She found out later what he meant by that: that virgins made perfect wives.
But at the time, she just loved him all the more for saying it, because it helped stem the feelings of inferi- ority which were growing steadily, not only because he was so powerful and famous, but also because he was quite the most experienced lover she could have encountered.
After that first night, he never lost control so fast again, and his expertise in lovemaking was almost frightening. They made love night after night, endlessly, and she learnt what multiple orgasm really meant as Jared unleashed the full power of his sexual experience on her shaking, untutored, wildly responsive body.
He asked her to move in with him; she did.
They became closer than ever, and sometimes she wondered what he saw in her, but he was so devoted and so loving that she didn’t have time to dwell on it, and when she did it made her so frightened of losing him that she had no option other than to push the thoughts away before they wrecked her confidence, and pray that their relationship would lead to marriage.
He proposed when she least expected it.
They were in the beautiful, dazzling kitchen of his apartment. She was ironing his shirts for him, some- thing she’d taken to doing lately, just for the sheer ro- mantic novelty of it. Jared was watching her from the kitchen table, smiling, his eyes loving.
‘I might fire the housekeeper tomorrow,’ he said lightly. ‘What would you think of that?’
She had laughed, ironing the crisp white sleeve. ‘Oh…I don’t think I’d have time to do this every day, darling.’
‘Not even when we’re married?’
Christie had almost burnt a hole in the shirt, staring at him as her hand went temporarily motionless, and her mind went clean of all thought.
‘I’m asking you to marry me,’ he had said huskily. ‘Please say you will…’
‘Of course I will!’ she had whispered, and a second later they were in each other’s arms, holding tight, so tight, as love enfolded them and kept them both free from harm forever.
He had already bought the ring; a beautiful emerald so dazzling she could barely stand to look at it without feeling a powerful mixture of love and inadequacy.
‘I’m a very traditional man,’ Jared said as he slid it on her finger. ‘I want a big white wedding, a long honeymoon and a new home to move into as soon as we start married life. But with my schedule at the studio—I won’t be free to do that until August this year.’
‘I can wait another five months,’ she had laughed joy- fully. ‘And I want a traditional wedding, too. Bridesmaids, bouquets—the lot!’
‘And children?’ he had asked deeply, his eyes intense.
‘Lots of children.’ Tears filled her eyes as she buried her face in his neck. ‘Hundreds of them. All the living image of you. And I’ll call them all Jared. Jared the Second, the third, the fourth—’
‘You want them right away?’ he had said urgently.
‘Well…’ She had hesitated, suddenly aware that, no, she did not want them right away. In fact, she didn’t want them for another four or five years. Not until she was thirty, not until she was famous, not until she had that special place in the sky where no one could ever hurt her again.
‘Darling?’ He waited, his body tense, and suddenly she was aware that he was afraid to look at her, just as she was afraid to look at him, both of them anxious that they had finally reached the one flaw in their future plans, and neither wanting to admit it; to have that argument.
‘Jared,’ she had said carefully. ‘I do want children. Lots of them. But just not right away. I’m not really ready yet.’
Silence.
She felt very tense, and said quickly, ‘I want to be famous, remember? A famous actress, high in the stars, name in lights…’ She pulled back to look at him with wary eyes. ‘Give me time to see if I can make it. Then, if I really can’t do it as well as you have—well, I’ll accept it and have children with you.’
His dark lashes had flickered as he gave a false smile. ‘Yes, of course. But do you really think you’ll make it? I mean—you are twenty-five, darling. Most stars are at least living in Hollywood by the time they’re your age, if not already world-famous.’
It was her turn to give a false smile. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
The next day, she met Simon Mordant.
CHAPTER THREE
THE hot Californian sun was glittering across the distant sea like yellow diamonds strewn across its blue waters. Palm trees waved softly in the warm breeze.
