Fantasy Woman

by Annabel Murray

  'I'll go anyway.' She elevated the square, stubborn chin. 'It's important to me.'

  With one finally exasperated, bruising grip of his hands, he released her, stood frowning down at her, his expression, she noted gleefully, one of frustrated exasperation.

  'Can I go now?' she asked again, coolly.

  'Yes, go! Go your own damn fool, pig-headed way. And here,' as she was about to turn on her heel, 'take this thing with you.' With one fluid movement he bent and scooped up the black kitten. 'Tell Greg to have the local vet check it over and clean it up. Then Melanie can have the blasted thing!' His manner was suddenly the awkward, endearingly sulky one of a small boy trying to make amends.

  Good Lord, the man had a streak of humanity in him after all, Gina marvelled as she received the fluffy scrap from his hands.

  In doing so, their fingers accidentally brushed and static shock seemed to spark through her. Damn it, would nothing ever quell this man's irritating effect upon her senses? To hide her agitation, she turned away with no word of acknowledgment for his unexpected concession and almost ran across the stableyard in search of Greg.

  For the first time that day, she was glad she had accepted the security man's invitation to go out with him. She needed something, someone, anyone to take her mind off Tod Fallon. Why wouldn't the message her brain imparted infiltrate the rest of her, quell turbulent heart and traitorous body? The message that he belonged to Marcha.

  'Where are we going?' she asked Greg, as they left Mallions that evening.

  'Somewhere local, I'm afraid. Even on my evening off I'm still on call.' He patted his breast pocket. The unobtrusive bulge, Gina knew by now, was a personal alarm. 'If this thing starts, I have to get to a phone, or back to Mallions at the double.'

  'I don't mind,' Gina assured him, as the gates opened to let Greg's fast sports car through. 'I'd prefer somewhere quiet and relaxing. Life's been pretty hectic lately.'

  'Tod been driving you, hmm? Well, I expect you've guessed the reason? No need for me to keep my mouth shut, now that his "star" is back from her holidays ... two weeks late, I might add. No wonder he's been a bit testy. I for one don't blame him. I wouldn't trust that dame any further than I could kick her.'

  'Oh?' Gina couldn't hide her curiosity.

  'Proper little hot pants where men are concerned, our Marcha Durrant. At the moment she's satisfied with Tod, because he gave her her entree into films. But if another, bigger director came along, I wouldn't give that,' Greg snapped his fingers, 'for Fallon's chances.'

  'She gave me the impression,' Gina said, carefully casual—no one must ever know how it hurt—'that they'd be getting married after this film.'

  'What!' Greg's sideways glance was sardonic. 'Haven't you figured Tod Fallon yet? No dame, however sexy, will ever get him to the altar again. Not after what happened to Maria. I reckon what passed for his heart was buried with that little Italian girl. No, he believes in loving 'em and leaving 'em. Marcha's lasted longer than most. By "love", I'm not referring to the emotion, you understand?'

  'Oh, I understand all right!' Gina told him grimly.

  'Made a pass at you, too, has he?' Greg sounded oddly fierce. 'First off we all reckoned you were the next in succession.'

  Gina didn't want the conversation to take this personal turn. She directed her companion's thoughts back to her cousin.

  'So you don't think his relationship with Marcha will last?'

  'Not only that, we hope it won't. She's bad news. In fact, we all thought she'd walked out for good, but, like the bad penny she is, she's back.'

  'Did they have a row?'

  'Not exactly. Marcha's a dab hand at emotional blackmail. She can usually get her own way straight off. But Tod got pretty narked, when she refused to do her own stunting. He told her straight, more famous stars than she'll ever be managed without doubles. It was a near thing, I reckon, but she's got one advantage that she uses to good effect.'

  'Oh?'

  'Yeah! Her body. However mad Tod gets with her, one wiggle of that sexy little bottom and he's promising milady the earth; and this time it was her own stuntwoman.'

  'I see.' Gina was silent, until the braking of the sports car disturbed the gravel frontage of a small, picturesque pub. So Marcha's hold on Tod was more precarious than her cousin had boasted. Not that it improved Gina's chances. She had no wish, anyway, to be one in a succession of short-lived affairs. She didn't like the picture Greg had painted for her of a man refusing ever again to be swayed by emotion, seeking only physical gratification, which swiftly palled.

