‘I cannot believe Rafael Falcone’s son is coming tonight. Or that he owns half of The Royale. That’s so extra,’ Jacie Ryan, Ruby’s assistant manager, announced while shovelling green popcorn into a green-striped paper sack.
‘Believe it,’ Ruby murmured. Jacie’s stream of consciousness about Devlin’s visit was starting to fray her nerves. ‘But keep your voice down, no one is supposed to know.’ She wasn’t entirely convinced their secret guest of honour was actually going to show. He’d been due here about twenty minutes ago according to the email she’d had from his PA confirming his attendance.
The foyer was packed with people, all dressed to the nines in their best Oz paraphernalia – from Munchkins to Tinmen to Brynn, the owner of Brynn’s Babes, the bar round the corner, who had gone all out and looked magnificent as Glinda the Good Witch of the North, complete with pink-sequined frock and a crystal crown. The Merry Merry Land of Oz rang out on The Royale’s tinny sound system on a loop, and people spilled out of the auditorium where Brynn’s master of mixology, Cameron, and Gerry, The Royale’s barman, were busy serving Rainbow-coladas, Emerald-aritas and Munchkin Mojitos.
Ruby had gathered her six-person staff and as many helpers as she could muster eight days ago to put together tonight’s event in record time. To do it, she’d called in every favour she had ever been owed and several she hadn’t, basically bribing, begging and borrowing her way across West London with the ferocity of a Kansas tornado.
To be fair, The Royale looked awesome, as a result. The peeling paint and crumbling cornices were disguised with enough glitter and fairy lights to make the place visible from space and Jacie had even managed to source a gold runner at a knock-down price in Shepherd’s Bush Market to double as the Yellow Brick Road and cover the worst of the wear on the threadbare carpeting.
Emerald City, eat your heart out.
He has to show. Please let him show.
The whole Royale community had put so much work into making tonight’s event a success – everyone from the drag queens at Brynn’s Babes, who had made some spectacular costumes, to Agatha, a local primary-school teacher who had gotten her pupils to make papier-mâché flowers and vines and corncobs to decorate the lobby, to Errol, their projectionist and Jacie’s granddad, who’d roped in the ladies from his local church with their famous Goat Curry and Plantains and Rice and Peas recipe to serve after the show at five pounds a pop and raise funds for the church’s homeless shelter.
Tonight was going to be epic, but it would all be for nothing if Devlin didn’t put in an appearance as promised.
‘Good luck keeping it a secret once he shows,’ Jacie said. ‘Remember how he got mobbed at the cremation? His resemblance to his old man is freaky.’
‘I know,’ she said, even though she had barely registered Luke’s appearance at Matty’s funeral because she’d been way too busy being poleaxed by grief.
The sharp edges of that awful day and the week before it had blurred in the last eight days, the unbearable pain of losing Matty shoved to the edges of her consciousness while she got stuck into Operation Get Luke Devlin Invested In The Royale with a Wizard of Oz Extravaganza. But now that all the work was done and the only thing left to do was enjoy the event, and wait for her co-owner to appear, Ruby had begun to second-guess her whole strategy.
‘Perhaps I should have warned people?’ she murmured.
Devlin had stipulated that no one was to know he was coming. The man obviously had an issue with being recognised, she realised, recalling that clashing baseball cap. But perhaps it would have been wiser to prepare everyone for the arrival of Rafael Falcone’s doppelgänger rather than respect Devlin’s wishes.
Devlin’s father was a movie super star whose films had set a billion hearts fluttering in the seventies and eighties and could still do so today whenever they ran a season at The Royale. His brooding image graced T-shirts and advertising hoardings and posters in student dorms. The bad boy with the face of a god. A hot god. All lean chiselled lines and moody intensity, with a crystal-blue gaze that had the power to make most women and some men pant by proxy. The actor had become a cultural icon as enduring as Elvis and Marilyn and Jimmy Dean and had only become more iconic since his untimely suicide sixteen years ago.
Rafael Falcone was a legend to most of the people here tonight. And Luke Devlin looked exactly like him. Hadn’t she had breathing difficulties herself when she’d first clocked that remarkable face up close in Ryker’s office?
‘I thought you said he said not to tell anyone?’ Jacie whispered, as she handed over packs of green popcorn to a bunch of Gen Xers kitted out in red wigs and green jackets and leggings.
Were they supposed to be Munchkins, or citizens of Oz, or leprechauns, because it was hard to tell?
‘He was very specific on that score,’ Ruby confirmed once the leprechaun-Munchkins had moved off. ‘If he got mobbed at the funeral, I guess that explains it. But there’s a good chance the same thing might happen tonight and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.’
‘Make who uncomfortable?’ Gerry their barman – who was dressed as a rather chunky Scarecrow – joined them behind the concession stand.
‘Nobody,’ Ruby said, starting to panic in earnest. What if she had made a terrible mistake? Not warning everyone of Devlin’s arrival?
Jacie tapped her nose piercing. ‘It’s top secret, Gez, but I think you’ll be wowed by our guest of honour tonight – when he turns up.’
‘What guest of honour?’ Gerry asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, because he was a much bigger star-stalker than Jacie. ‘I didn’t know we had one. Shouldn’t we have put it on the posters?’
‘He’s shy,’ Jacie said.
At the exact same time, Ruby shouted, ‘No, we should not have put it on the posters!’
Gerry and Jacie stared at her, as did a couple of the Generation X leprechaun-Munchkins who were still munching popcorn nearby.
