by Maggie Cox
Before Nash could tell her it didn’t matter, she had crossed the room and switched on a modern electric fire with fake coals in front of the old-fashioned fireplace. In just a second the gas burners burst into warm life, and he was glad for her sake that she had agreed to inject a little heat into the icy room. The woman looked as if she needed warming up in every way imaginable. Was this how she spent her days now that she’d retreated into near obscurity? he wondered. Alone in a big empty house in near freezing temperatures?
The thought was apt to make him want to throttle her ex-husband if this was what his mercenary deeds had reduced her to. He’d been reading quite a lot about James Frazier, and none of it did the man credit. On a scale of one to ten, in Nash’s book the man had to score zero. As well as having sullied Freya’s name as frequently as possible—both before, during and after their divorce—he had apparently been spending money like it was going out of style—money that, as far as Nash could ascertain, had come from the huge divorce settlement he’d won. And Freya had not retaliated either in word or deed. Not at any point.
He could scarcely understand it. What kind of legal advice had she been given? Why had her defence been so inept, and why had the courts decided in her husband’s favour? Did he have some kind of hold over her? Nash had also learned that after their divorce Frazier had apparently invested huge amounts of money in unsound business deals that had more often than not backfired on him, losing him vast sums. But that hadn’t curtailed his expensive lifestyle, it seemed. Having made some discreet enquiries late last night, and followed them up early this morning, Nash had discovered that Freya’s ex was just about to leave for the Caribbean with his young blonde girlfriend and their baby, and he knew that it was time Freya made her statement and let the world hear her side of the story. After that, she could start to pick up the pieces and get her life and her self-respect back.
‘How about turning on a lamp or two as well?’ Nash suggested, keeping his voice low and friendly. As she seemed momentarily frozen into inaction he took the task upon himself. He moved towards the tall, fringed standard lamp by the window, and then over to another one situated on the opposite side of the room. Switching them on, he saw they made an immediate impact. With the fake fire now glowing, and the light from the lamps introducing a more amicable intimacy, Nash hoped that Freya might start to relax a little. He knew instinctively, even without regarding her worried features, that this whole business was going to be another huge trial for her, and he would have spared her any pain it might cause if he could. But he told himself that it was ultimately for her own good that they were doing this. The woman couldn’t spend the rest of her days cloistered away like a nun who had taken a vow of silence.
‘I’m a little rusty when it comes to entertaining visitors…I’m sorry. I should have offered you something to drink. I have some fruit juice—or perhaps you’d prefer some tea or coffee?’
‘Why don’t you just sit down and we’ll talk?’ Nash answered.
‘Okay.’ Clearly reluctant, as though his words had unhappily thwarted her instinct to escape into another room and get away from him, Freya resumed her seat on the couch. Taking off his overcoat, Nash sat down at the other end and stood his hide briefcase on the floor by his feet.
‘So…what have you been doing today?’ he asked interestedly. She blinked, appearing nonplussed for a moment—as though her brain could hardly compute the question, never mind find an answer.
‘What do you think I’ve been doing?’ she retorted, clearly annoyed. ‘I’m under siege here…my whole life is under siege!’
‘Then I guess the press have been making their presence felt in one way or another again? Well…tomorrow you’ll get your chance to redress the balance and tell everyone the truth about things.’
‘And do you think for one minute that they’ll print the truth? You don’t think that they might—just might—bend it a little, to suit whatever slant they’ve decided to take on that day?’
It was easy to understand why she was so angry. Nash would be too if it was his life that strangers were taking up a position on, manipulating information to sell newspapers. But then he hadn’t entered a profession where fame was the currency that everyone secretly hoped for.
‘I wonder that you want anything to do with the media…they’re a bunch of vultures!’ she added with feeling.
‘You can’t be blind to the fact that many artists and celebrities court the media? How else would they get their work promoted? Do you think film companies are in the business of making films to distribute to the public for free?’ Shaking his head, Nash held her gaze with definite authority. ‘What you’ve got to do is learn to play the media at their own game. Right up until now you’ve been the one that’s clearly been wronged by your ex—and them—so the time is ripe to turn things around. The British public in particular love an underdog. I’m sorry, Freya, but that’s how you have to see it. After you’ve made your statement tomorrow, telling them your side of the story and refuting Frazier’s slanderous allegations, you’ll have everybody on your side again and that can’t fail to attract more positive attention to help your career. Isn’t that what you want?’
‘I don’t know…yes…I suppose.’
Her fingers intertwined and opened again several times as she said this, and Nash frowned at the sight. Never had a pair of slender hands appeared so pale and cold…almost as though they’d been dipped in ivory. He had the strongest urge to pull her into his arms so that he could hold her. He would have done it too, if he hadn’t already known that to do so would probably propel him out of her life for ever. He owed it to Oliver, at least, not to risk such an outcome.
