As if she had not heard, Janine went on. “No one has ever heard of you, ever seen you with Logan before.”
“Logan’s preference for privacy, even secrecy, concerning his private life is well-known.”
“You appeared in your role only after Marvin had surprised you alone with Logan at his retreat.”
“Are you suggesting Logan claimed me as his fiancée merely to save my reputation? Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone I know is miles away; why should I care? Besides, the notion is so old-fashioned as to be laughable.”
“I don’t think you would have cared at all. I would probably have been quite a feather in your cap, even if news of your presence in such a love nest had been splashed over every newsstand in the country. No, I don’t think your reputation was involved. Logan may be conventional, but he isn’t stupid. Nor do I think he would have done it to improve Marvin’s opinion of him. Marvin has some outdated ideas of his own about fidelity and morality, but he is a realist, especially when it comes to people involved with the movie business.”
“I suppose you do have some kind of a theory?” Clare inquired with a show of weariness.
“Yes, I do. It was for my sake, to protect me, of course. You were there. Marvin already thought you were Logan’s — shall we say special friend? — for the week. Logan decided to use the situation to convince Marvin he had absolutely no grounds for his suspicions of me.”
Janine’s incredible self-confidence was beginning to wear on Clare. Wasn’t it just possible her version of the story was the correct one? Logan had used violence to protect the producer’s wife once; why wouldn’t he do this for her also? The reasons for the slight changes he had made in the story could be easily explained. He might have thought Clare would be more sympathetic, more easily persuaded to do as he wanted, if she thought he was unattached. The gentleman actor being pursued by a woman he did not want to hurt and could not afford to anger. At the same time, the tale would have served to mask his true feelings. It was plausible, and yet Clare was not ready to accept it completely.
In her best imitation of Logan’s mocking style, Clare said, “It was lucky that I happened to be around when I was needed, then, wasn’t it?”
“That did confuse me at first,” Janine admitted. “I had the best of reasons for knowing Logan had no interest in the company of other women. Forgetting in another woman’s arms is not his style; he is stronger than that. How did you come to be there, then? I asked myself, and I remembered the small clue Logan had supplied. You are a freelance writer. The instant I remembered, I knew. You were there for a story.”
“Logan doesn’t give out interviews,” Clare pointed out.
“You are not from the Coast, not too familiar with interviewing big stars, I think. You wouldn’t know Logan’s habits until it was too late. I don’t know how you came to discover where he was, but I expect the blizzard caught you at Logan’s place. You must be thanking your lucky stars for it. Not only did it give you time enough with him to come up with some kind of story, regardless of his lack of cooperation, it landed you a temporary post as his fiancée — not to mention a chance to be closer to him than most women ever dreamed. Was that last prospect all it took to induce you to agree to this — what did you call it? — masquerade, or did he offer you something else? Say, an exclusive?”
“You have it all worked out, don’t you?” Clare asked. “I don’t see why you didn’t want to speak of it in front of Logan, then. Could it be because you are afraid he will deny it?”
She was troubled by more than that. Janine had come so close to the truth Clare felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. It was odd, but the closer she came, the less inclined Clare felt to admit to Janine she was right. The fact that both Janine and Logan had hit upon the same reason for her presence at Logan’s place was distressing. It might stem from no more than their cynical disbelief in coincidence, bred in the movie capital, but it could also mean that Janine had spoken to Logan already, that he had told her exactly what had taken place between Clare and himself.
“My reasons for not speaking to Logan are no concern of yours,” Janine informed her. “Nor is my relationship with him any of your business. It must be obvious that we have been, are now, more than friends.”
“That isn’t the way I heard it,” Clare said stubbornly.
“No? You would be a fool to believe any tale Logan might have spun for you to enlist your aid. I tell you what I say is true. Since that is clear, I believe we can dispense with the supposition and the pretense.” Janine got to her feet, moving toward the door.
