'They have?'

'Yep. They're calling you "Marc-So".' She pats my hand. 'I'll make sure the security guard is a plain-clothed guy. Wait there. I'll get it sorted.'

76.

Jen and I take the lift to the ground floor, followed by a plain-clothed security guard.

It feels weird to be out in public again. Nice weird. Especially since all the sparkly Christmas stock is on display. But Jen is right everyone is staring at me.

At first, I try to smile. But that's a little tiring, so I end up just avoiding people's eyes.

'Hey look at those amazing champagne gla.s.ses!' says Jen. 'What if they were the party favours? I could get them engraved and people could take them home as gifts.'

'Nice idea,' I say. 'And what about little packets of seeds? People could grow them and the plants would make them think of your wedding.'

Jen laughs. 'You and your plants! I like your thinking though. I'll try and find a-' Jen looks across the store, frowning.

'What?'

'I thought I saw Marc for a second. Is he meeting you here?'

'What?' I whirl around to where Jen is looking, but I don't see anyone. 'No. He's not meeting me.'

Jen shakes her head. 'Sorry. It really did look like him. But it must have been my imagination.'

'Okay. That does it.'

'What? What's the matter?'

'This keeps happening. Marc keeps turning up places. And then he vanishes. Now you've seen him too. This can't be a coincidence. I'm going to find him.'

'Soph, wait!' Jen runs after me. 'Calm down. Remember you're pregnant.'

When I reach the limo, I knock hard on the window.

'Keith,' I bark. 'Where did Marc go?'

Keith winds the window down. 'I can't tell you where he is. I promised him, Mrs Blackwell.'

'I don't care what you promised. Tell me where he is.'

'An order is an order ...'

'And now I'm giving you an order. I order you to tell me where Marc is. Are you waiting for him here?'

'No, I'm waiting for you, Mrs Blackwell.'

'Then where is he?'

'I can't tell you. Come on. I'll take you home.'

'No! You'll tell me where Marc is.'

Keith sighs. 'Get in. I'll drop your friend off at her apartment. And then we'll meet up with Marc.'

'Meet up with him? But he was right here. At the store.'

'Please get in the car, Mrs Blackwell.'

'Okay. Fine. But you'll take me to Marc after we've dropped Jen off?'

'I'll take you to Marc.'

77.

Keith drops Jen off at her apartment, and then we head back across London.

I put my hands to my stomach, wanting to cry.

What on earth is going on? Why would Marc be following me like this?

I take out my phone and call his number. He answers on the first ring. 'Sophia. Are you okay?'

'You know I am. What's going on Marc?'

'I told you. I had some things to sort out.'

'Why didn't you tell me you were in London?'

A pause.

'How did you know I was in London?'

'Jen saw you.'

'Where are you?'

I look around. 'I don't know. Covent Garden. Shaftesbury Avenue.'

'Is Keith with you?'

'Yes. I'm with him in the limo.'

'And where's Jen?'

'Back at Leo's apartment.'

'Tell Keith to pull over. I'm coming to get you.'

'Keith?' I tap on the gla.s.s. 'Would you pull over please?' I clamp the phone tight to my ear. 'Why were you spying on me Marc?'

'Sophia, I wasn't spying on you.'

'Oh no? Jen saw you.'

'You were supposed to be shopping.'

'We were shopping.'

'Sophia. This is important. I want you to stay in the limo. Don't get out. I'm coming to get you.'

I hang up the phone, but as I drop it into my coat pocket I feel an overwhelming surge of morning sickness.

I put a hand to my mouth, swallowing desperately to keep everything down.

Dr Christian said I might get sick again at the end of my pregnancy. And she said it might come on when I was stressed. Well I certainly am stressed right now.

A powerful wave of nausea hits me and I know I can't keep it down.

I throw the car door open and vomit in the gutter.

'Oh my G.o.d,' I mutter, putting a hand to my head.

Another wave of nausea hits me, and I pull myself out of the car into the fresh air. Walking feels good, and as I pace back and forth by the limo the sickness pa.s.ses.

I grab my phone and call Marc again.

'Marc, I think I might have got the address wrong.'

'Sophia, I hear traffic. Are you in the car?'

'The road sign says-'

Suddenly my phone is s.n.a.t.c.hed from my hand.

'Hey!' I yell, seeing a tall man in a leather jacket tear down the street. 'That's my phone! Come back!'

A few shoppers turn to stare.

Keith leaps out of the car. 'Stay right where you are Mrs Blackwell. I'll catch him. Don't you worry.'

Keith runs into the crowd.

I lean against the limo, heart pounding.

And then I hear a voice.

'h.e.l.lo Sophia.'

I turn and see Marc.

But it's not Marc.

He has a similar nose and face shape. But his eyes are different. They're dark brown. Almost black.

'Who are you?' I breathe, gripping the limo door handle.

78.

'We've met before.' The man's voice is deep and rich like Marc's. But the way he talks ... he has a slight northern accent. Like he's from Leeds, or somewhere near there. Nothing like Marc's clipped London English.

'We have?' My mind is screaming, run, run! But I know my body can't run far.

'I'm Marc's little brother,' says the man. 'Michael.'

'What?' I say, my voice high and scared. 'Have you been following me? At the department store today? And on set?'

'I admit I have,' says Michael. 'Marc has all but cut me out of his life. So I thought ... I'd heard you were kind. I thought maybe if I talked to you, you might persuade Marc to let me back in.'

My head is pounding. Am I dreaming? 'This is too weird. This can't be ...'

But even as I'm saying the words, I know this man must be related to Marc. He looks so much like him.

'Why doesn't Marc want anything to do with you?' I ask.