The Girl on the Balcony

By Frances Hart

Love at first sight does not exist. Or so Matt Steele thinks, until he sees the girl on the balcony at the London premiere of his latest movie.
Desperate to get to know her without his fame getting in the way, the Hollywood star assumes the name of the character he is due to play in a forthcoming movie. In this guise, he meets teacher Laura Marshall and they fall in love. It seems Matt's plan has worked.
But Laura believes she is in love with an out of work actor called Jonathan Mann. What will happen when she discovers their love is based on a lie?
More crucially, how will their fledgling romance survive when Matt has to return to the States without her? Especially when, through acombination of misfortune, misunderstanding and the malice of a distinctly fishy character, it seems as though the parting will be permanent.
The narrative switches between London and the States as the protagonists learn from their mistakes.
Was their love just a holiday romance or does it mean so much more?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481782760

Frances Hart

"The Girl on the Balcony" is the author's debut novel and has been influenced by her fascination with literature throughout her career as an English teacher. Married with two adult daughters, she lives in south east England. Two of the secondary characters will feature in her next novel.

Book preview

July 

Chapter 1

The Hollywood star stepped out of the limousine and the crowd went wild. A tsunami of sound rolled round the nearby streets. The noise was unbelievable.

Matt Steele laughed. It was fantastic. He was used to premieres and to the crowds that accompanied them but this… this was something else. The heady sense of anticipation strengthened as he went towards the walkway specially constructed for the occasion in Leicester Square. It was slow progress: an autograph for a starry eyed teenager here, a few words with an enthusiastic fan there, a special wave for those further back who could not get to him. He finally reached his destination and eased up the steps to the top. Now the people at the back of the crowd would be able to see him more clearly.

It was difficult not to be unaffected by the warmth of this London crowd.

Matt had been operating on autopilot, feeling as though he had lost the plot somewhere over the Atlantic: not surprising, given that he had jetted over to London on the back of a gruelling filming schedule. But now, he felt ready for anything. Galvanised by the excitement, he waved at the people below, his smile widening even further at the roar that erupted in response.

The noise escalated as he moved along the walkway towards the camera crew and the television presenter who was beginning his introduction. There was time for one more acknowledgement of the crowd before he had to focus on the interview and Matt turned to do just that.

Suddenly, out of the blue, the back of his neck tingled and he felt a compulsion to look towards a nearby building. There on the balcony was a girl.

Their eyes met. Time stood still.

Then the girl raised the wine glass she was holding as if in salute. She smiled and the world tilted.

Matt’s mind blanked. He forgot where he was. He forgot who he was. Only one thought blazed through his mind: she’s the one.

The roar that erupted at the end of the television presenter’s skilful introduction brought him back to some semblance of reality. Summoning up every ounce of his acting ability he managed to make his response to the girl, a nod and a smile, look casual before turning towards the interviewer. He might feel as though he had been sideswiped, as though his world had been knocked off its axis, but he had enough self-preservation to know that he could not afford to let his interest show. He was damned if he was going to let anyone guess how stunned he felt. And how desperate he was to find out her identity. Who was she?

From far away Matt registered the interviewer’s first question and answered with the light hearted insouciance expected of him. Afterwards he always regarded it as one of the best performances of his life; he could not remember what he was asked or what he replied. He knew only that the most important question had remained unasked. And unanswered. Who was she?

He laughed dutifully as the interviewer wrapped up the interview on a humorous note, even though the person he most wanted to laugh at was himself.

He risked a last quick look towards the balcony before moving on and down towards the cinema entrance. Nothing. She was gone.

And, finally, so was he, with a last wave to the crowd.

A real nice guy, Matt Steele, the interviewer commented as the team watched the star disappear. A real professional. Not like some. No wonder the fans adore him.

I bet that girl on the balcony will remember today. Almost like sodding Juliet, was the cameraman’s reply. He began to pack up his equipment. Wonder who she is.

Inside the cinema Matt was still reeling. Love at first sight did not exist. It belonged in romantic fiction. It did not happen in real life.

So why had he been blindsided by an unknown girl on a balcony?

More to the point. What was he going to do about it?

Who was she?

Half an hour earlier

Just look at that.

Laura Marshall did not have to reply to her friend’s remark. She was already looking. On this July evening the only part of Leicester Square that was familiar was its name.

The buildings along one side of the square were embellished by scaffolding and long snakes of trailing black cable, camera crews occupied the balcony of a near by restaurant and the square itself was the site of an invasion: people en masse as far as the eye could see. Above the pavement a wooden walkway had been erected for the cast of the film, ensuring that they could be seen by as many of their fans as possible although there was only one name that was on everyone’s lips: Matt Steele.