Clare rose also. “Really, I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“My purpose in coming here this afternoon,” the former actress went on, her trained voice overriding Clare’s with little effort, “was to let you know that I am in possession of the facts. I will condone your part in it because of the stupid screenplay Logan is so determined to have Marvin produce. I care that much for him. My patience is not infinite, however. I have no liking for seeing you pushing yourself into Logan’s arms. If you cannot remember that you are a substitute for me, that this masquerade is not reality, then I refuse to be responsible for what I might do. You see, I care more for the man that for his script, and I am growing tired of having to pacify my husband. If you can’t be sensible, if you can’t be circumspect in your behavior, I will go to Marvin and tell him everything. You keep that in mind the next time Logan makes love to you in public!”
The door slammed behind the woman. Clare stood still, paralyzed with anger and fear and a deeper dread that she approached cautiously in her mind. Could Janine be right? Was it really possible? Had Logan lied to her? Beyond this question was one other haunting doubt, one other possibility. Logan could have lied to them both. It would have been to his advantage, if he had been somewhat less than particular as to ethics, for him to play up to Janine in order to win her influence with her husband; then, when she became too intense, threatening to leave her husband regardless of the loss to Logan of Hobbs’s support, he might have decided to skip town, hoping she would do nothing so long as he was not there to support her. When Marvin Hobbs had confronted Logan, obviously expecting to find his wife, Logan had grasped at Clare to protect himself, later offering her a plausible tale and a likely bribe to gain her cooperation. Meanwhile, he had persuaded Janine to remain docile, at least until the contracts for the film had been signed.
The explanation made sense. It did not fit her conception of Logan’s character, but he was an actor, wasn’t he? He could be convincing in any role he chose to play.
For long moments Clare stood in the center of the room, her gray eyes wide and dark with pain, her arms clasped across her body. Though the room was warm, so warm the windows were fogged over, she was suddenly cold, shaken by a chill that came from the drafty emptiness within her.
Eight
In spite of the fullness of the next few days, they seemed to creep past. They began early. Clare and Logan breakfasted alone most of the time. Afterward they would drive out into the countryside, sometimes to where the Roaring Fork River lay frozen in its bed, trickling quietly, as if murmuring to itself, beneath the thick layers of greenish-white ice. Other times they would-turn east on the narrow, winding road that led to Independence Pass over the Continental Divide, enjoying the majestic snow-covered vistas for as far as the road would take them. Once started, Clare always wanted to go higher and higher, but the mountain pass with its steep grades and unguarded curves was closed for the winter. Once they parked their car at the farthest point the road would take them, and on rented snowshoes, carrying a knapsack loaded with snacks and a flask of hot coffee, tracked through the silent white forests. Once their mode of transportation was cross-country skis, and Clare, sliding along with energy in Logan’s wake, was not certain she did not prefer this almost solitary sport to the crowds and competitive daring of the ski slopes.
The slopes were not ignored, however. Clare and Logan drove out once or twice to t
he resorts at Aspen and Aspen Highlands, where Logan gave Clare pointers on style as they watched the skiers make their runs. One day, following the crowd to Buttermilk, they caught a portion of the national skiing championships, a fine display of technique in the cold winter sunshine.
Clare’s own ability on skis improved with each day’s lesson. By the time her first week in the mountains was drawing to a close, she had progressed from the grounds of the Snowmass Country Club to the beginners’ slope, and from there to intermediate skiing.
Though the daylight hours were spent with Logan almost constantly at her side, the evenings were the worst. When they were alone, or even in the company of Beverly and John, they could meet in cool friendliness, like travelers thrown together for a space of days who would never meet again. All that changed when the sun set behind the mountains. Janine Hobbs insisted on their meeting with her husband and herself for the daily après-ski ritual, and afterward for dinner. It was then that Logan became more possessive, more the lover. The change was a subtle one, expressed in a touch, a gesture, a warm glance from which Clare, try as she might, could not look away. With the same effortless ease with which he projected emotion on the screen, he created between them an air of such intimate tenderness that Clare sometimes had to bring herself up short, reminding herself that it had no more substance than celluloid romance.
