'I don't know your taste, Zia.' The young waiter smiled. 'He's certainly not an ogre.'
'Tell him I'll join him for ten minutes.' She turned back to the mirror to freshen her make-up, cutting off the waiter's exclamation of surprise.
He left at once and in a moment or two returned with the terse reply, 'He can't believe his luck. You'd better get out there quickly, otherwise he's likely to have a heart attack with the suspense,' And as she left he added, 'You've made his day.'
'Let's hope he can make mine!' She lifted one shoulder. Rachel would have blushed and wondered what the fuss was about. Zia gave a world-weary yawn. Now for it, she whispered aloud, bracing herself before she stepped out, almost as if she were going back on stage. Ray's fatherly hand in the small of her back propelled her forward to make the introduction, and stayed too, keeping a protective eye on things.
Henry was fortyish with the slightly overweight good looks of a man who lives well with no responsibilities other than to himself. He had a pleasant, unassuming smile and she couldn't help being charmed. He was so sweet, so attentive and so obviously adored Zia. She had warned Ray to give her an opening to make her departure after ten minutes or so and on cue he rose to his feet, one hand on the back of her chair.
'I hope you won't neglect our other guests,' he murmured, spreading an apologetic hand. Henry rose to his feet with alacrity, holding her chair, helping Ray shepherd her towards another table as if she were made of fine porcelain. When it became obvious he wasn't included in this new round of introductions he went back to his own party, smiling, besotted, obviously grateful for any crumbs Zia would throw his way.
The quiet voice in her ear was Ray saying, 'This, I suspect, is the man who sends the flowers.' It brought her head lifting, a smile already in place. Then she felt her blood turn to ice. Strength fled from out of her and she stumbled, beginning to sink like a rag doll until Ray's arm came discreetly round her waist to support her.
A spindly gold chair appeared and she sank down on to it, her head averted from the man who had risen at her arrival with one hand outstretched in greeting.
No, not Elliot! No, no! she repeated to herself. Not him. Please...not Elliot! But it was.
Slowly she raised her head as control reasserted itself. In the candlelight he looked very different from the last time they had confronted each other. His expression now was by contrast almost gentle, and in his dinner-jacket, with his black tie slightly awry, he seemed more endearing than ever. Only the brilliant clarity of his eyes hinted at how formidable he could be as an adversary. She waited for him to exclaim in derision at her presence, her own final bitter words coming back now to taunt her, but he was smiling blandly, with apparently nothing but delighted surprise on his features as if everything was well between them.
'Zia, you do me an honour,' he was already taking one of her hands in his, 'I'd given up hope of ever meeting you.' He bowed over her hand. 'I suppose I should have put a name to the flowery tributes,' he dismissed them as nothings, 'but I never intended they should lead to a meeting. It was,' he went on with negligent courtesy, 'beyond my wildest hope.'
So that was the game, she thought. What an actor! 'I rarely meet my fans,' she said coolly, matching him tone for tone. 'Usually I feel so exhausted after a performance I need only to rest.'
'You put so much into it,' he agreed, 'so much emotion. You obviously live life in top gear to shame the rest of us who can only manage to chug along in first.'
'I'm sure that's untrue of you,' she murmured, unsure where the conversation was leading. Why didn't he address her as Rachel? Ask her what the hell she was doing, parading around in a wig and fancy-dress?
But he went on in the same vein. 'Zia,' he said, 'I have to confess, I first caught your performance quite by chance. I came here on a whim, a wild-goose chase as it turned out, due to what one might call a folie d'amour --' He paused, frowned, smiled suddenly, the soldier-blue eyes sharpening. 'The words of the song struck me as strikingly apt at the time...'
'Folie d'amour?' Her lips tightened.
'Something drew me to return and it was then, I suppose, that you caught me in your spell.' He chuckled in that familiar, teasing way Rachel had grown to love. Only now it made her want to hit him. How dared he dismiss Rachel as a folie d'amour? But then, that was what she'd known he would do all along, especially when he tired of her and decided it was time for pastures new.
