Читать книгу: «Sparks Fly with the Billionaire»

“Allie, I care,” he said, and it was as if someone else was talking.

“How can you care?”

He had no answer. He only knew that he did.

He only knew that it felt as if a part of him was being wrenched out of place. He was a banker, for heaven’s sake. He shouldn’t feel a client’s pain.

But this was Allie’s pain. Allie—a woman he’d known for less than a day. A woman he was holding with comfort, and something more. He looked down at her, and she looked straight back up at him, and he knew that now, for this moment, he wasn’t her banker.

In a fraction of a moment things had changed, and he knew what he had to do. He knew for now, for this moment in time, what was inevitable—and she did, too.

He cupped her face in his hand, he tilted her chin—and he stooped to kiss her.

Dear Reader,

I was raised in a farming community, so neighbours’ visits and Christmas were almost the extent of family excitement. Once a year, however, the circus came to town.

I thought it was the most exotic, amazing event in the world. They had camels and trapeze artists and clowns and popcorn and hot dogs … I remember watching with my heart in my mouth, sure that the lady in the pink sparkles would come crashing down. My dad must have worried as much as I did, for most years we repeated the five-mile drive into town, to see the performance all over again.

So I guess it’s no wonder I’ve finally written a circus book, complete with heroine landed with a run down circus and a billionaire hero who has to step in to save not only the lady in sparkles but her assortment of circus animals and her extended circus family.

To research this book, of course I had to go to the circus. My husband complained all the way—‘Why are we going to the circus without the kids?’ But who needs kids? We sat up the back and ate popcorn, we watched the lady in pink sparkles and I fell in love all over again. Sometimes I love being a romance writer.

Enjoy,

Marion

About the Author

MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a “very special doctor”, Marion writes for Mills & Boon^® Medical Romance™ and Mills & Boon^® Cherish™. (She used a different name for each category for a while—readers looking for her past romance titles should search for author Trisha David as well). She’s now had more than seventy-five romance novels accepted for publication.

In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, she’s now stepped back from her “other” career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally she’s reprioritised her life, figured what’s important and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time!

Sparks Fly with
the Billionaire
Marion Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Dad,

who took me to the circus.

With thanks to Trish, who sent me back.

CHAPTER ONE

HE WAS HOPING for a manager, someone who knew figures and could discuss bad news in a businesslike environment.

What he found was a woman in pink sequins and tiger stripes, talking to a camel.

‘I’m looking for Henry Miski,’ he called, stepping gingerly across puddles as the girl put down a battered feed bucket and turned her attention from camel to him. A couple of small terriers by her side nosed forward to greet him.

Mathew Bond rarely worked away from the sterile offices of corporate high-flyers. His company financed some of the biggest infrastructure projects in Australia. Venturing into the grounds of Sparkles Circus was an aberration.

Meeting this woman was an aberration.

She was wearing a fairy-floss pink, clinging body-suit—really clinging—with irregular sparkling stripes twining round her body. Her chestnut hair was coiled into a complicated knot. Her dark, kohled eyes were framed by lashes almost two inches long, and her make-up looked a work of art all by itself.

Marring the over-the-top fantasy, however, was the ancient army coat draped over her sparkles, feet encased in heavy, mud-caked boots and a couple of sniffy dogs. Regardless, she was smiling politely, as any corporate director might greet an unexpected visitor. Comfortable in her own position. Polite but wary.

Not expecting to be declared bankrupt?

‘Hold on while I feed Pharaoh,’ she told him. ‘He’s had a cough and can’t work today, but unless he thinks he’s getting special treatment he’ll bray for the entire performance. No one will hear a thing for him.’ She emptied the bucket into the camel’s feed bin and scratched the great beast’s ears. Finally satisfied that Pharaoh was happy, she turned her attention to him.

‘Sorry about that, but the last thing I want is a camel with his nose out of joint. What can I do for you?’

‘I’m here to see Henry Miski,’ he repeated.

‘Grandpa’s not feeling well,’ she told him. ‘Gran wants him to stay in the van until show time. I’m his granddaughter—Alice, or The Amazing Mischka, but my friends call me Allie.’ She took his hand and shook it with a shake that would have done a man proud. ‘Is it important?’

‘I’m Mathew Bond,’ he said and handed over his card. ‘From Bond’s Bank.’

