Breaking the Rules

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  After meandering around the gallery for a short while longer, M left, and walked toward West Twenty-second Street, having decided it was time to go home.

  She was enjoying the late September weather, and it struck her that today was one of those gorgeous Indian summer days which she and her mother so loved . . . sunny and warm with a light breeze and an impeccable clear blue sky without a single cloud.

  “A day to be outside in the garden,” her mother would say years ago on days like this and head outside, beckoning her children to follow.

  M experienced an unexpected pang, a tightness in her chest when she thought of her mother, longing to be with her . . . in that glorious garden, but she couldn’t go back there . . . it was too dangerous. . . .

  When she got home, M found Geo in the kitchen filling the kettle. “Oh, lovely! I’m just in time for tea,” she exclaimed.

  “That you are,” Geo agreed, laughing. “I sort of anticipated you, I suppose.” Lighting the gas under the kettle, Geo went on, “Come into the studio for a moment, M, please. I’ve finished the painting you liked. . . . I’d love your opinion of it.”

  “Lead the way,” M said, hurrying after Geo into the light-filled studio.

  M stood in front of the large oil painting, instantly captivated. It was of a grand lake with stands of trees clustered on the rise of a hill at the far side. The canvas was brilliant with fall colors . . . russets, reds and pinks, amber, a strange purple-wine color, and varying shades of gold. And the entire painting was suffused with soft golden light, which seemed to shimmer across the surface of the water.

  Stepping back, M stared at it from a distance for quite a long time. Finally turning, she said to Geo, “Don’t touch it again. Leave it alone. It’s finished, and it’s superb. The way you’ve managed to capture light is brilliant. I’ve noticed this in some of your other paintings, and it’s such a marvelous ability. Congratulations, Geo.” She squeezed the other woman’s arm. “All your hard work has paid off.”

  Geo’s face was wreathed in smiles. She said softly, “Thank you. I’m so thrilled you like it. I value your judgment.”

  The whistling of the kettle startled them both, and swinging around, Geo hurried across the studio, heading for the kitchen.

  M lingered in front of the painting, continuing to study it; she had become somewhat awed by Geo’s work, understanding that her friend was an artist of enormous talent who needed a break, just as she herself did.

  Sighing, M went to the kitchen, hoping that Geo’s exhibition would be a stunning success.

  The two women sat in the windowed area of the kitchen, sipping their mugs of tea, talking about the exhibition. And then, somewhat abruptly, Geo changed the subject. She said, “I’m glad we’ve become friends, M. I like you such a lot.” She shook her head wonderingly, bit her lip. “When I remember how ridiculous I was, suspecting you and Dax, I feel like a real fool. I apologize again, M.”

  “Don’t be so silly, Geo, I’ve forgotten it.”

  Geo smiled, but she was fully aware that M hadn’t forgotten it. She knew she had frightened M, and badly, and she had a feeling that this fear still lingered. M had insisted that they install a new alarm system, and Geo had had no option but to go along with it, splitting the bill with M. Well, essentially M was right, wanting their security.

  Aware of the growing silence, Geo now said swiftly, with a laugh, “I have to admit it was jealousy of all things, silly, stupid jealousy. . . .”

  M nodded her understanding, then glanced away at the little back garden, lost in her thoughts. Suddenly sitting up straighter, she murmured, “In jealousy there is more self-love than love.”

  Geo was taken aback, and after a moment’s reflection, she exclaimed, “There’s a great deal of wisdom in your words, M.”

  “Oh, no, not my words,” M responded, shaking her head. “They were written by the Duc de La Rochefoucauld in the seventeenth century. Still, I believe they’re as applicable today as they were then.”

  “Absolutely,” Geo agreed, took a sip of the hot, sweet tea, and wondered how M could remember that obscure but interesting quote. On the other hand, the young Englishwoman sitting opposite her was filled to overflowing with knowledge about so many things. She could talk expertly about books and plays, movies and opera, and she knew a lot about art. Geo admired her for all this, and also because she was so brave, coming alone to New York, wanting to make it on her own. M’s aspirations were similar to her own, and Dax shared the same kind of ambition.

