Scorpio Summer

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  'It wasn't,' she muttered. 'Oh, go away . . .'

  'I'm not going until you tell me what's wrong . . .'

  'All right, I'll tell you! You'll keep on and on if I don't,' she cried, swinging round to face him, her tear- stained face white with emotion. 'My parents were drowned in the sea off this coast . . . our boat capsized and I was the only one of us saved. Now do you understand? We were in the water for ages, clinging to the side of the boat, and when my mother finally slipped under my father tried to save her and then there was just me! The rescue boat came too late!' Her face crumpled and she turned into the cushion again but was pulled on to his chest. 'I know it's stupid of me,' she gasped out, 'and I'm not usually s-so silly . . .'

  After a moment Felix said quietly:

  'Why didn't you tell me how you felt? I'm beginning to think that perhaps I am an ogre.'

  'No, you're not,' Frances said wearily, sitting up and wiping her face, 'and I didn't tell you because ten years is a long time and I thought . . . I hoped I'd forgotten what it was like.' She shrugged and attempted a smile. 'I hadn't. If we'd had that scene scheduled for the beginning of shooting perhaps it would have been different. I've known it was there to be done eventually, looming nearer and nearer, and it probably got out of all proportion. Anyway, early or late, what good would it have done—telling you, I mean? The work had to be done.' She blew her nose and chanced a look at his face. It was rather bleak and her heart sank. 'I'm sorry, Felix, I don't often get the blues.'

  He stood up and crossed to the door. 'Do you feel up to carrying on working today ?'

  'Of course I do,' she replied, appalled at the question. 'I feel much better now, honestly. The brandy and the cry has done the trick.' She waited for him to smile in return, but waited in vain, and she ended up by repeating : 'I'd rather work, please.'

  'Very well.' He looked at her thoughtfully. 'What am I going to do about you, Frances?' he asked after a long pause.

  She bit her lip. 'I don't know, Felix. You'll be rid of me altogether after this week and then the thorn will be removed from your flesh.' Even that received no response and she finished weakly: 'I'm sorry I'm such a nuisance to you.'

  He gave her another searching look and left the trailer without answering.

  The weather changed at the end of the week, but by then all the film was in. Word had come back from London over the week that the studio was pleased with the high quality of film already sent in for processing, and Felix himself was satisfied with the way things had gone, according to Rick.

  On the final Saturday before the mass exodus back to London, spirits were high as they celebrated the end of their hard work by a special dinner dance at one of the exclusive country clubs in the district.

  Frances wore a cream dress which showed off her tan to perfection. She knew she looked good, but she could have been dressed in sackcloth for all the impression it made on the one person she wanted to impress. Felix was charming and polite but didn't ask her to dance once, and she was more than grateful for Julian's presence, although she felt bad about using him in such a way. When she at last crawled into bed, worn out with trying to look happy, she decided it was a good job the work was finished . . . and she could put Felix right out of her life.

  Julian took her back to London the next day, the Panther eating up the miles and performing like the stalwart she was. When the time came to say goodbye he looked at her thoughtfully and said:

  'We've had some fun, haven't we, Frank?'

  She nodded and they stood for a moment, her head resting on his shoulder, before she murmured:

  'Thank you for being so sweet, Julian. I'll never forget you.'

  He lifted her chin and planted a kiss on the end of her nose.

  'Who knows, we may be getting together for another seven installments,' he said lightly, and then, as if his words had only just struck him, he pulled a face, adding quickly: 'Not yet, though, I want to get back into the theatre for a spell, the stage is my true love.'

  'Mmm . . . me too, I think,' Frances agreed.

  'And what do you think of Black Felix, now that you've worked for him?'

  She found herself flushing slightly beneath his keen scrutiny, and replied carefully: 'I think he's an extremely good director. I wouldn't have missed working for him for anything.' She smiled and said gently: 'I'm all right, Julian, honestly.'

  'Good.' He kissed her on the lips briefly. 'Take care, Frank. Keep in touch,' and almost before she could say: 'Goodbye, Julian,' he had gone.

