Chapter 22

The publicity machine that is a giant part of every Hollywood movie rolled into action early on Thursday morning. Our trip to Paris had been organised by the studio and so we were treated to the inevitable private jet for our short trip. The plus side of this deal was the fact that we didn't have to worry about fans. The downside was the guaranteed presence of other industry types.

Howard Morten, who seemed unable to speak his own name without throwing in his title (he was the Vice-President of Marketing), ushered us on to the jet. He displayed all of the gushing, unchecked enthusiasm that was mandatory among publicity people. He was positively excited as he ran through Mom's schedule for the three-day event.

'I have got to tell you that we are getting some great feedback from the press screenings for the movie. The word is that the critics just love 'Soldier Sisters'. They love it. So we have scheduled a full day of interviews today and some more tomorrow before the premier.'

Mom failed to radiate her usual charm. Her silence obviously rattled Howard as he started to gush some more. The poor guy had no way of knowing that all of his enthusiasm would be wasted on my Mom while she dealt with the fallout from our most recent domestic disaster. She always got totally freaked when I froze her out. Like all actors, she felt the constant need to share her feelings. Refusing to participate in her dramas was my only weapon in these situations. Besides, I was so not interested in anything that she had to say. She had humiliated me in my finest hour. My life in London was over – nobody believed in normal, old Jayne Drew anymore. I didn't even want to think about Marnie's revised opinion of me…

The annoying studio guy did not know when to stop. Like many before him, he tried to buddy-up with my Mom by showing me some attention.

'Hey, Scamp,' he said (what did he think I was, a dog??), 'will this be your first time in Paris?'

I looked at his big, phoney smile and gave him my most withering look.

'You don't have kids, do you?' I said.

That seemed to do the trick. He wandered off to take Martina and Bob through the schedule.

We were travelling in reduced numbers, apart from Martina and Bob, only Andre and Portia had come along for the ride. And for a change, everyone was hard at work. These publicity junkets were always hectic and manic affairs. I hoped that that busyness would work to my advantage. Somehow, I would have to break-free of everyone so that I could finally get to my Dad.

The jet was just about to taxi for take-off when Dina Baden emerged from the bedroom suite. Dina had co-starred in 'Soldier Sisters' with my Mom, and from the way that Angel rolled her eyes, I knew that it had not exactly been a positive experience.

Andre had reported that Dina had actually described Angel as a 'mother-figure' in her recent press interviews. But despite that nugget of gossip, she was all kisses and smiles and she approached us.

She took her seat opposite us and next to Martina as the engines revved up.

Dina looked perfect. Sure, maybe the blonde hair was a little over-styled, but even at that early hour, she looked like she had just stepped from the pages of some expensive cosmetics commercial. I studied her face as we taxied down the runway. Something was definitely missing. Having met so many young actresses just like Dina, my guess was that it was either a brain or a personality.

The announcement came from the Captain to fasten our seatbelts for take-off and Dina turned to Martina with a helpless expression.

'Could you?' she asked, glancing down at her still-open seatbelt. 'I don't want to damage my manicure.'

'Of course,' said Martina, 'you're not travelling alone are you?'

Dina's eyes filled up as she clasped Martina's arm.

'My assistant's in hospital – she says she has appendicitis or something.'

Martina consoled her.

'How totally unprofessional,' she said.

They smiled in a creepy, mutual admiration.


The romance and beauty of Paris was kind of hard to appreciate on the short trip from the airport to the hotel. We emerged from the limo to be directed into the sort of 5 star establishment that never varied, no matter where in the world you happened to find yourself. Our suite was nothing less than you would expect for the highest paid actress in the world, but it could have been anywhere. There was nothing particularly French about my first taste of France.

I had decided that I would be a model citizen on that first day. I didn't want to do anything that might make anyone in the group suspicious. And besides, I knew that I would need to get my bearings and to come up with some sort of a plan before I actually tried to make a break. Our time in Paris was limited. I knew that I would have only one chance to find my Dad in this city.

And so, when Mom was hustled out to begin her series of interviews, I didn't protest when Portia rolled a packed clothes rail into my bedroom. The opening night was looming, and it was time to play dress-up. Portia was just doing her job. She had no clue that I had absolutely no intention of going to the dumb premier. My life as a celebrity spawn was about to come to an end.

