'Warped? How dare you?'
'You should be pleased I'm giving you some copy and not throwing you out on your ear as you deserve. You can write it all up for your filthy paper.'
'You bet I shall! It'll open a few eyes! People'll like nothing better than to discover the truth about the great Torrin Anthony, Mr Wonderful himself, with a filthy rotten side to his oh, so charming personality!'
'You'd love to be the one to put the boot in, wouldn't you? Nothing would give you greater pleasure than to run against the crowd if you could . . . anything to be different. You accused me of hypocrisy, but I should say that's precisely the name of your own game. Fearless investigative reporter. Quake, all ye hypocrites and thieves, Miss Park's tongue-lashing is a thing to be feared.' He broke off, his expression puzzled rather than angry.
'Stop being so paranoid, Mr Anthony. You don't expect every woman to throw herself at your feet, do you? You can't win them all. You leave me stone cold. It must be a new experience --'
'Cold? Now we are on ground I know about,' he murmured suggestively. Somehow the arm that was resting on the sofa behind her back slowly began to draw her against him, and even as she struggled to get to her feet she felt a betraying slackness in her limbs, a yielding to the undoubted physical attraction she had felt from the first. To her surprise, he didn't try to kiss her. Instead he held her against him so she could hear his heart beating with her own.
'Yes,' he said after a moment or two as he felt her anger begin to evaporate, 'that's better. That's much better. Now, shall we start from the beginning?' He held her face between two hands and Merril began to tremble as he gazed into her eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
'don't try it on,' she managed to whisper. 'You tried this technique on me in your dressing-room last night and it didn't work then either --'
'Technique? You mean when I kissed your sweet little hands? You thought it was some sort of-try-on?' His voice was husky. 'I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you, Merril. Surely you could see that? I wanted to make sure you were real.'
'Stop it, please! I'm --'
'Yes?' The pressure of his fingers on either side of her jaw was sending shivers of pure pleasure over her. She remembered Azur, the magic of his touch, and tried to pull away.
'If you think this means I'm going to go back on what I said, you're mistaken,' she told him through trembling lips. 'You're simply confirming my first impression of you.' She tried to turn her head to lessen the effect of those eyes blazing over her face, but he gently turned her face up to his again.
'First impressions? Tell me your first impressions, Merril.'
'Of you?' Her lip curled.
His manner told her he wasn't going to let her escape. All right, she thought before she began, you asked for it!'
She furrowed her brow as if making an effort to recall the previous night, as if it wasn't printed indelibly on her mind. 'It looked to me,' she began, 'as if you were enjoying all that flattery --'
'When?' he interrupted, frowning.
'Last night, of course.'
'Oh . . .' He gave her an odd look. 'Go on.'
'You looked delighted with it.' She paused. 'Crazy for it. It was sickening to see all those stupid women with their vulgar clothes and artificial smiles, cooing and simpering all over you! Especially when it was so obvious why they were doing it!'
'And why was that—in your unbiased view?' he asked quietly.
She paused, blushed, and, catching sight of something dangerous in his eyes, corrected the reply she was about to make. No point in adding to the size of his ego—he already knew he had sex appeal! 'They simply wanted to be seen with somebody famous,' she hedged. 'You happened to fit the bill.'
'I'm not famous. Well, I wasn't last night when the curtain rose. This morning things seem to be somewhat different.' A pile of newspapers with his name splashed all over them were mute testimony to what he was saying.
'I don't blame you for lapping it all up,' Merril went on, her voice dripping sympathy. 'It's not everyone who has your luck. Instant stardom! Wonderful for your poor ego. Enjoy it while you can. Why not?' She gave a little shrug as if to say, if that's what you want, more fool you. But the patronising note wasn't lost on him.
'You see me, then, as some kind of gadfly?' he asked quietly. 'Heir to a brief summer of fame and a long winter of obscurity?'
She smiled faintly. 'Quite.
He gave her a long, regarding look, the honey-coloured eyes ambivalent, the long, full line of his mobile mouth giving nothing away.
