Firth

by Vaso

  She paused, her words of apology dying on her lips. 'Yes, thank you,' she said cautiously, still testing the ground.

  'Good!' The heartiness in Jonathan's voice was a little overdone. 'I was sure you'd manage on your own.'

  'What happened to you?' Vanessa asked.

  'The fact is, I met up with one of the guys from New York, and we got chatting about what's new on Broadway.'

  'And?'

  'In the end we decided to get away from that crush and find a quiet bar somewhere to talk without interruptions. He's put a lot of business my way in the past, so I didn't want to offend him.'

  'No, of course not,' she said automatically. She felt an insane desire to laugh. The boot was on the other foot with a vengeance!

  'You're not annoyed with me, Vanessa love? I did look for you, but you seemed to have vanished.'

  That was probably when she was playing catch-as-catch-can with Sam Galveston. 'No, I'm not annoyed.' Relief made her tone as hearty as his.

  'You found someone to amuse yourself with?'

  'You could put it like that,' she said dryly.

  'I was worried about you,' he insisted. 'I should have seen you home.'

  'No need, I managed myself,' she assured him. With a little help from Max Anderson, but she wasn't going to tell Jonathan about that.

  After a few more protestations Jonathan allowed himself to be convinced that he had acted perfectly reasonably in abandoning her to her fate and rang off, satisfied.

  So much for supposing that her nearest and dearest had been remotely concerned about her, Vanessa thought ruefully. But thank goodness that things had turned out the way they had. Jonathan was in a good humour because she hadn't made a fuss, and Jill was none the wiser. She wondered how much of last night's episode to reveal to her sister. Definitely an edited version. She had no intention of parading her bruised emotions in front of anyone, however sympathetic.

  In that case it might be better to get rid of the evidence. She glanced down at her clothes and pulled a face, then went to her room to change. As she tuggedthe borrowed T-shirt over her head she caught a faint impression of the body cologne that Max used and had a sudden vivid memory of its clean tanginess on his skin when he had drawn her close to him and kissed her. But that was best forgotten, she told herself firmly as she packed his clothes up.

  There was no need for a covering note. He would know who had sent them. Unless, of course, he made a habit of kitting out stray females. But Vanessa was willing to bet that most of the women who shared his bed came better prepared than she had done. She found his address in the telephone book, printed it on the parcel and set out for the Post Office, although she felt more like collapsing in a heap on her bed. She did just that when the vital errand was done and, after a few hours' badly needed sleep, revived enough to face the thought of getting herself a snack and set about making the evening meal ready for Jill's return.

  'Well, how did it go?' Her sister was barely through the door that night before she asked the question.

  Vanessa managed to sound fairly convincing. 'Fine— I enjoyed it. I'm glad you nagged me to go. Come and eat and I'll bore you with all the details.'

  'Fat chance,' Jill laughed. 'I'm a sucker for hearing about the high life. It's nice to hobnob with the famous, even by proxy.'

  She listened avidly as Vanessa reeled off the names of those who had been there. 'You were mixing with the notables, love. Anyone else I'm likely to have heard of?'

  Vanessa took a deep breath. 'Oh, yes.' She tried to sound casual. 'Max Anderson was there.'

  'The ogre in person? Did he recognise you?'

  'No,' she said briefly.

  'So you didn't get a chance to meet him?'

  She dodged the issue, unwilling to tell a downright

  lie. 'He was holding court surrounded by hordes of people.'

  'Oh.' Jill sounded dashed.

  'Did you think he'd make a beeline for me and apologise? It doesn't happen except in fairy tales.'

  'No, you idiot. But I did have a horrid feeling that you might get in a rage with him if you were unlucky enough to meet up. I know you and your temper of old. It's probably just as well you weren't given the chance of talking to him.'

  'Mm,' Vanessa said non-committally. 'Don't worry, I recognise superior · strength when I see it. Trying to throw him would be like trying to overturn a ten-ton truck with a matchsitick. Hey, did I tell you your favourite TV detective was there?' Adroitly she changed the subject and was thankful when her sister followed her lead quite happily.

