First thing tomorrow morning, she’d pack her things and get out.
Resolutely, she undressed, put on her nightgown, and opened the sofa-bed. As she reached for the light switch, she saw Lee’s jacket lying in a heap on the floor and she bent towards it, hesitating at the last moment as if picking it up might burn her hand.
What nonsense, she thought, snatching it up and tossing it aside. She climbed between the rough muslin sheets and lay on her back, glaring up at the moonlight-dappled ceiling. It was only a jacket, and Lee was only a man who got his kicks out of playing with women. And she, fool that she was, had made the game easy.
Little girl, he’d called her, little farm girl, and she’d been quick to tell him she was neither. Danielle gritted her teeth as she rolled over and punched her pillow into shape. He was probably still laughing at that one—he could fluster her with a glance, and he knew it.
And now she was going to turn and run. The thought was humiliating, but what else could she do? It wasn’t worth staying and facing him down—was it?
Maybe it was. There was her pride to consider. And there was the cost of a ticket home. You couldn’t measure pride in dollars, but you could certainly measure how far into the hole she’d be once she paid for it. She had expenses waiting back home, a car that had long needed costly repairs, a living room that was in desperate need of decent furniture.
Damn Lee Bradford! She wasn’t going to go into debt because of him. Danielle pulled the blanket up and closed her eyes. She was done being a game piece, and tomorrow he’d find that out.
She awakened with a throbbing in her head and an ache in her back. Bright sunlight filled the shabby room.
‘Good morning.’
Val’s voice startled her. Her cousin was sitting in one of the overstuffed armchairs, smiling, holding a cup of milky coffee in her outstretched hand.
Danielle pushed a tangle of brown curls back from her face. ‘Good morning,’ she said with a cautious smile. ‘Is that for me?’
‘It’s a peace offering. I’m afraid we got off to a bad start last night.’
Danielle took the cup from her. ‘Val—’
‘No. Don’t say anything, Danni. Let me talk, please.’ Her cousin looked at her. ‘Do you think you could just forget everything I said? I don’t know what got into me—I guess maybe I’ve been working too hard or something.’
‘Val, please. I—’
‘I’d be very grateful if you’d give it another try.’
Danielle looked at her. She wanted to believe Val’s little speech, wanted to believe the look of innocence on her face. But things had gone too far for that, and she smiled gently as she pushed the blankets aside.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, swinging her legs to the floor. ‘I’m not going to leave you in the lurch, Val. We made an agreement, and I’ll stick to my end of it.’ She reached for her robe, then stood up. ‘Your boyfriend bowled me over,’ she said calmly. ‘I’m not used to sharks like him.’ Her eyes met Val’s. ‘And you were right, in a way. It’s my fault he’s been after me. Oh, I don’t mean that I’ve been leading him on—it’s just that he knows he can get a rise out of me, and that seems to amuse him.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Well, that’s finished.’
Valerie stared at her. ‘Is it?’ Her voice had lost all its warmth.
Danielle’s gaze fell on Lee’s jacket and her throat tightened. ‘Yes. Believe me, you needn’t be concerned any longer.’
Val’s eyebrows rose. ‘I was annoyed, Danni, but never concerned.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Anyway, all this is academic. You see, Lee’s gone.’
Danielle stared at her cousin. ‘Gone?’
‘Well, until the end of the week, anyway. Something came up, I didn’t pay attention to the details. I think it had to do with his racing team or his car—whatever, he left this morning and he won’t be back until late Friday evening.’
Danielle turned away and let out her breath. ‘That—that’s good,’ she said softly.
It was, wasn’t it?
Val glanced at her watch and made a face. ‘Goodness, just look at the time. Barney—Mr Wexler—will have my head! Let’s get moving.’
The production company offices were housed in a battered aluminium caravan parked on a dusty street. Danielle entered hesitantly, expecting a jumble of tight little rooms. But the caravan proved to be relatively spacious, with most of the interior walls gone. The floor space was given over to a scattering of file cabinets and office furniture. There were typewriters and computers, all humming, thanks to the portable generator outside.
