Consequently there was no need for her to fake embarrassment or the guilty look she exchanged with Clive, and Drew's brows came together in a frown as she hurried over.
'I've just been explaining to the others what we want to achieve from Much Ado. We haven't done it before as a company, and both Simon and I feel it needs a fresh approach. As I think most of you already know, Simon is handing over to me for Much Ado. He wants to spend some time with Helen, and he also wants to go to New York, to a the sort of thing they're doing over there. We're hoping that next season we might be able to extend our repertoire slightly . . .'
'But you don't normally direct, surely?'
It was David Andrews, who was to play Benedick, who asked the question. A popular actor, he was also extremely dedicated to turning out a professional performance, and Kirsty could see faint concern shadowed his eyes as he asked the question.
'Not normally,’ Drew agreed with a smile that said he understood the reasoning behind the question and respected him for it. 'Certainly I did at Oxford, and for several years afterwards, but these days, when l'm not writing, I work mainly as a critic.'
Writing! Kirsty hadn't realised that he wrote and she wondered how many more strings he had to his bow.
'However,' Drew was continuing, 'if at any time the cast feels that I'm letting them down, they're perfectly at liberty to say so.'
'It's a pitty we aren't doing one of your plays,' David Andrews further astounded Kirsty by saying. 'I saw Light Waves being performed at the National during the summer. Peter Howard made an excellent Leo.'
Light Waves! Kirsty was stunned. Light Waves had been written by Paul Bennett, a much revered and admired modern playwright they had studied at drama school, one of the few modern playwrights Kirsty admired. It came as a shocking blow to realise that Paul Bennett and Drew Chalmers were one and the some person.
Across the small distance that separated them she could see the open mockery in Drew's eyes and held herself proudly. Was it her fault that she hadn't known?
'Quite a man, your fiancee,' Clive murmured softly at her side. 'That's where he got the money to invest in the place. But of course, you'll already know all about that, won't you?'
Kirsty wasn't too naive to sense the hostility and envy behind the questions but before she could say anything, Rachel Bellamy, who was playing Beatrice, was speaking, her voice rather cool as she said sharply, 'Drew, I've heard that you're planning to change Hero's role slightly. I can understand why, of course, her eyes rested with icy disdain on Kirsty's flushed cheeks, 'but I must say, darling, it isn't like you to allow emotion to run away with common sense. Her is merely a foil to Beatrice . . .'
'And so the audience feels a great death of sympathy for her,' Drew pointed out. 'As far as the relationship between Beatrice and Her is concerned, I don't want to change it, but when it comes to Hero's acceptance of Claudio's denunciation of her and their subsequent reunion, I should like to see her behaving in a way that today's woman can more easily identify with.'
'But surely even today, there are woman who accept just as much from their men as Hero did.' Kirsty surprised herself by saying.
It was disconcerting to have so many pairs of eyes fixed on her face, not all of them kind.
It was Rachel who spoke first.
'Oh dear,' she exclaimed in dulcet tones, 'are we about to witness a lovers' quarrel? Haven't you told her yet, Drew, that one simply does not argue with the director, even when one is engaged to him?'
To Kirsty's surprise Drew, instead of looking annoyed, merely said calmly, 'Kirsty wasn't arguing with me, Rachel, and she does have a valid point. However, in this instance both Simon and I believe that Hero has been thrust too much into the background in past productions. Now, I want to run through the entire play. Everyone knows what part they're taking. We'll read through and then talk about it afterwards.'
The casual way he said it gave Kirsty no intimation whatsoever of how hard they were all going to have to work. The simple read-through took the best part of five hours, with Drew constantly stopping them and explaining exactly what he wanted from each actor.
lt was nearly seven in the evening when he finally glanced at his watch and announced, 'I think we'd better break there. Don't forget, we start rehearsals proper on Tuesday morning.'
Kirsty had been sitting next to Rafe Adams who was playing Claudio. She liked him and thought they would work well together, although the read-through had brought home to her more than ever just how hard she was going to have to work. Clive joined them as they stood up.
