The Director's Wife

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘You look too stunned to do anything, Mrs West,’ he drawled, and proceeded to rub her dry vigorously until she was pink and glowing all over and starting to protest,

  ‘Tom!’

  But all he said was, ‘That’s better. Get your clothes on now and I’ll fix us a drink—I think we’ve earned one, don’t you?’

  Cathy grimaced as she pulled on her blue French silk and lace panties. ‘Something, anyway.’

  A glint of amusement lit his eyes, but he made no comment as she stood and stared stubbornly at him, clad only in that frivolous silken triangle. But when he merely raised an eyebrow at her, she suddenly felt as if she was blushing all over and in a reflex gesture brought her hands up to cover her breasts, then reached for her blouse and shorts and scrambled into them. Tom still didn’t comment as he turned away and produced a bottle of Scotch, although when he handed her her glass he did murmur, ‘I thought the fright you got might have doused the flames.’

  Their fingers touched as she took the glass from him, but a measure of decorum had returned to her, together with a measure of something rather challenging. ‘It did, actually. But it’s left me feeling——’ she paused and studied her glass, then lifted her lashes ‘—oddly truculent. Is it a part of that “small death”?’

  ‘Definitely,’ he said with a twisted smile.

  ‘Do you feel hostile too?’

  Tom laughed briefly. He hadn’t changed and his hair was still dripping on to his bare shoulders, but he didn’t look cold, he looked instead rather tough and impervious and curiously detached as he leant back against the galley with his arms folded and his drink unregarded in his hand. ‘I think I’ve had more experience of it,’ he answered obliquely.

  Cathy sat down and sipped her Scotch, tilting her chin reflectively as it slid down her throat. ‘Well, I suppose it’s taught me something, if nothing else,’ she said ruefully.

  He lifted a quizzical eyebrow at her. ‘Tell me.’

  She thought for a bit, then said slowly, ‘Not to be superior about these things.’ She hesitated, stared at her drink, then lifted her eyes to his. ‘What’s for dinner?’

  ‘Cathy——’

  But she got up swiftly and touched her fingers to his lips. ‘Don’t,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve got the feeling that nothing we can say now is going to resolve anything for either of us, so let’s not spoil the rest of our gone-fishing trip.’

  Tom got rid of his glass and hers and put his hands on her waist. ‘I’ve offended you again, but in fact my motives are rather pure this time. I don’t want to be party to you compromising your principles. But—it wouldn’t be difficult to rekindle the flames—perhaps that’s all we need to say to each other.’

  Cathy searched his eyes with her lips parted as his words sank in, and a growing feeling of being at a loss, suddenly, as if things had taken a new, bewildering tack, then, as he waited and watched but she couldn’t read his expression, she sighed inwardly and resorted to flippancy. ‘Perhaps, but seeing that you’ve walked me and swum me, not to mention frightening the life out of me—I think you have to feed me first.’

  ‘I didn’t do all those things to you at all,’ he protested with a grin.

  ‘You brought me here.’

  He stared down into her eyes. ‘So I did.’ And he pulled her into his arms, which she didn’t resist. ‘Do you hate me even more now?’ he said into her hair.

  ‘No,’ she answered, thinking, no, how can I? But why do I feel I’m battling something I don’t understand as well as the things I do?

  They ate grilled chops and sausages, chips and a salad and opened another bottle of wine, but they didn’t rekindle the flames. Instead they talked desultorily and listened to some music, then, when the fishing boat departed noisily, sat on the afterdeck finishing the wine and watching the stars until they were both yawning and Tom suggested they get some sleep.

  But they woke at dawn to a lilac-pink sky that laid the same living shimmer on the water, and it was so beautiful, it made Cathy’s throat ache and made her feel inexplicably sad. She turned to Tom as if for reassurance which he must have read in her eyes, because he took her into his arms and held her for a long time.

  ‘Why so sad?’ he asked eventually, setting her a little away at last.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She leant back against him, not wanting to be parted, and laid her cheek on his bare shoulder while she considered, realising that, while she might not be possessed of any great blinding truth, it was as if the forerunner of it was there, and the premonition that it was going to be a lonely, unhappy truth.

