‘Thanks for your confidence in me, Johnny, and for those kind words. But—’ she stopped abruptly, cutting off her sentence.
‘But what?’ he probed, leaning closer to her.
‘Oh nothing really,’ she hedged, not wanting to voice the thought that lately he seemed to be intimidated by his agent, Jeff Smailes. Instead, she said, ‘I was going to say that I think it’s important, at this particular stage in your career, that you’re not overexposed.’
‘But the live concerts help boost my record sales!’
‘I know they do. However, I think you can hold a little of yourself back, not give so much to your public. And without damaging your position. It will be better for you, in the long run.’
‘Mmmmm.’ He fell silent, looked thoughtful as he gazed into his wine glass. Lifting his head a moment later, he remarked, ‘Julio just did a world concert tour. In fact, he’s done several in the past few years, and they haven’t damaged him. Not at all.’
‘True, very true. On the other hand, Streisand hasn’t sung live in concert for six years, and her record sales haven’t slumped at all.’
‘Barbra makes movies, though,’ Johnny pointed out swiftly.
‘But she doesn’t always sing in them,’ Nell countered, and laughed. ‘We’ll discuss more about this tomorrow. We can even have another meeting on Saturday, if you want, since I’m not leaving LA until Sunday.’
‘That’s great.’
Wanting to change the subject, to get Johnny away from his preoccupation and worries about his career, which were eternal, Nell now continued in a different vein. ‘Rosie’s costumes for Gavin’s new picture Kingmaker are out of this world, Johnny. I wish you could see them. Anyway, you will. You’ll come to the opening next year I hope, and I predict my dear old friend Rosie is going to win another Oscar.’
A flush spread up from Rosie’s neck to flood her face, and she exclaimed, ‘Honestly, Nell, you’re too much. I’m sure I won’t get an Oscar…’ Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.
For once Johnny looked directly at Rosie, and said in a somewhat cold voice, ‘Take it from me, Nell’s predictions usually come true. It doesn’t do to contradict her.’
Rosie made no response to this remark. She picked up her glass of water and took a sip, wondering why this man disliked her so much. It had been apparent from the moment she walked into his house that he resented her presence, and he had been curt to the point of rudeness. She wished Nell hadn’t persuaded her to come; she would have been much better off having room service and watching television in her suite at the hotel.
Nell was also silent. She had not failed to notice Johnny’s cold tone, and, like Rosie, she too was perplexed. His behaviour towards her friend had been odd, and his apparent dislike of her was illogical.
Wanting to smooth things over, and break the stony silence that had settled in the room, Nell took a deep breath. She was about to touch on the subject of Johnny’s new compact disc; it had just been released and was already hitting the top of the charts. But she was saved the trouble. The door opened and Sophia entered. The housekeeper began to clear away their plates; Arthur followed closely on her heels, placing clean ones in front of them. A moment or two later they were serving the sea bass, which had been baked in herbs, and a selection of steamed fresh vegetables.
Johnny took a sip of his wine, said to Nell, ‘And what will you be doing at this time next Thursday? For Thanksgiving, I mean?’
‘I’ll be cooking for Kevin,’ Nell blurted out, surprising herself, and quickly added, ‘And Rosie, of course.’
‘Kevin? Who’s Kevin?’ Johnny asked, a brow lifting.
‘My boyfriend,’ Nell said, deciding it was best to tell the truth, ‘and Rosie’s brother.’ She met Rosie’s startled look with a warning glance, her eyes narrowing slightly. ‘We’ll be back on the East Coast by then,’ she went on, ‘and I plan to cook for my two closest friends, give them a good old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, corn bread, the whole works, in fact. I do a great Thanksgiving, Johnny, even though I am English.’
‘More American than apple pie these days,’ Johnny answered with a laugh, adding in a somewhat wistful voice, ‘It sounds great.’
‘Why don’t you come, too?’ Nell said. ‘You’ll be in New York, and I’d love to cook for you.’