Yet she couldn't get to grips with what was happening now. Did he intend to go on all evening pretending she was Zia?
Ray saved the situation. 'I really think we must move on, Zia. I believe you have a taxi waiting?'
'I was rather hoping you would join me for a late meal,' Elliot broke in. 'I understand you performers prefer to eat after a show rather than before?'
'I—oh, no, I couldn't --' She bit her lip and pretended to inspect her fingernails. Her legs wouldn't obey the simple command to carry her away out of his range. Her eyes when she turned them on Ray implored his help.
He crooked an arm under hers. 'Time to go.' He brought her to her feet.
'Thank you for the flowers,' she said to Elliot over her shoulder. Somehow she managed to walk with a reasonable show, of assurance to the seclusion of the corridor backstage then she stopped, leaning weakly against Ray with no fight left.
'You all right, sweetheart?' He frowned.
She nodded, avoiding his glance.
'You put a hell of a lot into your performance tonight. I'll get you a nice drink of milk and put you in that taxi.'
'Oh, Ray, if you only knew...' No one would know how much she had put into her performance. And that included the last ten minutes. Why was Elliot playing with her? Why hadn't he told her he knew she was Zia? Why hadn't he mentioned the flowers when he saw her at the store? Even a casual remark like, 'Did they arrive safely?'—anything but this pretence. As if he didn't know who she really was!
There were only ten days left of her notice and she felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. It was tiring doing both jobs, but on the other hand the business of the store kept her from brooding over Elliot. He was around, a fact which made the days seem as fraught as a passage across a minefield even though they didn't meet face to face. She had expected, indeed, longed for, some come-back from their meeting at the Manhattan—a second chance of some sort—but nothing happened. The following night his 'flowery tribute', as he jokingly called it, turned up as usual. It was a sheaf of roses so dark, they were almost black. And so it continued, but with never a card, as if he was reluctant to commit himself in writing.
Inevitably they had to come face to face in the store.. Rachel had just finished dressing one of the windows and was feeling hot and dishevelled. She was wearing black matador trousers and a loose striped man's shirt and her hair, longer now and gently streaked, was pulled back in a black ribbon. As usual she wore no make-up. Elliot was crossing one of the sales floors in the company of a tall, extremely self-confident and glamorous woman a little older than himself. They were deep in conversation. Rachel, her arms full of the paraphernalia from the window, had to step to one side to avoid being trampled. She was scowling over the top of some boxes teetering in her arms when Elliot noticed her. He said something to his companion and they both came to a leisurely halt.
'Having problems, Rachel?' His voice held a deliberate edge. Employer to slightly useless employee, she registered.
Nettled, she gave him a haughty stare then couldn't stop her glance flicking towards his companion. 'I can manage, thank you, sir,' she said with just the slightest ironic emphasis on the word 'sir'.
Its delicacy was not lost on Elliot. 'Surely you can find someone to --' he paused in a most suggestive way before adding innocently '—give you a helping hand...?' He paused again. Smiled. 'I don't like to see you getting all hot and bothered.'
'I'm all right,' she muttered, knowing he detected the blush that was already beginning at the image his words forced to mind.
He gave a glance towards the c
ool figure standing beside him. 'I'm just going up to the hospitality room on seventh, otherwise I'd get some help for you.'
'I can manage quite well. I always do,' she replied. 'Thank you for your concern, sir.'
'It's my duty,' he remarked laconically with a hand under the elbow of his companion as he strolled away.
Rachel continued towards the escalator, wondering why her heart was thudding so much, and if she was crazy to imagine anything going on beneath the ordinariness of their exchange. She couldn't work him out. He had obviously discarded all thoughts of pursuing Rachel, for which fact she ought to feel grateful, but the flowers still kept coming for Zia. If he wanted to confuse her he was succeeding admirably.
