Firth

by Vaso

  round to the flat that evening and the three of them toasted her success. Daniel took her out for dinner afterwards and she laughed and talked with him as if she hadn't a care in the world. She was happy about the play. It was a chance in a million and she had pulled it off. And Daniel was fun to be with. But somehow her thoughts would persist in returning to the cold, hard look on Max's face when he had said goodbye to her the previous day.

  Why couldn't she put him from her mind as easily as he had no doubt dismissed her? He wouldn't be wasting his trnie the way she was. Every time a tall, broad-shouldered man with Max's dark colouring entered the restaurant she caught herself craning forward, only half her attention on what Daniel was saving to her, until she had established that it was not Max.

  'Darling, you're not listening to a word I'm saying.' She came back to earth with a bump and heard Daniel reproaching her.

  'Sorry,' she said guiltily. 'I was just thinking——'

  'Dreaming of your name in lights?' he teased. 'Will you still talk to me when you're famous?'

  'You're a fool, Daniel.' She laughed and for the rest of the evening made a conscientious effort to stop her thoughts from straying again.

  'He's a nice man,' Jill commented when he delivered Vanessa back to the flat at a r&asonable hour, chatted over a cup of coffee with the two of them and then took his leave politely.

  'Daniel?'

  'Who did you think I meant?'

  Certainly not Max Anderson. No one in their right mind would describe him as anything of the sort. 'Yes, Daniel is nice,' Vanessa agreed.

  'Will you marry him when he asks you?'

  'He hasn't asked me.' She'd been through this cate-chism before with a sharper questioner than Jill. Vanessa closed her eyes at the sudden pain of the memory.

  'He will do. He's crazy about you, Van. Anyone with half an eye can see that.'

  'Maybe.' She wasn't interested in proposals from Daniel. She wondered how she would react if it was Max asking her to marry hinv, his face full of love for her, anxiously waiting for her answer. She smiled at the thought. Max wasn't the sort of man to ask a woman anything. He would tell her with all his usual arrogance and that would be an end of it. The woman on whom his choice finally settled would be lucky if he consulted her in any detail. But somehow she had a feeling that Max's bride-to-be—if he ever got round to selecting one—wouldn't mind too much about that. Vanessa certainly wouldn't.

  But it was no use daydreaming. That was the road to disaster. It wasn't going to be her floating down the aisle with Max Anderson; she had better accept it. Thoughts of him were too distracting. Work was the thing, she told herself, and threw herself into the business of reading her script when it arrived, analysing the character that she was playing and trying to think herself into the part.

  And the therapy worked to a certain extent. Soon she was caught up in rehearsals, travelling to a dreary little church hall in Kilburn, which always managed to be freezing cold despite the central heating turned on at full blast. It was a. small cast, but they were a pleasant bunch and she had no problems in working with them. What with costume fittings, extra rehearsals, new lines to be learnt when the author, who was on hand throughout, had another flash of inspiration, Vanessa's days were crowded. In the evenings, when she finally got home, she was usually too dead on her feet to do more

  than make herself something to eat before crawling into bed exhausted.

  She had never worked so hard in her life. Daniel moaned that he was seeing nothing of her these days and although she tried to placate him with promises of making it up to him at a later date, she wasn't at all sure that it was a bad thing that she was so busy. She didn't want to overencourage Daniel. She liked him too much to offer him only second-rate feeling. She couldn't ever love him, she knew that now, and she supposed that at some time in the future she would have to break the fact to him and stop him hoping. He knew how she felt about Max. He was the only person who did, although Vanessa sensed by her very silence on the subject that Jill had guessed a good deal. But he was waiting around for a miracle that wasn't going to happen, loving her as impossibly as she loved Max.