We should have had that argument right there and then, Christie thought, remembering it all. Everything started to go wrong from that point. It was all there, underneath the surface, right from the moment we met, but that was when it really started to show itself, and that was when we should have talked honestly about the future.
But they hadn’t wanted to wreck something so perfect by bringing reality into the picture.
So they had carried on, still in love with each other, but hiding their true feelings from one another step by step, inch by inch, neither wanting to be the one to provoke that terrible argument they both knew was now on the cards.
She herself had felt bitterly resentful of Jared, knowing he was only paying lip-service to her career dreams, but of course she couldn’t say anything to him without looking a fool. After all—he was a famous award- winning director. He would have good reason to laugh in her face if she tried to claim equality in dreams of stardom. Even though he knew why she needed it so badly. The facts were that he had it, and she didn’t. So how could she discuss it with him any more? All they were able to talk about now was love, sex and their forthcoming marriage plans.
And once Simon entered the picture, he gave Christie that shot-in-the-arm-confidence she so badly needed. Simon believed in her. Simon talked endlessly of her talent and her drive. Simon photographed her from every angle, took video footage of her acting scenes from plays, from films, and he sent those photos and videos to his contacts in Hollywood on a regular basis.
At first, Christie had tried to tell Jared how closely she was working with Simon. But he just became ag- gressive and accused Simon of trying to get Christie into bed. So, after a while, it seemed easier to avoid the ar- guments, the shouting and the jealous scenes by just not talking about Simon whenever possible. Simon was the first person in a long time who had really believed she could get into films and was not only prepared to help her, but actually had the contacts to do so. How could she possibly stop seeing him?
By this time it was April, and Jared was editing his film. He was at the editing suite sometimes for two or three days at a time, not even bothering to come home at night. Although she missed him dreadfully, it did give her a chance to work even harder with Simon in Jared’s absence. And besides, when Jared did come home, he never wanted to do anything other than make love.
He had fired the housekeeper in March, and Christie had been expected to take over where she had left off. At first it was quite easy—the house was already spick and span. But gradually the dust began to grow on the skirting boards, the food began to disappear from the well-stocked fridge, and the washing began to pile up.
Not only did Christie have to work ten hours a day, six days a week at Elstree—still keeping her relationship with Jared Buchanan a complete secret from the girls and the British Press—but she also had to put in a lot of hard work after hours with Simon Mordant.
How could she possibly cope with housework on top of all that? It had been wonderful fun at first, but it had really only been play-acting for Jared’s benefit, and when he was no longer there to smile lovingly as he watched her cook his dinner, clean the floor or iron his shirts—the novelty faded into drudgery.
No matter how many times she made the bed, it always got unmade the next day. Going shopping in the super- market was next to impossible, given that she only had an hour for lunch every day, and was frequently too tired to want to trundle about with a trolley in a packed
supermarket, queue up with other harassed shoppers, and then trudge home with heavy shopping bags that almost broke her arms. As for washing and ironing Jared’s shirts… well, she became slapdash to say the least.
Of course, he noticed, and they began to have rows about the housework when really, they should have been talking about the central issue: that she wanted to be a famous actress and he wanted her to be a wife and mother.
She decided that she would make him so happy with her as a woman that he forgot all about her inadequacies as a housewife. So she went out in her lunch-break the next day to buy some silky, sexy lingerie. But when Jared came home that night to find her waiting for him in black bra, black silk briefs, black stockings and a red garter belt, he lost his temper, they had a terrible row, and he ended up calling her a whore.
She was so hurt and angry that she slapped him across the face, but his reaction was to jerk her hard against him and slap her rear in return. One thing led to another, and before they both knew it, they were fiercely aroused, making angry love on the floor.
Christie didn’t wear black lingerie again, but she did seduce him frequently when he got back from the studios, because it made her feel more his equal than she had done in the whole course of their relationship, and be- sides—sex was now the one area where they could com- municate honestly.
In June, the whole thing came to a head.
Simon had got her a screen test with Camarra Pictures.
