Liz sprang up. 'That's unfair! Another example of your male egotism. I'm surprised you admit to being human— you enjoy playing God so much!' She watched with satisfaction his obvious struggle for control.
'You're wandering from the point at issue… another female trait.'
Liz ignored the jibe and said bitterly: 'I don't know what Tracey has told you, but I can imagine. As far as I'm concerned there was no squabbling, hysterical or otherwise, on my part. I admitted that a mistake happened and have apologised and that's the end of it. Evidently Miss Miller preferred to go running to you.'
'Just what do you mean by that?'
'Oh, never mind,' she said wearily.
'But I do mind. It seems you feel you have a grievance regarding my attitude to Miss Miller.'
'I didn't say that.'
'It was implied.' His voice was hard. 'Always substantiate personal remarks such as that with facts. With your usual female logic you assume too much. You're rather apt to jump to conclusions, Elizabeth, it's a habit you should try to break. I'm not blind to what goes on. Some people prove more difficult to work with than others, but it's your job to make sure that everything and everyone runs smoothly… and unemotionally. I'm not doubting your ability, only your emotions. You're not tough enough. You think you are, but you're not. Now, do you feel like telling me exactly what happened?'
Liz turned away, determined he should not see the angry tears threatening to spill over. She swallowed the lump in her throat and said tersely:
'Tracey must have exaggerated what happened, because I wasn't hysterical. You're the one likely to make me hysterical going on and on about it!' There was no reply to that, so she continued, her voice flat and unemotional:
'I couldn't swear I gave the call. It's something that's done so automatically, but I'm almost positive it was given. I think Tracey went back to the dressing room for something, thinking she'd got the time—but even that seems out of character, although tonight was important to her and she may have acted on impulse… I don't know… anyway, she denies this.'
'And that's all you can tell me?' he asked after a pause, and Liz nodded. 'What does Steve say?'
She shrugged. 'He knows no more.' Another pause and then:
'Steve told me that he thinks it must have been his fault as it was he who was doing the cue calls at the time.'
Startled, Liz lifted her head and found Adam watching her through the dressing room mirror. So it hadn't been necessary to turn her back, and her anger, which had died slightly, began to return.
'I hope you told him that the responsibility was all mine? I hope you told him, quite untruthfully, of course, that Miss Miller will have forgotten and forgiven all by now.'
'Don't be bitchy, Elizabeth, it doesn't suit you.' He straightened and stood behind her, staring through the mirror. 'I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't doubt your ability. But we now have Steve and Harry worried about you because they know what a softie you are. I've listened to both of them telling me what a competent person you are. There's no need for them to do so and they shouldn't have to do so. There is that about you, Elizabeth, that makes men want to protect you. It's unfortunate for you, as it seems you strive for responsibility…' He paused and then said abruptly: 'I was watching the play for the latter half hour. Bill cut half a page of dialogue. Jane has confirmed this.'
'Oh!' said Liz, as the implications of this sank in. 'If you knew this, why ask me for explanations?' and she turned and faced him angrily.
'Because it only tells half the story.'
'Well, ask Miss Miller for the other half!' Liz caught her breath. Something had been lurking in the back of her mind, something she'd not wanted to accept, but now she said suddenly:
'You've admitted that you're prejudiced against female stage directors,' she accused, and held his eyes.
He answered with studied patience.
'Prejudice presupposes unreasonable bias. My own personal view, based on a number of years' quite adequate evidence, is that if you have to be dependent on male stagehands to do the physical hard work, which a woman is, then leadership is undermined. I've never refused to work with a woman… yet. Now, if you'll…'
'Are you on the board of trustees?'
Carlyon's eyes narrowed. 'For what it's worth, each guest director is automatically nominated.'
'Did you vote against my promotion?'
His face was expressionless. 'If they had considered you capable of being stage director, they would have offered you the appointment in the first place.'
'Yes or no?' said Liz precisely.
Blue eyes fixed on steel grey ones without either wavering. Finally Adam said: 'Yes.'