  “How did you learn so much about art, M? I mean, you speak so expertly—yes, that’s the best word—about Renoir, Monet, Bonnard, the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists, and Turner, especially Turner. Even I don’t know everything you do.”

  “From my sister,” M responded swiftly. “She took me to a lot of art galleries even when I was a kid, and she instilled a great deal of knowledge in me. Force-fed me, I suppose you could call it. I’ve always said that children learn so much from exposure to the arts in general, and certainly my exposure to all the great galleries in England and France helped to create my love of paintings.”

  M gave Geo a big smile. “I can admire, but I can’t do it, paint I mean, and you can, Geo. You’re enormously talented, and don’t ever forget that. You’ll see—your exhibition will be a tremendous success. And you’ll be on your way.”

  “Oh, God, I hope so. All I can add is, from your mouth to God’s ears.” Leaning across the table, Geo now murmured, “Guess who called me earlier.”

  “Dax.”

  Geo looked startled. “How did you know? Oh, he probably called you, too.”

  “No, I haven’t heard from him today, but he’s the only person we have in common.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Anyway, he’s back in New York.”

  “Already!” M sounded surprised, and she began to shake her head in disbelief. “Sooner than even I thought.”

  “Yes, me, too. But he’s back because he’s got a job in the theater at last. Can you imagine, he went to L.A. to look for work in the movies, then ends up with a part in a play on Broadway.”

  “But that’s wonderful! How did it happen?”

  “He was introduced to Iris Ingersoll in Beverly Hills, at some party. Through an actor he met there. Iris is a Broadway producer.”

  M was about to say she knew that but swallowed the words. She realized she had been saying too much to Geo lately, revealing things, so she merely nodded.

  “He’s starting rehearsals next week. He’s got the second lead, and the thing is, M, he’s invited us to a party to sort of . . . well, celebrate, I guess. I hope you don’t mind, but I said yes. For both of us.”

  M gaped at her, frowning, but remained silent.

  Geo exclaimed, “Oh, don’t look so upset, M! It’ll do you good to get out of this house. All you seem to do these days is serve cheesecake and help women try on expensive dresses. And visit the modeling agencies, which earns you nothing but disappointment. Come on, say yes. Go with me. It will be a treat for both of us.”

  “When is it?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Short notice, wouldn’t you say?” M asked and raised a dark brow.

  “Yes, it is, and Dax said that himself. But he just decided to do it today. He called it an impromptu party, and he really does want us to come. I’ve nothing better to do. Do you?”

  “Where’s he having it?” M asked, ignoring Geo’s question.

  “At Iris Ingersoll’s apartment. On Park Avenue. Drinks at nine and a buffet supper around ten-thirty. To cater to the theater folk, you know, who’ll get there late.”

  “What are we supposed to wear?”

  “Something festive, Dax said.”

  “I guess I’d better go upstairs and ransack my closet,” M murmured, finally smiling at Geo.

  “Oh, M, this is great! You’re going to come?”

  “Why not? I’d like to see Dax, congratulate him. He’s wanted this for so long. It’s nice to know one of us
finally got a break.”

  “And you never know who you’ll meet there,” Geo announced, grinning.

  Although her room was only medium in size, M had liked it from the moment she saw it. Painted a creamy-buttery color, it had a large window looking out onto West Twenty-second Street; it was airy and light-filled, and very sunny this afternoon. The dark red and gold Oriental carpet covered the entire floor and added a warm, cozy feeling, as did the dark red curtains. There was a daybed along one wall with a dark red damask cover, and piles of gold and red pillows, so that it served as a sofa; nearby, a large armchair upholstered in the same dark red fabric as the curtains faced the television set on a stand. A coffee table, a large chest of drawers, and several lamps completed the room.

  Her golden rule was no clutter, and there was a paucity of personal things here, especially photographs of her family; only a few books stacked on the chest revealed something about her, and that wasn’t very much.

  M walked across the room and picked up her cell phone, which had been charging while she was out. She saw a missed call and knew at once that it must be from Dax. It was, and she called him back; his phone was turned off, so she left a message. After congratulating him, she said she would see him that evening and ended the call.