  She hadn't seen sight or sound of Max since the day she had left his flat, but she braced herself daily for the time when they would inevitably meet. The theatre world, particularly in London, was a small one and there was no possibility of avoiding him for ever. When it was announced that there would be a small reception for the press before the play went on its provincial tour, Vanessa's heart sank. He was bound to be there. No one gave that kind of gathering without inviting the most influential spokesman on'the arts, the man whose encouragement could make or break the play. Max Anderson was bound to be on the guest list.

  She toyed with the wild idea of feigning illness instead of turning up, then rejected it. If Max got to hear of it he would only assume, and rightly so, that she was too much of a coward to face him. Instead she took particular pains with her face and hair, put on the new dress that she had bought specially for the occasion, aMexican smock in virginal white, brilliantly embroidered with butterflies around the hem, and, with a drink in her hand, waited with the rest of the cast for their guests to arrive.

  The reception was being held in one of the conference suites of a West End hotel. It was not an over-large room and the place soon began to fill up. Vanessa's heart stopped jumping every time the door opened to admit a new arrival. If he did come she would see and be able to dodge him in this crush. The introductions had already made the cast known to those who had arrived on time and now they were circulating through the room, answering questions about themselves and the play and generally doing their best to promote the production. A good press mention before they opened in London could make quite a difference to the state of advance bookings.

  Out of the corner of her eye Vanessa saw a dark head that looked familiar, but then its owner turned and she breathed a sigh of relief when she realised that she was mistaken. As the minutes ticked by she began to relax more. An hour had gone by now. It was clear that, although he must surely have been invited, Max hadn't chosen to favour them with his presence. Perhaps he had more interesting things to do. He had probably sent a deputy in his place. Had he known that she would be there? He might have decided that he couldn't face the thought of being polite to her in company.

  Then a voice from behind her greeted her coolly. 'Vaness'a—this is a surprise!'

  She turned to face him, leaving the man she was talking to in mid-sentence. 'Max.' Her voice was a little high-pitched with nerves, but otherwise she was in control of herself and felt quite proud of the fact. 'Why a surprise?' she asked. 'I am in the play. Or didn't you know?'

  He was looking every inch the successful man of the world. The other journalists present sported a variety of casual attire from scruffy jeans to shabby suits that had seen better days. A few were presentable, some were even fashionable. But no man there could hold a candle to Max Anderson. He was wearing an immaculately cut navy suit, teamed with crisp white linen that emphasised the healthy tan of his face. Why did he always have to look as if he was just back from three months on some Caribbean beach? Vanessa thought resentfully. His dark hair was combed ruthlessly back. He'd had it cut since she saw him last, she noted absently. She remembered its springy, healthy feel against her hands the last time she had kissed him. Did he remember too?

  It seemed he wasn't in the mood for nostalgic memories. 'Yes,' he said in answer to her question, 'I knew you'd landed the plum part in this production. But somehow I didn't think that even you would have the nerve to face me «with the fact.'

  'Why on earth not? Do you really think that actresses you condemn should have the good sense never to tread a stage again?'

  'No.' His face was a hard mask of disapproval. 'But I do expect them to get parts on merit.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Don't try to con me—it won't work. Daniel's backing the production. Are you Expecting me to believe that he didn't buy you the
part? You'd better be good, Vanessa, I'm warning you. Because, if you're not, I'll crucify you when I review the play. I'll see you never have the chance to act again—anywhere!'

  And, having said what he felt, he turned away and left her standing, white-faced, in the middle of the crowded room.

  CHAPTER TEN

  VANESSA tackled Daniel as soon as she could get hold of him, taking the bold step of going directly to the London offices of his firm and bulldozing her way through all the attempts of secretaries and personal assistants to put her off. When, after a great deal of argument and hassle, she was finally ushered into his private sanctum, she felt more like bursting into tears than anything else.

  Daniel sensed her distress, coming forward to greet her and taking her comfortingly in his arms. 'Hey, nothing's that bad, is it?' He led her to a comfortable sofa in one corner of the room and sat her down on it. She heard him issuing orders for coffee to be brought to them and when it arrived he gave instructions that they were not to be disturbed. He poured her a cup and one for himself and sat down beside her. 'Well, Van, what's wrong?'

