Rachel Lindsay - An Affair To Forget

by Rachel Lindsay

  "It was nothing important."

  "I could hear you shouting when I was outside the door."

  "It was nothing," he repeated. "Merely a difference of opinion."

  "About what? Nicky, I have to know. What's going on between you and that girl?"

  "Nothing. It was over long ago." His voice was flat as he spoke the words and he turned his back on her and poured himself another drink.

  She stared at him. He was lying but she knew from the obstinate set of his shoulders that he had no intention of telling her the truth.

  "I'm going back to Bayswater," she said. "Nothing seems to be your favorite word at the moment, and that's what there is between you and me—nothing!"

  Wrenching open the door she slammed it hard behind her and ran out of the theater.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Her aunt's comment, when she learned what had happened, did nothing to dispel Valerie's misery.

  "I don't see why you're so surprised by his behavior," she commented. "After all, there's far more that you don't know about him than you do! You've barely known him a month and for most of that time you've been together in an artificial atmosphere. You haven't spent more than half a dozen afternoons alone with him and you've never seen him among your own friends."

  "He doesn't like meeting strangers," Valerie explained. "He has to see so many people in the course of his professional life that______ " Her voice trailed away as she realized the lameness of her excuse.

  "I'm not a stranger," Mrs. Pafford said, "yet you've never brought him to see me. I take it for granted you're not ashamed of introducing him to your family, so it would appear the fault lies with him."

  Overcome with anguish Valerie flung her arms around her aunt's shoulders. "Don't ever think I'm ashamed of you," she said fiercely. "Nicky's the one to blame. But it's because of his background—the rotten home life he had as a child. I promise you he'll be here for tea tomorrow."

  "Don't make a promise for somebody else," the answer came.

  "I am," Valerie said firmly and before her aunt could say anything more, she kissed her good-night and left the room.

  Although she had made no arrangements to see Nicky the next day, Valerie telephoned him in the morning and, as she waited for him to answer, felt her hands tingle with nerves. Would he be angry at the way she had rushed off last night? Would he mention Dawn? Her thoughts were interrupted by his voice, sleepy and thick, at the other end of the line.

  "Hey, what's the idea of waking me up at this unearthly hour?"

  "It's ten o'clock," she said quickly, "and I wanted to catch you before you went out."

  "I've no intention of going out," he said. "But what got into you last night?"

  "Do I need to tell you?"

  "If you're angry about Dawn, then forget it. She doesn't mean a thing to me."

  "Then why were—" Valerie stifled the rest of the next question. "All-right, Nicky. Let's forget it."

  "That's my girl. How about meeting me for lunch?"

  "Fine. We can have it here."

  There was a short silence and when he spoke his voice was flat. "You mean at your aunt's?"

  "Yes."

  "Sorry, honey, no dice: I told you before that families bug me."

  "I know what you told me, Nicky, but it's not good enough."

  "It is for me," he said with finality. "So be a good girl and get off my back. Where shall we go for lunch?"

  "I don't know where you're going—and I don't care—but I'm lunching here. So you can take Dawn Meadows with you instead!" Banging down the receiver, she stared at it through tear-blurred eyes.

  Although she sympathized with Nicky's feelings toward his own relations, it was childish of him to apply it to hers, and she knew that had the positions been reversed she would have sacrificed her own desires in order to please him. Nicky had never had to put himself out for anyone; since he had achieved fame he had been the one whom people had tried to please. Small wonder he found it so hard to change! She sighed and wondered if their only chance of happiness lay in her giving in to him all the time. Yet if she did, I hey would have no partnership, merely a domination. A good marriage had to be based on equal give and take, and though it was true that Nicky would do all the giving where material things were concerned, on the emotional level they would give equally, and surely that was the most important?

  All morning she waited in the house, half expecting him to call her back. But the telephone remained silent and she resolutely refused to be the one to give in. Unless the quarrel was resolved to her own satisfaction, it would have repercussions on the rest of their life together; and if it could not be resolved, then it was better they part now.