Barney Wexler was a rumpled-looking, paunchy man with a shiny bald head. He looked up from his desk when the women entered. ‘Well, well,’ he said, squinting over a pair of half-frame reading glasses, ‘the little Missouri cousin, at last.’
Wexler was smiling. But on this morning the phrase was like a gauntlet tossed at Danielle’s feet.
‘Well, well,’ she said coolly, ‘the big Hollywood producer, at last.’
There was a thunderous silence, and then Val made a sound that was half-gasp, half-laugh. ‘Danni! Good lord…Barney—Mr Wexler—I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into—’
The bray of Wexler’s laughter cut short Val’s apology. ‘I apologise,’ he said, getting to his feet and offering Danielle his hand. ‘I expected someone quite different.’
Danielle smiled. ‘Someone with hay in her hair?’
Wexler glanced at Val. ‘Something like that,’ he said, and then he motioned her to a chair beside his desk. ‘Val, bring us some coffee. Unless you’d prefer something cold?’
‘Coffee’s fine,’ Danielle said quickly. ‘But Val doesn’t have to—’
‘She might as well do something,’ Wexler said blandly. ‘Now, sit down, Miss Nichols, and tell me why you let your cousin talk you into saving her skin.’
An hour later, after she’d translated a handful of memos and fielded an irate call from the mayor of Ste Agathe, Wexler had smiled and told her he was putting her on the payroll.
‘Per diem, of course,’ he’d added quickly.
‘Of course,’ Danielle had agreed, and she’d smiled gratefully.
Now, only a few days later, she’d settled into what had become a comfortable routine. She rose early, before Val stirred, and spent an hour or two in the makeshift office, dealing with whatever had come up the previous day. By mid-morning she was on the road, tooling along in the ancient Citröen that Madame had arranged for her to rent from her brother, the butcher.
The car guzzled precious petrol with frightening greed and had a disconcerting habit of getting stuck in gear. But it was the only car available for hire in Ste Agathe, and it cost half what Danielle would have paid at a car rental agency in Nice.
Once she’d got used to its eccentricities, the car proved dependable. So far, it had taken her to the Musée Chagall in Nice, the Roman ruins at Cimiez, and the beautiful stands of pine at Cap d’Antibes. She’d changed her routine today, coming back in the late afternoon to put in an hour’s work because she was going to be gone all weekend. She was going to Cannes.
The decision had been a sudden one, made just that morning.
‘Lee’s coming back tonight,’ Val had said while Danielle had been rummaging in her drawer for a scarf. ‘We’ll probably have dinner out, but afterwards…’ The ensuing pause had been long and deliberate. ‘It won’t bother you if we come back here, will it, Danni? You’re not going to be upset or anything like that?’
Danielle had fought against the nausea that rose in her throat. ‘No,’ she’d said finally. ‘In fact—in fact, I won’t be here. I’m driving to Cannes and I thought—I thought I’d stay the weekend.’
‘What a wonderful idea,’ Val had said quickly.
And it was a wonderful idea, Danielle thought now, looking out into the street. Cannes would be fun, the guidebooks said so. Then why wasn’t she excited about going? Why wasn’t she looking forward to—?
‘Danni?’ She blinked and looke
d up. Barney Wexler was watching her from the open doorway.
‘Mr Wexler.’ She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I was just finishing up. The notice for the lighting crew is—’
Wexler smiled. ‘Yes, yes. I’m sure it’s all taken care of. I came to tell you we’re running the car gag soon. Don’t you want to see it?’
‘The car gag?’
Wexler nodded. ‘Believe me, if you’ve never seen a gag, this is the one to start with. Billy and Chico swear nothing like it has been done before.’
Danielle shook her head. ‘What’s a car gag? Is it a joke of some kind?’
Wexler grinned. ‘A joke—that’s good, Danni. Chico will—’ Someone called his name and he waved impatiently. ‘OK, hold your horses!’ he yelled, and then he looked at her again. ‘I know you’re in a rush, but do yourself a favour and watch this thing. If they pull it off, it oughtta be terrific.’
