by Liz Fielding
Her gut-reaction was probably due entirely to her out-of-control hormones racketing about like an electron in a particle accelerator. She was getting her knickers in a twist over nothing. Nothing.
As she parked her car in front of Harries impressive headquarters building she glanced at her watch. Two minutes to twelve. She had started out in plenty of time, but her unwillingness to arrive had apparently communicated itself to her right foot resting lightly, very lightly, on the accelerator.
But it wouldn't do to be late, so Fizz locked the car and throwing the hood of her teal blue coat over her hair against the sleet-laced rain, hurried into the building and upstairs to Luke Devlin's office.
The outer office was unexpectedly empty and for just a moment she wondered if he meant her to cool her heels there as she had done on the previous occasion.
A test for her temper, perhaps, after the way she had so unceremoniously upbraded Phillip Devlin on her last visit. It would probably serve her right, she thought.
She bent to pick up a sheet of paper that had blown onto the floor as she had walked in and when she straightened Luke was standing in the doorway watching her. The shock didn't seem to lessen. Even when she was prepared for him, expecting to see him, the pulse jolting reaction that racketed through her like an out-of-control express still knocked the breath from her.
'Shall I take that?'
She glanced down at the letter she was holding, absently registering the familiar logo.
'It fell on the floor,' she said, lamely, as he took it from her and replaced it on his secretary's desk. 'When I opened the door.'
She stopped. She had done nothing to apologise for, it was just that he had a disconcerting habit of not answering, knowing that if he waited she would keep talking, make a fool of herself. Anything rather than listen to the deepening silence that loomed between them full of questions that would one day have to be answered.
'Come along in, Fizz. This won't take long.'
He ushered her into his office and took her coat, shaking off the raindrops before hanging it on his coat stand. Then he joined her by the window, staring out of the window at the grey, rain-lashed town spread out below them.
'There were days,' he said, 'in Australia and later in California, when I longed for just this kind of weather. I must have been mad.'
'Without a doubt,' she agreed. Then turned to offer him a bright smile, her pulse very nearly under control. 'But it'll soon be spring.'
One corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles and her steady pulse missed a beat, skittering dangerously off on some wild adventure of its own. 'Remind me, Fizz, will that make it stop raining?'
'No,' she said. 'But it will be warmer, the woods will be scented with violets and the fields will be full of new lambs.'
'Ah, yes. I remember.'
And for a moment he remained very still as he regarded the softly draped jersey dress she was wearing in the same blue as her coat.
She hadn't forgotten his scathing comments about the suit she had worn on her previous visit to his offices and she had dressed to please herself, rather than to impress. It seemed to have worked because he made no comment, instead his glance flickered back to her face.
'But I've a good mind to make the sun a part of the contract.'
'But it's always there, Luke. It's just sometimes you can't see it for the clouds.' Fizz was being mesmerised by the disturbing impact of his eyes, drawn towards him. Abruptly she shifted her glance, turning to his desk and the document that lay upon it. 'Is that the agreement?' He nodded. 'You're very confident that I'm going to sign it.'
'Why wouldn't you?' He walked across the room and held out a chair for her. 'Sit down. Read it very carefully, then if you've no questions, I'll get Liz to witness your signature.'
He retired to the sofa leaving her in solitary grandeur behind the broad expanse of his desk on which lay a single document.
She was aware that it would have been wise to have the radio station's solicitors look over the document. But she instinctively knew that this was a take it or leave it situation and if they said it would be unwise to sign what would she do?
She had done her homework, spending hours going over other sponsorship documents her father had signed on behalf of the station during the last five years, letters from solicitors pointing out problem areas, familiarising herself with the language, the get-out clauses, the traps for the unwary.
They seemed to be fairly standard documents and she was confident that she would spot anything odd that had been slipped in. She began to read.
But it was his powerful figure relaxed against the soft leather that drew her eyes. He was far away, lost deep in thought. Wherever, he was, she was certain it was not a happy place and despite her determination to be calm and businesslike there was, deep within her, an urgent and unfamiliar longing to go to him. Comfort him.
He looked up and caught her staring at him.
'Can you manage, Fizz, or do you want me go through it with you clause by clause?' His voice was gently seductive as if he could read the weakness that was invading her bones.
'No.' Luke Devlin was dangerous enough at a distance. If he was sitting at her shoulder she knew she might sign anything, do anything. 'Thank you,' she added, somewhat belatedly.
She ducked her head, grateful for the heavy curtain of hair that fell forward to hide the quick blush that stained her cheeks. She read on, anxious to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible so that she could get off this crazy roller-coaster and return to some semblance of normality.
The majority of the agreement was straightforward enough, standard clauses. He didn't want a great deal from them. No sponsor's message, no display boards to proclaim his generosity in supporting local sporting events.
There was a clause forbidding any other advertising immediately before or after Holiday Bay which was a little harsh, but since he was sponsoring the programme he was entitled to make that stipulation. Then she turned the page and alarm bells began to ring.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FIZZ looked up and was disconcerted to discover that Luke was still watching her intently. It was almost as if he had been waiting for this, expecting it.
