She resumed her seat, hoping her friends would refrain from commenting on her heightened color.
Jessica was looking at her in awe, admiration and envy. “You move in high circles,” she gasped. “What did he say to you?”
“Surely you heard every word he said, and also my replies once he’d stopped fooling around with the mike.”
“Not the compère – Noel Britton.”
“Nothing much,” she said, dismissing him with a shrug. “What on earth made you do that to me? You know how much I hate to be the center of attention. How did you know it was my birthday?”
“Ah – that would be telling.”
Lorraine supplied the answer herself. “You got it from Records. It was a mean trick.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessica said, not looking sorry at all. “Me, now, I would have lapped it up. Honestly, I didn’t realize you would find it so awful. Anyway, you can relax now. It’s over.”
She hoped it was. But it was a small sliver of hope. One that, nevertheless, grew stronger until she could rest easy, having convinced herself that Jamie wouldn’t have witnessed her impromptu stage appearance from behind the scenes. He had come a long way in three years. He was very much the big star now. In the event of his having arrived at the club, he would be safely tucked away in his dressing room, either putting on his stage clothes or relaxing. He wouldn’t be standing in the wings, gleaning all he could from the other acts as he had done in the struggling days of his career when she knew him.
He had been like an unpolished diamond then. The potential was there – he had the voice and the melting, little-boy looks – but he’d lacked the sparkle. That had somehow been acquired along the way. He’d always talked big. He had promised himself a large house in the country with its own heated swimming pool, a car with his personalized number plate, a holiday home abroad. It wasn’t the dangling carrot of a life of luxury that had attracted her to him. If anything, that would have put her off, because she wasn’t grasping by nature. She would have given anyone who suggested otherwise the sharp edge of her tongue. Easy going for the most part, she could speak her mind when the occasion demanded it. Her father used to say, “You’ve inherited your mother’s fine features, high cheekbones, heart-shaped face, beautiful green- flecked eyes and golden flood of hair, but, heaven help you, girl, my temper!”
So it wasn’t the things Jamie promised, it was Jamie himself. His winsome appeal had spoken to her strongly, and she had mistaken her responses for love. In a way it might have been love. There are different levels of loving. She had loved him with her eyes and not her heart. He was twenty-five then, although he’d looked about seventeen. In the full magnificence of male youth, he was like a god on a pedestal to her. At first glance there had seemed about him an innocence and purity that was almost feminine. Later she realized his gentleness was a form of weakness, not a praiseworthy characteristic in anyone, but worse in a man than in a woman. There was no saving sweetness anywhere in his nature. The softly rounded curve of cheek and chin and the fullness of his mouth masked a hard streak of indifference that was to bring her more pain than if he’d lifted his hand to her in cruelty and assaulted her. Success was more than a dream he would work hard to realize; it was an obsession. If anyone got in his way, that was just too bad – for them.
She had reasoned all this out later. At the time her brain hadn’t been functioning too well. She had still been mourning the death of her father, so perhaps all the tears weren’t for herself. The thought had even crossed her mind that the tears were some kind of delayed reaction, a penance she had to pay for not being able to weep for her father. The death of her father had shocked her so profoundly that she had been too numb to feel, to shed the normal tears of grief. It was as though Jamie’s defection pulled her round and unlocked the tears she hadn’t been able to shed a few bitter months before when her father had died. She was made to feel, cry, sorrow, and, painful as it was, it proved her salvation.
If she’d known that Jamie was topping the bill she would have made some excuse to decline Jessica’s invitation to join the party. Now, despite everything, a tiny part of her was glad she had accepted in ignorance. She was curious to know how the intervening years had dealt with Jamie. Three years isn’t all that long when measured against time; but, measured against events, it can sometimes seem to be a lifetime. They had been good years for Jamie. He’d risen from an unknown supporting artist to a top recording star. Had he been able to adapt? Was he equal to it? Suddenly acquired wealth brings its own crop of casualties. Pressures build up, false props are relied on. The Jamie she had known was not noted for his sagacity. He was neither prudent nor level-headed, and she knew from bitter experience that he crumbled in a crisis.