The word fell flatly between them.
'I see.' Liz forced the words out, disappointment and bitterness welling up inside her.
'I don't think you do, Elizabeth. Everything has to be black or white for you. I see no reason why I should justify my actions, I would do the same tomorrow. I will say, however, that there was another reason, which I'm not prepared to go into at the moment, why I…'
'Oh, I know the reason!' Liz burst out furiously, and he swung round. 'Just because I wasn't taken in by your smooth talk, the great Adam Carlyon's pride was hurt! You've never forgiven me for not throwing myself at you, like all the rest!'
He smiled cynically. 'I seem to remember an occasion, not so long ago, when you did just that and seemed to enjoy it,' and his dark eyes glittered.
'Oh! You…!' her hand flew out but was caught ruthlessly half-way.
'Don't give me an excuse to lay my hands on you,' he said savagely. 'God knows I've felt like it once or twice!'
Struggling to free herself, Liz ground out between clenched teeth:
'That's all you know, isn't it? Sex and brute force!'
'Both come in very useful at times,' Adam said mockingly, white teeth gleaming against tanned skin. 'Are you going to be sensible, Elizabeth?' His stare, cold and ruthless, held hers, and Liz realised how hopeless it all was. Frustration, bitterness and physical weariness rendered her speechless and she nodded, and feeling the tension leave her, Adam released her wrist. Liz made a move to pass him.
'Where do you think you're going?' The question was deceptively mild.
Liz said with loathing: 'As far away from you as possible.'
'I'm afraid not, Elizabeth,' he said softly, 'you're coming down with me.'
Liz stared and then gave a harsh laugh. 'You must be joking!'
Adam smiled thinly. 'I assure you I'm not.' He stretched a lazy arm across her path and leant casually against the wall. 'And don't make any wild claims that you'll find difficult to carry out,' he warned.
'Short of dragging me bodily, how are you going to induce me to go with you?' Liz asked scornfully.
'I think, after considering my reason, you'll consent to come, without my having to do anything so drastic as that.'
'I've told you before that you have a remarkable imagination, Adam Carlyon!'
'So you have.' His smile was not kind. 'Downstairs, waiting in the bar, are the cast and crew, most of them knowing by now that I've come up here to see you. Well, I can't have you flouncing off home, giving the wrong impression, can I?' He straightened and pulled her averted face towards him. 'John is also down there, another one worried on your behalf. He knows how tender is your hide and, I'm sure it won't surprise you to know, he feels responsible for you.' He gazed steadily at her. 'So—we will go down together,' he said softly, 'and you'll behave.' He stepped aside, allowing her to pass.
Liz walked by his side hardly aware of the vice grip of his hand under her arm, conscious only of being desperately tired and sick of both heart and body. Adam stopped just outside the bar door and Liz wondered how she was going to get through the next few minutes.
'Let me look at you.' Pulling her round, he studied her dispassionately. 'You're much too pale,' he said objectively, almost as if he was the director and she the actress about to go on stage, but Liz was in
no mood to perceive the irony of the situation. 'I wonder what…?' His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'Ah, I know!' He smiled and before Liz realised what he intended, his mouth was on hers. For one split second she was transfixed and then the sweet release of rage swept over her. She struggled, but she might just as well have saved herself the bother. At last she was released from the kiss… but not from his grip.
'That's much better,' he said with satisfaction. 'Flashing eyes, rosy cheeks, all we need now is the smile. In you go —and smile, damn you!' and his hand reached out, opened the door and Liz was pushed into the crowded bar.
'Here's your drink, Lizzie.' John appeared at her side before she was half-way through the crowd. He looked at her, seemed satisfied with what he saw and smiled, and Liz smiled back.
'That's a good girl,' the hateful voice murmured in her ear, and she was guided relentlessly towards their own group, who had commandeered a corner of the bar. She heard:
'About time, Liz,' and 'Cheers, Lizzie,' from her friends. Ignoring the systematic thumping in her temples, Liz smiled and talked and sipped her drink, then smiled and talked and smiled again. Harry came over and laid a cool hand on her forehead.
