Sweet Pretence

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  David was in fine form, making her laugh, showing an interest in the Wuthering Heights programme. They went for a meal and she almost forgot Joe. She cried off from prolonging the evening, giving the early start of the journey the following day as the excuse, and closing the door on David with relief. As she lay, unable to sleep, she knew her life was changed. Joe Corey had laid his hands on her and made her body come alive and sing to his special tune. Of course, in time she would forget, but seeing him tonight had awakened a welter of feelings that could not be ignored.

  With family presents secure in the boot, Freddy pointed the Renault northwards to the M1. It was sunny, but cold. She took her time, taking stops for exercise and refreshment, bypassed Bradford and headed for Skipton. On the other side of Kettlewell she pulled into the car park of the King's Head hotel. She could see no signs of the Atticus vans, or any other vehicle that she could recognise as being part of the team, and guessed she was the first to arrive.

  The hotel had breathtaking views of Great Whernside to the east and Langstrothdale to the west, and was warm and friendly. She unpacked the few items of clothing she would be needing—thick cords, warm underwear, sweaters, woollen socks— finally hanging a fur-lined parka into the wardrobe, and placing sheepskin boots underneath. The sound of vehicles outside made her look through the window to see the caravans being pulled by Land Rovers trailing their way into the car park, followed by a number of cars and Transits. 'It seems I have a crew,' she murmured, and wondered if her producer, Tiny Dakin, had arrived yet. She was a little surprised not to have been met by him, as she thought he had been planning to arrive the day before so that he could check everything would go smoothly the following day.

  She washed and changed, and went in search of the dining-room. The first person she saw on entering was Joe.

  He was sitting at a table for two, a half-filled wine-glass and an opened bottle set before him. When he saw Freddy appear in the doorway, he rose to his feet and watched her walk towards him. His face was carefully enigmatic. Apart from the slight heightening of colour, Freddy could easily have been keeping a longstanding engagement. Her cool gaze flickered round the room, acknowledging some of the crew already seated with a quick smile. She was wearing a knitted jacket the colour of crushed raspberries over a long-sleeved shirt checked in the same two-toned colour. A grey wool skirt, smooth over the hips, flaring generously to the hem, allowed her stride to be uninhibited, meeting mid-calf, dark grey suede boots. She was a good mover, with an unconscious fluidity that attracted the eye. There was a friendly smile on her lips for the benefit of onlookers, but her eyes showed plainly what her feelings were.

  Joe moved leisurely round the table, pulling out the other chair for her to be seated. Freddy did so, waiting until he regained his place before demanding,

  'And to what do I owe this unexpected honour, Joseph?'

  He reached for the bottle of wine and filled her glass. 'To a cockerel,' he offered.

  Freddy took a sip of wine. It was a Hock, cool and delicious. Her heartbeat had settled down to its usual rhythm and she was in control again. Why ever had she supposed, she wondered resignedly, that it would be easy to keep out of his way?

  'A cockerel?' She considered his grave nod of assent, not hurrying into speech. She studied the wine in her glass, aware of him sitting opposite, the epitome of unconcerned ease, wearing a jacket in subtle shades of browns, a nice tweedy tie, light tan shoes with dashing pale lemon socks. His expression was similar to the one of the previous evening, when their glances had met across the stairway of the concert hall—the same secret smile curving his lips. She marvelled at how steady her hand was as it held the wine glass, knowing her body had shifted into a higher gear because of him.

  Freddy lifted her eyes and, taking a careful breath, set the glass down before saying, 'My producer, Tiny Dakin, is plucking, training, chasing, or eating—a cockerel?' She tossed off these offerings with due seriousness, adding curiously, 'What colour was it?' even while she was thinking, Tiny Dakin isn't here and Joe Corey is. Three or four days of Joe... Joe's mouth tugged at the corners, but he controlled the smile from breaking out. 'I doubt Tiny cares a damn what colour it was. Rumour has it that he's been plagued by a rogue cockerel for the past week, and driven to desperation—it was waking him from a perch in his pear tree at some ungodly hour in the morning—he decided to bag it unawares as dusk fell. Unfortunately for Tiny, as dusk fell so did he! The ground broke his fall and his leg.' He watched with approval as Freddy burst out laughing.