The dais near the steps at one end was already occupied. Laura could see an interviewer and cameraman at work, not that she recognised the interviewees, an older male with a younger female companion. A trophy wife? Girlfriend? Beyond them the far flight of steps swept down towards the red carpet in front of the cinema.

The atmosphere was electric. You could almost feel the buzz. You could certainly hear it.

Laura looked at the mass of people and wondered whether there was even any room for a couple more.

Above the cinema huge billboards screamed the film’s title Freeway along with the actors’ names and pictures while in front of the entrance, where the stars would descend to ground level, the crowd was thickest and noisiest. Here, a barrier separated the masses from the elite.

The interview finished and Laura watched the couple walk down the steps towards the cinema where more people in evening dress were milling around. She shook her head guiltily. She hoped they had not missed Matt Steele. They were late because she had not been ready and then she had had to go back for her phone.

Rachel, who had been looking forward to this for weeks, was gazing enraptured at the scene. Isn’t this great. Can’t you feel the atmosphere!

Her excitement bubbled over as she gestured at one of the hoardings, Look. The larger than life poster featured the star of the film with his blonde hair, high cheekbones and keen blue eyes. The trade mark grin beamed at the crowd beneath him. Isn’t he the most fantastic person in the universe!

That’s what you said about your dad when he said he would pay for your holiday.

Cynic.

Me? As if. Who am I to comment on the statistical improbability of even seeing the top of a certain film star’s head? Let alone gazing into his eyes, which is what you’ve been fantasising about.

Rachel laughed. It was true. We’ll never know unless we make a move. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the red carpet area, Come on, I think I can see a way in. Are you ready for this? She started forward then glanced back as Laura stood her ground.

Rachel, do you mind if I don’t come with you? The idea of forcing my way in there doesn’t appeal. Instead I’m going to be really boring and mature, Rachel raised an eyebrow, and go and have a drink over there. Laura gestured in the opposite direction.

No way. Think what you’re missing. You’re throwing away your chance to experience the closest mankind has come to perfection.

And you’re throwing away your chance to get to the front. Go on Rachel. I’ll catch up with you later. A good job I remembered my phone.

The last sentence was lost on her friend who was already knee deep in the crowd. Laura turned. She would have to go against the flow of humanity if she wanted to reach the marginally calmer waters on the other side.

More people swept into the square, jostling her and knocking her bag against her legs.

Oops. Sorry. Oh, hi, Miss Marshall. Didn’t expect to see you here.

Laura recognised the voice, and the face, of one of her pupils. She and Rachel both taught English in the same girls’ school and this particular student was known to all the staff for the quickness of her mind and her cheerful disregard for any rule she regarded as irrelevant. She was also known for her habit of changing her hairstyle and colour. This evening it was dark brown and asymmetric in cut. It looked superb and Laura said so after she had greeted the fifteen year old.

Thank you, Miss. What are you doing here? I didn’t know you liked Matt Steele. Oh. I know. I bet you’ve come with Miss Eliot.

And you’d be right Jess. If you’re quick you might find Miss Eliot in that crowd over there. She pointed in the direction Rachel had taken. I’m going in the other direction to gaze dreamily at a tall, cool, she paused for effect, glass.

Miss! You’d rather have a drink than see Matt Steele? How can I ever believe in anything you say after this! Jess grinned. In her view, Miss Marshall was a great teacher. She made her lessons fun and interesting and, partly because she was young, related well with her students. She was also the sort of person who could wear anything and make it look good which certainly made her stand out among the staff. Today she had teamed a teal coloured skirt and matching camisole with a jacket of embroidered Indian cotton. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders rather than being kept out of the way as it normally was when she was teaching.

I’ve evidently got no taste. At least, that’s what Miss Eliot tells me. She smiled before adding the clincher, I prefer Johnny Depp. With that she turned away. She did not always have the last word with Jess Armitage so it was satisfying when it happened.

What was not satisfying was the discovery that the tables normally gracing this section of pavement had been cleared away. Now what? She had to get out of the crowd. She looked around and homed in on the entrance to a restaurant. Perhaps they would let her take refuge in there if she asked nicely.

Several minutes later Laura was being ushered through the first floor restaurant to the bar. She sat down near the open French windows leading out to a balcony as a small group of women went through, taking advantage of the late evening sun and looking at the crowds of people below, no doubt. Thank goodness she was out of the chaos.