  'Hope you like pub food?' Greg asked, as he steered Gina into the bar.

  The interior was in keeping with the exterior, white-walled and beamed. Twinkling brasses reflected subdued lamplight, pewter mugs hung above the bar and colourful Toby jugs were displayed at strategic points. They sat in a secluded corner on a padded bench semicircling an oak table.

  The food was as good as a first-class restaurant. They chose succulent steaks with a side salad and Gina could not resist a generous slice of Black Forest gateau. As she deprecated her weakness, Greg smiled a disclaimer.

  'You've no need to worry about your figure, Gina.' His gaze was openly admiring and his hand patted her thigh in a proprietary gesture, which she found she disliked. 'Not like Marcha. That one'll run to seed well before she's forty.' He broke off. 'Talk of the devil! Look who's here.'

  Gina turned in her seat, dismayed to see Tod and Marcha entering the room, Tod helping Marcha to remove her coat. The bar room was too small for Greg and Gina to escape notice and in any case Greg was already lifting his hand in a lazy gesture of welcome. It was inevitable that the other couple should join them, though Marcha didn't look any more pleased than Gina felt.

  'So you're back!' Greg observed to Marcha, as Tod went to the bar to order drinks. 'How was Italy?'

  'Italy?' Marcha stared haughtily at him. 'What are you talking about? I was in France.'

  'Funny.' Greg drawled. 'Steph and Debbie were in Italy a couple of weeks ago. They said they saw you.'

  'Then they were mistaken,' Marcha said shortly.

  Gina wondered if Marcha was lying. Had her extended holiday been connected with another man, another film director perhaps? Was Marcha two-timing Tod? Gina found herself hoping so, hoping Tod would find out. And what good would that do you, she asked herself cynically. You know you're not prepared to join the long line of 'has beens' in Tod's life.

  Tod returned with their drinks and conversation became general, mostly about the film they would shortly be shooting.

  'How's Gina shaping up?' Marcha asked Tod, as if Gina wasn't present. 'Is she fully trained?' Now she darted a sweet smile at Gina, a smile which Gina knew to be utterly false.

  'No,' Tod was saying, 'but we can start work on the early stages of the film. Her tuition can go on concurrently. Making a horse fall won't present too much of a problem. Gina is an excellent horsewoman and Theresa already has a trained animal. It's just a matter of horse and rider practising together.'

  Marcha's eyes had narrowed slightly at the mention of Theresa.

  'You've been over to the stables while I've been away?'

  Gina sensed her cousin's jealousy and suspicion. Had Theresa been one of Marcha's predecessors, or was the other girl afraid the stable owner might succeed her?

  'Naturally we've been to Theresa's. You know she possesses the only suitable facilities.'

  'Oh, Gina went with you?' The obvious relief in Marcha's tone wasn't very flattering. As if Marcha felt that Gina presented no competition.

  'That was the purpose of the exercise.' Tod's manner was abrupt, almost absent. He didn't look at Marcha as he spoke. Instead, his eyes seemed to be fixed somewhere between Greg and Gina, or rather where the space between them should have been; for, their meal finished, Greg had moved closer on the leather bench-seat and now his arm was draped about her shoulders, his thigh pressed to hers; and Gina, though his proximity left her unmoved, permitted his touch, deliberatel
y armouring herself against her vulnerability to Tod.

  'Well, I guess we'll leave you folks to eat in peace,' Greg said, as a waitress brought the other couple's meal.

  'Going straight back to Mallions?' Tod enquired casually.

  'No. Thought we might take a drive around first,' Greg said. 'Gina hasn't had much chance to view the scenery. You've kept her nose pretty close to the grindstone since she's been here.'

  'Actually I have been in Buckinghamshire before,' Gina said, 'but further south. I'd love a guided tour of this area.'

  The countryside was quietly undulating, soft slopes of grass, woodland flung here and there in masses. Villages dotting the landscape added to the general peaceful aspect of the wide sweeps of green hills and valleys. They drove around for about an hour. Then, as it began to get too dark to appreciate the scenery, Greg turned the car for home.