  'Oh, dear! Poor Tiny—we shouldn't laugh.' She sobered and came down to hard facts. 'So Patrick has sent you in his place?'

  Joe smirked with due humility. 'I seemed to be the only person available at such short notice.'

  'I expect,' Freddy announced with kindly patronage, 'you'll manage.' She picked up the menu, enjoying his bark of laughter.

  Half-way through the meal, which could hardly have been described as intimate, surrounded as they eventually were by crew members and actors, conversation going from table to table, Joe asked, 'Did you enjoy the concert last night?'

  'Yes, thank you,' Freddy replied. 'Did you?'

  'It was my sister's choice, but yes, I enjoyed it.'

  'Your sister?'

  'She was staying with me for a few days.' One brow rose quizzically as Joe went on, 'I would have introduced you to her, but you disappeared rather too quickly.'

  Coffee was served in the lounge, where a large open fire was burning, and everyone gathered to note details for the next day. Freddy said goodnight early and stood for a while looking out of her bedroom window. The fells were covered in snow and looked eerie and remote, just right for Heath-cliff and Cathy and Wuthering Heights. Her thoughts turned to Joe. So he had taken his sister to the concert! But that didn't change anything really. During the next few days temperatures remained below freezing and made shooting hazardous and uncomfortable. It was easy to get lost on the moors, so the team proceeded in convoy to avoid missing the locations and each other. They would be returning in the spring to take more shots, but spring seemed a long way away as they tramped through snow drifts and drank endless cups of coffee and soup to keep warm.

  Joe was a director's dream. He was there when Freddy wanted him, sorting out problems quickly and calmly as they arose, yet not breathing down her neck, and he was ready to chew over a shot and give advice if asked. The filming was absorbing and hard, and when failing light cut down the working day they would all go back to the King's Head, check through the next day's schedule, eat dinner and gather together afterwards in the lounge. These evenings were rich in conversation and full of stories and philosophising, Freddy adding her penn'orth and joining in the arguments with gusto. There were the usual flirtations going on. Most would fizzle out, some might not. The actress playing the role of Cathy was greatly enamoured of Joe, although to give him his due he gave her no encouragement.

  On the third evening, someone banged on Freddy's door and shouted that she was wanted in Joe's room. When she tapped on the door and he called to come in she found he was on the telephone. He put a hand over the mouthpiece and said, 'Tyson. He wants a word with you,' and then went on with his conversation. Soon after, he passed the phone to Freddy, who spoke to Patrick, bringing him up to date.

  While she was talking, Joe sat reading an evening paper. Patrick made some amusing comment regarding Tiny Dakin, making her laugh, and shesaid,

  'I'm sorry about Tiny, of course. Give him my love, but his substitute is more than competent and makes up for Tiny's absence.' She listened a moment, nodded, gave a soft laugh, and said goodbye. She put the phone down and looked across the room to Joe, who was deeply engrossed in the newsprint.

  'In case you weren't listening,' Freddy said, 'I want to repeat my thanks for your help, Joe. You've been invaluable. I've always wanted to do Wuthering Heights, and naturally I want it to be good. This part of it will be, thanks to you.'

  Joe lifted his eyes above the paper, repli
ed a laconic, 'Thanks,' and then added bluntly, 'I don't think you should be too enthusiastic in singing my praises to Patrick Tyson.'

  Freddy stared. What the hell was the matter with the man now?

  'Just what is that supposed to mean?' she demanded, and Joe shrugged, tossing down the paper—it was a good thing he did or else Freddy might have snatched it from him—and linked his hands behind his head.

  'He might become jealous,' he said, looking for all the world as though he had made some comment as trivial as the weather.

  'Why jealous?' Tight-lipped, the words came out with clipped enunciation.