  Wondering what to wear, she headed toward the closet and opened the double doors. She had several suitable outfits, all black except for a gray-silk trouser suit, which Birdie had given her a couple of years ago. Pulling it out, she held it up and stared at it critically, pursing her lips, then hung it back in the wardrobe, mentally discarding it.

  Quite suddenly she knew without a doubt that she mustn’t go to the party. It was too risky. There would be lots of theater people there, she was certain of that, and some might very well know various members of her family and recognize her. But not if I go as Audrey, she instantly thought, realizing that this would be the most perfect disguise of all. She smiled to herself, warming to the idea.

  Hurrying into the adjoining bathroom, M stared at herself in the mirror, her head to one side, visualizing the image Agnes and Marguerite had created. She made a moue, instantly remembering how Geo had thought the look was a bit overdone. Half an Audrey, she now thought. I’ll go as half an Audrey, and I’ll be safe. Nobody will know who I really am, and I can simply play the role of M.

  Nine

  I suddenly don’t want go to the party,” Geo announced, coming to a standstill on Park Avenue, turning to look at M. “Let’s forget it, shall we?”

  Taken aback, M stared at Geo and exclaimed, “But you were the one who was so anxious to go. Why have you changed your mind?”

  “I know what these Park Avenue parties are like. It’s going to be a boring evening with lots of famous people who are dull, or stupid, or full of themselves.” Geo made a face, took hold of M’s arm firmly, and said, “Let’s go and have supper. There’s a little bistro I know on Lexington. Swifty’s. You’ll love it, and it’s my treat.”

  “But we can’t leave Dax in the lurch,” M protested. “He’s expecting us, and he’ll be awfully disappointed if we don’t show up. We’re probably the only friends he’s invited. Besides, we’ll look really mean if we don’t go.” M threw Geo a knowing look and added, “We don’t want him to think we’re jealous because he got a break before I did. And before you’ve had your show.”

  Geo sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, and if we don’t like the party we can always leave after half an hour.”

  “Hey, Georgiana! What on earth are you doing lingering around here? If you’re not careful, you’ll be arrested for loitering with intent. Can’t have that now, can we?”

  At the sound of the man’s cultured English voice, Geo swung around and began to laugh. “Hi!” she cried, waving to the old acquaintance hurrying toward them. “And what are you doing around here?”

  “Probably going to the same party as you. At Iris Ingersoll’s flat,” he responded, coming to a stop next to them and immediately eyeing M with great curiosity.

  Geo nodded, and before she could introduce the man to M, he thrust out his hand. “James Cardigan.”

  “Marie Marsden,” M said swiftly, shaking his hand. “But everyone calls me M, Mr. Cardigan.”

  “Call me James.”

  Her cheeky grin appeared as she said, “Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred . . .”

  “Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade. Noble six hundred,” he answered and continued, “I think Tennyson got it right, don’t you?”

  “Yes, he did. Absolutely.” M paused, then asked, “Are you related to that particular Cardigan?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’ve always been teased about my name. Unavoidable, I suppose.”

  “Heavens to Betsy, what are the two of you going on about?” Geo asked, looking from one to the other in bewilderment.

  James explained, “When M heard my name, she at once associated it with the Earl of Cardigan, who was in command of the light cavalry at the Battle of Balaklava in the Crimean War. In 1854. It was James Cardigan, a general in the British army, who led the charge of the Light Brigade. M quoted a line from Lord Tennyson’s famous poem about the charge, and I responded by quoting another line.” He grinned. “You know what we Brits are like, Georgiana, steeped in our history.”

  “So it seems,” Geo responded pithily. Then she hurried on, “And what did you mean when you said I might be arrested for loitering with intent?”

  “Intent to solicit men,” he told her and winked. “But I’m sure the police don’t follow that practice here. So don’t worry.”

  Geo did not respond, but she had the good grace to laugh. She had met James at several parties over the past year. And she liked him. Also, he usually made her laugh.

  Seizing the moment, M exclaimed, “We’d better hurry, Geo. It’s already nine-thirty, and we really shouldn’t be much later, you know. It’s awfully rude.”

