Free Valentine by Rebecca Farnworth Page A

cheeky reply,
then she thought, what the hell , and phoned him.
    'Going to spin me another story, Fleming?' Jack said
sleepily. Valentine had a not unpleasant image of him
lying in bed.
    'I was actually phoning to say sorry. No hard feelings?'
    'There would be nothing hard if I had to go on stage
naked, believe me. Anyway, it's me who should apologise.
I realise it was out of order teasing you about your
costume. I didn't mean to make you feel self-conscious.'
Jack went up again in her estimation. 'I may have a hairy
chest but I am evolved.'
    Valentine had a sudden urge to ask if he had a hairy
back. She felt she could deal with a hairy chest, but she
wasn't at all sure about a hairy back. Maybe he could get
it waxed.
    They stayed talking on the phone for the next half-hour
– swapping gossip about what they thought of the
rest of the cast, and verdicts on plays and films they'd
seen recently. All innocent subjects but there was a definite
undercurrent of attraction in their banter. Jack was so
easy to talk to – funny, charming, self-deprecating and
very flirtatious. Flirtatious was good; it seemed ages since
she'd flirted with anyone. The conversation was also a
welcome reprieve from having to think about her big
news. In fact she would probably have stayed talking to
him for longer, but at midnight his doorbell went.
    'Shit,' he said with feeling, 'I'd better get this. See you
tomorrow, Valentine.' A beat. 'Nice talking to you. Did
you know what a sexy voice you have?'
    For the first time in a very long time, she didn't think
about Finn as she fell asleep.
    She woke early the next morning and forced herself to
go for a run. Usually she loathed running, but the spectre
of the nipple tassels and the Twirlies was very motivational.
The exercise helped clear her head, and by the
time she got home she had made a decision: she was
going to contact Piers. It wasn't easy composing the letter.
    Dear Piers, I hope this doesn't come as too much of a surprise but I am your daughter Valentine. Twenty-eight years ago you may remember you had a brief relationship with Sarah Fleming ; well I am the consequence!
    The exclamation mark was a mistake; it made her
sound like a crazy person. She scrunched up the paper
and threw it in the bin. Her second, third and fourth
attempts weren't much better. Valentine gave a sigh of
exasperation. Every version she came up with really did
sound like a trailer for Oprah: This week multi-award-winning, successful film director Piers Hunter discovers he has a long lost daughter! Here they are on the sofa with me! In the end she kept
the letter brief and to the point.
    Dear Piers, my name is Valentine Fleming. I know this is probably going to sound like a bolt from the blue but I believe that I am your daughter. Twenty-eight years ago you had a brief affair with my mother Sarah Fleming. It was while you were directing The Importance of Being Ernest in Oxford. I am an actress, living in London. I am not looking for anything other than the chance to meet you.
    She finished by giving all her contact details and
enclosing one of her black and white publicity shots. She
also mentioned the play she was in. She hesitated at the
post box. Could she really deal with the feeling of rejection
if he didn't reply? She posted the letter. Core of steel.
What would be, would be.
    The flirting with Jack continued throughout the next two
weeks of rehearsals. She found herself warming to him
more and more. And his acting was a revelation. She had
thought that he was completely wrong to play Bottom
because he was so good-looking and assured, but on stage
he transformed into the buffoon the role demanded. He
was pompous, self-important and he even managed to
make himself look less attractive by adopting a slightly
buck-toothed smile. It was a fantastic performance.
Valentine, meanwhile, was the femme fatale of the fairy
world, doing her best to seduce him, while he was oblivious
to her charms. VPL, who so far had doled out