SWEET PRETENCE
Jacqueline Gilbert
Are you on guard against all men, or just me?"
Joe's question unsettled Frederica, but she had her reasons for keeping cool and distant with Joseph Corey.
Years ago they'd been lovers, but these days Freddy needed both feet on the ground. A single parent and a serious career woman had no room in her life for short flings with old flames.
And though Freddy readily admitted Joe had his sensual charms, she made it clear that getting burned twice was not on her list of things to do with her life--Joe just didn't seem to be listening.
For
Virginia and Oliver
Balboa Island
California
with love
CHAPTER ONE
IF it had not been so important to show her face that evening Freddy would have cried off going. She had worked late on the Tandy rushes—which thankfully had turned out to be good so there was no problem of doing re-takes—and the rest of the day had been unusually hectic. What she really wanted to do was to soak in the bath with the last capful of apple blossom oil, read a good book, and eat scrambled eggs and crisp bacon! Pure bliss!
She frowned into the mirror and wondered if the new eye make-up was a mistake. Too late to do anything about it now; the taxi would be arriving soon and she hadn't been in to see Megan yet. She ran a brush through her shoulder-length hair and wondered if she should have it cut... Decisions, decisions, life was full of them! She pulled a rueful face and thought, hey, come on now, Frederica Leigh, stop belly-aching!
The face that gazed back at her from the mirror was not one she herself would have chosen had she had any say in the matter. Her eyes were all right, quite a nice light green, actually, but her face was too long and thin and her cheekbones stuck out too much. At least her nose was straight and her mouth reasonable, but she had the pale skin tones that gave a suggestion of frailty that was totally misleading.The hair that she was brushing vigorously was dark brown, thick and straight with the faintest streaks of red-gold where the summer's sun had bleached it. Horse's face and mane, Freddy was wont to declare as a teenager, and the image had stuck in her mind. She didn't appreciate what prizes maturity had brought with it. Her height, which as a child had caused well concealed despair, now gave her distinction, and whatever she wore she looked good in.
She fixed ear-rings into her lobes and then a quick dab of perfume signalled she was ready. She went from her bedroom, across the hall and into her daughter's, where Megan was propped up in bed turning the pages of a picture book.
'How do I look?' Freddy asked, adopting a model-like pose.
'Nice,' declared Megan. 'All glittery like a princess. Is it a party?'
'Sort of.' Freddy sat on the edge of the bed and Megan moved to accommodate her. 'To do with work—a kind of birthday party.'
'Will there be candles on a cake?'
'I think there'll be a cake. I'll let you know about ihe candles. Have you cleaned your teeth—what's left of them?'
Megan bared the centre-front gap in an exaggerated smile and giggled.
'Good girl. Judith's in charge tonight. She said she'll be in to read a story in a minute.'
'Goody!' Megan's eyes lit up in her pale pixie face. Too pale? Freddy wondered with a rush of anxiety, and the usual panic swept over her, which she made an effort to contain. All children had their ups and downs, she told herself severely, and chicken pox was only four weeks back. She bent to kiss her daughter's upturned face and an onsweep of love and protection made her gather the little girl into her arms and give her a hug, whispering fiercely,
'Oooh, I do love you, Megan Leigh!'
'I love you too, Mummy,' answered Megan.
'How convenient it is that we live together,' teased Freddy, undoing the ribbons on Megan's thin, straggly plaits and pulling the hair free into corrugated waves.
'Who will be at the party—someone nice?' asked Megan, her eyes fixed on her mother's face.
'With a bit of luck, Harrison Ford,' joked Freddy, glancing at the huge poster of Indiana Jones, alias Harrison Ford, that had pride of place on the wallspace.
Megan looked at her mother uncertainly, as if unsure whether to believe that such an important film star could really be going, and then rightly judged that she was being leg-pulled and grinned. 'He's nice,' she said simply and Freddy laughed and agreed.
'He's a dish!' She gave Megan another kiss and rose, saying, 'I'll pop in again before I go,' eyeing the poster as she went out, thinking, I should be so lucky!