His footsteps clattered down the steps as the door swung shut after him. Danielle walked to the window and peered out. Twilight was falling; the village lay in amethyst shadows. Just ahead, where the street became a narrow road leading into the mountains, a small crowd was gathering. She could see a forest of camera and mike booms. After a moment, she shrugged her shoulders and walked to the door.
Why not? she thought. A car gag, whatever that was, might be interesting, although how you could film a joke about a car was beyond her. This film, or what little she knew of it, was about a Frenchman, a Grand Prix driver. It was the story of his life, told in flashback, from the little village of his birth to his eventual victories on the international racing circuit.
Nothing about that sounded terribly funny. Still, you could never tell with movie-making. The little time she’d spent on the perimeters of the set had told her that.
Standing on tiptoe on the fringe of the crowd, Danielle could just make out the scene. It had grown darker now; the cameras would be filming under Klieg lights. They were set up to shoot the road from different angles, some on dollies, some handheld. The road itself glistened like a dark ribbon, and Danielle was puzzled for a moment until she saw the huge tank-truck parked nearby.
‘Soak it down again!’ a voice yelled. ‘I want it to look as if it’s just rained cats and dogs.’
The truck moved in and water poured over the road. Danielle felt a little catch in her throat.
A picture sprang into her mind. Water, gleaming darkly on a wet road…
‘You ready, Al?’ somebody yelled.
A man appeared from the crowd of make-up people and technicians. ‘Yeah,’ he said. He walked slowly towards the shoulder of the road.
‘Billy? Is Chico all set?’
Someone wearing headphones and carrying a small radio raised his hand and waved it.
‘OK, tell him we’re gonna roll. And tell him to remember to hit those brakes when he comes around that curve. I want burning rubber, man, as much as he can deliver. When this gag rolls, everybody in the theatre’s gonna wet their pants!’
There was a murmur of nervous laughter. ‘Quiet on the set!’ a voice called. There was silence, and then someone yelled, ‘Action!’ Far in the distance, there was the sudden, ominous roar of an engine.
The car was only a dark speck at first, racing towards the cameras from the mountains. But it was going fast, terribly fast, rocketing from side to side as it drew nearer. It skidded around the first curve, leaning over until it was almost riding on only two wheels, and the assembled onlookers seemed to draw in their collective breath.
Her mind skittered back in time to a different wet road, to a car travelling too fast, faster than it should, skidding as it came around the corner…
Danielle’s throat went dry. She looked frantically towards the actor walking slowly along the shoulder, head down, hands tucked into his pockets, then to the car racing wildly down the road.
No, she thought, no one would do this deliberately, no one would…
‘Eddie!’ she screamed, but it was too late. Her cry was lost in the tortured squeal of rubber as the car skidded across the wet road, and then it was on the walking man, he was rising into the air, turning, turning, turning…
She was sobbing softly when strong arms closed tightly around her.
‘It’s all right,’ a husky voice whispered, ‘it’s OK.’
‘Help him,’ she said brokenly, ‘please, help him. He’s dying.’
‘Danielle. Shh, baby, it’s all right, I promise.’
The arms that held her tightened as she began to tremble, then swung her off her feet.
‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘oh, please, don’t let him die.’
‘No one’s going to die,’ the voice said. ‘It wasn’t real, Danielle. It was a stunt.’
A stunt. It was a stunt. The world reeled around her as the man carried her away from the stench of burning rubber and tortured metal.
Slowly, the planet righted itself. Eddie hadn’t died again. No one had. What she’d seen had just been a trick, a film-maker’s illusion.
But the arms that enfolded her, this heart that beat so steadily beneath her ear, this voice that whispered reassurances—all of that was real. And all of it belonged to Lee Bradford, whose long strides had taken them quickly from the crowded set.
Danielle drew a shaky breath. ‘I—I’m all right now,’ she said. ‘You can put me down.’
Lee’s arms tightened around her. ‘In a minute.’
‘Lee, please, put me down. I feel like such a fool.’
‘Why? Because you couldn’t tell the real thing from the gag?’ He laughed softly. ‘Chico would be happy to hear it.’
