middle of the sidewalk, forcing a woman with a baby buggy to take a detour around him.
“Why do you want to do that, baby? You don’t have to talk to any of those vultures. We pay Sal and Art a lot of money to take care of that.”
She put her arm through his to pull him forward before someone noticed him and they got into trouble.
“I want to do this, Jon. There will be no rest until someone tells the story, and you know that very well. The sooner, the better too, or you will be asked the same questions at every stop.”
“You talked to him? When?” He did not budge.
“Jon, please. I talked to him after Sal took me to the lounge you had reserved for me. The press lounge was next to mine, and when I went out onto the balcony to see you better, he approached me. It was okay. He is quite nice.” She tugged his sleeve. “Come on, Jon. Breakfast.”
They had slipped out on their own without guards, and he had not objected because it had been so early and so few people were around yet, but that was changing now, with the morning rush hour beginning. Traffic had picked up considerably. Shops were beginning to open; tourists strolled by on their way to Harrods. Often enough he had gotten away when he had left hotels early enough, and returned unmolested. The attention of the fans was focused on the elevators where he was expected to emerge, never on the entrances. In a way it was hilarious, and he had sometimes stood in the lobby for a while, even leaning on the counter, to watch their excitement.
“Sal left you up there alone? Alone, in a lounge? All by yourself?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
The way she was standing at the top of the steps, one hand raised to hold down her blowing hair, the valet in his red coat opening the heavy door for her, Jon thought she could well be on the cover of a hotel brochure.
“Of course he did, Jon. There was a concert about to start, remember? His place was not up there in that stupid lounge but with you, and beside your stage. He does not get paid to keep me company.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, he followed her inside. The lobby was fairly empty; only a couple of clerks were working the reception desk. A man in a very dapper uniform was busy vacuuming the dark green carpet; someone else had just put down a big bowl with fresh apples on one of the tables. From the desk, a large bouquet of nodding roses spread their sweet aroma. Jon loved this large, old hotel. He loved the quiet elegance, the high ceilings, the tasteful rooms, and the total discretion. Here, he felt private.
“But alone, Naomi, anything could have happened to you. I hate the thought of you running around alone in that huge building. What if someone had seen; you might have been abducted, harmed.”
“Yes.” She inserted the keycard into the slot. “That’s happened already, the being harmed. And in the best secured place on Earth. You can’t impress me with that, Jon.”
As always, an entire floor had been closed off for them. The moment the elevator door opened guards faced them, ready to block any stranger’s access; but seeing Jon, they moved swiftly aside.
“I’m not trying to impress you.” There were voices from down the hall, the sounds of cutlery clinking, plates being stacked. A whiff of coffee and toast drifted toward them. Jon pointed in that direction. “Breakfast.”
Reluctantly, Naomi followed.
“Sal should not have left you there alone. He knows it wasn’t safe, even with a guard outside the door. See?” He stopped. “See what happened? A bloody reporter got to you without any of us being there to take care of you. That’s not supposed to happen. Ever.”
Something in her face changed, a tiny little tightening of her mouth, but he knew he had offended her. It didn’t matter.
“You can’t do this on your own, Naomi. Please trust me. You are just too nice, too friendly; and someone like that—he would wheedle everything he wants to know out of you, and you