That night she sat with Henry for a few moments after she finished. She had decided to go ahead and sign the contract with Southern Artists and Herman Ward was in the audience. She felt Henry afforded some protection, as Herman was hardly likely to start making suggestive remarks about dinner a deux with a third party in earshot. Ray couldn't be expected to accompany her all the time. He had other guests to talk to. Henry, she realised, had been pursuing her for so long that he hadn't yet registered that she might be available for something more than distant adoration. Not that she was. But, given her proximity at the little gilt table at which they were now sitting, he might have been forgiven for thinking so.
They chatted about this and that. Zia bubbled in a way Rachel could not have. It was all lightness and banter. Beneath it she was aware of Elliot, a rather bored look on his face, leaning back on his gilt chair, a long glass held casually in one hand as he watched the trio going through their paces. He was accompanied, she noticed, by the same woman she had seen in the store that afternoon.
No accounting for taste, she thought unjustly, remembering his own reaction to Herman Ward.
Soon she got up to make her way backstage to change ready for home. She had gone only two paces along the corridor when she heard her name. Her night-name.
'Zia?'
Turning she saw Elliot sauntering casually down the corridor towards her. 'You left so suddenly, I didn't get chance to invite you over. I thought you might have joined me anyway?' he said.
'You're with someone,' she remarked in tight, Rachel tones.
'Only wining and dining a business colleague,' he told her. He looked impossibly sophisticated in his ecru dinner-jacket, just a little wildness in his dark hair lending him that lethally untamed look she had so far been unable to forget. Instinctively she flattened herself against the wall as he approached. Rachel crowding uppermost in her mind and warning her to run. But Zia stepped smoothly to the fore.
'Two's company,' she whispered with a provocative flutter of her eyelashes. Now is the moment he can bring the two halves of my life together at last, she thought wildly as he bent over her.
'Three can be company sometimes,' he murmured. 'Won't you come and join us?'
'I really am exhausted, you know. I need to get home to bed,' she stalled in confusion.
'Bed?' His eyes smouldered. 'With a husband in it?'
Rachel felt floored. He knew she wasn't married. 'What makes you say a thing like that?' she asked huskily.
'Isn't it true?'
She looked blank until he went on, 'Surely a woman like you has a man waiting for her...?'
'I --' She licked her lips, unsure how to proceed. 'I like to keep my life simple,' she managed, not realising how provocative she looked as, suddenly shy, she twirled her fingers in the turbulent tresses of her hairpiece.
He placed one hand on the wall behind her head. It made her think of the time in the lift when he had done just that as a prelude to the kiss she still dreamed about. The slight opening of her lips, her eyes widening in remembered anticipation, made him go still. 'Life sounds rather lonely for you,' he murmured thickly, eyes never wavering from her mouth.
'I—no, I --' She licked her lips, unconsciously making them look even softer and more desirable than ever.
With a small smile like a contestant in a game of skill, Elliot lowered his own lips to within an inch of Zia's and paused, savouring the inevitable coup de grace.
Rachel was transfixed. What would Zia do? Rachel would submit. She would let him lead her wherever he chose. The fight had left her. She wanted him. She loved him. But Zia? Ambitious Zia?
He murmured her name.
It gave her something to cling on to. She licked her lips again out of sheer nervousness, imagining the sweet warmth of his mouth on hers, then, after a prolonged moment of indecision, she averted her head.
'I really don't think --'
'That this is an appropriate time? No, neither do I. Forgive me.' He slipped a hand into his top pocket and drew out a card. 'Contact me some time. We'll have dinner somewhere special.' He stepped back, a cool smile playing round his lips. 'There is something—I have the most peculiar feeling about you...' He frowned, then gave her a brisk smile. 'No matter. I expect to hear from you—make it soon!'
Then he left.
Rachel stood for long minutes staring after him. There was only one thing she could think. He didn't know. He really didn't know who she was. Every thing he said confirmed his ignorance about her true identity!
She returned to her dressing-room and peered at herself in the full-length mirror. She switched off the dazzle of bulbs around the dressing-mirror and then she understood. In the false hair, the outrageous stage garb, she looked like nothing Rachel could even dream of. Even the high heels changed her, making her seem slimmer than she really was, and the dress accentuated curves that Rachel's plain workaday garb only concealed. As for her face, the false eyelashes were a transformation, darkening her cornflower blue eyes, lending them an air of mystery that hinted she was a woman with a past... It was the most effective disguise she could have devised.