‘I can’t. I’ve promised my uncle I’d spend it with him and his er… friends. But thanks for the invite.’ Pushing his fork into the fish, Johnny murmured, ‘A boyfriend, eh? Well, whaddya know. You’ve certainly kept it a secret from me.’
And me, Rosie thought, and her eyes telegraphed this message to Nell, who was sitting across the table from her.
Nell bit her lip, understanding only too well Rosie’s astonishment and confusion, and averted her face. Her only response to Johnny’s remark was a light laugh. Then she concentrated her entire attention on the food on her plate.
After a short while Johnny started to talk to Nell about his career again, touching on his worries, the commitments he had made for the coming year. She knew he was unable to let go, and would be obsessed until everything was settled. And so she gave him her full attention and tried, to the best of her ability, to offer him good advice.
For her part, Rosie was lost in her thoughts, which were centred on Nell and Kevin. Naturally, she was consumed with curiosity about them, but she knew she would have to bide her time until they were back at the hotel to ask Nell about this new development in their lives. If it was new. Perhaps the two of them had been involved for a long time, and if this was so why hadn’t either of them mentioned it to her? She was baffled; yet her bafflement was overshadowed by her intense pleasure. It was great that they were involved, and she was quite certain they made each other happy. She was especially glad for Kevin. Her brother’s life was so fraught with danger, he needed the comfort of a good relationship.
Rosie sank deeper into herself, making plans for Christmas at Montfleurie, thinking of the decorations, the menus, mentally ticking off the presents she had bought, those she still had to find.
Eventually her mind turned back to the immediate, the rest of the time she had in Los Angeles, and, most importantly, her meeting with Gavin tomorrow. They were going to lunch at his house and discuss his next movie. He had not told her what this was going to be, but whatever it was she knew she would design the clothes.
Garry Marshall and she had had a very successful meeting earlier in the week, and he had more or less indicated he would like her to work on his new project. If Gavin hadn’t been hovering in the background she would have accepted the job, and with alacrity. As it was, she had been non-committal with Garry, had told him the truth about her prior commitment to Gavin, and said she would get back to him.
However, Rosie knew that Gavin’s films would always come first with her. Not only because of his extraordinary talent as an actor, and the unusual subject matters he chose, but because he meant so much to her.
Nell said something, and Rosie roused herself, looked across at her, frowning slightly, pushing aside her thoughts about Gavin.
‘So, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll go and make the call now, get it over with,’ Nell was murmuring as she pushed back the chair and stood up.
‘Okay,’ Johnny said. ‘Use the phone in my den.’
‘Thanks,’ Nell said and whirled out of the dining room.
Johnny sat back in his chair, picked up his glass of wine and sipped it, patently ignoring Rosie.
Rosie’s eyes rested on him for a moment, and then she glanced away, not knowing what to say to him. His antipathy towards her transmitted itself so strongly she was at a loss to find a topic of conversation, a common ground between them.
A deadly silence descended on the room.
ELEVEN
Rosie was mortified.
She sat perfectly still, staring ahead. Not an eyelash flickered and she scarcely seemed to breathe. She was wondering what she should do.
Since Nell’s sudden departure to make a phone call, the silence in the dining room had become overwhelming—and very dismaying to Rosie. There were no two ways about it, Johnny was behaving oddly, and try though she did to find an excuse for him, she could not.
It occurred to her that there was only one thing to do: she must excuse herself, leave the table, find Nell and tell her that she was going back to the Regent Beverly Wilshire. Nell would understand. They had already exchanged several pointed looks earlier in the evening, and Nell’s troubled expression had indicated that she, too, was totally baffled by Johnny’s extraordinary behaviour.
Rosie’s eyes shifted, rested again, for a brief moment, on the pair of dessert stands which stood on either side of the candlesticks. She had been eyeing them all evening, on and off. They were the most exquisite she had ever seen. Each one was composed of two putti standing on a raised base on either side of a leopard, their plump young arms upstretched to support a silver bowl with a crystal liner. The silver had an extraordinary patina, and every inch of each stand was beautifully detailed. She knew they had been made by a master silversmith, that they were one of a kind, and undoubtedly very costly.
