The half-familiar faces of the top staff were clustered near Mr Maynard, all wearing the benign smiles of people officiating at a prize-giving. Then they turned on cue and started to clap their hands politely. It was then that Rachel had the shock of her life.
CHAPTER TWO
'No!' Rachel exclaimed under her breath. Store detective? 'Oh, heavens,' she muttered, 'how could I?'
'And now,' Mr Maynard was saying with a smug smile, 'I hand you over to the newest member of our board, Mr Elliot Priest!'
Blue eyes swept the crowd, pausing only momentarily when they met her own, then turning, the smile in them unmistakable, as he addressed first his fellow directors and then the rest of the gathering.
His speech was short and humorous. Afterwards it was obvious it had endeared him to everyone. As they all filed back downstairs Rachel couldn't miss the excited chatter. Sole topic: the new director, Elliot Priest.
'Smart work, Rachel!' It was Lulu, coming into the staff-room behind her. 'I saw you both! So aren't you the dark horse? I bet he'll make you change your mind about going solo!'
'You must be joking!' Rachel spun to face her. 'He's the man in the lift I told you about, and precisely the sort of time-wasting womaniser I want to avoid. If you think a man like that could make me change tack, you simply don't know me at all! I don't intend to shelve my ambitions for a brief fling. And that's exactly what it would be with a man like him!'
In the privacy of her own thoughts Rachel had to admit that it wasn't just the disruption of a brief affair that scared her. It was more to do with the fact that she couldn't imagine a relationship that didn't mean total involvement. And that made two good reasons for keeping Elliot Priest at arm's length!
Besides, there was enough on her mind at present without wasting time even thinking about a man. Any man.
After a busy day in the store Rachel would have liked nothing better than to put her feet up for an hour or so before going out again to the club, but Ray had asked her to go in early to look over the contract he'd drawn up for her.
'At least you'll have more time to yourself when you give up your store job,' remarked Ros, noticing how tired she was looking. 'You're living on your nerves at the moment.' She herself was just on her way out to meet her boyfriend and gave Rachel a reproving look.
With the flat to herself for a while before she had to leave, Rachel pushed aside the thought that she too could be going out on a date and single-mindedly ran over some new songs until it was time to go. Constant practice had given her a large repertoire from old, sentimental ballads to the latest hits from the shows. She felt she was working towards her own individual style but wasn't sure she had found it yet.
Her first big battle was lack of confidence. It made it difficult to tell anybody about her secret dreams except for those one or two, like Ros and Lulu, who she felt wouldn't laugh at her for being so ambitious. As the baby of a large family of brothers and sisters, all of them working in the world of farming, she had always felt too shy to confess her dreams, knowing it would lay her open to a barrage of teasing from her older brothers.
She knew they wouldn't take a career in entertainment seriously just yet, and she had enough doubts about her talent to want to cope with the doubts of those she loved. She knew she would care too much about their inevitable criticism.
When she arrived in Ray's office later on, she scanned the short contract his solicitor had drawn up. 'Do you want me to sign it now or something?' She looked round for a pen.
'No, take it home and get somebody to look it over with you. I'm not a shark, love. And I want you to be happy with it.' He gave her a fatherly pat on the shoulder. 'My own daughter's about your age. She's a dancer and she's got a nice steady boyfriend to look after her. Maybe you're the same? Talk it over together and, if you're in doubt about anything, you can always ask an independent solicitor to check it out. But --' he shook his head '—make sure we don't get into any legal wrangles. You know what these law chaps can be like and I want to keep red tape to a minimum. That's pretty standard --' He indicated the piece of paper in her hand. 'But always remember to make sure everything's watertight and don't make the mistake of getting yourself tied up for too long with anybody. You need to be free to take any opportunity that comes up if you want to get to the top.'
She agreed with this last remark emphatically, though not quite in the way Ray meant! 'I know I need to be free,' she said, and smiled.
Ray had told her he had been running clubs for years and in his heyday, as he called it, he'd run a smart club in the West End where he regularly booked top-line stars. A few years ago he had put it on the market in order to settle for somewhere less hectic in what he liked to think of as his dotage.
Rachel gave a gamine grin as she scanned the contract again. 'I'll need a manager if things really start to move, won't I?' she hinted.
But, chuckling, he shook his head. 'If I were twenty years younger, my dear, you wouldn't even have to mention it. But you need somebody young and in touch with the latest trends. I'll ask around. I still have contacts and you definitely need someone who, a, knows the ropes and b, can be trusted. A difficult combination, some might say. Really no boyfriend with your best interests at heart?'
She shook her head. 'That's the last thing I have time for.' She tilted her head pertly. 'As I've just told you, I need to be free. It's the way it has to be.'
With things moving along so well she sang with extra verve that night and finished after midnight, the audience's applause continuing long after she had returned to her dressing-room. After wearily kicking off her high-heeled shoes she removed the hairpiece Lulu had allowed her to borrow and placed it on its stand on the dressing-table. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to wear it after all. Under the stage lights it had felt hot and uncomfortable and she couldn't stop worrying about whether it was slipping or not. It was glamorous, though, and Ray had again murmured something about wishing he was twenty years younger when he saw her in it. 'That's Zia,' he had added. 'I like her.'
