'Gina?' His voice was questioning as he lifted her chin, endeavouring, in the gloom, to see her expression.
'No, Tod. Please. I ... I'd rather you didn't.'
'Not tonight?' There was infinite tenderness in his voice, patience. 'Then some other night, darling, please?'
'Not tonight, not ever.' She tried to make her voice strong. 'I've told you before, I don't ... don't. . .'
'This wouldn't be a casual affair, Gina.' His tone was sincere and she trembled anew. What was he trying to say? 'No one night stand. I swear to you, there'd be no other woman in my life but you.' It sounded like the prelude to a proposal of marriage and yet ... Had he said those same words once to Marcha? 'Let me love you, Gina.'
'In what capacity?' she whispered.
He caught her to him anew. 'As my love, of course, my dearest love.'
'What the French call a chere amie, I suppose,' she said bitterly. 'No, Tod!' Sure now of her ground, she withdrew herself from his arms. 'I'm sorry, but no. Good night.' With an effort that cost all her will-power, she made herself turn and walk away from him towards her own room, head and shoulders erect. But she could not prevent herself turning briefly, her hand on the latch, to see him still standing there, watching her.
She saw him start eagerly towards her, as though he believed her to have relented, and with a swift movement she was inside her room, the door locked behind her. For a moment she stood listening, trembling, as his footsteps advanced, paused, were motionless for a long, long time. Then she heard a sigh, a deep-hearted one, as if it came from the very depths of his being, before he moved on.
Only then could she relax, sagging, almost tottering to her bed where she threw herself face down, muffling the crying that felt as if her heart must break.
For Gina, her work began in earnest next day and she was glad of the tiring, sometimes actually painful activity that would render her body immune to all other sensations.
A grim-faced Tod greeted her, spoke to her as he did to any other member of his crew and, though she knew she ought to be relieved not to have any reminders of his softer moods, her heart was sore.
They were to begin making the linking shots, from where Marcha was seen mounting a horse, her expression of fear and distaste masked from the camera, until she was discovered, face down, supposedly having fallen with her horse. The ground over which Gina must gallop had been broken up and covered with shredded peat and other shock-absorbent materials on which the horse and rider would fall.
At first she had merely to take The Clown over the course he was to run, not only for the benefit of the director, Tod, and his cameramen, but also to rehearse the run for herself. The actual fall itself would not be practised, though Gina had been warned that she might have to do it several times with the cameras turning before Tod and his crew were satisfied with the result.
To Gina's surprise, Tod came over before the actual 'take' and uncertainly she wondered if the expression in his dark eyes was what it seemed to be, anxiety.
'All right?' he asked curtly. 'Not afraid?'
She shook her head, tightening her lips to quell their trembling. Not of fear; it was the light pressure of his hand on her back as she mounted which had been enough to disturb her hard-won equilibrium. For a moment her green eyes tried desperately to fathom the meaning of his.
It had taken Gina a while during training sessions to get used to all the special equipment, the personal padding, the falling stirrups. These latter consisted of leather pouches, made so the rider's feet could be removed from them instantly without any risk of being dragged along the ground. Her elbows and knees were well protected. Her collarbones she must shield as she fell by folding her arms across them. Some riders wore close fitting jockey helmets, but in this case it was essential that her long, flowing red hair be visible.
'This time then?' he said, still looking up at her, and now there was no mistaking the agony in his eyes. He was afraid, for her, as she had been afraid in the past for so many others. Intuitively, from her own experience, she knew he would rather be up here, taking the risks himself, instead of watching her take them.
'I'll be all right,' she said quietly.
'OK, then. But for God's sake, watch your head when you fall. Cameras? Ready to follow? Take him away then.'
Gina urged The Clown forward. Faster and faster the gelding galloped as he approached the prepared stretch and Gina drew a deep breath, concentrating her mind totally on everything she had learned. One mistake now could spell disaster. As she reached the point of fall, she removed her left foot from the stirrup, at the same time thrusting her right leg out straight, and pulled hard on the right rein. As she felt The Clown beginning to fall to the left, she made sure her left leg was well clear of the horse's body and began her own fall towards the prepared ground.