  ‘Tom,’ she said on a sudden breath, and went on in a rush, ‘if you gave me a baby, whatever happened to us, it would be the most precious thing I had.’

  He stared down at her, then said steadily, ‘What is going to happen to us, Cathy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered anguishedly.

  ‘Then that’s the last thing you need.’ He took her face in his hands and his eyes searched hers. ‘Have you come to some momentous decision?’

  ‘You keep asking me that.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘No. But I am changing, Tom.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ His voice was clipped. ‘Although don’t you think wanting a baby might be your way of trying to halt the process?’

  ‘I would have thought, if you married me to have the kind of wife who was completely committed to you, that could be the best way of showing it, Tom,’ she said huskily.

  He lifted his head and stared over her shoulder and she was struck by his suddenly graven expression apart from a nerve beating in his jaw. She felt incredibly cut off from him suddenly and resentful, and she drew a sharp little breath that caused him to look back at her and narrow his eyes.

  ‘What words of wisdom are you about to offer me now, Cat?’ he said softly, curiously.

  ‘It doesn’t need to be put into words,’ she countered, equally softly. And indeed, what she did, didn’t.

  ‘Cat,’ he began on a suddenly indrawn breath himself, ‘you don’t…’

  ‘Hush,’ she said without looking up. ‘There are some things you can dictate to me about, some you can’t. This is one of them.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ he said with an effort, staring down at her disordered hair, ‘you’re right about that.’ And with a sudden groan he swept her up into his arms and took her back to his bunk.

  ‘I’ve called this conference,’ Tom said on the dot of nine, ‘because I’ve finally worked out what I’m doing wrong. As a matter of fact, although she asked me not to tell you, it was Cathy who was able to pinpoint it.’

  Cathy bit her lip as everyone looked at her with varying degrees of surprise, except Charlie Westfield, who was looking rather sphinx-like.

  ‘Bronwen,’ Tom continued with a direct glance, ‘my apologies. According to Cathy, I’ve been trying to turn your role of Portia into that of a mindless bimbo, which,’ he switched his gaze to Pete who was suddenly intensely alert, ‘was never meant and doesn’t work. And is, no doubt, the reason for your difficulties with it, Bronwen. Apart from your difficulties with Charlie, which have to be resolved now,’ he added quietly but with an unmistakable air of authority, and sat back.

  ‘Of course!’ It was, not unnaturally or unexpectedly, Pete who led the debate that ensued, and quite a heated debate it became, as Charlie forgot the perils and traumas of having the untouchable love of his life sitting a few feet away from him, and Bronwen unfroze—what had she been expecting? Cathy wondered. The other truth?

  But finally they all agreed, and it was with a little smile twisting her lips that Bronwen said to her, ‘Thank God for you, Cathy. I suppose I should be able to play the part of a mindless bimbo, but…’ She gestured ruefully and turned to Charlie Westfield. ‘Peace, Charles—and my apologies.’

  Charlie looked several things. Taken aback, unconvinced, but then under the weight of Tom’s regard and Duncan’s and Pete’s he said, less grudgingly than he felt, ‘Accepted and returned, Br
on!’

  Bronwen winced but barely perceptibly, then grinned and said to Tom, ‘I suppose we’ll have to reshoot a bit of it—I might need a day or so to rethink it.’

  ‘We’ll do it together. In the meantime, Chloe and Robert have one last scene to be shot, so that’s what we’ll do today. We’ll run through it now and hopefully shoot it this afternoon. Ready, Cathy?’

  She lifted her eyes to his but couldn’t read them, could see no reflection of that urgent lovemaking of a few hours ago, when it had been she who had succoured and comforted with a new kind of strength. No reflection of the surprising way she’d left him when he’d been sated at last, and without thinking about it had absently checked that no one was about and showered her slim, spent body on the afterdeck in the early morning sunlight—then turned to find him watching her from the doorway. They’d said nothing at first, just stared at each other, then she had handed him the shower.

  ‘Thank you—but not only for this.’

  Cathy had only smiled. And they hadn’t said much on the way home either, as if they’d each been thinking their own thoughts…

  ‘Cathy?’

