by Daphne Clair
‘Yeah, well…’ Craig still looked vaguely suspicious. ‘What’s this guy like, anyway? What did he do to make you leave him before?’
‘He didn’t do anything. I mean, we just didn’t agree on some things.’
‘What sort of things?’
Shannon shrugged. ‘Marriage. Life. My career.’
Babies… ‘You know, trivial things like that.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Craig looked at her fixedly. ‘So do you agree now?’
Very unlikely. ‘I don’t know. That’s what we want to find out.’
Was that what Devin wanted? Or was he just exercising his power because she’d refused to bow to pressure before and now he had her in a position where he could make the rules and she had no choice but to obey them?
She shivered, instinctively wrapping her arms about herself.
‘You’re not cold, are you?’ Craig asked in surprise.
‘No. Do you still want to play the witness in this film?’
That was enough to take his mind off anything else. His face brightening, he said, ‘Hell, yeah! You know I do.’
She moved into Devin’s apartment on Saturday morning. He came to the lobby and carried two suitcases up for her while she followed with her laptop computer, a shoulder pack and an overnight bag.
Devin led the way into a large room with a low king-size bed against one wall, its cover patterned in maroon, black and silver. He put down the luggage at the foot of the bed as Shannon stopped inside the door, then he came back to her, easing the pack from her shoulder and taking the computer and overnight bag. ‘Is this all?’
‘Yes.’ She looked around, saw a long dressing table with a man’s hairbrush on top, a dark jacket lying on a maroon-leather stool. ‘But this is your room.’
‘Ours.’ He placed the computer on the bed and the other bags with the suitcases. ‘Welcome home, Shannon.’
Shannon stayed stubbornly where she stood. ‘It isn’t my home,’ she said. ‘And this isn’t our room. Surely in an apartment this size you have more than one bedroom.’
His eyes cooled. ‘Three, and a study. I thought you might like to use one of the bedrooms for your workroom, office, whatever. The other is a guest room.’
‘Then I’ll have that,’ she said, and turned to go and look for it.
He was beside her in two strides, his hand on her arm swinging her round, his eyes the colour of storm clouds. ‘You’re my wife, Shannon. No separate bedrooms.’
‘You promised I didn’t have to have sex with you.’ She tried to pull away but his grip was unrelenting.
He looked over at the huge bed. ‘You won’t even have to touch me if you don’t want to,’ he said witheringly. ‘But we are going to sleep together. As in spend the nights side by side.’
No way. It was going to be difficult enough living together. Sleeping in the same bed would be sheer torture. She said, ‘Plenty of married couples have separate bedrooms.’
‘We never did. And we’re not going to start now.’
Her head lifted. ‘I didn’t agree to this!’
‘You agreed to abide by my terms. They were clear enough.’
‘And I thought I’d made it clear that I don’t want to share a bed.’
‘You never said that.’
‘You knew what I meant!’
‘Lesson number two of business practice,’ he said. ‘Don’t take anything for granted.’
‘Isn’t that what you are doing?’
He smiled. ‘I’m the one holding the cards. I haven’t written that cheque yet.’
‘That’s cheating! You can’t make new conditions now!’
‘Aren’t you the one who’s cheating?’ he challenged her. ‘Trying to have your cake and eat it? I spelled it out for you, Shannon. We live as husband and wife. That doesn’t include forced sex, but it does mean sleeping together…literally.’
‘I can’t!’ She tried again to free herself, and he relaxed his hold.
Stepping back, she fought unreasonable trepidation.
‘You can’t fulfil the terms of our contract?’ He folded his arms, looking at her with a steely gaze.
She knew what that meant. No money, and no film.
Could she hold him to the terms of the formal, official version that they’d both signed? After all, no one else knew about their private agreement.
Taking him to court would cost her money that she didn’t have. And time. Besides, Devin could be ruthless when he chose, just witness what he was doing now. Although essentially a private person, he hated to lose, and he’d probably grit his teeth and allow their verbal contract to be aired in public if necessary. Shannon didn’t fancy being known as the woman who’d sold her soul for money.
As he’d said, the bed was easily big enough for two people to share without even touching.
Shutting out an interior voice that was asking who else he’d shared that enormous bed with, she gritted her teeth. ‘If you insist. But I’m keeping you to your promise.’
That first night she went to bed early, pleading tiredness. Devin glanced up from the financial magazine he’d brought into the living room to read, and nodded at her. ‘Goodnight.’
After putting on gold satin pyjamas Shannon lay awake in the darkness for some time, tensing when she heard movement in the other room, but then there was silence and eventually she slipped into sleep.
When she woke in the morning there was a dent in the pillow beside her and the covers were neatly folded back on that side of the bed. The shower next door was running, but in a few moments it stopped and Devin stepped into the bedroom, his hair damp and tousled. He’d tucked a towel about his waist—an unexpected formality in deference, she supposed, to her presence.
He said, ‘Sleep all right?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at the clock by the bed and sat up, throwing off the covers. ‘Have you finished with the bathroom?’
‘All yours.’ Devin was looking at her critically. ‘Pyjamas?’
