'If you've already eaten I shall be furious.'
She drew back. 'Of course I've eaten,' she exclaimed. 'It is nearly two o'clock.'
'Eat again, with me,' he suggested.
'I've just had a message to go and see Hil—I mean Mr Maynard,' she told him primly.
'That was from me, you idiot. Come along.' He began to pull her along towards one of the many doors that lined the corridor. 'I got stuck in some board meeting and couldn't get out,' he told her airily. 'I didn't think you'd mind as we hadn't bothered to arrange a specific time.'
'Couldn't you have sent a message out?'
Ignoring her protests, he led her to a table set with a white cloth on a balcony. Over the edge of the ornamental sandstone balustrade she could see the roofs of London.
She stood beside the table, still annoyed that he had taken her for granted. Then she bit her lip. What a stupid thing to think! What would the other directors say if they knew he was actually dating one of the staff, an underling? She turned miserably to the balcony and pretended to be looking for landmarks among the turrets and towers.
He came to stand behind her. 'I should have done that. You're right.' She felt a kiss on the nape of her neck. 'At least have a glass of wine and some cake.' He moved away. 'Or would you prefer coffee? Or what about some ice-cream or a piece of this rather splendid gateau?' He was scanning the table for inspiration.
'I don't want anything,' she began, then added, 'but you must eat.'
'I'm going to. And I'm going to open a bottle of wine and if we don't finish it now you must come back after work and—Rachel, why do we never have the time to sit and talk like other people? I have an appointment with the money-men at three.' He flicked a glance at his watch. 'Here.' He uncorked the bottle and poured her a glass.
She toyed with it without lifting it to her lips. 'I should be back at work now.'
'A few minutes. Otherwise I'll have to eat alone.'
'Is that so bad?' She couldn't help giving a grudging smile.
'Disastrous.'
'Elliot --' She paused. 'This can't work, can it?'
'What?' He was tucking into a large hunk of quiche, thus contradicting the adage, for there was nothing unreal about his masculinity... She brought her mind back to the present.
'Us, seeing each other, I mean.'
'Why the hell not? You want to. I want to. Now stop going back over old ground. We've done this one. You pretending not to be interested, while your eyes, your—everything --' he waved a hand vaguely '—tells another story.'
'I'm not going over old ground. This is an objection I hadn't thought of before.' She didn't know why she didn't confess the real objection. But just now this one seemed real enough.
'Unnecessary.'
'What is?'
'To keep thinking of objections. You should realise by now I shall simply sweep them all away. Whatever they are,' he added darkly.
'I don't think you can sweep this one away. I'm an employee. And you --'
'Yes?' he prompted.
'You're the boss's nephew, for heaven's sake! We're worlds apart.'
'Rubbish.'
She drew herself up. 'You're in charge, Elliot. It feels wrong.'
'I'm in charge, true. So that bothers you, does it? Don't you realise I'd be in charge anyway, even if I were a news-seller? You'll get used to it. I'm very easygoing when you get to know me.'
'Oh, yes?' She gave him a scathing glance. The phrase 'life in the fast lane' might have been invented for him, and he was certainly the type to call the shots, no matter what situation he was in.
'I still don't think there's any point,' she persisted.
'You'll adapt. I bet you're a really fast learner. Look how well you've adapted to city life after only three months. Your trouble is, you have no faith in yourself.'
She lifted her head. It was so accurate an assessment of what she knew was the truth that she couldn't think of anything to say. How could he read her so well? After a long pause she said, 'Am I so transparent?'
'I'm afraid you are.' He chuckled. 'That's what I adore about you. It makes such a change from the usual lacquered female one finds in town. What part of the country are you from anyway?'
She was still coming to terms with what he had just said about adoring her until he prompted, 'You're not a Londoner.. I can tell that much.'
'No.' She avoided his glance. 'Actually I'm from Dorset. Dad's a farmer.'
