Ironically, now that she was not forced into a domestic role, Gina enjoyed her free time, experimenting with recipes in her streamlined kitchen; doing her own decorating; looking after her enormous collection of plants, which, growing in a variety of exotic pots, stood on a raised semi-circular dais under the living-room window.
She was entitled to enjoy her leisure! She worked hard, five days a week, researching, rehearsing and, quite often, filming on location, as she would have to at the motor-cycle rally.
She gave an irritated exclamation. She tried not to bring working problems home with her, but this one worried her, nearly as much as that other incident which had had near-fatal results.
She took her snack supper into the luxurious sitting-room, feeling her usual sense of satisfaction at its sybaritic comfort. Decorated in harmonising shades of green, it had a sunken central square of cushions; the shelving around the wall held valuable antiques. She sat down among the cushions, in her favourite place, the position from which she could best admire her small, but precious, collection of Impressionist paintings. When she'd been seventeen, she reflected wryly, weekend evenings had been for dating. Staying in had been a tragedy, not having a date a social stigma. But all those agonies were gone. Supper for one in front of the television was a pleasure nowadays, not a pain. Who needed men?
*
'Gina, you are incredible!' Jimmy said, one morning a few days later, as she joined him in the rain-sodden field, the mud already churned ankle deep by the spinning wheels of motor cycles.
'Ssh!' Anxiously, automatically, she looked about her, seeking possible eavesdroppers. It was customary for her to be addressed only as Fantasy Woman. Satisfied that no one was within earshot, she asked, 'What do you mean?'
'I mean that only you could contrive to look both sexy and mysterious in the middle of a muddy field, wearing blue waterproofs, red wellingtons and that hat!'
She laughed aloud.
'What you forget, Jimmy, is that, basically, I am the outdoor type!'
Her delighted laughter, throaty, husky, had carried clearly on the damp morning air, and Tod Fallon, already alerted to her arrival by the cavalcade of cars and vans, the swivelling of cameras, the anticipatory murmurs that had run through the watching crowd, edged his way imperceptibly closer. She seemed to be on good terms with the ginger-headed fellow at her elbow. Boyfriend? Unlikely from what he'd heard about her. Probably part of the production team. Whoever he was. Tod decided, he wasn't man enough to handle that redheaded package of dynamite.
There was even less of her visible today, he thought, with a return of his irritation. Muffled up in a voluminous blue cagoule, the top half of her face obscured by the mask and the black, waterproof sombrero, all that showed was the laughing mouth: a wide, generous sweep of full lips, exposing white, even teeth.
In view of the weather, he had expected feminine petulance, moodiness, from the star of the show, but she looked and sounded remarkably cheerful. Still, she could afford to be cheerful. He had been pulling those confidential strings and he now had some idea of just how much she earned from this series and from the by-products of her personality cult; her earnings reached a figure that some people would find hard to match. But not Tod Fallon. Finance presented no problem to him. Besides, everyone had their price, and he had the best of incentives to bid high ... Marcha!
In spite of the steady drizzle, which had seemed to reduce everything and everyone to the same uniform grey, Gina had noticed Tod Fallon. He would be a difficult man to overlook. Even in casual, weatherproof clothes, his height made him stand out in this motley crowd; he was totally unlike the usual run of sensation seekers. He looked too cultured, too sophisticated somehow, to be interested in her or her show, or even in today's events. Unless, of course, he was the bored but indulgent parent of one of the young participants. Most of these motor-cycle-mad kids had families who could afford to buy them the best, the latest model of bike. There must be at least a dozen of the machines here today, a kaleidoscope of varying metallic colours, circling and recircling the assembly point, practising 'wheelies', churning up the mud, the drone of high revving engines monotonous to the ear, wearing on the nerves.
Oh, let's get on with it, she thought suddenly, get it safely over. She felt the usual butterflies churn in the pit of her stomach. She hated this waiting. Would she never forget the stunt that had gone so tragically wrong? No! Impossible! Not even if she were to neglect her self-imposed, regular reminder of it.
Inevitably there was a lot of waiting around on location shots, waiting for cameramen to decide on angles; and today they would wait while one or two of the regular kids were filmed going over the course, just to show how tricky it really was, wheels spinning helplessly on muddy inclines, bunny hopping over logs, easing their way beneath tricky limbos. Then it would be the 'victim's' turn. Despite the waterproof, some of the damp chill must have got through to her, for she shivered a little. Physically fearless herself, she would far rather be waiting to undergo the ordeal than to see if someone else, particularly a youngster, came safely through it.
Her curious gaze returned several times to Tod Fallon's strong, compelling face, as she speculated on who and what he was, why he was here. For some reason he interested her; in a purely academic way, of course. Because she shunned male company for herself, it didn't mean she couldn't appreciate a man's appearance, feel curiosity about his character and occupation.
This one was a little too spectacular-looking for her taste, with his splendid physique and those dark good looks, enhanced rather than marred by the generous scattering of grey hair. Such men, she'd always found, were arrogantly aware of their own masculine attractions. He looked a tough character, too, with those rugged features and that assertive chin. Not the sort you'd care to tangle with. The heavy black bar of eyebrows that just met across the straight, forthright nose, hinted at an intolerant nature, a hasty temper that it would be unwise to arouse.
