Loving his ANGEL Read online

  He loved Villa Solimar. Eliza had bought it for him when she had come back from her failed attempt to find herself on a trip across Europe to Tibet. A crazy coincidence that on her return the rest of her band where holed up there awaiting her return. Desperate to lay down a new, eagerly awaited album in the basement studio at the villa. She knew how much Jonny loved the place, mortified when the first tenants she let it to, through the agent that sold them the place, completely trashed it. Some yuppies hosting an end of summer party that got out of control. Unperturbed, she had it refurbished and surprised Jonny with it when he returned from France with her. It was now their holiday home, a place of beauty for them to retreat to.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  She sealed their agreement with a kiss.

  “Where though?” he asked.

  “Now there’s a question.”

  “Shall we talk about it over food?” His growling stomach becoming painful now.

  They layered up and ventured out into the cool grey Amsterdam afternoon. Heads down; marching against the wind; slipping on the wet cobbles.

  She pumped the umbrella up and down in an attempt to flick off any excess water before entering the restaurant; popping it into an ornate iron basket, designed just for that purpose, inside the doorway. This was their favourite restaurant on Lindengracht; a popular with the locals and not ever really reaching the tourist guides. They ate there every time they came home to Amsterdam and quite often spent a whole evening sampling the five, six or seven course degustation menu. Today’s visit, however, was intended to be a more perfunctory affair. A pit stop and chance to talk more about Eliza’s idea.

  The waiter showed them to a table away from the draught of the entrance, then brought a jug of water and some small rounds of homemade bread, olives and flavoured oils; placing them in a neat row in the middle of the white marble topped table.

  “What’s on the menu today?” asked Eliza of the waiter who was smartly dressed in a black shirt and trousers, topped off with a waist to floor dark grey cotton apron.

  “The specials today are yellow fin tuna, or short rib beef.” With a look of recognition, he added, “and the vegetarian special is celeriac lasagne.”

  “Yes that sounds nice, I’ll have the vegetarian special please.”

  “The beef for me please. What does it come with?” Jonny was properly hungry and wanted his plate to be full. None of that poncey nouvelle cuisine that seemed to becoming popular in Europe. A taster menu was one thing, a morsel of protein and a couple of micro herbs another. It definitely did not constitute a meal as far as Jonny was concerned. Eliza had tried to persuade him to be a vegetarian for a while but he was convinced it left him feeling tired and made his running suffer. The muscles in his legs just seemed to ache all of the time; never fresh enough for the next run. He ordered meat whenever they were out and went along with vegetarian meals if they were eating in. He reckoned he could cook if the inclination ever became strong enough, but it was easier to just let Eliza get on with it. Pancakes were about the only thing he could rustle up, and as good as they were, it wasn’t something either of them wanted to eat every day.

  “Dauphinoise potatoes and tourné cut root vegetables,” the waiter replied, taking out a small notepad from his front apron pocket and scribbling their order down with the tiniest pencil in the world.

  “Perfect,” Jonny said, dipping a round of bread into the olive oil and balsamic vinegar that Eliza had poured and mixed into a small bowl.

  “Would you like to see the wine list?” The waiter hovered the leather bound menu over the table, not sure which of the two patrons to offer it to.

  Eliza raised her eyebrows at Jonny, querying silently whether they did or not. Letting him make the decision for the both of them.

  Jonny looked at his wrist watch. He had planned on going for a run but it was cold out there and after a heavy meal it would probably be too much like hard work. Anyway, a bottle of wine and then an early night with Eliza seemed much more appealing. He could also have dessert if he wasn’t going for a run. That settled it.

  “Sure.” Taking the wine list from the waiter and scanning it for something familiar. Early on in his wine drinking days, which in truth were not that long ago, he would have gone for the cheapest. Probably the house wine. He was more flush now and having spent time with his Dutch friends, a little more educated too. He now knew that asking the waiter for a recommendation was often the way to go when faced with a ten-page menu like this one.

  “What would you recommend?”