'Merril,' he spoke her name like a caress, making her shiver with unbidden memory, but before she had time to place it he went on, 'you must understand one thing about me—nothing I do is done lightly. I don't dedicate myself to an ephemeral art because I have a gadfly approach. Nothing could be further from the truth. I take my work seriously. Fame means little to me. What I do, I do to last, through summer, through winter. It's the same with everything I do. That's now I am.'
His eyes crinkled. 'There's also something to be said for a night of ecstasy, a dawn or sheer delight --' He smiled directly into her eyes as if to share a special secret, but she tore her glance away, angry at the turmoil of her own emotions and shown up by his disarming honesty. If she'd hoped she could taunt him into betraying an unworthy side of himself, she had miscalculated again. Now he gave the impression that he knew a lot more than she did, and it made her seethe with humiliation.
'You're treating me as if I'm some clumsy, inexperienced schoolgirl,' she muttered, reddening. She tried to move away, only managing to wedge herself even more tightly against the end of the sofa. 'I don't have to stand for this, Mr Anthony. I know when I'm having the wool pulled over my eyes. I told you I wouldn't fall for it. As far as I'm concerned, our interview is over. You've given me all the material I need. I'll write it up—at your request,' she added meaningfully, 'but I'm afraid you won't like the result.'
'I won't? Be careful, Merril, or it'll be "gadfly bites back".'
'Are you threatening me?' she flared.
'Oh, that's a good one! "Star threatens girl reporter"—but is it spicy enough? What about "Star threatens girl reporter in sex interview scandal"? And are you sure you can't work in a wife-swap vicar or two as well?'
'I work for a quality paper, Mr Anthony, as I know you've already taken the trouble to discover. And,' she added as an afterthought, 'I wasn't aware that sex came into this so-called interview. Your imagination's running away with you. Now if you don t mind, I can't sit here --'
'Hold it!' He placed a finger on her lips before she could avert her head, and then his other hand came round the back of her head, and she could feel his fingers sliding through the tresses of her hair. 'I'd like to rectify things, just to make your account more authentic.'
'What?' Before she could fathom what he meant, he brought her face up to his and placed a kiss gently and briefly on her lips. Merril gave a little gasp, told herself to pull away, but too late felt her lips respond. Her chin tilted of its own accord, lifting to feel his touch again Her eyes closed as she saw his mouth come down on hers. This time his kiss was deep; it was a moment out of time. She couldn't fight it, was swept helplessly along in a torrent of unexpected emotion. When they finally drew apart they were both breathless. Merril felt dazed by images of Azur; she could almost hear the cicadas singing.
Suddenly his image was so powerful, the loss of that brief paradise such pain, that a cry was wrenched from her throat and she flailed out wildly at the face in front of her, snaking out of her place so quickly that he didn't have time to stop her.
'Get away from me!' she snarled, all the pain at having betrayed a memory filling her voice with hate.
Torrin Anthony's face paled, but he sprang after her, striding over the coffee-table and gripping her by both wrists before she could reach the door. 'What's the matter?' His voice was hoarse. 'What have I done?'
'I knew my first impression was right!' she shouted. 'You can't bear anybody
not to fall under your spell. You're like a snake charmer! But you can't charm me! I'm not going to fall for you—no way! Not me!' Her heart filled with self-disgust at how nearly she had allowed herself to be seduced. After a kiss like that, the consequences would be inevitable. No woman would be able to resist his practised skill—there would be heartbreak as he first used, then discarded her. She knew exactly what he was underneath the charming mask.
Now he was trying to smooth-talk his way out of the situation. 'I wouldn't offend you for the world, Merril.' He tried to take her hand, but she dashed it away. 'But why are you reacting like this? Isn't it strange after --'
'Strange?' she stormed. 'To someone with your giant ego, anyone who doesn't throw themselves all over you must seem strange!'
'Not at all. I can't be everyone's type. I don't care about all that, anyway,' he said hurriedly. 'What's it got to do with us?'
'Us?' she echoed.