As she lay there, slightly winded in spite of all her precautions, she heard pounding footsteps, then Tod was prone beside her on the ground, turning her over, his face inches from hers, his eyes anxiously scanning her face.
'Gina?' he asked urgently. 'Are you all right? When you didn't move, I thought...'
Bewildered, shaken by his proximity, his urgency, she stared into the bronzed features that meant so much to her.
'I thought I wasn't supposed to move,' she said, .'until.. .'
He swore then and a look of fury crossed his face.
'Did no one tell you we'd filmed the rest of that damned sequence, days ago? The cameras cut just now, as soon as you hit the ground. I thought . .. My God, I thought…'
For a moment she thought he would actually haul her into his arms, as he had done on the last occasion when he thought she'd been in danger, but then he seemed to recollect their surroundings, their audience. Instead, he hauled her to her feet and began walking her back.
'OK. Break for lunch,' Tod called, as they approached the little group of technicians and actors. From the evidence of her pursed lips and flaring nostrils, Gina deduced that Marcha had not liked Tod's all too obvious concern for her stand-in. She heard her cousin's fluting voice deprecating people who couldn't remember the easiest instructions.
For the next two or three days, Gina was in constant demand. There were more riding scenes; swimming. Gina had to fly the little Cessna and this time she was aware of Tod's tension before she even took off. Something prompted her, an instinct which she swiftly regretted, to pass close to him en route to the aircraft and murmur,
'Don't worry, Tod. I'll be OK.'
He met her green compassionate gaze with an icy stare.
'No reason why you shouldn't be!' She felt chilled by his rebuff. Yet why shouldn't he rebuff her presumption? After all, if she did crash and kill herself, it would mean nothing to him except a temporary inconvenience, a delay in filming.
After five days of continuous stunting, Gina rebelled, demanding her day off, pointing out that she hadn't had one since she'd been at Mallions. At first she thought Tod was going to refuse.
'I suppose you want to visit this other, mysterious boyfriend of yours?' And, as she didn't answer, merely waited silently, 'Oh, do what you like! Take the Mini. I can't spare the Rolls today.'
As the vast gates of the estate opened and closed behind her, Gina had the sensation of one escaping from prison. It was as if a weight lifted from her; and yet she knew it was only a temporary reprieve from a life sentence. Under different circumstances she would be a voluntary inmate, if only Tod returned her love. She wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life behind iron gates and electrified fences with him and Melanie. But the invitation to do so would never be issued.
To banish these fruitless thoughts, she gave all her concentration to her driving and pressed on, her foot hard down, towards Aylesbury and beyond ... to Stoke Mandeville.
'Hallo, Rusty!'
There was an instant's silence before the wheelchair turned on its axis, its occupant staring up at her with disbelieving eyes.
'Gina! It's really you! I thought you'd got fed up with visi
ting me. It's been simply ages.' The chair was propelled towards her and she bent to embrace and kiss its occupant.
'I'm sorry, Rusty darling. I should have written but, honestly, I thought I would have made it before this, especially as I'm living quite near here.'
'Living near here? Have you given up the flat? But that's marvellous!' the boy's freckled face lit up. 'Does that mean . . .'
'Perhaps living is a bit misleading. I should have said working. But my job means living in, temporarily.' She pulled up a chair and sat close beside him, her arm about his shoulders.
'Aren't you running your agency any more?' Not even Rusty knew that Gina had taken over the role of Fantasy Woman and she doubted if he ever watched it any more. He would scarcely want to be reminded of the incident which had placed him in a hospital for spinal injuries.
'I still own the agency. But I'm working with a film company at the moment.' She hesitated, wondering whether she should tell him or not. But he would be bound to find out some time. 'Doing stunt work.'
As she had feared, his brown eyes clouded over and he ran his one good hand through the ginger hair that had given him his nickname.
'Oh no, Gina! I wish you wouldn't. Suppose something were to happen to you!'
'I'm very careful,' she promised him. 'We take every possible precaution.'
He grimaced. 'That's what they said about my ride with Mick and look what happened to us!'