  Zoe naturally was glad to have her back, the flat had been like a morgue, so she informed Frances, and for the first full day together they didn't seem to stop talking.

  'By the way, Frankie, your Doctor Williams rang up last week to see if you were back,' stated Zoe, bringing in two plates of curried beef and rice and placing them on the table.

  'Oh, did he? And he's not my Doctor Williams,' replied Frances, sniffing the food appreciatively. 'Mmm . . . this smells good, Zoe.'

  'Yes, it does, rather,' agreed Zoe complacently, returning after a few mouthfuls to her original theme. 'He came to see the show and took me out for a drink afterwards. He's rather sweet, isn't he? Think how useful it would be to be married to a doctor, Frankie. He'd be right there, on the spot, if you had a pain in your big toe!'

  'He's a heart specialist, Zoe,' Frances replied vaguely. Talking about Cornwall had brought it all back to her and the future was looking bleak.

  'I know that, idiot, but he must know something about toes as well as hearts! Stop being so pedantic and deliberately obtuse—I was trying to be funny! Frankie, he must have been interested to have rung you up after all these weeks,' Zoe persisted, but gaining no response, she gave up.

  Trying to forget certain aspects of the past weeks was not made any easier by the fact that Lady Ravenscar seemed determined not to lose touch. A week after returning to London, Frances received a summons to take tea.

  Lady Ravenscar was quite happy to talk about her son, and Frances found that she was quite happy to listen. Felix did not put in a surprise appearance

  Frances hadn't expected him to, but was weak enough to hope.

  When he telephoned mid-week she could hardly believe it. When the conventional pleasantries had been dealt with, Felix continued:

  'Mother has asked me to ring to see if you're free next Saturday evening. My sister Jessica, with her husband, is paying us a flying visit and Mother would like you to meet her. It will be a small, informal affair—can you make it?'

  Frances hesitated, but only momentarily. She knew she ought to make some excuse and still found herself calmly accepting. 'Is she younger than you, Felix, this sister of yours ?' she asked curiously.

  There was a note of surprise in his voice. 'She's my twin. I thought you knew that.'

  'Goodness, no, I didn't! Your mother has never mentioned it, but she probably thought you had. How exciting, being a twin!' she enthused, trying to imagine what Jessica would look like and failing abysmally.

  'It has its drawbacks,' his voice came over dryly. 'I'll pick you up around seven. Until then . . .'

  Frances replaced the receiver after saying goodbye and wandered over to the window, trying to analyze her feelings. She should have made some excuse. Brief, tantalizing meetings were not going to help her get over this ridiculous . . . she struggled for the right word and came up with involvement as being the one nearest to what she was prepared to admit . . . for Felix Ravenscar. She turned away with an exasperated exclamation and began to prowl the apartment, telling herself crossly that she would go this time, she would allow herself this one meeting, and then no more. Felix had made it perfectly plain in what capacity she could fill his life and it was up to her either to take what little he could offer, or leave well alone. Somewhere hovering in the middle wasn't going to satisfy either of them.

  When the bell rang just after six on the Saturday evening, Frances stared at the clock in surprise. If this was Felix then he was very early. Hurrying to the door
she opened it, a greeting on her lips, a greeting which was cut off as she looked at the man standing on the landing, a hesitant half-smile on his face and a slightly anxious look in his brown eyes.

  'Hullo, Frances.'

  'Mark!' She could hardly believe her eyes. 'Why, Mark Lucas, what on earth . . . ?' She pulled herself together and smiled, reaching out to take his hand, drawing him inside. 'Mark, how nice to see you, come in. How well you're looking. Let me take your coat. . . sit down.' She knew she was talking too much, but she couldn't get over her surprise at seeing him—Chichester and Mark seemed many moons ago.

  Mark was studying her closely as he seated himself. 'You haven't changed, Frances,' he observed with a smile. 'Maybe even a little more beautiful than you were a year ago—and just as kind . . . I thought you might have shut the door in my face.'

  Frances said gently: 'You should know I wouldn't do that, Mark. How are you ? I read some good reviews on your Edinburgh season. Are you enjoying doing the classics for a change?'

