by Liz Fielding
‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should cultivate a bit of attitude, stop trying to please everyone.’ Maybe she should take a leaf out of Heather’s book.
‘When pigs fly. Tell me about this sitcom. What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing. I just don’t want to do it.’
‘Oh, hoity-toity!’
Melanie laughed. ‘You see? I can be a bad girl when I want to be.’
‘No, darling, not bad. You’re one of the fabulous Beaumonts now. You’re just showing a little artistic temperament. I’m sure Trudy knows you’ll come through for her.’
‘Not this time. And I do mean it. I’d rather do what you’re doing.’ He raised one painted brow dramatically and she laughed. ‘What do you say, Richard? Do you need a partner? We made a pretty good team out there.’
‘Sure, you’re welcome to come and join in any time. But don’t expect a cut. Not everyone is as generous as you. This doesn’t even pay the rent.’
‘Really? What does?’
‘I’m working as a cleaner at nights in an office block. That one.’ He pointed to the elegant Georgian facade of the offices across the square.
‘Trudy’s office?’
‘She only has a suite on the first floor,’ he said. ‘A very nice suite, I grant you.’
‘Oh, come on, Richard, you’re having me on.’
‘Not at all.’ He fished a card out of the leather purse on his belt and handed it to her.
She glanced at it. ‘Busy Bees Cleaning Services? You’re kidding?’
‘Maybe you should try it for a week or two. It would made that sit-com suddenly seem very desirable.’
‘You could do better than that, Richard,’ she said.
‘Could I?’
‘You were talented - you are talented...’
‘So I should go back to the soaps? Good enough for me, but not for you now you’ve been in a sell-out West End show?’
He was bitter about that too, then?
‘I didn’t mean that. There’s nothing wrong with a good soap opera. And it’s a lot easier than scrubbing floors.’
He said nothing for a moment, and then he laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my ill fortune out on you. And cleaning isn’t that bad, really.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘There are worse jobs. You’ve lived a sheltered life, Mel. Maybe you should try it out here in the real world before you make any snap judgments.’
It was a sentiment that echoed her own thoughts and yet she didn’t like the way it sounded coming from Richard. ‘You make me sound terribly boring.’
‘Not boring. You’re a nice girl, Mel. Everyone likes you. But you’re untouched. You’ve been protected from the first moment you stepped onto the television set. Your mother saw to that. The producer was terrified of her you know.’
‘Yes, well, my mother had first hand experience of what could happen to a girl in the big bad world of entertainment.’
‘You mean she made you pay for her mistake.’
‘She was just looking out for me, Richard.’
‘She overprotected you. Sweet is great until you’re about seventeen, Mel. After that you need to grow up a bit.’ He sat back and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You could make a start by losing your virginity.’
Good God, did it show? Or was Richard simply guessing? She wasn’t going to make the mistake of denying it, that way he would know for sure.
‘Is that an offer?’ she enquired, all her fabled sweetness on show.
‘No, darling. If it had been going to happen for us it would have been on the set in the television studios when you were sweet sixteen.’ He grinned. ‘That big sofa -’
‘I get the picture,’ she said, hurriedly. The sofa was infamous. ‘Were you afraid of my mother, too?’
‘I don’t believe in making waves for the sake of it, not when there were so many other girls ready and willing. And now you’re too old for that kind of careless lust, Melanie.’
‘You mean I’ve passed my sell-by date?’
Richard grinned. ‘It’s never too late, sweetheart. But once you’ve reached twenty the whole thing becomes more important. When you’ve waited so long for Mr Right, he has to be perfect.’
‘Oh, come on. I’m not that naive. Prince Charming doesn’t exist.’
‘Precisely. That is your difficulty.’
‘This is fascinating stuff.’ Melanie propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. ‘So, doctor, what do you recommend?’
‘Well, you could go to a party, have a few drinks and fall under the first man who makes a move on you. Get it over with.’
‘That doesn’t sound very attractive.’
‘You’d be surprised. But no, I can’t see you doing that. What you really need is to be seduced by some dangerously attractive man, someone older, someone utterly unsuitable -’
‘Do you mean married?’ she enquired, with dangerous calm.
‘No. Married is messy. You’ve only got to look at what happened to your mother.’ He saw her face and stopped. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t mention her again, all right?’ Then he sat back. ‘But this is supposed to be a learning experience, not a lifetime commitment. It wouldn’t do to get cosy and settled down, not the first time.’
‘Why not?’
He shrugged. ‘Everyone needs their heart broken once, Mel. While they’re still young enough to get over it.’
‘It sounds painful.’
‘It is. But if you’ve never felt it, how are you ever going to act it?’
She gave him a thoughtful look. ‘Maybe I’ll find someone while I’m on holiday.’
‘Holiday romances don’t count,’ he said, dismissively. ‘No one takes them seriously.’
‘But you said temporary -’
‘I said someone who’ll break your heart.’ And for no good reason the remembered the man she had nearly knocked down in the travel agents. ‘You’ve thought of someone,’ Richard said. ‘Come on, who is it?’