'How about giving me a lift back into town?' he suggested to Kirsty, obviously not realising that she hdn't come in her car. 'Then we could go out and have a Chinese if you fancy the idea. I expect your ever-loving will have to stay behind to smooth down la Bellamy - ' he gestured in the direction of Rachel Bellamy. 'She wasn't too happy about the idea of him boosting your part I can see why, of course. She's frightened you'll upstage her-probably with good reason,' he added flatteringly. 'So I'm afraid your fiance will be lost to you for tonight. One of the penalties of mingling with the famous!'
Kirsty really had no desire to do anything other than return to her bedsit and simply flop. Reluctant though she was to admit it even to herself, pique had mingled with the relief she had experienced when she realised that far from subjecting her to any lover-like displays of affection, Drew was behaving towards her exactly as he behaved towards the rest of the cast.
She was just on the point of explaining to Clive that she hadn't come in her car, when Drew's voice suddenly silenced her.
'Kirsty!' he called.
She turned her head, and Clive murmured mischievously in her ear, 'Ah. His Master's Voice, and how well he has you trained, my dear . . . I hear that Beverley Travers is staying: with Rachel and her husband, for an unspecified length of time,' he added. 'I should be very careful if I were you. She won't give him up lightly.'
'Have you got a moment?' Drew asked. 'There are one or two points I should like to go over with you . . .'
'Oh, unfair, darlingl' Rachel pouted resentfully. 'Surely you can give Kirsty extra coaching any time? I wanted you to come back and have dinner with us. There are one or two aspects of Beatrice I want to talk over with you. I'm sure Kirsty won't mind, will you, sweet?'
Inwardly seething, Kirsty forced a vapid smile. Rachel didn't fool her in the least, and she would have laid bets that Drew would find himself partnered for dinner by Beverley Travers.
Still, was that any concern of hers? she chided herself. Drew had made no secret of his feelings for the other woman. She herself was merely a pawn in the game.
'Of course I don't,' she managed with a sweetness to match Rachel's. 'Drew has already explained to me that being director often means that business has to come before pleasure. Never mind, darling,' she smiled up at him, watching the way Rachel's eyes hardened with anger as she slipped her hand through Drew's arm and gazed up at him, 'we can always make up for it later.'
'There you are, Drew!' Rachel exclaimed triumphantly. 'I knew Kirsty would understand. I'd invite her to join us, but I'm sure she'd much rather be with the other young things, at the pub. I can remember how much we used to enjoy that sort of thing, don't you?'
She was clever, Kirsty conceded, watching her smile. If Drew had really been engaged to her, by now both of them would be feeling a little sore; she would be imagining that she was too young for Drew, and no doubt he would be wondering if he was too old for her. However, Kirsty realised soon that she had underestimated him, for instead of appearing put out by Rachel's malice, he merely thanked her for the invitation, and told Kirsty he would talk to her later about Hero, dropping a brief kiss on her forehead before leaving with Rachel.
Kirsty saw them briefly when she and the others emerged from the theatre. Drew was climbing into the back seat of Alan's powerful Daimler.
'Don't look so forlorn,' Cherry told her commiseratingly. 'I don't think there's any doubt as to who he'd rather be
with.'
Kirsty didn't either, but she knew that Cherry would be both shocked and disbelieving if she were to tell her what she thought, so instead she forced a smile and announced that she rather regretted not bringing the car, because the evening was sharply cold after the warmth of the theatre, and she was not really in the mood for the walk home.
'A word of warning before you go,' Cherry cautioned her. 'Clive-I know he's a charmer, but I got the impression that Drew wasn't too happy about the way the pair of you were chatting away together.'
Kirsty endeavoured to look both disbelieving and faintly sullen. 'Drew doesn't choose my friends for me,' she told Cherry.
Cherry looked unconvinced and rather concerned, and Kirsty hated herself for deceiving the older girl. However, there was no way she could tell her the truth.
'Don't worry,' she palliated, 'Drew isn't the possessive type.'
Cherry gave her a distinctly old-fashioned look. 'No?' she questioned with irony. 'My dear, if you believe that you'll believe anything! Drew was looking at you with a distinctly proprietorial look in his eyes. All men in love are jealous to some extent, love,' she added, 'and your Drew's no different. If anything I should think he's worse than average. Those cool, deceptive ones always are.'