‘All right, then… So, if I’m going to help you, I’ll need your co-operation and not your hindrance. Don’t think I don’t understand your reluctance about appearing before the press again, because I do. This won’t be easy, and I won’t lie to you about that. But apart from what we have to do tomorrow there will be other things I need you to comply with…places I need you to appear, events I need you to attend…all in the name of achieving some positive publicity. And if you’re reluctant to oblige then I can’t do the job your uncle has asked me to do to help you…do you understand?’
There was a steely undertone to his calmly voiced reply, and Freya sensed that the man took great pride in seeing an assignment through and accomplishing it to the high standards that he no doubt exacted from himself and others. He did not appear to be someone who would let anything stand in the way of achieving that…no matter who they were. She told herself she should be pleased that he was prepared to be so diligent on her behalf, but right then—feeling the way she did—it was hard to be reassured by anything much. All she knew was that she was going to have to face the increased scrutiny of cameras and questions again, and her whole being baulked violently at the very thought—even though it was an exercise to help repair her damaged reputation.
Ceasing her fidgeting, Freya sat very still. Her expression was as calm as she could make it as she turned towards Nash.
‘You say you understand my reluctance to appear before the press and the public again, but I wonder if you do?’ Sighing, she swallowed hard before speaking. ‘It’s like a form of spiritual rape, you know? Like they can take everything from you and you can do nothing to protect yourself! Yes, I enjoyed my success when success came…but I never realised how essential my privacy was until all this happened. Should I be punished for that?’ Stopping for a moment to glance towards the glowing fire, she brought her attention back to Nash again before speaking. ‘Going through a marriage break-up is tough enough, without having to go through it in front of the media and the public. They all love you when your star is on the rise, but do you know how much they relish it when you start to wobble on that pedestal they’ve put you on?’
‘You can’t let anybody grind you down. You’ve just got to show them you’re way too strong for that. Fight back, Freya! Don’t let anyone relegate your existence to th
is house, this room, as if you’re too afraid to live fully any more because you fear their judgement. That’s just what they want you to do! Don’t give them the satisfaction. Especially don’t give your ex-husband the satisfaction of knowing that he’s got some kind of hold over you.’ His blue eyes narrowing, Nash compelled Freya to hear him out.
What he said struck an already very tender nerve. She’d fought James’s lies up to a point, but after that he’d worn her down with his accusations and insults, and when his deliberate lying to the press about her had started to make some serious inroads into her self-esteem and personal confidence Freya had been too hurt and too mentally fatigued to fight him any more. Even in court she hadn’t helped her own defence. Instead she’d blamed herself for everything that had happened…even told herself that she deserved it. She had the wonderful career she’d set out to achieve and now she had to pay. James Frazier was her nemesis.
‘I have to ask this. Why didn’t you sign a pre-nuptial agreement to prevent your ex from getting all your money? And why didn’t you have a better lawyer to represent you? Surely your uncle could have—?’
Freya’s hackles rose at that. Her almost translucent skin became very flushed. ‘It’s not my uncle’s responsibility to do everything for me! I’m an adult…I make my own choices, even if they ultimately backfire on me! And as for a pre-nuptial agreement…’ Her guilty glance was painful to witness. ‘Suffice to say that James persuaded me that we didn’t need one. I know you must think me the biggest fool that ever walked the planet, but what’s done is done and I can’t turn back the clock.’
‘You say he “persuaded” you?’
Nash had honed in on that remark like an eagle swooping down on its far less swift prey, and Freya sensed the heat in her cheeks intensify. When that particular conversation had arisen between her and James it had ended with him throwing a frightening tantrum. He’d trashed her living room amidst threats of committing suicide, because she clearly didn’t love him enough to trust him, and Freya had found herself trying to placate his wild distress by promising she would never bring the subject up again. Of course she’d been duped… She knew that now, to her everlasting shame.
‘Did he hurt you?’ Nash demanded.
‘No…not physically. You’d be amazed at the creativity some humans can apply when it comes to inflicting pain. Anyway…what does it matter now? We both know how my marriage ended, and I can analyse where I went wrong until the cows come home, but it won’t make the relationship any less of a catastrophe than it turned out to be!’ she retorted defensively.
Was Nash judging her for marrying a man like James and not signing an agreement to protect herself financially? The idea that he was almost made her want to show him the door. Freya had had enough judgement from other people to last her a lifetime!
‘The point is I’ve seen too many performers in your situation who have ultimately come to regret not signing a pre-nup,’ Nash responded with a sigh, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Anyway, like you say, what’s done is done…but if I’m going to help you I need to know that you’re as committed to this enterprise as I am. I want to help you get your life back, but I want you to want that a hundred times more!’
‘You have my word that I’ll co-operate,’ Freya replied softly, her dark eyes unable for a moment to hide the exquisite vulnerability that he’d witnessed in her photograph. ‘I didn’t lie to you yesterday, you know. I am tougher than I look. It’s just that there are days when—there are days that I…’
‘I know.’ Nash knew what she meant, because he’d been there too. But that had been a long time ago when he’d been a very different person from the successful, confident man who sat here today. ‘But the more you face the things you feel are impossible to face the stronger you’ll become, Freya. Trust me…I know what I’m talking about.’
