Scorpio Summer

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  It was an unfortunate turn of phrase, bringing to mind the fact that it was known for an actress to jump into a director's bed and receive a part in consequence.

  If her remark caused a similar picture he did not comment, merely contenting himself with : When you know me better. Miss Heron, you will realize that no one, and I mean no one, is cast in one of my productions other than on merit.'

  Which, thought Frances, was nice to know—-if it was to be believed.

  Felix Ravenscar peered through the windscreen, saying : 'The Courts are ahead. Where now?'

  She directed him and when the Lancia pulled up outside the house she said hesitantly.

  Thank you for the lift. I did thank your mother for the lovely evening, but if you could repeat to her …

  'I apologize for my behavior when we first met,' he interrupted rather brusquely. 'It was unpardonable of me. I jumped to the wrong conclusions and can only offer you the fact that I was irritable and out of temper through being delayed . . . poor excuses, I'm afraid.'

  Frances said nothing. For one thing she thought it only right to have her pound of flesh, and for another, he puzzled her. For such a self-contained man his anger seemed so out of character.

  He carried on, undaunted by her lack of response.

  'I'm often asked by hopeful aspirants what it is that constitutes a good director. I usually tell them that he is the central figure, the pivot, and from him determines good or indifferent television. He needs sound judgment, an ability to work well with all kinds of people, he has to inspire confidence and enthusiasm, organise yet be capable of delegating. He must keep his finger on the pulse, be responsible for everyone, be able to accept and reject advice and keep calm under any circumstances.' He gave a laugh and turned in his seat towards her. 'Of course, that's the ideal director, and no one man can possibly live up to all those conditions all the time. Pressures are brought to bear from all quarters in a job such as mine. I'm totally committed. Miss Heron, and accept these pressures for the most part philosophically, when I don't I shall know it's time to quit. But I'm human enough to become annoyed when something crops up out of the blue an hour before I have to leave for a special birthday party. Before I arrived tonight I had to organise a meeting with union representatives regarding the location work in Cornwall. We're dealing with thousands of pounds, a fact which can't be dismissed lightly, and any hold-ups on schedule could set us back a few more thousands.' He looked at her intently. 'Had the tensions of that meeting not been so great then I'm sure I wouldn't have over-reacted as I did when we first met.'

  He was very persuasive. 'I understand,' Frances murmured.

  He lifted a brow. 'Don't let me off the hook too lightly! My initial response must have upset you and could have completely spoiled the evening. Happily you had Gareth as a most admiring neighbor whenever you wished to ignore my insufferable presence, and the food was good, wasn't it?'

  She looked at him suspiciously, but he remained straight-faced. Her own mouth, however, quivered.

  'I think you're outrageous, Mr Ravenscar, and you know darned well I'm going to forgive you.'

  'I admit I hoped . . . you appear a kind creature.'

  'Have you ever come up against something you couldn't cope with?'

  He pursed his lips, eyes gleaming. 'I'll tempt the gods and say I don't think I have.'

  'Heaven help those around you when you do,' announced Frances fervently, unclipping the seat belt and preparing to leave.

  'Don't go yet . . . there's something else that must be said.'

  She paused at his words, surprised by the sudden change from whimsy to seriousness. He didn't speak for a moment, merely sat frowning out of the window, and then…

  'My mother has a strong interest in you, Miss Heron, brought on quite naturally from the fact that she considers you saved her life ..

  'That's ridiculous, I don't want. . .'

  '. . . and she wishes to reward you suitably. She has certain ambitions that have now taken on a sense of urgency. It's her aim to marry me off, and now that she realizes she's on borrowed time she has decided that blue- eyed, red-haired grandchildren would suit her plans admirably.'

  'I think you're talking nonsense protested Frances feebly, trying to laugh it off. 'Why, I only met her properly the other day! She knows nothing about me!'