'That accounts for your milkmaid look!' He reached out and placed one hand over one of hers where it rested on the balustrade. Neither of them spoke. Rachel was conscious of the warmth of his skin. It was a protective sort of touch, making her feel she could trust him. But, she thought with a sudden shudder, it was based on a mistake. She wasn't the girl he thought she was. Obviously he saw her sitting at home in the evenings with her embroidery. Milkmaid? It brought an image of rustic innocence to mind. Early nights and apple cheeks. Purity and prettiness.
What would he think if he knew she was a nightclub singer? About to tell him, she was stalled when he gave another impatient glance at his watch. 'I'll have to go. Drink up your wine and come straight up at six o'clock.'
He was halfway to the door.
'Elliot, I can't.'
He frowned. 'Will you please stop saying that?'
'But it's fact. Surely you can't have forgotten it's late-night closing tonight?'
He banged a fist against his forehead. 'Eight, then?'
She shook her head. 'I've agreed to meet some friends.'
He put on a pained expression. 'Look, we're going to meet. I'll contact you during the afternoon.'
The afternoon, she thought, looking down at the lunch table, is more than half over already.
CHAPTER FOUR
The plate-glass windows effectively shut out the sound of the Piccadilly-bound traffic in the street outside, and Rachel always felt she was in a world of her own when putting a display together, even though she was always aware of the many passers-by who stopped to stare.
As she scattered handfuls of white daisies over the display, the final touch in the romantic little scene she had created to show off some garden party dresses, she became conscious of somebody peering in to watch. Usually people walked on after a few seconds but this one stayed. Eventually she glanced up. Afterwards she was glad she was kneeling down at the foot of one of the models or she might have stumbled. As it was she did a double-take and nearly dropped the basket of daisies crooked under one arm.
It was Elliot, grinning in at her like an idiot. He mouthed something but she couldn't tell what he was saying, so she turned back to scattering the daisies, furious with herself for the blush she felt spread its incriminating rose colour over her exposed skin.
When she dared look up again he was standing talking to two other businessmen beside a limousine. They must have been the money-men he mentioned. He looked impossibly rakish compared to the rather staid, paunchy grey-haired appearance of the other two. Even his dark business suit emphasised his lethal attractiveness, suggesting something animal forced tightly under control.
She turned back, determined not to be caught watching him. When she finished off, locking the door to the window behind her, he had already gone.
'In the window among the daisies—we should make you a permanent feature. Sales would rocket.' His husky voice stopped her with her hand on the lift button. She jerked round as the doors slid open.
'Come on.' Pushing her on ahead, he stepped in just as someone made a dash across the foyer to get in with them. He closed the door before they were even halfway across.
'You shouldn't have done that,' she began, but he was smiling down at her, one hand resting on the wall above her head, making the words die in her throat. Without letting his glance leave her face, he reached out and picked up one of the few remaining daisies in the basket and placed it gently in her hair.
'You're so sweet.' His voice was throbbing with obvious emotion, the bantering smile deserting his eyes an
d being replaced by something more predatory as he began to lower his head.
Pressing herself back against the side of the lift, Rachel muttered a weak, 'No, Elliot --' as it was all too obvious what he intended, but the rest of what she wanted to say was stopped by the gentle pressure of his lips on hers. Suddenly she found herself wrapped in his arms, their bodies melding in a feverish collision of desire that sent all thought of resistance flying away. His hot tongue probed the softness between her lips, demanding a response she couldn't deny him. In her confusion she thought fire was engulfing her melting limbs and she brought up one hand for help, finding that instead her fingers ran helplessly of their own accord through the thick dark hair at the back of his head.
The lift came to an abrupt stop and as the doors began to slide back he released her. He was breathing heavily. In a dream she saw his hand reach out towards the push-button, but she put out her own hand.
'No, please, Elliot, please don't do this—I --' She broke off, not sure what to say. She wanted and she didn't want. She was poised on the crest of a wave and felt she might crash down to destruction—or be engulfed in a sublime joy. Her knees were trembling as if to express the fear that suddenly shook through her.