‘No one.’ She could see that he wasn’t convinced, so she tried harder. ‘But if I can’t have a holiday romance I don’t think I’ll go on holiday after all. Maybe I should take a job, instead. Where no one knows me. Tell me, Richard,’ she enquired, teasingly, ‘just how dangerous is it wearing a pinny and scrubbing out dirty sinks?’
‘For your information I wear an overall and wield a bloody great vacuum cleaner.’
‘It sounds like hell.’
‘It’s cheaper than going to the gym for a workout. And the women I work with are a great bunch.’
‘Oh, really? So that’s the attraction. They all think you’re their personal Chippendale, do they? Tell me, are there any big sofas in this office block of yours.’
‘A few,’ he admitted. ‘And you’d be surprised how many men work late at the office.’
‘You’re suggesting an office romance. What a cliché.’
‘Love is a cliché.’
‘Is it?’ Having seen the real she wasn’t convinced. ‘So how dangerous are these sofa owning tycoons?’
He pulled a face. ‘There are one or two I could think of who’d fit the bill,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t you try it?’
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll give it a miss.’
He sat back and looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘You haven’t got the guts, huh? You’d rather make Trudy’s day.’
‘Oh, puh - lease, Richard. It’s nothing to do with guts. How can I take a job when I can’t even cross the road without being recognized?’
‘If that’s all that’s stopping you, invent an alter ego. In a mousy wig, no make-up and unflattering clothes no one would look at you twice. If you don’t believe it, try it. See if Marco waves you to the best table ahead of the queue then.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Hey, I have to get back on the square. There are people out there just dying to find a good home for the foreign coins that they’ve been slipped in their change.’ He grinned. ‘Do stop by again soon.’
> ‘To boost your takings? Just watch out, Richard, it might be my alter ego who comes calling.’
For a moment he considered her then shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
When he’d gone, Mel ordered another coffee and looked out at the travel office across the square. Somehow the idea of the long haul to the other side of the world seemed less attractive than it had done. Less a holiday than an escape plan. But if she stayed what would she do?
Get a job? Something ordinary?
She remembered her bold words when Luke had said she’d been bored in ten minutes. Just what would she do if she went to Oz? Look back, or take a step back?
Her fingers encountered a coin in her pocket and she took it out and stared at it. Heads the warmth and friendliness of Australia? A guaranteed welcome. Or tails and Richard’s challenge?
She hesitated. The whole idea was ridiculous, yet her heart was beating faster at the thought and how long had it been since her heart had beat with excitement? Since she’d first stepped on a West End stage? That had been nearly a year ago. Too long. Without stopping to consider the consequences she tossed the coin up high into the air.
She watched it rise, twisting over and over. It seemed to hang in the air for a moment and then it began to fall. As she followed it back down her concentration was distracted by the figure of a man standing on the far side of the square.
The man she had almost cannoned into in her anger half an hour ago.
He was standing in the doorway of the travel agent, tapping a long white envelope against his thumbnail, watching Richard as he began his performance.
She remembered his cool grey eyes, the way her skin had tingled, the fine down on her arms rising as he had stared down at her. A feeling of –
She jumped as the coin she had tossed clattered to the floor beside her. Slowly she turned away from the window and picked it up without looking at it. She was all grown up, wasn’t she? She didn’t need a coin to make her decisions for her.
She had already chosen.
It was time for the sweet and virginal Miss Melanie Beaumont to throw caution to the wind and start taking some risks.
Then she shivered as if a goose had walked over her grave. And her head jerked up as she had a premonition that somehow, without quite knowing it, she had already stepped into the abyss. But the doorway of the travel shop was empty. The man with the airline ticket had gone.
*****
Melanie took one last disbelieving look at her reflection in the hall mirror and stepped out of her apartment. There was no one about, for which she was profoundly grateful.
But her relief came a split second too soon. She had just closed the door behind her when she was confronted by the porter bringing up the mail. Unable to retreat without appearing foolish, she simply stood there - smiling and feeling very foolish indeed.
But the porter was not smiling back. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, sharply.
With a slight shock Melanie realized that he had not recognized her and quite suddenly devilment warred with conscience. The man was clearly concerned to discover how this young women had by-passed the door security system and she knew she ought to put his mind at rest. Yet the temptation to try out her disguise, see how long she would be able to sustain it was too strong.
‘How did you get up here?’ he demanded.
Despite her years spent in Oz her English mother had managed to keep Melanie’s accent in check. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do a mean “Sheila” when needed. ‘I took the lift, mate,’ she said. ‘Any objections?’
‘Plenty. What’s your business?’
‘I wanted to talk to Melanie Beaumont.’
‘So do a lot of people, but you can’t just walk in off the street and knock at her door.’
‘No?’ She should be chewing gum, she thought. ‘Who’s stopping me?’
‘I am. Beat it.’
Mel shrugged defensively and with a very good stab at careless indifference, pushed away from the door. ‘Well, she’s not in anyway.’
‘If you’ll leave your card I’ll be sure to tell her you called,’ he said, sarcastically, following her all the way to the front door to ensure that it was firmly fastened behind her.