She ruffled her own mouse-brown hair, easing her fingers through her scalp and resting one arm wearily on the dressing-table for a moment.
There was a knock at the door. When she called out to open it one of the waiters was revealed with a bottle of champagne and a single rose on a tray. He placed them on the dressing-table, then handed her a note. It said, 'Sorry this is such an obvious approach, but would you care to join me?' She couldn't read the signature.
'Tell him, thank you, but no.' Then she looked up. 'Should I also return the champagne?'
'That would probably be insulting,' replied the waiter evenly, then he added with a smile, 'Don't you want to know what he's like?'
'I can guess. He's about forty-five, short, fat, balding, and with a wife in the country, yes?'
'No.' The waiter shook his head. 'I'm afraid you're wrong on every count. He's also one of our best customers. I'm sure the boss wouldn't like to see him upset.'
'Are you saying I have to have a drink with him?' Suddenly she felt her spine chill. Was she getting into deep water merely by singing in a place like this? Her mother had been full of dire warnings about the wickedness of London ways. But Ray was infinitely courteous and the club, she knew from what Ros's uncle had told her, was extremely respectable. He himself was a member and had been the one to introduce her to Ray. In fact, the only wickedness she had encountered so far had been in the eminently respectable shape of Mr Priest! She let an image of his dancing blue-eyed glance float in front of her for a moment. With a little sigh she brought herself back to the present.
'I think you'd better send the whole lot back, with thanks,' she murmured. 'I would hate him to get the wrong impression.'
When the waiter left with a shrug of his shoulders, she frowned at herself in the mirror. This was where a manager would be a help. Someone, as Ray advised, who could be trusted.
She scrubbed off her make-up and put on her outdoor clothes. No doubt she could fend for herself. If no
t, she would have to learn.
It was with an increasing sense of effort that she managed to drag herself into work next morning. She was used to early mornings on the farm, but not late nights, and without a good eight hours behind her even store hours were difficult to keep. Knowing she was late again, she flung herself towards the lift but missed it by a hair's breadth. With an audible sigh she spun towards the stairs but was pulled up short by a muscular shape emerging from the directors' lift.
A delighted chuckle made her draw in her breath.
'So are you late or am I early?' Elliot Priest came right up to her, deliberately blocking her escape up the flight of stairs.
'Both, probably,' she muttered.
'I don't rate you for punctuality, Rachel.'
Looking at his expression she couldn't tell whether this was a formal reprimand or not. She bit her lip.
'But I certainly rate you for other, more interesting qualities,' he went on with a lowering of his voice, quenching any latent ambiguity in his words.
She drew herself up. 'As I am late, as you correctly point out, would you mind letting me past?'
'What's this, some sort of fitness routine?' he bantered, staying just where he was across the stairs. 'Why don't you use the lift?'
'It's just gone up,' she told him irritably. She would have said much more but for the knowledge now of who he was and the power he held.
'I can't have you running up five flights of stairs and arriving for work all hot and bothered,' he remarked pleasantly. Before she realised what he was doing he took her by the elbow and began to lead her towards the lift he had just stepped out of. 'Let me...' He held back the doors.
'I can't go in there, it's not allowed!' she exclaimed, pulling back.
'I'm allowing it. Do you want permission in triplicate?' His eyes still held a bantering light but Rachel got an uncomfortable feeling that their glitter could become dangerous in the batting of an eyelid.
'You do like your own way, don't you?' She hesitated, unwilling to back down.
He pushed her inside with a determined shove. 'It seems as if the only way I'm going to get anywhere with you is to throw my weight around.' The doors closed, locking them in together.
The lift seemed suddenly to shrink in size as if there were scarcely enough room for two in it. Rachel stood in the far corner and glowered. The whole thing was done out in mirrors with a deep blue carpet halfway up the walls. She could see Elliot's face in profile twice over if she turned her head. His eyes, a brighter blue than the decor, followed hers. She swung back to face him, lifting her chin, prepared for whatever challenge came her way, but unsure how to make the first defensive gestures.
'According to the maker's specifications we've got approximately thirty seconds to say what we want to say before we reach the fifth floor,' he began. 'Well?'
She glared. 'Thank you for letting me use the management's lift. It's most considerate.'
His eyes seemed luminous with laughter. 'Very cool. But it won't put me off. That's ten seconds. I'm not used to this sort of thing. Most of the women I date are people I meet socially. It's easy then. Now we're having to start from scratch. I feel like an adolescent boy, scared of putting a foot wrong. Of being turned down again. It's more scaring than hang-gliding.' . She gave a short laugh and turned away, but everywhere she looked she could see his dancing blue eyes. She closed her own eyes to shut him out.
'Don't do that,' he warned, talking rapidly all on one breath, 'you look so defenceless and I think I might have to kiss those lips to see if they're as soft as they look. And that's twenty-five seconds by the way, only five left. Rachel, have dinner with me this evening?'
