'He has no right to be!' protested Freddy with quick anger.
'Don't be a fool, Freddy. Right doesn't come into it. Any idiot knows that.'
She stretched and rose to her feet. 'I shall have to meet the guy. According to Megan he's some kind of cross between Father Christmas, He-Man and Indiana Jones.'
'Megan's opinion isn't to be trusted—she's a pushover for anything in trousers,' retorted Freddy darkly.
Freddy walked into Adam's office some days later, expecting to find the Queen's artistic director sitting behind his desk. For a moment she thought the place empty and was about to leave, thinking she had made a mistake, when a figure unfolded itself from a chair in the corner and moved into the light. It was Joe.
'Oh, I'm sorry, I was told...' began Freddy.
'That Adam was here? He asked me to apologise and could he see you this afternoon instead, at three, if that's convenient?' Joe hitched himself on the desk and folded his arms, regarding her dispassionately. 'There are some things we can go over together, details that need confirming, so we might as well do it now.' He pulled a chair over, indicating for Freddy to sit, and moved round the desk to sit in Adam's swivel chair. He poured a plastic beaker of water from the water-cooler, offering it to Freddy. When she shook her head he drank, lashes fanning his cheeks as he held his head back. He looked, thought Freddy sourly, as though he could do with both a shave and a haircut, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. They had not met since the evening of Peter Pan, although Freddy had caught sight of him around the theatre, and she had the feeling he had been avoiding her. Well, that suited her. She still deeply resented his implied criticism of Patrick's presence at her house that night—God knew what his imagination ran to! Even though events since had proved him right, there was also the inference that she could be swayed by Patrick's interest in her, and it was that which rankled the most.
'Who is your director?' asked Joe.
Freddy opened up her briefcase and brought out a folder full of information she had collated on the Queen's project and spread the pages on the desk.
'David Herrick,' she replied, her voice as cool and as even as his own. 'You remember him, perhaps, from the Tandy set?' An inner visual picture of David and Joe shaking hands suddenly hit her. How long ago was it? An incredible four months!
'Yes, I remember him.' Joe crushed the beaker and tossed it through the air into the waste basket. He then began to ask a number of pertinent questions about times and dates, and noted them down in a memo book as Freddy supplied the answers. 'I think that's all for now.' Joe closed the notebook and fitted the cap back on to his pen. He went on bluntly, 'I want to get one thing straight. I'm quite happy for your company to film here, so long as you don't get in my way.'
Well, really! thought Freddy in disgust. What does he think we are, amateurs? She replied pleasantly, 'That's understood, of course, and we accept that we must work round you. There's bound to be a certain amount of inconvenience—cables and suchlike—but we'll do our best to make it minimal. If you have any complaints you must come to me.'
'I shall, never fear.'
Really, the man was like a bear with a sore head today! Holding on to her temper, Freddy asked, 'Perhaps you could let me have your schedule for rehearsals?'Joe slipped two foolscap sheets across the desk. 'This is it.'
'Thank you. We shall be going to London for the casting sessions. I have the date and venue written down somewhere.' She paused. 'Is there anything more you want to discuss?'
'I don't think so.'
Freddy began to collect her things.
'You fetched the Renault without any difficulty?' His face was wiped clean of any expression. 'I understand Tyson drove you there.'
Freddy's hands stopped their task and she looked up, a challenging spark in her eyes. 'Yes, he did,' she retorted, and gave him a brilliant smile. 'Wasn't I lucky?' The last of the papers were in the case. 'If there's anything else, you know where I am.' Giving him an efficient nod of the head she stalked out of the office. As she marched down the corridor she was thinking, how the hell did he find that out? And then, so what?
Tiny Dakin returned to the set of Wuthering Heights, a tall, thin, laconic individual, hobbling around with his leg in plaster. They worked hard at the studio, and when spring was teasing its way into new leaf and blooms Freddy and Tiny, together with cast and crew, journeyed north to finish off the outside location scenes. It seemed strange returning to the King's Head at Kettlewell without snow and Joe.
