‘Did you?’ His hazel eyes laughed at her.
‘Mmm. But I haven’t seen him for ages. I don’t even know how old he is.’
‘He’s twenty-six and has quite a way with girls, so I’m told. I have this——’ he paused ‘—intuition that he and Portia will clash.’
Cathy said without a tremor, ‘On principle? Because he’s American? Or…’ She stopped.
He said after a moment, ‘I think Bronwen has always had a good understanding of what side her bread’s buttered on, but I think this might be a difficult role for her to play. She’s supposed to be younger, she’s supposed to be madly in love with someone——’ he paused again ‘—whom I’m sure she considers no more than a pretty face acting-wise and probably every other wise.’
‘He might surprise her,’ said Cathy. ‘You must have some faith in his acting ability.’
‘I do. But I also don’t have any inbuilt prejudices about men.’ He grimaced.
Cathy had been studying his hand on hers but she raised her blue eyes to his. ‘I wonder why she has these prejudices?’
Tom said rather drily, ‘Who knows? But that’s not your problem,’ he added with the faintest of smiles and tightening his grip on her hand briefly. ‘Nor is it mine in any other but an artistic sense now.’ He stopped and continued a moment later, ‘When you look like that, I know you do have the capacity to do Chloe, Cat.’
‘Tom——’ she looked away, then back ‘—thank you. Just one last thing—do a lot of people know about you and Bronwen?’
‘Unfortunately, yes, Cathy.’ His hazel eyes were suddenly bleak. ‘That’s why, the way things worked out, you had to know from me and not some stranger.’
When they landed, as they were walking through the arrival hall, Cathy tripped and Tom put his arm about her shoulders and kept it there. And a flashlight exploded at the same time as Duncan emerged from the crowd to greet them and introduce the Press.
Cathy didn’t see the picture in the paper the next morning, or the one alongside it of Charles Westfield who had arrived on an earlier flight, but among the many who did, two of them reacted with more than normal interest.
Charles Westfield, known to his mates as Charlie and his mother as Chuck, stared at his handsome likeness with satisfaction, then glanced casually at the other picture. Whereupon his brown gaze suddenly became riveted on Cathy, and he pursed his lips and emitted a soft whistle of very genuine appreciation. Then he read the caption and his eyes widened and he said incredulously, ‘The director’s wife—why didn’t anyone tell me? Damn…’ And he frowned ruefully, then shrugged fatalistically, but at the same time discovered that his slight unease about doing this movie in a foreign, albeit English-speaking land, which was a hell of a long way from home, had disappeared.
Bronwen Bishop also stared at his handsome likeness, but briefly, then transferred her dark gaze to the picture of Tom and Cathy, to Tom’s arm around his wife’s shoulders and the way he was looking down at her, to Cathy herself, and she closed her eyes in pain.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘NOW I’ve got you all together at last and we’re about to start shooting,’ Tom said easily but with his usual laid-back magnetism, so that every eye rested on him and no one fidgeted, ‘I’d like to say a few general words. The true style of a motion picture is in its overall handling and shape, quote unquote, and that’s my job—to take Pete’s plot and translate his original creativity to the screen via the medium not only of the actors and the inspiration I can give them but the technical aspects of film-making—the impact and the tension, good camerawork and sound, framing, editing et cetera, can achieve. This is not a “big” movie or one with a particular message, but that doesn’t mean we can’t imprint it with the same kind of style and pace, timing and suspense that grabbed Pete’s readers in the first place and held them spellbound. I’m always open to suggestions, but perhaps I should warn you that I’m extremely intolerant of tardiness and an uncooperative attitude, not only from my own point of view but because of the inconvenience to others and the waste of time and therefore money. Any questions?’
