by Maxine Barry
Frederica found herself reacting to that voice, to that face, to that male dominance, in a purely feminine and utterly unique way.
So he was the scourge of crooked artists was he? She fought back a wild, intoxicating desire to laugh.
For, as those eyes looked at her, and as she felt her body throb to some strange and powerful force that he seemed to be exuding, she suddenly realised that she was going to copy her father’s painting after all.
And, what’s more, she was going to do it right under this man’s arrogant nose.
CHAPTER FIVE
Annis pushed open the door to the empty flat, glad to see that nearly all of the others had already arrived and were good-naturedly camped out in the middle of the floor, chatting like old friends.
A mocking, sapphire-blue gaze turned her way as she approached, and Annis could feel his penetrating gaze take in every inch of her—from the top of her loosely-flowing black hair, down to the tips of her trainers.
‘Ah, Annis,’ Ray had decided to forsake the first rehearsal in favour of a get-to-know-you session. Luckily, after giving each other a few fulminating and wary looks, Annis and Reeve had settled down, and for this Ray was very grateful. Warring actors were not exactly his idea of keeping a low profile during the conference.
‘Right then,’ Ray began briskly, handing around photocopies of the basic details of the conference. ‘You can see that St Bede’s is quite a small building, as Oxford colleges go, and on the map . . .’ Everyone turned a page to look at the diagram. ‘. . . the locations of key rooms are clearly marked. You’ll notice that a lot of the action takes place in Hall. I’ve been told that the dining hall in St Bede’s is quite something. But we’ll also have “scenes” in the chapel, the JCR—that’s the Junior Common Room where the students hang out—and various other sites.’
There was a murmur of approval. All actors liked authentic surroundings. It aided a performance.
‘Now, as to the actual murder mystery itself,’ Ray continued, ‘Annis is our murderer.’
Annis gave a wide grin, and acknowledged the cat-calls. ‘She is at the conference in order to steal a very valuable painting from the College,’ Ray said casually, enjoying the sense of irony as he casually tossed out this snippet of information. Briefly he wondered what these people would say if he told them that that really was what was going to happen but he shrugged the thought aside. ‘The College Principal, Lord St John James, has agreed to the actual removal of one of St Bede’s paintings which hangs in the dining hall.’
‘That’s great,’ John Lore spoke up. ‘It’ll really help the atmosphere along.’
Reeve nodded. ‘I agree. The more authentic touches we can include, the better it’ll be.’
Each and every one of the group was determined to give a good performance. Of course, Annis thought sourly, there were always exceptions, and she shot Reeve a quick, grim look. If he let the others down because he was concentrating too hard on selling his damned script, she’d . . . she’d . . . kill him! Rather appropriate, she thought, smothering a smile, for Annis-the-murderer!
‘John here,’ Ray continued, ‘is determined to get a piece of the action. So Annis bumps him off. This she does in the Hall. The diners all come in to find him dead, artistically arranged and bleeding, on the main table.’
John grinned. ‘I’ll be the best corpse since Banquo,’ he promised modestly. There were more cat-calls and whistles. When they’d settled down, Ray continued to move them along. ‘The most popular theory you’ll come up with is that John saw who stole the missing painting. But he didn’t. It’ll later be proved that he couldn’t have.’
‘Oh good,’ Julie Morris piped up. ‘I love red herrings.’
‘Enter our young policeman,’ Ray said, pointing to Gordon, who raised a hand in greeting. ‘He’ll lead everyone through the questioning of the suspects. It will emerge that you, Norman,’ he pointed to the oldest member of the team, ‘used to be on the force, but left under a cloud.’
‘Is there any other way to leave?’ Norman Rix asked.
‘Reeve here announces that he’s discovered the identity of the killer but needs proof.’
‘Dicey,’ Geraldine Smith murmured, her lips smiling knowingly around the cigarette she was smoking.
‘Some of us like to live dangerously,’ Reeve shot back at her, grinning at the still-attractive, older redhead. Annis looked away in disgust. He was just the sort of man who would take advantage of an older woman. She could imagine him reassuring Gerry what an attractive woman she still was . . . She flushed, wondering why she was being such a bitch. Ever since her divorce, she had a rather worrying tendency to think the worst of everyone. Well, not everyone, she admitted to herself fairly. Just good-looking actors.