She cleared her throat. 'What does this mean?' she asked. 'All cast changes to Holiday Bay must be cleared with you first?' She used the excuse of checking the wording of the document to look away.
But he rose from the sofa and crossed the room to her. With one hand on the back of her chair and one on the desk, he leaned over her to read the wording for himself. 'It's clear enough, isn't it?' He turned his head and looked down into her eyes.
She felt trapped by his contract, caged by his body even though he wasn't touching her. 'I understand the words, Luke, but I would hardly have thought the casting of a minor soap opera constituted a serious concern for a man as busy as you.' He waited, but she had finally learned not to fall into that particular trap. 'That's all.'
'It's not an objection on principle, then?'
Fizz knew she had made a mistake. It wasn't all. Not by a country mile. But she hadn't seen the danger and now he was toying with her, making the point that since she had accepted the principle that he could impose Melanie Brett on the cast, she was being petty on this particular issue. But she wasn't.
'Suppose one of the cast were taken ill suddenly and had to be written out?' she asked.
'Just keep me informed. I wouldn't want anyone having a diplomatic illness simply to avoid working with Melanie.'
'To avoid working with Melanie?' She could scarcely believe her ears. 'Why on earth would anyone do that? The cast are only too glad of the work.' Most of them. She dropped her eyes. He wasn't talking about most of them. He was referring specifically to her sister. She appeared in Holiday Bay somewhat grudgingly at the best of times, considering it beneath her dignity as a "serious" actress. With a soap queen to steal her thunder, she was likely to prove even more difficult, a fact that Fizz was well aware of. She decided t
o confront the problem. 'Are you specifically referring to Claudia?'
'Your sister?' Fizz didn't bother to answer. He knew well enough that it was her sister. He knew too damned much. 'Is she likely to prove difficult?'
'She does drop in and out of the cast to suit her other commitments, sometimes at short notice. Occasionally she has to record her lines where ever she happens to be and they are edited in. I wouldn't want there to be any misunderstandings.'
'Just make sure she doesn't make a habit of it and there won't be a problem, Fizz.'
'You'll really enforce this?' She turned and looked up at him. 'If I don't adhere to the letter of this agreement you will stop the sponsorship money?'
'Naturally. When you explain the situation to your sister I'm quite sure she'll rally to your cause, go out of her way to help.'
Fizz had her own views on that subject, but refused to be drawn. If the worst came to the worst she could play Claudia's character herself, their voices were enough alike and she had done it before in an emergency. If it was edited in afterwards Melanie, and therefore Luke, would never know.
'I'll get Liz in, then, shall I?' His chest brushed against her shoulder as he reached for the intercom switch and she jumped, her whole body responding to his touch. 'Unless there's anything else?'
Fizz shook her head briefly. It wasn't true. There was a question burning on her lips. Why? Why was he doing this? It simply wasn't logical and every fibre of her being was screaming out beware in neon letters ten feet high. But as he leaned over her and she caught his elusive man-scent, the signals became terribly confused.
She couldn't be sure if it was her head that was afraid of Mr Luke Devlin, or her heart. Not that it made any difference. She needed him and he knew it.
Ten minutes later it was over. The agreement signed. The deed done. Pavilion Radio was, for the moment, saved. But at what cost? Even if he had no ulterior motive, her peace of mind had been wrecked beyond recall.
'I think this calls for a little celebration,' Luke said, as he walked her to her car beneath the shelter of an umbrella borrowed from his secretary. 'Melanie is throwing a house-warming party tomorrow evening. Will you come?'
'I've made other arrangements for tomorrow evening,' she objected, without hesitation. To stay at home with a good book and try and forget Luke Devlin existed.
'I'd like you to come and so would Melanie. And a night out will do you good.' She glanced at him sharply. What did he know about her private life? Or lack of it? 'You spend too much time worrying about work. Who knows, perhaps your father could find a window in his busy schedule to come along as well,' he added, with just a touch of irony. 'And your sister too, if she's in Broomhill. Naturally the invitation extends to the staff at the radio station, but I think Melanie has already covered that.'
'You've found a house, then?'
He shrugged. 'I took your advice and settled for Winterbourne Manor.'
She steeled herself. 'Does Melanie like it?'
'You saw the alternatives, Fizz. We're moving in today.'
We. Luke and Melanie. They were a pair. An odd pair, not right for each other. He was too dominant, she was too young. But it was none of her business. For heaven's sake girl, get a grip.
'And throwing a party tomorrow? That takes stamina,' she remarked, with a careless ease that she dredged up from some deep well of strength.
It certainly fooled Luke because he smiled. 'No, we just hired a good firm of caterers. And we have a housekeeper whose middle name is efficiency.'
We. We. 'And did Melanie throw hysterics about the seclusion?' she asked, jabbing herself with the girl's name.
'I told her that you thought it the best available.' His smile was slow, wide, oddly seductive. 'But it was the four-poster that clinched it.'
Fizz swallowed. 'It'll work every time.'
'Will it?' They had reached the car and Luke took her car keys and as he bent to open the door for her he glanced up, his eyes directly level with her own. 'I'm sorely tempted to put so a bold assertion to the test.'