‘He doesn’t like publicity,’ Ruby added, whispering this time. ‘He’s not a proper celebrity.’
He’s just the spitting image of one.
The anxiety began to build in her throat.
Telling Jacie about Devlin’s planned appearance at the event had seemed like a good idea when they were getting ready in the upstairs flat in their Dorothy outfits – Ruby channelling Judy and Jacie channelling Diana Ross from The Wiz because they were also screening the Motown classic in deference to Matty’s opinion that it was one of the most underrated musicals of the Seventies.
After keeping the news of Devlin’s visit secret for over a week, Ruby had been about to burst. But should she have told Jace about Devlin’s new status as their co-owner? Had she raised Jacie’s expectations to impossible proportions? Not to mention her own.
Then again, she hadn’t told Jacie the whole truth – that Devlin now controlled the future of The Royale, and this extravaganza was actually one giant schmooze initiative that might backfire spectacularly.
‘Who is this guy?’ Gerry said. ‘The actual Wizard, because you’re blushing, Rubes. I can see it through your make-up.’
‘He’s only Ruby’s biggest crush ever.’ Jacie laughed. ‘Sort of.’
Not anymore, Ruby wanted to say … right after she’d strangled her assistant manager. It was true that she’d once idolised Falcone. But Luke Devlin was not his father and being reminded of all the fantasies she’d once spun about Falcone were not going to help with her panic attack.
‘O. M. G. I am super excited now. Is he a Jake Gyllenhaal lookalike?’ Gerry asked, as if they were having a Guess Who game.
‘Wrong crush,’ Jacie said. ‘And better than a lookalike, practically the real deal.’
Before Gerry could ask any more probing questions, the ‘Take Your Seats’ bell sounded from the auditorium.
‘Oops, I forgot,’ Gerry said. ‘Errol said he’s all cued up, so we can start the screening.’
Follow the Yellow Brick Road chimed in over the sound system and some of the customers started singing along in the corner, while others clapped and whistled. The music stopped as planned and Brynn – aka Glinda – stepped on to the green podium they’d set up near the entrance to the auditorium.
‘Hello, fellow Citizens of Oz,’ Glinda announced in all of her glory. ‘Before we start the screening, I wanted to call up our darling Dorothy – the Judy Garland variety …’ Glinda winked at Jacie, who toasted her with a sack of popcorn. ‘To say a few words,’ Glinda continued, ‘about the launch of Matty’s Classics season, and our Wonderful Wizard Matty who went to the Great Emerald City in the Sky last month.’
A hush descended over the crowd, then everyone started applauding.
Ruby grabbed the toy Toto she’d left under the counter, tucked it under her arm for emotional support and made her way through the crowd.
Devlin hadn’t turned up. She tried not to feel devastated. It might even be for the best. Even so, dejection slowed her steps as she crossed the Yellow Brick floor runner and the crowd parted, the moisture in their eyes and the shaky smiles making her heart bobble.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll find another way to schmooze Devlin. This night is about Matty.
Stepping on to the podium, she waved Toto to silence the applause.
‘Hi, everyone. I didn’t want to say much, just that you’re all so, so welcome. Thanks to everyone in our movie-mad community who helped make tonight happen. I can’t actually believe Matty isn’t here with us.’ She gulped to soothe the raw spot which had settled on her tonsils again for the first time in a week. ‘But I know he’s here in spirit – probably dressed as a Horse of a Different Colour to finally finish off all the leftover paint from last year’s Royale Pride float.’ Everyone laughed. ‘Don’t forget, this is just the first film in the Matty’s Classics season. We’ll be organising more gala evenings over the coming months and celebrating Matty’s life by screening some of his favourite movies.’ Her breath got trapped as the enormity of the task facing her – which she had happily buried in manic preparations for a week – began to scrape at the raw spot.
I will keep The Royale open. I will keep The Royale open. I will, I will, I will. Even if it means landing a house on Luke Devlin.
‘So, keep an eye out for details of the next Matty’s Classics movie on our Facebook page, our Instagram and Twitter accounts and the local—’
She stopped talking abruptly as a tall figure dressed in black, even down to his baseball cap, slipped through the double doors at the front of house and joined the back of the crowd in the foyer.
The raw spot grew as the bill of his ball cap lifted and that startlingly blue gaze locked on her face.
He came. He actually came.
People’s heads swivelled round, trying to locate the reason for Ruby’s sudden silence. She coughed, struggling to recall what the heck she had been saying.
With his shoulders hunched, his hands buried in his pockets and that baseball cap tilted back over the top half of his face, Devlin was doing his best to be invisible.
Was that why he had arrived so late?
‘So, my fellow citizens, let’s Follow the Yellow Brick Road to Oz,’ she managed, while she really wanted to shout, at the top of her lungs: “Pay no attention to the man standing at the back of the foyer!”
But it was already too late. A few people at the front of the crowd clapped, while others entered the auditorium, but the bulk of the crowd’s attention had shifted to the back of foyer and the whispers began.
‘Bloody hell, is that Falcone?’
‘He’s dead. Who hired the Falcone lookalike? He’s worth every penny.’
‘It’s his son, remember he was at the cremation.’ This from Glinda whose voice was so rough with awe, it was as if she were about to start levitating.
Devlin really should have followed the dress code if he wanted to remain inconspicuous, Ruby thought, as she stumbled off the podium and shoved her way towards the muscular figure in black standing out like a sore thumb in a sparkling sea of green and assorted other primary colours.