  She pulled herself together and explained what had happened. 'Is it true?' she asked desperately. 'Did you get me the part?'

  'No,' he said, but he refused to meet her eyes. Instead he stirred his coffee as if his life depended upon it.

  'You're lying!' she accused him. She got to her feet and made for the door.

  'Where are you going?'

  To give up the part. I've never got anything in a dishonest way and I don't intend to start now. I know you did it for the best, Daniel. I'm not blaming you in any way. Just accept that I can't take that kind of help, however well you meant it.'

  168

  He strode towards her and took hold of her. 'Listen, Van, for a moment, will you? You've got it all wrong.'

  'I can't see how. You've as good as admitted that you pulled strings. I can see the guilt in your face. You don't have to say anything.'

  'I do,' he said firmly. 'Sit down and listen to me. I'll explain. If you still want to leave the cast when I've told you about my part in it all, I won't stand in your way.'

  She subsided reluctantly to the sofa again. 'I've made up my mind. But go on.'

  He shrugged helplessly. 'I'm interested in the theatre." I always have been. And I'm a wealthy man, wealthy enough to indulge my whims sometimes and back productions that I think have a fair chance of getting somewhere. I don't often lose money on the deal.'

  'And I'm one of your whims?' she asked him bitterly.

  The money was put up for your play long before I got to know you. Believe me, Vanessa.'

  She shrugged. 'All right, I believe you so far. Where do I come into it?'

  He gave an impatient sigh. 'I met you. I liked you a lot. I wanted to help you.'

  'I know. You told me you could pull a few strings. But I didn't want that kind of help—I told you that, Daniel.'

  'I didn't do that much. They'd already shortlisted a few actresses for the main part. I' knew they were having problems finding someone, so I pulled rank and asked them to audition you. And that was all. The rest was up to you. I'm telling you the truth, Van. If you're sensible you'll believe it. There's no way I would expect them to cast you in the lead if you weren't up to it. You electrified them at the audition. Someone told me afterwards that it was like the answer to a prayer. You were exactly what they were looking for.'

  'So I did get it on merit,' Vanessa said slowly.

  'Of course you did. I just ensured that you had the chance to be considered.'

  'Why didn't you tell me?'

  Daniel looked faintly embarrassed. 'I wasn't sure if you would approve. And, even if you didn't mind, I didn't want you to feel you owed me anything. That wasn't the way I wanted things to be between us.'

  'Instead of which Max broke the news to me and made everything a thousand times worse,' she said ruefully. Her anger had gone now and she was feeling more her normal self.

  'You'll keep the part?' Daniel sounded anxious.

  'Yes.'

  'That's a relief.' He grinned. 'I wasn't sure how far your high principles might take you. I was beginning to worry about my investment in.the production. I can't afford to lose money hand over fist, you know.'

  Til do my best to see that you get a fair return,' she promised him lightly. 'That's if Max doesn't kill the play on the first night with one of his shattering criticisms.';

  'Let him try,' Daniel laughed. 'This show's going to run for ever or I'll know the reason why!'

  'Don't count your chickens, Daniel,' she warned him.

  'Rubbish. I'm right, you'll see.'

  And, as the final rehearsals took place and they set out on the road for the six-week tour that would lead eventually to the West End, Vanessa began, cautiously at first, then with growing confidence, to share his optimism. It was going well, everyone agreed. The first audiences received the play rapturously and the pattern continued during the next weeks. Local press notices were uniformly enthusiastic and most of them singled Vanessa out for the greatest praise, noting the sympathy that she built up for her character and the skilful way she put over her doubts and fears.

  In many respects it was not a difficult part to play. Vanessa found it easy to identify with the girl that she was representing. She knew all too well how deep and hurtful love could be when it turned sour. And she knew about rejection enough never to want to risk it again. Love wasn't worth the pain it brought, she told herself.