She made her way down the hall and into the apartment's main sitting-room, announcing, 'Judith, I think Meg is coming up for another manhunt. I recognise the signs.'
The occupant of the room, a girl in her late twenties, looked up from the school books she was marking and sang softly, 'All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth—and a father!' Judith Snow grinned and went back to her books. She occupied the apartment above, taught sixth-form mathematics and was engaged to be married to a biochemist doing a year's research in America.
'Do you think she's insecure?' asked Freddy as she straightened Megan's school photograph on the mantelpiece and thought again what a good one it was, capturing the serious look that was especially Megan, off-set by the tentative, gappy smile.
'Kids hate to be different, and the norm is having two parents,' replied Judith matter-of-factly, marking ticks and crosses. 'If you're worried, you know what to do.'
'I'm not getting married again to provide a father for Megan,' announced Freddy emphatically. 'And she's got a father, when he remembers her. And you know I'm off marriage.'
'I'll lay odds you'll change your mind,' murmured Judith.
'I'm getting on fine by myself,' Freddy went on, ignoring her. 'I love my work. I can change a plug and mend a fuse and do other male-orientated jobs. I'm coping with Megan—thanks to you and others. I have good friends of both sexes and occasionally indulge in romantic interludes...'
'Keeping both feet firmly on the ground,' interrupted Judith, and Freddy laughed.
'Perhaps you ought to have said something different—that sounds too graphic—but yes, you're quite right. I like to call the tune these days and fit the occasional man into my life when it's convenient. Why should I get married?' She thought for a moment and went on, 'For Meggie, it's not wanting a father so much, as finding a husband for me. She thinks I'm missing out on something.' She stifled a yawn. 'I'm going to be great company tonight.'
'You'll feel different when you're there,' promised Judith. 'How I wish I had your shape,' and she eyed her friend wistfully, thinking of her own short, slightly plump form. She would have looked ridiculous in the red sequinned top and pencil-slim skirt—you needed legs that went on for ever and a height of five-eight for that. 'Anyone of interest going?' she asked.
'I doubt it.' Freddy looked at her sharply. 'Judith, you're just as bad as Megan. She said I looked like a princess and obviously expects the prince to turn up and complete the fairy-tale.'
Judith glanced at the clock. 'Aren't you going to be late?'
'The taxi's due in a minute. Judith,' Freddy was not to be deviated, 'you're always pointing out to your sixth-formers that Cinderella has a choice these days... that she doesn't have to try on the glass slipper, that there are other things in life instead of rushing into marriage just for security and the status quo.'
'I know I do,' replied Judith calmly, 'but Cinders hadn't any options, had she? She wasn't educated, poor thing, so there was no choice for her but to try on the slipper. There will be for my girls. I'm not against marriage, I'm for fulfilment. You've had your education and you've got somewhere withyour life, doing what you want to do. You can afford to at least think about the slipper, and
for all your independence I'd like to see you falling in love.'
'Oh, lor'!' groaned Freddy. 'Look, Ju, when I can find a man who will let me think and act for myself, who considers my job to be as important as his, who--' The front doorbell rang, '—treats me as an equal, who admits--'
'You'll be late, and there's no such paragon walking this earth,' interrupted Judith. 'You have to make do with the less than perfect.'
'—that women have a raw deal in climbing the professional ladder--' Freddy picked up her coat. '—and who is secure enough not to feel I'm a threat to his manhood, then, and only then, will I marry again.'
'We haven't built Utopia yet, and in the mean time you're going to have a lonely old age,' prophesied Judith and waved a dismissive hand. 'Go and wow 'em with the shoulder-pads, pal.'
Freddy grinned. The doorbell rang again and Megan shouted 'Doorbell!'
from the bedroom. 'Don't forget to let Dini out,' reminded Freddy, and at the sound of his name the Boxer dog lying at Judith's feet lifted his black head and the stumpy tail wagged.