  To occupy her time she made a meat pie for lunch, while her aunt turned out one of the blackberry and apple tarts for which she was famous. Not haute cuisine fare, perhaps, but as tasty a meal as any Nicky would be having. Drat the man. She wasn't going to stay indoors moping. She would have a brisk walk before lunch.

  Flinging on a coat she opened the front door, stopping in astonishment as she saw the slim dark-haired man walking up the path.

  "Nicky!"

  "Don't look so surprised. I thought I was invited to lunch?"

  With a cry of delight she flung her arms around him. "Oh darling, I'm so glad you came!"

  She pulled him inside and hugged him again. He wore dark brown slacks and a cinnamon-colored sweater in finest cashmere. His hair had the glossiness of a raven's wing and his eyes were gleaming with mischief.

  "Never thought I'd come, did you?"

  "Of course I did," she lied. "I knew you were too logical and intelligent not to know I was right!"

  He slapped her behind and she squealed, a sound which brought her aunt rushing from the dining room where she was laying the table. Seeing her visitor, the woman hesitated, and Valerie put her arm through Nicky's and drew him forward. "This is Nicky. He's come to lunch."

  "I hope you won't mind taking potluck with us?"

  "Potluck be blowed," Valerie snorted and turned to him. "Aunt Alice made you her special blackberry and apple pie. It's famous throughout the whole of Sussex."

  "I'm a pushover for pies," he smiled at the older woman, "though to be honest, I came here to meet you—rather than the pie!"

  "How nice of you to say so." Aunt Alice gave no indication that she knew of his earlier reluctance, and led him into the drawing room for a drink.

  Lunch could not have been bettered. The food was excellent and Nicky was at his most charming. He laughed at Aunt Alice's jokes, and carefully answered all the questions she put to him about his work and life-style, frequently sending her into gales of amusement at some of his descriptions of his early touring days.

  Coffee finished, he pushed back his chair. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, Mrs. Pafford, I'd like to show you something."

  He went out of the house to his car, not the usual large limousine but a rakish-looking sports one, and returned with a case from which he extracted a guitar. It had the patina of age and looked as valuable as Valerie guessed it to be.

  "You're not going to play it here, are you?" Mrs.

  Clifford asked, looking at it as though it were a snake.

  Nicky chuckled. "Don't worry! I promise not to bring the ceiling down!"

  Without more ado he sat down and plucked the si rings. A delicate chord trembled in the air, and as it died away, he started to sing. Valerie listened enhanced, unable to believe that the liquid notes she was hearing came from the pale slim throat of the man she loved. This was a Nicky no one had heard publicly, and she could not credit that Bob had never persuaded him to sing in this way. With another delicate chord the song came to an end, and Nicky rested his hands lightly on l he guitar strings and looked at them.

  "I hope you liked it?" he asked with a diffidence Valerie had never associated with him.

  "It was beautiful," Mrs. Pafford replied. "I had no idea you sang like that."

  "I don't. My fans want a different s
tyle from me! What about you, Val? Did you like it?"

  "It was…" She sighed. "I can't find the right words. Why don't you record a whole album with songs like that? Just you singing and the guitar as your accompaniment."

  "I've been toying with the idea."

  "Did you compose the song, Nicky?' Mrs. Pafford asked.

  "Yes. It's not like my usual numbers, but I'm quite pleased with it."

  "It's a most talented composition," came the firm reply. "You could earn your living as a composer even without singing."

  "I may even do that too," he agreed. "One day I'll give up my live performances and concentrate on records and composing for myself and other singers." He glanced at his watch. "I hate to leave but I have a meeting at the theater. Are you coming, Val?"

  She nodded and, moments later, was in the car with him.

  "Where would you like to go?" he asked.

  "I thought you had an appointment at—"

  "I only said that in order to get away."

  "I see." She bit on her lip. "I had the impression you liked my aunt."