  She did not feel sociable and held herself slightly aloof from the other members of the cast, although they would have been friendly enough if she had let them. Instead she spent her days wandering around on her own, inspecting what the various towns they visited had to offer. She toured art galleries and museums until her head span with culture. She looked at shops. When the weather was bad she stayed in her digs and read anything and everything. It passed, the time until the evening when she headed for the theatre with a sigh of relief. These days she only really came alive when she walked, on the stage and took on the character of someone else.

  Daniel visited her when the demands of his office permitted and sometimes, she suspected, when they did not. And, when he couldn't be with her, he telephoned and did everything he could think of to make her feel happy. Flowers arrived for her dressing room in each theatre they went to. Boxes of chocolates and hampers appeared at her various lodgings. She began to feel slightly overwhelmed by the attention.

  'You're swamping me, Daniel,' she told him. 'Stop it!'

  'It's only because I love you.' The blue eyes that met hers were serious for once. 'You know that, don't you?'

  'Yes.' She had been dodging the issue for too long. It was time that she did some straight talking. 'And it's no use—I've told you that.'

  'You'll get over Max.'

  'Perhaps. But I'll never love you, Daniel. I shouldn'thave gone on seeing you. It was selfish of me to let you hope for so long. I'm sorry.'

  'You won't change your mind?'

  'No,' she said firmly. 'Leave me alone now, please.'

  He didn't try to argue. He could tell that she meant what she said. Without his comforting presence she felt lonely, but she knew she had done the right thing. In a fortnight's time they would be in London, the first night looming ahead of them. There would be no time for brooding then. It would be a good thing for her. She had spent too much time worrying lately. Some time in the future she would get her romantic life back on its usual even keel, without the violent swings of elation and despair that she had suffered recently. Until then, she told herself, her acting came first. Personal feelings were in cold storage.

  She heard nothing of Max. She didn'l really expect to. Then, one Sunday evening, she joined her landlady to watch the large colour television that was her pride and joy. It was better than sitting in her room reading. Vanessa sat through an American feature film, taking very little in. It was a thriller with plenty of action and twists in the plot and her mind gave up the str
uggle to work out the intricacies of it all about halfway through.

  'Cocoa, dear?' her landlady offered as the film drew to a close. She accepted gratefully. Perhaps it would help her sleep. All too often lately she had still been awake in the small hours, worrying about that all-important first night and the reception that she would get. She knew she was good. But what if no one else agreed? And Max Andersen's assurance that she would never find work again if she didn't reach his standards of excellence hung over her like the sword of Damocles. She shivered at the thought of it all.

  Mrs Thompson came back into the room and moved

  to switch channels. 'You don't want the news, dear, do you? All that fighting everywhere. Downright depressing I call it.'

  'No, I don't mind,' Vanessa assured her hastily. She got to her feet, mug in her hand. 'In fact, I'll be——' She stopped abruptly, the words dying in her throat as Max's face suddenly came into view on the screen before them. Automatically she sank back in her chair again and leaned forward, intent on the programme before them.

  Mrs Thompson gave her a curious look, but said nothing. She was too busy devouring Max herself. He was interviewing one of the government ministers about funds for the arts and he made it fascinating viewing. The subject itself could have been as dry as.-dust under less expert hands. But with Max it came alive.

  The man was a slick performer, a clever public speaker who had long since mastered the trick of talking at length with apparent frankness without really giving any information away. He wa$ clever enough to con most people, but Max had his measure instantly. His relentless questioning stripped away the layers of padding and had the man wriggling in his chair and mopping his brow with discomfort as he pinned him down and forced him to give some real answers for a change.

  It was an interesting technique to watch when he was using it on other people, less enjoyable if one was at the receiving end, Vanessa imagined. Max accepted no excuses and refused to skate over awkward issues. He was a merciless opponent. The camera lingered long enough on the minister to catch his faint sigh of relief as time ran out and Max had to wind up the programme. It would be a long while before he ventured to embark on a return match.