  'I know you tend to go around in blinkers, but you must know that he, for want of a more graphic term, fancies you? Women usually do know, and although you can be naive, I've never thought you unintelligent.'

  'How wonderful for me!' Fury made her nearly speechless. 'And I suppose I've been kept on at Atticus because I've got the boss hooked, is that it? The one thing I could cling on to with any kind of dignity was my work and you have just smashed that to smithereens, damn you! All I've achieved in the past three years you've just reduced to a nasty taste in the mouth!'

  'You're over-reacting,' Joe told her in a bored voice. 'And that's ridiculous and you know it. Tyson's too good a businessman to allow his feelings to over-ride his professional judgement.'

  The calmness of his voice incensed her. 'Perhaps you think I'm his mistress already?'

  'I don't think you are, yet.'

  'I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies.'

  'He's an attractive man, with power. A heady combination, and his marriage isn't everything it should be. You wouldn't be the first, of course, but I understand Dinah usually turns a blind eye. I doubt she would if you became Tyson's latest. It would be too close for comfort. Beware of Dinah, Frederica, she's a lethal lady.' He picked up the paper and began to read, adding with silky softness, 'I notice you haven't denied my remarks about Tyson and you.'

  Freddy struggled with the idea of doing him physical violence. How could she be thanking him for his help one minute and then wanting to murder him the next? Impossible man! She unclenched her fists and made a great effort, but her voice showed her feelings plainly. 'I suppose you have good intentions,' she said, 'but they are misplaced. I can take care of myself, thank you very much!' and she took great pleasure in slamming the door. When she gained her room she threw herself on the bed and stared darkly up at the ceiling. Part of the trouble was that he was right, damn him! She had known for some time that Patrick, given the least bit of encouragement, would enjoy more than a boss-employee relationship, but she had never given him any encouragement, and thought Joe infuriatingly perceptive for noticing.

  She brought a cool, professional manner down to breakfast, and only spoke when spoken to where Joe was concerned. It didn't seem to bother him. There was an air of controlled haste as they set off for the final day's shoot. More snow had been forecast and it was a race against time. Freddy stamped her feet and held her hands under her armpits for warmth. The caravans, two used as changing-rooms, the third as canteen, afforded some degree of shelter, but the sky was getting greyer and lower all the time and they had to finish that day, come what may.

  When the last scene was taken everyone sent up a cheer and packing away began. When everything was loaded engines started and were warmed up, ready to drive back to the hotel from where the production team and the actors would go their separate ways. Freddy was staying on a further night as she had no wish to tackle the journey to Boston so late in the day. She now stood by the side of the Renault, waiting to see that everyone had transport back to the King's Head. She was tired, but had a positive feeling in her bones that they had some excellent film in the can. She watched Joe walk across to one of the Transits and thought about his comments on Patrick Tyson the night before. Really, the man was too dictatorial for words! Didn't he credit her with any sense?

  Whatever the hiccup was over by the Transit it seemed to be resolved, for the van drove off slowly. Joe walked towards her on snow that had been packed down by feet and wheels, the collar of his sheepskin upturned.

  'I'm told you're not returning with the mob,' he began abruptly, 'that you're going into Skipton on your own, is that right?'

  Freddy stiffened at his tone, and her 'Yes' came out a touch defensive.

  'Then I'll come with you.'

  She raised her brows in wonderful surprise. 'You want to go to Skipton?' she asked.

  'No, dammit, I do not, but it's a crazy idea for you to go off on your own. Individual cars were told to stay with the vans...'

  'But that was so that no one would miss the locations,' answered Freddy patiently. The volume of noise increased as one by one the vehicles passed by. When the last of the caravans had disappeared over the brow of the hill, she observed sardonically, 'Well, it looks like I'm stuck with you.'

  'It's the other way round—I'm stuck with you!' Joe's face darkened with exasperated anger. 'Confound it, woman, have you looked at that sky? I have absolutely no wish to be scouring the country-side searching every snowdrift in a blizzard which anyone with any modicum of sense could tell is on the way!'

