The damned man had followed her to Derek's home! Oh, that man was past enduring! She wouldn't be harassed in this way, especially by a man like him. Any more trouble from him and she would call in the police. She doubted he would like that.
Derek wasn't yet home when she let herself into the apartment, but his wife Judy was. She rose out of an armchair at Eve's entrance, a small girl with frizzed blonde hair and a gaminely attractive face.
'Wonderful concert, Eve,' she hugged her.
'Thanks.' Eve gave a wan smile. 'No Derek?' There was always the possibility he could be in the bedroom. 'He stayed behind to finish things up there.' Eve at once felt guilty. 'I should have done that,' she sighed, collapsing into a chair and closing her eyes. 'God, I'm tired!'
'Go to bed,' Judy encouraged. 'There's no reason for you to wait up for Derek.'
Eve opened her eyes, new life flooding into her weary body. 'Oh yes, there is,' she said firmly. Judy raised her eyebrows. 'That sounds ominous.'
'It is.' After all, it was Derek's fault that she had met Bartholomew Jordan. 'Oh dear!'
Eve forced a smile to her stiff lips. Don't worry, I just have a few questions to ask him.' Like how forcefully Bartholomew Jordan had said he wanted to meet her!
'I'll make some coffee,' Judy offered. ‘It will help to keep us awake.'
It did, just. And when Derek arrived home forty minutes later Eve woke up completely.
'How did you get on with Jordan?' was his first query.
She frowned. 'You saw how I got on with him,' she said guardedly. He sat down beside her. 'I meant later.' He didn't seem to notice her darkening expression. 'Boy, he followed you like the devil himself!'
'I think he is the devil himself,' Eve said with disgust.
Derek looked disappointed. 'You didn't tike him.'
'Did you expect me to?' she challenged.
He pulled a face. 'I hoped you would.'
'Well, I didn’t!' she told him vehemently, her usually calm features animated with her dislike of the man.
‘Pity.' Derek looked away, standing up to pace the room, a worried frown to his face. Eve, tensed. 'How much of a pity?' she asked slowly.
His expression became evasive. 'He's a powerful man,' he shrugged. 'It never pays to antagonise men like that.'
Judy looked puzzled. 'Are we talking about Bart Jordan?'
'Judy--------'
'Yes,' Eve cut across Derek's warning. "Yes, we're talking about Bart Jordan, Judy. What do you know about him?'
The other girl frowned. 'Well, I—I—Derek?' she looked at him appealingly.
'Okay,' Eve sighed, 'Derek can tell me. What about Bart Jordan, Derek?'
He shrugged. 'I already told you, he isn't a good man to make an enemy of. Make us some coffee, sweetheart?' he requested of his wife.
Eve knew it was a way of getting the other girl out of the room, which only heightened her suspicions. ‘Derek!' she said firmly once they were alone. 'I want to know what's going on.'
He threw himself back down into the armchair, one leg hanging over the arm. 'Nothing is going on,' he dismissed tersely, a sure sign that he was agitated. He was usually so even-tempered that Eve knew there was something wrong. She frowned, biting her bottom lip. 'Why do I get the feeling there's something you aren't telling me?’
'I have no idea,' he dismissed. 'Shouldn't you be getting to bed? You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.'
'And the day after that, and the day after that,' she grimaced. 'A week of this and I'll be dead.'
'A week of this and you'll be made,' Derek corrected.
She quirked an eyebrow. 'I thought I already was,' she reminded him, tongue-in-cheek.
'Yeah, well—wait until you see the reviews in the morning!' His enthusiasm was never dampened for long, in fact it was this enthusiasm that had got Eve this far.
She stood up. 'Don't wake me,' she instructed tiredly.
'Not even for the reviews?'
'Not even for them,' she groaned, aching in every bone of her body. Her stage show involved dancing as well as singing.
'Rehearsals at eleven sharp,' he reminded her, his mind firmly on business as usual.
'Don't remind me!' She staggered into her bedroom.
