Red-Hot Lover

by Sarah Holland

  ‘And a bottle of Château Lafite.’ Jared snapped the wine menu shut as though he were at the Paris Ritz, and Clara hid a smile. They wanted to see the legend living according to his image, and that was precisely what Jared was giving them.

  The head waiter nearly expired with excitement. ‘Oh, I hope we’ve still got some, Mr Blackheath! It’s been so long since anyone ordered it. Not much call for Château Lafite down here, see…’ He went hurrying off.

  When they were alone, Clara said, ‘It must be strange to be surrounded by Welsh voices again.’

  ‘And the next question, no doubt, is why I speak with an English accent?’

  ‘I just wondered, that’s all.’

  He studied her with narrowed eyes. ‘I acquired it when I first arrived in London aged seventeen. I wanted to destroy all traces of my old self. That included the accent. So I got rid of it, pronto.’

  ‘Did you go to evening classes?’

  ‘No. I did it myself. Alone in my bedsit at nights. Listening to Radio Four and trying to copy each vowel sound. Pacing the floor, talking to myself until I was word-perfect. What determination!’ He laughed, looking back into the past with self-recognition. ‘My God, I was a driven man. I had no one. No friends, no supporters—just myself, my ambition and the occasional woman to keep me company on long winter nights.’

  How little I really know him, she thought as she imagined the strength it must have taken to accomplish all that single-handedly. He’d been right when he’d said he wanted to destroy his old self. In many ways he was completely different from the teenager who had left Rhossana twenty years ago.

  But Clara knew only too well how impossible it was to completely leave one’s childhood identity behind. Perhaps it was for that reason that fate had brought Jared back here. He needed to get in touch with that long-forgotten, long-buried self. But why had he felt such an overriding need to destroy it…?

  Their food arrived. Her grilled sole didn’t look half as good as his duck à l’orange and his sauté potatoes.

  ‘Of course,’ Jared was saying as he finished his meal, ‘there were moments when I did feel almost beaten. But I always managed to fight my way through and win in the end.’

  ‘Single-handedly?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘There were never any supporters? Not one?’

  ‘Not really.’ He ran a long finger over the rim of his wine glass. ‘I guess when you’re used to handling everything alone, it becomes force of habit.’

  ‘Is that why you never told anyone about your past?’ she asked softly.

  His gaze darted up to study her for a long moment.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, madam.’ The head waiter swished up to their table without warning. ‘A courier has arrived with an urgent message for Miss Maye. He refuses to leave until he has personally delivered the message into her hands. Shall I send him in or—?’

  ‘No.’ Clara got to her feet, pale and excited as she realised the message must be from Mitch, and that she might have won the part of Rachel after all. Even if she had to turn it down because of Susie’s coma, and there was no guarantee she would come out of it, in spite of what the doctor said—it was still an accolade to have won the role. ‘I’ll come out to him. Is he in Reception?’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ Jared stood up, uncoiling to his full height of six foot six.

  Everyone watched as he put his hand possessively beneath Clara’s elbow and together they strode across the crowded restaurant. Heads turned, people whispered. Clara recognised several faces from around town, too. People who’d been pointed out to her by Jared, though she could not remember their names. The butcher’s son and his plump wife. The hospital orderly and his long-haired girlfriend.

  Suddenly Gwyneth Jones was getting up from her table and smiling at them. The silver low-cut evening dress was too tight, and she wore too much make-up, but her natural prettiness shone through.

  ‘Jared?’ Gwyneth’s voice was breathless as she stood directly in their path. ‘I’m sorry to intrude, but I just wanted to say hello.’

  Smiling tightly, Jared replied, ‘Hello. Excuse me, but I’m in rather a hurry…’ Striding past her, he went out of the dining room, keeping a tight hold on Clara’s elbow.

  Across the foyer, Clara saw a tall young man in motorcycle leathers. He held a zip-up package in one hand. But before they could reach him Gwyneth Jones caught Jared’s arm, and Jared—not realising who it was—turned with an unguarded frown.