  He nodded. 'It has been most satisfying. Going there was the best thing I could have done, for more reasons than the job.' He hesitated. 'You're not cross that I came to see you, Frances?'

  'Of course not.'

  Mark leaned forward restlessly. 'I came because I wanted to satisfy myself that you were well, and that I hadn't completely ruined your career. Are you happy, Frances?' and he searched her face intently, looking for the truth in her eyes.

  Frances found herself releasing a long breath of relief. Everything was going to be all right.

  'I'm fine, Mark, truly. I've been working steadily since Chichester, just finished a television series, as a matter of fact, and there's the chance of a Shaw revival at Leeds.' She smiled reassuringly. 'You don't have to worry about me.'

  'I can't tell you what that means, to hear you say that.' Mark took out a cigarette case and offered her one.

  'No, thanks.' Frances paused and then asked: 'How's Midge?'

  He lit his cigarette before speaking. 'Midge is fine,' he told her, crossing to the table for an ashtray. 'Now that she has a certain amount of choice and can work freelance, she's able to stay wherever I am. A fashion house in Paris is taking her designs regularly now, so Midge is well and happy.' He gave a short laugh and scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. 'Actually, she's pregnant and over the moon with excitement—you'd think no one had ever had a baby before!'

  'Oh, Mark, I am pleased!' Frances said warmly. 'Congratulations.'

  He gave a rueful smile. 'I was past thinking of myself as a parent, and can't begin to imagine myself as one, even now.'

  'Nonsense, you'll make a wonderful father,' she said firmly. 'When is the baby due?'

  He grinned broadly. 'In the New Year . . . we've only just had it confirmed, so we've enough time to get used to the idea.' He drew on the cigarette, his face serious again. 'I have a lot to thank you for, Frances . . . you've been on my conscience.'

  'Well, you can just wipe me off it,' Frances said crisply. 'Stop feeling guilty about me, Mark, it's unnecessary. As you can see, I'm well and happy. What happened at Chichester between us wasn't based on reality, was it? We were both lonely and our emotions were stretched tight because of the play. I promise to look back on our time there with only fond memories. No bitterness, honestly.'

  'Bless you, Frances,' Mark smiled, taking her hand in his and holding it for a moment. 'I'd better go.' He picked up his jacket and Frances walked slowly with him to the door. 'Do you still share with that mad friend of yours, Zoe?'

  Frances laughed at the description. 'Yes—and that reminds me, I promised I'd post a letter for her. I'll come down with you and pop it in the box on the corner,' and collecting the envelope from the mantelpiece she rejoined him and together they made their way down the stairs. As they emerged into the early evening sunshine Frances said in surprise: 'Is this your car, Mark ? You have a new one?'

  He nodded, searching for the keys in his pocket. Looking at the distinctive coloured Citroen, Frances added teasingly: 'I wouldn't have thought red to be quite you, somehow.'

  Mark pulled a wry smile, unlocking the door. 'Midge chose it.' He stood looking at her for a moment, putting his hands on her shoulders, head tilted consideringly. 'When you opened the door to me just now you looked like a girl who was expecting someone special. Were you, Frances?'

  She found herself nodding. It would do Mark good to think she was in love . . . and she supposed, in a way, that Felix was someone special. Mark leaned forward and brushed his lips across her mouth.

  'Goodbye, Frances, my dear. I wish you all the best. He's a lucky fellow, but he must know that already. Take care.'

  'Goodbye, Mark, and the best of luck to you and Midge.'

  He smiled and climbed into the car, raising his hand in a brief salute as he accelerated away. Frances stood for a few seconds watching the Citroen out of sight, before walking on to the corner. She slipped Zoe's letter into the postbox and returned, thinking deeply. She was glad Mark had come. It had been a closing of a chapter, for her as well as for him. Looking at him now it seemed hard to believe the heart-searchings of a year ago.

  She ran up the stairs, feeling light-hearted, realizing with mild panic that time was pressing on. She had barely been in for more than a few minutes when the bell went.