Suddenly she realised that the prolonged analysis had not been one-way. He was watching her, his study more covert than her own, as though to avoid detection. But now she, had discovered his ploy, he met her eyes openly, almost challengingly. No doubt he was accustomed to women giving him more than a second glance, was probably complacent and conceited about the fact. She too was accustomed to appreciation, male appreciation, which these days she shrugged aside. But why did she have the feeling that this man was not just admiring, that there was more to his assessment than that?
As his piercing eyes continued to hold hers, she realised that he was moving slowly but surely towards her, that, despite a supreme effort of will, she could not break the tenuous link between them. She felt more than just a slight unease now. He must have taken her idle curiosity for interest, invitation even?
'Jimmy,' she murmured, 'that man; he's getting too close.' But for once Jimmy was out of earshot. 'That's far enough,' she told the man, politely but coldly, so that there should be no mistaking the fact that she meant what she said.
'Surely there can be no objection to my paying homage to ... a celebrity?' The pause before the final words was mocking. Why on earth should a total stranger speak to her in this way?
'No objection,' she conceded coolly, 'but if you have anything to say, you can say it from where you are.'
'Right!' To her relief, he seemed to accept her dictum. 'First off, what's the purpose of the mask?' Tod asked bluntly. He knew the purpose very well, but he wanted to gauge her reaction to provocation. 'Are you disfigured?'
'No I'm not!' Energetically, Gina refuted the suggestion. But just suppose she had, been? What a totally unfeeling brute of a man he must be!
'Then why?' he persisted.
'I thought everyone knew that by now,' she retorted scornfully. 'It's to preserve Fantasy Woman's anonymity.'
'I've been out of the country for a while,' Tod said. 'Last week was only the first time I've watched your programme. It's not,' he added drily, 'my normal taste in viewing.'
I bet, Gina thought. He was probably an intellectual snob. The news and heavy documentaries would be about his only concession to the popular medium. But all levels had to be catered for and her programme provided a service to those who liked their entertainment light.
'I don't see the need for such a ridiculous charade,' Tod continued. 'Other presenters don't seem to find it necessary and there are very similar programmes.'
'Exactly!' she said triumphantly. 'So we need something different, a gimmick.' What was she doing, she wondered in amazement, defending the particular aspect of the show that she herself most disliked? It must be that this man made her hackles rise. She felt she would have taken issue with him on any subject.
'A feeble reason,' the big man retorted. 'Now, if you were afraid of being recognised outside the studio, that I could understand.'
'Why should I be afraid?' Gina challenged him.
'Oh, I don't know. Let's say something went wrong on your show? Wouldn't people blame you for any accidents? Threaten you even? The public can be very fickle where their idols are concerned. Just suppose this kid today breaks a leg or something?'
'Are you a reporter?' Gina asked suspiciously. 'Because if so, I don't give interviews.' It was a little late to make a stand on that principle, she thought, furious with herself. He'd already elicited enough information from her to write an article, embroidering it, misquoting her.
'I'm not a reporter and you haven't answered my question.'
'I don't have to answer your question, but just to put the record straight I'll tell you what you want to know and then perhaps you'll kindly stop pestering me. Things very rarely do go wrong. Stunts are always supervised by experts.'
'But there have been incidents?' Tod persisted, 'Injuries?'
'One or two, nothing serious, not since I. ..'
'OK, Fantasy Woman!' One of the cameramen sang out. 'We're ready to take the opening shots.'
Relieved, Gina turned away from her inquisitor. Briefly, she filled Jimmy in on the incident.
'Where were you when I needed you?' she reproached. 'I wonder who he is and why he was asking all those questions? He sounded as if he disapproved of the show, of me.'
'He'll be press of some kind, whatever he says. Forget him! It's time for the introduction. We'll have you sitting on one of these bikes, I think.'
'Why not have her carry out the stunt herself? Just to show how safe and easy it is?'
Gina swung around with a gasp of stupefaction, every sense suddenly wary and alert. The tall man had followed them, was at her elbow, only inches separating them. She felt herself tauten and quiver, almost as if he had touched her, unwelcomely conscious of the strong aura of masculinity that had been apparent even at a distance. She felt overpowered. She was tall, but he was taller. To her suddenly vibrating nerves, it seemed he exuded a kind of subtle menace.
'Will you please keep your distance, sir!' Jimmy was annoyed.
'Has your Fantasy Woman ever tried out any of the things she expects her guests to do?' Tod persisted, quite undeterred apparently by their joint hostile reaction.
'I don't expect people to do anything,' Gina snapped, before Jimmy could answer. 'They ask me to arrange something. After that it's up to them.'
'So you don't care if they injure themselves?'
'Of course I'd care if someone was hurt.' Gina felt uncharacteristically close to tears, and she hadn't wept since ... Oh, why did he have to set her nerves jangling just at this moment, when she was already tense?
'But you're too chicken to try the stunts yourself?'