  "I do. But enough's enough." Seeing her expression, he added quickly: "Don't worry, honey. I'll come along with you whenever you say the word."

  She smiled, but could not dismiss her uneasiness. Nicky had not only been at his most charming this afternoon, but had behaved as if he were enjoying himself.

  Yet from the way he spoke she realized the whole thing had been a chore, undertaken only to please her. What a strange person he was, this man she was going to marry. And how she wished she could understand him better.

  The next week passed in a whirl of outings. They spent part of each day together, either in the afternoons or the evenings, and most nights were given over to parties, where the drink flowed more easily than conversation, and girls seemed to change hands as frequently as the men who took them changed shirts.

  Valerie still loathed the falseness and immorality of it all, but was able to hide it more adeptly. Her new hairstyle and clothes had helped her to lose much of her initial shyness and she was no longer left to sit by herself on the outskirts of the group. But she was always glad when the parties were over, and often left while they were still in progress. She refused to think what would happen if Nicky did not change his mode of living after they were married, and hoped that then when he possessed her wholly, the restlessness which seemed to drive him would abate.

  One evening, ten days after she had come up to London, her aunt called up to say someone was waiting to see her. She was changing to see Nicky, who was calling to take her to a concert—someone else's this time—and then out for a dinner a deux—a treat he had suggested without any prompting from her, and one which had given her hope for their future.

  "I'm sick of having people around us all the time," he had said. "I want you to myself, Val. Just you. Nobody else."

  Now she rushed downstairs, hoping he had not sent someone to tell her he had an unexpected appointment that had to be met. But the person waiting to greet her was Mark, and she stared at him wide-eyed.

  "Good heavens, what a surprise."

  "Same here." He took her hand and looked her up and down, from her shining head with its shorter hairstyle, to her slim body in a pleated organza extravagance, "You look so glamorous, I hardly recognized you!"

  "I could say the same." She took in his dark blue town suit and his weather-beaten face under its thatch of thick blond hair, now slicked smooth. "What brought you here?" she added.

  "I came for the Agricultural Show and thought I'd look you up. If I'm intruding, I'll—"

  "Of course you're not," she said quickly. "I'm delighted to see you."

  There was an awkward silence, during which she surreptitiously glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, a movement which he interpreted correctly. "I won't keep you if you're going out," he said. "I only came to see if you were happy."

  "What a question to ask a newly engaged girl! Of course I'm happy."

  He continued to regard her. "You look beautiful, Valerie, but you don't have a glow about you."

  "What a load of rot." Angrily she spun around and went to the door. "You're only saying that because you're jealous!" She stopped short. "I'm sorry. I had no right to be so cruel."

  "It isn't cruel to speak the truth. Leastways not in this instance. I am jealous. You know how I feel about you. You can't expect my feelings to change just because you've got engaged to Nicky Barratt. You've always hero-worshipped him, so I suppose I should be glad for your sake that you've got what you want." He strode over and caught her hand. "But are you sure it's what you still want? Do you fit into his way of life the way you would have fitted into mine?"

  "No," she admitted, "but I'm still happier with Nicky than I'd be with you. I don't want to hurt you, Mark, but I've got to be honest. I hate to see you wasting your life because of me."

  She looked at him, her eyes full of tears, and before she could stop him he enfolded her in his arms and pressed his mouth on hers.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" an angry voice exclaimed and they both drew apart as Nicky strode in. His brows were drawn together in a frown and his eyes sparkled with fury.

  "Darling!" she exclaimed. "I didn't hear you ring."

  "That was obvious!"

  "Don't be angry with Valerie," Mark said. "What you saw just now was my fault."

  "Really?" Nicky drawled. "I suppose you're going to tell me she didn't give you any encouragement?"

  Valerie's face flamed but before she could answer, Mark stepped forward, as angry as Nicky.

  "No, she didn't! And watch what you say."

  "You should watch what you do," Nicky said coldly. "I presume you're Valerie's bucolic boyfriend."

