His eyes were a blaze of harsh blue, sweeping her with an appraising expression. Was it with triumph that he stepped back? She felt crushed by the abrupt change in him, wanting to cry out, Don't let it end, but he was already retreating, moving back across the footway, his intention to call a cab uppermost again.
Wordlessly she watched as one pulled into the kerb. She allowed herself to be put inside, expecting, half hoping, that he would get in beside her. But instead he slammed the door, standing for a second with his hand on it looking in at her. Then with a strange twist of a smile he raised one hand in farewell. The cab began to slide away. He was looking down the road after it. When she turned her head to peer through the rear window he was in the same position, head inclined, as he watched it gather speed and disappear from view.
*
He wasn't in the club that night. Deflated, Rachel kicked off her shoes and began to peel away the make-up as soon as she came off stage. She couldn't face Henry tonight. For some reason she ached all over, as if heartache had spread to every fibre of her body. Ray looked in and immediately called a cab.
'Your six weeks is nearly up, Rachel. Do you know what you're going to do?' he said when he came back and she was dressed ready to leave.
She shook her head. 'Herman hasn't been in touch. I hope everything's all right. I signed the contract. But I've heard nothing since; I don't know whether he's been able to get me work or not.'
Ray merely nodded. 'I'll call him in the morning and drop a hint or two. I'd like you to stay—if there's nothing immediately we can renew the arrangement informally week by week. But if he's got anything better lined up for you, you should take it.'
At that moment Rachel felt she didn't give a damn. Was this, she asked herself, what dedication meant? Endless pain? Endless loneliness? Heartbreak?
It was a luxury not to have to be on the Tube at eight-fifteen every morning to get into the store on time. The first couple of days after she left she stayed in bed. Sleeping. Sleeping her pain away, she told herself, and thought it had worked until she emerged and glimpsed a figure in the street who for a brief moment looked like Elliot, making her heart leap into her mouth—and she knew she wasn't over him at all.
I will forget in time, she told herself. I'll have to if I'm going to survive. But there was an unexpected ordeal ahead.
Because he hadn't put in an appearance at the club she had been lulled into believing he was out of her life for good. It was illogical to imagine a connection between the two absences—he himself couldn't connect Rachel with Zia so would have no reason for avoiding the Manhattan if he wanted to avoid Rachel as he so obviously did. But she got it into her mind that for some reason she would never have to set eyes on him again. However, it was not to be so easy.
A week later, looking tanned and if possible even more handsome than usual, he came strolling into the club around midnight, just as she had launched into a sentimental ballad from one of the latest shows.
' "No love like ours can die --" ' she sang, then the words seemed to freeze in her throat as she caught sight of him standing on the edge of the darkened dance floor by himself. Pulling herself together she went on,' "Our love is forever, I know it's true...'cos loving you...is all I ever want...'" The words were trite, but she couldn't stop herself from singing them as if they meant everything in the world. And with Elliot standing so close, they did.
When the last note died she quickly left the stage. His sudden appearance was like a blow to the stomach. But before she had chance to kick off her stilettos there was a loud rapping on the dressing-room door. She moved towards it like someone in a dream.
'Hi!' He draped himself in the doorway and made no move to come inside. Even guessing who would be standing there hadn't prepared her for the jolt to her senses when she found them both face to face with only inches between them.
'Hi,' she managed to croak. 'Long time no see...' She backed into the room but didn't invite him to follow. He seemed quite content to stay where he was.
'You're looking as delectable as ever, Zia. Things are obviously going well.' His lips seemed to twist rather derisively.
'You're looking pretty good yourself,' she managed to stammer. 'Life's treating you all right?'
'Everything's absolutely wonderful,' he agreed. 'Not a cloud in the sky.' He eyed her without speaking and she could feel his glance trail rapidly over her shape in the revealing black gown before coming back to rest on her face.
'You look well,' she managed to say, trying to ignore the urge to reach out and touch him. The tan he had acquired suited him. He had obviously got over Rachel in double-quick time to be going off on holiday. There must have been plenty of beach life to help take his mind off her! 'Been somewhere nice?' she asked in tones casual enough to disguise the rapid beating of her heart.
He shook his head. 'Too much work here to take time off,' he told her.
She gave him a disbelieving glance. 'You're very tanned,' she remarked critically.
'My health club solarium, I'm afraid. Did you think I'd been away?'
She nodded.
'I'm surprised you noticed.'
She bit her lip. 'Well --' she shrugged naked shoulders '—you were becoming a fixture here. Naturally I noticed.' She tried to sound flippant. 'I thought maybe you'd gone off my singing... I know you prefer --' she half smiled '—something a little heavier.'
'Opera, you mean?'
She nodded.
'Funny you should mention that,' he went on smoothly. 'I was going to ask you if you'd like to accompany me to a performance of Madama Butterfly? I happen to have a box.' There was a long pause.
Rachel found herself reaching for the back of a chair. Everything told her to say no at once—she had already played with fire and was still suffering the burns. But before she could stop herself she found herself nodding in agreement. 'I'd love to,' she heard herself say. 'I adore Puccini.'
If he was surprised by her response he didn't show it, but merely made arrangements to meet then left.