  'I suspect she found out more about you than you did about the Ravenscars. Don't let the idea of a little old lady in lavender fool you. Miss Heron. Despite her ill health my mother is as tough as old boots. Once she knew you were cast in my play she started her planning, and the possibility that you could be cast in another part, one nearer home, was conceived.' 'I still think …

  'I'm thirty-six, Miss Heron, and according to my mother should have married long ago. She has lived to see my sister Jessica married and is aiming to keep alive long enough to see me tied up, good and secure. Then, so she says, she will be content to go. That I personally doubt. She is now, quite rightly, indebted to you and being a generous woman will bestow upon you the greatest gift she has—her son. Little realizing,' he added, sardonically, 'that I'm no gift to any woman.

  'I still think you're being ridiculous,' was all Frances could find to say.

  'I hope I am,' came the less than urbane reply, 'but having been through this situation a number of times, I doubt it.

  'If you've come through once you'll come through again, she announced tartly.

  'I know that. . . I wanted to make sure that you do. She took a deep breath. 'I wouldn't have thought you so conceited, Mr Ravenscar.

  He grimaced a smile. 'My dear girl, neither I am, but my mama has enough conceit for us both.

  'I see. Well, thank you for putting the matter so plainly said Frances. 'I take it that you have no intention of partaking marital bliss with anyone at the moment? I mean, your remarks show a tendency towards cynicism that's hard to miss.'

  'You take it correctly, Miss Heron. I have the misfortune, some would say otherwise, to have been born a realist. What I've seen of marriage during my life has given me no desire to taste its delights.'

  'And yet there are good, lasting marriages.'

  'There are exceptions to every rule, but they're few and far between.' He felt in his inside pocket and came out with a diary, quickly turning the pages. 'Would you like to have a tour of the studios one day next week? Rehearsals begin on the Wednesday, so I suggest the Tuesday morning, ten-thirty?'

  Frances stared. 'I thought the whole idea is to dispel your mother's romantic illusions—aren't you going a rather odd way about it?'

  'Not at all. There's no need to dash her hopes too soon. You will also have the opportunity of finding out what you will be coming up against when we start shooting.'

  There was silence while they measured each other. At last Frances said sternly: 'You're quite unscrupulous!' and then giving a short laugh, added: 'Very well, I accept, but only because I would like to see the studios very much. Where my career is concerned I can be unscrupulous too.'

  'I can't believe that, I'm afraid, or you would never have put your audition in such jeopardy,' he said dryly, flicking the diary shut and slipping it back into his jacket. 'Good. Tuesday morning it is. I could pick you up, if you like, say ten o'clock?'

  Frances turned a mocking face, eyes bright. 'If I like ? Really, Mr Ravenscar, show some imagination, please! Have a lift in a superb car as opposed to travelling by bus or tube! What more could a poor working girl ask for? I should be delighted to accept your kind offer, and ten o'clock will suit me fine,' and because she mistrusted the swift stab of anticipation that came with his offer, some devil prompted her to add: 'You say you're not on the look-out for a wife—might I not be looking for a husband? Between us, your mother and I might prove too much for you!' and she moved to open the door to make a swift and triumphant exit, only to find that it wouldn't budge. After fumbling for a few seconds she burst into laughter.

  'It's not fair,' she protested, eyes brimming with mirth as she turned
to him. That was a superb exit line but my timing's all gone now!' She pushed at another handle and heard a click. 'Ah, that's the one, but it's too late, my line's spoilt.' She tilted her head and added soothingly: 'I was only joking, you know. You needn't worry. I'm not at all partial to dark men, and as you don't like redheads we're safe.'

  That sort of remark,' Felix Ravenscar pointed out dryly, 'could be taken as a challenge.'

  'It wasn't intended as one, I can assure you.'

  'And are you on the look-out for a husband. Miss Heron?'

  She eyed him warily. 'No more than any other spinster of this parish. Not any husband, though. I'm rather choosy. I believe marriage is for keeps, you see.'

  The devil you do,' he murmured, searching her face, eyes hidden by hooded lids.

  Frances frowned. 'You say that as if you don't believe me.'

  'It isn't me you have to convince, Miss Heron,' he replied suavely, and thrusting himself from the car he walked quickly round and opened the passenger door. Looking up at the dark frontage of the building, he said: 'You'll be all right now?'

