by Ann Cristy
She breathed a sigh of relief when the door to the apartment was flung open and Max's smiling face was there. He took one quick look at them, then pulled Cle into a loose embrace, ignoring Dev's hostile glance.
"Why don't you tell 'Sir Dark Looks' to get lost," Max whispered before he released her.
Cle smiled, saying nothing, but catching sight of Jaime standing in the center of the room. Two women were hanging on his every word. She homed in on him, not looking left or right as she crossed to his side.
Jaime's professional look of boredom was in place. When he saw it was Cle, he started for a moment, the mask of ennui slipping. "What in hell? Oh!" Jaime bowed at the two women. "If you'll excuse me, ladies."
The women looked at Cle with active dislike for plucking their prize from them.
Jaime gripped Cle's arm above the elbow and steered her toward the bar. "You look lovely in my dress, my gorgeous deceiver. You have some explaining to do."
Cle accepted the drink Jaime handed to her, hoping he had remembered to make it non-alcoholic. She sipped the seltzer laced with lime and sighed with pleasure. She felt like lifting out one of the ice cubes and rubbing it on her forehead. Apparently Max's air conditioning wasn't working.
"You looked flushed, Cle." Jaime looked at her with disfavor. "You should think cool as I do. I told Max to turn off the air conditioning. It's poisonous for the lungs, you know."
"Jaime, you're outrageous, telling Max what to do in his own home." Cle pushed a breath of air upward from her mouth trying to cool her face, succeeding in lifting a few tendrils of hair from her warm forehead. She blessed the thought that had made her change her mind and twist her hair into a knot in back. She was glad they had walked out onto the small semicircular balcony with a beautiful view of Sydney and the ocean. There was a blessed breeze.
"Cle, stop pussyfooting around!" Jaime exclaimed as she leaned over the railing and inhaled the cool breeze. "What the hell possessed you to let Carstairs move into the apartment? Are you out of your tiny mind? I thought you wanted to be rid of the man."
Cle turned her head away from the sights and looked at Jaime's pinched face. "I didn't want him to move in. He just did it. I do want to be rid of him and I'm going to get rid of him." She took a long drink of the seltzer. "How to do it is what has me flummoxed," she mumbled.
"We'll call the police and have the bastard ejected." Jaime was incensed. "Do you know that he told me to stay out of your life, that he said he would punch me in the nose if I didn't stay away from you?"
Cle laughed. "Jaime, you're exaggerating. Dev would never threaten..." Her voice trailed off as she remembered Dev coming to her room. "I'll break his damned neck for him," he'd said. And that wasn't his first threat to Jaime and Max. Cle looked at Jaime blankly. "Maybe he's going through change of life." She immediately wondered what ever made her say such a stupid thing. Dev was having an awful effect on her. She was acting like a drunk or a druggie and she neither drank nor took drugs. He was a menace, a sharp-tongued enemy of her peace of mind.
"Cle? Cle, come out of your daydream." Jaime shook her arm until she looked at him. "Come with me, I have something to show you." He didn't wait for her response, but pulled her after him. They reentered the room, now overflowing with people, some of whom Cle recognized. With a hot stab she watched Dev incline his head, smiling, toward a beaming Ginna Bell. She turned away fast and followed Jaime blindly from the room and down a short hallway.
The noise was muted in the bedroom areas and without the press of people, it seemed several degrees cooler.
Jaime closed the door behind them and pulled a large portfolio from the closet. He opened it on the bed.
All Cle's firm intentions to stay near the open window disappeared when she saw the colorful sketches that spilled from the case. "Jaime! These are something!" She gasped as she sank down next to him on the bed and took a sketch from his hands. "Wait a minute." Cle rummaged through her purse until she found her granny glasses, settling them on her nose.
"Lord, Cle, you look like a librarian." Jaime sniffed. "Whatever made you adopt such an unattractive affectation?"
She made a face at him, then looked back at the sketch in her hand. "It's not an affectation. Max took me to his eye doctor. The doctor suggested this prescription to prevent further eyestrain. I like them."
