Public Secrets by Nora Roberts

didn’t mind really. After that, it would be another performance in another city. They were all blurring together, the months, the stages. Yet he didn’t want it to stop. When it did, he was desperately afraid he would sink back to obscurity.
    He knew that when the summer was well and truly over, they would head to California, to Hollywood. For a few weeks, they would live among the movie stars. And for a few weeks, he thought with twinges of guilt and pleasure, he would be close to Bev. The only person P.M. loved more than Brian was Brian’s wife.

    E
MMA SET UP the lettered blocks. She was very proud of the fact that she was learning to read and spell, and was determined to teach Darren. “E-M-M-A,” she said, tapping each block in turn. “Emma. Say ’Emma.’”
    “Ma!” Laughing, Darren pushed the blocks into a jumbled pile. “Ma Ma.”
    “Em-ma.” But she leaned over to kiss him. “Here’s an easy one.” She set up two blocks. “D-A. Da.”
    “Da. Da, Da, Da!” Delighted with himself, Darren climbed onto his sturdy legs to race to the doorway and look for Brian.
    “No, Da’s not there now, but Mum’s in the kitchen. We’re having a big party tonight, to celebrate the new album being finished. We’ll be going home to England soon.”
    She was looking forward to it, though she liked the house in America just as much as the castle outside of London. For more than a year she and her family had flown back and forth over the ocean as casually as other families drove across town.
    She had turned six in the autumn of 1970, and had a proper British tutor, at Bev’s insistence. When they settled back in England again, she knew she would go to school with others her age. The idea was both frightening and wonderful.
    “When we get back home, I’m going to learn lots more, and teach you everything.” As she spoke, she piled the blocks into a neat tower. “Look, here’s your name. The best name. Darren.”
    On a cry of glee, he pranced back to crouch and study the letters.
“D, A, Z, L, Mt N
, O,
P
. “After sending Emma a wicked smile, he swooped his arm through it. Blocks crashed and tumbled. “Darren!” he shouted. “Darren McAvoy.”
    “You can say that well enough, can’t you, boy-o?” In three years, the flow and cadence of her voice had come to mirror Brian’s. She smiled as she began to build something a little more intricate for him to demolish.
    He was the light of her life, her little brother with his dark thick hair and laughing sea-green eyes. At two, he had the face of a Botticelli cherub and the energy of a demon. He’d done everything early, crawling weeks before the baby books had warned Bev to expect it.
    His face had been on the cover of
Newsweek, Photoplay
, and
Rolling Stone
. The world had an ongoing love affair with Darren McAvoy. He had the blood of Irish peasants and staunch British conservatives in his veins, but he was a prince. No matter how careful Bev was, the paparazzi managed to snap new pictures of him on a weekly basis. And the fans clamored for more.
    They sent him truckloads of toys which Bev meticulously shipped off to hospitals and orphanages. Offers poured in for endorsements. Baby food, a line of children’s clothing, a chain of toy stores. They were unilaterally refused. Through all the attention and adulation, Darren remained a happy, healthy toddler, who was currently enjoying, with relish, his terrible twos. If hehad known about the attention, no doubt he would have cheerfully agreed he deserved it.
    “This is the castle,” Emma told him as she arranged blocks. “And you’re the king.”
    “I’m the king.” He plopped down to bounce on his padded bottom.
    “Yes. King Darren the First.”
    “First,” he repeated. He knew very well the meaning of that word, and enjoyed being put there. “Darren’s first.”
    “You’re a very good king and kind to all the animals.” She pulled the ever faithful Charlie closer. Dutifully, Darren bent to give