Breaking the Rules

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  At this exact moment James moved closer to her and said, “Are you in the theater also, M?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m a model. And what do you do, James?”

  “I have my own company—”

  “What kind of company?” she interrupted swiftly.

  “It’s a security and investigation company, but on an extremely high level. I can provide someone with a bodyguard or minder, pull up a detailed dossier on almost anybody in the world, find a missing person or missing valuables. You name it, we can do it. We offer a unique service and work with absolute discretion. And this is all within certain boundaries, of course.”

  “You are a cop!” she cried, staring at him harder, her eyes twinkling. “That’s exactly what I thought you were a moment ago.”

  “Well, well, well, did you really? I wasn’t a cop exactly, something similar though. However, I do have a lot of former law enforcement officers working for me.”

  “Where were you not-exactly-a-cop? In London?”

  He leaned into her and said, sotto voce, “I was with MI6, and operating abroad, as MI6 agents always do. Only MI5 agents can work in the U.K.”

  “Oh, my God! A spy! A proper Walsingham, eh?”

  He burst out laughing. “Aren’t you the one, M! You’re certainly up on your English history.”

  “Especially when it comes to the men who worked for Elizabeth Tudor. Anyway, why did you get out? Did you get bored?” she probed, riddled with curiosity.

  “Not at all, I like danger. But I decided it would be a good idea to make some money, so I completed the assignment I was working on and resigned. Or rather, I retired from the agency. I started my company in London five years ago, then decided I wanted to be in New York, so here I am, running this end of the operation.”

  Before M could respond, Dax and Geo, who had been talking quietly, came closer and Dax said, “I think I ought to go and find our hostess, to introduce you both. Stay right here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Geo watched Dax rush away, turned to M, and said, “I’m thrilled he’s going to be in A Streetcar Named Desire. I’ve never seen him so happy, he’s like a different person. Don’t you think so, M?”

  “Yes, I do, but it’s natural, isn’t it? He’s wanted to be an actor for so long, and now he has his chance. Oh, here he is, coming back with Iris.”

  Dax came to a standstill and said, “Iris, I would like you to meet my friends Georgiana Carlson, called Geo, and Marie Marsden, who’s known as M. And this is Iris Ingersoll.”

  Fashionably dressed, Iris Ingersoll was a tall, imposing woman with silver hair and a rather lovely face; she looked much younger than her sixty-odd years. She shook Geo’s hand and then M’s. “I’m so glad you could come. Dax has told me how you both encouraged him to pursue his acting career and have been so supportive.”

  Turning to James, Iris gave him one of her most dazzling smiles. “And how very nice to see you, James, thanks so much for coming. You’re such an asset at a party.”

  “It’s my pleasure to be here, Iris. It always is, actually.”

  Iris inclined her head, then turned to Dax. She continued, “I’d like you to meet a few other people who might be important to you one day. Anyway, the more people you know in this business the better off you’ll be.”

  Dax gave M and Geo a funny grin, raised his eyebrows, and followed Iris.

  M laughed, and so did James, who then looked from M to Geo and asked, “How about freshening up your bubbly, ladies?”

  “Not for me, thank you,” M murmured and put her glass down.

  Geo said, “I think I will, and thanks, James.” She handed him the empty flute.

  Once they were alone, Geo said, “I’m glad I took your advice and wore this black lace outfit, M. The women are quite dressy tonight, don’t you think?”

  “They are, and they’re most definitely New Yorkers,” M answered.

  “Because they’re dressed in black!” Geo grinned, eyeing M and admiring her dress once more. “Aren’t you pleased you wore this? You were hesitant about it.”

  “Yes. Anyway, it is my favorite frock. But I don’t often have the chance to wear it.” M looked down at the skirt and smoothed her hand over it, smiling to herself. The dress was made of black taffeta and was cut in the simplest style, with a straight neckline that stretched from shoulder to shoulder. It had short sleeves, a plain front, and a bell-shaped skirt, which dropped just below the knee.

  Geo now told her, “You know, M, I thought that skirt was a bit too long at first, but it works well on you, and it does give the dress balance.” She threw M a questioning look and asked, “Where did you buy it?”

  “I thought I told you my mother bought it for me. I think she found it in a little boutique in London.”

  “It looks as if it comes from Paris to me,” Geo muttered, her head to one side, her eyes thoughtful. “Paris couture, maybe?”

  M began to laugh and looked away. And caught her breath.

  A man was standing in the doorway of the living room, and he was watching her. Staring hard, in fact. She stared back at him boldly and discovered she couldn’t tear her eyes away. He held her gaze. Mesmerized by him, she felt a sudden weakness in her legs, wished she had a chair to sit down in or lean against.

  He began to walk toward her, and his blue eyes never left her face. She knew who he was. Suddenly she was nervous and just a little bit afraid. Not of him but of herself and what she might do.

  Ten

  He walked toward her.

  The crowd had thinned out; the living room was half empty, and she stood waiting, watching him now, just as moments ago he had been watching her. Their eyes were locked on each other.

