Breaking the Rules (Harte Family Saga Book 7)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  For a moment Geo sat staring into the distance, her concern for Annette tantamount in her mind. Yet she knew full well that the troubled look James had noticed a short while ago had to do with the conversation she had had with Dax that afternoon.

  Suddenly making up her mind to confide, she leaned into him, put a hand on his arm. “The worried look you just spotted wasn’t to do with Annette, actually, James. It had to do with M.”

  “Oh. Is there something wrong?” His brows drew together, and he appeared puzzled.

  “No, I don’t think so, not really. It’s just that I had a strange conversation with Dax this afternoon, and I suppose it’s worried me a little.”

  “What do you mean by strange?” He peered at her, his eyes narrowing.

  Quickly, Geo repeated the conversation about Larry’s old troubles. While she was detailed and explicit, she did not reveal that Colin Burke had been the one to inform Dax. She had promised to keep his confidence, and so she did.

  James shook his head when she finished and exclaimed, “God, people are terrible! Why did Dax bring it up in the first place? This is old news, bloody old news, in fact.”

  “So you knew about it?”

  “Well, some people did, I suppose. It was about five years ago, and there were rumors that Larry Vaughan was hooked on pills and was losing work because of it. But it was a one-day wonder, basically. It soon went away. Larry immediately cleaned up his act and got on with it. Did a couple of plays, received great notices, and everyone forgot about his so-called drug problem. If there ever was one. In my opinion, it was all a storm in a teacup. I suppose Dax said he was worried about M, and that’s the reason he was telling you?”

  Georgiana said, “Yes, that’s it. I was pretty angry and told him so, and he immediately let it drop.”

  “And that’s what you should do, my dear. There was no big scandal, and Larry is in good health and perfectly normal, as far as I can see. The past doesn’t bear discussing. And who knows whether it was true. Now, let’s look at the menu, shall we?”

  Eighteen

  Whenever she saw Larry, after even the shortest of absences, M felt a little frisson of excitement, instantly struck once again by his dark good looks, those astonishing blue eyes.

  And tonight was no different. She unlocked the door of his apartment and walked into the hall, and her chest tightened at the sight of him. He was standing in the entrance to the living room waiting for her, looking impossibly handsome in a pristine white shirt, black sweater and trousers.

  He smiled, obviously pleased to see her, and took a step forward. She smiled back at him and rushed into his arms, loving him with all her heart. He hugged her to him and said against her cheek, “I’ve missed you ever so much.”

  “Me too, you,” she answered and stepped away, staring at him. “What are you doing up and dressed? When I left this morning you were a sick man. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

  He laughed, helped her off with her coat, and put it in the coat closet. “I’m feeling much better, you’ve cured me,” he answered. “That chicken soup of yours works wonders. Maybe you should bottle it and sell it. As for me, I’ve had enough of it; it’s coming out of my ears. What I want tonight for dinner is a juicy entrecôte and French fries. I’ve booked a table at Deux Amis.”

  M exclaimed, “Oh, goody, I won’t have to cook!” and walked with him to the library, where a fire blazed in the hearth and a bottle of champagne stood in a bucket of ice on the coffee table.

  “How funny that you put out champagne, Larry. It’s almost as if you knew,” M began and paused, realizing at once that he couldn’t possibly be aware of Luke’s phone calls to Caresse from Paris.

  “Knew what?” Larry asked. He strode across the room, lifted the bottle out of the bucket, and began to remove the metal foil around the cork.

  “That I have some wonderful news.”

  Raising his head, he glanced at her and grinned. “Oddly enough, so do I, hence the champagne. But let me pour us a glass of bubbly first, and you can tell me your news. . . . Ladies first.”

  Joining him near the fire, M took the glass he handed her and waited for him to fill his own before exclaiming, “I’m simply bursting to tell you! I’m so excited, Larry.”

  “Go on then,” he murmured, smiling at her indulgently.

  “I’ve got my first break. At last! I’m going to do a shoot for Luke Hendricks. He’s got an assignment from Jean-Louis Tremont, the French designer, and I’m to wear his clothes. I think I might be on my way.”