Freddy found the time to visit Marion and Colin, bearing gifts for the baby, and found them all well. Marion handed Josephine to Freddy to hold, and Freddy thought the baby had a better claim to being called beautiful now than she had when Freddy had last seen her. At eleven weeks old she was smiling and cooing and was gorgeous.
'Joseph came the other weekend,' Marion remarked, her voice warm. 'He's a very caring person, but, of course, you know that without me having to tell you.'
Freddy murmured something suitable and promised to sort out a date for the christening, one that would suit both Joe and herself. She handed Josephine over, saying with a grin, 'Here, take her, quick, I'm beginning to feel maternal and might sneak off with her!'
By the beginning of April everything was shot and edited, words dubbed, music and graphics added. At the end of the first run-through, Tiny leaned forward along the row of seats in the projection room and gave Freddy the thumbs-up sign. Freddy allowed herself to return the gesture, smiling, feeling quite pleased herself.
Easter was looming on the horizon and Megan arrived home one day carrying a huge Easter egg in a brightly coloured box, tied with a huge ribboned bow. Judith, who had picked Megan up from school, was looking smug.
'My goodness, where's that come from, Meggie?' asked Freddy, startled by the obvious expensiveness of the egg.
Judith put a hand over Megan's mouth, saying,'I was standing by the Mini, waiting for the kids to come out, when this magnificent, hunky man strolled up to the gates, having first, I might add, unfolded himself from the depths of a snazzy sports car, an eye-catching red, that any self-respecting female would give her last pair of false eyelashes to have a ride in. When Meggie ran up to him as though he was God's gift, and was lifted up and given a hug, I said to myself, Judith, you can have one guess who that is.'
'It was Joseph, Mummy,' explained Megan indulgently, her voice indicating—Who else could it have been?
'I see,' replied Freddy, trying to ignore her daughter's glowing face and the mischievous light in Judith's eyes. Megan carried the egg carefully out of the room, telling Houdini sternly not to bump her.
Judith said airily, 'He came over and introduced himself. Shook my hand and smiled. He has a lovely smile, hasn't he?' She paused and tilted a look at her friend, adding thoughtfully, 'Do you think he's courting the mother through the daughter, Freddy?'
Her voice rising with incredulity, Freddy exclaimed, 'You do talk some rubbish, Ju! Courting implies marriage, and Joseph Corey doesn't believe in it. I admit he might want to get me into his bed, but that's something else altogether, and I'd probably have to join the end of the queue.' She paused.
'On second thoughts, the vibes I've been getting lately from him are distinctly anti. He thinks I'm having an affair with Patrick Tyson.' She returned her attention to her income tax return form, signalling the end of the subject.
Later that week she bumped into Joe in the public library.-He hadn't seen her and she hesitated before walking over to where he was browsing through the biography section.
'Hello, Joe,' she said quietly.
Joe stilled, remained for a moment with his back to her and then swung slowly round to face her. 'Hello, Fred.' There was nothing much to read from the expression in his eyes, but at least they didn't freeze her on the spot.
'I wanted to thank you for Meg's Easter egg. She won't eat it, though, she says it's too pretty.'
Joe gave a lop-sided grin. 'Just tell her that chocolate loses its taste after a time, that should do
it.' He raised a brow. 'Is there something else?'
Freddy said, 'I want you to stop giving her presents.'
'Why?' drawled Joe, eyes turning shrewd.
'Because...' The words that she had rehearsed so many times flew out of her head.
'... you hate to be beholden to me for anything.'
Freddy checked herself, remembering they were in the hushed quietude of the library. Some of the regulars, who knew her, were already glancing their way. 'That's not true. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but Megan's getting very fond of you, and I don't want her to get hurt.'
Joe's eyes narrowed, face darkening. 'Why should I hurt her, Fred?'
'Children never think things change, at least, not Meg's age. You'll go away and I couldn't expect you to remember her...'
'Your problem, Frederica,' Joe said with silky softness, 'is that you don't expect enough.' He paused. 'And who says I'm leaving?' He shot the book he was holding back into its place on the shelf. 'Does that bother you?'
'What you do, Joe Corey, is of no interest to me whatsoever, just as long as it doesn't involve my daughter.'
'Jealous, Fred?'