A little gasp escaped her before she bit down hard on the anger that welled up in her throat. How dare he flirt with her with his lover's name still warm upon his lips? Her heart pounding so loud beneath her coat that she was sure he must hear, she raised a well-shaped brow.
'Are you indeed? Won't Melanie object?' she asked, hoping to shame him.
'I won't tell her if you don't.' He touched her lips lightly with the tip of one finger, his dark eyes heavy lidded against the sudden shaft of sunlight that sliced almost horizontally through the lowering clouds. Then he took her hand and dropped her keys into her palm, wrapping fingers about them before stooping to open the door for her. Stunned into silence she slid quickly behind the wheel without a word, just desperate to get away. 'Until tomorrow, Fizz,' he said.
She wasn't sure whether it sounded more like a threat, or a promise.
*****
Luke stood for a moment in the car park and watched Fizz drive away. He should be feeling elated at how smoothly his plans were going. Instead he felt oddly frustrated. Coming to grips with Fizz Beaumont was like trying to catch scotch mist.
She was elusive, defying him to work out just what made her tick.
She lived like a nun and yet the way she looked at him when he caught her off guard made him catch his breath, driving an urgent heat through him. Yet when he attempted the mildest flirtation she shut up like a clam. He was confused and that made him angry.
Liz Meynell looked up from her PC as he returned to his office. 'The report you were expecting arrived while you were with Miss Beaumont,' she said, retrieving her dripping umbrella and handing him the envelope unopened as instructed. 'Shall I get your call to Germany now?'
'Not yet, Liz. There are some private calls I need to make first.' He bent and picked up a letter that had blown onto the floor and putting it on the desk. 'Does this happen every time the door is opened?'
'Not always. I think it must be a combination of events creating a wind tunnel.'
'Get someone in to sort it out will you, we can't have confidential letters blowing about the place. And I'll let you know when I want that call to Germany.'
He shut the door to his office.
*****
'Fizz?'
She stirred at the sound of her name. She had spent the remainder of the afternoon looking through scripts for Holiday Bay, trying to find the right moment to introduce Melanie. Anything to distract her mind from Luke Devlin, the touch of his finger against his lips, from the look in his eyes.
The on/off marriage of the two main characters was winding up to a wedding. The arrival of the beautiful young Australian could be used to tighten the suspense, the anticipation that something would go wrong. But how? It was important not to waste such an asset. Now at the sound of her name she eased her neck and sat back.
'Hello, Jim, come in. What can I do for you?'
'It's more what I can do for you,' he said, sitting down and accepting her offer of coffee. 'You know how little information we were able to come up with on Luke Devlin?' She nodded. 'Well, I thought I'd try another approach. A friend who works in one of the press agencies pulled the file on Melanie Brett for me.' Fizz looked up sharply from pouring the coffee. The relationship was common knowledge? 'Not that I found anything useful about Devlin, but I came across this and since Melanie's joining the cast of Holiday Bay, I thought you ought to see it.' He pushed a photocopy of a press cutting across the desk.
'That's official now,' Fizz said, picking up the sheet of paper. 'Did Kelly record an interview with Melanie for the magazine this afternoon?'
'Yes, she edited it last night. It's a good piece. And all the presenters have their instructions about running the promos.'
'Good. We want to get the whole of Broomhill Bay talking about it.'
'You may not be quite so eager for everyone to be talking once you've read that, Fizz.'
She looked down at the photocopy in her hand. 'What newspa
per is this?'
'A Sydney daily. That's from the gossip and entertainment page.'
'But this is Claudia,' she said, puzzled, staring at a blotchy photograph of her sister smiling from the page, alongside a picture of Melanie.
'She was over there last year touring Shakespeare with your father, remember?'
'Was she? In Australia?'
'Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, Japan. A couple of other places.'
'I knew they'd gone to the Far East, I hadn't realised ... I suppose I should listen more.' But when Claudia and her father started talking "theatre", she tended to switch off.
It was a defence mechanism. Automatic.
Australia. The word had an ominous ring to it and as Fizz began to read the press cutting she realised that she had been right to expect the worst. The cold that ran through her veins had nothing whatever to do with the ambient temperature of her office.
"After her triumphant portrayal of Portia to her father's Shylock," the reporter had written, "I went backstage to talk to Claudia Beaumont and was immediately struck by her likeness to our own sweet Melanie Brett, a point I mentioned to the actress. Miss Beaumont seemed amused by this and remarked that it would always be possible to tell the two of them apart. Melanie was the one who played in soaps while she was the one who could act. Miss Beaumont is certainly a fine actress, but her likeness to Melanie is, after all, illusory.."
'Your sister may look like an angel, but she has a tongue that could cut skin at twenty paces,' Jim said, when Fizz remained silent.
'Possibly, but she isn't stupid enough to make a remark like that. At least not to a newspaper man.'
'On a high after the performance she may just have been careless.'
'Or he may just have made the whole thing up.' She stared at the fuzzy pictures. They hadn't been great to begin with and photocopying hadn't helped. 'Are they alike?' she asked, after a while. 'I hadn't noticed any particular resemblance. It's hard to see much from this.'
