by Jill Mansell
“Thank God.” Bruno, who loathed every minute of his job at the unbelievably stuffy Grand Rock, heaved a sigh of relief. “You can take me away from all this. They film it in Manchester, don’t they? When do we leave?”
“Well…” Maxine hesitated. “I start next week, but don’t hand your notice in yet. It’s only a walk-on…or rather, a mince-on part,” she amended with a grin. “I play a white-stilettoed trollop with a severe case of dangly earrings who tries to proposition the local vicar. He turns me down, and I flounce off in a huff. But at least I’m in it!” Her brown eyes danced as she gave Bruno another almighty hug. “And once they see how brilliant I am, they’re bound to want me to stay.”
“Next week?” He frowned. “How does Guy Cassidy feel about this?”
“Oh, he’s fed up with the weather. He decided this morning to take the kids to Saint Lucia. Some friends of his have a massive house there. I said I wanted to go too, so he was as thrilled as I was when the call came through this afternoon.” She grinned. “Now he doesn’t have to pay for my plane ticket.”
Bruno digested this in silence. If he had been offered the choice between a week in Saint Lucia without Maxine and a week at home with her, he would have stayed. The idea of passing up a free vacation, however, evidently hadn’t so much as crossed her mind.
And although the thought of Maxine spending a week on a tropical island with Guy Cassidy was bad enough, the idea of her socializing with a television crew in Manchester was somehow even more menacing. He might love her, but he still didn’t trust her an inch. Particularly, thought Bruno, when she was so hell-bent on furthering her career.
He frowned. “How long will you be gone?”
“Only a week.”
“A whole week? For one lousy walk-on?”
Maxine nuzzled his neck and smiled to herself. “Hmm, I know. But I straddle two episodes. That’s the kind of trollop I am.”
Bruno said nothing. That was just what he was afraid of.
• • •
“You’ve got a run in your stocking.”
Maxine, shaking back her hair and almost knocking herself senseless with her extravagantly gaudy earrings, said, “Oh, bum.” From her seat in the studio canteen, she grinned up at Zack Morrison, star of Romsey Road and heartthrob to millions. “I’m supposed to have two.”
He nodded. He had a great nod. The way that lock of dark hair flopped over his left eyebrow, Maxine decided, was positively mesmerizing.
“I spotted you earlier, down on the set,” he said casually. “You’re good.”
“I know.” Maxine, too excited to eat, abandoned her Danish pastry. The part he played was that of the womanizing, dodgy dealer, irresistibly wicked and altogether dangerous to know. In truth, he wasn’t actually that good-looking, just a damn sight better than the rest of the males in the cast. It was his character, Robbie Elliott, that really set the female pulses racing, as each woman secretly wondered whether she could be the one to tame him.
“I’ve seen you in the Babysoft ad too,” he told her, and Maxine shrugged.
“Stepping stones,” she replied, crossing her legs and idly swinging one scuffed white stiletto from her toes. “Why don’t you sit down before your salad falls off its plate?”
• • •
Zack Morrison, currently between wives, was captivated by Maxine’s honesty. The rest of her wasn’t bad either, he admitted to himself. He tended to go for brunettes, so blond made a nice change. The smile was stunning. And even the terrible outfit she was wearing couldn’t disguise the fact that beneath it, aching to get out, was a stupendous figure.
It was the honesty, however, which appealed above all. Women, throwing themselves at him, invariably told him how unhappy they were with the men they were currently either involved with or married to. It was their way of letting him know how available they were.
But although he was pretty certain Maxine Vaughan was throwing herself at him, practically all she’d talked about throughout lunch was her idyllic relationship with somebody called Bruno Parry-Brent.
This Bruno character, according to Maxine, was outrageously attractive, a superb chef, seriously wealthy, and the best company in the world. Zack, accustomed to being made to feel he was the one with all these attributes—apart from the cooking, of course—was almost jealous. She was practically implying that he didn’t match up, he thought, feeling absurdly put out. He was Robbie Elliott, for Christ’s sake, more than a match for any man.