'Yes, us, Merril, here and now. You wanted me to kiss you. And I wanted to kiss you very much indeed --'
'I don't go around letting strangers kiss me like that --' she broke in.
'No?' He raised his eyebrows.
'No!' she shouted defiantly, too defiantly, because she knew, though he couldn't, that it wasn't true. Azur's ruffianly blond image taunted her again.
'I told you, I don't do anything lightly, Merril. I want to make love to you --' he gave her a one-sided smile '—though I can see it's not the moment to tell you this.' He went on, 'I wanted to make love to you from the first moment I saw you. My theory, for what it's worth, is if love's the real thing, it's there from the moment of meeting. Maybe I'm an old-fashioned romantic, but that's how it's got to be with me.'
'You'd get on well with my flatmate,' she muttered, furious to find herself listening to his smooth tongue even now. 'Eyes across a crowded room?' she mocked.
'I don't believe in the sort of love that springs from friendship. It must always lack passion. For me, love has to be a passionate affair, a conflagration, an instant meeting of souls. I know I would never want us to be mere friends.'
'Thank you,' she said stiffly, wondering whether to feel flattered or insulted.
'Try to understand what I'm saying,' he went on. 'I've lived a life dedicated to work. Surely if you've noticed anything about me, you'll have noticed that? It means I haven't planned for love. I don't want it.' His face was harsh. 'But if I turn away from this --' he spread his hands '—I feel I shall be turning my back on something powerful and --' His voice vibrated with emotion. 'Understand ... I don't find any of this easy. I'm not. . . it's not my style. Merril, I don't make love to every woman I meet.'
There were so many hesitations in his speech, he sounded suspiciously like a lovesick schoolboy, stammering out his feelings. His expression tugged at Merril's heart and she took a pace towards him, something powerful driving her forward until she remembered who he was and what he was.
It sent her stepping hurriedly back.
'Well acted,' she remarked in a voice like ice, clapping her hands ironically. 'Bravo, Mr Anthony! You nearly convinced me you meant it. Are those lines from your next role?'
For a moment there was silence. Torrin Anthony stared at her, his face wiped of expression. She felt she could see him decide which role to adopt next as the last one had been such a signal failure, but with a small lift and fall of his right hand he turned away to one of the windows. Although she couldn't observe his face, she could see the movement of the broad shoulders as if they were trying to move a huge block, like the weight of some terrible emotion on them.
He can even act with his back to the audience, she noted disparagingly, her mind like ice while her emotions raged red-hot at the memory of his touch. It made things easier if she fixed her mind on Azur.
But his silence drew an unexpected compulsion to explain before she left. 'I admit you're attractive, exactly the sort of figure most women go for,' she said, surprised at the sound of her voice: small, cold, definite. 'But you see, the thing is, I'm more impressed by men of action, not the actor type, and besides, I'm already committed to someone.'
He jerked round. 'Who?'
'No one you could possibly know.'
'That theatre critic chap? Surely not?' He came towards her, looking bewildered.
Merril shook her head.
He gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 'Tell me about him.'
'I can't.'
'Why not?'
'It's simply too painful—hopeless,' she admitted, wondering why her voice had dropped to a whisper.
In a few strides he was right across the room. 'I do apologise for what I did just now—it was too soon. Sit down, Merril. Let's talk—as friends.'
'I thought you said we --'
'Forget what I said. Tell me,' he took her by the hand and led her to the sofa, this time sitting at a reasonable distance from her, 'who is this man? Why is it painful? Is he married?'
'It s a long story. It's—' She closed her eyes. 'No—I must leave.'
'Please!' He took her by the hand.
'He's the sort of man I've always dreamed of . . .' Then, not daring to look at him, she found herself telling him about her brief encounter, omitting Azur s name because it was too private, but telling him about the circumstances in which they met, of his bravery, his toughness, his humour, his devastating good looks, and his masterful handling of the dangerous situation they had been in and, finally, how like her own father he was.
'Your father?' he prompted, shaking himself out of a protracted silence.