That was when Mel turned to him and gave him her best smile and with her well-rounded English vowels back in place said, ‘You’re doing a really good job, George. Keep it up.’
She’d never actually seen someone’s mouth drop open before. But George did a fair impression of a goldfish before he managed, ‘Miss Beaumont? Is that really you?’
‘You will let me in when I come home, won’t you?’ she said, grinning broadly.
‘I would never have known you.’ He peered at her more closely. ‘I mean now I know, I can see it’s you.’ He shook his head. ‘Playing a joke on someone are you?’
‘Something like that. Don’t tell anyone will you?’
‘No. No, of course not.’
It had worked! And it had taken so little to change her appearance. A short brown wig over her own long fair hair and a thick pale matt foundation that had effectively flattened out the natural shadows of her face, disguising her bone structure. Heavy eye makeup.
And choosing clothes had been fun. The temptation had been to go for something hideously over the top. Instead she had modelled herself on Heather in a huge baggy black t-shirt which almost hid the microscopic skirt she was wearing. Her long tanned legs were blanketed in thick black tights and a pair of Doc Marten’s completed the transformation.
Grinning to herself she headed for the Underground. She had invented a role for herself and she needed to stay in character. And her character wasn’t the kind of girl who hailed black cabs at the drop of a hat. But she wondered if Richard would be as easy to fool as George. If he took a second look he might easily spot the make-up techniques she had used.
Richard was going through a simple routine when she sauntered across the square. Watching him, she could see that he was looking for someone to draw in as a foil for his performance. His eyes flicked over her as she joined the crowd, but did not linger. Too challenging, too aggressive in Heather’s awkward, angular stance.
As he turned away she began to smile. Too soon. She saw the moment when he realized who she was. He was twenty feet away from her, but she still saw the little jolt of recognition that for a split second disturbed the perfect line of his performance. When he spun back to face her he was perfectly under control, but as he advanced towards her she laughed and shook her head. She had no intention of becoming part of his act on a permanent basis and before he could reach her she had turned away and was walking across to the wine bar.
He was right about that too. Marco glanced at her sharply, not at all his usual, welcoming self. It was difficult to maintain that hard, aggressive look when all her natural instincts were urging her to smile at the man, but she managed it and after a moment he shrugged and waved her grudgingly to a table in a dark corner.
She didn’t have to wait long for Richard to join her.
‘Nice one, Mel,’ he said, as he slid in beside her at the banquette.
‘How did you know?’
‘You smiled a fraction too soon. You’ll have to learn to hide that dimple if you want to fool anyone who knows you.’
‘I’ve done pretty well so far. The hall porter where I live tried to throw me out when he spotted me outside my flat. Marco was not his usual smiling self. And you didn’t rush to offer me one of your giant daisies.’
‘True.’ He ordered a coffee. ‘So,’ he said, turning back to her, ‘does this herald a new Melanie Beaumont, or are you just kidding around?’
‘Just kidding?’
‘Having a lark. Giving your friends a bit of a shock. Is it just a joke? Or are you serious, going to go the whole hog? Are you going to get a job and try life out there in the big wide world?’
‘Get a job? What as?’
‘I’m working,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes, but...’ He ra
ised his dramatic brows. ‘You can’t really expect -’
‘I don’t expect anything, Melanie. You’re the one who’s having problems with your image.’
‘I’m not having problems -’
‘Of course not. You don’t know what a problem is. And why should you bother to find out?’ He stood up. ‘Look, I have to get back to work but if you’re going to be around for a while there’s a local actors’ workshop that I go to. They’re putting on a new play tomorrow night.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe you could try out that outfit on them.’
‘Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll try something even more outrageous.’
‘You won’t fool me a second time. Meet me here at seven if you decide to come.’
‘Well, gee, thanks Richard,’ she murmured to his departing back. That had to be about the least gracious invitation she’d ever received. And he hadn’t offered to pay for the coffee either, she noticed.
Well, what had she expected? Had she gone to all that trouble simply so that Richard Latham would tell her what a clever girl she was for fooling everyone with her disguise? That had been easy. She flipped open her shoulder bag to pay for the coffee, anxious to be away.
Inside the little pocket at the back was the coin she had tossed. She had chosen risk without even looking and now it seemed to mock her. And she refused to be mocked.
Richard was right. It was all very well dressing up and fooling one’s friends, but that was just like one of those stupid television programmes. All you had to do was smile and say “Got you!” and it was over. And so what?
*****
Busy Bees was situated in a building just one step up from a garage, in a street that could only be described as uninviting. Melanie, standing on the pavement outside had a sudden failing of confidence.
What on earth was she doing there? She didn’t want a job. She just wanted to prove to Richard that she was capable of getting one.
Yet having taken so much trouble with her appearance, her clothes, her story it seemed crazy to turn round and walk away. Instead she took a deep breath, pushed open the door to the office and having abandoned her Australian accent in case it caused awkward queries about work permits, asked the woman sitting behind a desk if they had any vacancies.
‘What can you do?’