‘Any relation to James?’ She peeped a smile, checking him out from the top down. It was an all-encompassing scrutiny, taking in his height, his bespoke tailored suit, his cashmere overcoat and his classy, if mud-spattered, brogues. ‘Or is the resemblance just coincidental? That coat is to die for.’

To say he was taken aback would be an understatement. Matt was six feet two, long, lean and dark, as his father and grandfather had been before him, but his looks were immaterial. Bond’s Bank was a big enough mover and shaker to have people recognise him for who he was. No one commented on his appearance—and he had no need to claim relationship to a fictional spy.

Allie was still watching him, assessing him, and he was starting to feel disconcerted. Others should be doing this, he thought, not for the first time. He should have sent the usual repossession team.

But he was doing this as a favour for his Aunt Margot. This whole arrangement had been a favour and it was time it stopped. Bankers didn’t throw good money after bad.

‘Your grandfather’s expecting me,’ he told her, trying to be businesslike again. ‘I have an appointment at two.’

‘But two’s show time.’ She tugged a gold watch on a chain out from a very attractive cleavage and consulted. ‘That’s in ten minutes. Grandpa would never have made an appointment at show time. And on Sunday?’

‘No. Henry said it was the only time he was available. I told you, I’m from the bank.’

‘Sorry, so you did.’ Her cute pencilled brows furrowed while she watched him. ‘Bond’s Bank. The bank Grandpa pays the mortgage into? He must be just about up to the final payment. Is that why you’re here?’

Mortgage? There was no mortgage. Not as far as he knew. Just a pack of geriatric animals, eating their heads off.

But he wasn’t about to discuss a client’s business with an outsider. ‘This is between me and your grandfather,’ he told her.

‘Yes, but he’s not well,’ she said, as if she was explaining something he really should have got the first time round. ‘He needs all his energy for the show.’ She glanced at her watch again, then wheeled towards a bunch of caravans and headed off with a speed he struggled to keep up with. He was avoiding puddles and she wasn’t. She was simply sloshing through, with her dogs prancing in front.

‘Isn’t this weather ghastly?’ she said over her shoulder. ‘We had major problems trying to get the big top up last night. Luckily the forecast is great for the next two weeks, and we have most of the crowd in and seated now. Full house. Look, you can have a quick word but if it’s more than a word it’ll have to wait till later. Here’s Grandpa’s caravan.’ She raised her voice. ‘Grandpa?’

She paused and thumped on the screen door of a large and battered van, emblazoned with the Sparkles Circus emblem on the side. Matt could see armchairs through the screen, a television glowing faintly on the far bench—and mounds of sparkles. Cloth and sequins lay everywhere.

‘Gran’s overhauling our look for next season,’ she told him, seeing where he was looking. ‘She does colour themes. Next season it’s purple.’

‘But pink this year?’

‘You guessed it,’ she said, and hauled her overcoat wide, exposing pink and silver in all its glory. ‘I kinda like pink. What do you think?’

‘I … It’s very nice.’

‘There’s a compliment to turn a girl’s head.’ She chuckled and banged some more. ‘Grandpa, come on out. It’s almost show time and Mathew Bond is here from the bank. If you guys want to talk, you need to schedule another time.’

Silence.

‘Grandpa?’ Allie pulled the screen wide, starting to look worried—and then she paused.

Henry was coming.

Henry Miski was a big man. Looking closely, Matt could see the telltale signs of age, but they were cleverly disguised.

This was Henry Miski, ringmaster, tall and dignified to suit. He was wearing jet-black trousers with a slash of gold down each side, and a suit coat—tails—in black and gold brocade, so richly embroidered that Mathew could only blink. His silver hair was so thick it seemed almost a mane. His outfit was topped with a black top hat rimmed with gold, and he carried an elegant black and gold cane.

He stepped down from the caravan with a dignity that made Matt automatically step aside. The old man was stiffly upright, a proud monarch of a man. All this Matt saw at first glance. It was only at second glance that he saw fear.

‘I don’t have time to speak to you now,’ Henry told Matt with ponderous dignity. ‘Allie, why are you still wearing those disgusting boots? You should be ready. The dogs have got mud on their paws.’

‘We have two minutes, Grandpa,’ she said, ‘and the dogs only need a wipe. You want us to give Mathew a good seat so he can watch the show? You can have your talk afterwards.’