  “Right! Let’s get a move on then,” James said. Situating himself between the two young women, he took one of their hands in each of his and ushered them toward the building where Iris Ingersoll lived.

  “How long have you known Iris?” James asked Geo as they drew closer to the building.

  “We’ve never met,” Geo said. “But M and I know Dax, the actor she’s giving the party for. It was Dax who invited us.”

  “I see. Well, she gives smashing parties. You’re both going to have a terrific time.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Geo murmured, quickly looking at M, who remained silent.

  A uniformed maid ushered them into the apartment, and the three of them stood for a moment in the long entrance foyer.

  M quickly took everything in and understood immediately that it was typical Park Avenue decor: the floor was composed of black-and-white marble squares, the walls covered in a silver wallpaper patterned with large branches of orange blossoms, a faceted crystal chandelier dropped from the ceiling. Traditional decorating, of high quality and safe.

  James led the way down the hall, followed by Geo; M was at the rear as they edged slowly past the assembled guests. As they made it through into the large living room, M’s eyes swept the gathering.

  She spotted Dax immediately. He was standing near the white marble fireplace and looking much better than he had when he left New York. He had obviously been enjoying the California sun and boasted a perfect tan. His blond hair was much blonder, and he had a confident air about him.

  Dax saw her with Geo and waved. He instantly excused himself to the man he was talking to and maneuvered his way through the crowd, intent on reaching them.

  M propelled Geo toward him and stepped aside so that the two of them could greet each other. A moment later he was kissing M’s cheek and enveloping her in a bear hug. Then he held her away from him, stepped back to stare at her.

  A wide smile broke across his face. “So this is the new look you told me about? The Audrey Hepburn look—”

  “Only half an Audrey,” M corrected him
, grinning. “It’s just the hairstyle, really, and slightly thicker eyebrows.”

  “So I see, and I approve, definitely and absolutely approve. Let’s find a corner and catch up.” His gaze took in James, who was standing with them. Stretching out his hand, he said, “Hi, I’m Dax.”

  “James Cardigan. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Come on, let’s go over there to the window, it seems quieter.” Dax went on, “Come with us, James, the girls and I have no secrets.”

  They pushed through the crowd; Dax grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter passing with a tray and handed it to Geo. James did the same, taking two flutes, one for M and the other for himself.

  When they had grouped themselves in the window area, Dax lifted his own glass. “Cheers! You two are certainly a welcome sight. I’ve missed you both.”

  “So did we, miss you,” Geo exclaimed, smiling warmly.

  M simply nodded, then said swiftly, “Congratulations again, Dax. I think it’s wonderful that you have this part. Miraculous, I’d say, since you got it on the other coast. One never knows what’s going to happen in life.”

  Dax laughed, his eyes sparkling when he said, “You can say that again. It was like . . . well, meant to be, I guess.” He then told them the story of how he had met Iris Ingersoll at a dinner party in Bel-Air, had been taken to it by the English actor Colin Burke, a new friend, and how Iris had thought he would be perfect for the play she was producing on Broadway. Second lead, no less.

  M was listening, but her eyes were all over the room. Much to her relief, she saw no one who might know her family, and she relaxed. She was also growing aware that James Cardigan was as curious about everyone as she was, perhaps even more so.

  It seemed to her that there was nothing and no one he missed. She had taken an instant liking to this rather attractive, wiry Englishman, slight of build and slender, with his sandy-auburn hair and hazel eyes. She decided he was in his forties and worldly wise. He had a sense of humor, and there was a naturalness, an easiness about him. It was obvious that he was successful, if his clothes were anything to go by. Although he was as informally dressed as the other men present, wearing a white, open-necked shirt and gray slacks with a dark sports jacket, she had noticed the excellent quality of the fabric and the cut of the jacket. She wondered what he did. Banker? Broker? Business executive? Real estate tycoon? Instantly she dismissed all these professions and unexpectedly thought, No, not James. He’s a cop. Where this thought came from, she had no idea, and it so startled her, she took a quick sip of the champagne and stared at him, frowning.