Shadows in the Limelight

by Sandra K Rhoades

  Catherine looked around in relief to find that their host had come over to them. ‘Sorry, but you two will have to break it up. Dinner’s about to be announced and I’m going to claim my privilege as host to take this lovely lady away from you.’

  ‘Only for dinner, though,’ Kent said easily, dropping a light kiss on Catherine’s brow before relinquishing her to Peter. His eyes glinted with mockery as Catherine gave him a cutting look before allowing Peter to escort her away. That possessive little gesture had been totally uncalled for!

  At dinner, Catherine found herself seated at her host’s right hand, and was more than a little amused to find Kent placed at the far end of the table next to Mrs. Gault.

  She felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that he was the one who would have to cope with the woman’s cloying manner and personal remarks throughout the meal. A few minutes later she stole a surreptitious glance in Kent’s direction to see how he was getting on. It was rather disappointing to see he seemed to be enjoying himself—although she realised that it had more to do with the blonde seated on his other side than with Mrs. Gault.

  She turned her attention back to the clear soup she had been eating, suddenly not feeling very hungry. Somehow, in the last weeks she had managed to forget all those orders for flowers. Stealing another peep at the couple, she wondered if that girl had been the recipient of any of them. They made a striking couple, their heads bent close together, one dark, one fair, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Catherine forced another spoonful of soup to her mouth, trying to ignore the lilt of feminine laughter that drifted from the other end of the table. How could she possibly let herself be jealous when for all his talk of friendship, Kent had made it plain that he was more interested in her name than he was in her? Yet she was jealous, painfully so.

  ‘I must say I approve of Kent’s taste,’ a low voice at her elbow said.

  ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ Catherine looked up to find her host studying her, a faint smile on his lips. With sudden resolve she smiled back at him, far more warmly than necessary. Two could play at this game, she thought defiantly, refusing to let her eyes travel to the other end of the table where Kent was flirting with the blonde.

  ‘I was just admiring Kent’s taste in women,’ Peter explained. In spite of herself, Catherine glanced in Kent’s direction, her smile fading. At her sudden change of expression, Peter quickly interjected, ‘Good lord, you can’t think I meant Natalie?’

  ‘She is very attractive,’ Catherine replied huskily, wincing inwardly as she saw Kent throw back his head and laugh at some remark the blonde had made.

  ‘But hardly competition,’ Peter assured her drily. ‘Take my word for it, Kent will ditch her as soon as dinner’s over. All he’s talked about for the last month is Cat Devlin. I thought he was never going to stop keeping you to himself!’

  Catherine murmured something unintelligible and concentrated on her soup. So Kent had talked to Peter about her. She wondered what he had said. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  ‘Kent tells me you’ll be helping him with his campaign,’ Peter said, ‘so I guess we’ll be seeing quite a bit of one another over the next few months. Did he mention that I work for him?’

  Catherine shook her head. What did he mean, she would be helping with the campaign? she wondered. She had only agreed to meet his friends—that was all!

  ‘I’m his campaign manager,’ Peter explained, then added, ‘He seems to think you’ll be quite an asset.’ Something in the tone of his voice caused her to look at him. He was smiling at her, yet she sensed he didn’t share Kent’s opinion. Well, good! She told herself. Maybe he would convince Kent to leave her alone.

  Curiously enough, though, she felt the stirrings of anger. Cat Devlin hadn’t been some two-bit cabaret singer. The Devlins had been one of the most popular acts ever to grace the Las Vegas stage. More often than not, the show had been sold out weeks in advance. If she wanted to she could be quite valuable to Kent’s campaign.

  The maid brought them another course, and when she had departed, Catherine remarked on Peter’s unique apartment, deciding she didn’t really want to discuss Kent’s career or her possible contribution to it at this juncture.

  Peter looked up from his plate and grinned at her. ‘It grows on you after a time. My sister Leanne decorated it for me, and I’ll admit I almost killed her when I first saw it. I was playing football for the B.C. Lions at the time and was away for spring training. When I got back, this is what I found.’ His arm swept round in an all-encompassing gesture, his expression wry. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever be able to stand living here, but now that I’m used to it, I kind of like it.’ He grinned conspiratorially at her. ‘I’d never admit that to Leanne, though!’