Her own foolishness struck her. It was incredible that she could still worry about him after all that had passed between them. In any case, it was totally unnecessary. He had his own built- in buoyancy, so that, whoever else sank, he would always remain afloat. He was a superficial person but a likable one; if all else failed, he could charm his way out of the darkest corner. He had even made it seem right when he . . .
No more time for thoughts. They were playing Jamie’s music now. Shane Peters made the announcement, the velvet curtains swung away and the spotlight centered on Jamie’s dipped, golden head. He wore a white satin suit and a deeply frilled midnight-blue shirt that was casually unbuttoned to reveal a medallion suspended on a chunky gold chain. In the old days the chain would have been silver. Apart from that, he was just as she remembered him. He had more polish, more confidence, but, even though he was three years older, which brought his age up to twenty-eight, he still looked seventeen.
How do you do it, Jamie? she wondered, just as she was to wonder how such a lightweight person, whose keynote was insincerity, could reach out to an audience and within minutes hold that audience in the palm of his hand.
He began by lifting his chin slowly for maximum dramatic effect. His candyfloss smile – sweet but with no substance to it – singled out every female in the room, making her feel as though he was lighting up just for her. His program was more varied than in the old days. He switched from a new hit to a nostalgic oldie; one minute her foot was tapping, the next her throat was constricting. So much she remembered; so much more she’d forgotten. He put down his guitar and went into an informal chat session. Although it was new, she remembered it was something he’d wanted to introduce. But the hesitation, the break in his voice, the little laugh – these things were familiar. They were tricks he’d applied in the old days when a note was beyond his pitch. He used to spend hours before his mirror getting the timing right, perfecting his facial expressions to make it seem off-the-cuff, ensuring that it had the ring of spontaneity.
When the curtain finally closed after three encores – the audience would have kept him there all night – Jessica said breathlessly, “He’s magic! What charisma!”
During his chat spot Jamie had announced that he would shortly be leaving for Las Vegas, where he was booked to appear. He’d also mentioned that he would be in the foyer after the show to sign copies of his latest record.
The girls were discussing this now. Jessica said, “I love him to bits. I’m going to buy a record and get him to autograph it.”
Lorraine was the only one not eager to do the same. “I won’t wait with you. I’ll make my own way home.”
“How?” one of the others said.
“I’ll phone for a taxi.”
“It will cost you the earth. Why don’t you wait with us? Even if you don’t want to buy a record, you’re surely not going to miss the chance of seeing him up close.”
Jessica was eyeing Lorraine shrewdly. She informed the girl who had just spoken, “Save your breath. Wild horses wouldn’t drag Lorraine away. Talking of horses, you’re a dark one, Lorraine.” A tormenting yet not unkind smile touched her mouth. “I know why you don’t want to meet Jamie Gray.”
“You do?” Lorraine queried throatily.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jessica said with irritating slowness, “but I think you’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Bigger fish?” Lorraine repeated stupidly.
“Don’t play the innocent. We saw you and Noel Britton with your heads together. You were arranging to meet later. In fact, it’s my belief that he’s waiting for you right now at the bar. Do you deny it?”
Lorraine said, on a brittle laugh, “It seems I’ve been found out.” Her brain was working frantically. If she didn’t string along with this supposition of Jessica’s, her kindhearted friend would never allow her to call a taxi and go home by herself. But she simply could not countenance the consequences of a face-to-face meeting with Jamie in these surroundings, under the eyes of her friends. Distasteful as it was to her to lie, she could see no other course.
“On your feet, then,” Jessica urged briskly. “Don’t keep the man waiting.”
“What’s the hurry? I’ll wait until you go. It will be more seemly for him to join me then,” she replied inventively.
“Sorry, but we’re not going yet,” Jessica said stoutly. “I’ve been through this before. Jamie Gray won’t make his appearance until there’s a healthy crowd in the foyer. In fact, we’ve time for another drink.”