  Freddy eyed him thoughtfully, turned to consider the sky and then the barren landscape and held up her hands peacefully. 'Sorry. You're right. It wasn't a good idea. I'll be grateful of your company.' She held out the keys. 'Would you care to drive?'

  The grim lines on Joe's face softened and an eyebrow shot up. 'I didn't think I'd ever get an apology out of you, Fred.'

  'I was always brought up to believe that an apology showed strength, not weakness—but if you rub my nose in it, you might never get another.' She opened the door and settled herself in, pushing back the hood of the parka and shaking her hair free.

  Joe slid behind the wheel, his eyes scanning the sky anxiously. The engine took a few goes to catch and as they finally drove off in the opposite direction from the team the first flakes began to fall.

  Seeing them, Freddy said pleasantly, 'If you say I told you so...' and left the rest of the sentence to Joe's imagination.

  He gave an absent smile and asked, 'Am I allowed to ask why you want to go into Skipton?'

  'There's a book I want to get for my father for Christmas. A book on birds, just released. I thought if I got it today I wouldn't have to delay my journey tomorrow.' She consulted the map she had been studying and added, 'We turn off here.'

  They travelled for a few miles and then Joe pulled up, the wipers barely coping with the snowfall. He looked at the map and frowned. 'I think it would have been better to have made for the main road instead of trying to cut through.' He peered through the windscreen at the snow, which showed no signs of letting up, and at the light, which was fading rapidly. 'Do we go back and make for the A65 or carry on and hope for the best?'

  'Are you asking me, or just thinking out loud? If we turn back we have further to go... and the road looks OK.'

  'Hmm...' Joe frowned, thinking hard, and then said, 'Ahead it is.'

  Some minutes later the outline of three cottages came into view and Freddy murmured, 'A bit isolated up here, isn't it?' as they approached. The car skidded on a rut and she glanced anxiously at Joe, but his expression showed reassuring concentration. Then he muttered, 'Hello, what's this?'

  and she followed the direction of his eyes and saw what had caught his attention. A figure of a man was running out of the middle cottage, down the path and through the gate, his arms waving wildly to attract their attention.

  'I'd say he wants us to stop, wouldn't you?' drawled Joe, applying his foot to the brakes gingerly, gently slowing the Renault so that they were barely moving by the time they drew level. Joe wound down the window and a blast of cold air and snow swept into the car. The stranger flung himself on to the door, as if to detain them by force if necessary.

  'Thank God you've come along!' he gasped, fighting for breath, 'I'm sorry, but I need help, my wife's started in labour, she's three weeks early and I don't k
now what to do. It's our first and...'

  'Take your time,' Joe said calmly. 'If we can help, we will.' He glanced at the inadequate clothing of the young man—he was in a sweater and trousers which were rapidly becoming white with snow—and added, 'Suppose you go back into the house and we'll join you there.'

  The young man hesitated, as if by releasing his hold on the car they would disappear over the horizon, and Freddy smiled reassuringly, urging, 'We'll come, I promise.'

  He nodded and ran back along the road, down the path, disappearing through the open front door.

  Joe turned to look at her and drawled, 'This is beginning to feel like a lousy B-movie,' and as they got out of the car he added drily, 'Let's hope he's just panicking.'

  Struggling through the snow up to the house, Freddy fervently hoped so too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE young man introduced himself as Colin Baxter, and he gazed at them anxiously as they walked in. When Freddy asked, 'Are you sure you're not worrying unnecessarily?' he shook his head and replied, 'I don't think so, but come in and see what you think.'

  He pushed open the inner door and they followed him, hearing him say comfortingly, 'Marion, you won't be on your own now, love.' He glanced back, adding, 'I'm sorry, I don't know your names...'

  'Hello, Marion,' Freddy said, giving what she hoped was a confident smile, as she moved towards the young woman, heavily pregnant, who was lying on a couch made up into a bed. 'I'm Freddy, and this is Joe. How are you feeling?'

  'Like I'm on an express train without any stops,' Marion said breathlessly, giving a plucky smile.