‘May I ask what you’re doing?’ she asked, in a tone that showered a fine layer of frost over the pair of us.
‘Looking for my pencil?’ I suggested.
‘You’re something else,’ Gabriel grinned as the attendant stalked back to her gladiatorial pit. He hauled his seat upright and offered me a hand up from the cabin floor.
‘Thank you.’ I held Gabriel’s left hand, turning it to admire his long, callous-tipped fingers. ‘Time for payback, I think.’
‘I’m very good at fingerin’,’ he smirked.
‘Good. My extraordinary altruism only goes so far.’ I retrieved the blanket from under his seat and draped it over our legs before easing out of my shorts. Gabriel’s hand disappeared to search for his prize, and I closed my eyes in pleasure as the guitarist put his skills to expert use.
*****
As we landed at Heathrow hailstones cracked like bullets against the windows of the plane, and my spirits plummeted down to the flooded runway.
Gabriel peered out of the rain-spattered glass. ‘Shit. Time to meet the fans. Thousands of the fuckers. Well, a couple of hundred, anyway. It’ll take me all fuckin’ morning just to get through Arrivals, and all I wanna do is crash.’
‘Shit. Fans mean press.’
‘Usually.’ Gabriel gave a hazy nod of understanding. ‘Oh, right. You really hate ‘em, don’t you? Remember reading that once.’
‘Really, really hate ‘em.’ I began to gather my hand luggage.
As the seatbelt warning light pinged off Gabriel gazed at me with the peat-brown eyes of a wounded puppy. ‘So. Is this it, then?’
‘Reckon so.’
‘Look, I was wonderin’…’
‘No.’
‘But…’
‘No, definitely not.’
‘You don’t even know what I was goin’ to ask,’ Gabriel pouted.
‘Yes I do. And I’m sure there’ll be a groupie or three out there who’ll be more than happy to oblige.’
‘Ouch,’ Gabriel pouted.
I kissed his jutting lip, relenting a little. ‘Look, you’ve been delightful company. You’re a funny, sexy man and if we had a week to spare I’d be more than happy to hide away in a hotel with you. But I’ve got a job to do, and if you can look at me and say you’d wait, you’re a better liar than I give you credit for.’
Gabriel gave a sad smile of defeat. ‘You’re a hard woman.’
‘No, I’m a realist.’
He handed me a business card. ‘Ere’s my number. Personal mobile and all that. No assistant, no P.R., just straight through to the man himself. Just in case you change your mind.’
‘Thanks.’ I took the card, sliding it into my back pocket before pulling my hand luggage from the locker. ‘Nice accent, by the way. Considering you’re from bloody Dorset.’
‘Fuck off. Born within the sound of the Bow Bells, me.’
‘Fuck off yourself. It’s a good cover, but a cover nonetheless.’
‘Bitch.’ My companion stooped down. ‘Dad’s a sodding vicar in Bridport. Took me months to get the voice right.’
‘And you’re doing a damn fine job. I’m just very, very good at this game.’
Gabriel laughed then. ‘God, you’d be good to have in my life. Ah well, I reckon I’ll get a decent song out of this if nothing else. You wanna borrow my security trolls to get you through arrivals? They might not say much, but you’ll find that you won’t get too much hassle.’
‘That would be great.’ I gave him one final kiss. ‘Mr James, you’re a true gentleman.’
He stood and readjusted himself inside his jeans. ‘I know. For fuck’s sake don’t tell anyone.’
*****
Jay and Al, Gabriel’s ‘trolls’, turned out to be twin brothers from an old East End family. Al, at six feet three inches tall and seventeen stones, was the smaller of the two. Courteous and quietly-spoken when they greeted me, they became a human battering ram when Gabriel and I hit the screeching hormonal wall of teenage girls that had staked out arrivals.
As the flash bulbs flared and Al pushed my luggage, Jay simply picked me up in arms that were thicker than my thighs and charged at the throng of paparazzi and fans, scattering them aside as though they were made of cardboard.