Golden Fever

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Do you know why they originally had those orange mirrors installed?’ Harvey asked once they had finished eating, alluding to the tinted mirrors on some of the walls.

  There was open amusement in her eyes as she looked at him affectionately. ‘More information from your tour?’

  ‘Mm,’ he gave a boyish grin. ‘Well?’

  ‘Tell me,’ she encouraged, seeing that he was aching to tell her.

  ‘Seasickness,’ he announced.

  Clare frowned. ‘Seasickness?’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘If you were seasick on the voyage and you looked in one of the orange-tinted mirrors then you didn’t look as ill as you felt.’

  ‘Sneaky!’ she laughed.

  ‘I thought it was a clever idea.’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ she nodded. ‘Maybe I should get one for the mornings,’ she added teasingly.

  Harvey gave her a reproachful look. ‘You always look good, even first thing in the morning.’

  She turned to look out of the window. They had a magnificent view of Long Beach and the lights of the town reflected on the water. It was beautiful, tranquil, utterly peaceful.

  ‘Enjoy your meal?’

  Her peace was shattered in that split second, and she spun round from her perusal of the harbour to see Rourke standing beside their table, his arm firmly about Belinda Evans’ waist.

  Harvey stood up politely. ‘Somerville.’

  ‘Pryce,’ Rourke drawled. ‘Belinda Evans,’ he introduced the giggling actress at his side.

  ‘Miss Evans,’ Harvey nodded. ‘I believe you know Clare.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Belinda shot a triumphant smile in her direction.

  Clare gave the other girl a startled look. Why was she looking at her like that? Oh God, she didn’t know, she couldn’t know …! She looked accusingly at Rourke, but he returned that look blandly.

  ‘To answer your question, Mr Somerville,’ Clare said slowly, her confidence returned; Rourke simply wasn’t the sort of man to kiss and tell, ’the meal was first class. I can recommend the seafood.’

  Belinda gave another giggle, and the sound grated on Clare’s nerves, although Rourke seemed to find it attractive, smiling down indulgently at the other girl.

  ‘No suggestive comments about seafood,’ he warned Belinda in amusement.

  The dark-haired actress smiled up at him. ‘I was only going to say you certainly don’t need to eat any of it,’ she said throatily.

  Clare’s mouth tightened as Rourke gave a husky laugh. How could he fall for such blatant flirtation? It didn’t need two guesses who was going to be sharing his bed tonight. Well, at least she wouldn’t need to worry about him invading her suite!

  She stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse us,’ she said pointedly, ’we were just going through to the bar.’

  Harvey looked surprised, but the emotion was instantly masked as he smiled at the other couple. ‘Enjoy your meal.’

  ‘Oh, we will,’ Belinda laughed once again.

  Clare could still hear that grating sound as she accepted the wine Harvey ordered for her in the bar, most of the tables full now, a steady hum of conversation and the soft piano playing masking their own conversation.

  Harvey frowned at her. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

  ‘Rourke?’ she delayed. ‘It isn’t him I dislike,’ she said in a distant voice. ‘I just don’t approve of directors dating the actresses working for them.’ Heavens, how pompous she sounded! And how shocked Harvey would be if he knew the real reason for her disapproval.

  He shrugged. ‘I suppose it is a bit unethical.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed abruptly, wishing she had never mentioned it. It had been bitchy, and that was something she usually wasn’t. At least, she hoped she wasn’t.

  ‘Is it upsetting you having Somerville playing Gunther?’ Harvey asked concernedly.

  It wasn’t bothering her at all that Rourke was playing Gunther, he was even better in the role than Jason had been during rehearsals, and once she spoke the lines that were Caroline’s then she became her, forgetting her own antipathy to Rourke for a while. No, it was having Rourke direct her that was upsetting her, his criticism, when directed at her, seeming to be ruthlessly cruel.

  ‘Is it the nude scenes?’ Harvey probed gently.

  She swallowed hard. Oh God, the nude scenes! Not that it was full nudity, she drew the line at that, but she and Rourke would be in bed together, with both of them only wearing briefs. And a couple of those scenes were scheduled for next week!