  The waiter had no need to procrastinate, he was fully trained in their wine list. Probably attended a sommelier course or something; it was that type of establishment.

  “I would suggest a red. Either a Burgundy or Bordeaux. Perhaps this one.” He pointed carefully with his teeny tiny pencil to the 1988 Hautes-Côtes-de-Beaune. It is rich and spicy with oak tinged raspberry, cherry and plum flavours. It would go well with both the beef and the celeriac.”

  “Sounds good.” Jonny handed the wine menu back.

  The waiter tipped his head to one side in acknowledgement and turned towards the kitchen.

  Jonny reached his hands across the table, entwining his fingers into Eliza’s. “1988. That was the year we first met. The year when you lit up before me like an angel at the Marquee.”

  She pouted her lips and blew him a kiss across the table. “You big romantic, you.”

  “I do try.” He smiled generously. “So what was you saying before, about a home for us?”

  “I just feel like it’s time to find somewhere we can nest.”

  “Nest?” He was confused by the term. Eliza’s command of English was usually better than his. Embarrassing, considering it wasn’t even her native language. She’d been to university and he hadn’t even finished secondary school; ducking out of his O’Levels when they had become a bit too difficult. She spoke several languages and he barely mastered one.

  He knew what “nest” meant, but in this context? How far was she taking its meaning? Did it include children? Aged just twenty-four, he wasn’t sure how he felt about children. Eliza was six years older than him, so he guessed the biological clock would be ticking for her, but she had never mentioned wanting to have children before. If anything quite the opposite. No pets, no kids, had been the distinct vibe he had got from Eliza over the years he had known her.

  “Yeah. Somewhere we can call home. That we can decorate to our own taste, display mementoes from our travels. Somewhere big enough to invite our families and friends to stay. A large kitchen. Lounge with an open fire. Private garden.”

  Jonny was starting to conjure up an image in his mind. Whether it was the same one Eliza saw was something he would need to explore.

  “Yeah I’d like that too. Where do you see this nest being?”

  She paused, as if to confirm in her own mind before revealing her idea, “London.”

  He leant across the table. “London? Really? I mean that’s great. For me. But is that where you’d really like to be?”

  He had expected her to say somewhere in the Netherlands. Not London.

  The waiter appeared with the bottle of wine. They stopped talking whilst he held it out in front of them, awaiting their confirmation before skillfully removing the cork and placing it on a small silver tray at the edge of their table.

  “Would you like to try it sir?” Holding the bottle with one hand and the other balanced behind his back.

  Jonny nodded, breathing in the small amount of wine the waiter poured into his glass before taking a sip. Eliza picked up the cork, squeezing it between her fingers, waiting for Jonny to give his approval.

  “Yes very nice, thank you.” He had never said anything different and wasn’t really sure what the point was in going through this ritual every time. But it seemed to be the done thing so he went along with it anyway.

  With the wine poured, Jonny raised his glass to Eliza’s and with the chink of the two glasses toasted, “Here’s t
o our nest.”

  “Our London nest.”

  They each savoured the wine, enjoying the taste of a rare lunchtime tipple.

  “So are you sure about it being London?”

  “Yes. There’s not a lot going on here for us and I know you don’t like the climate. We’ve got our place in the sun, so, just from a practical point of view, it would be better if it was somewhere with good travel connections and recording studios. And, it would be good if it was near your family. I know how much you love them and how they love and miss you.”

  Eliza was so much more thoughtful since she came back from her unsuccessful escape to Tibet. And she was right, his mother, in fact all of his family, had been in constant touch. Much more so than before. Probably concerned he might go off again. They hadn’t got the full story from him about his time in France, but pieced together enough to be concerned.

  “I love you, Eliza.”

  She stood up and reached across the table to kiss him. “And I love you too.” She had gotten over the fear of declaring her love to him. Now she said it at every opportunity she could take. It was easier than she ever imagined, mainly because Jonny was easy to love.