  ‘I don’t just want to say hello.’ Gwyneth’s face was flushed. ‘I want to say I’m sorry. Sorry for the way I treated you when we were children. We all are. We always have been, ever since—’

  ‘We really are in a hurry—’

  ‘I was so young, Jared!’

  ‘Yes, I do understand, but—’

  ‘And your father’s suicide was—’

  ‘We have to go!’ Jared bit out hoarsely, and strode forward with Clara.

  She moved like a robot. Shock reflected in her eyes. Jared’s fingers bit into her arm as he led her across the chandeliered foyer and everything seemed to have gone into slow motion. Suicide! The word kept hammering in her mind. Of course, why hadn’t she realised it before? Everything fell into place and made perfect sense now. The chance remarks, the little clues, were all adding up to make her shiver with horror.

  ‘You’re the courier?’ Jared stopped in the centre of the foyer.

  ‘Yup. And you’re Jared Blackheath. I don’t need to ask if this is the gorgeous Miss Clara Maye!’ He grinned at her admiringly. ‘Seen you on the telly. Loved you as Jezebel Whitney.’

  ‘Just give her the damned package!’ Jared was furious with him for flirting so openly with Clara.

  ‘Sorry.’ The courier fumbled in his zip-up bag, handed Clara a form to sign and then the package.

  ‘We’ll take it straight up to our suite,’ Jared muttered as soon as she had the slim white envelope in her hands, and without another word led her over to the lifts.

  They rode up in tense silence. She was too stunned to even open the envelope, clutching it in nerveless fingers, all thought of Rachel forgotten.

  ‘Stop staring at me!’ Jared bit out under his breath, only too well aware of the bombshell that had been dropped. ‘Open the damned envelope!’

  Automatically, she did. Scanning the letter as the lift stopped at their floor, she said, ‘It’s from Mitch. He’s been ringing and leaving messages here all day.’

  ‘Damn it…how was I to know?’

  ‘Oh, Jared…’ Her voice trembled with excitement. ‘I’ve got a recall for the part of Rachel. I’m in the last three. It’s nearly mine. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘When’s the recall?’

  Her excitement died. ‘Tomorrow, midday, in London.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ He strode to the doors of their suite, unlocking them and ushering her in.

  Shellshocked, she walked into the living room like a beautiful blonde ghost. Her mind was racing in twenty different directions at once. Now that the role was within her grasp she was faced with the choice she had not wanted to make. But deep inside she knew what it would be: Susie.

  ‘You don’t have much time to make a decision.’ He was pale too, and his movements were jerky, on edge.

  She tried to think. ‘A recall…tomorrow…’

  ‘Perhaps a brandy might help,’ he said suddenly, and went to the drinks cabinet, looking much more in control apart from the white-knuckled fingers as he unscrewed two miniatures.

  That was when she realised he was as disorientated as she was.

  ‘Darling?’ she asked huskily. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine!’

  But he was far from fine. This was what he’d been afraid of all along. That someone would one day come up to him in public and blurt it out.

  ‘A recall is just another test, isn’t it?’ His hand shook as he poured the brandies.

  ‘They might want to shoot a multiple character sce
ne. Maybe put me together with the hero, see how the chemistry works.’

  ‘Essential stuff?’

  ‘They can’t cast me without it.’

  ‘Well, you can still go. Take my helicopter. That’ll get you to London and back in no time.’

  ‘Yes…’ Conversation sounded so normal, but it wasn’t. They were both just trying to make it look normal because neither of them wanted to say that word. And now she knew what the house had whispered as the storm raged over the bay. Now she knew why he hid his feelings from her, refused to talk about it, couldn’t bear to be reminded of it.

  ‘It’s your Hamlet,’ Jared said roughly.

  She managed a wan smile.

  ‘Congratulations, darling.’ He strode to her, handed her the glass of brandy and raised his own to his lips. ‘I see an award nomination in the future.’

  ‘I haven’t even got the part yet. There are never any guarantees until the contracts are signed.’