  Harvey could tell by her flushed face that she was indeed bothered by them. ‘But I thought we’d talked all this out,’ he said with infinite patience. ‘A little nudity isn’t going to hurt your career.’

  She pulled a face. It had been going to be embarrassing enough with Jason, with Rourke it would be impossible. ‘Doesn’t it bother you, Harvey, as my fiancé?’

  ‘Well, of course it does—’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I can’t see any real harm in it,’ he shrugged. ‘This film doesn’t have a single word of smut in it, and the love scenes are beautifully written.’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ she agreed dully, wondering how on earth she was supposed to go through with telling Rourke, as Gunther, that she loved him. Five years ago it had been true of herself for Rourke—and she hadn’t even had the nerve to say the words even then. ‘Could we leave now, Harvey? It’s been another long day.’

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed, holding back her chair for her.

  As they left the bar and walked down the hallway to the door, Clare could see Rourke and Belinda just coming towards them. It was just her luck!

  Rourke raised his eyebrows, his hand resting possessively on Belinda’s elbow; the young actress was leaning all the more seductively against him, obviously having imbibed heavily during the course of their meal.

  ‘Leaving?’ Rourke drawled.

  ‘Clare’s tired,’ Harvey explained politely.

  ‘I never get tired,’ Belinda put in brightly.

  ‘How nice,’ Clare said with exaggerated sweetness, giving Rourke a mocking look. He really had chosen himself a particularly stupid woman this time; Belinda acted even younger than her twenty years.

  Belinda’s eyes hardened as she saw that look. ‘Maybe when I get older I’ll tire more easily,’ she answered with equal sweetness.

  Clare refused to be drawn. Not even Belinda could call twenty-three old! The poor girl must feel very unsure of Rourke’s affection. She knew the feeling! So it was to Rourke she directed her next barb.

  ‘Maybe you should leave now, Mr Somerville, you must be exhausted.’ She had to hold back a smile at the look of contrition on Belinda’s face as she looked up at her escort. Rourke’s expression was deliberately bland, although the glitter in his eyes as he looked at Clare showed he wasn’t as unmoved as he appeared. ‘If you’ll excuse us?’ she said to the other couple. ‘Harvey?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’ His arm came about her waist. ‘Goodnight.’

  Rourke answered cordially enough, but Belinda didn’t answer at all, and Clare could hear the other girl’s throaty kittenish voice as she and Harvey left the restaurant. Poor Belinda, how she had jumped in with both feet!

  ‘I’m not sure you were altogether kind,’ Harvey remarked as they walked down the stairs to their deck.

  ‘I’m not sure Belinda was either,’ she replied lightly.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that little cat,’ he dismissed. ‘She deserved everything she got.’ He frowned. ‘Although you’ll have to watch out for that sort of professional jealousy, it could get nasty.’

  Poor Harvey had no idea what Belinda’s behaviour had all been about—and Clare hoped he never would know. She still had no idea how Belinda had guessed.

  ‘No, I meant you weren’t very polite to Rourke Somerville,’ Harvey continued. ‘After all, you have to work with him for several months, there’s no point in antagonising him.’

  She flushed her resentment
of this criticism, even if it was the truth. ‘I’m sure Rourke took it in good stead,’ she said stiffly. ‘After all, I didn’t say anything derogatory.’

  ‘No …’

  ‘Then let’s forget it, Harvey. I’m sure they have.’

  ‘Probably,’ he agreed ruefully. ‘Miss Evans seemed to have—other things on her mind.’

  ‘I’m sure Rou—Mr Somerville does too,’ she said waspishly.

  ‘So do I.’ He looked at her questioningly.

  Clare’s heart sank. ‘I’m tired—’

  ‘Of course you are,’ he laughed. ‘I’m really in no hurry, Clare,’ he reassured her.

  Why wasn’t he? They had been engaged for months now, didn’t he feel in the least impatient to force the issue of a physical relationship between them? Obviously not.

  ‘Have you—Have there been many other women?’ she asked as they walked along the deck, the evening, as usual, warm.