‘I should take a selfie and put it on our Instagram account,’ Jacie piped up as she joined Ruby in her trek across the foyer. ‘It’ll be great for business.’
‘Not sure that’s a good idea,’ Ruby cautioned, feeling like Dorothy wading through a field full of drugged poppies – the crowd and the deep sense of foreboding closing in around her.
She got as far as Gerry who was standing a foot from Devlin, looking more awestruck than Glinda. ‘He’s the guest of honour?’ he hissed in a theatrical whisper that Devlin had to be able to hear. ‘Oh. My. Can I say hello to him?’
‘No!’ Ruby said, attempting to muscle Gerry out of the way. But their bulky Scarecrow wouldn’t be budged.
‘Hello, Mr Falcone— I mean, Devlin.’ Gerry launched himself forward, breaking through the exclusion zone around Devlin that had been created by the industrial strength back-the-fuck-off vibes pumping off him. ‘I’m Gerry,’ he said grasping Devlin’s hand. ‘I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself at the funeral,’ he continued, pumping Devlin’s fingers as if he were trying to win an arm-wrestling contest. ‘It’s so wonderful to see Matty’s nephew here. It’s not often we have a bona fide celebrity in our midst. Would you like an Emerald-arita?’
Oh, shit. Gerry was hitting on him.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ Devlin said smoothly, managing to extricate his hand.
Ruby side-stepped Gerry, but before she could get close enough to rescue Devlin, Jacie shoved past her.
‘Hi, I’m Jacie Ryan. It’s so sick that you’re here at The Royale.’
Ruby winced as Jacie grabbed the hand Gerry had only just released.
‘And we’re even more excited one of Matty’s own family will be part of our fam now,’ Jacie said, then reached inside the pocket of her floaty pink Seventies skirt.
The blood drained out of Ruby’s face.
Please, Jacie, please don’t …
‘Hope you don’t mind if I take some shots for our Instagram account?’ she asked whipping her phone out.
‘I’d rather you …’ Devlin began, but before he could issue a cease-and-desist notice, Jacie – who was their social media guru as well as the assistant manager – had positioned her iPhone and snapped off about twenty shots.
The sound triggered the rest of the crowd, and suddenly, Devlin’s exclusion zone was history. Everyone poured forward en masse like Munchkins waking up to the joyous news the Wicked Witch was dead. They shouted greetings, tried to shake his poor abused hand, and congratulated him on his stunning resemblance to ‘a cinematic icon of the first water’ – this last compliment from Beryl, the septuagenarian head of the pensioners’ club and their matinee cashier who’d had a crush on Falcone about twenty years longer than Ruby.
It was a bloodbath. Instead of the buoyant, beautiful introduction to the glowing fabulousness of The Royale Ruby had anticipated, she was watching a reboot of The Wizard of Oz as directed by Quentin Tarantino, the carnage in agonising slow-motion.
Why had she thought inviting Devlin to their first Matty’s Classics gala evening would be a good idea? Why hadn’t she at least briefed everyone on the proper etiquette when greeting this guy? He’d said he didn’t want any fuss. She should have known this would be their reaction. She knew most of these people. And she loved them. But not one of them knew how to behave when getting the chance to meet a long-dead cinematic icon made flesh.
Having Luke Devlin walk among them was like witnessing the Second Coming of Christ … but with much better hair and cheekbones.
Devlin’s body language was still screaming ‘back the hell off’ and his frown had become catastrophic. But when his gaze connected with Ruby’s over the heads of the Munchkin mob, instead of fury, or distain, what she saw was panic.
Then he mouthed something at her, and she didn’t have to be a lip-reader to understand it.
Help!
Jolted out of her trance, Ruby clapped her hands above her head.
‘Everyone, chill the hell out!’ she shouted in her best Arnie-as-The Terminator voice.
The crowd turned as one, shocked into silence – which was precisely why she kept Arnie for special occasions.
‘Mr Devlin is not here to fulfil your Falcone fantasies,’ she said, striding past Jacie and Gerry to get to their guest of honour and grip his forearm. The flex of sinew beneath the expensive cashmere of his sweater had her Arnie voice taking a detour into Annie territory. ‘Mr Devlin now owns half of The Royale. And if we don’t want him to shut us down, we need to treat him with respect.’
‘Who said anything about getting shut down?’ Jacie’s mouth fell open in horror.
Balls, that was too much Arnie and not enough Annie, because the Munchkins – who weren’t known for their lack of drama – were all staring at her as if she’d just reanimated the Wicked Witch of the East and helped her wrestle the ruby slippers off Dorothy.
‘It’s okay, Jace,’ she said. ‘Everyone. Everything’s great. Errol’s waiting to start the movie, so I think we should head into the cinema,’ she added hurriedly, scrambling to take the tremble out of Gerry’s bottom lip – and the shock out of everyone else’s eyes.
‘Mr Devlin, would you like to join me?’ she asked, cutting through the crowd towards the auditorium, keeping a firm grip on her guest’s elbow, despite the goose bumps ricocheting up her arm. His forearm beneath the cashmere was quite spectacular. ‘We have a seat for you at the back – where no one is going to bother you,’ she said casting an evil eye over everyone they passed.
‘I’ll bet,’ he said, raising a sceptical eyebrow. The panic had gone, if it had ever been there in the first place. She must have imagined it. He didn’t look like the type to get freaked out by a load of overeager film buffs.
‘No, really,’ she said. ‘Are you still happy to stay?’ she added, not wanting to give him a choice, but knowing she had to.