Philip, her husband of three years had left her when a famous American actress from a popular comedy show had come to London. Their affair had been brief but well-publicised, and as well as getting a divorce from Annis, Philip had gone on to win a very well-paid part in an American afternoon soap. She shook her unpleasant thoughts away and concentrated on their director as he swept the story along.
‘And Reeve is subsequently seen talking very forcefully with Norman here. Afterwards, again in the Hall, Reeve is fatally and very dramatically poisoned.’
Reeve’s hand shot to his throat. With a very clever trick of temporarily cutting off his air supply, his face suddenly became an alarming shade of purple. ‘Aaggggh . . .’ he gave a gurgling, strangulated cry that literally raised the hairs on the back of everyone’s neck. He sounded like a soul in torment as he slowly slumped forward over an imaginary table, giving a final convulsive twitch that both shocked and worried his audience, and then lay perfectly still. They couldn’t even see his chest rising and falling as he breathed. Everyone burst into spontaneous applause, even, reluctantly, Annis. It had been a good performance after all.
Reeve straightened up, his healthy colour returning, and took a half bow. Since he was sitting, cross-legged on the floor, it wasn’t easy, but he managed it.
‘Do I get to kill him too?’ Annis asked, ever-so-sweetly, as the applause died away. She saw his dark-blue eyes slew across in her direction, and watched his lips twitch.
‘You do,’ Ray confirmed. ‘By poisoning his wine. But not before Gerry here also takes a sip. However, she doesn’t die, because you haven’t yet slipped in the arsenic. You’re to pass your hand over his wine cup after she’s already had a taste of it. That’s one of the clues. If you turn to the second page, you’ll find the basic plot written out for you, and a list of all the clues that must be included.’
Once again there was a turning of pages and general silence as the cast read the script. Amongst the other clues for the delegates to pick up on, one was the way that Annis reacted to the news that Norman was an ex-cop, and another was the ‘real’ diamond pendant she was wearing. This diamond, she noted with interest, was what she was going to ‘use’ later on to cut the painting free from its glass case. Very clever. She was also going to ‘hide’ the painting under a pew in St Bede’s chapel, she noticed, and during the Sunday morning service there, she was to be seen making a point of sitting in a pew far from the radiators. This, she surmised, was for the benefit of the ‘hidden’ painting, so that it wouldn’t dry out or be damaged by the chapel’s heating system.
‘And what do the rest of us do?’ Gerry asked. ‘Make ourselves as suspicious as possible I suppose?’
‘Of course,’ Ray confirmed. ‘Gerry, you play John’s suspicious wife. Julie, you’re his mistress. You cause a very public scene, Gerry, when you discover your husband’s infidelity.’
‘So I’m to be the leading contender?’ Gerry asked, obviously enjoying the thought.
‘You are suspect number one for a while,’ Ray confirmed. ‘But Reeve also has a big argument with John—he’s angry that John has demoted him because of professional jealousy. Then it’s discovered that Julie is pregnant, and that John was pushing her to have an abortion.
’
‘Am I a Prince Charming or what?’ John Lore asked wryly.
‘So, is everybody clear on the basics?’ Ray asked. ‘We’ll get down to individual scenes later.’
All the actors agreed they were happy with the plot. It looked like being a really good weekend for all concerned.
‘Right,’ Ray said. ‘I have the timetable here. I want you all to memorise it.’
Annis accepted her copy and shifted a little to get more comfortable. Reeve looked up as she tucked her legs more firmly under her. He grinned at her, and she shot him a ‘don’t-you-dare’ look. She wouldn’t put it past him to make some sort of jeering comment. After their rocky start the night before last, they’d lapsed into a wary sort of truce. But the gleam in his dark-blue eyes didn’t bode well for the peace treaty lasting. She forced herself to look away from those gleaming, pearly white teeth, the flashing, devilishly-attractive eyes, the crisp dark hair, and concentrated on the timetable. As a professional, she knew the importance of learning your lines.