  Harvey flushed. ‘Really, Clare—’

  ‘Really, Harvey,’ she mocked gently. ‘You’re thirty-five, not fifteen.’

  ‘My age has never bothered you before—’

  ‘And it doesn’t bother me now,’ she smiled. ‘I was just trying to point out that I realise that a man of your age must have had—some physical relationships.’

  Harvey was obviously uncomfortable discussing such an intimate subject. ‘I’ve never pretended otherwise—’

  ‘I’m not condemning, Harvey,’ she laughed lightly. ‘I’m just—curious.’

  ‘Well, I lived with Shara, you know that,’ he said reluctantly.

  Clare stopped walking, moving to lean on the railing, looking out at Long Beach, the gentle breeze coming off the water ruffling her hair. She had known all about Harvey’s live-in relationship with the girl he had managed before her, but it had never really interested her before. It did now.

  She glanced sideways at Harvey. ‘Why didn’t you get married?’

  He looked away. ‘Shara wasn’t interested in marriage.’

  Her eyes widened. Somehow she had always thought it was Harvey who had opted out of the more permanent commitment of marriage. It came as something of a surprise to know that it was Shara Morgan who hadn’t wanted that total commitment. She knew that the other woman was now starring in a popular American comedy show, although Harvey never mentioned her, or the success she had attained since coming to the States.

  ‘Why?’ Clare asked softly.

  He leant on the rail beside her. ‘She felt marriage would limit her career, especially if there were chileren.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose she was right.’

  ‘And have there been other women?’

  He turned with a frown, irritation marking his brow. ‘Why this sudden interest in my past sex life?’

  She chewed on her top lip. ‘I wondered what your opinion was on women who had—had other men,’ she shrugged casually to take away the seriousness of the question.

  ‘And have you?’ he said quietly.

  She paled. ‘I—I wasn’t talking about myself.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Clare …’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She spun away from him, not strolling now but walking determinedly to her room.

  Harvey had joined her within seconds, his hand on her arm. ‘I always knew there’d been someone else in your life, Clare,’ he told her quietly.

  She gave a visible start of surprise, but she didn’t look at him, just continued walking. ‘How did you know that?’ she asked tightly.

  ‘It was obvious,’ he shrugged. ‘When we first met you weren’t interested in men, didn’t even trust me,’ he sounded slightly affronted. ‘I knew you’d been hurt.’

  ‘I—’ she bit back the forceful denial. ‘Yes,’ she admitted softly, ’I was hurt.’

  ‘And it involved your mother,’ he said perceptively.

  ‘I—Yes.’

  ‘I thought so. But it was five years ago, Clare. And if your mother stopped you seeing the man then I’m sure she must have had good reason.’

  ‘Oh, she did,’ Clare agreed bitterly. ‘She wanted him for herself.’

  ‘Darling …?’ Harvey looked taken aback.

  She smiled at him. ‘If you knew my mother you wouldn’t find that so hard to believe.’

  ‘But on the telephone—’

  ‘You can hardly get to know someone on the telephone,’ she derided.

  ‘No …’

  ‘So the fact that I—loved someone else, once, doesn’t bother you?’ she persisted.

  ‘I’m not a prude, Clare.’

  ‘No, but—Oh, never mind,’ she dismissed. ‘It isn’t really important. If it doesn’t bother you why should I let it bother me?’

  The only trouble was that it did bother her! And it was still bothering her as she prepared for bed. Although why it should she had no idea, she had told Harvey as much as he needed to know. Maybe it was the fact that she had found it very hard to tell him and he hadn’t really been interested that bothered her so much. It was different for a man, it was to be expected that he would have made love to other women, but Harvey hadn’t even been interested in who his predecessor had been.

  It was as she was climbing into bed that she heard the voices in the next suite, the slamming of the door—heavens, did they have no consideration for other people!—and Belinda’s high-pitched giggle.

  She was conscious of every sound, of the low murmur of voices, the chink of glasses. Lord, she wasn’t to be subjected to Rourke making love to the other woman too, was she?