What now? she thought. Shall I go on playing at being Zia? Could she get back what she had thoughtlessly -thrown away in the guise of another woman? Elliot no longer cared for Rachel. But if he could care for Zia, wouldn't that be just as good?
She bumped into him in the store first thing next morning. She felt pale and tired and must have looked washed out, for he gave her a sardonic glance from across the corridor and bore down on her at once, his whole manner changed from the previous night. 'Lover-boy keeping you up late at night, is he?' He spoke aggressively, eyes bleak with dislike. 'You've got rings under your eyes, Rachel. Didn't Mummy tell you to get enough beauty sleep?'
'I get enough sleep, thank you.'
'I don't.'
'That's your affair.'
'I have sleepless nights. I wonder why.'
'Too much nightclubbing,' she retorted.
'Yes. But I haven't seen you at the Manhattan recently. Found newer, more genteel pastures?'
'I'm not interested in—going out.'
'To be honest, neither am I. Waste of time, isn't it?'
'Why do it, then?'
'Perhaps I hope to see you there one of these nights—so we can get on the floor and pretend to dance as we did once before. Perhaps you've forgotten that --' He gazed into her eyes. 'I wish I could. I wish I weren't still tormented by the memory of your body pressing against mine as if you wanted --' He broke off abruptly. 'So there it is, you must be pleased with yourself.'
If she hadn't known how he had almost taken Zia's lips she would have been convinced he really was as lovelorn as he pretended, but last night was branded on her memory. 'I'm sure you've found other consolations at the Manhattan,' she couldn't help jibing.
'Sure.' He gave a lazy laugh. 'With the fabulous Zia, you mean?'
'Have you won your bet?' she asked, pushed by some demon to see how he would respond.
He shrugged, a fleeting smile playing round his lips. 'I'd forgotten that. But yes, she seems to be a very warm and generous woman. Almost irresistible.' He paused. 'There's something about her that strikes a chord...' Then he gave another harder laugh. 'But don't worry, Rachel, she's even less my type than I am yours. I pre
fer my women unspoiled. Since meeting you I guess I'm doomed to go for the innocent milkmaid type.'
'So you can spoil their innocence?' she burst out. 'Or because you imagine that type is too naive to see through you? On that count, if what you say is right, Zia should be your match!'
'A cabaret artiste?' He raised an eyebrow. 'I don't think so. While she may be fun for a while, I couldn't see it lasting. To quote you, we're worlds apart.' He chuckled. 'Can you imagine her at the opera?'
'I can't imagine you at the opera.' Her voice was full of venom, the desire to hurt him as he had just hurt her, albeit unwittingly, being uppermost. But as a taunt it fell flat.
'You don't know me, then.'
'You don't know me either,' she muttered.
'I know you're afraid of letting go for some reason. You like to play at being Rachel the prude. Who is it supposed to impress? It doesn't impress me!' He swivelled suddenly as if tired of this meaningless conversation and started to walk away.
His words had aroused such an opposition in her heart that she heard herself call after him, 'If you stopped thinking of women as types for you to pick and choose among, maybe you'd have more --'
'Yes?' He spun to face her. 'Maybe I'd what? Have more success?' he taunted. 'I can assure you, Rachel, I have all the success I can handle. It's only with you I'm willing to bow out gracefully and admit defeat. Fortunately, there are plenty more fish in the sea.'
As if to confirm what he meant, two secretaries went past, self-consciously undulating when they noticed him. He allowed his glance to trail them down the corridor before turning back to Rachel with a thin smile. 'You see? You're only harming yourself by saying no to life. Poor frightened Rachel. You don't know what you're missing!' He swivelled and made his way after the two secretaries, leaving Rachel to fume and snarl helplessly to herself.
She felt like blurting everything out to Lulu when she got back upstairs but was afraid she would say she was crazy to have turned him down in the first place.
Steps to Heaven Page 8