"Fool."
Cle ignored him. "This line will be a hit, Jaime. I love your uses of satin... here... and here."
Jaime sounded smug as usual. "All my lines are good, of course, but I do think this one has excessive panache. Remember the day you wanted a dress for a dinner you were attending with Carstairs?" As Cle nodded, grimacing, he added, "Yes that was the time you got so roaring drunk, dear Cleora."
Cle pushed at him and Jaime out of balance fell back on the bed, just missing the sketches. Cle leaned over him, one fist shaking in his face, laughter bubbling in her. "I was not roaring drunk, you—"
The door crashed open behind her and Cle swiveled her head, a startled look on her face. Jaime raised his head from where he reclined so that now he and Cle were much closer.
Dev stood there, his face working as though every muscle had turned to grinding stone. The movement up and down his throat looked forced and painful, his eyes were a leaping green fire. "Get off that damned bed, Cle." The measured words were more menacing than if they had been shouted.
She looked at him, not moving, her hand still curled into a fist, scarcely recognizing the man who stood in the crouched fighter's stance in the doorway. Coming to life, she jumped to her feet, looking down at a goggle-eyed Jaime who was not trying to sit up, then back to
Dev whose hands opened and closed in spasmodic rhythm. "What do you think you're going to do?"
"I'm going to take him apart," Dev said.
Cle yelped and moved, until she was standing at the end of the bed, between a just-rising Jaime and a bullish Dev. "Don't you dare say such a thing, Dev Carstairs. What's the matter with you? Have you gone completely crazy?" She was torn between a desire to scream at him and a need not to let the other people in Max's apartment know what was going on. "Dev, do you have a few slices missing in your loaf? Just where do you get off following me into this room and—"
"Bedroom. Call it what it is, a bedroom," Dev growled, his eyes shooting at her like green rockets, then fixing right back on Jaime. "Now get out of the way. I'm going to teach your little dressmaker a lesson. Then I'll take care of—"
"Dressmaker!" Jaime roared, leaping from the bed and pushing around Cle, who tried to hold him back. "Why you insufferable English snob, where do you get off calling anyone names? You and your pompous friends... We'll see who will pull who... whom... Oh damn. Just let me get my hands on Little Lord Fauntleroy..." Jaime's voice was loud enough to shatter glass and no amount of shushing on Cle's part was having an affect.
She turned to face Dev when she heard him snarl, knowing that neither man had any control at the moment. She had a vision of her body being sandwiched between the two angry men as she saw Dev thrust forward and felt Jaime jostling at her back. Dev put out his hands to lift her out of the way when all at once he was pulled backward. The surprise on his face would have been ludicrous if Cle had been able to feel anything but relief at the sight of Max and Alistair grimly clutching Dev's arms.
Dev struggled with them and for a moment it looked like he would throw the two of them down when all at once he subsided, his eyes like a death ray on Cle. "Let me go. I'm not going to do anything. I've decided that it isn't worth spoiling a party." He kept his eyes on Cle.
For no reason that she could name, a blush stole up her neck and face. She had done nothing to earn that look in Dev's eyes. She could easily have strangled him at that moment, relishing the thought of his neck between her hands. How dare he sit in judgment of her!
Dev looked at Jaime. "Get back to New York where you belong. The next time we meet, I'll make sure we're alone."
"You don't dictate to me," Jaime said, outraged, hi
s face contorted. "And I'll look forward to meeting you again."
"No more of this," Max insisted, his lips a straight line as he looked from the men to Cle who sagged against the bed post.
Dev shook off the restraining hands and looked at Max. "I'm sure you'll understand if I don't stay. Of course, I apologize for causing a disturbance at your party."
"Of course," Max said, his face as taut as Dev's. "I'll see to it that Cle gets home all right."
"She isn't going back to that apartment with him in it," Jaime squawked, not listening when Alistair told him to be quiet.