She smiled at the waitress who came up to take her order, the same waitress who had earlier sympathised with her need to get away from the crowd.

This was a much better way of spending her evening. Laura relaxed while she waited for her wine to arrive, closing her eyes and letting the noise of the crowd outside slide away. Her mind drifted to the reason she was here, why she had agreed to spend a lovely summer evening in a crowded place in central London and it was not because she was obsessed by the prospect of seeing Matt Steele.

She could see why Rachel fantasised about him—she was not blind—but she preferred live theatre; apart from Johnny Depp, it was stage actors who featured in her fantasies. Rachel, in contrast, had been putting Matt Steele at the top of her Christmas list for years. Unfortunately, Santa Claus had not yet obliged.

She had agreed to come a long time ago, back in March, after her former boyfriend Neil, now officially designated the love rat, had dumped her by text when she had discovered he was cheating on her. Having an affair with some woman who worked in the same office and then dumping her by text might seem like a cliché but it had hurt. It had made her realise how little she meant to him. Now she could not understand what she had seen in him.

Rachel had designated Neil as a love rat, wondering aloud if she ought to call the pest control people on the grounds that she knew one rodent that could do with extermination. What you want is a nice slow acting poison, she had declared before trying to take her mind away from Neil, a k a the love rat, by reading aloud some gossip about Matt Steele in a celeb magazine left behind by a previous customer; they were in a wine bar at the time.

Unlike the champagne Rachel had ordered to celebrate Laura’s escape, the diversionary tactic had not been a total success; she was still preoccupied with Neil’s perfidy, and the film star was Rachel’s obsession not hers. However, it had led to her promising to come to the premiere. Or rather, to be accurate, to join the crowds outside the cinema. Not even Rachel had been able to solve the thorny problem of how you managed to get tickets.

She recalled the rising excitement in Rachel’s voice on discovering that her idol was coming to London for the premiere of his latest film. Wow. Imagine seeing him in the flesh. She had lowered her voice before adding, Even nicer to see him in the buff, of course. You never know. Hope springs eternal and all that. Especially now he’s split from his girlfriend, Mia Masters. Why was he wasting time on an alliterative bimbo when he could have me? She paused. We have just got to be there.

So here they were. Laura opened her eyes and returned to the present. The decibel and excitement levels outside were beginning to rise. The star must be due any moment now.

Another guest edged her way past and out of the French windows. Laura looked after her and saw that the group on the balcony had grown. The friendly waitress swung by at that moment with Laura’s glass of wine and said conspiratorially, I’m not supposed to suggest this, but it might be quite a good moment to take your drink outside. Laura looked blank. The waitress inclined her head in the direction of the balcony. Outside the noise of the crowd had become intense.

Belatedly Laura cottoned on. She smiled at the waitress, took her drink and went outside on to the balcony. Good. There was a space at the further end.

The sight that met her eyes was amazing. She was above the walkway, and even better, she realised incredulously, she had a good view of the platform where the cameraman and interviewer were poised, waiting for the imminent arrival of the star. As were all his fans. Cries of Matt Steele, Matt Steele, were reverberating round and rising in a crescendo.

The crowd was going wild. Matt Steele must be here. Laura was caught up in the excitement and leaned against the balcony to see better just as the interviewer moved in more closely on his quarry leaving her with an uninterrupted view.

She looked down. To see Matt Steele looking up at her. Their gazes caught.

Time seemed to be suspended.

Laura found herself lifting her glass in salute. She smiled. She watched the star turn back to his interview. Rachel would be green with envy.

And she would never tell her that for a split second time had stopped.

It’s not fair. I can’t believe you got that close without even trying. You saw him. And he saw you.

Rachel was trying, without much success to get over the fact that Laura, who liked Jonny Depp, had succeeded and she had not even got near her idol.

It wasn’t that close. Oh, come on, Rachel. Get real. He might have looked in my direction but that’s all. He didn’t see me as such. Laura refused to remember that eerie moment when time stood still. He was probably thinking of the film or what he was going to say in the interview or even his latest girlfriend. I was just a girl on a balcony.

It was later that evening and they had ducked into a pub before making their way to the Underground. They had managed to find seats, even if they were inside the hot room rather than outside on the pavement, and rather too near to the television screen above their heads although nobody was actually watching the endless news reports that provided part of the background noise.

Laura took a sip of her white wine, grimacing slightly; it was too warm. If you think about it, the fact that I was looking at him from a distance is a bit symbolic. I mean, how many people actually get close to a film star? Is it possible?

"What are you drinking?"

