To Be the Best

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Eventually, he murmured in a low voice, ‘We both work too hard, I suspect, and I suppose you’ve had as rough a day as I have. It takes a while to unwind… and I haven’t been very thoughtful. I should have taken you for a drink at the bar in the hotel first.’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she told him, and realized that this was partially true. The feeling of panic was easing somewhat. Anyway, she was being silly, wasn’t she? He had no way of knowing how attracted she was to him. Thank God. She had cultivated a bland face for the past few days, worn an inscrutable expression especially for him. Anyway, he was obviously only being polite, taking care of her for Paula. Undoubtedly, it was her boss who had asked him to take her out. Paula was always so thoughtful, so solicitous of her welfare.

  ***

  The exterior architecture of Doyle’s had lovely Victorian mannerisms. Made of red brick and beige stone, the building was two storeys high, and its upstairs balconies were decorated with fancy, pierced-wood valances painted white, which were repeated around the edge of the front portico. The rooms inside were bright and cheerful, simply furnished, and without pretension; there was a pub-like atmosphere.

  It was busy when they arrived, but Philip was quickly shown to a table in a quiet, windowed corner overlooking the beach and the dark sea curling away to the edge of a dim horizon. He insisted Madelana take the chair facing towards the city, and, just as he had said earlier, the view of Sydney from Watson’s Bay was breathtaking, with the McGill Tower dominating the skyline.

  He ordered a bottle of Pouilly Fuissé, dry and cold and refreshing, and as they sipped it he asked her about the new manager, and how the grand sale was going at the boutique. She felt on safe ground, talking about business, and as they chatted she began to relax further, and so did he. He answered her questions about their opal mines at Coober Pedy and Lightning Ridge, told her about opal mining in general, and he talked at length about the various divisions of the giant conglomerate he ran. The McGill Corporation fascinated her, and she gave him her entire attention, as always intrigued by big business. Before either of them realized it almost an hour had passed.

  ‘I think we’d better order,’ Philip said, when the waitress appeared at their table for the third time.

  ‘I’ll have the same as you, please,’ Madelana murmured, after a quick glance at the menu.

  He grinned. ‘Fried fish and chips… how does that sound?’

  ‘Just great. Thanks.’

  Once he had ordered dinner, he asked her exactly what she did for Paula at Harte’s in New York, and she told him a little about her work, how she had been planning and organizing the special events for the sixtieth anniversary of the stores.

  When she finished, he laughed, shook his head. ‘And I thought Paula was a workaholic! My God, you’re as bad as she is!’

  ‘I guess I am,’ Madelana agreed, also laughing, enjoying being alone with him; her apprehension of earlier had entirely dissipated.

  ‘And tell me, how do you manage to have a private life, working the way you do? Doesn’t your boyfriend object?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘Oh.’ A black brow lifted. ‘A girl like you… so beautiful… so bright…’ He did not finish, merely stared at her intently, puzzlement flickering.

  Ignoring his compliments, she said softly, ‘I just broke up with someone.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to be. It was for the best… I’d made an error in judgement.’

  Now the black brows drew together in a frown. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mistook personality for character.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ he said, liking the shrewdness of this observation. He was suddenly eaten up with curiosity about the man she had so recently been involved with, and he couldn’t help probing. ‘What does he do? You know, for a living?’

  ‘He’s an actor. A rather brilliant one, too. On the Broadway stage.’

  ‘Famous? Would I know him?’

  ‘Possibly… probably. Jack Miller.’

  ‘Oh sure, I saw him in something a couple of years ago when I was in New York. A Eugene O’Neill play, I think.’

  Madelana nodded.

  ‘What went wrong between the two of you?’

  Madelana bit her inner lip, glanced away.

  But after a brief moment, she brought her eyes back to his, smiled faintly. ‘Mah daddy used to say there’s nothing worse than the ole moonshine for killin’ a romance and curin’ a woman of fanciful ideas she might be havin’ about a dude. Ah doan know that a truer word has ever been spoken.’