‘We’ll need to reschedule in a few days’ time,’ Henry snapped.

But the time for delay was past, Matt decided grimly. A dozen letters from the bank had gone unanswered. Registered letters had been sent so Mathew knew they’d been received. Bond’s didn’t make loans to businesses this small. It had been an aberration on his grandfather’s part, but the loan was growing bigger by the minute. There’d been no payments now for six months.

In normal circumstances the receivers would be doing this—hard men arriving to take possession of what now belonged to the bank. It was only because of Margot that he’d come himself.

‘Henry, we need to talk,’ he said, gently but firmly. ‘You made this appointment time. We’ve sent registered letters confirming, so this can’t be a surprise. I’m here as representative of the bank to tell you officially that we’re foreclosing. We have no choice, and neither do you. As of today, this circus is in receivership. You’re out of business, Henry, and you need to accept it.’

There was a moment’s silence. Deathly silence. Henry stared at him as if he was something he didn’t recognise. He heard a gasp from the girl beside him—something that might be a sob of fright—but his eyes were all on the old man. Henry’s face was bleaching as he watched.

The ringmaster opened his mouth to speak—and failed.

He put his hand to his chest and he crumpled where he stood.

To Allie’s overwhelming relief, her grandpa didn’t lose consciousness. Paramedics arrived reassuringly fast, and decided it seemed little more than momentary faintness. But faintness plus a slight fever plus a history of angina were enough to have them decreeing Henry needed hospital. Yes, his pulse had stabilised, but there had been heart pain and he was seventy-six and he needed to go.

Allie’s grandmother, Bella, summoned urgently from the ticket booth, was in total agreement.

‘You’re going, Henry.’

But Henry’s distress was obvious. ‘The circus …’ he stammered. ‘The tent’s full. All those kids … I’m not letting them down.’

‘You’re not letting them down.’ Allie was badly shaken. Henry and Bella had cared for Allie since her mother left when she was two. She loved them with all her heart, and she wasn’t risking Henry’s health for anything. ‘We’ll cope without you,’ she told him. ‘You always said the circus isn’t one single person. It’s all of us. Fluffy and Fizz are keeping the audience happy. You go and we’ll start properly.’

‘You can’t have a circus without a ringmaster,’ Henry groaned.

He was right. She was struggling to think of a plan, but the truth was she didn’t have one.

They could lose an individual act without it being a disaster. Given notice, one of the clowns could step into Henry’s shoes, but they were down to two today because Sam had flown up to Queensland to visit his new granddaughter and Fluffy and Fizz were already costumed, prancing in the ring, warming up the crowd.

‘We’ll manage,’ she said but her head was whirling. Without a ringmaster …

‘Without a circus master the circus is nothing,’ Henry moaned. ‘Get me off this thing and give me back my hat.’

‘No.’

‘Allie …’

‘No,’ Allie said more forcibly. ‘We’ll manage. Maybe I can do the announcing myself.’

But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. Apart from the fact that a girl in pink sparkles didn’t have the same gravitas as her grandfather, she could hardly announce her own acts.

What they needed was a guy. A guy in a suit.

Or … Or … She was clutching at straws here, but a guy in a cashmere coat?

The banker had picked up Henry’s hat from the mud. He was standing on the sidelines looking almost as shocked as she was.

He had presence, she thought. He was tall, dark and forceful, he had a lovely deep voice and, in his way, he was almost as imposing as her grandfather. Maybe even more so.

She looked at the hat in his hands—and then she looked fully at him. Not seeing a banker, but … something else. ‘You’re Grandpa’s size,’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘With his jacket and hat … you’re perfect.’ This was a lifeline—a slim one, admittedly, but she was clutching it hard. Maybe they could run the circus without a ringmaster but it’d be a sad imitation of what it should be—and Henry would know it and worry all the way to hospital and beyond.

‘He can do it.’ She turned back to Henry, stooping over the stretcher, taking his hands. ‘Of course he can. I’ll write out the introductions as we go. The thing’s a piece of cake.’

‘The banker?’ Henry whispered.

