Baby Be Mine

grey-stone castle surrounded by leafy green trees. I can see why his PA booked him in here, even though one of the hotels in Cucugnan or a nearby town would have been a hell of a lot easier to get to.
    I wonder if Lena has hired out the whole thing. I doubt she would have managed it on such short notice – if she did, she’s a better PA than I ever was. I think we’ll be safe from the paparazzi, in any case. The press in France are slightly less intrusive than those in the US and the UK.
    I manage to transfer Barney to his buggy, but getting him across the gravel makes for a bumpy ride. I look around to see if there’s anyone who can help me carry the buggy up the steps, but the whole place seems deserted. Maybe Lena is more skilled than I imagined. I pull out my phone and text Johnny to tell him that we’re downstairs.
    I squint my eyes against the glaring sunshine and peer inside. The front hall is dark and enchanting, long tapestries hanging on the walls. Moments later, I see Johnny jogging down the spiral staircase. He pushes open the gothic doors and emerges into the daylight.
    ‘Hey, how’s it going?’
    I put my finger to my lips and indicate the buggy.
    ‘Is he asleep?’ he whispers.
    ‘Yes. Help me carry him up the steps?’
    I put my hands on the handles, but Johnny wraps his arms around the centre of the buggy and takes off with it.
    ‘Are you alright with that?’ I whisper loudly after him. That buggy is a nightmare to carry on your own.
    ‘Yep,’ he grunts, not bothering to put it down on the floor to cross the stone tiles to the staircase. I follow him up the winding stairs, trying not to look at his tattooed biceps.
    We reach a long corridor and Johnny pushes open the first door he comes to.
    ‘No key?’ I say wryly.
    ‘No valuables,’ he replies.
    ‘I’m not sure souvenir hunters would agree with that,’ I say, looking around the spacious suite. Johnny’s biker jacket and helmet are lying where he threw them on a seat under the window. The dark-wood shutters are wide open, allowing sunlight to spill into the room, revealing walls of polished ochre and antique furniture. Oil paintings of family members from years gone by hang on the walls. I glance through to the next room to see a large four-poster king-sized bed, made up with a golden silk bedspread.
    ‘Nice room,’ I comment.
    ‘It’s alright,’ he brushes me off. ‘Where do you want him?’ He indicates Barney.
    ‘Can I park him in the bedroom?’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘How long does he sleep for?’ he asks when I come back through.
    ‘Hopefully another hour,’ I tell him, sitting down on one of the sofas. ‘He has two hours a day at this age. If he wakes up early, he’s usually a grump.’ Am I boring him? Oddly, I don’t think so.
    He sits down on the sofa opposite me and picks up the phone on the side-table next to him. ‘Want a drink?’
    ‘I wouldn’t mind a latte.’
    He dials a number and places an order for room service.
    ‘It’s quiet here,’ I say. ‘Have you got the whole place to yourself?’
    ‘No.’ I feel a strange relief. Lena didn’t quite manage it, then. ‘Only a couple of honeymooners in the rooms upstairs, though,’ he explains, picking some fluff off his jeans.
    ‘Have you told Dana about us?’ I ask suddenly.
    He looks up at me. ‘Not yet.’
    ‘But you will?’
    He nods. ‘Yeah.’
    ‘How do you think she’ll take it?’
    ‘She’ll cope.’ Pause. ‘How was Christian last night?’
    ‘Not good,’ I admit. ‘But I don’t want to talk about him.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘It feels like I’m betraying him and I’ve done enough of that already.’
    There’s a gentle knock at the door. Johnny gets up to answer it. A neatly dressed man comes in with a silver tray and places it on the coffee table between us. Johnny pulls his wallet out of his pocket and hands him a note as he leaves.
    I get up and look out of the window. I’d forgotten what it was like living in such luxury. Actually, that’s not true. You never forget it once you’ve experienced it, and I experienced it repeatedly during the eight months I worked for Johnny.
    Surreal realisation hits me again. Johnny Jefferson is Barney’s father. This changes everything. Life will never be normal again.
    I turn around and watch him as he lifts up a silver-coloured coffee cup from the tray and blows at the hot liquid. Steam swirls away from him in a tiny cloud. He’s clean-shaven and his hair looks blonder in the