Lainie finished scanning the world news and flipped to the arts section. There was a new review of The Cavalier’s Tribute in the theatre column. She wasn’t mentioned. But—
“Do you think The Cavalier’s Tribute is thematically comparable to Chicago?” she asked Richard, who was sitting with one ankle propped on the opposite knee again, frowning into space.
“I think Tom Reynolds should stick to reviewing at his intellectual level,” he responded, still glowering. “Which would be open mic night at the local pub and the occasional panto.”
Lainie lifted an eyebrow at his sour tone. “Cheer up. He called you ‘gruff and overtly masculine.’ That could be a compliment. And things could be way worse. I could be sucking on your ear in public.”
They watched as Sadie touched her tongue to Jack’s chin dimple, and simultaneously grimaced.
“Did you know, by the way?” Lainie asked suddenly. She lowered her voice, although she doubted if Will could hear her over the obnoxiously raised volume of his game. “About Will being here too?”
Richard’s expression was difficult to interpret. His eyes moved from Will’s lowered head and busy thumbs to Lainie’s face. There was a sardonic twist to his mouth, so she expected a biting response.
“No,” he said after a moment. “I wouldn’t have sprung that on you if I’d known.”
Huh. Sensitivity. That was new.
“Although it’s probably to our benefit. If Farmer has to open his mouth without a script in his hand, everyone in his vicinity comes off well by comparison.”
...And they returned to their regularly scheduled programming.
When another assistant arrived, clipboard in hand, Sadie retracted her tongue from Jack’s face, Will reluctantly killed his game, and Richard touched his hand to the small of Lainie’s back to guide her out into the hallway. She shivered and sped up.
The Wake Me Up London studio was decked out in tones of yellow and orange to look perky and refreshing. The lights were intensely bright, presumably to give the effect of sunshine, despite the dim sky outside. It was more like being in a sunbed.
Tara Whitlow, formerly of the BBC entertainment beat, was smiling into the cameras, rounding up a segment on student fashion designers. She tossed her curls over her shoulders and beamed as she teased the upcoming interview. The director cut to an ad break, and her smile faded. She rolled her shoulders, stretching out her neck, and stood up to greet them as they were herded onto the set. Her smile was perfunctory as she shook hands with them all, and Lainie didn’t miss the shrewd stare that accompanied her own introduction. That couldn’t bode well.
“Fantastic,” Tara said. “If we could have Will, Lainie and Richard over here, and Sadie and Jack on the opposite couch, please.”
Lainie glanced at Richard as they reluctantly followed the directive. The moment her bottom hit the cushions and she saw the blinking red light of a camera, nerves struck. She really, really did not enjoy interviews. Richard’s sarcastic comment about Will’s inability to communicate off-script hit a little close to home.
Richard returned her a wry look, and then looked again, his blue eyes narrowing on her face.
She was physically trembling, literally vibrating with tension. This never happened onstage.
The surprise she’d felt at his earlier, almost friendly remark was nothing to her astonishment when he casually reached out and took her hand in his. His fingers felt strong and rough as he linked them through hers, pulling her wrist over to rest against his thigh.
She let out a slow breath through her mouth.
“All right?” he asked evenly, and she nodded. She wrapped her thumb across his. Sitting up straighter, she ignored a poisonous look from Will. Her nerves had gone from a rolling boil to a slow simmer. For all his many and varied defects, there was something very reassuring about having Richard at her side, when he was on her side. He was unflappable in these situations.
Mostly because he didn’t care, but still.
The director cued them in, the cameras moved into position, and Sadie went from zero to sixty: sulky diva to big eyes and innocent dimples.
“I’m delighted to have with me this morning five of the brightest young stars in the West End firmament,” Tara said. “From the Metronome, Richard Troy, Elaine Graham and Will Farmer, and from the Palladium, Sadie Foster and Jack Trenton. Welcome, all! Thank you for being here today.”
“Thank you for having us.” Sadie offered the obligatory response.