She wasn't sure if Dev heard Jaime, but at least he didn't return, so she assumed that he left. It took long moments for Max and Alistair to calm Jaime down, but finally he was induced to return to the party. She would have liked nothing more than to remain where she was... in the bedroom. She didn't want to go home where Dev might be and she didn't want to face Max's guests.
"It won't be bad, Cle," Alistair whispered. "I really don't think too many people realized what was happening. Max and I heard Jaime yelling when we went to the kitchen to get beer for some of the men." He patted her on the back. "It's nothing to worry about. Even the best of men get into an altercation now and then."
"Yes. I suppose so," she answered him, trying to smile. But not Dev Carstairs, cool business head, cold solicitor's logic filling his brain. What was happening to Dev?
The rest of the party was an ordeal for Cle but it seemed what Alistair said was true. The only ones who seemed affected by Dev's absence were Ginna and Pam.
"I thought you came with Dev, Cle," Ginna said, a sour look on her face.
"I did," Cle said, wondering if her makeup were cracking on her face, it felt so stiff.
"Was it business?" Pam's face quivered with curiosity.
"I suppose," she hedged.
"I find him fascinating." Pam sighed. "He said he would come to dinner one evening when he was free." Her smile when she looked at her friend Ginna had a triumphant lift.
"Nice for you," Cle observed, moving away.
She was grateful when the Nivenses suggested that they leave.
Once in the car, Diana turned to her. "Alistair told me what happened. Would you like to spend the night at our place, Cle? We have plenty of room."
Cle shrugged. "I'm not worried about going home. Dev does not hit women. Believe it or not, he is a very nonviolent man."
"Just a man who happens to be very possessive of a certain woman," Alistair observed drily.
"Yes," Cle said biting her lip.
The drive took mere minutes it seemed to Cle, for despite her assurances to the Nivenses, she was uneasy about going into the apartment. Not because she was afraid that Dev would hurt her, she was afraid that they would have another argument and she knew she wasn't up to that.
Alistair saw her to the elevator, checking to see that it was empty before he let her enter.
Cle commented that he seemed to have all the canniness of a New Yorker as she shook his hand goodnight.
"We have some criminals here, too." He smiled at her, then he looked serious. "Are you sure you're all right?"
She nodded and stepped into the empty elevator. The hum of the motor seemed loud as she climbed upward. She put her key into the door and it swung open before she could return it.
Dev stood there, a drink in his hand.
Cle could tell by the glitter in his eyes that it wasn't his first drink.
"Yes, I've been drinking, my lovely temptress, but I am by no means drunk." He took another swallow and watched her as she walked by him.
"Drink yourself into a stupor, if you wish." She turned to face him. "But make sure you're sober enough to pack your things tomorrow. I want you to leave."
"No, my pet, I'm not leaving. I'm not only not leaving your flat, I am not going to leave your side... ever again." His tones had a slight slur but Cle knew he had a hard head and that booze rarely bothered him.
"I'm not going to fight with you on this. I'm going to bed. Just make sure you're out of here tomorrow."
"I bloody well won't leave," Dev grated out, then swung away striding toward the lounge and not looking back.
Cle rushed to her bedroom. She threw off her strapless cotton and headed for a cold shower. Instead of singing in the shower, she shouted. "That man is impossible. What does he want from me? I don't have to put up with this. I'll tip him out a window!"
She slept fitfully, having dreams about facing Dev in the bullring. No matter what she did with her red cape, Dev always seemed to come crashing through the middle.
By the time she woke up the next morning she had a giant headache. "How ironic," she said aloud as she sat up in bed, holding her head. "You have a hangover and you didn't drink." She swung her legs to the floor. "If Dev doesn't have a hangover, I should hit him over the head just to get him started. That war-like Limey is the cause of my headache." She was still muttering as she put on a cool turquoise cotton scooped-necked dress that left her arms bare. She wore flat-heeled sandals of natural rope and a natural rope shoulder bag that was big enough to carry all she needed for a day at Max's salon.
To her surprise Dev was in the kitchen drinking orange juice. A Palm Beach suit in champagne silk set off his deep tan. His face had a pallor and there were lines under his eyes but he looked alert, cool, and successful.