  It seemed to M that no one else existed in this room. Her stomach was in knots, and her heart lurched when he finally stood in front of her.

  His face was without expression, but his eyes were intense. They were a very deep blue, the color of cornflowers, and echoed the color of the shirt he was wearing. She knew at once that they saw only her.

  At last he spoke. “My name is—”

  “I know who you are,” she cut in.

  “And I know who you are,” he answered, smiling at her.

  Genuinely shocked by this announcement, M took a deep breath to steady herself. “You do?”

  He reached out, took hold of her hand, and held it in his. “Yes, I do. You’re the elusive woman I’ve been searching for all of my life.”

  Relief flooded her, and she felt herself relax. Normally she would have thought: Oh, what a good line that is, and her cynicism would have risen to the surface and brought a swift dismissive comment to her lips. But she didn’t think that at all. Not now. Not with him. She believed him.

  He leaned into her. “Though I must admit, I don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Marie Marsden, but everyone calls me M.”

  “Not M and M?” His blue eyes were suddenly twinkling mischievously.

  “No.” She laughed, staring into his face, a face which had been engraved on her heart since she was a little girl. “Just M is fine.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Old enough,” she shot back, an eyebrow lifting. “And that was a rather rude question to ask me.”

  “Yes, you would think that, especially with your upbringing,” he remarked. A small amused smile lurked around his mouth.

  Ignoring his comment, she said, “I know how old you are. . . . You’re thirty-five, which actually makes you twelve years older than I. But numbers don’t matter to me.”

  “Nor to me.”

  “Actually, I know a great deal about you.”

  “Not too much, I sincerely hope,” he exclaimed and threw her a look of mock dismay.

  “Enough.”

  “And why do you know so much about me?” he asked, a dark brow lifting quizzically.

  “I saw you in Hamlet and got an instant crush on you. So I needed to know all about you.”

  “I’m so glad!”
He eyed her appraisingly.

  “When I was ten years old,” she went on quickly, wanting to clarify; then leaning closer to him, she added, “I was dreamy-eyed about you.”

  “Are you still?”

  “Of course not! I’m a grown woman now.”

  “What a pity you don’t feel the same way.”

  “I’m older,” M answered, smiling at him enigmatically.

  “Are you here with anyone?”

  “No. Well, that’s not strictly true. I came with my friend Geo. She’s over there somewhere. Oh, there she is, near the fireplace.”

  He followed the direction of her gaze and murmured, “The pretty blonde, right?”

  M nodded.

  He asked, “And why are you both here? Do you know Iris?”

  “No, neither of us does. We’re friends of Dax, the guest of honor.”

  “Oh, yes, Iris’s new protégé. The story is he’s a good actor. Is he?”

  “I don’t know. Does that matter these days?”

  He heard the pithiness in her voice and laughed. “And what about you, Miss M? Are you an actress?”

  “No, I’m a model.”

  He stood away from her slightly, looking at her steadily, not speaking.

  She gazed back boldly.

  They were suddenly lost for words, lost in each other. The chatter swirled around, people moved past them, and they were unaware of everything except themselves. Her hand was still in his, and he pressed it against his chest.

  Finally he broke the silence when he said, very softly, “You’re the woman . . . the woman I want to run away with. . . . Let’s do that, shall we?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, of course now. If not now, when? Let’s find a desert island and set up camp . . .”

  She noticed the amused twinkle in his eyes again, heard the laughter in his mellifluous voice. “But I can’t leave Geo stranded here,” she protested.

  “We can’t take her with us!” he exclaimed. Then he warned, “You know two’s company, three’s none. Let’s move out into the foyer, it seems quieter there. . . . We can make our plans.”

  He led her across the room, and once in the foyer he leaned against a wall and drew her even closer so that her body rested against his.

  M began to tremble, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, to be in such close proximity to this man with whom she had been infatuated as a child. Over the ensuing years he had remained her ideal, and she had always measured other men against him.

  He asked gently, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice sounded faint to her.

  “I don’t want to stay here. Too many folk. I want to be alone with you. Wouldn’t you prefer that?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then it’s a done deal. I’m going to take you somewhere quiet for supper. There’s a little place I know.”

  “All right,” M began, then paused. Geo, walking determinedly toward them, was accompanied by James. “Geo’s coming this way with James Cardigan.”

  “I’ll head them off, don’t worry,” he said in a confident tone.

  For the last ten minutes or so Geo had been fascinated by the way M had been glued to Laurence Vaughan. She had noticed how the famous movie star had made a beeline for M when he arrived, and they had come together like old friends. Maybe they were exactly that, Geo thought. After all, they were both English. As she and James edged toward the foyer, weaving through the thinning crowd, Geo asked, “Do you know him, James?”

  “Only from the silver screen. And by reputation,” James answered. “But I’ve got to admit, I’m a genuine fan. He’s one of the greatest actors on the English-speaking stage today. Nobody’s played Hamlet better, except perhaps for Christopher Plummer. And he’s a handsome son of a gun. No wonder women fall all over him.”