And the more extravagantly she sang the unknown Bruno’s praises, the more intrigued he became. Maxine Vaughan both mystified and intrigued him. Unable to resist such a challenge, Zack heard himself say, “Ah, but he isn’t one of us, is he? He isn’t in the business. It’s not as if he could pull any strings to help you in your career.”
“Of course he couldn’t.” Maxine shrugged and spooned sugar into her cold coffee. “But that doesn’t matter. If I’m good enough, I’ll make it on my own merit. Plenty of people do, don’t they?” She brightened and added proudly, “After all, I’ve got this far!”
“One toilet-roll ad and a walk-on.” Zack Morrison dismissed her dazzling achievements to date with a languid gesture. “It’s who you know in this game, darling. OK, this Bruno chap might be able to whip up a terrific omelet, but that isn’t going to put your name in lights.”
Maxine looked him. “That’s hardly his fault.”
“Whereas with the right man behind you,” Zack drawled. “Well…”
“Oh, come on,” she remonstrated, giving him a good-humored smile. “It isn’t that straightforward.”
“Look, let me give you an example.” He leaned across the table toward her and lowered his voice. “Just a for instance. I’m what makes Romsey Road one of the top-rated shows on TV. I have clout. If I went to the scriptwriters tomorrow and suggested they expand your character…really bring her into the story line…they’d listen to me.” He nodded, amused by the expression of disbelief in her eyes. “Seriously. If I wanted to do it, I could. Now wouldn’t you agree that’s simpler than slogging around endless auditions in search of the next measly job?”
“Of course it is,” said Maxine quietly. The brightness in her eyes had faded, and she was shifting almost imperceptibly away from him. She looked, thought Zack, disappointed.
“And I could do it,” he boasted.
“I’m sure you could.” Maxine bit her lower lip. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m beginning to think I’ve been a bit naive here. What are you saying, that if I do you a…favor, you’ll do one for me in return? Is this the old casting-couch routine?”
Zack Morrison grinned, bewitched all over again both by her troubled expression and forthright manner. “Why, would you go to bed with me if I asked you to? In exchange for a part in Romsey Road?”
“No.” Maxine shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I really am sorry, Mr. Morrison, but I’m just not that sort of girl.”
She was terrific, thought Zack, filled with admiration. What a cracker! What an irresistible challenge.
“In that case, I won’t ask.” Giving Maxine the benefit of the famous Robbie Elliott smile, he glanced down at his watch. “And I don’t know about you, but I have to be back on set in ninety seconds. How are you fixed for this evening? Are you free for dinner?”
Maxine looked wary. “I don’t know whether I should.”
“No strings,” he assured her, still smiling.
“Well, OK.” With a trace of defiance, she added, “But I have to phone Bruno at eight thirty.”
“Give me the address of where you’re staying later.” Zack rose swiftly to his feet. “I’ll pick you up at nine. Wear something smart,” he added, deciding that Maxine Vaughan deserved the full works, no expense spared. “We’ll really hit the town.”
When he had gone, Maxine sipped her coffee. It was scummy, stone cold, and unbelievably disgusting, but
that didn’t matter. Her lips curled up at the corners as she allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.
Next year the Oscars, she thought happily. God, I’m good!
Chapter Fifty-Six
Saint Lucia had been spectacular, but it would have been more spectacular if Guy could have gotten Janey out of his mind.
He still didn’t know why she had refused to go with him to the charity ball at the Grosvenor either. All he knew, he thought drily, was that as he had been driving through Trezale on his way to the airport that Friday at lunchtime, he had overtaken Paula, giving a very poor impression of a flu-ridden invalid, pedaling furiously uphill on her bike.
But Janey had evidently had her reasons for canceling, he concluded, and while half of him had longed to go over to the shop and shake them out of her, the other half had told him it wasn’t the greatest idea in the world. She’d had a hell of a year, after all. The best thing he could do was back off for a while and give her time to sort herself out. It was infuriating, but undoubtedly necessary.