She waited for his reply, aware of the silence, as if the whole theatre was holding its breath. But thank god, no one said anything. And no one approached him.
He nodded, finally. ‘Yeah, I guess so. I’m here now.’
It was hardly a fulsome endorsement, but she’d take it.
She led him into the auditorium and to one of the two-seater sofas right at the back, which she had reserved for them both. The rest of the audience filed in behind them. Every single one of them stared at him while trying to look as if they weren’t staring at him.
He took the seat nearest the wall and ignored the attention.
The house lights went down at last, cocooning them in darkness, and the film’s opening credits began, accompanied by the opening bars of the overture.
‘Would you like a drink? On the house,’ she whispered as everyone finally found their seats and stopped whispering and glancing their way. ‘We have several wonderful themed cocktails …’
Perhaps one of Cameron’s Munchkin Mojitos would redeem the evening – after all, they were super-delicious.
‘A beer will do, if you have one,’ he said, his striking features cast into harsh lines by the sepia light from the screen.
‘I’ll be right back.’ She shot off past the bar, which bar staff were busy clearing as quietly as possible for the start of the movie, and into the kitchen alcove behind.
‘Shit, Ruby, what’s going on? Is he going to shut us down?’ Jacie wedged herself into the small space next to her.
‘No. No one is shutting down The Royale,’ Ruby replied. She grabbed a bottle of Camden Hells lager from the fridge, and popped off the cap. Not ever.
She peered round the bar at Devlin. His body language screamed indifference as he watched Dorothy hound Auntie Em and Uncle Henry about the imminent arrival of Miss Gulch and her plan to eviscerate Toto.
Dorothy was scared and anxious and about to run away to save her dog. Ruby knew how she felt. If only she could run away, too.
She reached for the pitcher of Emerald-aritas Gerry had put in the fridge for after the screening and poured herself a generous glass. She was going to need something stronger than a beer to get through two hours of watching Devlin watch this movie while praying for a sign he was falling under its spell … or had at least forgiven her for the Munchkin mobbing in the lobby.
‘Could you to do me a massive favour, Jace,’ she murmured to her assistant manager, who was also eyeballing Devlin.
‘Sure, what?’
‘I’m going to sneak Devlin up to Matty’s flat during the end credits of this movie’ – the entrance to which was conveniently situated in the foyer – ‘so he can leave via the flat’s fire escape before anyone spots him and we don’t get a repeat of what happened when he arrived.’ Perhaps she had imagined his panicked look, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
‘But everyone will want to meet him,’ Jacie said, still not getting it.
‘I know, but he doesn’t want to meet them. Not yet, anyway.’ She could only hope that one day he would, but that wasn’t going to be today.
She should have laid the groundwork for his appearance tonight and she hadn’t. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
‘So, what’s the favour?’ Jacie asked.
‘Could you handle everything down here till I’ve gotten him safely out of the building? Create a distraction if you have to. Get Glinda and Gerry to help you.’
‘I suppose, but they’ll be pissed off they missed him.’
‘They’ll get over it.’ Her top priority had to be ensuring Devlin survived his first night at The Royale without any lasting trauma – so they got a second chance to impress him at a later date.
Judy Garland launched into her signature tune on screen, but her rich contralto voice was soon drowned out by the audience. The Royale’s vintage movie nuts belted out ‘Over the Rainbow’ as if their lives depended on it, just as they had at Matty’s funeral.
Emotion clogged Ruby’s throat and she joined in the chorus with Jacie.
Devlin wasn’t singing, she noticed. But he was still watching. He’d stayed, when he could have done a runner. That had to count for something.
She lifted her drinks, ready to join him on their sofa.
‘One other thing, Jacie,’ she said as she passed her friend. ‘You need to delete the photos you took of him. And make sure if anyone else took any they delete them, too. And tell everyone they must not under any circumstances post anything about him being here online or on social media.’ She hadn’t seen anyone else taking photos, because they’d all been way too busy harassing Devlin, but she needed to be sure.
‘You’re kidding?’ Jacie said, having to raise her voice over the singing. ‘Nothing at all, but …?’
‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘The Royale’s future may depend on it.’
‘I thought you said we were okay?’
‘We are …’ Or at least she hoped they were. Matty had always handled the books, and somehow found a way to keep them in the black each month. But she knew they couldn’t have been making much of a profit, or Matty would have found money to pay for all the repairs which had built up over the years. The Royale had always been Matty’s dream but she’d realised in the last week, once she’d started functioning again, that Matty hadn’t spent any money on the cinema’s infrastructure in well over a decade. His flat, which she’d moved into this week, was just as dilapidated and he’d stopped going on his ‘marvellous adventures’ years ago, too – which could only mean one thing. Matty had been broke, which meant The Royale had to be struggling as well. She hoped the stress of keeping the place running on limited funds hadn’t contributed to his heart attack, or she’d be absolutely gutted with guilt as well as grief. ‘I’m sure we’re okay,’ she said, taking another sip of her Emerald-arita. ‘But if we could get Devlin to invest in the cinema’s future we could finally get the thousand and one things done that Matty and I have been talking about doing for ages.’ Such as repainting the foyer, sorting out the dodgy plaster near the stage, buying a new sound system, and that was just for starters. ‘Devlin owns half The Royale now, and he’s loaded.’ Which she knew because she’d done some Internet research over the last eight days, in between killing herself and everyone else to turn The Royale into the Merry Merry Land of Oz. ‘Which means schmoozing him to within an inch of his life, and not pissing him off. He’s a private guy, let’s respect his privacy, okay?’