'If he finds another hole in the hedge I am not going hunting for him and that's final,' threatened Judith, glaring at the dog who looked back soulfully.
'You're an angel,' called Freddy as she rushed out of the room and into Megan's, giving her a hurried hug and a kiss, and flying out of the house. The taxi driver, luckily, was not the talkative sort, and she sat lost in thought for the fifteen minutes it took to drive into the city centre. She knew she overreacted sometimes with Megan, but bringing up a child as a single parent wasn't easy. Not that she had expected it to be, and she was luckier than most, having supportive parents and friends and a satisfying job. And she had a reasonable track record for her thirty-one years, she defended reflectively. It was true she had a failed marriage on the debit side, but that wasn't so terrible, was it? She had tried, really tried to make it work, but it hadn't come off. It wasn't often Freddy allowed herself to look back on that period, for no matter how hard she tried to kid herself, there were deep guilt feelings of failure within her that were not easy to live with. But it was no good thinking negatively, she told herself firmly, gazing out of the window with unseeing eyes. She had some points on the credit side. Megan, for one, constantly delighting her, becoming each day more and more a person in her own right. It was a wonderful experience watching her grow and develop. As for occasional feelings of inadequacy, this was normal even in a two-parent family. Her job was enormously satisfying and she loved it. Freddy worked as a freelance producer-director for Atticus, an independent film company making dramas and documentaries for television. Openings were becoming more available for women in this field these days, but it was still an uphill drag, and dominated by men. As for friends, she was not short of either sex. A divorcee, Freddy soon learned, was a target for men out for a good time, especially married men, but she was lucky to have a nucleus of supportive friends. The taxi pulled up outside the hotel and the driver turned his head and said,
'We're here, lady, and cheer up, things can't be as bad as all that!'
Freddy realised she had been frowning, and laughed, saying as she alighted,
'You're right, they're not!'
She made her way into the hotel, taking the lift to the first floor, where the Atticus celebrations were being held. It was the company's fifteenth year and it had been decided to celebrate the fact, being a good opportunity to bring together clients and "backers, writers and technicians, plus the Atticus work-force. By the sound of the noise coming from the reception room, the party was going with a swing.
Freddy squeezed her way through the crowd, smiling and saying hello, her tiredness lifting as she was caught up in the infectious gaiety, stopping at intervals to join in. It was the usual insular chit-chat that dominated such functions, a mixture of frivolous one-liners and earnest arguments, often amusingly malicious—bitchiness was not confined to women, Freddy had found.
'There you are, Freddy, my dear. I was hoping you'd make it.' Patrick Tyson, Executive Director of Productions and co-founder, with his wife, of Atticus Productions, neatly scooped a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter and put it into her hand. He was blond, blue-eyed and handsome, astute and shrewd, and Freddy's boss.
'I wouldn't miss tonight for anything,' Freddy told him, smiling as she murmured her thanks for the wine. 'Everyone who's anyone is here, I see.'
A camera flashed and the photographer scribbled her name, offered by Patrick, and moved on.
'I doubt he's any wiser,' commented Freddy, laughing a little. 'He's thinking, Frederica Leigh? Never heard of her!'
'It takes time. Actors are the ones the viewers usually remember,' replied Patrick, his broad back shielding her from being jostled.
'I have an idea for Sixty Minutes, Patrick,' Freddy said and Patrick eyed her with approval.
'Good. Come and see me about it. How's Tandy going?'
'We're on schedule. I think this episode will be extra good.' Tandy, a police detective series, was an Atticus long-running success and Freddy was one of its producers. They spoke together for some minutes on matters concerning work and then Patrick left her.
Freddy continued her wandering, exchanging greetings with various Heads of Departments and representatives from the BBC and the IBA. It was obvious that speech-time was coming up, so she secured herself a good position so that she could see the top table where the Tysons were preparing to cut the cake. This was decorated with a television camera and the words
'Atticus—Fifteen Years' piped round the top. Glasses were being filled in readiness for the toasts, and conversation died down into a waiting silence as Patrick Tyson faced his guests.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' he began, 'Dinah and I welcome you all here this evening...'