What have I done? was Rachel's first thought as the door closed behind him. Then she pulled herself together. The reason was obvious. It hadn't felt right to go on hiding her true identity from him, despite the fact that there was no future for them together. Now she would have a perfect opportunity to tell him the truth.
She had never liked the deception, for that was what it had unwittingly turned into. He had looked puzzled and hurt by her reticence about her life outside the store during their brief sojourn in Amsterdam. He had told her a lot about himself, about his school, his boyhood, his mother and father, touching briefly also on his business course at Harvard, his two years with an American company on the West Coast. She treasured every word, but even though she had longed to share her inmost secrets she had been unable to offer much in return. She hadn't started living until she came to London, and the only important thing she had done since was the one thing she was unable to confess.
The next evening Lulu happened to call to see her on her way home from work. For once Ros was in and Rachel introduced the two of them. Afterwards Ros looked rather disapproving. 'I'm not surprised you've become so fashion-conscious yourself, Rachel. That get-up of hers! Honestly! And you're not seriously going to the opera in a hairpiece as if you're singing at the club, are you?'
Rachel had told Lulu about Elliot's invitation to the opera and she had immediately clapped her hands. 'Now you can put the record straight!' She went on, 'My brother happens to be an opera buff. I'll get the libretto from him then you won't go making a fool of yourself.'
'Actually I do happen to know the story of Madama Butterfly. I thought everybody did.' She frowned. 'It's a real tear-jerker...'
'Better wear waterproof mascara, then!' Lulu got up to go. 'I'm so glad, Rachel. You deserve a second chance.'
At the door Rachel said, 'It's not a second chance to start things up again. I still think we made the right decision. He's not for me, Lulu. I couldn't handle a relationship with him,
I really couldn't. He's out of my league on every level.' Even to Lulu she couldn't confess how deep the heartbreak would be if she risked giving herself to Elliot only to have to face the break later, after they'd become lovers. She was perversely grateful that he had rejected her that night at the hotel, whatever his reasons. Life was unbearable now, but it could have been an even worse hell.
A couple of days later Lulu was back, armed with hot combs, gels and hair sprays to help Rachel transform herself into Zia. After what seemed an age she finally pronounced her ready.
'You look fantastic. Cool, chic, with just a hint of wildness. Darling Elliot will find you utterly irresistible!'
Rachel was a bundle of nerves, and despite Lulu's verdict and even the cautious approval of Ros she would gladly have given the evening a miss. But the toot of the taxi from outside the window came all too soon.
'Thanks for your help, you two.' With a bravado she didn't feel, Rachel moved breathlessly towards the door.
'Good luck, Zia!' called Lulu. 'Give him a peck on the cheek from me!'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
If he asked me now whether I can sing or not, Rachel told herself, the answer would be no. She had been enchanted by the performance ever since she heard the first thrilling notes. She closed her eyes as the aria came to an end and for a moment imagined herself happy.
There was a warm breath on her cheek. 'Heaven, isn't it?' whispered a voice in her ear. It was Elliot.. There were three of his business colleagues in the box with them.
Rachel turned towards him. His mouth was only inches from her own. 'This is such bliss,' she whispered back. Her voice shook.
He would never know what heaven it was to be beside him. Yet the pain of shutting him out of her life only made her ambition to succeed more important. Sacrifice and dedication went hand in hand. To be a professional singer was something she had been born for. It was a fierce hunger, one she longed to share with someone. But only Elliot could have been the confidant who could have shared her ambitions, and there was no way this could come about, for he was the very person she was being forced to sacrifice. Even as she saw all this, she wondered what would happen if he lifted a finger. Would she go running to him?
She turned her attention back to what was happening on stage. He had treated her with a kind of ironic politeness when he'd met her in the theatre bar before the curtain went up. When they had taken their seats, the stalls below had been a sea of eyes turned in their direction. Whispers went round asking who they were. Rachel would have blushed, while Zia would have gloried in it except for the matter of a broken heart.
So far she hadn't had the chance to talk to Elliot properly, and she decided that it would be best to wait until they were alone after the performance. Then she would be able to reveal her true identity in private. There was no knowing how he would react.
During the interval she caught sight of them both in a faceted wall-mirror surrounded by red plush. They certainly made a handsome couple. Yet when Elliot's glance kept straying to the décolletage of her gown she knew exactly what he was thinking of Zia the cabaret singer in this milieu.
'I hardly dare call myself a singer after this,' she admitted, wishing he wouldn't look at her like that.
Unexpectedly he said, 'Don't run yourself down. Yours is a different but no less enviable talent.' Then he half smiled and she wondered if there had been an ambiguity in his compliment after all.
His eyes were on her again and it felt like a finger stroking intimately over every exposed inch of her bosom. Instead of recoiling she felt herself arch provocatively, and the tip of her tongue glossed her lower lip out of sheer nervousness at what his look foretold.
He gave a soft laugh. 'You understand me so well, Zia.' She felt his hand brush the back of hers where it was hidden among the folds of her scarlet satin gown. He went on, 'We could be so good together. Your charms are the most exciting thing about this evening—and I'm in raptures over the production, so you can guess what sort of effect you're having on my—how shall we say?' He paused suggestively. 'Libido?'