'How's the headache, Liz?' and she smiled and lied, 'Much better,' disregarding Adam's keen glance.
Of Tracey Miller there was no sign.
At last, when Liz thought she couldn't bear another minute of the noise and the smiling pretence, the bar lights flickered, denoting last orders, and she turned with relief to John, saying quietly:
'Can I cadge a lift home, John? I think Martin has gone and…'
'That's all right, John,' came a benign voice from behind. 'I'll take Elizabeth home.' He laid his arm possessively across her shoulders, smiling down at her. 'Ready to go?'
'I am rather. Goodnight, John.' Liz turned to the others. 'Goodnight, everyone,' and amidst general leavetaking, they walked out of the bar, Adam's arm still round her. When the exit door swung behind them, she said wearily:
'Please remove your arm.' The arm, if anything, tightened, half supporting her.
'I don't think so, you might get it into your head to do something silly, like run off,' Adam said evenly, 'although you hardly look as though you have the strength. That was a good performance in there, Elizabeth. I think I could make an actress of you yet. Even without such drastic direction. How's the headache?' he added abruptly.
'I don't wish to talk,' she answered stonily.
They reached the car park and Liz suffered herself to be installed in the Morgan. About one mile from The Laurels, she began to feel ill. Staring in desperation out of the window, she began to count the telegraph poles and then cars passing in the opposite direction, anything to take her mind off the nausea coming over her in waves. Then, realising she would not make it home, she said between clenched teeth:
'Please, stop the car… please!'
Adam looked at her quickly and her face must have told its own story, for he flicked a glance into his mirror and swung the Morgan into the curb. Fumbling for the handle, Liz swung open the door and was violently sick. She would have liked to refuse the help Adam gave her, but felt too ill to make the effort. When she finished retching she lay back, eyes closed, feeling less nauseated but completely drained.
'Feeling well enough to go on, Elizabeth?'
She nodded assent, and when they arrived at The Laurels she allowed Adam to take her key and lead her upstairs. The flat was empty.
'Do you know when Judy will be back?' he asked, and Liz shook her head. 'Right,' he continued. 'I'm staying here until you're in bed,' and going into the kitchen, he put on the kettle. 'That's for a hot water bottle.' He settled himself in an armchair and picked up the evening paper, beginning to read it. 'Elizabeth,' he said without looking up, 'if you don't get a move on, I'll come and help you.'
And he would too, Liz thought dully, moving towards the bathroom. Ten minutes later she was between Soft sheets and Adam Carlyon was looking at her clinically from the foot of the bed.
'You're not to go into the theatre tomorrow for the youth group meeting, nor for the performances, unless you feel fully recovered.'
'I must go in, there's no one else to take the group at this short notice,' she said, eyes closed.
'I'll take them,' Adam said. 'Now, is there anything else you need?'
She opened her eyes and shook her head slightly. He went to the door and turned, his hand on the light switch.
'I'll drop the catch and pull the door to,' he informed her. 'And Elizabeth? This evening you've allowed me to prove that I was right about you, but I can assure you that I've not gained any personal satisfaction from the exercise.' He switched off the light, said a soft 'goodnight' and closed the door gently.
Liz heard his footsteps cross the other room and their front door close with a decisive click.
Liz took advantage of Adam's offer and stayed at home during the morning. After all, she reasoned, the youth group would benefit from having him, and it was his fault she had been ill in the first place. She sighed and stretched in bed. No, she told herself, let's be quite fair. As Mr Adam Carlyon says, we must at all times fight against women's illogical minds. So we'll consent to only part share responsibility—the headache and Miss Miller playing their respective roles.
For some reason, Liz did not tell Judy what had happened, she suddenly didn't want to talk about Adam Carlyon. She went down to the theatre in the afternoon, not caring whether she saw bun or not, but she found that after taking an enraptured youth group he then left for a weekend in London.
