Love Lies

always this enthusiastic about their toys. Adam would love this footie table. I shake my head a fraction. Why the hell is Adam, the loser, popping in there? It must be the effects of the flight; jet lag is making me lose focus. I push the thought of Adam out of my mind.

‘Who usually wins?’

‘Evil has had quite a run of luck but I’m thinking that might all change now I’ve met you.’ Scott flashes me one of his oh-so-familiar, utterly delicious smiles and I swear my heart is beating between my legs.

A stunning grey leather corner settee divides the room. I wonder if Scott will throw me on it and ravage me until sunrise. I wouldn’t mind, despite the jet lag. Because, here’s the thing, as hard as this is to believe, when we left the fabulous country hotel, the sheets were barely disturbed. It was good news that I’d slept so deeply but, as I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but sigh as I tried to exhale the dull disappointment that I had not left the sheets tangled and used. No sex. No damn sex. I’m engaged to Scott Taylor for goodness sake! It’s

We have been so, so busy in the last few days we haven’t managed anything more than a lengthy snog and a heady fumble. We are always together (chatting, laughing, playing cards) but we are never alone (which would certainly lead to much more carnal entertainment). To be frank, I’m more than a bit frustrated with the situation. I am so pleased to be here in our home; now we’ll have more privacy. Bob, the security guy, is a great bloke but his constant burly presence is a bit of a passion killer, and Saadi and her BlackBerry ought to be marketed as the western world’s most effective contraceptive; talk about barrier method. But, hey, here we are… alone… in love… I linger by the beautiful settee and finger the wonderful cool leather. I hope Scott can read my mind.

He can’t. It appears Scott isn’t thinking what I’m thinking. He doesn’t fling me on the cool leather and start to flick his tongue across my body. Instead he walks around the exquisite piece of furniture and excitedly points out the arcade game coffee table, the cashmere-lined hammock and the retro Champion Level 2 turntable. Now Adam would sell his mother to buy that. There’s a sixty-inch flat screen TV dominating the room. Scott follows my gaze.

‘Maybe we should watch a movie tonight. Let’s make popcorn.’

Tonight? No way. Won’t we be swinging from the chandeliers tonight? Surely. Watching movies is the sort of thing you do on the fifth or sixth date, after you’ve had loads of sex and talked yourself hoarse. Is there a way of saying this without sounding like a total hussy? I remain hushed while I think about it.

I notice that his shelves are full of amazing books about the history of art and photography. The range is incredibly broad. There are books about Neolithic, Egyptian and Grecian art. There are more on the Gothic period, Renaissance, Impressionism and Art Nouveau. (I’m reading this from the spines.) Cubism, Fauvism, Rayonism, Pop art and Kinetic art. I am so impressed.

‘I didn’t know you were so interested in art,’ I say, trying not to sound too sickeningly struck. Everything he does overwhelms me. I’m worried I might pop with the intensity of the imprint.

‘I haven’t read any of them,’ he says. His tone is a bit bored, a bit resentful and a bit apologetic.

‘Oh.’ I consider; am I as impressed knowing he has plans to read these books but hasn’t actually read them yet?

‘I don’t really know much about art except that I know what I like,’ he says with a shrug.

‘Fair enough, I’m just the same about wine.’ Should I leave it at that? I can’t. ‘In that case, why so many art books?’ I enquire.

‘Well, I had shelves that needed filling. There’s nothing more depressing than an empty shelf, is there? I mean, do know about. He’s taken my photo. Look.’

Scott reaches for a big glossy book, Portraits, and starts to flick through it efficiently. Beautiful images of the beautiful people in our world jump out at me. Liz Hurley looking sexy, Kate Moss looking confrontational, Gwyneth Paltrow looking elusive. Scott pauses and says, ‘Look, here I am. I love this shot.’

Testino has captured the cheeky pup Scottie. I had a postcard of this very image pinned to the cork notice- board in the back room of Ben’s shop. For a mortifying moment I wonder whether Scott spotted it last week when he made me breakfast. I hope not. I’ll appear scarily weird and teen-like, perhaps not an unfair appraisal but one I’d prefer to keep under wraps. I daren’t ask him.

‘Great shot,’ I murmur. ‘He has caught you. Or at least a particular bit of you.’

‘Yeah, no one catches the whole of me. I’m still chasing it.’ Scott snaps closed the book and turns to walk out of the room. He’s forgotten he’s in the middle of a conversation with me. I remind him.

‘So, why so many unread books?’

‘Oh yeah, the launch party was held in the National Portrait Gallery and I got all excited about art and stuff. After the party I had someone buy a copy of every book they had in their shop.’

‘But you never read any of them?’

‘No. I fell off the wagon that week. It took another eight months for me to sober up again. I’d sort of lost

I know this. I know that Scott is cleverer than I expected. In fact, as I am very familiar with his complex song lyrics I can’t help but worry that he’s almost too clever. He has the sort of mind that tires and is bored easily. The sort of mind that sees the problem of where we might all end up before he’s even enjoyed the heady beginnings of where we all set off.

‘What book is by your bed?’ I ask.

‘Mostly self-help books.’

‘You should eat more fish,’ I suggest.

‘Why?’

‘My mum says it’s good for your nerves.’ He grins at me as I hoped he would. ‘Where do you sleep?’ I ask bravely. I hold his eye and we both know what I’m suggesting. He grins at me.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

38. Fern

‘Oh this is wild. I have never seen such a big bed in all my life,’ I scream excitedly.

‘Yeah.’ Scott grins as I lunge at the bed and immediately begin bouncing up and down on the ocean of black Egyptian cotton and turquoise silk throws. He doesn’t join me but starts to empty his pockets on to the bedside table; a packet of fags, a packet of orange tic-tacs and a small notebook. He jots down ideas for lyrics all the time.

‘Don’t you just want to bounce on this bed every single night of your life?’ I ask.

‘I do actually, Sweets,’ he says with a slow sexy smile.

I can’t help myself. I know Scott is my fiance now, and I am in fact desperate to bounce up and down with him, so a veiled reference to sex shouldn’t have me turning the colour of an overripe tomato, but hell – it’s Scott Taylor. I still can’t quite believe it.

‘No. In this instance I didn’t mean like that. I meant don’t you just want to jump on the bed because it’s enormous? For that matter, don’t you want to skateboard up and down the hallways just because you can? And don’t you want to run around the house just, well, laughing at the sheer bloody ludicrousness of everything being so damned big?’

Scott smiles at me. It’s an odd smile, almost regretful. ‘No, I’ve never done that.’

I stop bouncing for a moment. ‘But, at first you did, hey? When you got your first huge, posh flat or I don’t know…’ I search my head for the most exciting boy toy that would likely inspire unchecked exuberance. ‘Your first Ferrari.’ I understand that he has three now.

Scott’s smile drops off his face and sinks to I don’t know where, somewhere too deep to retrieve. ‘You know, Fern, I don’t think I ever had your enthusiasm for it all. I mean I like it. I love being rich and having nice stuff, of course. But the actual things, they let me down.’

‘In what way?’ I sit down on the edge of the bed and he sits next to me.

‘Well, take those Bang and Olufsen BeoLab5 speakers, for example, I thought owning those would make me