on, next room.”

Lola’s master plan—as seen on one of her favorite

sitcoms—involved her causing

distraction in the hotel

lobby by pretending (?) to be crazed fan while Andy and

snuck in and got changed in the toilets. Now, starting at

the top of the hotel, we’re knocking on every single door

holding Lola’s covered silver platter, pretending to be

room service, until we find Kitty. We’ve gone through two

whole floors already, but there’s still no sign of her.

The next door opens almost immediately. An

enormous man in

suit glowers down at me, his bulk

filling the doorway.

“Yes?” he grunts.

“Er, room service?” say timidly.

“Typical!” Another man strides forward and the

Incredible Bulk steps aside. “Grab the cases, will you,

Stan? Trust Kitty, ordering room service at the last

minute. We’re never gonna leave! think she’s fallen in

love with your town.” He winks at me, the warmth of his

smile making my cheeks burn. “Please, go on in. And tell

her I’ve gone to see what the hell’s happened to our cab,

will you?”

“I, er, will!” call after him, watching him stroll

away down the corridor, the Bulk following behind, laden

with heavy suitcases.

142

“Oh. My. God!”

hiss, turning to Andy. “That was

Luke Reynolds!”

“Who?” He frowns.

“Kitty’s costar—they’re engaged!”

“Well, we’ve got the right room, then, haven’t we?

Come on!” He pushes me inside.

“Oh my God!” stop dead in the doorway. My jaw

drops as gaze round at the marble fireplace, the roaring

log fire, the silver candlesticks, the beautiful bouquets,

and the luxurious deep-pile Indian rug sprawling across

the expansive floor. It’s absolutely incredible—and

far

cry from her parents’ cramped semi in Bramberley.

“You forget something, babe?” Kitty pads out of the

bathroom.

stare at her, my breath catching in my throat. Here

she is, in front of me, in the flesh. Her black hair swings

smoothly as she stops and looks at me, her green eyes

penetrating mine.

“Can help you?” she asks, her accent muddle of

American twang and round English vowels.

“I, um, er …”

glance at the platter in my hands.

“Room service!”

She frowns. “I didn’t order any …” She lifts the lid,

surprised. “Chocolates? don’t eat chocolates.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I—”

“He knows

don’t eat chocolates.” She beams

suddenly. “I love that man. He spoils me rotten.” She

winks as she pops one in her mouth. “Where’d he go,

anyway?”

143

“Uh, he—”

“He went to see about the taxi, ma’am,” Andy

interrupts, bowing and closing the door behind him as he

steps back into the corridor.

“Have found the perfect guy, or what?” She grins.

“Now, let me get you nice fat tip.” She picks up her purse

and

tiny frown flickers over her features. “Do know

you?”

“I—”

nod helplessly, my throat paralyzed,

butterflies dancing circles in my stomach. Could it be?

Could she really recognize me …?

“Ah, know!” She points finger at me. “You were at

this afternoon’s show, weren’t you? Huge backpack, no

umbrella?” She smiles.

nod quickly.

“So?” she says eagerly. “Did you like it? never trust

the critics.”

“Oh, thought it was wonderful,” gush.

She beams at me. “Cigarette?” she offers, opening

packet.

“No, thanks.”

She settles back in her armchair. She looks so

young, so beautiful.

“You’re not really room service, are you?” she says

suddenly. “Unless the Ritz suddenly changed their

uniform since this morning.”

feel my cheeks grow hot.

“And the chocolates—are they from you too?”

144

“I—” struggle to breathe. “I’m really, really sorry—

“Relax!” she laughs. “I’ve done some crazy things to

meet stars in my time, believe me. And thank you—they’re

delicious.” She grins. “So, what can do for you?” she asks,

placing

cigarette between her lips and feeling for

lighter. “Autograph? Photo? I’m afraid haven’t got long—

my taxi to the airport will be here soon. I’m off to sunny

Las Vegas.”

She smiles at me expectantly.

The butterflies go crazy. It’s now or never.

“My name’s Rosie.” swallow. “Rosie Kenning.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie.”

“And I’m—”

take

deep breath, my cheeks

burning. “I’m your daughter.”

She looks up quickly.

hold her gaze fearfully,

rabbit pinned in

headlights, not daring to breathe. can’t believe just did

that—just blurted it out like that!

She stares at me for

long moment, my heart

hammering wildly. This is it. The moment of truth.

And then she smiles, cocking her head to one side. “I

didn’t know had daughter.” She exhales coolly.

“I know,” say, my breath shallow. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m always the last to know,” she

says, waving her cigarette. “Usually I’m just handed

script and it’s ‘Action!’ Nice to have

heads-up for

change.”

frown, confused.

145

“Actually, Janine’s been on about getting me

kid

on the show for

while now—change my image, keep

things fresh.” She shakes her head. “She keeps saying

need

hook, you know, to capture the public’s

imagination, attract media interest, constantly raise my

profile …”

“No,” interject. “I’m—”

“Do you know, was up to play Maria in the remake

of The Sound of Music but they said wasn’t star name—

never mind that I’ve been on prime-time telly for the last

eight years—and that no one would buy me as motherly

nun after For Richer, For Poorer Offered me the Baroness instead— the Baroness Well, we’ll show them, huh? We’ll show them motherly.”

She smiles at me, looks me over.

“They’ve done

pretty good job too,

must say.

Black hair, green eyes—you’re even British!” She leans

forward. “Or is that just really good accent?”

“No, I—I am.”

“Well, I’m very impressed.” She beams, leaning back

in her chair and looking me up and down. “You’re bit old,

though, aren’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, mean I’m sure they could make you look

bit younger with makeup, but—what are you, seventeen?

Eighteen?”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Well, exactly! I’m not old enough to—”

“You’re thirty-five.”

146

She chokes on her cigarette smoke. “And you’re

cheeky minx!”

“I’m eighteen,” say again. “Eighteen today, actually.

It’s my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday, but that’s really no excuse

for—”

“And eighteen years ago today, when you were

seventeen”—I

take

deep

breath,

seizing

my

opportunity—“you gave birth to me.”

She stares at me, then coughs. “What?”

hold her gaze expectantly. “In England.”

She looks at me for long moment and then gives

little laugh and stands up, hugging herself.

“Well, you’re good, I’ll give you that—a backstory

and everything! The studio must’ve pulled out all the

stops for this one, though can’t think why they never told

me, mean—”

“It’s nothing to do with the studio!”

interrupt

loudly. “I’m not an actress! I’m real. I’m your real

daughter!”

She turns deathly pale and just stares at me. “Stan

…?”

“Please, listen—”

“I don’t know what you want, but—”