He was somehow standing next to her in the corridor while people pushed and shoved past them into the lift. Rachel was scarcely conscious of anything but her resistance to what it was she feared from him. It surfaced, taking hold of her mind.
'Let me go,' she said in a high, tight voice. She brushed his detaining hand away from her shoulder.
He mistook her tone and her gesture for anger. 'Don't say you didn't want it too!' he rapped, suddenly losing control. His eyes blazed like blue flame.
'Go away, I said!' She glanced from side to side but there was nobody within earshot. Fear made her turn on him. She could see the destruction of all her ambitions, just looking at him. It was like reading the future in his eyes. She knew intuitively that she was laying herself open to the danger of relinquishing worlds for him. He was that sort of man, and he was right when he said she had never met anyone like him—she had never met any man who could make her imagination and her emotions whip into such a storm merely in response to his touch. What was needed now was coolness, objectivity.
She drew her shaking body together with an effort. 'Don't do that again, Mr Priest, even if you are the chairman's nephew,' she said as cuttingly as she could.
'I'll wait for you after you finish tonight,' he rapped out, ignoring her words and turning away.
'Don't bother! I'm meeting friends!' she called after him. He neither replied nor turned to acknowledge her rejection.
'This one! And the black. You simply must take the black, Rachel!' Lulu held up a skimpy frock the price of which seemed to be in inverse proportion to the amount of material used.
'But what about the scarlet taffeta?' It was the fashion assistant who was helping them. Rachel herself frowned.
'I still don't feel any of them are right.'
'But how do you see yourself?'
'Myself?' Rachel gazed at her image in the mirror. She saw Rachel now, that was the trouble. She saw a girl with an armful of white daisies. A milkmaid. Roses and cream. Spring idyll. Innocence. But what she needed to see, what she wanted to see, was tough, ambitious Zia, the woman with the world at her feet. Or at least, with a successful career as a singer ahead of her.
She turned. 'I feel confused,' she confessed. 'On stage I have to put on an act. To be Zia. On stage it's so easy. She seems more real than real. But off stage—I don't know. I can't grasp her somehow. I just don't know what she would look like any more.'
'We're here to help, love. And I see Zia as very sultry, very womanly.' Lulu turned to the assistant. 'Know what I mean? Somebody rather wicked, a sort of femme fatale.'
'Heavens!' murmured Rachel faintly.
'But you must admit, Rachel, that's how you put your songs over. I mean, it's so right. That's what the songs are really saying. You can't sing about temptation and look like a schoolgirl --' She paused. 'Well, maybe you could.' She was off on another tack and rummaged among the racks for something in white but Rachel shook her head.
'Maybe I simply need more time to get into the part. There's no urgency about this. Ray seems happy with the way I look. The audience like it. It's just—well,' she shrugged, 'I never expected to have to act to this extent. At first I thought it was just a case of getting out there and singing to my very best. But the audience seems to change things and somehow I found myself acting for them, to them... and you're right. I have to dress the part if I'm singing about love.'
'There might be a sort of piquancy about innocence and temptation,' mused Lulu. 'Think of Doris Day.'
'I am not going out there in a Peter Pan collar!' Rachel grinned suddenly. 'You two are sweet to try to help me. Shall we leave it for now and see if we can come up with something some other time?'
Reluctantly Lulu replaced the black dress on its hanger. 'If you're not having this one I might break the bank and get it for myself. With the staff discount I might just be able to afford it.'
'Is your boyfriend the man to appreciate that sort of thing?' remarked the assistant wickedly.
Lulu pulled a face. 'No, but I know who is!' She gave a sidelong glance at Rachel. 'Don't you agree?'
Rachel, still in bra and panties, pulled her sweater roughly over her head and used it as a hiding-place to conceal her reaction. When she emerged she managed to say flippantly, 'I can't imagine who on earth you mean.'
She had tried to squash any speculation about what was going on between her and Elliot, but Lulu's curiosity wasn't easily put to rest and she gave her a knowing smile.