It had also been the reason why—out of sheer desperation—he had carted Josh and Ella off for a time-wasting week in Saint Lucia. Janey, Guy concluded, had cost him a goddamn fortune. She would have an absolute fit if she only knew.
But now he was back. And he had a few bridges to mend. Ready, steady…
Waiting silently in the doorway, Guy watched her at work. She had her back to him, and her shoes were off. Smiling to himself, he observed the holes in the elbows of her baggy, charcoal-gray sweater. The white, calf-length skirt, made of light cotton, was more suited to July than February, and her bare brown legs were mottled with cold. The temperature was positively arctic, but so engrossed was she that it evidently hadn’t occurred to her to turn on the heating. Neither did she seem to have noticed that her long, white hair, having escaped from its combs on one side of her head, was trailing over her left shoulder in a tangled, clay-streaked and lopsided mane.
“Oh,” said Thea, finally sensing his presence and swiveling around to look at him. When she saw who it was, she said “Oh,” again, this time an octave lower.
“It’s OK,” Guy told her. “I haven’t come here to shout at you.”
“I should bloody well hope not.” Her eyebrows lifted. “And I certainly wouldn’t recommend it, young man. Because I’d shout right back.”
Guy believed her. “As a matter of fact, I came here to apologize,” he said. “I was pretty uptight at the funeral, but that’s no excuse for bad manners. I should at least have offered my condolences…”
“I didn’t realize you hadn’t.” Thea’s expression softened slightly. “I’m afraid the entire day passed in a bit of a blur. Goodness only knows what that poor, young lawyer must have thought of me…according to Janey I was swearing like a sailor.”
That had been almost three months ago. Guy nodded. “So how are things now? How are you feeling?”
She shrugged, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Well, not full of the joys of spring…but I’m back at work, which has helped. It’s stupid—now that I no longer need to do it to earn a living, I find I’m spending more time here than ever before.” Hesitating for a second, she added, “I suppose it takes my mind off other things. I actually believe these latest sculptures are the best I’ve ever done. It’s just a shame Oliver isn’t here to see them and tell me how brilliant I am.”
“At least the studio’s your own now.” Maxine had told him about that. Guy smiled. “My father would definitely approve. He always loathed the idea of paying rent and never getting the chance to own anything at the end of it.”
Thea gazed at him. “Does it bother you, the fact that he left me so much money?”
“Absolutely not.” Guy shook his head very firmly indeed. “You deserved it. If anything, it bothers me that he left my children so much money,” he countered. “They’re in danger of becoming insufferable. Hardly a day goes by without one or other of them drawing up a new list of things-to-buy-when-I’m-twenty-one.”
“And did they enjoy their vacation?” Thea smiled. “You’re very brown. Janey told me you’d taken them somewhere hot, but I can’t remember where.”
“Saint Lucia.” Ridiculously, the mere mention of her name lifted his spirits. “Janey was talking to you about…us?”
“I think she was missing your children,” she replied with unconscious cruelty. “She’s extremely fond of them, you know.”
“They’re very fond of her.” Guy pretended to study the half-finished figure she was currently working on. “How is Janey, by the way? It’s been a while since we’ve seen her.”
Thea, itching to get back to work, smoothed her thumb fondly across the ridge of the figure’s cheekbone. Not quite yet, but soon, she would attempt a bust of Oliver.
“Well, what can you expect?” She spoke the words absently, her thoughts elsewhere. “Considering her abysmal taste in men. Oh, she’s getting over it now. The decree nisi comes through next week, thank God, but I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen next. She’s a lovely girl, even if I do say so myself, but her confidence has taken a bit of a battering. What she needs is a decent man who isn’t going to muck her about.” Narrowing her eyes, she leaned forward to check the symmetry of the figure’s eyelids. “Although personally I dread meeting the next one she brings home. If her track record’s anything to go by, I’ll loathe him on sight.”
Guy didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Are there many men you do like?”
Thea’s gaze flickered in his direction. “I liked Oliver,” she said with pride. “As far as I was concerned, he was about as perfect as a man could get.”
