Chapter One: Incognito
Evan had performed in front of twenty thousand people without missing his entrance.
Getting to Claire’s dressing room required three wrong turns, a borrowed crew jacket and a baseball cap that kept catching on his earpiece.
His phone vibrated.
CLAIRE: Where are you?
He stopped beside a stack of flight cases.
EVAN: Somewhere behind the stage.
CLAIRE: That narrows it down to a small country.
EVAN: There’s a man carrying a swan.
CLAIRE: Wrong wing.
Evan looked up as the enormous feathered prop passed him.
EVAN: Apparently.
His set had finished eighteen minutes ago. He had changed, surrendered his microphone and told his manager he wanted a little quiet before the cars arrived.
All true.
He had simply omitted whose dressing room he intended to be quiet in.
Another message appeared.
CLAIRE: Lou put you on the visitor list.
EVAN: Under my name?
CLAIRE: Obviously not.
He waited.
CLAIRE: Flame.
Evan stared at the screen.
EVAN: You told security to expect a man called Flame?
CLAIRE: Would you prefer Mr Hart, internationally recognisable singer attempting to be discreet?
EVAN: I’d prefer David.
CLAIRE: You don’t look like a David.
A pair of dancers rounded the corner. Evan lowered his head, becoming intensely interested in the label on a cable trunk.
They passed.
One of them said, “Nice cap.”
“Thanks.”
He waited until their footsteps faded.
EVAN: My disguise has attracted a review.
CLAIRE: Stop being handsome in public; it defeats the purpose.
He smiled despite himself.
EVAN: And who am I visiting?
CLAIRE: Black Cat.
EVAN: Of course you are.
CLAIRE: Purple whiskers.
EVAN: Is that another person?
CLAIRE: Recognition phrase.
EVAN: Claire.
CLAIRE: For feeling around in the dark.
He pressed his lips together.
Somewhere beyond the partition, a stage manager was counting down to the next entrance. Bass trembled through the floor. Evan could hear Claire laughing in his imagination with such clarity that it was almost worse than hearing her in person.
EVAN: You’re enjoying this.
CLAIRE: Immensely.
At the next junction, he found the correct corridor.
Unfortunately, he also found security.
The guard stood beside a folding table with a tablet, a radio and the expression of a man who had heard every possible reason somebody needed to go through that door.
Evan approached.
“Evening.”
“Pass, please.”
He handed over his credential.
The guard examined it, then looked beneath the brim of his cap.
There was a small pause.
Evan resisted the urge to pull the cap lower. That would only make it worse.
“I’m on the visitor list,” he said.
“Name?”
He could still turn around.
He could go back to his own room, drink water and behave like a sensible adult.
“Flame.”
The guard looked at the tablet.
Then back at Evan.
“And you’re here for?”
“Black Cat.”
The radio crackled between them.
Evan had sung love songs in three languages. None had prepared him for this exchange.
The guard scrolled.
“Lou’s approved you. Room six.”
Relief arrived too early.
“Recognition phrase?”
Evan closed his eyes briefly.
“Purple whiskers.”
The guard’s mouth twitched.
From behind a partition came a suspicious little sound.
Evan turned.
Nothing but a curtain, a clothing rail and one black boot retreating out of sight.
“Thank you,” he told the guard.
“No problem.”
Evan took two steps.
“Sir?”
He stopped.
“The cap’s not doing much.”
“Apparently neither is my dignity.”
This time, the guard smiled.
Claire caught him at the bend in the corridor.
One moment he was walking towards room six; the next, a hand emerged between two garment bags and pulled him into a narrow wardrobe alcove.
“There you are.”
Evan looked down at her.
“You made me say purple whiskers to a working professional.”
She had both hands over her mouth.
“You asked for discretion.”
“I asked where your room was.”
“That too.”
Her black skirt brushed his shoes. Gold embroidery caught the light above her belt, and the loose strands escaping her pinned hair made her look as though she had already been involved in several questionable decisions.
He suspected he was the next one.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Claire’s smile softened.
“Your last song,” she said. “I heard it from the wings.”
“You were there?”
She nodded.
He had looked for her once, just before the final chorus. The wings had been too dark.
“I thought I saw you.”
“You did.”
That pleased him more than it should have.
His hand settled lightly at her waist.
“And then you rewarded me with a security interrogation.”
“I needed to see how committed you were.”
“To visiting you?”
“To the role.”
“Flame has concerns about the script.”
“Black Cat accepts constructive feedback.”
He leaned closer.
“Does she?”
A trolley rattled past the alcove.
Claire instantly flattened a garment bag between them and the corridor.
Evan found himself staring at a sequinned sleeve.
Outside, two crew members stopped to discuss a missing headset.
Claire looked up at him, eyes bright.
He mouthed, This is ridiculous.
She mouthed back, Be quiet.
He bent towards her ear.
“You dragged me into a cupboard.”
“An alcove.”
“A cupboard with ambition.”
She made a small, helpless noise and pressed her forehead against his chest to contain it.
The crew moved on.
Evan waited another beat, then lifted the garment bag aside.
“Room six?”
“Room six.”
“Shall we try walking there?”
She took his hand.
They made it four paces before Lou appeared at the far end of the corridor.
Claire let go.
Evan examined a fire-exit sign.
Lou stopped.
Her gaze moved from Claire to Evan, down to the hand Claire had plainly just released, then up to his baseball cap.
“Oh, excellent,” she said. “The covert operation.”
“We were just—” Claire began.
“Standing beside a fire extinguisher. Yes. Very convincing.”
Evan nodded politely.
“Evening, Lou.”
“Flame.”
He sighed.
Claire turned away, shoulders shaking.
Lou held out a dressing-room key.
“Ten minutes before the cars. Your visitor is cleared, your room is empty, and security would appreciate it if you stopped lurking behind their equipment.”
Claire accepted the key.
“Thank you.”
“And Evan?”
“Yes?”
“Next time, use the corridor. It’s what we built it for.”
Claire shut the dressing-room door and leaned against it.
For the first time all evening, there was no one between them, no radio calling instructions, no trolley threatening to interrupt.
Evan took off his cap.
She caught his wrist.
“Leave it.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“I thought it wasn’t working.”
“It works for me.”
He put it back on, slowly.
Claire crossed the small space between them and hooked one finger beneath his thick belt.
“Hello, Flame.”
“Hello, trouble.”
“Black Cat.”
“I stand by my assessment.”
She tipped his cap back just enough to see his eyes.
Then, at last, she kissed him.