  'Yes, thank you. Goodnight, Mr Ravenscar. Thank you again for bringing me home.'

  'My pleasure. Goodnight, Miss Heron.'

  The Lancia did not move away until she was inside, and as she climbed the stairs to the flat she knew she was going to have difficulty in sleeping—so many thoughts and conjectures were whirling around in her head. She crept about as quietly as she could, going through the nightly rituals, aware of the sleeping Zoe in the next room. No matter where she guided her thoughts they always ended up with the same person.

  Whether she liked the man or not, she had to admit he was a force to be reckoned with . . . and not easy to read. And how easy will he be to work with? she wondered rather worriedly, switching off the bathroom light and padding across the living room towards her bedroom. She paused at the window, thinking that at least it was a relief to know he wasn't going to play the part of Nick Penruth! and then a movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn with a start.

  'Zoe! You scared me—standing there like that!' she gasped.

  Zoe lifted her shoulders in an apologetic shrug. 'Awfully sorry, old thing,' she drawled, face deadpan, 'but I was mesmerised by the sight of you communing with the stars and pulling faces. Are you tight?'

  'Certainly not,' retorted Frances, sweeping past and breezing into her bedroom. 'I'm sorry if I woke you, Zoe, but I tried to be as quiet as I could,' and throwing back the covers, she climbed into bed.

  'Woke me?' questioned Zoe, following her into the room. 'Don't be daft! I haven't been home long myself, but if you thought I'd go calmly to sleep and not wait to hear how you've got on, hobnobbing with the aristocracy, you're mistaken—and don't you dare go to sleep, Frankie, before you can tell all!' she warned, giving her friend a prod as she sat at the foot of the bed.

  'I'm not asleep,' soothed Frances, 'I'm merely resting my eyes. You'll never guess who was there, Zoe . . .'

  'Well, whoever it was, you must have had a good time, it's nearly three o'clock!'

  Frances sat up. 'Good heavens! It never is!'

  'How the time flies,' cooed Zoe.

  Frances ignored that and clasping hands round knees, said dramatically: 'The most amazing coincidence has happened, Zoe. Felix Ravenscar was there.'

  'Good for him. Who is Felix Ravenscar?'

  Frances sighed heavily, but seeing the ominous expression on her friend's face, went on quickly: 'If you fit Felix on to Ravenscar you get none other than the man in the lift!'

  Zoe stared. 'Good lord! The dark sardonic actor?'

  'Yes . . . he just happens to be Lady Ravenscar's son— and Zoe, he's not an actor.'

  'He's not?'

  'No. He's a director!Penruth happens to be his production !' and Frances collapsed back on to the bed.

  'Blimey! Wow!' marvelled Zoe, curling up under the quilt. 'Tell all,' she demanded.

  Frances told her most of what had happened that evening relating it concisely and matter-of-factly, ending on the offer of the tour of the studios. She left out the anger on first seeing her, and the aspirations, maritally, of Lady Ravenscar.

  'Quite an evening you've had, haven't you?' Zoe observed thoughtfully. 'This Ravenscar sounds dynamite to me. I'll see if I can find something out about him . . .'

  '. . . from your influential source?' teased Frances, quelling a strange reluctance for her to do so.

  'This Gareth Williams . . . a Harley Street man, you say? Now he would be worth cultivating. Is he nice?'

  'Very. He's going to ring and arrange a theatre outing some time,' Frances told her mildly.

  'Good!' and on that note of satisfaction Zoe wafted off to her own bed.

  Sunday mornings the girls liked to lie in, reading the newspapers leisurely while eating breakfast. This usually took place in Zoe's room because it faced east and caught the morning sun, and this Sunday was no exception. Somewhere between the book reviews and the sporting page the telephone rang. No move was made to answer it from either of them, until after four or five rings Frances said plaintively:

  'Zoe, it'll be for you.'

  'How can you tell? And you're the nearest,' came the unconcerned reply as Zoe buried herself into the print.

  'Oh, very well,' muttered Frances, 'but if it is for you, expect no mercy,' and she strode into the living room and picked up the phone, crisply enunciating their number. There was silence for a second and then:

  'Frances?'