Which, in turn, would give Noel Britton ample time to finish his drink and remove himself from the bar, and then her lie would be uncovered. A furtive glance told her that he had already finished too much of his drink for her liking.
She contemplated the follow-up of being found out. The girls might not think she’d told a lie. They might assume that Noel Britton had forgotten about her, in which case she would come in for a spot of good-natured teasing, which she wouldn’t mind; but then, like the good sorts they were, they’d rally round and insist on her accompanying them to the foyer to meet Jamie. No!
She was on her feet in an instant. But even as she walked toward the bar she thought, I must be out of my mind. How could she carry this off? “I’ll have that drink now, if it’s all the same with you, Mr. Britton.” No. Too coy. The odds were that he would have forgotten her. Oh, please, let him look up and recognize me as the petrified girl whose assistance he came to earlier; make him remember inviting me to his table for a drink afterward.
Her plea was not answered. No heavenly power was going to offer a helping hand, and it did not seem likely that she could look for earthly intervention, either. She was going to have to do this all by herself.
She was almost level with him now and still his eyes were directed away from her. A frown transformed his mouth to stone. His severe profile was not confidence-inspiring. It was an interesting face, but carved in this effigy of thought, bereft of the Galahad smile he’d given her earlier as he guided her to the steps leading to the stage and stripped of the amusement that had later brushed his features, it was an austere and forbidding face.
“Mr. Britton?” Oh, dear, surely she could do better than that scared whisper. “Mr. Britton?”
This time his chin lifted in response and his eyes fixed on her in cool regard. If there was no recognition, there was, mercifully, no blankness, either.
The back of her neck was burning with the knowledge that she was being closely watched by the rest of her party. She wasn’t going to get down on her knees and beg for his attention.
The length and aggressiveness of her return gaze caused the faintest raising of his eyebrows. “Miss Marshall, I believe?” A smile that was closely related to a sneer curved his mouth. “I take it you’ve changed your mind about having that drink with me,” he said without surprise, as if he’d known all along that she would reconsider.
It would pain her to say yes. Any drink offered with such overbearing conceit would choke her. Yet the alternative of stalking off on an abrupt refusal and having to rejoin her friends was even more unpalatable.
She smiled, content to know that the girls would see only the smile and that its lack of sweetness could not be detected at this distance. “How can I possibly say no to such gallant enthusiasm. I’ll have –” A mischievous look came to her eyes. “Now, let me see; what drink would most suitably fit the occasion? I know! A bitter lemon, please.”
A look of grudging respect flitted over his face as he grappled to understand her strange behavior. Girls who made the approach didn’t normally use frost tactics. “Can we start again?” he said, sending her a smile that was on its way to being conciliatory. “It would give me enormous pleasure if you’d have that drink with me now, Miss Marshall.”
“Thank you, Mr. Britton. I’m delighted to accept. May I still have a bitter lemon, please, simply because I haven’t got the head for stronger stuff and I like its tangy taste?”
He signaled the barman, and the drinks – her bitter lemon and his more potent choice – were placed before them promptly.
“Did you enjoy the show?” he inquired.
“Every minute of it. Well – almost,” she amended, in oblique reference to the part she’d been made to play in the audience participation spot, which she hadn’t liked at all.
The look of intelligence that came to his eyes told her that he was on her wavelength. “And Jamie Gray? What do you think of him?”
“He’s a very talented young man,” she replied guardedly.
Her lack of enthusiasm was noted without comment. “Would you like to meet him?”
“Not particularly.”
“That’s a great pity. At closing time, to send him off to the States in good spirits, a party is being held for him here at the club. I was thinking of asking you to come as my guest.” A deliberate pause. “What about it?”
How cruel fate could be. He was the most exciting man she had ever met and she wished she could accept. Her reasons for avoiding Jamie earlier on still applied, and were even more pressing. If she couldn’t bring herself to meet Jamie again after all this time under the kindly eyes of her friends, she certainly could not voluntarily let Noel Britton witness the event.