  She came back to the present. ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

  ‘Cut—that’s fine,’ Tom said in the early evening. ‘In fact you were inspired, Charlie, old pal,’ he added in a faintly dry tone. If he noticed the hostile glance Charlie cast him before he could stop himself, he gave no sign of it but went on, ‘It’s also worked in well—now we’ve cleared the decks of Chloe, so to speak, and no disrespect intended towards you, my dear,’ he nodded at Cathy, ‘we can really come to grips with Robert and Portia’s tortured relationship. Bronwen, if you’d care to come back to the villa we can begin hammering it all out tonight. You better come too, Pete. Cathy, why don’t you take a night off? I’m sure Charlie wouldn’t mind shouting you dinner.’

  If Cathy’s lips parted in astonishment, Charlie Westfield did worse. He was carrying a bag which he dropped on his foot, causing him to swear but still look incredulous, and to say to his everlasting shame, ‘But shouldn’t I be in on this conference?’

  ‘It’s not you we’re having the trouble with,’ Tom replied briefly, and turned away.

  ‘Why the hell did I say that?’ Charlie muttered, then bounded towards Cathy. ‘Where will we go? Surfers? There are some great nightclubs and discos—but it’s up to you!’

  Cathy removed her gaze from Tom’s back and in doing so, discovered Duncan was watching him curiously too, and turned her attention to Charlie. ‘No discos, thanks, Charlie,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m tired, but,’ as his face fell, ‘I’m also hungry. What about Beers at Sanctuary Cove?’

  ‘Done! Er… what do you think’s got into your old man?’

  Cathy had to smile and say quite truthfully, ‘I don’t know.’

  Tom came to find her in her dressing-room before they left, and although she didn’t phrase it quite as Charlie had, she did look at him with a question in her eyes.

  He closed the door and leant back against it.

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She pulled off the robe she wore as she took off her make-up and reached for her dress. ‘I do find it hard to understand.’

  He didn’t help her to dress this time. ‘It’s all grist to the mill,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘If you have to fight him off, mention my name.’

  Cathy’s fingers stilled on the buckle of her belt. ‘You don’t believe…?’ Her eyes were wide.

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’ He moved his shoulders rather restlessly. ‘But there’s no reason why you two shouldn’t be friends.’

  Cathy heard herself laugh. ‘So it’s a PR job? While you’re sorting out Bronwen, I’ll be sorting out Charlie. Tom——’

  But he didn’t let her finish. He said, ‘If anyone can let him down nicely, you can, Cat. Under normal circumstances, wouldn’t you want to try?’ But there seemed to be a question mark in his eyes.

  She opened her mouth, closed it, then said, ‘Well—yes, perhaps. You——’ she paused and stared into his eyes ‘—you’re obviously not afraid I’ll no longer be as pure as the driven snow after a date with him?’

  ‘No.’ He said it very quietly.

  ‘Because of this morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tom—I don’t understand. Something’s going on,’ she said slowly. ‘Tell me.’

  He touched her at last, just the point of her chin with one finger. ‘Only the inevitable,’ he said barely audibly.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You said this morning you’re changing—I think that means, among other things, that you can handle Charlie Westfield on your own and without me having to keep you under double wraps any more, that’s all.’ He dropped his hand. And as if on cue, Charlie knocked on the door.

  Tom opened it with a flourish. ‘Well, pal—she’s all yours!’

  ‘You could have knocked me down with a feather,’ Charlie said as they cut into juicy steaks. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it.

  ‘Charlie,’ Cathy said firmly, ‘don’t get this wrong. We can be friends, but that’s all.’

  ‘Is that what he told you?’

  ‘No—it’s what I believe.’ And that’s not a lie either, she told herself firmly.

  ‘I’m surprised he allows you to make those kind of decisions.’

  Cathy put her knife and fork down and picked her napkin up off her lap. ‘If——’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry!’ Charlie said hastily, and replaced her napkin and topped up her wine glass. ‘The guy gets to me, that’s all.’

  Cathy subsided. ‘You have to admit he’s a good director.’

  Charlie waved a hand. ‘Sure. He can also be as cold as the proverbial maggot.’

  She smiled. ‘That’s called professionalism—you know, Charlie, I think it would be better if we left Tom out of our conversation.’