She stared at him, turned on her heel and swept out of the library, wondering why it always ended up with her wanting to throw something at him. She called in at the Carlyons on her way home and found that Liz had sprained her wrist, falling from a chair. 'My own stupid fault, of course, and I've been duly scolded by Adam,' Liz confessed. She held out her bandaged wrist. 'Good job it's my left hand. I hope you've called in to say you're coming tomorrow evening. I'm not cancelling it just for this.'
'Lizzie, I'm sorry, but I can't get a sitter. I've tried all my trusty faithfuls. The family a few doors down are in quarantine, Judith has a meeting, and two others who are sometimes available are both doing something...'
'No problem,' Liz declared airily. 'Send Meggie to school tomorrow with her night things, and I'll pick her up with Michael. She can sleep here and go to school with us the next day.' Liz dived to rescue her young daughter from a precarious position on a chair, and gave her a noisy kiss on her plump cheek.
'But are you sure you want to be bothered?' asked Freddy dubiously. 'I mean, having another child in the house, 3s well as cooking for a dinner party?'
'Now you know I have help,' soothed Liz, 'and Megan, believe me, is no trouble. That's settled.' And it seemed it was.
To Freddy's surprise Nina Welsh was not one of the guests at the Carlyons'
dinner party. She had had no idea who would be there, but when she saw the Tiger in the drive she had automatically expected to see Nina, too. The Tysons' Mercedes was also parked outside and when Freddy was placed at the dining-table, she wondered what Joe was thinking, finding himself partnered, rather obviously, with herself.
Patrick was always good company, and Dinah too seemed to be more relaxed than usual, possibly because of the warm, welcoming atmosphere created by Liz and Adam. Soon Freddy forgot about Nina, and Joe's feelings, and began to enjoy herself. After dinner she went upstairs to look in on the children. Michael was on the top bunk-bed and Megan underneath, both fast asleep. Victoria, or Plum, as Michael insisted on calling his sister, was flat on her stomach in her cot, also asleep. How lovely they looked, thought Freddy, and stifled any ongoing dreams.
As she walked into the long sitting-room, a beautiful room with windows at either end, now covered with deep rose curtains, talk was turned to the French tour of Othello in June.
'Lovely, lovely Beaugency and lovely, lovely France,' Liz was enthusing, her eyes shining at the thought.
'Remind me where Beaugency is?' requested Dinah.
'It's the next town of note on the Loire, after Orleans, going west,' offered Adam.
it's a beautiful medieval city,' Liz went on, 'with one of those incredible bridges across the river that's so typically French, full of arches in pale-coloured stone.'
'We were lucky to be accepted for the Festival,' said Adam, handing round the balloon glasses of brandy while Liz dispensed the coffee, it's held in June every year in the courtyard of the Chateau de Dunois...'
'Built in the fifteenth century by the Bastard of Orleans,' added Liz, 'who, if you're hot on history, you'll remember was the companion-of-arms to Joan of Arc. It's a folk museum now.'
'I've just received confirmation,' said Freddy, taking a seat and smiling her thanks as she accepted a glass of Cointreau liqueur from her host, 'that we can film there.' The news was received with satisfaction by the Tysons and Carlyons, although Joe seemed barely to be listening, staring down into his brandy.
'You're going to come over, aren't you, Dinah?' asked Liz, and Dinah raised her dark, shapely brows.
'Try and stop me. As Patrick's chosen to direct the Othello filming himself...'
Joe's head came up, eyes sharp. 'I thought David Herrick was directing.'
'He is,' confirmed Patrick, leaning an arm against the mantel and addressing Joe thoughtfully, 'over here, but not in France. He's committed to something else in June, so I thought I'd put my director's hat on. I like to, every now and again.'
Was it Freddy's imagination or did Patrick's smile seem to be slightly challenging as he directed it at Joe? This piece of information was news to her, too, and she hoped she had kept her face from showing it to the others. As the talk went on Freddy found she was on the receiving end of a number of speculative, thought-provoking glances from a certain pair of judging brown eyes. It began to get on her nerves.