“Well, that’s one.”
“And I suppose you aren’t bad,” she conceded with a brief smile. “A bit too good-looking for my taste, maybe. But I daresay you’ll improve with age.”
• • •
Janey howled with laughter. Tears streamed down her face and her sides ached, but she was quite unable to stop. Maxine, unable to find the tissues, chucked across a piece of paper towel instead and waited patiently for the hysteria to subside.
“You never laugh that much when I tell you one of my jokes,” she complained eventually. “And it’s not even supposed to be funny. Poor Bruno. I’m dreading telling him.”
“Poor Bruno?” gasped Janey, wiping her eyes and gasping for breath. “Poor Bruno! I love it…!”
“And he loves me.” Maxine looked glum. “He’s not going to be thrilled, I can tell you.”
Janey struggled to compose herself. If she breathed really slowly and kept her mind a total blank, she told herself firmly, she could do it. No more laughing; this was serious stuff. Bruno was about to be dumped, and she wanted to hear every last glorious detail. If she didn’t get a grip, Maxine might decide not to tell her, and that would be just too cruel.
“So what did he do wrong?” she asked, pressing her lips together and looking suitably concerned.
“Nothing.” Maxine sounded gloomier than ever. “That’s why it’s going to be so difficult.”
“OK. In that case, why are you dumping him?”
“Oh, Janey,” wailed Maxine suddenly, “he got nice! You know what I’m like with men. I can’t handle it when they’re nice. Look at Maurice—it was running away from him that brought me back here in the first place. He was so nice I thought I was going to die of boredom.” She paused, shaking her head in despair. “And that was what was so brilliant about Bruno. He had such a reputation… He was so wicked! I really thought I’d found someone I’d never get tired of.”
“You mean you thought you’d met your match?”
“Well, I had, then.” Maxine looked resigned. “But somehow it all changed. I began to feel as if I’d gotten myself a housewife. Bruno wanted to prove I could trust him. He stopped being wicked. And I don’t know… I suppose I stopped being interested.”
Janey st
ruggled to keep a straight face. Oh dear, falling in love for possibly the first time in his life had turned Bruno into a bore.
“I bet he leaves Trezale,” she mused. The shame of it would undoubtedly be too great for a man of his reputation to bear. “He won’t be able to handle the prospect of bumping into you.” Grinning, because it was what Alan had done, she added, “Maybe he’ll skulk off down the coast to Saint Ives.”
“Ah.” Maxine blinked. “Well, he wouldn’t actually need to move away. You see, I am.”
“What?”
“I am. Moving away. To Manchester,” said Maxine rapidly. “They’ve given me a six-month contract to appear in Romsey Road: the white-stilettoed trollop is going to have a steamy affair with the vicar. And if they decide to get her pregnant, I’ll be sticking a cushion up my sweater and signing up for another year on top of that. Oh, Janey, it’s happening at last.” She sighed, her eyes glistening with tears of joy. “I’m going to be Mandy Blenkinsop.”
“You’re changing your name to Blenkinsop?”
“That’s her name, stupid! The trollop’s.” Maxine grinned. “She didn’t have one before, you see, because it was only a walk-on. But starting next month, she becomes a real character.” Dreamily, she added, “And I’ll be a bona fide member of the cast. I’ll probably have my own fan club.”
Bruno was forgotten. It was as if he had never even existed. Stunned, Janey said, “What about Guy?”
Maxine shifted uneasily in her chair. “Well, he knew it was on the cards. It isn’t as if it’s going to come as a huge surprise, is it? And when you think how many times he’s almost sacked me, he’ll probably be glad to see me go.”
“But you haven’t quite plucked up the courage to tell him yet?” Janey spoke in faintly admonishing tones. “Max, you must. Look at the trouble he had last time, finding a replacement for Berenice. He doesn’t want any old nanny looking after his children. If it comes to that,” she amended, “Josh and Ella won’t want any old nanny either. They’re going to miss you terribly.”