‘A gag,’ she said, shuddering, ‘that’s what Barney said it was. But it wasn’t, it was…’
‘Here we go.’ Lee let her down slowly, and she saw that he’d brought her to his car. His arm stayed around her as he opened the door. ‘Come on, get in.’ When she hesitated, he smiled. ‘No gags, I promise. Just a nice, quiet drive to a nice, quiet spot where you can get your bearings. OK?’
‘Thank you. But…’
‘But what?’
She stared at him. But I hate you, she wanted to say. And I’m not going to let you make a fool of me any more.
But the words wouldn’t come. Lee was watching her with a half-smile on his mouth, his eyes dark as they swept across her face. I missed you, she thought suddenly, and the realisation sent another wave of dizziness through her.
Lee cursed softly as she stumbled back against him. ‘Come on,’ he said, pulling open the car door, ‘get in.’
‘No. I can’t. I…’
A ragged cheer drifted towards them on the warm air, and Lee looked up.
‘They’re celebrating,’ he said. ‘The gag went well and it’s Friday night. That means the crew’s going to knock off and spend the next few hours talking about what a terrific crash it was.’ He smiled tightly. ‘Is that what you want to do?’
Danielle shook her head. ‘I was going to drive to Cannes,’ she said, and then she looked out into the darkness gathering over the mountains and she shuddered. ‘But not now.’
She let him hand her into the car. He closed the door after her, then came around to the driver’s side and got in.
‘We’ll have a drink, relax, have an early dinner—and then I’ll bring you back, safe and sound. All right?’
She knew there were a dozen reasons to say no, but at that moment none of them seemed to matter. Lee took her silence as agreement. He turned the key, put his foot to the accelerator, and the car swung away from the kerb.
‘Lee.’ Danielle took a deep breath as she remembered her cousin’s preparations for the evening. ‘Val’s expecting you.’
The car slipped into the darkening night. ‘Is she?’ he said carelessly. He glanced at her, then looked back at the road. ‘What happened back there?’
Danielle shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it, not now, not with the images of the crash that had killed Eddie so fresh in her mind.
; ‘I—I guess I just got carried away. It all seemed so real.’ She smiled shakily. ‘Do they really call a thing like that a gag?’
Lee’s teeth flashed in the growing darkness. ‘Crazy, huh?’ His foot eased on the accelerator as he swung the car on to a crossroads. Lights gleamed ahead.
‘Noble,’ he said, and he laughed softly. ‘Even smaller than Ste Agathe, if you can imagine that.’ He signalled a right turn, then pulled off the road beside a small, lighted house. A wooden sign creaked in the wind. La Salamandre, it read.
Lee shut off the engine. Silence fell around them, broken by the whirr of crickets.
‘What is this place?’ Danielle asked after a moment.
‘An inn. A pretty good one—I had dinner here a couple of times.’ Leather creaked as he shifted towards her. ‘Are you sure you’re all right now?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I’m fine. I just—I feel so dumb.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re not,’ he said softly. He smiled as he reached out and stroked a curl back from her cheek. ‘I missed you.’
Her heart turned over. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said quickly. ‘I—I didn’t even realise you were gone.’
Leather creaked again as he moved closer to her. ‘Danielle.’
His voice was low. It sent a tremor along her skin.
‘Lee,’ she said, and she swallowed drily. ‘You said—you said something about a drink and dinner.’
‘Danielle. Look at me.’
‘No.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘I—I’ve changed my mind. I want to go back to Ste Agathe.’
‘Look at me,’ he insisted.
His hand closed on her chin and slowly, inexorably, he lifted her face to his. It was very dark now; only the faint light from the inn illuminated his face.
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Take me back.’
‘You know that’s not what you want.’
Oh, God, she thought, what was happening? She knew what kind of man he was, she knew this was all a game to him. But his breath was warm against her face, his hand strong yet strangely gentle. And the air between them was charged, just as it had been that other time they’d sat close together in this little oasis, when she’d felt as if she and Lee Bradford were the only people in the world.
The Ruthless Billionaire’s Redemption Page 7