Rosie pulled her gaze away from the antique silver pieces, and turned to Johnny, fully intending to thank him and then depart. But instead of excusing herself, she said, ‘The dessert stands are absolutely exquisite. They’re English Regency, aren’t they? And unless I’m mistaken, they’re by Paul Storr.’
Startled, Johnny gaped at her for the longest moment. Finally, he nodded. ‘I just bought them. In London.’ Although he was completely taken by surprise that she knew the name of the silversmith who had made them, it pleased him that she admired them. They meant a lot to him. They were his pride and joy. Of all the things in the house, the English silver had, for the most part, been chosen by him. Nell had not even been with him when he had gone to his favourite shop on Bond Street earlier in the month to see these particular treasures. Francis and Toni Raeymaekers, the owners, had been holding the stands for him, certain he would want them.
‘How did you know they were by Paul Storr?’ Johnny asked, shifting slightly in the chair so that he was now looking directly at her.
‘I have a friend who’s an expert on silver,’ Rosie replied. ‘And especially the English Georgian and Regency periods. She used to be a dealer.’
‘Isn’t she any more?’
‘No, she’s not.’
‘That’s a pity, I’m always on the look-out for interesting pieces, and it’s good to know a few reputable and knowledgeable dealers.’ Johnny cleared his throat. ‘Listen, even dealers who are no longer in the business often continue to dabble. So if your friend ever comes across a really unusual piece I’d—’
‘She won’t,’ Rosie cut in abruptly. ‘She really doesn’t work any longer.’
‘Retired, is that it?’
‘Sort of…’ Rosie paused and looked away, thinking of her dearest Collie and wishing that she could work. If only she were able to, it would help her, of that she was sure. Sudden sadness trickled through Rosie, but she instantly shook it off, brought her eyes back to his, and then, much to her astonishment, she found herself confiding: ‘Collie, my very dear friend, has had a lot of trouble in the last few years. Her husband was killed in a terrible car crash, and she fell ill just after that. She wasn’t able to work for a long time. When she did finally go back to her business, she discovered she really wasn’t up to it any more. It was too exhausting really, and she’s given it up. At least for the moment.’ Rosie forced a smile onto her face. ‘Who knows, she might be able to start again, when she’s stronger. She is passionate about antique silver, and used to derive a great deal of satisfaction from finding good pieces, and from dealing. Collie thought buying and selling was very exciting.’
‘I’m sorry… about your friend being sick,’ Johnny murmured, having noticed the hint of sorrow lurking at the back of her eyes. ‘Is she living in New York?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘No, she lives in France. She’s French.’
‘You learned a lot about silver from her, did you?’
‘Oh yes. She used to take me to auctions in London…’ Rosie’s voice trailed off as memories enveloped her. Those were the really good years we both had, Rosie thought, before everything started to fall apart for her. And for me. She sighed under her breath, remembering those happier times at Montfleurie, and then she blinked rapidly as another unexpected rush of sadness rose up in her throat.
Swiftly composing herself, Rosie said as brightly as possible, ‘Paul Storr was an amazing silversmith, wasn’t he? He’s Collie’s favourite, and mine. If she saw these dessert stands, she’d go crazy. They take my breath away, they’re so incredible, just gorgeous.’
Johnny nodded. ‘It was Nell who got me interested in English silver. She helped me buy my first candlesticks and a coffee service. But most of the things I’ve acquired in the past two years I managed to find myself.’ He half smiled. ‘What I should say is that I found them with the help of some friends who own a shop in London, Toni and Francis Raeymaekers. They have great taste, and I’ve learned a lot about antique silver from them.’
He paused, feeling a bit more relaxed with Rosie, filled with gratification that she was so admiring of his taste. He also realized he was beginning to dislike her less, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he was ashamed that he had been so cold and brusque with her. After a swallow of wine, he murmured, ‘Nell says I have a good eye.’