  Philip smiled, loving the sudden, Southern intonation in her voice. It was soft, beguiling, very feminine. ‘Now you really sound as though you come from Kentucky,’ he said. ‘And I must admit, I agree with your daddy… about a drinking man.’

  ‘It wasn’t just the booze,’ she now said in her New York voice. ‘Jack was always a bit odd with me… about my work, I mean. He is a male chauvinist, by his own admission, and he resented my career. Anyway—’

  At this moment the waitress arrived with their food, and Madelana changed the subject by asking him about yacht racing. Since this was Philip’s favourite sport and his only genuine hobby, he was happy to discuss it with her. And when he finally paused, she told him how much she loved the sea, and how she had first gone sailing with the Smiths at Nantucket.

  ‘I met Patsy Smith the first day I arrived at the residence, and we became friends instantly. And we’re still close, even though she’s gone back to Boston.’

  ‘What’s the residence?’ Philip asked, between mouthfuls of fish.

  ‘It’s a place in Manhattan where Catholic girls and young women can live comfortably for very little money. It’s run by the Sisters of Divine Providence, a teaching order of nuns from Kentucky.’ She proceeded to tell him about Sister Bronagh, the other nuns, what life had been like at the residence, and her early days in New York.

  Philip listened carefully, nodding from time to time, occasionally laughing at her anecdotes. But he did not interrupt her once. She was opening up to him tonight, revealing a great deal about herself for the first time, and he wanted to encourage this. He needed to know everything there was to know about this woman. She was under his skin.

  ***

  It was later, over coffee, that Philip suddenly said, ‘I thought you might like to come up to Dunoon this weekend, Madelana. It’ll do you good after all your running around with Paula, all your hard work. And it is your last chance, since you’re leaving at the end of next week. Aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ She lifted her cup, took a sip of the coffee.

  He waited a moment, then pressed her. ‘Say you’ll come, Madelana. I want you to… so very much.’

  An odd nuance in his voice made her glance at him more closely, and she saw there was a curious expression in his eyes, one she could not quite fathom. And then intuitively she knew he was interested in her, and she felt a sudden tightening in her chest. She found it impossible to speak. Her throat went tight and dry again. She instantly understood that to go to Dunoon with him would be playing with fire. Therefore she must refuse his invitation. To protect herself. That was the only wise thing to do.

  She said, ‘Yes, I’d love to come. Thank you very much, Philip.’ As these words left her mouth, she sat back in the chair, surprised at herself, and at her perversity. You fool, she thought. You’re just asking for trouble.

  Philip was beaming at her and saying, ‘We can fly up tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘No, no, I can’t go then,’ she exclaimed quickly, staring at him. ‘I’ve got to be at the boutique. I couldn’t possibly come until Saturday.’

  ‘Friday,’ he insisted, holding her with his eyes. ‘You can come up Friday morning. Everything will be all right at the boutique. Don’t worry so much.’

  She swallowed hard, wondering why she had ever accepted. ‘I must go into the boutique for a couple of hours at least,’ she compromised.

  ‘O
kay, if you say so,’ Philip agreed. ‘But Ken will collect you there at eleven, drive you out to the airport. My plane will be waiting, and if you leave Sydney at noon, you’ll get to the station in time for lunch.’ Philip smiled deeply into her eyes, reached out, took her hand, held it in both of his.

  Madelana nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  Chapter 20

  Philip took off his soaking wet sweater and shirt, and threw them to one side. Hooking his right foot into the boot jack, he pushed off one riding boot, and then the other, stripped down to his underpants, and hurried through into the bathroom, feeling chilled to the bone.

  He took a very hot shower, letting the steaming water sluice down over his body for a few minutes, until his blood was tingling and he felt warmer. Stepping out of the shower stall, he dried himself, pulled on his towelling robe and walked over to the washbasin. He stood in front of the mirror, combing his wet hair, slapping on cologne, and thinking of Madelana.