  If only she could dismiss the man from her thoughts as easily as she had turned the conversation away from him. As she lay tossing about in bed that night, strangely incapable of sleep, Max Anderson's dark, expressive features haunted her. Vanessa replayed the entire encounter. Why hadn't she managed it better? What kind of idiot was she? She cursed herself for the opportunities she had missed, for the woeful inadequacies of her responses to his remarks.

  Never in her life had she hated anyone quite so much as she hated him. And yet she had tamely submitted to his kisses with only a token show of resistance. What was it about the man that had turned her initial struggles to a state of pliant desire? Chemical attraction, pure and simple, she decided. Emotions had nothing to do with it, rational thoughts even less. The problem nagged at her brain for a long time before she finally slept.

  She woke next morning sure of one thing at least: she was going to make a new beginning. Jill and Jonathan were right and she had been wrong. No more skulking about the flat as if she had something to hide. It was time to get out and prove that Max Anderson was wrong about her acting ability. If a little voice at the back of her mind suggested that his advice to her had been along more or less the same lines, she ignored it.

  'It's about time I pulled my weight with the housekeeping,' she told Jill briskly over breakfast. 'I've sponged off you for far too long.'

  'Rubbish! What are families for?' But Vanessa could tell that her sister was pleased by the news.

  A call to Jonathan to ask if there were any acting jobs in the offing that she could try for drew a blank. But she wasn't too discouraged.'From now on optimism must be the keynote.

  'You'll let me know if anything turns up that might suit me?' she asked Jonathan with something approaching her old enthusiasm.

  'Sure. I'm glad to know that you've come to your senses at last,' he told her. Til be in touch.'

  'No luck?' Jill queried.

  'No, but I'm not expecting miracles. I'll find something as a fill-in,' Vanessa announced. 'Thank goodness you made me take that dreary secretarial course when I was still at drama school.'

  'I told you it would come in useful some day.'

  'And so it has. I'll come out with you this morning and see about getting some temporary work.' She sounded a good deal more confident than she felt. After all, it must be four years or more since she had touched a typewriter.

  But her luck was in. After a few false starts her old skills came back remarkably quickly and the girl at the

  agency she visited viewed the results of her typing test with approval.

  'We'll have no trouble placing you,' she said. 'When do you want to start?'

  'As soon as possible. I need the money,' Vanessa admitted.

  'There's a solicitor in Hounslow who wants some copy typing done,' the other girl offered. 'It'll be deadly dull, but if you'd like to try it——'

  Til take it.' She couldn't afford to be choosy.

  It was the first of any number of jobs, some boring, some fascinating, that Vanessa took on during the next month. She worked for chartered accountants, doctors, financiers and advertising men. Her employers ranged from whizz-kids with long hair and floral shirts to sober-suited city businessmen. On the whole she enjoyed herself and the money that she brought home was very welcome, but the thought of typing every day for the rest of her working life appalled her.

  'I don't know how you stand it,' she said to Jill. 'At least I mov
e around and get a change of scene. You're stuck in the same office with the same people day after day. Don't you ever feel like slaughtering them?'

  'Frequently.' Her sister laughed. 'But fortunately the impulse passes. I'm not like you, Van. I just want a quiet life.'-

  'Mine's certainly that at the moment,' Vanessa complained. 'Only three auditions in the last fortnight and nothing came of any of them. Sometimes I think Jonathan isn't trying hard enough.'

  'Give him time. There'll be something soon.'

  'That's what he says.' Vanessa sighed. 'Meanwhile, back to slaving over a hot typewriter.'

  The girl at the agency was a friend by now and she greeted Vanessa with a bright smile the next day. Tvegot something in this morning that will suit you down to the ground.'

  'No typing and lots of money?' Vanessa hazarded with a grin. 'Don't tell me my luck's in at last.'

  'Hardly that. But half the girls on our books would dive at the chance to take this one on. Just to meet him would be a treat, let alone work for him.'