  ‘Would that we could leave him out of our lives,’ he murmured with a grimace, ‘but I guess you’re right. Tell me your life story—just leave out the bits that include Tom West.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea—tell me yours. I used to think you were gorgeous when I was about twelve.’

  Charlie brightened perceptibly and needed no further invitation—indeed, a couple of hours later he looked ruefully at his watch and swore mildly. ‘You should have stopped me!’

  ‘Why?’ Cathy asked with a grin. ‘I enjoyed it.’

  ‘You know,’ he said seriously, ‘you’re the most gorgeous thing and you’re… different. How come you’re into older men?’ he asked with genuine puzzlement. ‘I mean, I can understand the old sugar daddy bit, but that doesn’t fit you.’

  ‘Tom’s not old,’ Cathy protested.

  ‘Did he sweep you off your feet, then, dazzle you and all the rest of it? How come I don’t?’

  It should have been laughable, but it wasn’t. In fact Cathy found herself staring at him with something close to resigned affection, because it had become increasingly obvious during the evening that he was dazzling just about every other woman and girl in the restaurant. Their waitress was falling over herself to serve them, two girls had come up and asked for his autograph and several more mature, definitely sophisticated ladies had taken a very roundabout detour to the powder-room, via their table. So, how to answer him? she wondered.

  ‘I happen to love Tom,’ she said simply at last.

  ‘So does Bronwen… Does he love both of you?’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ she said evenly. ‘And this time I am going.’

  ‘So there’s a serpent in Paradise—I’m coming, don’t make a scene, Cathy,’ he said softly. ‘Sure as hell it’ll find its way into some gossip column.’ She’d started to rise, but she sank back and waited while he called for the bill and paid it by credit card. They walked out together, and it was impossible to be unaware of every head turned their way.

  He tried to take her hand as soon as they were out of
sight, but she withdrew it and they walked along the waterfront in silence until she said with genuine weariness, ‘Take me home, Charlie, otherwise I’ll walk.’

  He had parked the car they had given him close by and he said nothing as he opened the door for her, and nothing as he drove through the village and through the security gates and around the curve of harbour side villas. But as he pulled up outside ‘home’, he said quietly, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. My big problem is that I happen to be in love with you myself. And no amount of friendliness is going to change that. But I’m not just a big mouth and a big ego—if ever you want someone to talk to about it, you could trust me.’

  Cathy laid her head back on the seat. ‘How could I trust you?’ she said a little desolately. ‘You’d never understand.’

  ‘I might—I’m not just a pretty face either, you know,’ he said gravely.

  An involuntary smile curved her lips and she sat up. ‘Actually, I like you a lot, Charlie, but I suspect I’m a lost cause—there is one thing you could do for me, though. You could stop letting Tom get to you.’ Charlie swore, but she patted his hand. ‘Try it, I promise you Half an Hour Earlier in Adelaide will benefit.’

  ‘Want to bet?’ he said bitterly. ‘You know I’ve got the feeling that damn silly catch-phrase is going to haunt me for life! For one thing, we never even get to blasted Adelaide——’

  ‘Adelaide is a very nice city, but that’s the crux of the plot, isn’t it? The time difference——’

  But he broke in broodingly, ‘Adelaide and Chloe—both goddamn mirages!’

  ‘Ah, but there’s always Portia to come back to, and one thing you are, Charlie, is a good actor.’

  He looked at her incredulously. ‘You’re not trying to flatter me on your husband’s behalf, by any chance, are you, Cathy West?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Cathy said seriously.

  ‘Or flatter me into dazzling Bronwen Bishop?’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’m sure you could dazzle Bronwen’s Portia.’

  ‘Hell, I’ve been trying to do that for weeks,’ Charlie said feelingly, and their glances caught and suddenly they were both laughing. ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘All messages received and digested, but I must warn you I don’t believe in lost causes—no,’ he held up a hand as her expression changed, ‘I’m not going to be causing any furores, and if it’s the last thing I do I’ll wring some kind of a spark out of Ms Bishop, but that’s not going to change the way I feel about you—and don’t pat me on the head and fob me off with some platitude, dear Cathy,’ he warned. ‘It won’t work.’