Jacie’s mutinous look dissolved as the final bars of the song faded. But then she shrugged as Miss Gulch arrived on her bike to snatch Toto.
‘Fine,’ Jacie whispered. ‘I suppose I can forego five million likes on Instagram, if schmoozing Devlin means getting carpeting in the lobby that doesn’t smell like my armpits after V Festival weekend.’
Ruby gave Jacie a kiss on the nose. ‘Thank you, Jace, you’re awesome.’
‘I know, now go schmooze him into a new carpet, Dorothy,’ her friend said.
‘No problem, Dorothy.’ Ruby took another fortifying sip of her cocktail and headed towards Devlin’s sofa with their drinks just as the real Dorothy and her little dog escaped through a window.
I do believe I can schmooze Devlin into investing in The Royale. I do. I do. I do.
***
Two hours later, Ruby wasn’t even convincing herself anymore.
Devlin had sat through the whole movie, drunk his beer, declined another. And said nothing. Not one thing. He hadn’t even moved much. And there had certainly been no singing, of any description – even during the many renditions of ‘We’re Off to See the Wizard’, which was the catchiest song known to man. The constant stream of people heading past them to the toilet, then back to their seats during the screening probably hadn’t amused him much. Because he must have figured out that either The Royale’s clientele had some serious bladder issues or he was still the night’s star attraction.
It hadn’t amused her much either.
Obvious much, guys?
That said, Devlin hadn’t shown any signs of distress from the constant eyeballing, either, and he’d survived the flying monkey scenes without flinching, so she’d taken that as a positive. Maybe Matty’s movie favourite had started to grow on him, a teeny tiny bit? Even if the nosey parkers in The Royale’s audience hadn’t.
He hadn’t objected when she’d suggested they head up to the flat so he could avoid the crowd once the film finished.
But as she entered the flat’s living room behind him, she couldn’t shake the thought that tonight’s schmooze offensive had been a bigger disaster than the tornado.
Thank god she’d cleaned the fallout from the Glastonbury wake off the carpet.
Devlin would have looked out of place in Matty’s front room – decorated in Matty’s flamboyant shabby-chic style to disguise the twenty-year-old paint job and the aging furniture – but for the giant framed poster from Boy Blue, Rafael Falcone’s debut film, that hung above the fireplace.
Falcone’s image – all brooding angst and dramatic cheekbones – in tones of blue and black stared down at them both. The resemblance was striking, and would probably have freaked Ruby out more, if she hadn’t bypassed the Toto-en-route-to-the-abattoir stage of anxiety an hour ago.
She took a moment to observe Devlin with his hands stuffed into the back pocket of his black jeans, but instead of noticing the similarities between the two men, she noticed the differences.
Luke Devlin was taller than Falcone and leaner, his rangy build that of an athlete rather than a boxer. And his features were unmarked. He didn’t have the bump on the bridge of his nose Falcone had gotten in a barroom brawl in Burbank, or the famous crescent shaped scar next to his left eye which legend had it the star had acquired during a knife fight in his native Bronx. But the look in Devlin’s sky blue eyes, the dark rim around the irises the only thing he appeared to have inherited from the Devlin side of his bloodline, was just as moody.
‘Would you like a quick cup of tea before you go?’ she said, forced to break the stony silence. ‘We should probably wait a few minutes before you make your getaway, so Jacie can distract everyone from your disappearance.’
‘No tea,’ he murmured. ‘But thanks for the getaway plan.’ His gratitude seemed grudging at best, but Ruby decided to take it at face value.
‘They mean well. They’re just a bit—’
He raised an eyebrow as if daring her to state the obvious.
‘Overawed by your resemblance to Falcone,’ she finished.
The awkward silence which followed made her wonder if she had made another major faux pas by commenting on the likeness.
‘Yeah, I got that,’ he said. But then he raked his fingers through his hair. And let out a weary breath.
His gaze flicked up to the oversized poster, then flicked away again. And she noticed the tint on his cheeks.
I wonder what Falcone was like as a father?
The thought popped into her head unbidden. She shoved it straight back out again. Just because she’d spent years wondering about what her own dad – aka the invisible deadbeat – might be like. And may even have fantasised on occasion about having Falcone as her father, it did not give her a connection with this man.
But weirdly, the thought calmed her down a little, regardless.
‘What did you think of the film this time around?’ she forced herself to ask, when his gaze met hers. ‘Still freaked out by the flying monkeys?’ she added, trying to push past her anxiety and smile.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It was a cute movie.’
Cute? Hadn’t he been moved at all?
‘But what did you think of the message behind the movie?’ she asked.
‘Cute, too. I guess. What do you think happened to the yappy dog, because I’m guessing the bitchy neighbour was still gonna get it destroyed?’
Huh? That was his takeaway? That Toto was doomed? ‘I’m sure Toto would have been fine,’ she said.
He didn’t look convinced.
‘Auntie Em and Uncle Henry would have been so pleased to have Dorothy back, I’m sure they would have done everything they could to save Toto second time around,’ she said. At least if they were discussing the movie there was still hope to—
‘Maybe,’ he said and shrugged. ‘Have you checked out the financial report?’ he asked, cutting straight to the chase.
She swallowed the rest of her argument in defence of Toto’s continued well-being.