She gazed up at him from beneath the layers of false eyelashes, knowing her eyes were shadowed, hoping he couldn't read the despair at this travesty of the love-talk she longed to hear that must surely be mirrored in their depths.
'Do you really mean that, Elliot? I mean, do you think you know me well enough to say such a thing?'
He took her response as a challenge. 'Give me the chance and I'll prove it.' He drew his lips back in a narrow smile. 'Now, tonight.'
There had been talk of going on to dinner with Elliot's colleagues and when she pointed this out he replied, 'Trust me, my dear.' It reminded her painfully of the time in Amsterdam when he had told her that very same thing. She gave a shudder.
'Elliot, I don't think --' she began, but he had turned to join in the general conversation. She knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that it was not the end of the matter.
She watched him playing the urbane host. Obviously he had felt little for Rachel, and her heartache seemed a lonely thing when she saw how one-sided it had been. Her intuition in those early-days had been right. He was just another heart-breaker, clever with the sort of love-talk that only an innocent fool like Rachel would have fallen for.
It was as they were making their way back to the box after the second interval that she found herself by chance trailing behind the others. Elliot was by her side. Unseen by anyone, he ran his fingertips down her spine. She responded without being able to stop herself.
Elliot's smile told her he had seen her shiver of pleasure. 'Slow down a little.' He leaned against her, forcing her to a stop halfway up the narrow stairs leading into the ante-room to the box.
'Really Elliot, I don't think --'
'Let them go on ahead.'
Helplessly she saw the green and gilt door close behind them. Then with calculated speed he pushed her into an alcove hung with velvet curtains. They heard the door at the top of the stairs open and a voice saying, 'Where are they?' The reply was cut off when the door closed again.
'Elliot, please --'
'You've been promising so much ever since we met—isn't it about time I collected something on account?' He pushed his face close to hers, dragging her hips hard against his own, and Rachel gave a gasp of surprise as she felt his body's hardness pressing so powerfully against the yielding softness of her own. She felt as weak as a kitten, totally unable to resist. She wasn't Zia, she was Rachel, and this was the man she loved.
'I mustn't --' she managed to gasp as his lips hovered over her own.
'Mustn't?'
'Mustn't weaken --' Her breath was deep and ragged. 'I don't want involvement.'
'I'm not offering involvement. Just a little tender loving.'
'I have a rule, Elliot. No --' she protested as his hands started to thrill over her.
'Rule?' he interrupted before she could go on. 'Who's interested in rules? There's only one rule and the rule is love. Now love me the way only you can. The way you sing about.'
'That's only a cabaret act --'
'You mean you don't love like that in real life? But the words are so sexy and you have that certain look in your eye. It signals to every man in the audience that you really know what's what --' He asked brutally, 'You mean to say it's all a sham?' He gave a cynical laugh. 'Don't expect me to believe that. There's no way you could put it over so sexily if you weren't a very experienced young woman. Now stop teasing and kiss me the way I want --'
'I can't, Elliot! Please! Let me go!'
'Certainly not. You're driving me wild, and you know it!' As if to prove it he began to caress her breasts beneath the slithery satin gown, quickly finding the long back zip and to Rachel's horror sliding it rapidly down as far as it would go. The encasing satin fell away like the petals of a scarlet flower and her breasts were revealed, pearly against the blood-red sheen of the gown.
'No!' she cried in horror at this outrage as his eyes raked her nakedness with a murmur of desire at
what he saw. He gave a deeper groan.
'I want you, woman. Let's get out of here. I'm taking you back to my apartment. Now!' He bent to kiss her breasts.
'No, Elliot!'
'It's around the corner in the piazza in Covent Garden,' he said thickly. 'Just a few steps to heaven, that's all.' He was still kissing her but thankfully, in his haste to get away to somewhere more private, was already beginning to refasten her zip. She felt once that was done up again she would be able to talk him out of this wild scheme, but an image of the undisturbed hours they might spend together flashed before her eyes, taunting her with forbidden fantasies. His hands on her body. Her helpless submission in the arms of the man she loved...
She tried to twist out of his grasp, 'Elliot, please let me go!'
'Never!'
'But your friends! The opera! It's starting again!'
'Damn them and damn the opera! How can you think of opera at a time like this?' he rasped. He pulled her feverishly against him once more, the zip half fastened. 'Make love to me, honey, come on, you know you want to...' He blazed a fiery trail of kisses down the side of her neck. 'Kiss me, I want to feel your lips, your tongue...'
'No, I --' Rachel, breath ragged, was straining back out of his arms, but for all the good it did she could have stayed in them. Their limbs became entwined, every pulsing beat of their hearts echoing one with the other.
'I said kiss me,' he muttered hoarsely. 'You know how to.'
'I don't—I --' But his lips claimed hers in a kiss that surprised her with its tenderness. His mouth was as sweet as honey, persuading her to yield, not forcing her at all. She felt his hand holding her in the small of her back while the other came up to press her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair, pressing her cheek as if to learn its secret structure beneath his palm.
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