‘He’s already in a suit. All he needs is the trimmings. He’s Mathew Bond, a close relative of James, who does so much scary stuff that ringmaster pales in comparison. He made you collapse two minutes before show time and he’s happy to make amends. Aren’t you, Mathew? Have you ever seen a circus?’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Have you seen a circus?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Then you know the drill. Dramatics R Us. Ladies and Gentlemen, announcing the arrival all the way from deepest, darkest, Venezuela, the Amazing Mischka …’ Can you do that? Of course you can. Grandpa’s coat, hat and cane … a spot of make-up to stop you disappearing under the lights … Surely that’s not so scary for a Bond.’ She smiled but her insides were jelly. He had to agree. ‘Mr Bond, we have a tent full of excited kids. Even a banker wouldn’t want them to be turfed out without a show.’

‘I’m no circus master,’ he snapped.

‘You hurt my grandfather,’ she snapped back. ‘You owe us.’

‘I’m sorry, but I owe you nothing and this is none of my business.’

‘It is. You said you’re foreclosing on the circus.’ She was forcing her shocked mind to think this through. ‘I have no idea of the rights and wrongs of it, but if you are then it’s your circus. Your circus, Mr Bond, with an audience waiting and no ringmaster.’

‘I don’t get involved with operational affairs.’

‘You just did,’ she snapped. ‘The minute you scared Grandpa. Are you going to do this or am I going to march into the big top right now and announce Bond’s Bank have foreclosed and the head of Bond’s Bank is kicking everyone out right now?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m not being ridiculous,’ she said, standing right in front of him and glaring with every ounce of glare she could muster. ‘I’m telling you exactly what I’m going to do if you don’t help. You caused this; you fix it.’

‘I have no idea …’

‘You don’t have to have an idea,’ she said. She’d heard the hesitation in his voice and she knew she had him. No bank would want the sort of publicity she’d just threatened. ‘You wear Grandpa’s hat and jacket and say what I tell you to say and there’s no skill involved at all.’

‘Hey,’ Henry said weakly from his stretcher and Allie caught herself and conceded a smile. To her grandpa, not to the banker.

‘Okay, of course there’s skill in being a ringmaster,’ she admitted. ‘This guy won’t be a patch on you, Grandpa, but he’s all we have. We’ll feed him his lines and keep the circus running. We’ll do it, I promise. Off you go to hospital,’ she said and she bent and kissed him. ‘Mathew Bond and I are off to run the circus.’

‘If you agree to my requirements,’ Mathew said in a goaded voice. ‘We’re foreclosing; you’ll accede quietly without a fuss.’

‘Fine,’ Allie said, just as goaded. ‘Anything you like, as long as this afternoon’s show goes on.’

How had that happened?

He couldn’t think of any circumstances—any circumstances—that’d turn him into a ringmaster.

He was about to be a ringmaster.

But in truth the sight of the old man crumpling onto the dirt had shocked him to the core. For a couple of appalling moments he’d thought he was dead.

He shouldn’t be here. Calling in debts at such a ground roots level wasn’t something he’d done in the past and he wasn’t likely to do again.

What had his grandfather been thinking to lend money to these people? Bond’s Bank was an illustrious private bank, arranging finance for huge corporations here and abroad. If things got messy, yes, Matt stepped in, but he was accustomed to dealing with corporate high-flyers. Almost always the financial mess had been caused by administrative mismanagement. Occasionally fraud took a hand, but the men and women he dealt with almost always had their private assets protected.

He was therefore not accustomed to old men collapsing into the mud as their world shattered.

Nevertheless, his news had definitely caused the old man to collapse. He watched the ambulance depart with a still protesting Henry and his white-faced wife, and he turned to find he was facing a ball of pink and silver fury.

Seemingly Allie’s shock was coalescing into anger.

‘He’ll be okay,’ Allie said through gritted teeth, and he thought her words were as much to reassure herself as they were to reassure him. ‘He’s had angina before, but he’s had a rotten cold and it’ll be the two combined. But you … I don’t care what bank you come from or what the rights and wrongs are of this absurd story you’re telling me, but you tell him two minutes before a performance that you’re about to foreclose? Of all the stupid, cruel timing … This has to be a farce. I know Grandpa’s finances inside out. We’re fine. But meanwhile I have two hundred kids and mums and dads sitting in the big top. I’d like to kick you, but instead I need to get you into costume. Let’s go.’

‘This is indeed a farce.’