It irked her to admit it, but, from the moment he was pointed out to her, she had been too aware of him. From a distance his presence had agitated her pulse beat; his nearness had an even more disturbing effect. It jangled her pulse into a frenzy. It was an assault on her senses and not at all to her liking. She preferred to walk at a slow pace into friendship these days, having learned her lesson with Jamie. Take time to know a person, come to terms with their pet foibles and those small, human peculiarities.
Her instincts of self-preservation – the ones her let down over Jamie had made acute – rebelled at being tipped into the turbulent depths of a relationship, which was what she felt was happening then.
So perhaps it was just as well she had to say, “Sorry, no.”
“I gather you’re not a Jamie Gray fan. There will be other personalities there – and me,” he said with emphasis, as if that were an irresistible temptation. As, indeed, it almost was. “Care to change your mind?”
“I – can’t.”
“Can’t?” Irritation crossed his face, indicating that can’t was a word he refused to acknowledge.
She hadn’t deliberately set out to thwart him. She thought about explaining that she couldn’t attend the party with him because of her involvement with Jamie. If it had been a sealed and finished chapter in her far-distant past, she would undoubtedly have said something. But it was too painfully close and still tied her. It clung, like ivy to a tree, its poisonous tendrils choking her freedom. She had been a coward, turning her back on something unpleasant. How much wiser it would have been to contact Jamie ... see him and talk to him so that she would know in her mind that it was over between them. Perhaps there would be time to arrange a meeting before he went to the States, but it must be in private, not at a party in view of so many curious eyes.
She finished her bitter lemon and set the empty glass down on the bar counter. Jessica and party had gone, she noticed, so it was safe for her to leave. Rising from her stool, she said, “Thank you for the drink. If you’ll excu
se me, I’ll say good night.”
“How do you propose to get home?”
“By taxi. I’m going to phone for one now.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said in an authoritative voice that brooked no argument.
Not that she’d any desire to argue. She enjoyed being helped into her coat, the brief, deliberate touch of his fingers on her bare arm, the casual intimacy of his hand on her elbow as he escorted her out to his car. Tomorrow – who knew? This moment was hers.
Chapter Two
Next morning she woke to a feeling of shivery delight. In her sleep-bemused state it was some moments before she could trace the source of her happiness back to her meeting with Noel Britton the night before.
She refused to accompany him to the party that was being given for Jamie because of her previous involvement with the star, not because of any desire to pique Noel Britton’s interest – but she had a strange feeling that by turning down his invitation that was just what she’d done.
If Jessica knew that she’d turned down the chance of going to a very select party and mingling with the famous, not to mention Jamie Gray, she’d say that Lorraine ought to be certified. Just as well she had no intention of telling Jessica about that or ...
If she didn’t make a move she was going to be late for work. She found it difficult to be brisk and orderly with only half a mind, which was all she could give to her various morning tasks: showering, brushing her teeth, getting dressed, making and eating her breakfast of coffee and toast, preparing sandwiches and selecting an apple for her lunch.
The defecting part of her mind was still on last night’s dream happening. Had Noel Britton really driven her home? Had his restraining hand prevented her from getting out of the car? Had he taken her into his arms, sliding his hands under her coat, kissing her on the mouth with explosive passion before she could demur? It was effected so quickly and, for all its haste, with such smoothness and expertise that she was knocked off balance. It was like being hit by the rushing force of a tidal wave as she was drawn totally into a kiss that was like none she had ever known. In consequence, the trespass of his hands went unchecked for several seconds. The crazy thing was it didn’t seem like the kind of trespass her body had previously objected to and had perfected its own way of dealing with: a frigid backing away that had repulsed the most ardent suitor. Until that moment she hadn’t known the meaning of the word ardor. It came as a shock to realize that for the first time in her life she was in a man’s arms. In the coffee-break gossip sessions, she had heard the other girls giggling over “losing control” and had thought it very weak-minded of them. Now she knew otherwise. The strength of mind she had prided herself on possessing had only been tested by the callow fumblings of boys. In Noel Britton’s hands her flesh yielded and, in body language, asked for more.
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