  She couldn’t bear it! If—It had gone quiet! Oh no, no, she wouldn’t listen, couldn’t hear the two of them …! She pulled the pillow over her head to block it out of her mind, but thoughts of Rourke and Belinda in bed together persisted.

  She almost fell out of bed with surprise when the pillow was removed, and she saw Rourke looking down at her with mocking amusement.

  ‘Having a bad dream?’ he taunted.

  Clare swallowed hard. ‘Er—no. I—It was a bit noisy. I couldn’t sleep.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a guilty conscience keeping you awake?’

  Clare frowned. ‘Guilty conscience?’

  ‘Mm,’ he nodded. ‘For your bitchiness earlier.’ His eyes hardened.

  ‘My bitchiness?’ She arched an eyebrow pointedly, and sat up in the bed, the pillow held defencively in front of her.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he gave an inclination of his head. ‘You were deliberately baiting Belinda.’

  ‘I was not!’ she denied heatedly.

  ‘Then what would you call it?’

  Her eyes flashed deeply gold. ‘You have no right to come in here—’

  ‘What would you call it, Clare?’ he repeated coldly.

  ‘I would call it your girl-friend’s jealousy.’

  Rourke’s eyes narrowed. ‘Of who?’

  ‘Me!’

  ‘You?’ he frowned. ‘Why the hell should Belinda be jealous of you?’

  She flushed at the contempt in his voice. ‘I don’t know,’ she snapped. ‘Why don’t we go into your bedroom and ask her?’

  ‘My bed …? Really, Clare,’ he taunted. ‘And what would Belinda be doing in my bedroom?’

  ‘The same as every other woman,’ she said bitterly. ‘Purring!’

  His mouth hardened, his jaw inflexible. ‘With the exception of one,’ he rasped.

  Clare’s mouth twisted. ‘There has to be the exception.’ So her mother hadn’t found him so satisfying after all! Maybe she really had misjudged her mother?

  ‘Yes,’ he said curtly. ‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Belinda is not in my bedroom.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you struck out?’ she scorned.

  ‘Belinda happens to be the daughter of an old friend—’

  ‘My God, do you make a habit of it!’

  ‘No! Belinda’s father happens to be an old friend.’ His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘I told him I
would keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I’m sure he didn’t expect you to keep that close an eye,’ Clare mocked.

  Rourke gave an impatient sigh. ‘Will you let me finish talking, woman! Belinda is a little—wild—’

  ‘How nice for you!’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ He stood up to pace the room, glowering down at her. ‘She tends to get in with the wrong people—’

  ‘She certainly did this time!’

  ‘I’m warning you, Clare—’

  ‘You aren’t warning me anything, Rourke!’ Her eyes sent out sparks. ‘And if you don’t stop using that connecting door I shall ask for a different suite, speculation or no speculation.’

  ‘You knew I’d want to talk to you.’

  ‘Tomorrow, perhaps,’ she acknowledged, knowing that glitter in his eyes earlier had promised retribution. ‘I don’t expect you to keep walking in and out of my suite as if it were your own.’

  ‘Point taken,’ he nodded tersely.

  Clare looked up in bewilderment. ‘It is?’

  A reluctant smile lightened his features. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I can be reasoned with—sometimes.’

  ‘You surprise me,’ she said dryly.

  ‘I said sometimes, Clare,’ he warned darkly.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘So Belinda isn’t in your bedroom?’

  ‘No, and she isn’t going to be. Would it bother you if she had been?’

  Bother her? She had been suffering agonies imagining the two of them together!

  ‘Of course not,’ she denied coldly. ‘Why should you think it would?’

  His eyes were narrowed. ‘Maybe because of this morning.’

  ‘Nothing happened this morning,’ she denied stiffly.

  Rourke shook his head. ‘How do you do it, Clare? How do you still manage to blush?’ he explained at her questioning look.

  ‘A good drama school,’ she snapped, glaring at him.

  ‘It must have been,’ he muttered.

  ‘It was!’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t good enough,’ he rasped. ‘Filming went badly today, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘You know you do,’ Rourke sighed. ‘You also know why.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘It was because of you,’