  If he wasn’t so famished, he would have paid the bill and left with her there and then. He was famished though and the aroma coming from the open kitchen was making him salivate. He popped a couple of olives into his mouth to stave off his hunger, fighting to extract the stones in his mouth before he choked on them. Eliza nodded when he asked if he could eat the last of the bread.

  The steaming hot plate was barely set down by the waiter before he had dug in. Eliza loved the way he ate his meal, the way he ate all his meals, like he hadn’t eaten in days. It was the same way he was with her when they made love. Like he couldn’t get enough of her. Devouring her greedily. Savouring every mouthful.

  “So when do you want to start looking?” Jonny asked.

  “Straight away. Now we’ve talked about it, I’m quite excited and just want to get on with it. Do you think your mother might help us?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just thinking, if we tell her the sort of place we’re looking for, she might get a shortlist for us to view when we go to London later this week.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure she will be over the moon to get involved. But are you sure about that?”

  “Of course. We’ll have the final say, obviously. It’s just we don’t really have the time to be contacting estate agents at the moment. Why don’t we call her when we get back to the apartment?”

  Jonny felt all warm and fuzzy, the doubts of the last year a dim and distant memory. Quite happy to let them fade away completely. A nest with his Angel would eclipse all of that uncertainty.

  Chapter Four

  They hurried down the stairs and through the drizzle to their waiting limousine. The chauffeur stood with an umbrella shielding Eliza from the mascara smudging weather. A far cry from the early days in Karma Life when hired self-drive minibuses and public transport were the order of the day.

  Jonny and Eliza didn’t have anything against public transport. In fact, they wished they still had the anonymity to travel that way all the time. Here, in Amsterdam, they probably could hop on and off a tram without too much bother. Tonight though, their publicist wanted to create the right buzz. A limo entrance would do that.

  “Does my hair look ok?” Eliza tentatively touching the fine braids he stylist had woven into her hair. Pinned up in a pattern around the crown, the rest of her distinctive long locks straightened to a luminescent sheen with heated irons.

  “Yes, you look beautiful. Stunning in fact.” Jonny slid across the seat to plant a reassuring kiss on her cheek. He moved the emerald and diamond cross along the rose gold chain into the centre of her chest; now suggestively pointing down into her décolleté. He’d guarded that necklace through all his dark days and was relieved she chose to wear it again. A symbol of his love.

  It was true. Certainly no lie. She was beautiful. Stunning. The most gorgeous woman he had ever seen and he felt himself the luckiest man alive to have her in his life.

  As if his life couldn’t get any better, they were on their way to the annual European music awards where they were the most nominated band. Receiving accolade in the categories of Best Song, Best Video, Best Dutch Act, Best New Group (which they thought was choice seen as they had been on the scene for several years now) and the most prestigious of all, Best Rock Act.

  They exited the limo amidst a blinding flash of cameras. That, and the crescendo of shutter clicks, disorientated them for a few seconds. Overloading their senses. Jonny put his arm around Eliza’s waist, whispering into her ear to check she was okay.

  One of the award hosts rescued them, leading them onto the red carpet and up towards the main photo backdrop. Cameramen yelling requests for them to look into their lens, and their lens only. Journalists shouting out questions; asking them to deny or confirm the latest rumour about their love life. There was always a story that they could weave out of a couple of unchecked lines.

  They paused at the backdrop for a few posed photos. Eliza stood facing Jonny, her hand placed lightly on his stomach. Without warning, she took hold of his t-shirt and hoisted it at the front. He instantly tensed from the shock of the cold air; the muscles in his abdomen tightening to full effect.

  Turning to Eliza, he gave her a smouldering look. Lowering his head so no-one could interpret his mouthed words. “Well I’m glad to see you’ve lost your nervousness,” he whispered, “just you wait ’til I get you home.”

  She didn’t reply to him but lowered her eyes and smiled coyly to the paparazzi. A message that seemed to say, “look what my man’s got and… it’s all mine”. The cameras went wild.