She opened her eyes.
'Thirty seconds,' he said. The lift whispered to a stop. As the doors began to open he stepped in front of her. 'Well?'
She side-stepped. 'I'm late. You've already pointed that out to me.' She reached the safety of the corridor but to her alarm Elliot followed her. 'What are you doing? This isn't your floor,' she protested.
'May as well inspect the domain. Show me where you work,' he commanded.
'I'm going to get my things from the staff-room. You can't come in there!' She must have looked thoroughly horror-stricken, for he threw his head back with another of those laughs that did such strange things to her senses.
'What in heaven's name goes on that I can't see?' he mocked. 'Are you running an illicit gambling school or something?'
'Well,' she, explained, confused, 'it's all girls. They may be changing their tights or something.'
He was chuckling again and she suddenly realised he'd been teasing her.
'You make me feel like a fool,' she mumbled, jerking away and marching off down the corridor so he couldn't see the embarrassment on her face.
'Slow down!' He caught up with her before she reached the staff-room door. 'You still haven't given me your answer.' He came right up against her and practically forced her to walk on. They reached the end of the corridor where it split off in two directions and plate-glass doors gave on to a concrete balcony. Light streamed in between the roofs of the buildings opposite and for a moment Elliot's strong, clean-cut good looks were spotlighted until he swivelled into shadow to face her. 'Well?' he prompted. 'Tonight? Or some other night? If the latter, which one?'
'For goodness' sake!' she exclaimed. 'Why are you pressurising me?'
'Because if I don't we won't get anywhere.'
She pursed her lips. 'I've told you. I can't see you.'
'Won't, you mean.'
'Can't. Won't. What difference does it make? The answer's still no.'
'You think it's no. But only because you won't admit you'd like to say yes. You would, wouldn't you?' He peered into her face.
'I doubt whether it would make much difference what I answered to that!' she came back, shooting daggers at him.
'Maybe not. Even if you were dishonest enough to say no, I'd only take it as a sign that you needed a little persuasion.'
She tried to step back, as if distance could deflect the arrowing attention aimed straight at her, but found herself up against the wall. 'No wonder you're on the board,' she muttered, trying to avoid his glance.
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Thrusting businessman in cut-throat career,' she condemned. 'Presumably you only survive by being so domineering.'
'And being the chairman's nephew,' he added charmingly.
She suspected even he knew that had little to do with it. An attack of the swimmy feeling she had had before when he had been standing as close as he was now overcame her. She was as far back against the wall as she could be, groping for it in order to steady herself, but it didn't do any good. Why don't I just walk away? she asked herself. Because he would follow, came the prompt reply. 'I'm still saying no,' she insisted weakly.
'But it's not what you want to say.' He was looking more self-confident now for some reason.
'You must look just like this when you're winning some point at a board meeting,' she observed as acidly as she could.
He chuckled softly and moved closer, 'I hope I don't look like this at board meetings,' he said. 'It wouldn't do my reputation one iota of good if I look as starstruck as I feel.' He lifted a hand and touched her lightly on the shoulder. For a moment he was looking down at her and she up at him and they were like two figures in a tableau. Something powerful seemed to pass between them.
Rachel felt it and she knew he had felt it too. And then she had a sudden unwelcome vision of life without him. The life she had chosen, with its fame, success, the satisfaction of achieved ambitions. For an instant it all seemed somehow meaningless. She thrust the vision aside with a little gesture of annoyance.
'I really can't see you. I'm busy every evening from now until forever.'
'Doing some sort of course?' He frowned.
She glanced guiltily at the floor.
'I think you're just saying that because you're scared. I've said this before—let's play it for fun. N
othing heavy, nothing to be scared about. Let's just see each other for as long as we like it. Why ever not?'
'I've told you,' she said in a small voice, 'I don't have time.' The more he insisted, the more she felt she was clamming up. It was shyness again. Her crippling shyness. There was nothing to stop her explaining why she couldn't see him. The practical difficulty, that was. But then the self-defeating thought skidded into her head: who on earth do I think I am, calling myself a nightclub singer when I'm just an ordinary person? It seemed so presumptuous. If she told him he would probably roar with laughter.
She'd already battled with the thought of what Mum and Dad would say when they found out. And now she imagined the whole crowd of people back home. What, for instance, would her brothers say about quiet little Rachel growing up and trying to pass herself off as a sultry cabaret artiste? What would her Farmer's Club friends say? Her school friends? She had always longed to break out of the mould and now she was trying to do it she was overcome with self-doubts.
All it had taken was one pair of dazzling blue eyes with a casual question in them and she was back to behaving like a fourteen-year-old—'the shy one'—and if anybody at home knew they would all say, 'I told you so.' Not that they'd mean it unkindly. It was just that people liked to have other people in boxes whether the ones in the boxes wanted to be there or not.
'What's going on in that tortuous little brain of yours, Rachel?'
'Nothing,' she mumbled. She felt defeated by the complexity of her thoughts. 'Nothing's going on,' she repeated. 'I just want to get into work.'
Steps to Heaven Page 3