  “Darling, that is wonderful news!” Larry’s face was wreathed in smiles, and he raised his glass, touched it to hers. “Congratulations, M! I’m thrilled for you.”

  Larry was genuinely pleased, knowing how much she wanted to have a modeling career, fully aware of her terrible disappointment after Frankie’s death. His happiness showed on his face, and this pleased her. They both sipped from their glasses, but almost at once Larry placed his on the coffee table and put his hand in his trouser pocket. “And my news isn’t really news but an affirmation of the things I’ve been saying to you for the last few weeks.”

  He cleared his throat several times and hurried on. “I think we should become officially engaged.” Without another word, and not waiting for her to say anything, he brought out the dark blue box and offered it to her. “This is for you, my darling M.”

  Slightly stunned, M stared at him and then at the box in his hand. She put down her champagne and took it from him. “Oh, Larry, darling, you bought me a ring!” A lump came into her throat, and she thought she was going to burst into tears.

  “I did, and I give it to you with all of my love for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh, it’s just gorgeous!” M said, staring at the sapphire ring gleaming against the white leather lining of the box. “It’s absolutely beautiful, it really is.”

  Taking the box away from her, he removed the ring and slipped it on her finger. “Now we’re engaged at last, darling.” When she just stood there staring at him speechlessly, he searched her face and asked swiftly, “Well, we are, aren’t we?”

  “Of course we are, you silly thing!” As she said these words, she flung her arms around him, hugged him tightly, then tilted her face to his. It was radiant with joy, which he didn’t fail to miss, and this filled him with relief.

  After a long, lingering kiss, Larry led her to the sofa, where they sat down together and sipped their champagne, lost for a moment in their own thoughts.

  Larry broke the silence when he said in a confiding tone, “I never really knew whether you took me seriously or not. You always went along with me, but occasionally it struck me that maybe you thought I was joking.” He paused and looked at her intently. “Did you think that?”

  “To be honest, I did once or twice. But deep down I knew you felt the same way I did. . . . That evening when we met at Iris Ingersoll’s was . . . a coup de foudre, wasn’t it?”

  “It was, yes. The minute I set eyes on you I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach. A more accurate translation of the French would be struck by lightning, of course. I recognized you. I knew instantly that you were the one . . .”

  “I’ve known that about you since I was ten,” she said with a laugh, then held out her left hand, staring at the ring. “This is so gorgeous, it really is. Thank you, thank you, Larry, it’s perfect, and I’m so lucky and I’m so glad you gave me a sapphire, and I love you,” she said breathlessly.

  “I love you, M. And there’s something I want to tell you. . . . I’ve never given a ring to a woman before or been engaged; you’re the first woman I’ve ever asked to marry me.”

  “Yes, I know that,” she responded, glancing at him, a happy expression in her black eyes.

  An amused smile played around his mouth. “Of course you do! How could I ever forget that you know everything about me.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” she agreed and went on, “Whenever did you get a chance to buy my ring?” She was riddled with cu
riosity. “It must have been before you came down with the flu.”

  “It was. About two weeks ago. I just couldn’t wait any longer. I wanted my ring on your finger, wanted you to know I was serious about you, and now I want to set a date for our wedding. It’s become very urgent to me.”

  “I thought we were going to have a white wedding at Christmas? Here in New York at City Hall, just the two of us. That was what you suggested, and we agreed it would be like eloping. Isn’t that still the plan?” she asked, raising a brow. “It sounded perfect to me.”

  “To me, too, and yes, that’s what we’re going to do.” He sat back on the sofa, frowning all of a sudden, then turning to her, asked, “Do we need to have witnesses? I’m not sure about the law here.”

  “Neither am I, but I’ll find out, and if we do, we could ask Geo and James to stand up for us, couldn’t we?”