  What a pity the thunderstorm had blown up when it had, so suddenly, about an hour ago. It had curtailed their ride. They had been up in the hills above Dunoon, and he had begun to sense a lessening of the tension in her out there in the peaceful countryside. Certainly she appeared to be more at ease with him today. When she had arrived yesterday at lunchtime, she had been very quiet, and so taut he thought at one moment that she might snap in half, and she had remained tense for the rest of the day. She had seemed a bit better in the evening though, had evidently enjoyed their dinner with Tim and Anne Willen.

  By the time they had gone riding this afternoon she had been lighthearted, almost gay, and she was opening up to him once more; he knew he was gaining her confidence. So much so, he had been on the verge of telling her how strongly he felt about her when the weather had changed abruptly. The sky had grown overcast and dark. Heavy torrential rain had started to fall, and they had mounted their horses and galloped back to the stables at top speed. Even so, it had taken them a good twenty minutes to get there. Matt had been waiting for them with one of the other grooms, and they had led Gilda and Black Opal off to the tack room; he had driven Madelana up to the manor in the Maserati, the two of them drenched to the skin and shivering. She had become very white, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as they had dashed into the house, and now, as he went through into his bedroom, Philip hoped that she had not caught a cold.

  He stood warming himself in front of the fire for a few minutes, before crossing to the black lacquer Chinese cabinet, which contained a small, fully stocked bar. He poured two cognacs into small brandy balloons, gulped one down, then went to dress, pulling on a thick Fair Isle sweater and socks, and heavy grey flannels. He slipped his feet into a pair of brown loafers, collected the other brandy balloon, and left the room with it.

  A second later he stood in front of Madelana’s door. He was about to knock, but hesitated fractionally, wondering if he had given her enough time to shed her wet riding clothes, shower and change. Deciding that he had, he rapped softly.

  ‘Come in,’ she called.

  He did so, stood hovering on the threshold.

  She was huddled in front of the fire, seated on the floor with her back to the sofa, dressed in a track suit and thick socks, sipping the tea he had asked Mrs Carr to have sent up to her a short while before.

  ‘I thought you might want this,’ he said, holding out the brandy balloon. ‘It’ll warm you through.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She put the cup she was holding back in its saucer on the end table. ‘Yes, I’d like it, Philip.’ There was a pause. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.

  He pushed the door closed with his foot, walked over to her, handed her the glass. She took it from him, and as she did their fingers grazed. She jumped slightly, as if surprised, drew back, pushed herself harder against the sofa. Then she lifted her eyes to his.

  It was still raining outside, and sombre; she had not turned on the lamps, and in the shadows of the dim room she looked ethereal, illuminated as she was by the blazing fire. Her face shimmered with an incandescent, fragile beauty, and her eyes were huge, transparent and shining.

  He found it impossible to look away.

  They continued to gaze at each other. For a split second Philip thought he was looking deep into her soul. Finally he dropped his eyes. He did not trust himself with her, and he swung around without a word, walked back to the door, intending to leave her alone until dinner. But he could not help turning to glance at her before he went out, his eyes irresistibly drawn to hers once more.

  She returned his long, penetrating stare steadily, solemnly. Her face was infinitely quiet. She did not move, nor did she speak. The air was hushed, very still between them.

  He took a step forward, then another. ‘I want to be with you,’ he said in a voice that was unexpectedly hoarse. ‘Please don’t send me away.’

  ‘I’m not going to.’

  At first he thought he had not heard her correctly, and he looked at her swiftly, through narrowed eyes.

  She put down the brandy glass, lifted her arm, held out her hand to him.

  He hurried back to her, took the slender hand in his, brought it to his mouth, brushed his lips over her long fingers. Then he knelt down on the floor by her side.

  ‘Oh Maddy,’ he said, using the diminutive of her name for the first time. ‘Oh Maddy.’

  ‘Philip,’ she whispered in a voice so low it was hardly audible.