When Clive realised that Kirsty wasn't in her car, he begged a lift from one of the others, leaving Kirsty to walk home on her own. In many ways she wasn't sorry. The read-through had been exhilarating in many ways, and she had left the theatre with her mind crammed with new impressions and ideas, and yet it was Drew who occupied her thoughts to the exclusion of everything else as she walked homewards-Drew, who would probably by now be sitting in Rachel Bellamy's drawing room, sipping sherry and exchanging polite conversation with the love of his fife, while Rachel looked on approvingly.
Of course, it was natural that she should champion her friend, Kirsty admitted, and yet somehow she couldn't help feeling sorry for Drew, condemned to spend the rest of his life with a woman as cold and hard as Beverley Travers.
As the direction of her wayward thoughts suddenly struck her she came to an abrupt standstill. What on earth was happening to her? lf she should feel sorry for anyone, it ought to be herself !
Her small bedsit looked remarkably cosy and attractive with the curtains drawn and the one solitary lamp giving a soft glow to the faded chintz settee and pale beige carpet, Kirsty decided as she glanced proudly round the room. On the cane dresser were several photographs of her family, and she had bought some flowers on Saturday which added a bright splash of colour and homeliness to the room. Her mother was a natural homemaker and Kirsty had inherited much of her flair. She decided to wash her hair before she ate, and changed into a pretty candy-striped cotton nightshirt she had bought during the summer, before going into the small bathroom. The nightshirt was pretty enough to wear over jeans had she wished to do so, and more comfortable for relaxing in.
She had just wrapped her wet hair in a towel and wandered into the kitchen to whisk eggs for the omelette she had decided to make when she heard her doorbell ring.
Expecting it to be Cherry, she opened the door with a warm smile, which faded when she saw Drew standing there, tall and leanly powerful in the dark trousers and leather jacket she had seen him leaving the theatre in earlier.
'That's what I like,' he drawled in irony. 'A warm welcome from my loving fiancee! Aren't you going to ask me in?' Kirsty had stepped back automatically, and he followed her in, filling the tiny foyer.
'I thought you were having dinner, with Rachel and her husband,' she began stupidly, flushing when he drawled, 'Now what on earth gave you that impression? Or do I look like the kind of man who leaves his fiancee to starve while he dines with his ex-girl-friend?'
When he said it, Kirsty guessed why he had left early. 'Of course, you told them you were coming here,' she guessed distastefully. 'I trust Beverley was suitably jealous?'
'If she was, she hid it very well,' he told her, suddenly frowning as he took in her appearance.
'I was planning to have an early night,' Kirsty stammered, cheeks flushing in anger. She had no need to explain her actions to anyone, least of all Drew, nor to feel embarrassed by them.
'Without eating?'
'I was just going to make myself an omelette,' she told him defensively. 'It's been a tiring day- and after last night. . . .'
'Ah yes, last night.' His eyes mocked her. 'That's one of the reasons I wanted to see you. Tomorrow I'm taking you into York to get your engagement ring. I'll pick you up at eleven. We'1l have lunch somewhere, talk over your part. I wanted to discuss it with you anyway.'
'And this way you can kill two birds with one stone?' Kirsty suggested tightly. God, the arrogance of the man! 'I don't want a ring,' she told him. 'It isn't necessary.'
'It is to me,' Drew told her. 'If only to stop young fools like Clive Richmond from flirting with you.'
'And spoiling all your plans?' Kirsty ventured, bitterly angry without knowing why. Why should she care if all Drew thought about was Beverley Travers, if she was the only woman who meant anything to him emotionally? They deserved one another, she told herself; and she didn't give a damn about either of them.
'Why don't you go and dry your hair,' Drew suggested, surprising her, 'and I'll make us both that omlette.'
Kirsty wanted to say that she didn't want to share her supper with him and that she would much rather eat alone, but the words even merely framed in her head sounded ungracious, and besides, there were several points she had been mulling over about her part that she did want to discuss with him.