'Miss Darcy?' A nurse was approaching down the ward. 'There's a gentleman asking for you. Is it all right if he comes in?'
'A gentle ...?' Gina broke off as she recognised the tall, broad figure already striding purposefully in the nurse's wake. Tod Fallon! What was he doing here, she wondered resentfully? He must have followed her . .. again. Her cheeks began to burn angrily. Didn't he trust her out. on her own? Her eyes narrowed. Or was it that he'd wanted to find out whom she was visiting? It was an unwarranted impertinence. It was no concern of his what she did with her free time.
'Do you intend to make a habit of following me?' she demanded irately, as soon as he was within earshot, but to her annoyance he totally ignored her remark, grinning in a friendly fashion at Rusty.
'Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend/' There was a gleam of humour in Tod's dark eyes. Oh, he could afford to look amused, now he knew her 'boyfriend' was a mere teenager. 'Or is he your brother?' He looked from Gina's auburn head to Rusty's ginger curls.
'Gosh!' Rusty exclaimed, 'I wish Gina were my sister. Then I could live with her. She'd have me like a shot if she could, but my sister can't be bothered. That's why I have to stay here.'
'But you know you like it here, Rusty,' Gina reminded him gently. 'They're very good to you and you're improving a lot under their care. You'd be awfully lonely in my flat all day, alone.' She turned to Tod, grudgingly making the introduction he'd requested. 'This is Peter, known to his friends as Rusty, for obvious reasons. Rusty, this is Mr Fallon, my employer. He's a film director.'
'Gosh!' Peter was obviously impressed. 'I've heard of you! You make super, exciting films. And Gina's actually starring in one of your films?'
'Hold on!' Gina darted Tod a sour look as she interrupted the enthusiastic boy. 'My face will never be seen. I'm just a stand-in for the real star.'
'Oh?' Rusty asked interestedly. 'Someone famous? Anyone I know?'
'No!' she said hastily.
'Mr Fallon?' Rusty looked up at Tod, his freckled face drawn into lines of worry. 'Stunting is awfully dangerous. You won't let anything happen to Gina, will you?' Despite a manful effort, his lip quivered. 'She's all the family I have now.'
'I thought you mentioned a sister?' Tod said gently.
The boy's face contorted with scorn.
'I don't count her. I don't care if I never see her again. But Mr Fallon,' doggedly he repeated his question, 'you won't let Gina get hurt?'
'I promise you, Rusty.' Tod squatted on his haunches, his right hand outstretched. 'As one man to another . .. we'll take the greatest care of her. She's worth her weight in gold.'
Yes, Gina thought bitterly, as a fully trained stunter; not as a woman, not so far as Tod was concerned.
Rusty's face relaxed.
'Oh good! I'd hate to have this happen to her.' He indicated his wheelchair.
'What happened to you, old chap?'
'Can't we talk about something more cheerful?' Gina intervened hastily.
'I don't mind telling people about it,' Rusty assured her.
Rusty, as he preferred to be known, had in the early days of Fantasy Woman written in with a request and, since Fantasy Woman herself was an anonymous figure, the sponsors saw no reason not to humour her young relation's whim. For what Gina hoped the story now being told would not reveal was that Rusty's full name was Peter Durrant, that he was her cousin and Marcha's stepbrother.
Too young to drive, Peter had an urge to be a passenger in a fast car. It had been arranged for him to ride with a stuntman in a hair-raising chase scene. At the time, Gina, then only in an advisory capacity, had protested that it was far too dangerous, influenced also perhaps by the fact that her young step-cousin, unlike his sister, was a firm favourite of hers. But Rusty had been enthusiastically determined and Marcha had pooh-poohed her fears, all in favour of any scheme that would add panache to her programme. It didn't seem to matter to her that the life at risk was that of her young stepbrother.
It should have been a simple stunt, calling for the car to be driven towards five other oncoming vehicles and weave between them. Originally the plan had been that the car should travel at only thirty miles per hour and the resulting film speeded up. But for some reason, the film's director had decided that he wanted genuine faster action.