  The next course was served and it was a few minutes before they resumed their conversation. ‘One thing I’ll say for my sister,’ Peter commented, as Catherine sampled the plate of seafood the maid had placed in front of her, ‘she found me a great stereo. I’m a real music nut. You’ll have to have Kent bring you around some time to hear my record collection. I even have some of your albums!’

  Catherine swallowed the piece of shrimp she had been chewing with some difficulty. Did all conversational roads lead back to Cat Devlin? Finally she managed to say in a bright voice, ‘So you’re the one. I wondered who had them.’

  Peter laughed, then chided her, ‘You shouldn’t be so modest.’

  Her lips twisted into a wry smile. ‘Actually, it’s not far from the truth. We did well with our stage show, but the albums were a disaster. The expenses that went into producing and promoting them ate up all the profits.’

  ‘Really?’ he commented thoughtfully. ‘That surprises me. I would have thought your records would have done well.’

  Catherine shrugged. ‘I guess they didn’t sell that badly, but we had one of those deals where just about everyone made money except us.’ There was a tinge of bitterness in her tone. Rick had made plenty of money out of the records. She and Casey had given him complete control over their finances and it wasn’t until after Casey’s death that she had learned just how he had used that control for his own ends. Nothing illegal, of course, Rick was too clever for that; just investments that went sour, expenses that overran. Had it not been for her jewellery, she would have been almost broke when she quit—after five years as one of the highest-paid stars in Las Vegas history.

  Peter’s attention was claimed by the guest on his other side and when he turned back to her, the subject changed and the rest of the meal passed pleasantly without returning to the topic of Catherine’s former career.

  Coffee was served in the lounge following dinner, and as soon as she had seated herself on one of the sofas, Kent claimed the space beside her, leaving a disgruntled Natalie to find her own seat. The conversation remained general and Catherine sipped her coffee quietly, not joining in. Though she hated to admit it, she was enjoying herself. She had had to field a few questions about her former career naturally, but except for Mrs. Gault’s, they hadn’t been the prying sort. Actually she felt quite proud of herself. She had answered Kent’s friends’ questions quite calmly. Perhaps he would realise now that she didn’t need to get her past into ‘perspective’ but simply preferred being Catherine Delaney, florist, to being Cat Devlin, singer.

  After coffee the party started to break up and Kent turned and asked her if she were ready to leave. Catherine nodded and when he had helped her to her feet, Kent asked softly, ‘It’s not been that much of an ordeal, has it?’

  Smiling faintly, Catherine shook her head. ‘No, I ... enjoyed it.’

  Kent squeezed her hand, grinning at her. ‘Good girl! Let’s go and say goodbye to Peter.’

  Peter was standing near the door making his farewell to the Gaults. He waved them off, then gave his attention to Kent and Catherine. ‘You two off now?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Kent. ‘I’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I’m sure Cat does too. Everything seemed to go wel
l, don’t you think?’

  Peter agreed, then said to Catherine, ‘I’m glad you came. As I said earlier, I expect we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the near future. Perhaps we can all get together for lunch one day this week and discuss your part in Kent’s campaign. There’s a major charity ball coming up next month that—’

  ‘As you said, we’ll discuss it over lunch,’ Kent interrupted hastily, shifting a quick glance at Catherine. ‘Call me tomorrow and we’ll arrange a date. Let’s go, Cat.’ With a firm hand under her elbow, he quickly led Catherine from the apartment.

  In the corridor, she jerked away and turned to glare at him. ‘What was Peter going to say?’ she demanded. ‘I agreed to meeting your friends, that was all. Yet all night long Peter has been making remarks about my helping in your campaign. What are you planning?’

  ‘We can’t talk here, Cat.’ Taking her arm Kent started towards the elevator. ‘We can discuss this when we get back to your apartment.’