'A first-rate director,' Helen had called him, and Kirsty suspected that she could very well be right, much as it went against the grain to say so.
She dried her hair briskly with a towel, taking. the precaution of changing back into her jeans and a clean jumper, something which didn't escape Drew's sardonic eyes when she went back into the small kitchen.
'You needn't have worried,' he told her dryly, 'I didn't come here to make love to you.'
Kirst'y turned away, willing herself not to colour up. Of course she hadn't thought that he had, it was just that she hadn't felt comfortable dressed merely in her shirt, while he was wearing an expensive cashmere sweater and equally costly-looking pants. The leather jacket had been discarded and lay on a chairs but Kirsty could tell simply by looking at it that It was as expensive as the rest of his outfit.
'Omelette's ready. Here, pass me the plates, will you,' Drew instructed. 'They're heating under the grill.'
They ate off trays on their knees-a strangely intimate scene, and one that caused Kirsty an inexplicable pang. What did it matter to her if Drew was merely using her? she asked herself. She fully intended to turn the tables on him. But somehow it did matter. She stole a look at him beneath her lashes as she finished off the omelette. He was so handsome, so virility masculine that she doubted that any woman could remain impervious to him for long, but there was more to him than that. She was intelligent and articulate, and to the woman he loved would be a companion and friend as well as a lover. What was happening to her? Kirsty wondered, the omelette suddenly tasting like rubber. She loathed the man! He was overbearing and domineering; everything she detested in a man.
'I hope this sacrifice has the desired effect,' she told him acidly as she collected their empty plates. 'Just think, you could have been dining m luxury with Beverley Travers!'
'But instead I chose to eat with the woman I love,' Drew mocked. 'Although I doubt that they'd believe me-that I came here to eat, I mean,' he told her. 'I suspect they thought I had very different appetites in mind when 1 said my goodbyes.'
For the life of her Kirsty couldn't meet his eyes.
'It's late,' she told him in a strained voice. 'I think you ought to be going.' Somehow any reference to the way she had felt in his arms, no matter how oblique, made her stomach churn in protest.
'How very timid you are! I thought in these modern days girls no longer feared being alone with their int
ended husband and his unbridled passion.'
'That hardly applies in our case,' Kirsty told him stiffly. 'I'm simply tired, that's all. It's been a long day . . .'
'And looks like being an even longer night,' Drew drawled in a curiously bitter tone. It struck Kirsty then that there were faint shadows beneath his eyes, a look of strain round his mouth, and she wondered how much he felt the deprivation of being without Beverley, who had undoubtedly spent more than one night wrapped in his arms.
It was several before it dawned on her that the emotions aroused by the mental picture she had conjured up were those of pain and envy, and several more for her to come to terms with them sufficiently for her to get to her feet and walk numbly towards the door.
Kirsty . . .' Drew's hand was on her arm, a more understanding expression in his eyes than she had ever seen before. 'I know this is hard for you,' he told her, 'but I . . .' He frowned suddenly, black brows snapping together as the doorbell pealed.
'A late visitor,' he remarked. 'Were you expecting someone?'
'No.' She flushed as his eyes lingered intently on her face, suddenly feeling like a guilty schoolgirl, for no reason at all.
The bell pealed again and she moved towards it and opened the door.
'At last-I'd begun to think you'd gone to bed!' Clive stepped in through the open door, bending to nuzzle her neck and murmur appreciatively, 'Umm, you smell nice. What is it?'
'Forbidden.'
Drew's icy voice stopped him in his tracks, and his head lifted as he drawled appreciatively and without the slightest trace of embarrassment, 'Oh dear! Sorry about that, lovey, but I thought , . .'
'I think you should leave,' Drew interrupted suavely.
For a moment Kirsty thought Clive would debate the issue, and then he shrugged lightly, smiling as he turned back towards the door, murmuring sotto voce to Kirsty, 'Another time, perchance, oh fair one,' and then he was gone, leaving Kirsty alone to face the icy coldness of Drew's eyes, feeling as guilty as though they had in truth been engaged.
'I didn't ask his to call-' she began defensively,
A Sudden Engagement by Penny Jordan Page 8