  ‘Of course.’ He drained his glass and did not look at her. ‘But I’m very pleased for you, nonetheless.’

  He was trying to detract attention from the burning issue. People always talked too much when they were running inside themselves. Talked too much, did too much, put on too strong a front and prayed that no one would notice the Achilles’ heel which had been so suddenly and brutally exposed.

  ‘So what will you do?’ he demanded, before the conversation could move towards what they really wanted to talk about.

  Clara stared for a second, then shook her head. ‘You know how much I want the part. How hard I’ve worked for it. Rehearsing endlessly, memorising every single relevant piece of the script.’

  ‘I remember you sectioning up that monologue. You stuck one piece on the fridge. Another on the bedside table. Even one on the inside door of the shower.’

  Tears stung her eyes as she laughed. ‘I was so determined to get it right. To change my career for ever and earn some serious respect.’

  ‘You can go for this test, Clara. I’ll stay with Susie. I’ll keep watch for you.’

  ‘And if the doctor is wrong?’ she whispered. ‘If she dies?’

  Their eyes met and held in mutual pain. He looked away first.

  They both knew it was impossible. No step up the career ladder was more important than a friend who was virtually a sister. Clara couldn’t desert her. It was still possible, in spite of the good news today, that she might die. And if she did the long term repercussions for Clara would be terrible.

  ‘I’d never forgive myself.’ She shook her blonde head with a pained expression. ‘If I got the part, I’d always know how I got it, by abandoning Susie. I’d turn against the part. I might even destroy any hope I have of playing it well.’

  ‘Yes…’ he said deeply, staring.

  Again, their eyes met. This time he didn’t look away. This time his gaze held hers and she saw the darkness in them as he stopped, finally, running inside, and found the courage to just stand still as the lines of deep trust began to open up between them through his eyes.

  ‘Death is too terrible, Jared,’ she said when he remained silent. ‘The repercussions last for ever. That’s why it’s so important to get everything right if and when it does touch your shoulder.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said again, still staring. ‘It shatters lives, rewrites history and obliterates every fixed point on the map. If you don’t handle this absolutely right, you’ll live to regret it.’

  There was a brief silence.

  Then he said in a voice which broke, ‘I know I did.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TEARS sprang to Jared’s eyes. He turned his back on Clara.

  ‘Darling…’ she said huskily, moving towards him.

  ‘No!’ He held up a strong hand, determined not to be comforted, as though his vulnerability was a crime, as though it made him less of a man, summoning his fierce drive not to break down or show weakness.

  Breathing hard, he took the time he needed to pull his formidable façade back into place. But he kept his back to her the whole time and would not look around. He’d always been so determined to fight his demons alone. As he had said earlier, it was force of habit and old habits died very hard indeed.

  Finally he said, ‘I thought I might be able to keep this hidden for ever. It’s not that I’ve ever been ashamed of my father’s decision. It’s more a question of wanting to preserve his dignity the best way I can. Silence, in my opinion, is the only intelligent option. But that silence has been broken now…’ He stopped talking, drawing a deep breath, and she realised the enormous effort he was making to try and end the silence of a lifetime.

  ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you really don’t want to,’ she said softly.

  ‘There’s no point in keeping up the charade. Gwyneth’s little bombshell has been dropped. It can’t be undropped, much as I’d like it to be. But I don’t want to talk about how he did it or—’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you? I hope so. You looked so shocked when Gwyneth blurted it out downstairs. I thought—’

  ‘If I was shocked, it’s because I never imagined suicide. In fact, I never connected your fear of the past with your father. I was too busy focusing on your mother.’

  ‘Oh, everyone was always too busy focusing on her.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘My father got swept under the carpet like a broken-down piece of old junk. He was just a cuckold. A fool. A worthless idiot whose wife had left—’

  ‘No, Jared.’ she said urgently, putting a hand on his arm. ‘You mustn’t think that way!’

  ‘It’s not how I think!’ he bit out hoarsely, swinging round to her, his face so fierce with pent-up emotion that she felt the full impact of his rage and pain, all of it locked in that isolated heart for so long and suddenly unleashed. ‘I’ve never seen my father that way! Never! He was a fantastic man! The best father I could have had!’

