will he have this hold over me for the rest of my life?

  ‘Sounds like you’ve still got it bad,’ says Leo. ‘But hey – you’re here with me now. The two of us. A double bed. How about you give some other guy a chance?’

  He waggles his eyebrows, and I can’t help smiling.

  ‘Thanks for the offer, Leo. Very flattering.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not joking. This is a totally serious offer. I will happily sleep with you tonight, and try to take your mind off Marc Blackwell. I will do my very best, scouts honour.’

  ‘Very noble.’

  ‘But something tells me you’re not going to be so easy. Not a one night stand kind of girl, huh?’

  ‘Not so far.’ I slump down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. ‘What an evening.’

  Leo comes and lies next to me. ‘Hey. Life can hurt sometimes.’

  We both stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. Then Leo says, ‘You see that crack up there? It reminds me of an ocean wave. What do you see?’

  ‘A sapling,’ I say.

  ‘Do you need to stay here tonight?’ says Leo, turning to stare at my cheek. ‘I’ll sleep on that couch over there. It’s just I get the feeling you don’t want to go back to your room.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I admit. ‘I’m too scared.’

  ‘Hey, it’ll be alright,’ says Leo. ‘You shouldn’t think so much. Look at you – your face is all scrunched up.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I roll to face him. ‘It’s been a weird night.’

  ‘That’s better,’ says Leo. ‘Your eyes look much prettier when your forehead isn’t all tense.’ He kisses me on the cheek, then leaps up. ‘See you in the morning, sleeping beauty. It’s a big week for us. First rehearsal back at Tottenham Theatre.’

  He takes bedding from the large bu
ilt-in wardrobe and throws it on the sofa.

  ‘Sweet dreams, Sophia.’

  ‘Sweet dreams, Leo.’

  The next morning, I wake to hear Leo snoring. He’s lying on the couch, one large hand flung towards the ground, the other on his chest.

  Soft blonde hair falls on his tanned forehead, and his pink lips are slightly open.

  I feel hot and sticky, and realise I slept fully dressed in Leo’s bed. Slipping out from under the duvet, I creep to the kitchen area for a glass of water, then head to the bathroom.

  There are organic grooming products around the sink and shower, most of them open and leaking on porcelain. There’s something called ‘snake peel’ that’s dripped little black granules onto the sink, and a goat’s milk moisturiser with a missing lid by the tap. I smile. Leo’s messier than I am.

  I wash my face with cold water, then clean my teeth with my finger and Leo’s fennel-flavour toothpaste.

  Leo’s snoring floats through from the other room and I consider waking him, but ... there’s something I need to do right now. It’s making me nervous just thinking about it. I splash more cold water on my face, then head out the door.

  79

  Cecile’s room is number 132. I know because I heard her complaining about it on my second day of college. She was waving her key at Wendy, shouting about windows that let through drafts.

  As I creep along the first floor landing, I hear taps running and toilets flushing. I guess everyone must be waking up, and I’m hoping Cecile is awake too.

  When I reach Cecile’s door, I hesitate. Should I be doing this? I don’t usually seek out confrontation, but sometimes needs must. And in a way, it’s not so much a confrontation. Yes, I want to find out if she let Getty in last night. But I also want to know why she was crying.

  Knock, knock.

  I take a step back and chew my thumb. I’m sort of regretting not going back to my room first and changing the clothes I slept in, but it’s too late now.

  The door is yanked open.

  Cecile stands before me, looking perfect. She’s wearing a long, billowy nightgown, and a lace-trimmed eye mask sits above shiny blonde hair in a loose bun.

  Without make-up, she looks younger and actually much prettier. But her eyes have the tired, crinkled look of someone who’s spent the night crying. They widen when she sees me.