Something that is supposed to be a Pinot Grigio but doesn’t quite make it.

It must be the result of all those sixth form lessons on poetry criticism then.

What must be?

The rubbish you’re talking.

Laura laughed, You’re right. It did sound a bit pretentious. I was just contemplating that it must be very difficult to get to know him properly. His star status would get in the way. Anyway, I must admit, he did look quite nice.

Quite nice! Huh! Rachel tried to think of an analogy. "That’s a bit like saying Hamlet is not a bad play."

Laura laughed.

Anyway, cheers.

Laura took another sip of her wine, her nose wrinkling at the taste, while Rachel, whose choice was a red wine of indeterminate heritage, swirled it around looking at the pattern it made and tried not to feel gutted because Laura had actually had a good view of Matt Steele while she had only caught a glimpse of the top of his head.

Did you see Jess Armitage in the crowd? I bumped into her shortly after I’d left you. Told her I preferred Johnny Depp.

You’ll never hear the last of that. No. I must have missed her but given the number of people, that’s hardly surprising. I bet she managed to worm her way to the front and I’ll hear all about it. About how she was really close and could have touched him. I hope she didn’t manage to talk to him. That would be too much given the fact that I was the only one who did not manage to get a good view. Thank goodness there’s only this week of term to go. Perhaps she’ll have forgotten by September.

Get a grip, Rachel. It was just a sheer fluke as far as I was concerned and Jess probably didn’t see much more than you did. Just give her some extra homework or something.

They both laughed at the thought of Jess doing extra homework. She was selective in her response to the homework she already had.

Rachel’s eye was caught by the next item on the screen above them. Oh, look Laura, the premiere’s on the news. I’ve got to see this. Look, there’s the crowd, I didn’t realise how many people were there. There must be thousands. Wait, yes, there’s Matt Steele and there—there’s you!

They both gasped as the camera caught the moment when the star looked in Laura’s direction. They saw her raise her glass in salute, saw her smile.

It dazzled the room. Laura’s wine glass went flying and she leapt to her feet to avoid the spillage.

Several people at the nearby tables in the pub heard the commotion and turned their heads to look at the screen and then at her.

Laura went red and dabbed ineffectually at the spilled wine with a serviette that had been left behind by a previous customer.

I didn’t know I was on camera.

Wow. I can’t believe it. You’re on the news. And you look great. In fact, she narrowed her eyes, you look as though you know each other. You haven’t been holding out on me by any chance have you? She glanced at her friend who was preoccupied with the spilt wine. I bet the press are already thinking in terms of you being Matt Steele’s latest girlfriend. They’ll be salivating trying to find out who you are and how long you’ve been together. You’re going to be famous.

Laura dumped the ball of sodden paper into her glass. Come on, Rachel. He just happened to look in my direction, that’s all. Although she recalled that odd moment when time had seemed to stand still. He’s an American film star for heaven’s sake. This is reality. She gestured at the busy pub scene around her. He’s at some fantastic, glamorous party surrounded by fabulous looking women in designer dresses and killer shoes, drinking champagne, and I’m, I’m on my way to sort out this wine I’ve spilled. But at least the next glass might be something I can drink! And, smiling, she made her way through the crowd to the bar, leaving Rachel to sigh over the interview with the Freeway star that was currently rolling across the screen.

Matt sat bolt upright as the television camera focussed on the girl on the balcony and the moment their gazes had collided.

It was still comparatively early. He and his agent had returned to his hotel room a short while before; they had left the party pleading jet lag. They were supposed to be going over plans for the following day although he was not in the right mood for work. He wanted to switch off and had absentmindedly turned on the television as soon as he came through the door. There might be an old movie on that he could use to tune out. He had poured himself a drink, gesturing to Peter to help himself and sat down, half listening to Peter’s comments about the party, before realising that the television was tuned to a news channel and the current item was about the premiere.

And there she was.

The drink nearly went flying.

The jolt came again. And the insistence: This one.

I’m going crazy was his first thought, followed by a second: I have to meet her. The shot faded into one of his interview.

His companion had also caught the moment on screen and Matt’s reaction, although he did not refer to it. He knew Matt of old. Instead he went on with the conversation as though he had noticed nothing, She was quite glamorous don’t you think?

Matt put his glass on the table. Carefully. No. Not glamorous. Gorgeous. Devastating. Her smile. Dazzling.

Peter Yates, manager, agent, friend, brother in spirit if not by blood, rose to his feet with characteristic languid grace and strolled over to the side table. He picked up the decanter and poured some brandy into a glass.