  'Yes . . .' She caught her breath, and although she knew, added : 'Who is that, please?'

  'Felix Ravenscar. I hope I haven't disturbed you?'

  'No, not at all. . . I was just reading the paper.'

  'I wanted to put your mind at rest. I've found your watch in the car, a link has broken in the clasp. You haven't missed it and been upset?' His voice coming over the telephone seemed deeper, even more attractive.

  'No, I didn't know that I'd lost it! I'm so glad you found it. Thank you for letting me know. . . I would have been upset.'

  'I'll have it mended and bring it along with me on Tuesday.'

  Frances said quickly: 'There's no need to go to that trouble, Felix, I can easily …

  'No trouble.'

  'You're very kind.'

  'Yes, I am sometimes.' His voice was smiling. 'Until Tuesday. Goodbye, Frances.'

  'Goodbye.' There was a click and after a few seconds Frances replaced the telephone thoughtfully. She padded back to the bedroom, settled herself and found her place in the newspaper, absently reaching for her cup of coffee.

  'It was for you, then,' said Zoe, still reading.

  'Yes. Felix Ravenscar,' Frances told her, as though she received telephone calls from eminent directors every day.

  Zoe's eyes lifted. She took in her friend's expressionless face and merely contented herself with a non-committal: 'Oh.'

  'He's found my watch in the Lancia, a link has broken,' offered Frances after a moment.

  'Lucky you lost it there, it would have been a pity …Zoe broke off suddenly, staring down at the paper.

  'What is it?' asked Frances, leaning over to see, and with an: 'Oh, well, you'll see it sooner or later, I suppose,' Zoe handed the page over. Frances looked at the photograph and murmured: 'Mark.'

  'Yes. . . Mark Lucas portrayed as Henry V in the highly recommended Edinburgh production,' Zoe said with disgust.

  'I'm glad things are going well for him,' Frances began, cut off by Zoe's cynical laugh.

  'He's the type to fall on his feet, and if he doesn't he has a wife to comfort him!'

  'You're too hard on Mark, Zoe,' asserted Frances quietly, 'but that's mainly my fault for not being able to talk about him.' She looked thoughtfully at the man staring up at her from the page, face in repose, and found with relief that she could do so without any emotional involvement. 'He didn't want complicity with me any more than I did with him. He was unhappy with his marriage but he didn't moan about it. You know how easy it is to play lo
ve scenes on stage and for this to overflow into real life. With living in each other's pockets for so long during rehearsals, wondering if the play was going to be a success, willing it to be one, we all became close. It's like living on another planet and what's happening outside becomes totally unreal and unimportant.' She sighed and smoothed the paper. 'It wasn't for some time that I realised how he felt about me and I felt so mixed up. When I was with him I was blissfully happy, but on my own all the doubts crowded in. If I could have gone to bed with him it might have helped, but I couldn't even bring myself to do that, let alone break up a marriage, even though Mark assured me it was crumbling long before we met.'

  'So you left Chichester, where you were in a successful position, and joined a grotty second rate rep company.'

  'Yes.'

  'And he shoots off to Edinburgh and the next thing we know is that wifey has joined him.'

  'Yes. So we're all happy,' said Frances firmly, and handed back the paper.

  The heavens decided to open just as Frances left the building the following Tuesday morning. The rain hit the pavement with such force that it bounced up again, splashing her legs, and she dodged the puddles as she ran towards the waiting Lancia.

  Felix Ravenscar leaned across and pushed open the door and she scrambled in, laughing as she fought the elements, finally pulling the door shut behind her. The wind had whipped tendrils of hair and plastered them across her face, and she sat, flushed and wet and out of breath.

  'Hullo,' she managed at last, running a hand through her hair and turning to smile at him.

  There was an air of crisp, clean smartness about Felix Ravenscar this morning—the cream shirt and brown pin-stripe looking as though they had just come off the rack. His dark hair was brushed into place and the faint sandalwood aroma of after-shave brought back memories of being in his arms in the lift, her head buried in his sweater.