  Giving an exasperated groan, Frances grabbed the dressing gown from off the back of the bathroom door, switched off the shower, thankful that she hadn't actually stepped under it, and padded once more to the front door.

  For the second time in less than an hour the greeting on her lips faltered. It was Felix this time, but his face gave no encouragement for the words she had ready.

  'Hullo, Felix.' Frances held the door wide and he stepped past and carried on into the living room. She closed the door, a slight frown creasing her forehead, and followed him, tying the belt of her gown as she went. 'I'm sorry I'm not ready. Won't you sit down? Would you like to help yourself to a drink, I won't be long.' His silence was unnerving and she looked at him uncertainly.

  'I'd rather stand, thank you.' His long searching scrutiny brought a faint colour to her cheeks.

  'Is something wrong, Felix?' A flicker of alarm stirred in her breast and her hand came up to hold the folds of the gown at her throat. 'Why do you look at me like that?'

  'I'm trying to see what it is about you that makes a normally sensible and intelligent man behave contrary to expectations.'

  His voice was very controlled, but she could tell that he was angry, and the intensity of his anger was almost tangible. Her eyes wide, she searched his face in bewilderment.

  'I don't understand . . .' she faltered, and he cut in swiftly:

  'It's quite obvious that you don't, or else you wouldn't have let Mark Lucas come anywhere near you while I was around! Quite a poignant little scene I've been witnessing. Has this been going on ever since Chichester?' When shock rendered her speechless, he spat out: 'Well, has it ? Answer me!'

  I. . .' She swallowed. 'You know Mark?' she whispered incredulously.

  'I should do. He's married to my sister Jessica!' He looked at her stunned face. 'Quite a coincidence, isn't it? That makes him my brother-in-law,' he added facetiously,

  A wave of colour swept over her face and then went, leaving it ashen. She put a hand to her forehead. 'I . . . I can explain, Felix.'

  He gave a short, hard laugh. 'I'm sure you can, but I don't need explanations, thank you, I have the evidence of my own eyes.' He turned away as if the sight of her was more than he could bear, and hands gripping the edge of the table, exclaimed with contempt in his voice: 'For God's sake stop acting the innocent! I know all about you and Mark at Chichester, have known ever since you said your name to Tom Deverell at the audition, so don't insult my intelligence, please. You've already played out your game of comedy where I'm concerned—and had me believing you, damn you!'

  Frances dropped her hand to her side, saying quietly: 'I wouldn't have thought even you to be so quick to jump to
conclusions, Felix. Any number of innocent explanations could be put to what you've just seen . . .'

  'And I'm sure you could furnish me with them all and do each one convincingly!' His voice made her flinch as he swung round on her. 'I've never denied that you're an excellent actress, Frances, but even I underestimated your capabilities.'

  Her limbs began to tremble and she clutched the back of a chair for support, lifting her chin proudly as she said: 'Judge, jury and executioner? How arrogant of you, Felix! But then my first opinion was that no man should be so sure of himself as you are.'

  She couldn't believe that this was happening. She wanted him to go out and ring the bell and let them both start again . . . but this charade was to be played out to the last word, and had begun long before they had met. She made another effort and despised herself for the note of pleading in her voice.

  'Felix, I don't know how much you know, but it's not what you think, honestly . . .'

  'No? Can you deny that Mark Lucas was willing to leave his wife because he'd formed an attachment with you?' Felix waited. 'Well? Can you?'

  She could not deny it, of course, and her face told him so.

  'Midge,' Frances said faintly, grasping at straws. 'Mark calls his wife Midge.'

  'A nickname. I can assure you there's no mistake. Mark Lucas, aged thirty-eight, professional actor, fair hair and brown eyes, good voice, now working in Edinburgh but previously in Chichester.' He reeled off the information in a hard, flat voice. 'Mark Lucas with whom you enacted that tender love scene a few moments ago, and many more at Chichester, I have no doubt!' He strode towards her and his hands grasped her upper arms. 'I don't know how you've managed to entice him back into seeing you again, but you won't keep him. Mark's always wanted a family. I believe, in the long run, you'll find you come a very poor second. A of stuff on the side is always a precarious part to play.'