"I thought you would be sound asleep after your cuddle with the bottle," she said as she poured herself some juice.
"Did you?" Dev walked toward the doorway leading to the hall. "I have a business dinner this evening so I won't be home until late."
"Fine." Cle ground her teeth when she heard the front door slam. "Why didn't I tell him to get lost? Why do I put up with him?" Because you love him, the gleeful inner voice answered her. "How can I continue to love a man who wants to take over all my life but not really want me in his?" He never said that, the voice insisted. She felt as though someone had held a lit cigarette to her skin.
She shut everything else from her mind and went to work. The salon was teeming with activity. Max had decided to whip his spring show—which would be like Jaime's fall show—into shape early enough in the season so that he could eclipse some of his rivals in design. Jaime had generously offered to help him.
When Cle was working in the big design studio, bent over her drawing board, Jaime came to talk to her.
"Are you angry with me, Cle?"
She looked up, smiling at his pixie face. "No, I'm not angry with you, Jaime. I'm not angry with anyone, but I feel drained and I've made up my mind that I'm not going to be pushed into another situation like that if I can help it."
Jaime leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I don't blame you." He squinted at her. "I think I remember telling you that Carstairs was not good for you?"
"Please, Jaime, let's not rehash. I'm not in the mood."
"Well, are you in the mood for hearing that I'll be heading back to New York in three days?"
She put down her sketching pen. "Not because of what happened?"
"No, because I have a great deal of work to do."
She smiled at him.
"Cle, come home if it gets too rough here. I'll take care of you. I want to do that. I've wanted to do that for a long time. We work well together. We get along. You don't have to stay here the full two years. Come home and I'll take care of you."
She felt the sting of tears as Jaime put his arm around her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cle could never remember a time when she and Dev remained more silent with each other. There had always seemed so much to say to one another that they would have burst if they hadn't told one another. Now it was different. Neither would speak unless it was absolutely necessary. Dev seemed to be gone more in the evenings. Cle was both glad and furious when this happened. She tried to work late as many nights as she could. Mornings she timed her breakfast so that there would be the least chance of seeing him.
On the day that Jaime returned to the United State
s, Cle went to the airport with him, borrowing Max's gleaming Mercedes sedan to freight Jaime's luggage.
"Come home with me, Cle," Jaime urged, as he felt in his pockets for his passport, finally hauling it out to show Cle. "See, I told you I hadn't forgotten
it." He put it away then looked at her frowning. "Will you come home now?"
"No." Cle smiled, feeling strained. "That would be leaving Max in the lurch."
"Promise me you'll come if Carstairs becomes more bothersome." He looked like a petulant elf as Cle, listening to the announcement of the boarding for his flight, pushed him toward the security area.
It was no surprise to Cle that the alarm went off when Jaime tried to pass through. What stiffened her spine and made her surge forward was when she saw Jaime glare at the offending alarm, then swell with indignation when the girl monitoring the equipment asked him to step back and be checked. Cle had visions of him creating a real scene. Before he could let loose one of sarcastic fusillades, Cle had him by his jacket and was yanking backwards even as his mouth was opening.
He turned to glare at her, smoothing down his silk jacket with one hand. "Cle, my dear, you are in danger of becoming an aborigine. You had best come home." His tones were frost.
"And you are in danger of getting an Australian black eye if you act up. Now for heaven's sake empty your pockets before you miss your flight!"
Jaime's keys to his house and salon were the culprits. He was the last to board the flight. Cle waited with held breath until takeoff, sure at every second that Jaime would tell the pilot to wait just one moment while he gave one more instruction to his assistant, Cle Orwell.
The return ride to downtown Sydney from the airport would have been much sweeter if Cle had been more sure of herself driving the big Mercedes. It took all her concentration to drive in the heavy traffic, so she was unable to look at the sights again. She promised herself a full tour of Sydney her first free moment. She could feel perspiration beading her lip by the time she had parked the big sedan in the space marked "Brainerd" behind the salon.