  They were taken through to a table in the middle of the buzzing celebrity filled room. Kurt stood up as they approached, offering out his hand to Jonny. His wife, Leesa, jumped up and gave Eliza a warm embrace.

  Most of the tables were already full, everyone chattering away nervously. The anticipation palpable. Waiters running around the tables making last minute adjustments and taking drinks orders from the guests. Celebrities mingling, greeting old acquaintances and introducing themselves to new ones.

  “Where’s Dirk?” asked Jonny, thinking they would be the last ones to arrive.

  “Who knows?” Kurt replied. “Probably up to his old tricks, the dirty dog.”

  “Oh yeah,” Eliza turned to Jonny, “forgot to tell you, he kicked his girlfriend out of his apartment. Said she was too overbearing. Wanting to know where he was all of the time. Re-arranging his stuff in the apartment without asking. You know how he is about anyone trying to control him like that. I think he’s bringing someone else tonight.”

  On cue, Dirk made his entrance. He was still thirty feet away, but over the general noise of the gossip filled room they heard him let out a howl any alpha male wolf in a pack would be proud of.

  I’m here. Look at me. The bad boy of Dutch rock.

  Jonny, and the rest of the table occupants, laughed and hollered back to him. Eyes drawn beyond his exuberant frame to the girl being pulled along behind him.

  Eliza and Leesa, the only female guests at their table, able to easily drag their gaze away from the girl and look at each other. Exchanging that “look”. The one only women can give, that says, “what the fuck is she wearing?!”

  Now don’t get it wrong. Eliza and Leesa can rock the most revealing of outfits and are massively body confident. But this girl. She was on a whole other level.

  Jonny knew he was staring. Inappropriately. But so was everyone else, as far as he could make out. He also realized, if he didn’t look away right now he might get some shit from Eliza. So he prized his attention away to the beers stuffed in a bucket at the centre of the table. He grabbed a couple, twisted off the tops and passed one over to Eliza.

  She took it from him and stood up to greet Dirk and his girlfriend.

  “So what’s the craic then, JB?” Jonny
turned in his seat to their band manager. Just noticing that he was wearing a light grey silk suit. The only one at the table formally dressed. A three-piece suit as well, with a yellow spotted handkerchief protruding from the breast pocket.

  “The craic?”

  “Yes the craic. You know, what’s happening tonight? What are we doing and when?”

  “You English, I’ll never understand what you say.” Shaking his head as if to emphasise the point. “The craic is… you need to take it easy on those.” Pointing at the beer Jonny was glugging down. “You’re nominated for five awards and you’ve won at least two of them. You can’t be falling off the stage in a drunken stupor. Or actually,” he sniggered, “maybe you can. That might hit the headlines more than winning the award would.” Laughing made the fabric on Jim Bob’s waistcoat strain. So he stopped, smoothed down the wrinkles and sucked in his stomach in an attempt to stop the buttons from popping off. Rising a few inches higher in his chair, but still a couple of foot shorter than any of the others around the table.

  Jonny ignored his parent-like remarks, intrigued by Karma Life winning an award. His, and the band’s, first. “Which ones have we won then?”

  “I can’t say. I’ve been sworn to secrecy and you need to show true surprise when they call you up. So, I’m not telling.” A smug look planted on his face.

  “Killjoy! Anyway it’s Irish Not English.” Jonny finished his first beer and reached for a second. “Do you want one?”

  Jim Bob took a beer from Jonny. “Killjoy? There you go again, and you’ve lost me, what’s Irish?”

  “Craic. It’s an Irish saying.”

  Eliza put her hand on Jonny’s leather clad shoulder, squeezing it to get his attention. “Jonny, this is Tamara. Dirk’s plus one. Tamara this is Jonny Harrison.”

  He turned around to greet the girl, whose body he had earlier peeled his eyes away from. Looking her square in the face and willing himself not to drop his gaze down any further. He nodded and lifted his beer to her in a slightly masculine way. As if he was greeting a male acquaintance, not a scantily clad woman.