  “Good idea. Listen, M, I’m afraid I’ve got to change the subject, something’s come up. My mother phoned me from London today; she wants me to go to Canada, to be with my father in Toronto. He’s doing a play there, Cyrano de Bergerac, and she believes he needs some moral support.” Larry related the conversation he’d had with his mother that morning and finished, “So, I’m planning to leave this coming Saturday, and I hope you’ll come with me, darling.”

  “Oh, Larry, I can’t!” M exclaimed and rushed on. “I’m starting the shoot with Luke this weekend. At Frankie’s studio. It’s all set up, hair, makeup, everything. I’ll be working all weekend, and most of next week as well, according to Caresse. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Larry. I really do wish I could come, but, well, you know I can’t.”

  Although he was disappointed, Larry took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, it’s all right, really it is. I understand you can’t miss this big chance, nothing must interfere with it, in fact. But I do have to go, give my support to Dad. I hope you understand that; well, I know you do. But I’ll sure as hell miss you, sweetheart. I don’t want to be away from you . . . and I won’t be ever again, if I can help it.”

  “And neither will I,” M said, and she meant this. Sitting up straighter, she hesitated for a split second before saying, in a nervous voice, “Larry, I—” Immediately she stopped, wondering whether to speak out or not.

  “What is it? What were you going to say?” he asked, conscious of the worry in her voice.

  “You mentioned that you wanted to make our engagement official. Do you mean you want to announce it . . . to the world?”

  “I wasn’t thinking of it in that way, no. Why? What’s bothering you?” he asked.

  “Nothing, honestly,” she protested. “But I’d prefer it if we sort of, well, kept it to ourselves for the moment.”

  “Why?” There was a hint of surprise in his tone.

  “Because if we make a formal announcement, my mother will instantly become involved. Very involved,” she explained. “She’ll start planning a big wedding with all the trimmings, and before you know it we won’t be getting married until next year. Big weddings take lots of time to plan, and you know as well as I do that before we can blink, everything will be out of our control. The mothers will have taken over.”

  “Oh, God, you’re right about that! Of course. Mothers love big weddings. Especially when they involve the favorites, and I suspect you are the favorite, aren’t you, M? I know I’m my mother’s favorite, not that she’s ever admitted that, mind you. Okay, you’re absolutely right. We’ll keep it a secret, our secret, and we’ll announce it to the world only when we’re well and truly married. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect,” she answered, filled with relief that she had just averted a disaster.

  Awakening in the middle of the night, M found it difficult to go back to sleep. Her mind was racing. She lay very still, not wishing to disturb Larry. He was in a deep sleep, breathing heavily because of his bout with the flu, but she was thankful he was so much better. On the other hand, was he well enough to fly to Toronto on Saturday? He still had a bad cough. One thing she could do was make certain he had plenty of cold pills and cough medicine with him. M wished she could go with him, but there was no way she could cancel or change the date of the shoot, nor did Larry want her to do that. He had totally understood.

  She smiled to herself as her thoughts swung to their evening at the little French bistro close by, just off First Avenue. Larry had insisted on ordering more champagne so that they could continue to celebrate their engagement and her big break. And from time to time she had held out her left hand and gazed at the sapphire ring gleaming in the candlelight, admiring it, and Larry had smiled that warm, indulgent smile of his, love for her reflected in his bright blue eyes.

  Only one thing had marred the evening as far as she was concerned, and that was hearing that his brother Edward would be joining Larry in Toronto. They were going to spend a few days together with their father, and then Larry would return to New York, leaving Edward in charge.

  M was extremely wary of Edward Vaughan, knowing he had mistreated Larry when they were children and had continued to pick on him in their teens and twenties. Now there was a truce between them, at least so Larry said, but she believed a leopard didn’t easily change its spots. There was no doubt in her mind that there was a lot of envy still lingering inside Edward. She had recently checked him out on the Internet and discovered, much to her surprise, that Edward’s career was successful but not very distinguished. He was the only member of the family who had never won an award. And it was Larry who had been given the most accolades—an Oscar, an Emmy, and two Tonys in America, and in London he had won a BAFTA as well as the much-coveted Olivier for excellence in the theater.

