She tried not to search the sea of faces as she performed, dreading and yet looking for that all too familiar face. But there were so many people here tonight, so many positive responses coming her way as she sang song after song, that in the end she had to give up looking. It would serve no useful purpose even if she could locate Adam in the crowd. In fact, it would have the opposite effect!
She was on for longer tonight, over an hour in all, and it felt like old times as she enjoyed herself as much as the audience obviously did.
And then the catastrophe happened!
It wasn’t such an unusual thing. Wasn’t really such a catastrophe. It was just the last thing she would have wanted to happen this evening. A string broke on the guitar she was playing—her favourite guitar. Her spare guitar was out in the room she had waited in earlier before coming on stage.
She glanced across at Mark where he stood in the wings watching her, acknowledging his nod of understanding before he strode off to get her other guitar, and turned to put her useless instrument back on the stand behind her. She would just have to sing the next song unaccompanied.
There was a ripple of sympathy amongst the audience as they recognised her dilemma, and they gave her an encouraging round of applause before she began to sing. Her voice was clear, the trueness of the notes reaching every corner of the room, and the silence was appreciative as the hush washed over the hall.
Then Maggi realised she was no longer singing unaccompanied, and that she recognised the guitar work she could hear only too well.
She turned sharply to her left, only to have her worst suspicions confirmed as to exactly why the audience had suddenly fallen so silent; Adam had walked onto the stage behind her, and it was his guitar she could now hear accompanying her.
Maggi hadn’t seen him in such a long time, and as she looked at him now she could see the changes in him. His dark hair was longer than it had been, with flecks of grey amongst its thickness. His eyes were still as dark a grey, but there were lines beneath them; and grooved into his cheeks beside his mouth, a mouth set grimly, as was the arrogant angle of his jaw.
He was dressed almost exactly the same as Maggi, in black denims and a black silk shirt, the latter unbuttoned from his throat to reveal the growth of dark hair on his chest. This was the way he had always dressed when they’d sung together in the past.
He looked at Maggi challengingly as her singing faltered at the sight of him beside her, and she knew exactly why he was frowning at her so darkly; ‘the show must go on’ had always been Adam’s attitude. No matter what the circumstances. As Maggi knew to her cost…
Adam continued to play the melody on his guitar, still looking at her expectantly, his dark gaze compelling her to begin singing again, to give the audience what they had come here for.
But he was wrong. The audience weren’t waiting for the song to resume. Their stunned silence at Adam’s unexpected appearance was replaced by whispered conversations now as they all wanted to confirm that it really was Adam Carmichael standing up on the stage beside Maggi Fennell.
Maggi was having trouble believing it herself! She had known he was here in the hall—the second rose had told her that only too clearly—but she had never guessed he would actually have the nerve to join her on the stage.
How dared he? As Mark had said, ‘Don’t get sad, get mad.’ And she was mad—in fact she was furious. How dared Adam do this to her?
‘Sing, damn it!’ he muttered between gritted teeth, while keeping up a completely impersonal expression for the people who were looking at the two of them so curiously now.
Sing! She wasn’t sure a sound would pass her lips, let alone any that would actually be in tune. They hadn’t stood together on a stage like this for so long, she—
‘I said sing!’ he grated again, playing the introduction to the song once again.
Maggi could see Mark at the side of the stage, holding her second guitar in his hand, knew he was riveted to the spot as he saw who was standing beside her. But he had to know, too, that there was nothing he could do about Adam’s presence either, not without causing a scene. And that was the last thing any of them wanted in front of so many people.
But she needed her guitar if she was to continue—if only as something for her to hold onto! She quickly crossed the stage to take the instrument from Mark’s unresisting fingers.
‘What the hell—?’ Mark muttered furiously as he looked across at the other man.
Maggi shook her head wordlessly. For the moment there was nothing either of them could do about this situation; she just had to get on with the performance. What happened after that was anybody’s guess!
Her smile was one of complete professionalism as she turned back to face the audience, her gaze having passed sightlessly over Adam; if she didn’t look at him, maybe she would be able to get through this. Maybe…
She began to sing, accompanying herself on the guitar, aware that her own guitar work was not as good as Adam’s more intricate style. But then, it never had been; their styles had always complemented each other, had never been the same.
Adam had chosen to play—deliberately, so it seemed to Maggi—one of the songs they’d used to sing together, and as they approached the chorus she waited tensely for Adam to join in the harmony. His voice had always been rich and deep, a perfect contrast for her higher, throaty voice.
Even Maggi felt the goose-bumps down her spine as the two of them harmonised perfectly. God, it was as if they had never stopped singing together, as if they had been practising this song for weeks in the build-up to the music festival. And instead they hadn’t even seen each other for three years, hadn’t sung together for a long time before that…
The audience went wild with appreciation as the last notes trailed off the guitars, instantly recognising the perfection of Maggi and Adam’s performance. But it had always been like this between them on stage, a complete rapport, an understanding that went so much deeper than the music.
But Maggi still couldn’t bring herself to look at Adam, her heart sinking as the audience shouted for more. Not that she blamed any of these people for their enthusiasm; they were witnessing an event that had never been expected to happen again—Adam Carmichael and Maggi Fennell singing together once more.