Simon and Judy came to the play in the evening and Simon said he would pick them up the next day to go over to Stretton. When he called for them mid-morning, there was some hilarity fitting Liz into the hack of the Stag, but in the end she managed it and they had a pleasant drive and arrived just before lunch. Judy and Simon then left to visit the rums of an old castle nearby, and Liz stayed with her mother and brought her up to date with all her news—well, nearly all of it. Of the Friday night fiasco she only mentioned the headache and the fact that Adam Carlyon had taken her home.
'That was kind of him, Lizzie,' her mother said, concentrating on the intricate pattern of the cardigan she was knitting for Emma. Liz realised that so far as her mother was concerned, Adam Carlyon was the blue-eyed boy… no, that was wrong, she thought, frowning. She could never make up her mind as to the actual colour of his eyes, they seemed to change so frequently, but they were definitely not blue. More like cloudy grey, turning to almost black when cold with anger. Anyway, she told herself in exasperation, to hell with his eyes, she wasn't interested in them or in him, and she had now lost the thread of what her mother was saying.
'… so I've decided to ask him round for a meal a fortnight today. He looks as though he can do with some good food inside him. Living alone as he does, he probably doesn't get enough to eat, poor man.'
Liz nearly choked over her coffee. She was willing to bet that the number of meals the "poor man" ate at his flat were few and far between, and those he did were probably cooked for him...and not by the caretaker's wife either!
Later that day, Liz told Judy of her mother's intended plan.
'I've no intention of attending Mother's dinner party,' she went on, 'but I'll prudently inform her of that later. A prior commitment, etc. If I told her now she'd only alter the date. I'll persuade Martin to fix up something for that day. If I offer to cook him a meal he'll be round like a shot.'
'I don't know why you won't go,' Judy said, slightly impatiently.
'I see enough of Adam Carlyon during the week without seeing him on my only full day off,' said Liz firmly, the bitterness of their last meeting still strong within her. 'Anyway, you're bound to get an invite, so you can butter him up. You're always going on about him,' she added airily.
'I do not always go on about him,' replied Judy calmly. 'I just think he's an interesting, charming, intelligent, dishy male. Pass the butter, I'll spread.'
To Liz's surprise and
relief Tracey Miller pointedly ignored her. No more was mentioned about the cue-call mix-up and rehearsals and performances continued without incident. Adam Carlyon did not ignore her, her job made that impossible, but there was a withdrawal, a remoteness about him these days that Liz could not fail to notice, and she found herself thinking and considering more and more about what he had said. Consequently, when the matter of a loose piece of scenery arose, Liz decided to do it herself instead of pointing it out to Harry or one of the boys. Dragging the largest stepladder to the middle of the stage, which in itself required considerable exertion, for it was twelve feet high, Liz collected a hammer and, putting some nails in her jeans pocket, climbed to the top and sat on the platform, humming under her breath as she tackled the job. She had hardly begun when footsteps sounded below, and looking down she saw Adam at the foot of the ladder.
'Elizabeth, will you come down, please?' he asked, and Liz looked at him in surprise.
'But I haven't finished yet,' she protested, thinking there was no pleasing some people.
'Nevertheless, please do as I ask,' he said, in the usual expressionless voice he used with her these days.
Liz shrugged slightly and climbed down and, on reaching the floor, muttered that she would go and fetch someone to do it, and was half-way across the stage when Adam said abruptly:
'By the way, Elizabeth, I met someone we both know on Sunday.'
'Oh yes?' replied Liz cautiously.
'I was visiting friends in Oxford and found Betty McInnes staying with them.' He paused. 'You remember Betty?'
Liz, realising that the grapevine had got his visit to London all wrong, said: 'Yes, yes, of course,' and wondering what was coming, added: 'How is she these days?'
He looked at her closely. 'She's well, sent her regards. She has a play about to open.' Another pause. 'She seemed interested to hear all about you. You haven't met, I understand, since the Harveys' party, the one they gave after Betty's last play?'
Dear Villain Page 15