We are talking about the same girl aren’t we? He was sure they were not. The blonde who was all over you tonight. After she had fought off all the opposition that is. And conveniently forgotten about her fiancé if the ring on her finger was anything to go by. What was her name again? He strolled back, his relaxed demeanour masking his alertness. He had not heard such a positive response from his friend about a woman for a long, long time. Since before Mia. Yes, this was very interesting.

Annabel I think. The blonde that is. I don’t know her name.

Peter’s eyebrow rose. I’m not following.

The girl on the television just now. On the balcony. He gestured towards the screen. It was weird but I felt as though I knew her. Even though I have never seen her before in my life.

Peter looked at his friend. The jacket of his tux had been discarded as soon as they had come through the door. His cuff links were in a pile on the coffee table along side the forgotten brandy glass and the tie was on the floor. He had undone the top button of his shirt His thick blonde hair was tousled where he had run his fingers through it.

Matt went on, It was before the premiere. Just before the interview in fact. I saw this completely unknown girl on a balcony. And it felt. He stopped, grinned at his friend, And this is going to sound like some rubbish script that would never make it in a thousand years. It felt as though she was standing there, waiting for me. Then she raised her glass in some sort of salute, as if she knew me. He paused. The words might be banal. The emotion was anything but. Why was he reacting like this? It made no sense.

He ploughed on, She smiled right at me. It bowled me over and it was, I don’t know how to explain it, as though the world had changed. And don’t even try to tell me love at first sight doesn’t exist. I know all that. There was a hiatus as he tried to gather his thoughts. Despite what the movie industry would have us believe, I don’t buy into all that. But, he looked at his friend, how else do I explain what I felt, what I feel right now?

Nothing was familiar any more. He gestured again towards the television where the news items had moved on; it was now cricket. The cameras picked up the moment. She was on the television. Just now. As you saw.

Matt glanced at Peter, went on quietly, I don’t know who she is. But I’m damn well going to find out.

He stopped and went to the window where he stared unseeingly at the night scene in front of him. It was not dark. Too many lights. He wished for a moment that he could be back home in Wyoming staring out into the blackness, knowing that there was nothing and nobody else around for miles.

It can’t be love. How can you possibly fall in love just by looking at someone?

Peter looked at the back turned towards him and swirled the brandy in his glass while he waited for Matt to continue.

"What do they call love at first sight? A coup de foudre? It simply doesn’t happen. And a girl on a balcony sounds too much like sodding Romeo and Juliet. I never liked that play, he went off at a tangent. All that adolescent melodrama. Never could understand why she just didn’t get herself to Mantua. Would have saved everyone a lot of trouble."

Matt swung round. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to come to a sticky end. Can’t stand the sight of blood. His voice became more serious, I was thinking of her all the time I was supposed to be working the crowd. Couldn’t concentrate… . it’ll be amazing if I sound coherent. As for the interview. The least said the better. You might have to do some damage control there. Then we got to the party. He smiled, A lot of guys would see it as a dream situation. Imagine all those beautiful women, and some of them were really fantastic, trying to get you into bed.

The eyebrow rose again. Wouldn’t dare to have a dream like that. Anna would kill me. After she’d hurt me in a very painful place. Anna was Peter’s long time girl friend.

Sounds like Anna. Matt looked at the man he had known for fifteen years, nearly half his life-time. I half expected you to laugh. It must sound pretty crazy. Falling for the unknown. And possibly unattainable. His stomach clenched at the thought of her being married or living with a partner.

The party? Peter prompted. I must admire your acting skills if you were thinking about this girl then. I would never have realised.

The vein of gentle irony underlying the words surprised a quick laugh from Matt. That is my job. Acting. On one level I enjoyed it. His smile broadened. What’s not to like about adulation?

Peter’s eyebrow rose. Matt smiled inwardly at his friend’s reaction, he could always get a rise out of Peter, before going on, As long as you don’t start believing in the hype. I just feel, oh, I don’t know, as though I have heard all the lines before. It becomes like a verbal tennis match where you both mouth the appropriate responses in order to score the right number of points. Nobody really listens to what is being said. No one actually means what they say. They want to meet the star. Not the man. The tone became more serious. And this time I need her, my mystery girl, to meet the man.

Silence fell. The noise of the city at night melded with the voices from the television. Cricket had given way to some sort of cookery programme.

So how are you going to find out who she is?

That’s where I need your help. They both knew a media frenzy would be inevitable if Matt’s interest in the, as yet, anonymous girl ever became public.

There was no hesitation. "I could get on to the television channel