‘One you’re involved in up to your neck,’ she snapped. ‘Grandpa’s obsessive about his role—he’s written it all down ever since he introduced the camels instead of the ponies last year. You’ll have a script and gold-embossed clipboard. We have two minutes to get you dressed and made up and into the ring. We have two hundred kids and parents waiting. Let’s get them satisfied and I’ll do my kicking later.’

‘It’ll be me who does the kicking,’ he said grimly. ‘I’m not used to being pushed around, especially by those who owe my bank money.’

‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘All out war. But war starts after the show. For now we have a circus to run.’

Which explained why, five minutes later, Mathew Bond, corporate banker, was standing in the middle of the big tent of Sparkles Circus, wearing tails, top hat and gold brocade waistcoat, and intoning in his best—worst?—ringmaster voice …

‘ Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the one, the only, the stupendous, marvellous, exciting, magical once-in-a-lifetime experience that is Sparkles Circus. One hundred and forty years of history, ladies and gentlemen, unfolding before your very eyes. Sit back, but don’t relax for a moment. Prepare to be mesmerised. ’

To his astonishment, once he got over shock and anger, he even found he was enjoying himself.

He did have some grounding. After his parents’ death, Matt had spent every summer holiday in Fort Neptune with his beloved Great-Aunt Margot. Margot was the great-aunt of every child’s dreams. Her sweetheart had died in the war and she’d refused to think of replacing him, but it didn’t stop her enjoying life. She owned a cute cottage on the waterfront and a tiny dinghy she kept moored in the harbour, and she always had a dog at her heels. She’d been a schoolteacher, but in summer school had been out for both of them. Child and great-aunt and dog had fished, explored the bay, swum and soaked up the beach.

He’d loved it. In this tiny seaside town where no one knew him, he was free of the high standards expected of the heir to the Bond Banking dynasty. He could be a kid—and at the end of every summer holiday Margot had taken him to Sparkles Circus as a goodbye treat.

Margot always managed to get front row seats. He remembered eating popcorn and hot dogs, getting his clothes messy and no one cared, watching in awe as spangly ladies flew overhead, as men ate fire, as tightrope walkers performed the impossible, as clowns tumbled and as elephants made their stately way around the ring.

There were no elephants now—or lions or any other wild animals, for that matter. That was at the heart of the circus’s problems, he thought—but now wasn’t the time to think about finance.

Now was the time to concentrate on the clipboard Allie had handed him.

‘Here it is, word for word, and if you could ham it up for us, we’d be grateful.’

The look she’d cast him was anything but grateful, but two hundred mums and dads and kids were looking at him as if he was the ringmaster—and a man had to do what a man had to do.

He was standing to the side of the ring now, still on show as the ringmaster was expected to be, as he watched Bernardo the Breathtaking walk on stilts along a rather high tightrope.

It had seemed higher when he was a kid, he thought, and there hadn’t been a safety net underneath—or maybe there had, he just hadn’t noticed.

Bernardo was good. Very good. He was juggling as he was balancing. Once he faltered and dropped one of his juggling sticks. A ringmaster would fetch it, Matt thought, so he strode out and retrieved it, then stood underneath Bernardo, waited for his imperceptible nod, then tossed it up to him. When Bernardo caught it and went on seamlessly juggling he felt inordinately pleased with himself.

He glanced into the wings and saw a lady in pink sequins relax imperceptibly. She gave him a faint smile and a thumbs-up, but he could tell the smile was forced.

She was doing what was needed to get through this show, he thought, but that faint smile signalled more confrontation to come.

Did she really not know her grandparents’ financial position? Was she living in a dream world?

Bernardo the Breathtaking was finished, tossing his juggling sticks down to one of the clowns who Matt realised were the fill-in acts, the links between one act and another. Fluffy and Fizz. They were good, he thought, but not great. A bit long in the tooth? They fell and tumbled and did mock acrobatics, but at a guess they were in their sixties or even older and it showed.

Even Bernardo the Breathtaking was looking a little bit faded.

But then …

‘Ladies and gentlemen …’ He couldn’t believe he was doing this, intoning the words with all the theatrical flourish the child Mathew had obviously noted and memorised. ‘Here she is, all the way from deepest, darkest Venezuela, the woman who now will amaze us with her uncanny, incredible, awesome …’ how many adjectives did this script run to? ‘… the one, the only, the fabulous Miss Mischka Veronuschka …’

And she was in the ring. Allie.