‘Umm, no, not yet.’ Ryker’s email with the report from the accountants attached had only arrived in her in-box yesterday and she’d been too busy with preparations for tonight. ‘Is it bad?’ she asked, her heart shrinking to the size of a ball bearing at the look he was sending her. More pitying than patronising could not be good.
‘It’s not good,’ he said.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
The ball bearing sunk into her abdomen and began to ping about as if it were stuck in a pinball machine.
‘You’re running at a loss,’ he added.
‘How much of a loss?’
‘Enough of a loss to require my uncle to borrow heavily to keep this place open over the last ten years at least,’ he said.
Oh, Matty. Why didn’t you tell me?
‘How much did he borrow?’ she asked, the guilt constricting around her tonsils.
‘A lot.’
‘Perhaps, if we got the theatre’s operating costs back into the black,’ she said, hopefully, ‘we could start paying off the loans?’
‘Doubtful,’ he said. ‘The bulk of the repayments – totalling close to two million pounds sterling – become due in three months.’
Two million pounds?
Shock reverberated through her. How on earth had Matty managed to borrow that much?
‘Perhaps we could find an investor,’ she said, hinting desperately. Like maybe a millionaire property magnate from Manhattan who now owns half the theatre.
They still had options, surely. If she could just get him to—
‘Maybe, but I’m out,’ he said, slicing through the last of her happy thoughts, right down to the bone.
‘What do you mean you’re out?’ she said, but she already knew, she could see it on his face.
‘I get that this place means a lot to you,’ he said with a sigh. ‘But if your lover figured I was going to bailout a failing business on his behalf, he got that wrong. My best advice is to sell.’ He let his eyes skim over the shabby room, while Ruby tried to stop herself from hyperventilating. ‘With the money you’ll make from the sale of the property you can pay off the debts, start a new business and still give all the people working downstairs a very generous severance package.’
Severance package? Sale? What the actual fuck?
The terrifying words pinged about in her head with the pinball, rattling her brains and her equilibrium. But only one word of his devastating speech hit the jackpot.
‘Matty wasn’t my—’ She stopped. Breathed. There were so many things she wanted to say in that moment – all the things she had loved about Matty, all the many things she was going to miss, even the things she hadn’t loved so much – but she’d need an Oscar-winning scriptwriter, a dose of Xanax and the wonderful wonderful Wizard of Oz’s gift of the gab to deliver it coherently. So she said the one thing that seemed the most important for him to know. ‘Matty was my boss, and my friend, and my soul mate and my kindred spirit … and I loved him to bits. But we were never lovers.’
‘If you say so,’ Devlin said, the cynical edge in his tone digging into her stomach.
Then the grief grew like a clump of nuclear waste, pushing out through her lungs, seeping from her pores, and the inky blackness exploded.
‘He was gay, you stupid—’ She cut off the expletive, the inky blackness flattened by a dark tide of sadness. ‘He was gay.’
But that wasn’t who Matty was. He was so much more than just his sexuality. And this man knew none of it. Not one thing about him. Even though they were blood relations and he now owned half of Matty’s dream. A dream he didn’t even want.
‘He meant everything to me,’ she murmured in the most reasonable and non-hysterical voice she could muster while her heart was shattering into tiny shards of agony. ‘And you didn’t even know him. So if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate it if you would make an effort to at least fake regret while telling me you think I should destroy his legacy.’
***
Luke stared, the hairs on the back of his neck doing the mamba as he watched Dorothy – or rather, Ruby Graham – hang on to the flood of grief-stricken tears with a dignity he had not expected.
Next time perhaps try sugar-coating the bad news, you dumbass.
Another solitary tear escaped, melting the ball of rouge highlighting her cheekbone, before she swiped it away.
‘Hey.’ He held his palms up, in the universal sign of surrender.
Please don’t cry.
But to be fair she didn’t look like she was going to just cry, she looked a whole lot more devastated than that.
For the first time in a long time, it occurred to him he’d misjudged his approach. Then again, he hadn’t planned to come into the theatre all guns blazing. He knew how to close a deal, for chrissakes.
But having his father staring down at him from a poster the size of a Times Square billboard had only exacerbated the fallout from the unwanted blitz when he’d arrived. His palms had been clammy, his heartbeat struggling to slow down from warp speed, and his stomach had twisted itself into a giant pretzel in the lobby before the show.
The onset of physical reactions, which he thought he’d conquered years ago after a ton of therapy, had been a devastating reminder of the similar incidents he’d had to endure as a kid when his mom had happily paraded him about as Falcone’s Mini-Me.
He hadn’t had an anxiety attack since he was eighteen, not even close, because he hadn’t associated with people in the movie business for almost that long whom he wasn’t related to. And the construction business was not generally packed with people who gave a crap about some has-been movie actor who had killed himself sixteen years ago.
But it had spooked him to know those symptoms were still there, ready to tackle him to the ground again at a moment’s notice if he wasn’t careful. The therapist had told him as much, why hadn’t he listened?
Perhaps it was that knowledge though, that hunted feeling, that gave him a weird sort of empathy with Ruby Graham’s battle to contain her distress.
‘Don’t cry,’ he said, aware of the tortured breathing making her breasts look even more impressive against the gingham bodice of her Dorothy costume.
Look away from the rack.
He raised his gaze and connected with her luminous-green eyes, awash with tears. But then to his shock, she did as he told her. Biting into her lip, she broke eye contact to stare at the poster of his old man he’d been busy ignoring.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she whispered. ‘I bloody swore I wouldn’t do this and now I’ve done it anyway.’