  'Sounds like fun.' Vanessa leaned against the desk and inspected a scuffed shoe, before going on. 'Well, tell me more about this wonder. Is it Robert Redford?'

  'Not quite that league. But 7 think he's much more attractive.' The other girl looked dreamy. 'Last time he was on the box I couldn't take my eyes off him. I always prefer dark men, don't you? And those eyes of his—they sort of hold you. You know what I mean?'

  The faintest of suspicions crossed Vanessa's mind and was then firmly banished. He wasn't the only dark-haired man who appeared on television. Pull yourself together, girl. It was probably some long-haired pop star she had never heard of.

  'I was bored stiff with Shakespeare and all that stuff when I did it at school, but somehow he makes it interesting. Of course he's got a lovely voice. He could make a fortune doing commercials. I'd buy anything he told me to.'

  'Who?' asked Vanessa patiently.

  'Max Anderson, of course. Who do you think?'

  The words were a jolt, even though, subconsciously, she had somehow been expecting them. She had made a determined effort to forget the man and their disastrous meeting in the last month and she thought she had managed it. The violence of her reaction now only showed her how unsuccessful she had been.

  'Are you all right? You've gone as white as a sheet.'

  Vanessa heard the words from a distance, then pulled herself together and tried to answer convincingly. 'Yes,

  I'm fine really. I slept in this morning and came out without any breakfast. Stupid of me. It must be just hitting me.'

  'Shall I get you some coffee?'

  'What? Oh, no, thanks, I'll be fine in a minute.'

  'You'd better not do that sort of thing when you're working for Max Anderson,' the girl advised her. 'He may look gorgeous, but he's all there, you can tell that, and he doesn't strike me as the sympathetic type.'

  You can say that again! thought Vanessa. In a sort of haze she heard the agency girl giving her the details of the assignment.

  'Look, I've written down the address. It's not that far from where you live, is it? Only a bus ride. He wants someone to go round this morning at eleven o'clock. I said it would be O.K. Vanessa?'

  She roused herself. 'Yes?'

  'You do want it, don't you?' The other girl sounded faintly aggrieved. 'You know, I saved it specially for you, you being in the same line of business, as it were.'

  'Thank you,' Vanessa managed. 'That was kind of you. But I don't think——'

  'He's offering double the usual money if you meet his deadline. It's something he wants done in a hurry and his usual girl let him down, apparently.'

  'Yes, I see. But——'

  'I should step on it, if I were you. It's nearly ten now and you know what the buses are like at this time of day.'

  Vanessa hesitated. It was clearly impossible to duck the situation by merely saying she didn't want to work for the man without giving some adequate explanation. The last thing she wanted was for the agency to think that she was difficult to place. And if she said that she was ill, there would be no other work forthcoming.

  Then a flash of the temper about which Jill wasalways warning her made up her mind for her. Damn the man! She wasn't turning down good money just for the sake of avoiding him. She would take the job. If anyone was going to back out, let it be him. She couldn't imagine he would be all that delighted by the agency's choice of secretary for him.

  Til be off, then.' She picked up her bag and said a quick goodbye, eager to get on her way before doubts set in as to the wisdom of her actions. She found the apartment block in St John's Wood without much trouble and entered it confidently, but by the time she emerged from the lift on to the small landing outside his top floor flat, her heart was thumping unevenly and her palms were sticky with apprehension. A sort of bravado carried her to the door and enabled her to ring the bell. It took all her strength to stand there and wait when all she wanted to do was run away before he had a chance to answer.

  'What the hell are you doing here?'

  His greeting could hardly have been called encouraging. It should have withered her, but, unaccountably, it had just the opposite effect. Vanessa's chin tilted defiantly. 'The agency sent me. I'm your temporary typist.'

  'You're my whaff

  Silently she thrust the piece of paper at him with the agency's authorisation on it. He gave a thunderous frown. 'We'll see about that,' he said ominously. 'You'd better come in, I suppose, for the moment. We can't discuss this on the doorstep.'