I did not complain. It was the least that I could do for Portia. I didn't want her to remember her last attempt at grooming me as being a total disaster. It wasn't too difficult to play along. As I looked through the selection, it was pretty obvious that Portia had done her best to come up with some outfits that might actually look half-good on a skinny, thirteen year old, red-headed girl.

In the end, maybe as some sort of a cosmic reward for my effort, I actually found something that I liked. It was a black, silk suit with pants – simple and very understated. I studied my transformed self in the mirror. This would be how I would look when I finally met my Dad.

I hugged Portia.

'I love it,' I said, over-whelmed at the thought of seeing my Dad in only a few hours time.

Portia squeezed me back, looking tearful.

'You are beautiful,' she said.



Chapter 23

I went to bed early that night. The tourist maps in my room would help me to figure out the best route to my Dad's place, and I knew that I needed to have a good escape plan by the next morning.

It was hard to sleep.

By Friday morning, my plan was clear to me. I knew that Robert Grand (my dad!) lived in the next quarter of the city. There was no way that I would find my way around the Metro system on my own. I would need a taxi and that would require some cash.

This was a problem. I had about £5 in my purse, and that was probably not enough, and it was definitely in the wrong currency. I needed Euro dollars, and I needed lots of them. My credit card wouldn't help me now.

There was no way that I could ask for money without arousing suspicion.

I had never stolen anything in my life, but suddenly it seemed like my whole future hinged on a few Euros that (probably) nobody would even miss. Besides, I figured, it was less stealing than it was borrowing without consent. I had no choice.

Once the suite had quietened down after lunch, I made my move. I was alone, apart from the two large bodyguards who stood at the entrance door. There would be no point in looking for the money in my Mom's room – she never handled cash. It was usually Martina or Andre who settled her bills.

It felt wrong to open the door to Martina's bedroom without her consent. I mean, bedrooms are sacred spaces that should never be violated. But I knew that if I wanted to respect Martina's privacy, then I would have to get this over and done with as quickly as possible. Luckily her distinctive red wallet was on her bedside table, this would be easier than I had expected. I moved fast and helped myself to two crisp 50 Euro notes. A large sigh of relief escaped from my chest before I heard the click.

Martina stood in the doorway holding her latest device – a cellphone with a built-in camera.

'Now that's what I call a Kodak moment,' she said, smiling.

I rushed towards her.

'You don't understand,' I said.

'You know what they say,' Martina grimaced, 'the camera never lies. Although, I must say, I never had you down as a thief. Still, with this evidence, my guess is that you have just bought yourself a one-way ticket to Arizona. Your Mom is going to be very, very disappointed.'

She grabbed me by my elbow and moved me towards my room. The woman was stronger than she looked.

'You've got to let me go,' I said. 'I can explain.'

'I'll just bet you can,' she said as she shoved me onto my bed. 'You'll have enough time to come up with plenty of explanations.'

The door was slammed shut and from the outside, I heard the lock turn.

I was trapped.


Andre always said that when God closes a door, he opens a window. There was only one way that I was going to get out of that hotel room, and that was straight down the fire escape. It was my only option, although that fact was of no comfort to me as I realised just how far away the pavement is when you are looking at it from the ninth floor.

I was grateful to be wearing pants as I worked my way down the first of the flimsy ladders. My hands clenched on to the thin metal rails, knowing that my life depended on them. There was no time to feel scared. I could not afford to freeze. Besides, I had to move quickly so as not to attract any attention from the street below. This was my one chance. Nothing was going to stop me from meeting my Dad.

In my rush to make my exit, I hadn't exactly stopped to think about the panic that I would be creating. I had left my security device on my bed, along with the briefest of brief notes – 'gone to see my Dad.' The explanations would all have to be made much later, once Mom had calmed down.

When my feet finally hit the street, I paused only to dust myself down. As I hailed a cab in front of the hotel, I noticed that a huge billboard poster of my Mom was staring down at me from the wall across the street. It caused me to hesitate, but only for a moment.

All of my lame French deserted me and I handed the taxi driver a copy of Robert Grand's address. I was grateful that Martina had neglected to take the stolen Euros away from me.

With a huge sigh of relief, I relaxed into the back seat of the cab. I was finally on my way.

I had no way of knowing that, almost at that same exact moment, a parcel had been delivered to the hotel that would change everything.

When Bob finally opened it and saw the blood-stained photograph of me (taken as I had arrived at the hotel) he knew that Anderson was in town. And he knew that I was in great danger.

But I was way beyond his protection.