She’d never worn them when they were together, preferring impractical, sexy wisps of satin, lawn and lace. Devin hadn’t been a pyjama man either, and if he wore anything at all in bed it was usually satin shorts.
‘I like these,’ she said defiantly. She had taken a fancy to the rich colour and fabric and bought them on impulse, but hadn’t worn them much. Last night they’d seemed the most suitable attire for sleeping beside a man she had no intention of having sex with. Maybe she’d buy some more.
‘Do you have a chastity belt underneath?’ he inquired caustically.
Already on her way to the bathroom, Shannon cast him a scornful look. ‘I don’t need one to resist your charms,’ she shot at him, before scurrying through the door and quickly locking herself in. On the other side she heard him laugh.
When she emerged he was gone, but the smell of frying bacon emanated from the kitchen. He’d made breakfast for two, just as he used to every Sunday they were together.
He served it in the kitchen. Watching her appraisal of the stark tiles, dark granite and gleaming stainless steel, he said, ‘You can pretty it up if you like. Hang your bunches of garlic and dried chillies, and put potted herbs around.’
‘You wouldn’t mind?’ Not that she’d have time anyway while she was filming. And she’d be out of here in a few months.
‘Do whatever you like,’ Devin said. ‘This is your home, I told you.’
Temporarily. Despising herself for a ripple of melancholy at the reminder, she pushed it back into her subconscious where it belonged.
The first payment appeared the following day in the bank account she’d created for the film expenses and Shannon started working toward a shooting date. She spent hours on the telephone and in meetings. If nothing else, it left little waking time to be with Devin, for which she should have been grateful.
At the end of the week Devin said, ‘I have a business party next Wednesday night. One of my subsidiaries is opening new premises and I’d like you to come if you can make the time.’
/>
‘Certainly,’ she said coolly. ‘What do you want me to wear?’
‘It wasn’t an order,’ he said, his voice deceptively mild. ‘Only an invitation.’
‘I’m sorry, it’s hard to know the difference…in this situation.’
‘Wear something pretty,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s not a black-tie affair. If you need to buy a new dress use my credit card. I’ve arranged a facility for you.’
She stared at him. ‘I don’t need it. I’ll try to dress up to your standard.’
‘You know I wasn’t criticising.’
‘It sounded as though you were afraid I might disgrace you.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Shannon! I just thought you might want to treat yourself. I wish you’d stop reading some ulterior motive into everything.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ she said, ultra-polite, ‘but sometimes it’s difficult, you understand.’
‘Give it a rest, will you?’
‘Whatever you say.’ Her tone was dulcet, and he lifted his gaze to the ceiling before returning it to her, his eyes shimmering with reluctant, angry humour.
Shannon walked toward the door and he moved aside to let her pass.
She paused, tilting her head to look up at him. ‘Goodnight, Devin.’
‘Goodnight.’ He had his hands jammed firmly into his pockets and there was a faint lift to his lips, an amused challenge in his eyes. He looked handsome and arrogant and far too sure of himself. Her spine straightened and she swept past him, ignoring the little hot shiver down her back that told her he was still watching.
The dress she wore to his business function was moss-green satin with a silvery glow. Deceptively simple and almost seamless, it clung to her body and swirled about her legs, and when she joined him in the living room Devin said, ‘I always liked that. I’m glad you kept it.’
She liked it too. It made her feel feminine and pretty without being overdressed, and was a change from her workaday jeans and colourful tops.
The evening was a bit of a strain at first. Several people couldn’t conceal their initial surprise when Devin introduced her as his wife, but they were friendly enough, and a few who remembered her even seemed pleased to see her again.
Some recalled her name being mentioned in reviews, and a number had seen Heart of the Wilderness. Their genuine interest made it easier to carry on a conversation.
‘You were quite a hit tonight,’ Devin told her as he drove them home afterwards.
‘A hit?’ She turned to look at him.
‘I was congratulated several times on my beautiful, talented wife. I hope you weren’t too bored?’
‘As a matter of fact, it was an interesting evening.’
‘That’s new.’
‘What is?’
‘You never found anything interesting or enjoyable in these business-related affairs before.’
‘I was too nervous to enjoy them back then.’
‘Nervous?’ he queried. ‘Why?’
‘All those go-getting high-flyers are a bit overwhelming in groups. I was a fish out of water.’ Ignorant of the higher echelons of commerce, unsure of herself among university-educated people knowledgeably discussing current affairs or the fine arts, she had confined herself to nods and vague, glassy smiles that concealed a deep-seated dread of making a fool of herself. ‘And I was younger then,’ she reminded him. ‘Only twenty-two.’
Three years more experienced and with an increasingly successful career, she had developed a new confidence and tonight, since the other guests had no qualms about revealing their lack of knowledge of her craft, she’d freely questioned them in turn without fear of being written off as a complete idiot.
Devin looked at her again, searchingly. ‘I never knew you felt that way.’
‘I did my best to hide it.’
‘You could have told me.’
‘I was embarrassed. I wanted you to be proud of me.’