  At the time, she’d felt a little surge of pride about that and all of Larry’s achievements. Laurence Vaughan, the man she loved with all her heart, was one of the world’s greatest actors, and his talent was awe-inspiring. His brother Edward more than likely hated him for that, never mind his success. There was no question in her mind that Edward Vaughan was a rascal in his private life—all those wives and women and children. He was quite the opposite of her darling Larry.

  Unexpectedly, M shivered, and gooseflesh ran up her arms. Edward was going to make trouble for Larry in Toronto. She knew this, and she was filled with a sense of foreboding. Try though she might, she was unable to shake off this feeling, and it stayed with her for the rest of the night. It even haunted her dreams.

  Nineteen

  If this shoot works for all of us the way I think it will, then it’s Frankie we have to thank,” Luke Hendricks said, looking from Caresse to M.

  The young photographer and the two women were sitting in the kitchen, which opened off the largest of the Farantino studios, drinking coffee and going over plans for the upcoming session.

  It was Caresse who spoke first, asking, “But what do you mean, Luke? How is Frankie involved when he’s de—” She broke off her sentence, cleared her throat, and finished, “Not here.”

  “Because it was Frankie who showed Jean-Louis Tremont the pictures of M when we met up with him at Monte Carlo. We were doing a shoot for him there, and when he saw you, M, he was over the moon. I think it was the Audrey thing, your resemblance to her that caught his imagination.”

  “How sweet of Frankie,” M murmured, touched to know that he had kept her in mind when talking to the French couturier.

  “You see, he kept his word to you,” Caresse asserted, touching M’s arm and smiling at her. “That’s my Frankie, he’s always reliable and—” Once more she stopped speaking, bit her lip, and then said in a sad little whisper, “I mean he was.”

  Catching the hint of despondency in Caresse’s voice, Luke exclaimed in a cheerful, somewhat bossy tone, “Now, listen up, the two of you! In about half an hour Kate Morrell is coming over with her assistant and the clothes. She runs the American end of Tremont’s business, and he relies on her tremendously. She’s bringing a number of pieces, including two coats, two day suits, both with skirts, two short cockta
il dresses, and two long evening gowns. Out of that lot we’ll choose six pieces for the shoot. So I think Marguerite had better start your makeup, M, and we’ll decide about your hair—whether we want it up or in a ponytail—when the clothes are here.”

  M nodded and jumped off the stool. “I’ll go back to hair and makeup straightaway, Luke, and thank you for everything.”

  “I haven’t done anything, at least not yet,” he announced with a light laugh and a cheeky wink.

  “Just one question, though,” M continued, ignoring the leer he threw her. “You say Frankie showed Jean-Louis the pictures he took of me, but then what happened?”

  “I guess Tremont spent a lot of time thinking about the pictures, and after the accident he called me from Paris. He’d already left the Riviera. I was still in Nice, doing what I had to do,” Luke responded. “Jean-Louis said he wanted to look at the photographs again, and would I come to see him in Paris? Bringing the pictures, of course. And so I did. And voilà! We’ve got a shoot because he wanted to use you. That’s about it.”

  “Thanks for explaining,” M murmured and smiled at Caresse. “You’re looking fabulous again,” she told her. “I’m so glad you’re better.”

  “So am I,” Caresse replied. “I was beginning to feel old, and depressed, wearing so much black. So this morning I thought, It’s back to the red or the bright green or the electric blue, so here I am in red, and feeling more like my old self.”

  “It’s also the idea of the shoot,” Luke interjected. “And me back here, and M getting her chance, and we’re going to do our damndest to make Frankie proud of us. Right, Caresse?”

  “Right, Luke! He’s watching us, you know.”

  “I hope he is, honey bun, and giving me a guiding hand long distance.” Luke grinned at Caresse and walked toward M. “Listen up, kiddo. Tell Marguerite to keep the eye makeup soft, and I don’t want you to have bushy beetle brows. There should be a suggestion of our Audrey, but not an exact replica. Okay?”