‘Done what?’ he asked, although he wasn’t sure she was talking to him.
She scrubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘Gone the full drama queen.’ Flags of colour lit the sprinkle of freckles visible on her cheeks under the smudged make-up.
‘If you think that’s going the full drama queen,’ he said. ‘You don’t know enough drama queens.’
She huffed out a hoarse laugh. ‘Believe me, I know one of the very best.’ She swallowed convulsively, then dropped her chin to stare at her hands, which were clenched into fists in her lap. ‘Or rather, I knew one of the best.’ She gave her cheeks another swipe, even though no more tears had appeared. ‘Why do you have to talk about dead people in the past tense?’
Unease gave the pretzel in his stomach an extra twist. Sharing was not his strong suit – especially with strangers.
‘I don’t want to talk about Matty in the past,’ she said fiercely, saving him the headache of thinking up a sympathetic reply. ‘As if we lost touch somehow, or he isn’t my best mate anymore. It feels weird and wrong and callous.’
Somehow he doubted she had a callous bone in her body.
She dragged in a tortured breath and let out a jagged sigh. ‘Death really bloody sucks, doesn’t it?’
Her grief felt so raw and real, he found himself actually struggling to find an answer for her, even though she didn’t seem that aware of his presence anymore.
‘I’m sorry I never got to meet him,’ he managed at last, surprised by the words.
Matty Devlin, however colourful, sounded way too much like his mother – and one Oscar-worthy drama queen in his life had been more than enough. But he was here to crush Ruby’s dreams, as much as his dead uncle’s, toughing out that unvarnished truth seemed like enough for her to handle today.
She lifted her gaze and studied him, and he had the unprecedented urge to squirm.
‘No, you’re not,’ she said at last, but then her wide lips tilted on one side in an almost smile. His heartbeat stumbled – which was strange, because he didn’t appreciate being figured out so easily. ‘But thanks for lying,’ she added, not sounding offended by his inability to lie convincingly. ‘I’m sure Matty would have loved to have met you, so he’s probably doing a snoopy dance right now if his spirit is still hanging about …’ She ran her open palms down her dress. ‘Which I certainly hope it is.’ She glanced around the room. ‘You hear that, Matty? I’m expecting a full on haunting worthy of Hill House or I’m going to be really disappointed in you.’
Her gaze glided back to meet his as she flicked one thick braid over her shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ she said, the sheepish smile endearing. ‘You probably think you’ve landed in Oz.’
You haven’t seen my mom hit peak Helena Devlin.
He swallowed the too revealing retort.
‘Not really,’ he said. Despite that one errant tear, and the weirdly hot Dorothy costume, Ruby Graham was pretty much the most forthright and restrained person he’d ever met. Of course, that wasn’t saying a whole hell of a lot, if you considered that apart from his work colleagues, sense and sanity didn’t run strongly in his list of close acquaintances.
But still, he had to give her credit for her honesty – and her lack of unnecessary drama in the face of extreme circumstances.
‘You’re grieving,’ he added, surprising himself even more with this demonstration of his previously untapped share-and-discuss skills. ‘Feeling shit and behaving like a nut job goes with the territory.’ I know. ‘Or so I’m told,’ he finished, yanking himself back from that piece of over-sharing.
He had no experience of the true ravages of grief, because he’d made a point of protecting himself from the kind of pain this woman was going through ever since he was fourteen by the simple expediency of keeping close relationships to an absolute minimum. And while a shrink – or his mom in fake-shrink mode – would have a field day with that, it worked for him.
She nodded. ‘I suppose,’ she said, not sounding convinced. ‘Although I really wish I hadn’t given you the impression I can’t even run a Wizard of Oz extravaganza without bursting into tears.’
She hadn’t burst into tears, even though she’d had more than enough provocation, but he didn’t think pointing that out would help him get back to where he needed to be so he kept his mouth shut. He doubted whatever she was going to say would change his mind about what needed to happen next, but he was willing to hear her out. Something he had planned to do before he’d been ambushed by the Falcone For Pope brigade in the lobby.
Negotiations were his strong suit.
‘I want you to know I’m absolutely committed to making this business more profitable,’ she said, the determination in her voice making the short hairs on his neck bristle again. Annoyingly. Sentiment, however well intentioned, had no place in a business negotiation.
‘I had a feeling our finances weren’t great,’ she continued. ‘Obviously I didn’t know how bad they were, because Matty was always super cagey about that and now I know why.’ She took an unsteady breath and he waited for her to continue her spiel. ‘Because he was trying to protect me.’ The wobble in her voice was quickly controlled. ‘But I’ve got lots of ideas to improve our revenue. Ideas that Matty wasn’t keen on because he felt they compromised The Royale’s mission as a community cinema—’
‘Exactly how keen on these ideas are you?’ he cut in, because he could hear the defensive tone. Coming up with ideas to solve a financial crisis were all well and good, but if you weren’t one hundred and one percent committed to them they wouldn’t work.
She straightened in her chair, her expression going flat and direct. ‘I’m keen on anything that will allow us to stay open for business,’ she said, which was a non-answer if ever he’d heard one. But at least the defensive tone was gone.
‘Okay,’ he said.
‘Okay?’ she asked, her brows launched up her forehead. ‘Okay, as in you’ll help me keep The Royale open?’ she added, jumping way ahead of herself. But the hope in her voice made it tougher than it should have been to set her straight.
‘No, okay as in, you don’t have to pay the money straight away,’ he said.