There were several questions and some general discussion, then Tom said, ‘The fact that it’s pouring in paradise means we can’t do the outdoor sequences we planned for today, so we’re going to make a start with Chloe—as you know from the script, Chloe keeps making these mysterious appearances in Robert’s life, both fascinating him and frustrating him, and the first of these is at a party— a sort of “some enchanted evening” and “across a crowded room” affair. Now, seemingly by chance but not by chance at all, all the other major characters are at the party and all have a vested interest in immobilising Robert—not to stop him from getting to Chloe but for much more devious reasons which he’s quite unaware of—so it’s a comical scene with sinister overtones. The set is ready, and what I’d like to do is run through it in rehearsal as you are, with an aim to shooting it this afternoon—let’s go!’
It was nine o’clock that evening when Tom finally called, ‘Cut—it’s a take!’ and everyone cheered.
He grinned rather wryly. ‘Sorry, folks, but I think we’ve all started to get the feel of each other, so things will be easier from now on.’ And he outlined briefly what he planned to do the next day, and the session broke up.
Cathy was sitting on a settee with her beautiful yellow brocade off-the-shoulder long evening dress hitched up to her knees because of the heat, and she thought for a moment that she might not have the energy to move, but no one else seemed to be quite as exhausted, so she made the effort and trailed through the throng to her own small dressing-room, stilling the instinct to go to Tom, who was surrounded by people anyway. She closed the door with relief and sank down in front of the make-up table with her elbows on it and her chin in her hands, and she searched her reflection wearily but discovered that what she was really examining was the odd feeling of being two people, one to be treated as a wife, but only in private—well, hopefully then, she thought with a grimace—and one to be treated like everyone else, even to be looked at purely academically and discussed in the same way… She closed her eyes and took herself to task—you knew it had to be like this, he told you and it is the only viable way to work, so what’s the problem?
She opened her eyes and watched her lips move. ‘He’s so good at it—how can he divorce himself so completely from me and with no evidence of strain at all, whereas I feel like a nervous, not to mention physical, wreck. How can he be so seemingly oblivious of the way everyone is watching him with Bronwen, and watching me, oblivious of the unspoken speculation that’s humming through the air? For that matter, how can she? Is it superprofessionalism, whereas I’m just a rank amateur? Or…’
Someone knocked on the door. It was Bronwen.
‘Cathy, are you decent?’
‘Yes… Come in,’ Cathy said uncertainly.
Bronwen had changed into jeans and a blouse and taken her make-up off, and she carried two mugs of coffee awkwardly in one hand as she came in. ‘I thought you looked as if you needed a reviver—you were great today,’ she said straightly, her large dark eyes resting on Cathy’s parted lips and slightly dazed eyes, ‘but it’s an exhausting business, and especially for a beginner.’ She kicked the door closed with her heel and handed Cathy a mug, then leant against the wall with her own.
Cathy took a sip of coffee. ‘Thank you. I do feel exhausted. I thought you were great too—and much less tense.’
‘Comes from experience—how are you liking Sanctuary Cove?’
Cathy thought, for a moment, of the luxurious harbour-front villa that had been rented for the exclusive use of the director and his wife for the next eight weeks, of the rather charming shopping village, the marinas, the boats, the golf courses and sports facilities, the Coomera River and more that made up Sanctuary Cove, and said with a little grimace, ‘I’m still a bit overwhelmed, but it’s only been a few days—and it’s been raining.’
‘You’re not wrong!’ Bronwen said with
a laugh. ‘What amazes me about Queensland—one of the things—is how people just ignore the rain. You see droves of kids riding to school in torrential downpours without even a raincoat.’
‘I suppose it’s hot enough to dry off quickly,’ Cathy responded with a grin, and they laughed together, then sobered together and stared at each other until Cathy looked away awkwardly.
‘Cathy,’ Bronwen said slowly, ‘I’d like to think we could work together with no——’ She broke off a little helplessly.
Cathy took a breath. ‘I think we can,’ she said quietly. ‘Tom has told me about you, and it’s probably best… I mean, it’s silly for us to try to ignore it. You must have been wondering whether I knew—I can see everyone else is wondering the same thing. I’ve been wondering how you feel about Tom now——’ It was her turn to break off and stare into Bronwen’s eyes.
The other girl didn’t flinch, but it was with an oddly bleak look that she said after a moment, ‘It’s finished between Tom and me, Cathy. You——’ she paused ‘—you’re very lovely, Cathy, and younger than——’
‘She is, isn’t she?’