  'It's still early,' he said. 'Care for a nightcap?'

  'A strictly non-alcoholic one then,' Gina said. 'I'm not a great drinker, except for the occasional glass of wine with a meal.'

  'Whatever you like. You won't mind if I have a beer? I'm no toper. I wouldn't hold on to this job for long if I were. We have to be on the qui vive the whole time, but I do like the odd half pint.'

  'Do you think Mantalini will try again?' Gina asked, as they sipped their drinks in Greg's comfortable sitting-room.

  'Who knows? He's an old man now. Maria died three years ago. How long can you go on feeling anger, wanting revenge? It seems a pity for the kid to be deprived of her only grandparent and vice versa.' He put his beer mug down. 'But we didn't come here to talk about Tod's problems.'

  'I didn't know the subject was taboo,' she said lightly, her intuition ahead of him in his next move.

  'What I meant, as you very well know, is that we should be talking about us.' He came to sit on the side of her chair.

  'Greg!' Gina thrust his arm away, speaking pleasantly but firmly. 'Don't get any ideas, please. Don't ruin a nice evening. There is no "us". We had a date, a friendly one, nothing more.'

  'Aw, come on. You weren't so discouraging back there at the pub.'

  'That was different. We were in public. I didn't want a scene. We're alone now and I can tell you, I don't play about, Greg.'

  'Depends on what you call playing about.' Greg sounded annoyed now. 'I call it playing about to give a guy the "come on" in public and the cold shoulder in private.'

  'I'm sorry if you've misunderstood me,' Gina said quietly. 'I never intended ...'

  'No?' Greg said, then, slowly, bitingly, 'no, you didn't intend to give me the wrong idea. It was Tod, wasn't it? I noticed the way he was watching us. Maybe you two have got a thing going, in spite of Marcha. Maybe you were trying to make him jealous.'

  'Don't be ridiculous!' It was too near to the truth for comfort.

  'No, Gina! I don't like to appear ridiculous, or to be made to look ridiculous.' There was a menacing undercurrent in Greg's voice now. The big amiable man had disappeared and in his place was one slighted ego. 'Which is why I intend to get out of the evening at least what I put into it.'

  Threats of that kind left Gina unperturbed.

  'I think you're confusing me with some other type of girl,' she told him. 'I don't "pay" for my entertainment "in kind".'

  'Maybe you haven't in the past. But if you get involved with Fallon, you'll have to change your principles. And right now you're going to get some practice. And it's no use struggling,' as he grabbed her in a clumsy bear hug. 'You're no match for me.'

  'Greg!' Desperately Gina twisted her face from side to side. 'Please don't do this. You'll be sorry when you're sober. I don't want to fall out with you. I'd much rather we stayed friends.'

  'If you want to stay friends, then co-operate,' he growled. 'Don't forget, you angled for this date ...'

  'I didn't, I...'

  But his mouth was grinding hers into silence and during that silence, Gina made up her mind. As he stopped to draw a shuddering breath, she warned him.

  'Greg, if you don't like to appear ridiculous, let me go this instant, or that's just what's going to happen.'

  'What could you possibly do? Come on now,' placatingly, 'we'll take it more slowly if you like ...'

  One minute he was standing straight, an arm holding her firmly, his free hand attempting to cup her breast, the next moment his head was, lower than his heels on his way to lying flat on the floor. He shook his head, blinked, then made to get up.

  'Stay there!' she told him.

  Neither of them heard the door open just as Greg, ignoring her warning, rose and made a dive at her. One leg and one hand arrested his progress in such a way that he tripped and fell heavily once more. This time the breath was knocked from his body and he lay prone, gasping.

  'Judo, by God! You play rough with your boyfriends!'

  Gina whipped round to see Tod leaning in the doorway, his expression unfathomable.

  'Fallon!' Greg had recovered himself somewhat. 'What the hell? This is a private room,' he growled as he crawled painfully to his feet.

  'A private room for your own use, yes. But it is under my roof, I would remind you, and not a place to entertain your floosies!'

  'How dare you call me a ...' Gina began, but Tod cut in as if she hadn't spoken.

  'You're fired, Gibson.'

  'But...'

  'You heard me. You're fired.' He turned on Gina. 'And you ... get the hell out of here.'