“‘Home Town”,’ Adam prompted softly at her side, mentioning a song the two of them had recorded together several years ago, a song that had once been very successful for them.
She looked at him sharply, making no effort to comply with the command. ‘I don’t need you any more, Adam,’ she returned as softly. Both were aware of the live microphones in front of them.
His expression hardened; his grey eyes narrowed. ‘You never did. But at the moment we have an audience to please,’ he muttered harshly. “‘Home Town”,’ he repeated, with a firmness that brooked no argument, instantly launching into the fast introduction to the song.
All of this was beyond Maggi’s worst nightmares, and how she managed to get through the next thirty minutes she had no idea. But the audience were wild with joy, refusing to let them stop, demanding song after song, most of which Maggi had thought she would never, ever sing again.
She did all of it without looking at Adam—found she couldn’t look at him; it brought back too many memories. Memories she would rather forget…
‘We’ve gone over our time,’ she finally told him flatly as she pulled the guitar strap over her head, a signal to the audience, too, that she had finished. She flicked back the shining length of her hair.
Adam kept his guitar strap over his shoulder. ‘They want more,’ he pointed out dryly. Most of the audience were on their feet now, sensing they were going to lose the highlight of the evening, probably of the whole festival, and unwilling to relinquish such a treat.
Maggi’s blue eyes flashed as she looked across at him. ‘There are other people waiting to perform,’ she reminded him stiffly. The next performer had been standing in the wings for the last ten minutes, and was talk
ing animatedly to Mark now—a Mark who didn’t look too responsive to whatever was being said to him as his gaze remained fixed fiercely on Maggi and Adam.
Adam glanced across at the two men in the wings too, ignoring Mark’s scowling face and grinning his satisfaction when the other man gestured his willingness for Maggi and Adam to continue. ‘He doesn’t seem to mind,’ Adam told Maggi with satisfaction.
‘But—’
“‘Passing Years”, Magdalena,’ Adam insisted challengingly.
Only Adam had ever called her by the name chosen by her Spanish mother; most people, her English father and even her mother, preferred to call her by the shortened version of Maggi. His use of her full name was enough to evoke even stronger memories of Adam and herself.
As was his suggestion that they sing ‘their song’…
She could feel her face pale even at the thought. She had sung it last night because it had been expected of her. But then she had sung it alone. She never wanted to perform that particular song with Adam again. It was too—She just couldn’t sing it with him!
‘You can, Magdalena,’ Adam bit out harshly, and Maggi realised she must have unwittingly spoken her protest out loud. ‘You can do anything you damn well want to!’ he added grimly.
She looked at him sharply, at the accusation in his cold grey eyes. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ she told him furiously.
‘Stop acting like a spoilt child, Magdalena.’ The coldness of his tone was like a slap in the face. ‘You chose to come back, to put yourself in the public eye again, and now you have to give them what they want!’
It was obvious, from the shouted encouragement of the audience, that what they wanted was for Adam and Maggi to continue—all night if possible. It was also obvious that Adam was quite happy to do that.
It had always been like this with Adam; everyone else’s feelings had always meant more to him than hers. He hadn’t changed, would never change.
‘All right, Adam, we’ll do this one last song,’ she finally conceded flatly, swinging her guitar strap back over her head onto her slender shoulder. ‘And then I’m leaving the stage. After that I don’t ever want to see you again.’ Her voice was strong and unyielding, but the words sounded childish in their intensity. But it was the truth; once she left this stage this evening she didn’t want Adam anywhere near her.
‘The first you may be able to do,’ he murmured softly, before turning back to the waiting audience. ‘The second you may not have any choice about,’ he added grimly.
Maggi looked at him sharply; exactly what did he mean by that last remark?
CHAPTER FOUR
‘I CAN’T believe he did that!’ Mark strode angrily up and down in their hotel suite. ‘I just couldn’t believe it was actually him up on the stage with you when I came back from the dressing-room with your guitar. Arrogant bastard!’ He shook his head, as if he still couldn’t quite take in what he had seen.
Maggi could easily understand his anger and disbelief; she was sure a lot of other people who had been in that hall tonight were still stunned at having seen Adam Carmichael.
As she was!
It all seemed like a dream now that they were back at their hotel, Maggi having escaped from the stage at the end of ‘their song’, glancing back only once, to see that Adam wasn’t having the same success in leaving, the audience calling for more, refusing to let him go. And with good reason; Adam was, and always had been, a phenomenon in his own right. He had gone on in the last three years to be an entertainer much in demand all over the world. The audience tonight had been more than aware of just how privileged they were to hear him sing so unexpectedly.
But Maggi could well have done without it, and was still shaken by the way he had joined her on stage in that autocratic way. But then, he always had been the most arrogant man she’d ever met in her life; he didn’t believe any of the rules were meant for him, living his life by his own set of codes—and they were like no one else’s. When Maggi had first met him she had believed his arrogance to be self-confidence, had felt protected by it—it had only been later that she had learnt, to her cost, just how wrong she was…!