A few minutes later they thanked the senior sales girl who had stayed behind to help them, then got their coats from the cloakroom and descended to the ground floor. It was nearly nine o'clock. The two of them stood in the entrance for a moment.
'Home to supper,' said Lulu, 'and an early night. What about you?'
'I think I'll have to go straight on to the club,' said Rachel. 'It's too late to go home.' Already her stage fright was coming back. She turned, too nervous to stand and chat. Lulu followed her out on to the pavement.
A white convertible was parked on the double yellow lines, its roof partly back and the sounds of music, an aria from some opera, clearly floating into the night air. Rachel stopped dead.
'It's him,' whispered Lulu. 'And he's coming over.'
She was right. Elliot must have been watching from the car, for as soon as the girls appeared he climbed out and came round its bonnet towards them.
'I've got to go --' Rachel said wildly. At that moment a taxi cruised into sight. With a gasp she ran towards it, her arm outstretched. Thankfully it swooped towards the kerb at once.
'The Manhattan Club near Bond Street,' she said rapidly, scrabbling at the nearside door and throwing herself thankfully on to the back seat as she heard Elliot's shout behind her. The driver put his foot down and tried to edge back into the stream of traffic, but there was a delay and it was enough for Elliot to wrench open the door and throw himself into the back beside her.
'Elliot, no!' She turned on him, blue eyes blazing at his effrontery.
'You saw me waiting for you,' he rasped, 'so why did you run off like that?'
'I told you—it's no good. I'm—I'm busy tonight anyway.'
'Busy? Meeting some chap at the Manhattan?' Obviously he had picked up on her instructions to the cab driver. 'You weren't there with anyone special last night, so you said. Or are you seeing that brother of Lulu's again?' He gave a derisive smile. 'If that's the case I'd better come with you as protection.'
'What about your car?' she said, clutching at straws.
'Damn!' He scowled, obviously having forgotten all about it. 'I've warded off one set of traffic wardens, plus I've left the keys in the ignition. Are you meeting someone, Rachel?' he demanded, looking her square in the face.
She shook her head, unable to lie to him
.
He waited long enough to catch her reply, then he tapped on the window to ask the taxi driver to set him down. 'I'll see you there.'
'No, Elliot!' But her cry was in vain. He leaped from the cab and started back towards his own car.
Now what am I to do? she asked herself angrily. Contradictions raged in her head. He would see clearly she wasn't the milkmaid type of his imagination when he witnessed her act. But did that matter? She didn't want an entanglement with him because she knew that for him it could never be serious. As he'd said at the beginning, he wanted to play it for fun. She just happened to be a girl who had caught his eye and obviously her resistance to him had had the opposite effect intended, inflaming his ardour instead of cooling it.
If she had known him at the beginning she would have guessed that he was the type to enjoy the challenge of pursuit, but it was too late to change all that now. On top of all that she had to be single-minded about her career if she wanted to get anywhere. That was the vow she had made to herself. So why did she care that he might get the wrong impression?
I don't care, she told herself fiercely. All I care about is my career. Elliot Priest can keep away!
She fully expected to see the white convertible pull in behind the cab when she alighted a few minutes later in a lane off Bond Street, but there was no sign of it and she wondered if he had perhaps taken heed of her vehement response to his overture. Thankful for this slight reprieve, she hurried into the club and made straight for her dressing-room to prepare herself. In all the confusion she had quite forgotten she was supposed to be suffering stage fright. She smiled grimly into the mirror. At least Elliot's importuning had had some positive effect!
The place was crowded when she finally stood in the spotlight. She couldn't make out the faces in the audience, but she could feel the warmth and excitement of the crowd pressing round in the darkness beyond the rim of light. Ray had already told her there was a full house. He was turning people away, he told her. She was beginning to be hot news. There was obviously something else he wanted to say but instead he simply patted her on the shoulder as she listened to the first bars of her tune, and with a little smile went out to announce her. The applause was electric. Rachel ceased to exist and Zia, smiling and full of confidence, stepped into the light.
Steps to Heaven Page 5