Without Derek's prodding and hard work Eve doubted she would ever have risen above touring the seedy clubs she had been working in when they had first met. At the time she had been happy with her lot, had accepted what she felt to be her limitations, had lacked the drive and ambition to get even as far as she was today, let alone the superstar bracket Derek had mapped out for her. But Derek had pushed her on until now she had one hit record behind her, another new release, and now this concert.
Derek had worked so hard on her behalf, had begged and stolen work for her, until the last six months her career had really taken off. She couldn't exactly be, called an overnight success, although the public recognition, such as the taxidriver's, still came as something of a surprise to her. Had Carl seen her success? Did he ever regret the way he had forced her out of his life?
Damn Carl! She hadn't thought of him for months—well, weeks—well, actually it was days, but who was counting?
Bartholomew Jordan had brought back the memories of Carl, one more reason why she hated him. Just another rich man who thought his money could buy him everything, including love!
She could finally remove the detested make-up, and felt cleaner and fresher once that was done. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Derek was right, she did look about sixteen without the make-up; she also, to her mind, looked more attractive.
At the end of the week she could go back to Norfolk and be just the nonentity Eve Meredith, could go back to her houseboat and live a normal life again. Derek had promised her a holiday after this week of concerts, and she could hardly wait to get back to Norfolk. Maybe she wasn't really cut out for stardom, although this was a hell of a time to discover it, and Derek felt sure that she could make it right to the top. Still, much as she valued him as a friend, she still knew that fifteen per cent of nothing was nothing.
She turned over in the bed. Heavens, she was an ungrateful bitch tonight! Everything was sure to look brighter in the morning.
It did. She felt revitalised by her long sleep, her usual energy back in evidence. The reviews were good but guarded, speculating as to whether her dazzling performance could be maintained throughout the week.
‘I’ll show them!' she told Derek, throwing the newspapers down in disgust. He smiled. 'That's my girl!'
Rehearsals went perfectly, any minor adjustments that needed to be made being quickly ironed out. After a couple of hours of this she was ready to go back to the apartment and rest. She was delicately made, very slender, and she would need all the energy she could muster for the gruelling evening ahead of her. Maybe the critics were right after all, maybe she didn't have the stamina for this sort of life.
When she arrived back at the flat it was to find the biggest bouquet of red roses she had ever seen in her life lying on the doorstep; both Judy and Derek were out. She recoiled just at the sight of them, her expression darkening as she read the card that went with them. It was signed simply 'Bart'.
The roses went straight into the dustbin, the card along with them. God, that man was really pushing his luck! Bart, indeed! Only his so-called 'friends' called him that!
She was so steamed up she must have paced the apartment for half an hour or more, sleep completely forgotten. She was so angry that she sent him a telegram in the end; it read, 'Received and discarded, Eve Meredith'. She sent it to his bank, knowing that something as important as a telegram would reach him wherever he was. That would show him what she thought of him and his roses!
It was when she woke up that the uncertainty set in. Much as she disliked Bartholomew Jordan and everything he represented, he really wasn't a man she should antagonise. And the telegram had been a childish gesture. It should have been enough that she knew she had destroyed the roses. This way she was inviting re
tribution. But it seemed not. A second bouquet of roses appeared at the theatre that evening, this time signed 'Bartholomew Jordan'. He had to have received her telegram by now. Unless he had placed the order for these roses before he had received it? But that didn't make sense, not when he had signed the second card so formally. He certainly was a persistent man, surprisingly" so, although it was doubtful that he needed to be this persistent normally; most women would be falling over themselves just to be associated with him. Derek's eyebrows rose as he saw the roses still lying in their cellophane on the table where Eve had thrown them. 'An admirer?' he asked curiously, obviously looking for the card she had put away in her handbag.
'One with more money than sense,' she nodded. Her cat-suit was a deep red this evening, her hair long and crinkled from the tight plaits she had bound it in after washing it this afternoon. Her make-up was just as dramatic, her mouth a deep slash of red to match the suit.
'Here,' Derek broke off one of the roses and pushed it into her hair over her ear. It gave her the look of a wild gypsy.