'No! No! No! Will you stop pestering me? I'm not scared of anything! But the terms of my contract don't permit me to ... Oh, go away! I've got a show to do.'
Determined that this arrogant, pushy man should not witness the distress he was causing her, she swung away, then felt her feet in their bright wellingtons slip from under her so that she sprawled her length in the cycle-churned mud. Before Jimmy could move to help her, the tall man had done so, his hands closing about her upper arms, hauling her unceremoniously to her feet. Gina felt like screaming with frustration. Her bright blue cagoule was soiled and, although she wasn't hurt physically, her pride was severely damaged. She'd made a fool of herself in front of all these people. It would be in every paper tomorrow, unless someone more important had an equally ridiculous accident. It was all this man's fault, she fumed. If he hadn't been so annoyingly persistent, made her angry, she wouldn't have moved so carelessly.
The heat of fury banished the tears that had threatened and she looked up, intent upon scorching him both verbally and with her eyes. Lips parted, the stream of invective she had planned was silenced by the mirth in his hitherto serious face. He was silently laughing at her! How dared he! Then, to add insult to injury, he gave vent to his amusement in a great shout, plainly audible to every bystander.
'Fantasy Woman!' he spluttered, scarcely able to articulate. 'Whatever happened to that air of dignified mystery? Right at this moment, you look more like a disreputable Paddington Bear!'
Gina gasped with outrage, but then the aptness, the ludicrous truth of his statement struck her and against her will her own sense of the ridiculous surfaced. She felt her mouth begin to quirk with the beginnings of a smile, a smile swiftly banished by his next words.
'That's better. At least it proves you're human, that you can laugh at your own misfortunes as well as those of others. Now, if I could only see what you look like, without that mask ...'
But she backed away hastily, carefully this time, and to her relief he did not pursue her any further. But Gina was aware of his dark eyes watching the filming from the distance Jimmy insisted on for all members of the public, and annoyingly she found his words rankling with her.
At school and in her teens, she'd been a splendid athlete, horsewoman and swimmer; and she'd always kept herself fit. Recently, she had even been attending judo classes. She knew she was capable of. feats of physical endurance, so why couldn't that dimension be added to the show?
As for the stranger's accusation that she laughed at the failures of others, she was frankly puzzled. It was something she wouldn't dream of doing, however comical such an incident might be. Like most people, she possessed the banana-skin sense of humour, but to give vent to it at the expense of her guests would be most unprofessional. It puzzled her, too, why this man seemed so set on annoying her.
Automatically, she went through the typical introductory script. The young motor cyclists performed. The girl who had made the request to compete against the boys did so and acquitted herself reasonably well. The shots were in the can and the episode would be one of many shown on the next programme. Nothing further untoward occurred. The large man would have to eat his words, admit that safety was a major factor of their undertakings.
But there was no sign of him and, where she should have felt relieved, Gina felt unreasonably disappointed. It would have been pleasant to have given him a triumphant 'I told you so' look. It would at least have redressed some of the indignity of her own mishap.
CHAPTER TWO
That evening, she found her mind returning over and over again to the stranger's suggestion, a suggestion that, had he but known it, matched strongly with her own inclinations.
Without much hope, once again, she had broached the subject with Jimmy, and as usual he had been frankly horrified.
'Sorry, it's not on. The sponsors wouldn't allow it. If you started performing stunts, we'd have a totally different programme concept. And if it's that fellow that accosted you this morning, forget him. There's no reason for you to worry what he thinks. Is there?' he added suspiciously.
Gina sighed with exasperation. She was letting work intrude on her free time yet again, and this time it was the fault of that annoying man. Hoping to divert her thoughts, she switched on the television. At this time of night, there was usually something purely escapist, a laughable rather than spine-chilling horror film, or some corny soap opera.
It was the latter,
set in a totally unbelievable hospital. None of the incidents shown could possibly happen in real life, would never have been permitted to happen in the hospital where she had once worked.
For, originally, Gina had intended to be a nurse. She'd just completed her first year, when she met Keith Taylor. A journalist, he'd come to the hospital to cover a heart transplant operation and Gina had been the only person passing through reception. He'd delayed his appointment with the hospital secretary just long enough to fix his image upon the impressionable nineteen-year-old she'd been then, and had managed to intercept her once more on his way out, to ask her for a date.
It had been a whirlwind romance and, against all advice, she had married Keith within six weeks of their first encounter. Too late she'd realised that married life was not all that she had anticipated. Things had started to go wrong, even on their honeymoon.
Following almost immediately upon Gina's disillusionment with married life, there had been drastic cuts in the health service and she and many of her fellow students had found themselves unemployed.
Keith had been delighted; now she would be totally dependent on him. During their brief courtship, he'd managed to disguise certain traits which, since marriage, had come unpleasantly to the fore. He was possessive and almost dangerously jealous. Not only had he been jealous; he hadn't been satisfied with her as she was, the girl he professed to love, but had tried to mould her into his conception of a wife. Perhaps all men had this desire for dominance, the need to change the status quo? That man at 'the rally! Hadn't he been suggesting change and hadn't she disliked his attitude towards herself? She resented male scorn, the assumption of male superiority.
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