'So, as Adam is half-French, we naturally have relations and friends in most parts of France,' Liz was saying, 'and the poor darling has to have regular injections of everything French to keep him going. We've taken up the offer of a house about seventy kilometres south of Beaugency. We shan't be using it all the time, so if any of you want to stay for a few days you're very welcome.'
Later, as his guests were making moves to leave, Adam asked Joe, 'Can you give Freddy a lift home? She walked round.'
'Yes, of course,' Joe replied, and Freddy cringed inwardly, for how could he have refused? When the Tiger pulled up outside Dean Close and Joe followed her to the front door, he asked abruptly, 'How often does Tyson come out from his desk and get behind the camera?'
With the key in the lock, Freddy turned, alert to the sardonic note in his voice. 'Not very often,' she answered levelly. 'He produces more often than he directs. Why?''I wonder what the incentive is to take him to France... could it be your presence there?'
'Other than the reason he gave us, I don't know, and what's more, I don't care! It has nothing to do with me.'
'If you say so, Fred,' was Joe's laconic reply and he turned to go. Really annoyed now, Freddy's arm shot out and she caught hold of him, staying his progress. 'Damn you, Joe, I shouldn't care what you think, but stupidly I do, God knows why! I have never given Patrick any encouragement—how many times do I have to tell you for you to believe me?'
'But you will agree now that I was right about him?'
Freddy struggled with a denial, but honesty won. 'Well, yes, but...'
'I gather confirmation came on the trip north to fetch the Renault?' Joe's voice was dry.
Exasperated, she burst out, 'Yes, you were right! You're not always right, Joe, but this time you were! Satisfied?'
'It's a pity some things become corny, but to hell with it!' He swung her round so what light there was fell on her face. 'When you're fighting mad, Fred, you're very desirable.' And he brought his mouth down on hers, his arms tightening round her.
For some seconds Freddy, constrained against his chest, pushed against him, her hands clenched into fists, feebly battering his shoulders, the rest of her arms imprisoned. When she was released Joe still held her by the elbows and surveyed her ragged breathing and flushed cheeks with some satisfaction. 'It matters that I believe you, Fred?'
She wrenched her arms free and, goaded, replied, 'Yes, damn you!'
He searched her face, gave a small nod of the head. 'I believe you,' he said softly and then
walked swiftly back down the path.
Freddy let out a frustrated breath, grinding her teeth in exasperation before sweeping inside.
Two weeks later she parked the Renault outside the rehearsal building and slipped inside. She was dropping in more often than was needed, making some excuse to warrant the journey. As she had forecast, Joe was becoming a drug.
She watched him now, talking to the black actor playing Othello. The actor, Baz, was a large, well proportioned man, beautiful in face and form, and with a magnetism that suited the part of the Moor. By contrast, Nina Welsh made a perfect Desdemona, Othello's wife, frail and beautiful, her fairness adding to the contrast.
Joe called the fight instructor over and began to go through some of the moves. Nina, waiting at the side, had a sulky expression on her face and on Freddy's entrance had given her a sharp, almost challenging look. What's the matter with Madam? wondered Freddy, using the nickname the crew had bestowed on Nina.
'Good morning, Freddy,' said David.
Freddy returned his smile and murmured, 'Hello, David, anything to report?'
'One or two things.' He fell silent and watched with her. To demonstrate what he wanted, Joe had taken up one of the practice swords and was engaged in a slow motion fight with the instructor, each move exaggerated and perfectly executed.
Joe called for a break and walked over, asking David, 'Have you told her yet?'
'Told me what?' demanded Freddy, looking from one to the other. David replied, 'No, not yet,' his voice mild.
'Perhaps you could now do so?' suggested Joe smoothly. 'Let's find somewhere private, shall we?' He strode off towards a small storage-room. Exchanging looks, David and Freddy followed.
'The problem is,' David explained, 'that Miss Welsh lost her temper, and wants our assurance that we won't use that clip in the programme.'
Freddy gave a laugh which she choked off when she saw they were serious.
'You've got to be joking!' She turned to Joe, who was leaning against the wall contemplating his shoes. 'Apart from the fact that I don't take kindly to having my programme edited for me, I can hardly see that a tantrum thrown by one of the actors is anything to get paranoid about.'
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