'Perfect,' he nodded his approval.
Eve pulled the rose out of her hair, throwing it in the bin. 'It would wilt before the end of the performance,' she said stiffly as she saw Derek's shocked face.
'You could have replaced it during the break,' he said practically.
Her head went back. 'I'd rather not.'
He frowned. 'Who are they from?'
'Guess,' she invited dryly, hoping he would put her dislike of the deep red blooms down to their sender. His face brightened. 'Not Bart Jordan?'
'All right,' she agreed. "Not Bart Jordan.'
'Don't tease, Eve,'he said seriously.
She turned angrily to face him. 'What is it about this man? Why is he so special? I've had men like him interested in me before, but you never tried to tell me how to behave with them.' .
He flushed. 'I'm not telling you how to behave with Jordan either. I just don't think it would do us any good for you to upset him. He has a lot of influence, he could make things very uncomfortable for us if he chose to.'
'And do you think he might?' She remembered the threat in Bartholomew Jordan's voice.
'I think he could do,' Derek nodded.
'And what do you suggest I do about it?' she asked tartly. 'Sleep with him just to make sure he stays sweet?'
Derek flushed. 'I didn't say that-------'
'I'm so sorry,' her voice dripped sarcasm. 'Maybe it just sounded that way to me.'
He gave an impatient sigh. 'You're impossible in this mood, Eve. It wouldn't do you any harm to be nice to him.'
She stood up. 'He doesn't want me to be nice to him, he wants to go to bed with me!'
'I'll admit he's attracted to you, but——'
'He told me what he wants, Derek,' she interrupted firmly. 'He wants me, in his bed. And he isn't getting me!'
' E v e — '
The answer is no, Derek.'
He sighed. 'I don't have the time to argue with you right now, you have to be on stage in a few minutes. And for what it's worth, Eve,' he added almost gently, 'whoever he was, he isn't worth it.'
She froze. 'What do you mean?' she demanded tautly.
'You know what I mean. I've known you almost five years now, and you've never let a man near you ------ '
‘I’ve been out on dates!'
'Date, in the singular. You never go out with the same man twice.’
She gave a tight smile. 'Maybe I just like variety.'
Derek shook his head. That isn't true and you know it. No man lasts with you because he isn't allowed to get near you, either physically or emotionally.'
Eve flushed. 'You're near me.'
'Only as a friend, and only as near as you'll let me. Eve, you----'
'I have to go, Derek,' she interrupted abruptly. 'But I've never interfered in your private life, and I don't expect you to interfere in mine.'
'Eve--------'
'I have to go.' She hurried out of the room as the music began to play.
It was perhaps unfortunate that the first person she saw was Bart Jordan. He was sitting in the front row of the audience, in an end seat, his blond hair very distinctive.
Eve glared at him, her resentment a tangible thing. This man had caused her to argue with Derek, something she never did, and worst of all he had brought back the painful memories of Carl.
If anything her performance was even better than last night, her anticipation of telling Bartholomew Jordan just what she thought of him incentive enough for her to give the performance of a lifetime. She had never been so sensually abandoned during the rock numbers, so heartbreaking during the sad love songs. By the end of the evening she knew the appreciative clapping and shouting to be wholly deserved, and a lot of the fans were rising to their feet. Only one man didn't applaud; Bartholomew Jordan got up and left by a side door as her last number came to an end.
Eve watched him go with disbelief. She had been conscious of his still figure all through the concert, had tried a little harder with each new song in the hope that he would applaud that one. He never did, just sat watching her steadily with those luminous green eyes.
Eve became more and more frustrated as the evening went on, and those heavy-lidded eyes never left her, a mocking twist to the firm lips that had plundered hers so thoroughly the evening before. Well, she would show him when he turned up in her dressing-room. If he thought he had had the brush-off last night he would find out what that really meant tonight!
She waited fifteen minutes for him to show up, and when he didn't she knew he must be waiting for her outside. He had probably left early to get his limousine.
But once she got outside there was no limousine, no Bartholomew Jordan. The damned man had genuinely walked out on her concert!