They both swung round to see that Tom had opened the door silently. He added abruptly by way of a sardonic greeting, ‘Bronwen.’
Bronwen straightened. ‘I was just going, Tom. I was telling Cathy I thought she’d been great today. Well, I’ll see you two tomorrow.’ She stared at Tom until he stood aside and let her pass. He closed the door and turned to Cathy. ‘Is that all she’s been telling you?’
‘No, Tom,’ Cathy said steadily but with evidence of strain in her eyes. ‘I think we both decided that it wasn’t going to work, the way we started off. Pretending, in other words, that we were complete strangers, so I told her that I knew about you and her, and she told me,’ she hesitated for the first time with her eyes on his shuttered expression, ‘that it was all over between you and her,’ she finished barely audibly.
His lips twisted. ‘I hope you believe that, Cathy.’
Do I? Cathy asked herself. I don’t know, but there’s no point in saying it. ‘I believe I can work with Bronwen and that tomorrow I’ll be much less tense.’ She turned away, and this time their eyes met in the mirror.
‘In fact you were great today,’ he said after a long pause.
Cathy shrugged slightly, then picked up a jar of cold cream and started to clean the stage make-up off. ‘You don’t have to pay me compliments you normally wouldn’t.’
‘I’m not. Nor do I have to treat you professionally behind closed doors.’ He took a step towards her and put his hands on her shoulders close to her neck, massaging the back of it with his thumbs. She wiped the last trace of make-up off, stared at herself for a moment, then closed her eyes and relaxed a little. ‘I’m so tired,’ she said huskily.
‘I know. But you’ll get used to it gradually. In the meantime, let’s go home to bed.’ He took his hands away and looked around for her clothes, and when she stood up, he released the zip of the yellow dress and helped her to step out of it. Then he said, with a little glint in his eye as he surveyed her figure clad only in a flesh-coloured, strapless bra and panties, ‘Did you enjoy being the belle of the ball today, so to speak?’
‘Was I?’
He handed her her cream blouse. ‘If I’m any judge, quite a few people thought so.’
‘Oh.’ Cathy buttoned the blouse and took her fawn linen skirt from him. ‘Well, I was supposed to be, I imagine. I mean, Portia gatecrashed the party in her air hostess uniform.’ She fumbled with the side waistband button and felt his long fingers do it for her. Then he turned her to face him and settled the collar of her blouse and lifted some strands of hair that had got caught in it away and ran his fingers through the luxuriant silkiness of it. ‘I’m glad we decided to leave this just as it always is. Well, as you often say to me,’ his hazel gaze roamed up and down her, ‘all prim and proper again and hardly able to keep your eyes open. Let’s go.’
But once home, in a home that couldn’t be more different from Mount Macedon, with its cool tiled floors, modern furniture and angles and pastel colours, Tom insisted they have something to eat, and poured Cathy a glass of white wine to go with it.
And when she protested feebly, he said wryly, ‘I know you, Cathy. Some people eat when they’re wound up—you don’t. But that’s not good for you, and it’s not good to go to bed without unwinding, so keep your eyes open just a little longer.’
In fact the meal, and the wine, did just that, helped unwind and even woke her up a bit, and afterwards Tom came to sit beside her on the settee she was curled up on, stretched his long legs out on a low table and put his arm around her shoulders. He also, for the first time ever, talked a bit about his day’s work. He even brought it up himself.
‘I was right about Charlie and Jason and Pete. They’ll have to be kept under some surveillance, otherwise we could have the makings of a “brat pack” on our hands.’
Cathy laughed softly. ‘I think you were right about Bronwen and Charlie too. They look, when the cameras are off, just ever so slightly suspicious of each other—did you notice?’
‘I did. I also noticed——’ he hesitated, glanced down at her unconscious face and changed tack without her being aware of it ‘—one good thing about Pete and young Charlie Westfield becoming kindred spirits is the fact that Pete believes in the story so utterly that he might be able to infect Charlie with——’ he paused again ‘—all the right enthusiasms.’