When things had started to go wrong the television camera crew had automatically gone on filming, but Gina knew that they had been as horrified and shaken as she by the subsequent tragedy. The speeding car, narrowly missing the first approaching vehicle, hit the next in an appalling smash-up. No one had ever found out exactly what caused the accident, though examination of the wreck had suggested possible failure of the steering system.
Rusty's retelling of the story resurrected the whole picture: the fear; the stench of spilled petrol, of burning rubber, of scorched and tortured metal; the chaos of revolving lights as police cars, fire engines and ambulances raced to the scene. Gina could hear quite plainly the sound of grinding metal as the firemen had cut away the buckled wreck, scarcely able to reach the man and the boy inside.
Then there were doctors swarming over the vehicle, giving painkillers, intravenous fluids; a pneumatic jack had been shoved between doorpost and dashboard of the wreck to wrench it apart. The mangled steering wheel had been a horrible sight. The impact with it had burst both of Mick's lungs; no wonder he hadn't survived. Rusty, thank God, had, but he had been badly injured, looked so vulnerable that Gina had scarcely known how to restrain her tears. For Rusty's sake she had controlled herself and, with her nursing training, she had been able to give the medical team valuable assistance. She had begged Marcha to stay and hold Rusty's hand while the men worked, and later to go with him in the ambulance, but Marcha had refused, running in a blind panic from the scene of blood and carnage.
'Mick, the driver,' Rusty was telling Tod, 'was killed, and I ended up like this. Paraplegic they call it.'
'I know, son,' Tod said and Gina could see that he was genuinely moved by the story. He turned to Gina. 'And this happened on your programme? How could you permit such a ...'
'It wasn't Gina's fault!' Rusty interrupted indignantly. 'She was the programme adviser and she didn't want me to do it. I can tell you, I wish I'd taken her advice. No, it was ...'
'Rusty,' Gina interrupted, 'we must try not to blame anyone. It was an accident.'
The boy gave her a rueful grin.
'You're too charitable, Gina. I believe you'd defend the devil himself.' He went on with his story. 'The pain was awful. I thought I was dying. I wanted to die. But Gina was marve
llous. She stayed with me the whole time, holding my hand. And she's been marvellous ever since. She's visited me whenever she can, once a fortnight usually. But it's been simply ages this time,' he concluded reproachfully, 'because of you.''
'I admit it, old man, it is my fault,' Tod apologised. 'I've kept Gina pretty busy these past weeks. But then I didn't know about you, you see. If I'd known she had a young friend in hospital, so near to my home, I'd have seen to it that she visited once a week at least, and from now on, I promise you, she will.'
Gina could see that Tod was now totally involved with Rusty's tragedy and she rather wished he wasn't, since further revelations could well prove awkward.
'Rusty,' she said gently, 'perhaps Mr Fallon and I ought to be going. We mustn't tire you.'
But the boy complained vigorously. 'When do I ever get tired?' he scoffed. 'You know you always stay for lunch and tea and take me out.'
'Tell you what,' Tod suggested before Gina could think of anything to say, 'if you and Gina don't mind me butting in, why don't we all go out somewhere together? My car is a big comfortable one. We could even drive out to my home, show you how a film is made.'
And Marcha would be there!
'No!' Gina said hastily, 'I don't think that would be a good idea. Too tiring for one day.'
'OK,' Tod said good-naturedly. 'Perhaps just a short spin then ... and a pub lunch? Ever had a pub lunch, young man?'
Rusty was charmed and the outing was speedily arranged. But Gina was still on tenterhooks in case her young cousin should mention his relationship to Marcha. It was fortunate he didn't know his stepsister was involved in Tod's film. Though why Gina should feel any loyalty to Marcha ... It just wasn't in her nature, she decided with a sigh, to be bitchy, to use her knowledge to discredit Marcha in Tod's eyes. After all, even if it did shock him enough to cause a breakdown in his relationship with Marcha, what did she, Gina, stand to gain? Precisely nothing.
Over lunch, Rusty was only too willing to give further details of his stay in hospital, of the months of agonising physical therapy.
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