Still, if she was ever in danger of forgetting, there was always Janine. The woman watched constantly, her eyes slitted and a tight smile on her face. As the nights went by one by one, the producer’s wife grew more snappish. She found fault with the drinks served to her, declared that the smell of woodsmoke nauseated her, and pronounced the band in the dining room as amateurish, certainly not up to the quality of the bands found in the nightspots in Los Angeles. Nothing, not her husband’s sarcastic rejoinders or Logan’s quiet teasing, could persuade her to leave off her ill humor. If either of the two men guessed the cause of it, they gave no sign. To Clare it was plain enough. The producer’s wife resented even a pretense of interest in Clare from Logan. Not that there had ever been any doubt. It had been Janine’s jealousy that had driven the woman to threaten putting an end to the bogus engagement. Sometimes Clare, sitting self-consciously in the circle of Logan’s arms, watched by that basilisk stare, was not at all sure it would be a bad thing if she did.
On this particular evening, they had dined on Alaskan king crab, a truly delicious change from beef, one that Clare, coming from a state famous for seafood, had never tried. The band had been replaced for the night by a guitarist, an excellent performer who played in the classic Spanish style through the meal, turning later to folk songs and popular country-and-western tunes, encouraging everyone to sing along. The idea found favor with all except Janine. Too utterly junior college, she sneered, and sat tight-lipped as the others raised their voices around her.
To Clare, it was great fun. Her voice was clear and strong, and she enjoyed singing. Moreover, the shared music was much closer to what she had expected of entertainment at a ski lodge than the cacophony of hard rock. Logan joined in also, though with less enthusiasm. He seemed more preoccupied with watching Clare’s enjoyment, the sparkle in her eyes and her pleasure in the recognition of favorite melodies and lyrics. Once he leaned close to harmonize, and when she turned to him with a grin when the song was over, gave her a brief hug, pressing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Clare stiffened, drawing away. She slanted a quick look at Janine. The woman was stabbing out her cigarette in the ashtray, crushing it as she stared at Logan with hooded eyelids heavy with mascara.
Logan touched Clare’s arm. “What is it, darling?” he asked, his voice low.
The endearment, the soft concerned tone, did not escape Janine. The color drained from her face, leaving it white with anger.
Clare shook her head. “Nothing,” she murmured. As Logan drew her back against him once more, her gaze flicked to Marvin Hobbs. With a frown between his eyes and his mouth in a thin line, he was watching his wife. Slowly he turned toward Logan. It was Clare who intercepted his hard stare, however. Immediately his face smoothed to blandness, though there was a perceptible glint in the depths of his eyes.
The evening wore on. Marvin left the table to speak to an acquaintance he had made during the course of the last days. After a few minutes he waved to catch Logan’s attention and motioned to him. As soon as Logan was out of hearing, Janine leaned toward Clare.
“What do you think you are doing?” she hissed. “Flirting, practically begging to be fondled and petted before my very eyes. I warned you what would happen if you pushed me too far!”
“If you aren’t careful, your husband is going to catch on, whether you are ready to tell him or not,” Clare answered as easily as she could manage.
“What do you mean?”
“He was watching you turn green with envy just now.”
“Is that so? Little I care! He won’t do a thing about it.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure, if I were you. I don’t think I would care to cross him.”
Janine shrugged. “You have to know how to handle him, but it was not my husband we were discussing, it was you.”
“Yes, you don’t like the way I am behaving. If you remember, I didn’t kiss Logan, he kissed me. According to you, there is nothing to it, so I fail to see why you are upset. If you have some complaint to make on that score, I suggest you make it to him. I am sure if you are what you say you are to each other, the last thing Logan will want is to annoy you.”