  Catherine would have continued to argue, but another couple came out of Peter’s apartment just then, and she realised Kent was right—they couldn’t talk here. Once they reached her apartment, though, he wasn’t going to put her off.

  The drive to her place was completed in frozen silence and as soon as Kent had parked the Mercedes,

  Catherine jumped out and slammed the door behind her. Once Kent joined her on the sidewalk, she turned on her heel and stalked into the building, leaving him to follow. In her apartment, the door closed behind them, she turned on him.

  ‘What was Peter talking about?’ she demanded. ‘What’s this about my helping on your campaign?’

  Kent ran an impatient hand around the back of his neck. ‘What are you so angry about? We discussed this last night. You agreed to continue seeing me, to appear at my side at social functions.’

  ‘And we need to discuss that over lunch with Peter?’ Catherine asked sarcastically. ‘You two are cooking up something. What was Peter going to say about that charity do?’

  ‘There’s a charity ball in Victoria in a couple of weeks. Since there’ll be a lot of reporters there, we just want to discuss the kind of questions they’ll be asking you and how you’ll answer them. It’s no big deal.’ Catherine stared at him, appalled. No big deal! During her career Catherine had maintained an amicable relationship with the press, enjoying the attention afforded her as a popular entertainer. That relationship had changed radically with Casey’s death. Shattered by her brother’s death and Rick’s revelation about his drug problem, she hadn’t been able to cope with the prying questions of the press and had taken refuge in anger. They hadn’t taken her failure to co-operate lightly, especially when she refused to participate in the mock circus that was supposed to have been her brother’s funeral, and had retaliated by crucifying her in the press.

  ‘I’m not going, Kent. You said I’d have to meet your friends, go to a few parties with you. I never agreed to talk to reporters.’

  ‘You’re not going to be interviewed,’ he said impatiently. ‘They’ll just want to ask you a couple of questions. You know the sort of thing. Look, the whole idea is to let it be known we’re dating and this ball is a good opportunity.’

  Catherine had turned away from him and was shaking her head. ‘Talking to reporters, letting them pry into my life—that wasn’t part of our deal.’

  Kent swore suddenly. ‘You and that stupid deal!’ he lashed out angrily. ‘Can’t you see things from my point of view for a change? We could get a lot of good publicity out of this. Hell, if you would co-operate, we could even have you sing a couple of songs with the band. That would make a fantastic impression, get your name

  ‘No!’ Catherine swung around, screaming the word at him. 'No! I told you I would not appear professionally. I won’t!’

  ‘Why not? I heard you in the shop that day, and your voice is as good as ever it was. I’m not suggesting a full-scale show, just one or two songs. It’s for charity. With a little rehearsal—’

  ‘I’m not singing!’ Catherine’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. The thought of Rick finding her made her feel trapped. ‘And I’m not talking to reporters, either. You can just forget the whole thing.’

  ‘Be reasonable, Cat.’ His tone was clipped.

  ‘No!’ Catherine cried. She was shaking with the force of her emotions, fear uppermost, as she felt the trap closing on her. Dropping her head, she pressed trembling fingers to her cheeks. In a choked whisper she pleaded, ‘I can’t, Kent. You can threaten me, take away my store, I don’t care. Nothing you can do or say can make me do this.’

  Kent stared at her, his anger dissolving. Her face was completely without colour and her eyes were dark with anguish. Going to her, he rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘Shh, calm down,’ he coaxed gently.

  ‘I never agreed to sing.’ Tears clung to her lashes, then dropped to streak down her cheeks. She looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears. ‘You can’t make me. I won’t go back! I won’t be Cat Devlin again. When Casey died, that was the end of it, it was over.’ Her voice had sunk to a whisper and Kent pulled her to his chest. A sob shuddered through her and she buried her face in his shoulder.

  ‘Shh,’ he whispered gently. He stroked her hair, running his fingers through the silken strands. With it loose, she looked more than ever like the child, Cat Devlin—except for the eyes. There were shadows in them that dimmed the laughter—shadows that would have to remain, secrets untold. He was a fighter, he didn’t give up easily, but he knew that for the time being, he had no other choice.