‘For what exactly?’ Nell asked from the doorway.
‘Silver,’ Johnny said, and chuckled. ‘Rosie’s been going on about the Paul Storr dessert stands, raving about them.’
‘Well, they are very beautiful,’ Nell said, and sat down.
‘Is everything all right?’ Rosie asked, looking across at her. ‘You were gone for ages.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. I do apologize to you, Rosie, and to you, Johnny.’
‘It’s okay, darlin’,’ Johnny said.
‘I think things are under control,’ Nell continued, ‘but I’m afraid I will have to make a couple of calls later. When we’ve finished dinner. It’s a blinking nuisance, but what can one do.’ Nell shrugged philosophically, and shook her head. A regretful expression settled on her face. ‘When you’re a press representative, you’re a press representative. Always on duty. Always on call. So if you don’t mind, Johnny, I’ll have to make sure I’ve got the lid on this particular situation.’
‘No problem. You can go to my den and dial to your heart’s content,’ Johnny told her. ‘You know you’re at home here, there’s no formality with me. But in the meantime, how about dessert? Giovanni’s prepared crostata di mele alla crema.’
‘Good Lord!’ Nell exclaimed, raising her brows. ‘It sounds positively indecent. And I’ll bet it’s fattening!’
Johnny said, ‘Oh come on, for God’s sake, you don’t have to worry about your weight. And what’s one little dessert now and then?’
‘Twenty-five pounds on the thighs,’ Nell sighed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling and laughing.
‘Anyway, what exactly is it?’ Rosie inquired.
‘An apple-custard tart. You’ll love it.’ He glanced at her fleetingly, before adding, ‘And you don’t have to worry about your weight either.’
***
After dinner, Nell hurried off to Johnny’s den to make her phone calls, and Johnny escorted Rosie to the library at the back of the house.
As he pushed open the door, he said, ‘I thought we’d have the espresso in here. I’d like to show you some of my other finds… the silver I’ve been buying in London.’
‘I’d love to see it,’ Rosie said, genuinely meaning this. She was amazed at the difference in his demeanour, and relieved that he was being more friendly towards her. He was speaking to her so pleasantly, in fact, the change in him was radical, and she could not help wondering what had caused it. Unless it was her interest in his silver. Was that possible? Could such a s
mall thing make all that much difference to him?
‘These are George III candlesticks, also by Paul Storr, dated about 1815,’ Johnny explained, ushering her up to the long library table positioned behind the sofa facing the fireplace. ‘I got them at the same shop in Bond Street. I’ve had some great luck there, thanks to Toni and Francis.’
Rosie stood looking at the candlesticks, nodding her head, her expression admiring. Then she turned her attention to a large silver bowl in the centre of the table. ‘This is also beautiful. But it’s not by Storr, is it?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s much earlier than Storr—by about a century. It’s a Queen Anne monteith, dated 1702, and it’s by another great English silversmith, William Denny.’
‘You have some lovely things. In fact, the whole house is beautiful,’ Rosie said, and then moving forward swiftly, she walked into the room, and took a seat on the sofa.
‘Thanks,’ Johnny said and followed her. He seated himself in a chair near the huge stone fireplace. ‘Would you like a drink? A liqueur? A cognac?’ he asked, glancing in her direction.
‘Just the coffee, that’ll be fine, thank you.’
At this moment, Arthur hurried in carrying the coffee service on a tray; Sophia was right behind him with the cups and saucers, and after they had served them they quietly disappeared.
Rosie and Johnny sipped their espresso.
Neither of them spoke, but this time the silence between them was not fraught with undercurrents; Johnny’s antipathy towards Rosie had by now completely evaporated. It had been replaced by a mild curiosity about her. Johnny felt like a jerk for behaving the way he had earlier, and he was irritated with himself. Known for his charm the world over, and especially with women, he wondered why it had fled the minute Rosie had walked into the house.
Angel Page 10