Janine threw herself back in her chair so hard it creaked. “I never have a chance to see him alone. He is with you most of the day, and Marvin dogs my footsteps every evening.”
“I expect if what you told me the other day is true, not meeting is the wisest course.”
“Wise?” Janine laughed, a hollow sound. “What do I care about being wise? That would be a poor kind of love.”
“I was under the impression the wisdom was on Logan’s part,” Clare said, her smile innocent.
The other woman sent her a sharp look. “I will find a way,” she muttered, and turned to smile at Logan as he threaded his way back to their table.
At last the dreadful evening was done. The time came when Clare could retire to her room and close the door behind her. She washed her face to remove her makeup and donned her nightgown, a long sheath of apricot silk with a mandarin collar and side seams slit to well above the knees. In an effort to relax she brushed her hair, spreading the silken blond strands upon her shoulders like a cape. Fine tendrils curled about her face, framing her wide, dark eyes, giving her a look of gentle vulnerability. With a sudden movement, Clare put down the brush and swung from the mirror.
She could not sleep. She tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, but when she turned on the bedside lamp and picked up her wristwatch, it had been only an hour and a half. In the bottom of her suitcase was a paperback book. She got it out and sat turning the pages, only to realize after a time that she had read line after line without being able to absorb their meaning. She could not concentrate, could not keep her mind on the story. Her thoughts went around in endless circles. Why had she ever let herself become involved in this mess? She wasn’t used to such complicated affairs and their crosscurrents of love and hate. She would have said ordinarily that she was fair at separating fact from falsehood. Now she seemed to have lost her bearings. She could no longer tell what she knew from what she believed, what she believed from what she wanted to believe.
If she had any sense, she would make some excuse to pack her suitcase and be gone, not only from the lodge and Snowmass, but from Colorado. Coming here had been a mistake on several accounts. Not only had she landed herself in this situation, there had been precious little opportunity to think seriously about her future. Even now, in the middle of the night, she could not make her mind settle to the task.
The lodge was quiet. There had been no raised voices or slamming doors for some time. The abrupt sound of a
knock was startling in the stillness. Clare hesitated an instant, uncertain whether the summons had been at her own door or from somewhere nearby. Flinging back the cover, she slipped into her robe of turquoise fleece and went to see.
The balcony outside her room was empty. She was just about to step back inside when she heard the sound of a door closing. The knock had been near, all right, next door, in fact. Just before the panel snapped shut, there had been the sound of a voice, a woman’s voice. Janine had been as good as her word. She had found a way to speak to Logan.
Clare, her face cold with distaste, started back inside once more. At that moment, she heard the slam of another door from a lower floor, on the opposite side of the pool. The direction from which the sound had come touched off a suspicion in her mind. She moved quickly out onto the balcony and looked over the railing. Below her, Marvin Hobbs had emerged from his room and was striding toward the elevator. His face grim, he stepped inside. The doors slid shut, and the elevator car began its upward whine.
Clare did not stop to think. She whirled back into her room and swung the door shut. Running to the connecting door, she beat a furious tattoo on its wood-grained surface, snapping the lock open with one hand at the same time.
“Logan?” she called as loudly as she dared. “Let me in.”
The door opened inward, and she tumbled into Logan’s bedroom. Logan, his hair tousled and his robe wrapped around him, stared at her in surprise not unmixed with irritation. Janine stood back, her hands clenched at her sides and her face twisted with fury as she glared at Clare.
“I ... I’m sorry, Logan. I don’t mean to interfere, but Marvin Hobbs is coming.”
“He can’t be,” Janine objected. “He was sound asleep when I left.”
“He isn’t now,” Clare said succinctly. Hard on her words came a sharp knock.
Clare flung a quick look at Logan. In defiance of his frown, she stepped to his bed and sat down at the foot, curling her legs under her in an effort to look as if she had been there long enough to be comfortable.
Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets) Page 44