The schedule appeared to give them quite a lot of free time, and Annis could almost hear her fellow actors giving a silent hurrah, but she failed to notice the way Reeve’s eyes kept straying to her bent head.
She really did have an intriguing profile, he thought. Hers was a strong, interesting sort of face, a face that went beyond mere beauty. A pity she seemed so determined to take pot shots at him—no man liked being the object of such open scorn. Not that it worried him so much . . . He sighed, caught Gerry Smith giving him a wry, knowing smile, her full mouth curling mockingly around her cigarette, and he quickly turned his attention back to the schedule.
* * *
John Lore sighed. ‘I suppose I have to make sure I’m not seen all the next day?’ he murmured, sounding aggrieved. But you couldn’t have a ‘corpse’ walking around.
‘Poor baby,’ Annis said softly, grinning at him as he shot her a quick, thoughtful look. It was the kind of look that promised a heavy pass later, but Annis wasn’t worried about John—she knew she could handle him.
Reeve shifted uncomfortably on the floor. He hoped John and Annis weren’t going to become an item. Short-term relationships were so messy, he thought sourly. And wondered, annoyed, why he was feeling so ragingly jealous. Annis just caught the sarcastic look Reeve sent her and John Lore, and fought the childish impulse to stick her tongue out at him. Really, the man was a pain in the derrière. What was it to him if she did flirt with John? It was none of his damned business, that was for sure! Grimly, she turned back to the job in hand. The last day of the conference looked as busy and action-packed as any of them!
‘Phew,’ Norman Rix said, speaking for them all, as he finally put the schedule aside. ‘You have dialogue for all this?’
Ray nodded. ‘Yes I have. I think it’s best if we stick with your own first names. But, please, feel free to ad lib. Just don’t overdo it.’
‘Are you listening, Reeve?’ Annis couldn’t resist asking. ‘No over-acting.’
Gerry coughed to hide her laughter. Gordon, the closest to Reeve in age, gave him a commiserating look. Annis Whittington really seemed to have it in for him for some reason.
Reeve bit back a savage grin. What was it with the woman? She seemed absolutely hellbent on picking a fight. ‘Oh, I’ll do my best,’ he drawled. ‘I wouldn’t, after all, want to provide too much contrast to any weaker performances,’ he added. Then, lest any of the other members of cast take offence, he added pointedly, ‘After all, the murderer, not the victim, is supposed to be the star of the show.’
Annis felt herself go pale as the insult hit home. As if she wasn’t capable of giving just as good a performance as he would any day! ‘Oh don’t worry, Reeve,’ she purred. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about that!’ Her eyes flashed a silent addition. Something along the lines of, ‘I’m going to act you under the floorboards, pal.’
Ray coughed. ‘Now come on, you two,’ he said mildly and Annis felt herself flush. It was the first time one of her directors had ever had to tell her off, even mildly, for unprofessional behaviour. She felt like reaching out and kicking Reeve Morgan on the shin. Hard!
The rest of the night was taken up with questions and answers, until everyone was satisfied that they had every facet of the murder mystery off pat. It was nearing midnight when they finally broke up. Annis paused on the middle of the stairs to slip her sweater over her head and smiled a good-night to Julie who dashed past her.
Reeve was waiting in the darkness at the bottom of the stairs, and when he saw her, he stepped in front of her.
Annis gasped. ‘Damn it, Morgan, you scared me. Do you have to lurk about in the dark like that?’
Reeve scowled. ‘Well, excuse me for breathing!’ Would he ever do anything right in this woman’s eyes? He somehow doubted it. ‘Look, why don’t we go for a drink somewhere?’ Reeve asked, following her out on to the lamp-lit streets. ‘Ray’s right. We should try to get along.’
‘It’s late,’ Annis said discouragingly.
‘I know a small club just around the corner. It’s private—members only. We can get a good glass of Bordeaux there.’ Annis grimaced and planted her arms on her hips. ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Daddy’s club is it?’ And who the hell could afford a Bordeaux, good or indifferent? Not struggling actresses that was for sure.