To Nash’s intense relief, she dropped her shoulders and stopped looking like a startled deer about to bolt. At some point in the not too distant future he was going to have to raise the thorny question of her alleged drinking and drug use… But he wouldn’t hit her with that particular can of worms right now. Not that he didn’t doubt she had great inner reserves… She might be feeling vulnerable, but he sensed strength there too. The woman couldn’t have survived what she’d endured without it. A less strong person would have had a complete breakdown by now.
‘Perhaps I will have a cup of coffee after all?’ he suggested. ‘Then we’ll get to work on his statement.’
CHAPTER THREE
HE WAS getting ready to leave, and Freya found to her astonishment that she was strangely reluctant to see him go. For the first time in longer than she could remember she’d felt at ease in another human being’s company, and she wanted to experience more of the same. As Nash’s calm, almost hypnotic voice had drawn her out from behind the heavily guarded fence she’d erected between herself and the world she’d become afraid of returning to the morose mood that had afflicted her all day.
She didn’t want to revisit that dark place. She’d lived in it for far too long and it was devouring her confidence. Already Nash had inspired her to want something different, something better. Listening to him read out the statement they’d prepared together, which she would read to the press tomorrow, she’d started to draw strength from the firmly assertive tone of the words. They made her sound in charge, not a victim any more. She was glad.
James had dictated how things would be for too long, and her mistake in marrying him had been paid for a hundred times over—with too many tears, nearly all of her money, and a shattered career. This was where the tide started to turn. She wanted her life back. She wanted to be able to face people again and not shy away from them in case they judged or hurt her. She wanted to resume her career in some form or another that would give her satisfaction and help her support herself. And no longer would she foolishly pine for a love that was unconditional and lasting. Such a thing was as rare as orchids growing in the Arctic. It was simply futile and painful to even go there.
It stunned her that James seemed to hate her so much. Naively, Freya had believed that when he had won that huge settlement from her in the divorce it would be the end of his animosity and resentment towards her. But, no… The hints about her unstable state of mind, the vitriol with which he’d spoken of their ‘dreadful and oppressive’ marriage to all who would listen, the lies he had made up about her so-called addictions had all become worse. Freya was certain that the public’s perception of her had been utterly poisoned by him. He’d painted her as a jealous bitch, an egotistical, demanding actress who constantly craved attention, when in fact the opposite was true. As a woman who was so insecure that she’d been jealous of every other woman James had looked at, especially if they were younger than her. Well, Freya was only twenty-eight years old herself…hardly over the hill!
The truth was that James had taunted her deliberately with his interest in other women to try and make her jealous. He’d hated his wife getting the attention, the adulation for her work that she’d eventually discovered he craved for himself. He’d never loved her. She wouldn’t kid herself about that any more. He’d merely seen a chance to elevate himself by his association with her. An assistant cameraman when Freya had first met him, it had soon become evident that he had a driving ambition to be in front of the camera instead of behind it. She should have left him then, instead of agreeing to marry him.
When she looked back on what a gullible idiot she’d been, entering into such a disastrous relationship, Freya could hardly believe her own stupidity. The need for love, she’d discovered, could make sane people crazy. She might just as well have climbed into a barrel and thrown herself into Niagara Falls!
Reaching for his coat from the couch, Nash turned to Freya with a smile. There were two fascinating dimples in his hollowed-out cheeks when he employed that compelling gesture, and an intensely glowing heat seemed to inhabit her entire body as she gazed back at him. Because the points of her b
reasts had pinched shockingly inside her voluminous woollen sweater, she folded her arms protectively across her chest—as if Nash might see through the thick layers of clothing to the erotic reaction he had wrought underneath.
‘One more thing before I leave,’ he drawled.
‘Yes?’
‘What are you going to wear for this press interview tomorrow?’
‘What am I going to wear?’
He considered her with the same kind of patience that a concerned adult might employ with a confused child.
‘Whatever you decide, it has to be exactly right. Something plain, like that grey suit you wore yesterday, says “I want to hide”. That isn’t the image that we’re trying to project, Freya. You want to show the world that you’re done with hiding, as if you’ve got something to be ashamed of. Alternatively, something too glamorous might suggest false confidence… Do you see what I mean when I say it has to be just right?’
She did. ‘I’ll spend some time this evening choosing something suitable,’ she promised.
Would Nash be shocked to see how sparse the contents of her wardrobe were? she wondered. She’d never had a stylist, or been an avid follower of fashion or anything, but she’d often been gifted glamorous clothing by eager designers wanting their designs promoted by a famous name. However, along with her antique furniture and jewellery, most of it had been sold to help meet the debts incurred by her court costs.
‘Want me to come and take a look with you?’ he offered.
Feeling sudden shame at her reduced straits, Freya lifted her chin even as her cheeks flooded with crimson.
‘No, thanks. I know it might appear as though I’ve let a lot of things slide, but I can assure you I’m still capable of picking out my own clothes!’