CHAPTER TWO
EVE'S mood was explosive during rehearsals the next day; she was critical of the musicians, until at last one of them shouted back at her. That took her aback, so much so that she was speechless for several minutes.
'Okay, take a break, everyone,’ Derek filled in the silence. 'Back on stage in ten minutes. You come with me.' He pulled Eve off the stage and down into her dressing-room. 'Now, what's going on?' he demanded to know. Her face was flushed. 'You had no need to do that,' she snapped. 'I could handle it.' She pushed her hair back impatiently.
'Maybe you could,' he sighed. 'But I don't think the boys could. You were throwing the proverbial tantrum out there, Eve.'
'I was not--------'
'You were, and you still are. What on earth is the matter with you?' he sighed his exasperation. 'You're being hell today!'
She glared at him angrily for several minutes, her expression one of rebellion. Then the fight went out of her. She was being hell, she was surprised someone hadn't told her earlier; the boys in the group didn't usually take any nonsense, not from anyone.
'I'll apologise,' she said tautly, her hands thrust into the back pocket of her skin-tight denims, her lemon tee-shirt figurehugging too.
'That doesn't answer my question,' he said firmly. "What's upset you?' 'Nothing.'
‘Eve!’
She bit her lip, looking down at her hands. She didn't know what was wrong with her, she just felt angry at the whole world. 'Maybe I'm tired,' she shrugged.
'We all are. That's no excuse.' He put his arm about her shoulders. 'You know that, don't you, Eve? Guy was playing that last number perfectly, you were the one off key.'
'I've said I'll apologise!'
He moved back. 'Make sure you do. Having the musicians walk out on us is something I don't need.'
'Derek---------'
'Okay, okay,' he held up his hands defensively, shaking his head. 'I don't know you in this mood.'
She didn't know herself. Usually nothing got to her, and yet since her first meeting-with Bartholomew Jordan her mood had been very erratic. And no man was allowed to do that to her, she wouldn't allow them to. The rest of the rehearsals went off all right. Guy accepted her ap
ology, but she took all the band out to lunch just to ease things between them. She was behaving very badly, something she had sworn never to' do in her career. She was a lone woman working in a male-dominated environment, and the last thing she needed was to earn the reputation of being a temperamental bitch.
Luckily her behaviour didn't seem to have inhibited the men in any way; their jokes were as ribald as usual as they more or less took the local pub over. She felt a little easier when she emerged out into the afternoon sunshine, walking to Derek's fiat rather than taking a taxi. She was unrecognisable without her dramatic stage make-up, just another pretty girl enjoying the sunshine.
She was relaxed before the start of that evening's show—always a bad sign. The adrenalin should be pumping, her senses charged and alive. It was almost as if she had burnt herself out in anger that morning, and she had no enthusiasm for the show ahead of her.
'Present for the lovely lady.' Derek appeared in the doorway of her dressing-room, or rather the bottom half of him did; the top half was obscured by a huge bouquet.
She stood up. 'Derek, you shouldn't------‘
'I didn't.' He held out the flowers to her.
Eve stiffened. They were roses—red roses. The card clearly said 'Bartholomew'. Her mouth tightened, and she fought down the impulse to throw the flowers away. They were beautiful roses, just in bud, and a deep, deep red. There must be at least three dozen here, she just couldn't destroy them. Maybe one of the stage workers would like them for his wife? '
'Is it safe to come in?' Derek raised a hopeful eyebrow.
She laughed at his pretended fear. 'Yes, come in,' she invited, putting the flowers down on the table; the ones from yesterday were still lying there in their cellophane.
Derek strolled over to a chair, leaning his arms on its back. 'Persistent, isn't he?' he said dryly. Eve gave him an angry glare. 'I suppose you looked at the card,' she accused. He shrugged. 'I didn't realise it was a secret.'
'It isn't,' she sighed. 'How long have I got?' she changed the subject.
'Five minutes. Are you ready?'
She spun round in the electric blue cat-suit. 'Don't I look ready?' she teased.
Red Rose For Love Page 2