Even private occasions had been an ordeal. Devin’s long-time friends came from a world of privilege that was alien to her, and few had taken the trouble to make her feel at ease. Perhaps, like him, they hadn’t been aware of her insecurity.
He reached out and took her hand, his fingers curling about hers. ‘I was always proud of you. I’m afraid I lack imagination—I’ve never been very good at guessing people’s feelings.’
She supposed that was true. Devin was at home with machinery and things he could touch, and with figures that behaved logically, predictably. He’d shown his feelings for her in physical ways, with his hands and his body. But emotions were foreign territory and he rarely revealed them himself, except in the privacy of their bedroom.
Lovemaking had been the only thing that broke through his unnerving control. Following his lead and wanting to please him, she’d entered into it with eagerness and joy, liberated from the inhibition that she’d learned early to impose on other feelings like sadness and need, finding that intense pleasure could at least temporarily banish them.
But she had been afraid of displaying negative emotion. Perhaps if she’d expressed herself more freely, their relationship might have fared better.
She fought a desire to lean her head on his shoulder. Her fingers moved in his and he released them, perhaps thinking she was trying to escape.
When they arrived in the underground garage and he opened the car door for her, one of her unaccustomed high heels caught in the edge of the mat as she stepped out, and Devin swooped to hold her, his arm about her waist.
Instinctively she clutched at his sleeve to steady herself. Her face almost touched the lapels of his jacket, and she breathed in a faint scent of aftershave and musk. He didn’t immediately let go, and she lifted her eyes to meet his dark, fiery gaze, quickly veiled by lowering lids as he looked at her mouth.
Then another car roared into the garage, its garish lights sweeping over them, and even as she stiffened Devin swore under his breath and let her go.
In the elevator they stood apart, not looking at each other, and when they reached the apartment Shannon bade him a subdued goodnight and went straight to the bedroom. She was asleep by the time Devin joined her there.
Devin showed an interest in Shannon’s plans that he’d never displayed before. She supposed it made a difference that he had so much money sunk into the end product.
Some evenings they would sit talking, he with his long legs stretched out before him while he leaned back in a wide leather chair, a shot glass in hand, she with her feet tucked up beside her on a couch as she told him about her pre-production progress.
After listening to her describe the exhaustive process of checking locations that the production manager had found, and discussing with the art director if they looked or could be made to look authentically nineteenth century, he said, ‘What about the actors?’
Outsiders always thought the actors were the most important ingredient. It was often their names that drew people to see a film, yet weeks before the cameras began to roll the production team had been working to have everything in place.
‘There’s one major problem. I had someone in mind to play the witness’s fiancée, but she got a better offer while I was trying to get finance.’ Shannon and the casting director had auditioned a number of hopefuls since but none stood out as completely right.
‘And the male lead, the witness?’
‘Craig of course, bless him.’ Her voice grew soft. ‘He won’t let me down.’
Devin swirled the drink in his glass. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to get someone with an international reputation if you hope to sell the film overseas?’
‘This could be the film that will make Craig into an international star. It’s happened to others.’
‘So he’s not simply doing it for love?’
‘No one can live on love. He does love the script though, and it’s nice that this time I can pay him decently. The others too.’ She added wistfully, ‘It certainly would help, having a big name on the cast list. But those guys make me
gabucks.’ She sighed, and added thoughtfully, ‘Though sometimes they work for peanuts if they like a script enough.’ Tilting her head a little, she queried half-humorously, ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know any young female Hollywood stars?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ he said quite casually, ‘I do know one. Rose Grady is…an old friend.’
Shannon blinked at him. The New Zealand actress had made her first Hollywood film a couple of years ago and been nominated for an Oscar. ‘You never said…!’
‘I was at university with her brother. Rose and I had a thing going for a while back then.’
Jealousy brushed Shannon with its poisoned wings. She pushed it aside. ‘You never mentioned you knew her when…’
He threw her an ironic look, waiting for her to finish the sentence, but when she didn’t he said, ‘She wasn’t famous when you and I were together, and anyway, I hadn’t seen her for years until I looked her up in L.A. when I had a delayed flight. Since then I’ve often spent time with her. She’s always saying she’d like to come home for a while.’
‘Why hasn’t she?’
‘Pressure of work.’ He shrugged. ‘You’d understand that.’
Ignoring the pointed remark, Shannon said, ‘I don’t suppose she’d be interested, even if she could spare the time.’ Which as he’d just intimated was highly unlikely. Although, she admitted to herself, Rose Grady was exactly the type that the part demanded. ‘Anyway, we can’t afford her. The budget wouldn’t go anywhere near her price.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘I could ask her. Maybe she’ll like the script enough to work for peanuts. I’ll be going to America in the next couple of weeks.’
That was news to her, but she supposed he travelled so frequently it was routine to him. ‘For how long?’
‘Five days or so. Will you miss me?’
‘I’ll be busy anyway.’ Looking away from him, she wondered how much of the four or five days he’d be spending with his ‘old friend,’ and tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. Returning her gaze to him, she asked, ‘You’ll be…seeing her?’ And despite her effort to keep her tone neutral, it came out on a disconcertingly accusing note.