  He looked away as soon as he’d spoken. He ran a hand over his eyes as though it hurt him just to talk about his father. But he had to talk about him. And she had to help him. No matter what he said about not wanting to discuss the suicide—he needed badly to do so.

  Quickly, she asked, ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Bryn. Bryn Blackheath. He was tall, good-looking and had the kind of easy charm the Welsh are famous for. I understand he was a great success with women. All the local girls were in love with him when he was a young man. He had a good job at Llewellyn’s. He was a hod-carrier.’ He gave a brief shrug. ‘Not exactly glamorous, but it paid very well. And he was enormously popular with his male friends. Always drinking at the pub with his buddies. Singing and telling stories and being the life and soul of Rhossana. Until she came…’ His eyes darkened and his tone grew harsh. ‘She was beautiful, then. Nineteen years old and admired by everyone. The perfect match for Bryn. Their passion flared like a jet-propelled rocket. It got them to the altar in double-quick time, said their marriage vows for them and gave birth to me.’

  ‘Did Lily tell you all this? Afterwards or—?’

  ‘I can’t remember how I know it. I feel as though I’ve always known it. Or rather…he knew it. The boy I used to be. I believed for so long that I wasn’t that boy, that I’d never be him again.’ His voice roughened. ‘But I think now maybe I was wrong…or this wouldn’t hurt so damned much.’

  She touched the scar on his hard cheek with gentle fingers. ‘If I opened this old wound it would hurt again.’

  He looked into her eyes.

  ‘You’re not sixteen, as you were when you got this scar. And you’re not in a street-fight in Cardiff with a drunk sailor trying to steal your girl.’

  ‘No,’ he said thickly, ‘but I am in Rhossana and they’re all waiting to see me crack. I mustn’t crack. Don’t let me crack. Don’t—’

  ‘Who, you?’ she said with a loving smile. ‘That’ll be the day.’

  He smiled tautly, but a second later his eyes moved back to those dark and bitter memories.

  ‘They
probably don’t realise how much they’re getting to you,’ she said quickly. ‘People rarely do. Particularly when the object of their fascination is such a powerful individual.’

  ‘Rhossana’s most famous son!’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Try to understand how they must feel about you, darling. To me, you’re just Jared. To them—you must seem like some kind of sacred monster.’

  He gave a hollow laugh.

  ‘And isn’t that what all this has made you? The scandal, the tragedy and then the leap to international fame. Just why have they never betrayed you?’

  ‘What does that have to do with creating a sacred monster?’

  ‘It has this to do with it, Jared: you must never kill your sacred monster. You must protect it.’

  He was silent, black brows drawing in a frown as he considered what she’d said. To him, his fame was a fortress designed to protect him. But, to the villagers, it must have made him seem awe-inspiring.

  ‘I wish they could appreciate,’ he said, ‘how deep my father’s death went with me. Not just his death. The whole thing. My mother’s affair, the way she flaunted herself with Owain, playing Lady of the Manor and in doing so—destroying my father.’

  ‘I’m sure they do understand. They just don’t know how to communicate it.’

  ‘My father wasn’t the only one who was destroyed, Clara,’ he said thickly. ‘A part of me died with him. I felt it die. I saw it die. It was as though the boy I’d been suddenly disappeared, and this new me—the strong, ambitious boy—took his place.’

  She understood immediately and knew it was wholly accurate, because she had changed dramatically too when her own parents had died in the fire.

  ‘Did it really start then?’ she asked.

  He was unsurprised that she understood. He just glanced at her as he spoke, almost as though he’d always known that she was the one, the only one who would ever hear this and understand.

  ‘It was the only way I could deal with what had happened. I couldn’t tolerate that other self. The scared, angry boy who kicked and punched anyone who laughed at him. The boy with no friends. The boy with no future and a terrible past. When my father died I just couldn’t tolerate being that boy any more. I had to become someone else.’