  ‘Don’t cry, Cat.’ A tremor ran through her and his arms tightened protectively around her. ‘Hush now, I won’t force you. We’ll go back to the way things were before. We’ll forget all about business deals and political campaigns. Just don’t cry any more.’

  Catherine stood on her toes, straining to reach the box at the back of the shelf. The step ladder teetered precariously under her and she grasped the edge of the shelf to retain her balance. The shop’s location had a lot of advantages, but storage space wasn’t one of them. The store room was hardly bigger than a cupboard and it seemed that whatever Catherine happened to need at any time was generally located at the back of the top shelf. In this case it was a box of ribbons with Happy New Year printed in gay colours across them.

  It was three days before Christmas and business had been brisk all morning with poinsettias flowing out of the shop in a red tide that had kept everyone busy. Fortunately, after lunch the stream of customers had diminished, allowing Catherine to gather together the supplies she wanted to take home with her. The florist would be closed for the Christmas-Boxing day holidays, but Catherine planned to make a start on preparing her New Year arrangements during the break. She made another attempt to reach the box, bouncing slightly on the ladder to reach it.

  ‘What in the world are you doing?’ A familiar voice demanded from behind her.

  Startled, she spun around, her skirt swirling around her knees. Kent was standing in the doorway, his eyes moving over the long length of her legs. Her mouth went dry as she read the look in those eyes, but his expression quickly changed to one of anger as he looked up. ‘For God’s sake, Cat,’ he snapped impatiently, ‘are you trying to break your neck?’ He crossed the room and put his hands on her waist to lift her off the stepladder.

  Catherine wet her lips, her pulse starting to beat a familiar tattoo at his nearness. Seeing him again only brought home how much she had missed him. A few days after Peter's dinner party, Kent had called to explain that he had been unexpectedly called out of town and would see her when he returned. As the days grew into weeks without so much, as a postcard from him, Catherine grew convinced the trip was merely an excuse for not seeing her. Once he knew that she wasn’t going to let him exploit her as Cat Devlin, he had no further use for her.

  Three weeks of silence—her temper flared. What right had he to walk in and out of her life like this? She was just beginning to accept that it was over and now,
suddenly, he was back in her life. ‘It’s my neck. If I want to break it, I will,’ she snapped waspishly, automatically trying to twist out of his hold. The action only served to put her off balance. Her hands went to his shoulders to steady herself and he lifted her easily from the stepladder.

  He kept her in the circle of his arms, looking down searchingly at her face. She stared at him in confusion. His face was close to hers and now she could see the lines of fatigue that etched its handsome contours. His features suddenly relaxed and he smiled down at her. ‘Did you miss me half as much as I missed you, Cat?’ he asked softly. Slowly, he drew her to him and lowered his head. His lips were soft and warm as they moved slowly against hers. Gradually the gentle exploration hardened to demand, sending desire flaming through her. Unconsciously she pressed against him, moulding her pliant form to his hard male one. Her arms slipped around him, her fingers kneading the firm muscles of his back. She had missed him, more than she imagined possible. He had become part of her life, a yery important part. She needed this contact with him, the reassurance of his heart beating against her, the warmth generated by his touch. She didn’t know why he was here, all she knew was that, however much she wished otherwise, she loved him. She needed him.

  When he lifted his head his face was slightly flushed. ‘I do believe you have missed me, Cat,’ he said triumphantly.

  Hastily Catherine stepped out of his embrace, quite unable to meet his eyes. How could she have let him catch her off guard like that? Obviously that shared moment had meant nothing to him. Embarrassed, she smoothed the folds of her skirt with shaking hands. Clearing her throat, she finally said, ‘You’re not supposed to kiss me, remember.’

  ‘I forgot.’ He grinned at her, giving the lie to the words. ‘Are you saying you didn’t enjoy your Christmas kiss?’ he mocked, and she gave him a withering look. Suddenly, one arm snaked out and wrapped itself around her waist. Pulling her to him, Kent planted a brief, hard kiss on her astonished mouth. When he released her, he laughed down at her, saying, ‘Was that better, or shall I try again?’