  'Are you firing me, too?' She held herself proudly erect.

  'Don't tempt me! Is that what you want? To leave with Gibson?'

  'N-no, of course not,' she faltered, 'I...'

  'Then get out of here. Get to your own quarters.'

  But in all fairness she couldn't leave without attempting to put things right. However annoyed she was with Greg, she'd had no reason to fear for her safety and she hadn't meant to lose him his job.

  'Greg, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have had this happen ...' Her words faltered away as the big man turned his back on her. Tod continued to stare at her implacably, threateningly. There was nothing she could do right now but obey him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  'Tod?' Gina studied his unapproachable profile as they drove out towards the riding stables next morning. She still felt guilty about Greg's dismissal, because she had been using the other man for her own ends.

  He hadn't answered her and she tried again.

  'Tod ... about Greg…'

  'What about him?' he snapped, with more ferocity than she had expected.

  'Did you really have to fire him? I feel...'

  'Yes?' His profile was still granite-like. 'Just what do you feel for Greg, Gina? I'd be interested to know.'

  She ignored his ill-humour and persevered.

  'I feel you were too hard on him. He wasn't behaving any worse than ... than ...' She stopped abruptly, aware of treading on dangerous ground.

  'Yes?' he enquired ominously. 'Go on!'

  'All right! I will.' She reacted defiantly to his tone. 'His behaviour wasn't any worse than yours! At least he was only trying to kiss me. Whereas you ... you . ..' Again she could not go on and swiftly she changed tack. 'When I first arrived, you said if my presence interfered with anyone else's work, it would be me that got fired. Why didn't you ...'

  'Why didn't I fire you? Use your head! Do you think I want all your training to be wasted?'

  'But surely that's less important than Melanie's safety?'

  'Why should you worry about her? I didn't think you "career" women were overfond of children.'

  Gina winced. His words had struck her a body blow. But then Tod couldn't know how she longed to have children, couldn't know that happiness was forever denied her.

  'I'm very fond of children,' she told him now, 'and Melanie is a darling. That's why I believe you should think again about firing Greg.'

  'Don't worry.' He sounded almost weary. 'You're not losing your boyfriend. I've told him he can stay.'

  Gina's face broke into a smile
of relief, but to the man, glancing sideways at her, its apparent radiance held other connotations.

  'Perhaps now,' he said brusquely, 'we could concentrate on business?' And Gina realised that, for the last five minutes, they had been parked in Theresa's stableyard and she hadn't even noticed, so intent had she been upon the subject of their discussion.

  'Today you're going to meet The Clown. He's a horse.' A wry smile answered her look of surprised enquiry. 'Theresa christened him that when she found he was a "natural" at playing the fool, ideal material for a "falling" horse. Certain horses are kept for certain stunts, simply because they have an aptitude for them. The Clown is a "faller"!'

  'The Clown has been taught to fall when required,' Tod explained, 'but even so, his rider has to learn to control him.'

  'It seems rather cruel,' Gina said doubtfully, as they watched Theresa saddling up, preparatory to giving a demonstration.'

  'Not at all. Such horses are valuable and treated with great care. Everything is taught by kindness. All you need is time, patience and plenty of sugar!'

  Though he had proved an apt pupil from the first, Tod told Gina, the gelding's training had been very gradual. At first his foreleg had been bent and tied with a rope or bandage around the knee. The extra large saddle he wore was capable of taking a considerable weight of equipment and had a hole just below the pommel. During early training, a lunge rope passing through the hole had been attached to the right side of the bit, used in conjunction with a curb chain under the jaw.

  'When the trainer pulls on the rope,' Tod told her, 'if the horse allows himself to fall easily to the left, then he's likely to make a good faller. First falls are made indoors, with the horse standing still and the floor covered in deep sawdust, so that there's no danger of injury.'

  'Suppose a horse does hurt itself?'

  'It would hold up his training for a considerable period of time because, for quite a while, he'd refuse to fall again. When the horse has taken to falling readily on the lunge rope, the rope is replaced by a rein, as now. Watch Theresa.'

  The slight girl had mounted. She demonstrated The Clown's accomplishments, bringing her mount down from a walk, then a trot and finally at the canter.