'In his time he was a famous war correspondent. The old-timers in Fleet Street still talk about him. He was killed on an assignment in the Far East when I was ten.'
'I see.' He looked thoughtful. 'That's a very sensitive age.'
'No one will really live up to him,' she said with conviction.
'Merril,' his voice was gentle, 'don't you realise that this brief encounter of yours with this man is mixed up with feelings about your father? It's mainly fantasy. 'You're still mourning your father's death. It can happen when feelings are repressed for some reason. This Azur seems to nave accidentally triggered off forgotten feelings of grief. In real life he's probably just an ordinary fellow . . . with a wife and children,' he added, as an afterthought.
'No!' Merril shook her head vehemently. 'You don't understand. He was extraordinary. And I'm sure he'd have told me if he'd been married. You see, we spent a night together --' She broke off. It was too painful. She felt a knot of tears lodged inside her skull. 'He was like Dad, living a life of danger a man like you could never begin to understand.'
His manner became abrupt. 'It's escapism, an adolescent fantasy. You know nothing about the man.'
'And I suppose I never shall,' she remarked, biting her lip. 'I'm resigned to the fact we shall never meet again.'
'Very romantic! And having accepted that, you feel nice and safe dreaming your life away for someone who can never erupt into reality.' Torrin Anthony's tone was unaccountably savage.
'But I long to meet him again,' she told him, turning astonished blue eyes to his.
'Could you take the shock of discovering he's really quite ordinary?'
'But he's not! I know he's not! He's special and wonderful and not at all ordinary!'
'Then why don't you see him?' he challenged.
'How can I?' she exclaimed. 'I do have a job. I can't just go back when I feel like it.'
'It would lay a few ghosts if you did.' He took hold of her by the shoulders, a bemused expression on his face. 'I'd like to shake some sense into you --' he said half to himself. 'But I've got a better idea.' Dragging her with him, he picked up her notebook from the floor, handing it back to her with a cryptic, 'Wait here a minute.'
Puzzled, Merril put her book away while he went into the next room. When he returned he wore a guarded look. 'Come along.'
He strode over and took her by the arm without looking at her, but when he started to lead her towards the door she wrenched her
self away. 'Wait a minute --'
He gripped her more strongly by the upper arm so that she was forced towards the door. 'Don't make a scene,' he warned. 'The servants don't speak English and it would only worry them.'
'Why should J care?' she exclaimed, giving him a startled glance. She began to struggle as he propelled her towards the stairs.
'I'm stronger than you, so don't waste your energy.'
'You damned bully, Torrin Anthony! Is this the real you at last?'
'You wouldn't recognise the real me if you were handed a diagram with arrows.'
Before she could protest further he began to hustle her down the staircase to the hall. The butler appeared and discreetly opened the door, and Merril found herself being pushed down the steps towards a waiting car. It wasn't the Rolls that had brought her to the house, but a large, sleek black Jaguar with smoked glass windows. She half expected a couple of gangsters to be sitting inside, but the lush leather interior was empty.
'Where are we going?' she protested even as the door closed and Torrin settled in beside her. The car swept powerfully down the drive towards the road through the park before he answered.
'If you haven't yet realised it, Miss Merril Park, you're being kidnapped. Now lie back and enjoy it,' he answered brutally.
CHAPTER FOUR
At first she thought he was joking. 'Let me out, will you?' Her lips compressed in an irritable line.
'Out? Oh, no. I'm not letting you out.'
'Mr Anthony, this has gone on long enough. If we get on to the M25,' Merril added, peering out of the window, 'I'm going to have the devil of a job getting back to Fleet Street.'
'You're not going back to Fleet Street. Not today, anyway.'
'Don't be ridiculous!'
'I gather from Doyle, your boss, you've got five days off work. Well,' he smiled grimly, 'that should be five days before anybody realises you're missing.'
'Look here, stop being so ridiculous and let me out, will you?' She glanced wildly from his face—grim, to the back of the driver's head—unheeding, with the glass partition between them.
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