  He stopd aside and let her precede him into the entrance hall. It was all too familiar to her. After one brief, unhappy visit the details of the place seemed engraved on her memory, even to the pictures on the walls. 'The living room's to your right.' His voice sounded just behind her and she jumped slightly with

  nerves. Did he really think she would head for the bedroom?

  She pushed open the door in front of her and walked into a large, sunny room that bore ample evidence of its owner's profession. Most of the wall-space was given over to shelves, loaded with books on all topics, but with the arts well represented. At one end of the room was expensive-looking hi-fi equipment with all the latest recording devices including a video machine. At the other, by a large window which gave an excellent view out over the distant green spaces of Hampstead and beyond, was an enormous desk, its surface littered with papers that almost obscured the typewriter placed squarely in its centre. An old-fashioned button-backed sofa offered the only choice of seat besides a hard office chair, and Vanessa headed for it and sat down with an assurance that she was certainly not feeling.

  'Do make yourself at home, won't you?'

  Sarcastic beast, she thought, but didn't let herself betray any irritation. 'Thank you.' She smiled pleasantly at him instead.

  'You've got a nerve coming here,' he commented.

  Vanessa shrugged with assumed indifference. 'It's a job. Out-of-work actresses can't afford to be fussy.

  'But / can.' He turned and picked up the phone, dialling the number with a swift, controlled precision that told her that his anger simmered very near to the surface. 'Hello. Is that the Keyboard agency? Anderson here. Look, I want you to send another girl up here. I don't like the look of this one.'

  He was being deliberately offensive, she knew. Vanessa wondered if the girl at the agency would still go dreamy-eyed over Max Anderson after this. Probably. The famous were allowed more leeway in the matter of good manners, it seemed, and there was nodoubt that a good-looking celebrity could get away with murder in that line. And the man at her side was not exactly ugly.

  He was built more like a professional athlete than a man of letters, she thought, studying him unobserved as he argued over the phone. He was wearing a cream sweater, its sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms with a sprinkling of dark hair, and it did little to conceal the power of his broad shoulders and chest. The casual jeans that he had on clung with fashionable tightness and emphasised the muscled le
ngth of his legs. Her gaze roved the hard planes of his face. That firm chin saved him from the prettiness that often accompanied good looks. Firm? Obstinate rather, stubborn as a mule, absolutely determined to get his own way come hell or high water.

  But for once he did not seem tp be getting very far, to judge from the increasingly furious tone of his side of the conversation. A minute or two later he growled 'Goodbye' and slammed the receiver down so hard that it rocked on its cradle. He glowered at Vanessa. 'It seems I'm stuck with you.'

  Tm sorry to hear that.'

  'They can't or won't send someone else. I suppose they haven't got anyone to send. They must have been scraping the bottom of the barrel with you.'

  'You needn't suppose I was particularly overjoyed at the prospect of working for you,' she snapped, and got to her feet. Til be quite glad to go elsewhere. There are plenty of other agencies, if you care to try them.'

  'I don't. I'm not going through the whole rigmarole again. You'll have to do, although God alone knows what kind of mess you'll make of it. Can you even type?' He sounded sceptical.

  'Of course I can!'

  'Well, that's a start, I suppose. Sit down, will you? I

  can't bear people hovering around the place as if they're apologising for their existence.'

  'Don't worry, I'm not likely to do that,' she assured him.

  'No. Meek and mild you're not,' he agreed.

  'Are those essential qualities in your secretarial staff? If they are, I'd better go.'

  'Sit down,' he commanded, and Vanessa complied so hastily, reacting to the edge in his voice, that a faint smile crossed his face. Til tell you exactly what I require.' He ticked off the points with one long, tapering finger. 'First and, foremost, accurate, speedy typing. Then, a fair degree of common sense, a certain amount of initiative when the occasion calls for it, a pleasant voice on the phone and an ability to keep calm however many times I may lose my temper in the course of a working day.'

  'Not a great deal, in fact. Anything else?' she asked him tartly.

  He shot her a wicked glance, a sudden glint of devilry in his eyes. 'Good legs,' he said.