‘I have to fly to Los Angeles tomorrow!’ Christie had told Jared with a combination of fear and excitement. ‘They’re testing me for a bit-part, but it could lead to a contract if I’m good enough.’
‘What…!’ Jared had stared at her in shocked fury. ‘But what about us? I’m almost through with editing this picture! I thought we were going to start a family—’
‘Jared, I told you I needed to do this,’ she had said in a low voice. ‘And you agreed to wait for children until I’d at least had a shot at Hollywood.’
‘I didn’t expect you to go through with it! I thought you’d just gradually accept your limitations and give up dreams of stardom!’
Christie had been so hurt and angry that the bubble of pretence just burst as it all came tumbling out and she found herself shouting at him that he was a male chauvinist pig, that he’d always looked down on her, never believed in her talent, never really loved or under- stood her, just wanted to turn her into a clockwork doll to cook and clean for him.
‘It’s because I love you that I won’t let you do this!’ Jared had shouted back, red in the face with rage. ‘Hollywood will destroy you, you’re not tough enough for it—or talented enough!’
‘Oh, you rotten swine!’ She had been incoherent with pain and pent-up resentment. ‘You’ve always despised me, haven’t you! All those lies about how talented I was, how I was going to make it to the stars!’
‘What about your lies! All those nights talking about our children, our happy home—and, as for the big se- duction scenes night after night, my God, I should have known I was being manipulated!’
The row escalated.
They were helpless to stop it, all the secret resentments pouring out as they shouted at one another, tearing each other to pieces.
In the end, Jared shouted, ‘If you go to Los Angeles with Simon Mordant tomorrow—we’re finished!’
‘All right, then!’ she had shouted back. ‘We’re finished!’
And she had pushed past him in blind fury, striding into the hall, wrenching open the front door and walking out of his life forever, not even bothering to take her few possessions with her. Jared didn’t try to stop her. He strode furiously after her along the hall and slammed the door shut as she left.
She never saw him again.
She flew to LA the next day, took her screen test, and was lucky enough to find herself accepted. She told herself she’d one day stop crying herself to sleep over Jared.
But she never forgot him. All along the road to success, she never stopped thinking of him. Every time a picture was released, she’d think, Jared will see this, and he’ll start to respect me. Every time her face was on a magazine cover, she’d think, Jared will see this at a newsstand in LA or New York, Paris or London, and he’ll begin to admire me.
Why did it hurt so much that he hadn’t?
Because I’m still in love with him, she realised, and then the tears began to slip out over her lashes, rolling hotly down her cheeks as she stood on that beautiful balcony in California.
I mustn’t cry out here, she told herself. Jared might see, and he mustn’t know that I still love him, because if he does, he’ll know he has even greater power over me than he does already. For no matter how badly he hurts me, I must have the role, must have it…
Turning, she went back into her room.
It was seven o’clock now, and she had to get ready for dinner. This was a business weekend, after all. She was expected to look like a movie-star, behave like a golden girl, even if her heart was breaking into tiny pieces and her whole world was falling apart.
Quickly, she unpacked, then showered and blow-dried her long hair into the sensual, tousled mane she was famous for. The dress was chosen carefully: a long silk Grecian masterpiece of sensuality, flowing over her slender curves to her feet, gold sandals peeping out and a gold necklace coiled at her lightly tanned throat.
Looking into the mirror, she saw a movie-star, rich with sexuality. No one would guess that inside was a hurt, vulnerable woman who had lost the only love she had ever known. What a professional, she thought with a hoarse laugh.
It was seven forty-five, and she must not delay any longer. So she left her bedroom, walked down the long corridor, and found herself on that sweeping staircase where the chandelier glittered over the marble hall and the gods and goddesses of the silver screen looked down from oil-painted immortality on another party at Casa Camarra.
She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the voices.
‘Simon Mordant…’ a deep throaty female voice said far below in a sophisticated New York accent. ‘Long time no see!’