Freddy listened for a while with her attention on the top table, and then her eyes roamed, watching the faces of those around her. As a child she had liked taking photographs, but as the years had passed she had come to realise that the moving picture excited her more. Freddy's camera eye was roving the sea of faces watching Patrick Tyson, judging which shots she would take if she were directing a programme right at this minute. Still half listening to Patrick's speech, his words were pushed completely into the background as her eyes were caught and held by one particular face that now leaped into prominence out of the crowd.
My God! thought Freddy... Joe Corey! Her heart gave a painful jolt as the years backtracked and memories rushed in upon her. The recipient of this turbulent reaction was gazing thoughtfully at her, across the heads of fellow guests, as though she had been the object of his attention for some time. As their eyes met, Freddy went through a gamut of emotions in quick succession, shock and surprise making her face vulnerable for a few seconds. She was relieved when applause broke their contact and offered a good excuse for her to drag her eyes back to the Tysons, who were cutting the cake.
Patrick caught her eye, and his smile became personal and he tilted his glass to her. Freddy smilingly responded and thought, no candles on the cake, I must remember to tell Megan, grasping at something simple and ordinary. Cameras flashed from all sides and Freddy joined in the talk going on around her, presumably making sense, while she was wondering frantically why Joe Corey was here in Queensbridge.
She steeled herself to glance his way again and a queer feeling of isolation came upon her as she found herself once more the object of his attention. Her colour rose and she found her heart beating faster. His look was one familiar to her, managing to be both mocking and challenging. It used to make her wild, and she found it still did. He would be thoroughly enjoying himself, she thought grimly, and wished she had known he was to be here so that she could have prepared herself beforehand.
Her chin came up and she returned the stare with full measure. Joe lifted his glass in a travesty of Patrick's gesture of a few seconds before, a replay which Freddy coolly ignored. She watched him excuse himself from his companions—who she vaguely recognised as being connected with Y
orkshire TV—and begin his journey across the space between them. He was halted now and then but not long detained, as it was obvious he was on his way somewhere. His eyes constantly kept her in check, gleaming cynically, as if aware of the possibility that she might disappear before he could get to her.
Did she want to run? Part of her did, part didn't, and with a bored, cool expression on her face she waited for him to reach her, feeling neither bored nor cool. With wry amusement she perceived the instant flowering in the women as he passed by. This was nothing new. There was something about Joe Corey that drew the female eye, all the more curious because he seemed nothing out of the ordinary to look at. Freddy had always wondered about meeting Joe again, and she had forgotten how the very air between them seemed to crackle and become charged with highly emotive vibes, putting her on the defensive immediately, the hairs on the back of her neck bristling.
'Well, well, well—if it isn't Joseph Corey Esquire, after all this time!' she said, her voice as steady as her gaze. 'What a surprise.'
Joe drawled, 'Frederica!' The hand she was holding out formally was ignored and she was drawn to him. His mouth found her lips slightly parted, astonishment at his audacity making them soft and vulnerable against his own. He drew back a little, smiling, murmuring, 'You taste of wine. Delicious.'
These days a kiss in public meant nothing, but Freddy knew that Joe had acted for the hell of it and she was furious, very conscious of curious eyes around them.
'Just what the hell are you doing, Joe Corey?' she hissed out of smiling lips.
'Greeting an old friend,' reproached Joe. 'Aren't you glad to see me, Fred?'
'As you see, I'm bowled over with excitement,' she replied with underlined sarcasm, adding, 'And don't call me Fred!' How easily the admonishment slipped out, just like the old days.
He grinned, eyes crinkling shrewdly as if he knew that despite the sarcasm there was a tiny fraction of her that was glad to see him, a bit of her that was rebelliously curious and intrigued. His eyes drifted over her. 'Still the same, and yet not quite,' he observed lazily. 'Frederica has grown up.'
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