  He pulled her forward. She was in his arms, clinging to him, saying his name over and over, and he held her close to his body, tightening his grip. With one hand he stroked her hair. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her as he had wanted to kiss her from the very first day, deeply, fiercely, passionately, his tongue thrusting as if he was taking possession of her with his mouth. She returned his kisses, and her tongue grazed his; he realized that her ardour for him matched his own for her. This knowledge sent a thrill searing through him.

  There was no going back, he knew that. They must make love at once, now, here. There was no time to waste… too much time had been wasted already. He pulled her down under him, slid his hand under her loose top. When his fingers closed around one of her breasts she let out a long sigh; he stroked her gently, smoothed the tips of his fingers across her nipple, caressed it lovingly. Almost instantly, he felt it harden under his fondling, and this inflamed him even more. He tugged at her top, wanting to lift it over her head.

  She sat up, pulled it off. He tore at his own clothes, flung them to one side. Suddenly they were stretched out next to each other on the rug, completely naked. They began to kiss again, frantically, more urgently than ever, and they could not keep their hands off each other. They reached out hungrily, longingly, to touch, to explore, to caress, to excite. The urgency between them grew and intensified as they became more and more aroused.

  There was a violence in his desire for her, and he sensed the same turbulent emotion in her. She wanted him as desperately as he wanted her, and she was making that quite clear. And so he fell across her, slid into her. As he did he felt her tense, gasp, and then relax.

  He braced his hands on either side of her, rose up above her, looked down into her face. It was full of yearning and desire, and the wild expression that blazed in her eyes mirrored exactly what he was feeling. His breath caught in his throat in surprise and pleasure.

  Philip began to move against her, very slowly, expertly, and she thrust her body forward to meet his, cleaving to him.

  Their rhythm grew faster and the urgency of their passion spiralled up into total abandonment, and they were on a dizzying climb, rising higher and higher together, out of control. He had fantasized about her for days. Now his fantasy had become his reality, and he was unable to hold back. He flowed into her, gave himself to her, and then his mouth was on hers, devouring hers. And she was flying with him on that dizzying flight, and she cried his name suddenly and stiffened, and they began a slow slide down over the edge, down into scorching white heat.

  Her arms and l
egs were woven around him, binding him in their silken vice. He was welded to her, part of her, and she was part of him, and the miracle was that they had become one single being…

  ***

  Entirely spent, they lay still, locked in each other’s arms. There was no sound except for their laboured breathing, the crackling of the logs on the fire, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the background.

  Philip stirred first. He buried his face in the mass of her chestnut hair, murmured against her neck, ‘I’ve wanted you since I first saw you downstairs in the portrait gallery, Maddy.’

  When she made no comment, he asked, ‘Didn’t you know that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ she whispered. With a small smile, she confessed, ‘I wanted you too.’

  ‘You certainly hid it very well,’ he exclaimed quietly.

  She said, ‘And so did you.’

  They both laughed, but fell silent immediately, caught in the webs of their own thoughts. After a short while, Philip released his hold on her, got up, took her hands in his, pulled her to her feet. He slipped an arm around her, and they stood together in front of the fire, gazing at each other as though mesmerized. He tilted her chin, bent down, kissed her on the mouth, lightly, gently, and then reached for the brandy balloon. He offered it to her. She shook her head. He took several swallows, placed the glass on the table, and as he led her over to the large four-poster bed, he said, ‘I do hope you don’t think that I’m a drinking man, too…’

  Madelana laughed, said nothing, slid under the bedclothes. Philip joined her, wrapped his arms around her. She curved her body into his, relaxing her shoulders against his broad chest, filled with a rare joy. It had as much to do with the pleasure she had given Philip as the fulfilment and release he had brought to her. The tension which had been building in her for days had disappeared. She felt as though she were wrapped in a cocoon of peace and contentment and happiness. And she knew it was because of him, all the things he was. He was a very special kind of man.

  Philip continued to hold her close to him, nuzzling his face into the nape of her neck, her hair, the space between her shoulder blades. To his surprise he was suddenly at full arousal again. He threw the bedclothes to one side, pushed himself up on one elbow, looked down at her.