Reeve drew in a long, calming breath. ‘Look lady, why don’t you just drop the attitude for a while, huh? It’s wearing thin,’ he gritted.
And Annis knew that he was right. But the sight of all that powerful male beauty was making her unusually reckless.
‘What’s the matter Reeve? You like to dish it out, but don’t like to take it, is that it?’ she shot back.
Now why, she thought exasperatedly, had she said that?
Reeve’s eyes flashed. His hands clenched spasmodically by his sides as he took a half-step towards her. The little . . . All right. She wanted him to handle it. His pleasure! ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, and shrugged one shoulder. ‘I thought we should bury the hatchet, but if you want to keep it childish and petty . . .’ He reached for her suddenly, dragging her into his arms before she knew what had hit her. She felt herself cannon against a wall of solid, warm muscle.
Annis gave a startled shriek, but then his lips were on hers, and she became aware of several things all at once. Those discreetly bulging muscles of his weren’t merely the result of hours spent preening in a gym—the man was strong! She could feel herself being lifted off the ground, with effortless ease. She became aware of the harsh heat of his lips, in contrast to the probing delicacy of his tongue. Her nose picked up the pleasing fresh pine scent of his aftershave.
Her heart gave one convulsive leap. Her insides contracted in a short, sharp, molten-hot flood of desire . . . And then he thrust her from him.
She blinked. ‘What the hell was that supposed to prove?’ she squeaked, too breathless to shout, as she had intended.
Reeve shook his head. What had he meant to prove? Somehow, in the last few seconds, he’d forgotten. Not that he’d ever admit as much to her! ‘Well, I’m supposed to be the enemy, aren’t I Annis?’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I just thought I’d let you know what you were taking on.’ And with that, he turned and left her.
Literally walked away from her.
The louse!
CHAPTER SIX
Frederica didn’t usually leave Oxford during the week, but her latest canvas was finished, she already had four good pieces for her Finals Show, and nobody was going to jump on her if she went home mid-week. This didn’t stop her feeling guilty though, as she walked up the narrow country lane towards home.
Frederica loved the countryside in May. It was, without doubt, the best time to be in England. But as she turned up the familiar drive of Rainbow House, she acknowledged to herself that she wouldn’t be here at all if wasn’t for her father.
And Lorcan Greene. Her steps faltered as she thought, once more, about Lorcan Greene. Since h
is advent into her life four days ago, he’d become a permanent fixture in her mind.
Her Tutors and the Ruskin Master were all delighted to have him around, of course, of that there could be no doubt. And her fellow students, too, were avid in their attendance of his lectures. She’d never known a lecture be so well attended as the one he’d given in the Drawing Studio yesterday.
And she had been most fascinated of all. His subject was the trial of an art forger who’d tried to sell the Greene Gallery a fake. Lorcan had slides of both the original and fake, and Frederica was sure she wasn’t the only one in the room who hadn’t been able to tell them apart. Even the Tutors had looked uneasy. But it wasn’t until Lorcan began to explain how he’d uncovered the fraud that the real genius of the man began to appear. Whereas before his aura of power and knowledge had been unmistakable, now it suddenly became overwhelming. Within minutes, it became clear to everyone that here was one of the great experts of Fine Art anywhere in the world.
Not that Frederica herself had required any additional proof. From the moment she’d set eyes on him, she’d known he was a man like no other. It embarrassed her now, as she thought back to their first meeting, the way she’d gaped at him like a moonstruck calf. It made her cringe to think how it must have amused him. For it was hopeless to think that a man as astute as he would not have noticed.
She pushed open the gate angrily and marched up the wallflower and forget-me-not strewn path, trying to thrust the thought of Lorcan Greene far away. But the damned man just wouldn’t go. He lingered in the back of her mind, looking down at her, dressed in his expensive suit, his green gaze washing knowingly over her. Taking in every little sign of her infatuation. It was enough to make her want to spit.
Everyone was out, so she headed straight for the kettle, a cup of tea, and hopefully a return to sanity. As she made a drink, she told herself not to be so hard on herself. A man like Lorcan was bound to have women falling for him like ninepins. Besides, he’d probably never even given her a second thought.