‘I don’t … I don’t understand,’ she said, her crest-fallen expression telling him she did understand, she just didn’t want to.
Hard truths were his stock in trade. But he could feel the blip in his heart rate when he gave it to her straight.
‘At a conservative estimate, this place is worth upwards of five million pounds sterling. It’s got a large footprint in a prime market location. It’s had listed buildings status for over two decades.’ Something his uncle must have angled for to save it from ever becoming a gas station. ‘Even though the London market is slowing down, a developer would snap it up.’ He’d taken a good hard look at the dimensions, and done some calculations on his iPhone while he’d sat in his rental car on the street outside and waited for the right moment to slip into the theatre unnoticed – which had turned out to be the wrong moment. ‘They’d have no problem getting planning approval because this area needs housing. And even if they only redeveloped into apartments to rent instead of buy you’re talking at least six units, possibly eight. That’s a good six-figure profit margin.’
‘But it’s a cinema. I don’t want to sell it.’ Her expression became mulish. ‘I understand you would make a nice tidy profit if we do sell but I …’
‘Stop right there.’ He held up his hand. The remark had been guileless, and it really shouldn’t matter to him one damn bit whether this girl thought he was a freeloader anyway, but somehow it did. ‘This isn’t about the profit I can make. I’m not interested in taking anything out of this place. Like you say, I didn’t know my uncle and I wasn’t expecting this windfall. I sure as hell don’t need it. I’m quite happy to have my share used to pay off the debts when the sale goes through.’
‘You … You are?’ There was that hope again, shining too brightly in her eyes.
He was through pandering to it. ‘But that’s not gonna solve your problem if you don’t sell. Because if you don’t sell you’re gonna have to come up with a couple million on your own, and that’s at a conservative estimate.’
‘What happens if we can’t manage to pay all of it?’ she asked, the hope in her face crucifying him. She just wasn’t getting the fact this was a lost cause.
‘Matty borrowed the money against the property, so if you don’t cough up in time, the bank will foreclose and you lose the place anyway for less money.’ He stood up, suddenly keen to get out of the theatre, and away from the pointless hope in her eyes.
‘But perhaps if we could find an investor, someone willing to loan us the money?’
‘You’ll need to get it back in the black to make it attractive to an investor,’ he said, because he had a sneaking suspicion she still saw him as a possible sugar daddy in this scenario. ‘I figure it’ll sell pretty damn quick once it goes on the market,’ he said, trying to stick to the script and not get side-tracked by the grief hovering round the edges of the room like a bad smell, or the misguided hope in her eyes. The Dorothy outfit – complete with pop socks and ruby slippers – wasn’t helping, because now she looked younger and cuter and even more naïve than she had on the sidewalk outside Ryker’s office. ‘Like I said, I reckon a developer will snap it up if you put the right price on it,’ he added, the desire to soften the blow still festering in the pit of his stomach, alongside the pretzel. ‘If you want to take it to the wire you could give yourself two weeks on the market to sell it, giving you the maximum amount of time to turn this gig around, bring the business into profit and find that extra investment to cover the debts so you don’t have to sell up …’ He glanced at his iWatch to confirm today’s date and do a quick calculation. ‘Which gives you until around June twentieth, before you have to make that choice.’
‘But if I sell I’ll be closing a community institution that’s been going since 1988 and all my staff will be out of a job?’
She sounded so forlorn, all he could do was nod. ‘Yeah.’
He dug his business card out of his pocket, then scribbled down his cell number on the back. ‘You can reach me on that number if you want to discuss the details.’
Not that there was really anything left to discuss.
She seemed to get that, taking the card with trembling fingers.
He shoved the pen in his back pocket. ‘Do you think it’s safe for me to get out of here now?’
She trapped her bottom lip under her teeth, still staring at his card, then looked up. ‘There’s a fire escape at the end of the corridor,’ she said, pointing down the hallway. ‘It’s probably safest to slip out that way.’
He nodded. He needed to get out of here. But his stomach twisted into a pretzel again at the sight of her in her gingham dress and white blouse, her thick French braids tied with blue ribbons and her round green eyes mistier than Judy Garland’s as she sang about rainbows and lemon drops.
‘I’m not flying back to Manhattan until late Monday night, if you want to speak to me in person,’ he said.
‘Thank you …’ Her face flushed and she smiled – and he realised he’d made a tactical error. He didn’t want to give her false hope.
He dismissed the ripple of unease as he made his way down the hall. If she contacted him on Monday he could screen the call – and let his assistant Gwen handle it.
He’d given the situation to her straight; those were the facts.
He hadn’t created this situation – an undiagnosed heart condition and bad financial planning had done that. So why should he feel responsible? If his uncle had been any kind of a businessman, or had the foresight to plan ahead, he could have found more tax efficient ways to borrow against his business, or found an investor instead of bankrolling the place with loans. But the guy hadn’t expected to die in his fifties. So they were gonna have to suck it up, lay the blame for this crummy situation at fate’s door and deal with it.
But as he headed down a hallway lined with framed film posters – none of them featuring Falcone, thank Christ – and photographs of Ruby and the guy she had loved, he heard the faint sound of gulping sobs behind him.
The pretzel in his stomach rose up to press against his larynx.
She’ll get over it.
He climbed out the window and down the fire escape, then jumped into the alleyway behind the theatre. Once Ruby Graham had a cool two million plus in her pocket and no ties or responsibilities to worry about, she’d be able to see the other side of this rainbow. Surely.