But this time Cathy noticed something different in his voice and she lifted her face to his enquiringly.
He grimaced. ‘In other words, point out to him that Robert does love Portia despite his infatuation with Chloe.’
‘Pete can be very persuasive,’ Cathy said with a chuckle, and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Do you realise something, Tom? I’m the only one of the actors who’s worked with you before. I think I’ve come a long way,’ she added gravely, ‘since you told me I looked like a frozen cod.’
He grinned. ‘I didn’t tell you you looked like one.’
‘Was as effective as one, then,’ she amended. Then she suddenly looked rueful. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to prove that.’
‘Kiss anyone passionately, you mean?’ he queried, looking down at her with a sudden glint in his eye. ‘So, incidentally, am I.’
Cathy sat up. ‘Would you really mind, Tom?’
He considered her serious expression and answered her question with one of his own. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’
She opened her mouth, hesitated, then said, ‘Husbands and wives of people who have to do those things must be able to understand it’s only acting.’
‘That doesn’t mean they like the thought of it.’
‘Even…’ She stopped, then blurted out, ‘How will you feel about Bronwen and Charlie—sorry, that slipped out.’ She grimaced ruefully.
Tom’s expression didn’t change. ‘My big problem, I suspect, is going to be getting some realism from them.’
‘But you can switch off, Tom,’ Cathy said slowly, and when he raised an eyebrow, she went on, ‘You can switch off completely to everything but the movie—I saw you today. I might just as well have been,’ she gestured, ‘Minnie Mouse. I’m not complaining, I——’
‘Are you not?’ He reached out and drew his finger down her cheek, and there was something quizzical in his eyes.
‘Well, I realise it’s got to be that way,’ she said more truthfully, ‘so if you can, I should be able to.’ She frowned. ‘But I don’t know…’
‘Perhaps our reservations have something to do with my being the first and only man who’s ever kissed you. Properly,’ he suggested. ‘Are you burning to have a go?’
‘No! I just told you——’
‘It seems to me you’re also telling me it’s something we should consider,’ Tom drawled, and added with some irony, ‘I guess once again there’s no one more qualified to show you all the right techniques, for the camera, the best angles, et cetera. A good way to st
art is with a really deep glance between the two of you, like this…’ And he put his hands on her shoulders and stared down into her eyes with all the amusement gone from his and in a way that suddenly caused her to catch her breath and feel hot. But she managed to say, ‘You’re making fun of me, Tom!’
‘Not at all,’ he denied. ‘Now you should tilt your face up and I should, again in the classic tradition,’ he paused as she did tilt her head back, ‘appear to hesitate—and here endeth the first lesson,’ he said with a strange smile as he let her go and picked up her hand. ‘I was teasing you,’ he added, leaning his head back. ‘You could either forgive me or— slap my face.’ And he kissed her knuckles instead, then returned her hand to her lap but didn’t take his eyes off her face.
‘Tom,’ she said thoughtfully, after a moment, ‘you don’t want to be having this conversation with me, do you? Is it against the rules of play—while we’re working together? Or am I trespassing?’ She shrugged.
He said quietly, ‘It’s not a case of trespassing on any hallowed ground to do with Bronwen, in fact it could be quite——’ He stopped rather abruptly.
Cathy waited.
‘It could be quite simple,’ he said at length. ‘I’m too tired to be making much sense, while you appear to have perked up remarkably!’ He sat up with a wry look. ‘Why don’t you take pity on me and take me to bed?’
Cathy stared at him, then she said with a faint smile, ‘That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard you conjure up, Tom West! All the same, come.’ And she held out her hand.
He took it, but pulled her into his arms. ‘There’s so much I love about you, Cathy Kerris, can you keep believing that?’
Once again she opened her mouth, but this time she decided to hold her peace and sighed an odd little sigh that somehow extended to a large yawn. ‘OK,’ she said through her fingers, and, ‘Contrary to what you believe, I don’t even know if I’ve got the energy to get up the stairs, Mr West.’
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