  "Nicky!" Valerie's voice rang through the room. "Don't talk like that. Mark's a dear friend of mine and-"

  "Then I'll leave you to continue your friendship. I'm obviously in the way."

  "Don't be silly. I know you've some excuse to be annoyed, but there's not need to behave like a boor."

  "How do you expect me to behave when I come in and find you in another man's arms?"

  "It wasn't like that!"

  "You mean there was more that I missed!"

  "How dare you talk like that? If that's what you think of me, you can go."

  Without a word he strode into the hall and left the house.

  She took a pace forward, stopped, and then turned to Mark with a forced smile. "It looks as if you're stuck with me for this evening—unless you've already got a date?"

  "I'd nothing planned." He looked deeply troubled. "I don't want to make trouble between you and your fiancé. Would you like to go after him and—"

  "No. Too many people run after Nicky Barratt. It's time he learned to control himself and to trust me. If he doesn't know I'm not like his erstwhile girl friends, then perhaps I'd better be erstwhile too."

  The rest of the evening—although she did her best to pretend she was enjoying herself—passed in a haze of misery. One moment she regretted her decision to go out with Mark and wished she had not been so hasty with Nicky, and the next moment she knew she could not have done anything else. How strangely Nicky had behaved. He professed to be sophisticated yet he had taken such exception to another man kissing her. Not that she blamed him for being jealous— on the contrary—but it was his rudeness to Mark which she resented.

  "Val!" Mark interrupted her thoughts. "I've been speaking to you."

  With an effort she concentrated on him. "What did you ask me?"

  "Whether you wanted to dance."

  Forcing a smile to her lips, she preceded him onto the floor. Mark had chosen a delightful Italian restaurant in Mayfair, but it only served to remind her of how much she longed to be with Nicky. Tonight had promised to be one of their rare evenings alone, and now here she was spending it with another man.

  It was nearly one o'clock in the morning before she finally said good-night to Mark, and she was crossing the hall when the telephon
e rang. Heart pounding, she ran to answer it before it awakened her aunt. It would only be Nicky who would call at this late hour, and she tried to keep her voice cool.

  "I've been trying to get you for hours," he said as she spoke.

  "I've been out with Mark."

  "And ruined our evening."

  "I'm sorry."

  "So am I. Especially as it was our last one."

  "Last one?" She felt her scalp prickle.

  "Last one for a month." he added. "I'm leaving for New York at noon."

  "But how—why so suddenly?"

  "It's not so sudden. It's been in the offing for months, but Bob couldn't finally fix it until he'd got me cleared of a couple of engagements here. Luckily he was able to rearrange my bookings, and I'm off to the States to record a new album."

  "I see." She drew a shaky breath. "I wish you'd told me before you rushed out of the house."

  "I was too angry," he said honestly. "But it's over now." He yawned audibly. "Get some sleep, Val, and come over later."

  The phone went dead and, feeling equally dead, she went slowly up the stairs.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  All night Valerie tried to court sleep, and when she eventually gave up the attempt and rose, it was not yet seven o'clock. Slipping on her dressing gown, she went down to make some tea, then carried the tray upstairs. Passing her aunt's room, she quietly peeked in, and the alacrity with which Mrs. Pafford sat up told Valerie she too had long since been awake.

  "So you couldn't sleep either," she smiled, handing her aunt a cup of tea.

  "I'm afraid so. I kept thinking of you and your silly quarrel with Nicky."

  "He phoned me at one o'clock this morning," Valerie said, "and told me he's going to America."

  "Because of you?"

  "Of course not! To record a new album of songs. It was all arranged very suddenly."

  "How long will he be away?"

  "A month."

  "Did he ask you to go with him?"

  Valerie shook her head. "It would be very expensive."

  "Peanuts!" Aunt Alice said inelegantly. "If newspaper reports are anything to go by, he's a millionaire. I hope it isn't your silly pride that's preventing you going with him?"