Her act included three ponies, two camels and two dogs. The animals were putty in her hands. The dogs were identical Jack Russell terriers, nondescript, ordinary, but with tricks that turned them into the extraordinary. She flitted among her animals—her pets, he thought, for there was no hint of coercion here. She was a pink and gold butterfly, whispering into ears, touching noses, smiling and praising, and, he thought, they’d do anything for her.

He understood why. The audience was mesmerised, and so was he.

She had the camels lying down, the ponies jumping over the camels, the dogs jumping over the ponies, and then the dogs were riding the ponies as the ponies jumped the camels. The dogs’ tails were wagging like rotor blades and their excitement was infectious.

Allie rode one of the camels while the ponies weaved in and out of the camels’ legs, and the little dogs weaved through and through the ponies’ legs. The dogs practically beamed as they followed her every whispered command.

Matt thought of stories of old, of animal cruelty in circuses, and he looked at these bouncing dogs, the camels benignly following instructions as if they were doing Allie a personal favour, at the ponies prancing around the dogs—and he looked at the girl who knew them from the inside out and he thought … he thought …

He thought suddenly that he’d better think nothing.

This was a lady in pink spangles. She was the granddaughter of a client. Where were his thoughts taking him? Wherever, they’d better get back where they belonged right now.

He didn’t get involved. Not personally. The appalling sudden deaths of his parents and his sister had smashed something inside him so deep, so huge, that he’d spent the rest of his life forming armour against ever feeling that sort of hurt again.

He’d looked at Allie’s face as she’d seen her grandfather collapse and he’d seen a glimpse of that hurt. It should be reinforcing that armour, yet here he was, looking at a girl in pink spangles …

And then, thankfully, she was gone. The clowns swooped in again, making a game of the pan and shovel they needed—the camels were clearly not house trained—and the show was ready to move on.

He needed to focus on his next introduction.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen …’ he said, and the circus proceeded.

Interval.

Since when did standing in a circus ring make you sweat? He felt wiped. He headed out through the pink and gold curtains—and was struck by the sheer incongruity of the difference between front and behind the curtains.

The ring was all gold and glitter—a fantasy. Back here was industry. Men and women were half in and out of costumes, hauling steel rods and ropes and shackles, lining up equipment so it could be carried out neatly as needed.

Allie was back in her boots again, heaving like the best of the men. She had a denim jacket over her sequins.

‘Time for you to change, Allie, love,’ a very large lady yelled. ‘Fizz’s selling popcorn instead of Bella. We’re cool. Allie, dressing room, now.’

‘Someone give Mathew the words for the next half,’ Allie yelled and shoved the last iron bar into place and disappeared.

He watched her go and he felt the slight change in atmosphere among the women and men behind the scenes.

She was the boss, he thought.

Henry was the boss.

Henry was seventy-six years old.

Matt had thought he was coming to deal with an elderly ringmaster, to tell him it was time to close down. It seemed, however, that now he’d be dealing with Allie, and something told him dealing with Allie would be a very different proposition altogether.

He pretty much had things down pat by the second half.

He introduced acts. He was also there as general pick-up guy—and also … set-up guy for the clowns?

‘The gag’s on page three of the cheat sheet,’ Fizz had growled at him at half-time. ‘Henry sets it up for us so you’ll need to do it. It’ll be weird you reading it but it’s the best we can do.’

Right now the Exotic Yan Yan—Jenny Higgs, wife of Bernardo, or Bernie Higgs, according to the staff sheet he’d read ‘… fresh from the wilds of the remotest parts of Tukanizstan’— was there such a place?—was doing impossible things with her body. She was bending over backwards—like really backwards. Her head was touching her heels! Matt was appalled and fascinated—and for some weird reason he was thinking he was glad it wasn’t Allie doing the contorting.

He glanced ahead at the feed lines for the gag and thought … he could do this better if he stopped looking at the Exotic Yan Yan.

And he could do this better if he stopped thinking about Allie?

Do it. He read it twice, three times and he had it.

Yan Yan unknotted and disappeared to thunderous applause. Out came the clowns. It was time to take centre stage himself.

Deep breath. Remember the first line.

‘Fluffy, I have a present for you,’ he called in a Here Kitty, nice Kitty voice, and set the clipboard down, preparing—against all odds—to play the ham. ‘It’s your birthday, Fluffy, and I’ve bought you a lovely big cannon.’