‘Nessa…’ Simon’s voice was cool, austere.
Christie stopped suddenly on the staircase, frowning. They couldn’t see her because they were too busy staring at each other, but she could see them and it was clear to her immediately that here was fierce attraction, anger, emotion and hatred all sizzling out invisibly between Simon Mordant and Nessa Vale.
‘So how are you, Simon?’ drawled the famous ac- tress. ‘You’re looking good.’
‘You too, Nessa. I hear you’re seeing Jared Buchanan these days?’
‘And you’re engaged to Christie McCall!’ Nessa laughed, dark eyes flashing at him. ‘The blonde bimbo herself! What a surprise, Simon! It never occurred to me that you’d do an Arthur Miller! What do they call you? Not the egghead and the hourglass surely? Even Hollywood doesn’t repeat its own cliches—although you obviously don’t draw the line.’
Christie stared down, astonished by the venom in Nessa Vale’s voice. What on earth had either she or Simon done to deserve such spite from Nessa?
‘Christie and I love each other,’ Simon was saying with equal anger in his voice. ‘And she is not a blonde bimbo. She’s a very fine actress and I’m proud to be her agent.’
Nessa Vale laughed spitefully. ‘You said that about the last blonde bimbo you liaised dangerously with! What was her name, now? Oh, I forget! She disap- peared from the industry after that scandalous affair you had with her!’ She patted his hard cheek with one long- fingered hand. ‘Never mind, darling. Maybe Christie McCall has more stamina. From what Jared’s told me about her bedtime appetites, I’m sure she has!’ Turning on her heel, she walked away, stunningly austere in a long black dress that fitted her tall, bony figure to per- fection, and complemented her coolly aristocratic New York accent, so similar to Simon’s.
Simon watched Nessa go, his eyes blazing with steely rage. ‘Little bitch!’ he swore hoarsely under his breath.
Christie went down the stairs, and he looked up suddenly.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘I didn’t overhear that deliberately. I just began to hear and was so shocked I barely knew what to do. Why on earth does she hate us both so much, Simon?’
He just stared at her as though he had never seen her before, his eyes fixed and frozen. They moved over her then, rapidly, taking in the long ivory silk Grecian dress, the sexuality of her body, the blonde hair cascading over her slender, gold-tanned shoulders, and finally coming to rest on her full rich, sultry pink mouth.
‘Christie…’ he said bleakly, and looked away.
In silence, she kept her hand on the end of the ban- ister, standing in the marble hallway with him, her as- tonished mind beginning to grope at a quite incredible truth.
‘Simon…?’ Her voice was husky, shell-shocked. ‘Were you involved with Nessa Vale in the past?’
He went pink, raked a hand through his ash-blond hair. ‘Yes. I was—’ his voice roughened ‘—very deeply involved with her several years ago. Just before I met you, in fact.’
She just stared at him, incredulous that he had never mentioned her name.
‘I always meant to tell you,’ Simon said thickly. ‘But the opportunity never arose and, besides, I thought I’d never see her again.’
‘With all of us living out here?’ she whispered. ‘All of us working in films? That’s absurd and you know it.’
‘All right. I thought—’ He looked up at her quickly, then lowered his gaze, his mouth tightening. ‘I thought I’d feel indifferent to her when we met again. Triumphant, even.’
‘And what did you feel?’
He looked at her again, pain in his grey eyes, and asked under his breath in counter-challenge, ‘How did you feel when you saw Jared again?’
Christie paled, looking away, pain lancing her heart.
‘Right,’ Simon muttered. ‘It’s not so easy to face the ghosts, is it? Especially not with such short notice of their appearance.’
‘Simon…’ She moved awkwardly to her old friend and sympathetically touched his shoulder. ‘I do under- stand how you feel. Or, at least, I think I understand. But…’ She drew an unsteady breath. ‘But we’re sup- posed to be getting married. If you’re still in love with Nessa Vale, then you must—’
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