‘He ruined your comeback, damn him!’ Mark continued furiously. ‘You were going to do this on your own, and now he’s—’
‘What’s done is done, Mark.’ She sat in one of the armchairs, exhausted, mainly by all the emotional trauma of the evening. ‘There’s nothing we can do to change that,’ she added wearily, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the music festival had turned into a fiasco as far as the return of her music career went.
It had all been planned so carefully, the whole thing to be taken slowly: the music festival this weekend, a couple of other low-key gigs lined up for next month—nothing too exacting, just a slow introduction back into the world she loved best. But if the Press got to hear of the performance with Adam this evening…!
‘I can’t do the third evening tomorrow, Mark,’ she told him.
Mark stopped his pacing and looked across at her. ‘You have to, Maggi.’ He frowned. ‘You’re billed to appear and people will be expecting to hear you.’ Mark was another person who believed that the public must be given what they wanted.
She shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. ‘They will be expecting to hear Adam too now,’ she pointed out with a heavy sigh. ‘And they will be disappointed,’ she added determinedly; there was no way she was going to perform tomorrow evening and have Adam do to her again what he had done tonight. ‘I—’ She broke off as a knock sounded firmly on the door of their hotel suite, her eyes wide as she gave a startled look in its direction.
She didn’t need two guesses as to who was standing on the other side of it; Adam had obviously managed to find her at last. She didn’t want to see him just now. If ever!
‘It’s Adam,’ she told Mark with certainty, standing up abruptly. ‘I don’t want to see him, Mark.’ She gave a shake of her head.
Mark’s mouth was set angrily, blue eyes blazing as he too turned towards the door. ‘But I do!’ he grated. ‘I—’
‘Then you see him,’ she dismissed agitatedly as that knock sounded firmly again. ‘I’m going to my room.’ She turned quickly on her heel.
‘This had to happen some time, Maggi,’ Mark called after her softly. ‘Isn’t it better to get it over with now?’
Speak to Adam? Be close to him once again? Know the full force of his personality? Know she had once loved him to distraction? Until he had destroyed that love as callously as he might have swatted a fly, when it no longer suited him to have her love. To look at him again and know all that?
‘No!’ she told Mark with a shudder of revulsion. ‘It isn’t better to “get it over with now”. I was over Adam a long time ago, said everything that needed to be said then; I have no reason to ever see him again!’ She strode determinedly from the room, unwilling to listen to any more arguments for reason from Mark, closed her bedroom door behind her and sat down heavily on the bed, because her legs were shaking too much to support her, reaction having set in with a vengeance.
She had sung on a stage with Adam this evening—something she had been sure would never happen again. Something she had sworn would never happen again!
Even now she still had trouble believing it had happened. It had been just like old times, their voices harmonising as if it were only yesterday when they’d last sung together.
They had been the perfect couple, both on and off the stage. Everyone had said so. The love they had shared had deepened their performance when they’d sung together. Until tragedy had struck so unexpectedly and Maggi could no longer sing at Adam’s side. It had been then, when she’d already felt as if she was in the depths of despair, that she had learnt all too forcibly just how tenuous the love that Adam had professed to feel for her was.
She could hear the murmur of voices in the other room, knew that whatever Mark had said when he opened the door to Adam it hadn’t been enough to get the other man to leave. Not that she wou
ld have expected it to be. Adam had been arrogant enough three years ago; his solo success since that time had probably just made him more so!
Mark’s voice was rising in anger now, and Maggi felt herself cringe inside as she heard the slow coldness with which Adam made his replies. He always had been able to rip a person to shreds with that icy control, and no matter how angry Mark might be, and however justified his anger, Maggi knew he was no match for Adam’s cool determination.
Mark’s voice seemed to be getting louder. ‘I’ve told you, Adam—’
‘I don’t give a damn what you’ve told me,’ Adam returned harshly. ‘I intend to see Magdalena before I leave.’ Even as he made this last statement the bedroom door was flung open, Adam almost filling the doorway as he stood there, his six-foot-four height only inches away from the top of the doorframe.
‘Nice bedroom,’ he drawled mockingly as he strolled nonchalantly into the room, just as if it hadn’t been ages since they had last spoken, as if there hadn’t been all that heartache with the passing of those years. ‘I’m sure the two of you are very comfortable here,’ he added hardly, grey eyes still icy cold as he met Maggi’s rebellious gaze. ‘You always did like your creature comforts, didn’t you, Magdalena? And a nice big bed was one of them.’ He looked pointedly at the king-size bed she still sat on. ‘Preferably with a man inside it!’ he added harshly.
Maggi gasped at his insulting tone, and in the outer room she could see Mark’s hands clench into fists at his sides; she knew that his volatile temper was in danger of exploding. But it would be no match for the freezing concentration of Adam’s!
She drew in a deep breath and stood up, feeling at a complete disadvantage sitting on the bed. Not that standing up made too much difference to that; Adam always had had the ability to make her look—and feel!—like a little girl disguised as a woman, her shortness and slenderness of frame emphasised by his height and sheer masculinity.
A Marriage to Remember Page 2