  Including M, Geo thought, and stepping forward, she smiled. “You two must be old friends, the way you’ve been chatting nonstop.”

  “We are indeed . . . very old friends,” he answered, offering Geo his most engaging smile.

  M jumped in swiftly and said, “Geo, James, I’d like you to meet Laurence Vaughan.”

  After the three of them shook hands, Larry went on in a firm voice, “I’m trying to persuade M to come to supper with me, but she’s worried about leaving you to fend for yourself, Geo.”

  “Oh, please don’t concern yourself about that, M,” James answered quickly. “I’ll fend for her anytime. Is that all right with you, Geo?”

  “Of course it is, James.”

  They had taken a cab to the restaurant in the Eighties just off Lexington. In the cab he had ached to take her in his arms, hold her close, kiss her passionately. He had managed to resist this impulse, held her hand instead, just as he had been doing for the previous hour at Iris Ingersoll’s apartment.

  Larry had not wished to frighten her off, not that he thought she was the kind of young woman who would be easily frightened. To him she seemed self-confident, more intrepid than most. Yes, that was it—there was a fearlessness about her that intrigued and appealed to him.

  Now, sitting opposite her at a corner table in Le Refuge, a favorite hideaway of his, Larry smiled inwardly, thinking of their earlier banter. She could certainly think on her feet, was fast on the draw, rather bold, and just a little bit cheeky. He especially liked that about her; it made her unlike the women he knew.

  It suddenly struck him how lucky he had been to meet her tonight. He almost hadn’t gone to Iris’s party, had fought the idea of it all day, feeling depleted and depressed. But at the last moment he had realized he owed it to Iris to show up. And so he had shaved, showered, dressed, and gone over there, and spotted M the moment he walked in.

  He had moved toward her at once, drawn to her in the most compelling way; the feeling was so intense it startled him, and he realized he had not experienced anything like it before.

  Funny thing, attraction. It was always the powerful physical pull initially, being entranced by the way someone looked . . . the curve of a brow, the line of a cheek, the set of the mouth, the expression in the eyes, the color of the hair, the overall set of the jib . . . that’s what captivated the heart.

  Unfortunately, character did not always live up to great physical beauty, and a woman without character soon palled on him. He adored beautiful women; on the other hand, beauty had never been enough, did not wholly satisfy him, not in the long run. Ultimately it was . . . boring. That’s why he had always moved on, had never married any of the women in his life.

  “You’re staring at me, Larry,” M said, looking across the table at him, putting down the menu. He had the oddest look on his face.

  His thoughts interrupted, he answered swiftly, “I’m sorry, love. I was just thinking how lucky I am you were there tonight, and that I found you.”

  “Do you really mean that?” she asked, studying him with great interest, her head to one side.

  “Certainly. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. You feel the same way, don’t you?”

  She merely nodded, her gaze focused on him. His eyes were a very deep blue in the soft light of the bistro, and most beguiling. Just as he himself was beguiling. But then he had always been that, hadn’t he? Even when she was a child, she had been spellbound when she saw him on a stage or in a movie.

  “I realize we haven’t actually met before tonight,” Larry now said, “but I have this extraordinary feeling I do know you, M. You seem so very familiar to me.”

  “Perhaps that’s because I’m half an Audrey.”

  “What on earth does that mean?” He sounded puzzled.

  “Some people think I have a look of Audrey Hepburn. But I’m only half like her.”

  His amused smile of earlier flickered again. “Come to think of it, there is a resemblance. But it’s not that. . . . I have a sense of knowing you.”

  “Perhaps we met in another life,” she suggested, her voice teasing.

  “Maybe we did.” He glanced away,
looking off into the distance, then focused on her again, frowning.

  “Honestly, we haven’t met before, Larry,” she murmured.

  “If we had, you wouldn’t have escaped, I can assure you of that.”

  M shook her head, laughter mingled with happiness in her large dark eyes. “That’s a rash thing to say, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I might take you seriously.” She responded so quietly she was hardly audible.

  “I hope you will.” Larry gave her a thoughtful look, then reached for her hand resting on the table, held it in his. “I hope this is the beginning . . . of something special, M, I really mean that. I’ve said quite a few things to you tonight, things which may have sounded odd to you, but I promise I’ve never said them to any other woman. You have to trust me on that.”

  Continuing to hold his hand tightly in hers, she said in the same low voice, “I do trust you, and not just about the things you’ve said to me.” A faint smile touched her mouth, and she added, “I’d trust you with my life, Laurence Vaughan, and I mean what I say.”

  “I’ll always keep you safe and sound. Promise.”

  Leaning across the table, M studied him for a moment; she knew he meant it. In a confiding tone she told him, “When I was ten I used to dream about you, Larry. Every night.”

  “Do you still?” he asked.

  “No, of course not! That was long ago, when you were my dashing Hamlet. Oh, I had such a crush on you, I couldn’t see straight.”