'You're driving me wild, do you know that?' he whispered against her ear. 'Yet when I allow myself to think about it I'm filled with such blind rage... Holding you in my arms like this, I can almost forgive and forget. Then the thoughts come back. The hurt. Why did you think you could lie to me, Rachel? What was the purpose of it?'
'Rachel?' She tilted her head back and looked into his eyes. 'You know?' She was stunned.
'It's a brilliant disguise and I certainly didn't guess that sex-siren on stage was sweet, demure little Rachel from the store until I met you off stage. Only then did something fail to jell. My suspicions grew. Even so I had a niggling doubt, a doubt which lasted until you dropped your shoulder-bag in Amsterdam... When I helped pick up your things I saw your pass card from the club with the name Zia on it. I couldn't believe it. But it made sense --' He shrugged. 'It explained why I had to keep on going back to that place. I guess I really knew it was you all along. Kissing you proved it. I would know your lips anywhere. One kiss and there could be no pretence.'
His face was darkening as seconds ticked by and she went on staring up at him with no apology or explanation. 'Why, Rachel?' he prompted. 'Did you just want to make a fool of me?'
His look of hurt sent ice up and down her spine. Mutely she shook her head. When he was scarcely able to contain his anger with her like this it seemed to strike her dumb. She could offer no words to explain. No apologies for the hurt. Hurt? she thought helplessly. I'm the one who's hurt—who will be hurt if I succumb to the passion of a one-night affair with a heartbreaker like you. But she could not express her fears to him. It was impossible to say the right words.
'Tell me why you did it, for God's sake!' He lifted a hand, grasping her roughly by the chin. 'Did you girls cook it up between you? Couldn't you see how I felt about you? Have you only a block of ice where other women have a heart?' He was keeping up a rhythmic caressing over the small bones of her back that was numbing all ability to reason.
'Don't, Elliot——' She tried to move away but felt him draw her back.
'I suppose you thought it amusing to play at being sweet Rachel and let me say all those ridiculous things about milkmaids and innocence. My God, how you must have been laughing up your sleeve!' He took hold of a fistful of the false hair that swirled to her shoulders and held it as if liking nothing better than to break her neck. With her dress half undone and her breasts partly exposed she knew she must look as wanton as he imagined her to be. She tried to squirm free, but he hadn't finished yet.
'I'm not going to let you go. You've played with me. Now I'm going to play with you.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'I'm going to have my fill of those tasty lips of yours. Why not? You've flaunted yourself often enough; now you'll have to learn to take what's coming to you!'
He began to draw her in towards him with taunting deliberation. One hand was already sliding inside the gaping bodice while the other held her powerfully around her tiny waist. He could nearly get his hand around it, a fact he commented on with satisfaction.
'And now, Rachel, Zia—my lovely liar, I'm going to kiss you in a way even you've never imagined.'
The faint sound of violins as the orchestra reached a momentary climax came through the door at the top of the stairs; The sound enveloped them in its lyrical beauty, the passionate notes of the lead singers as they joined in echoing the passion that was driving her into Elliot's arms. With no will to resist despite the threat in what he had just said to her, Rachel allowed him to bestow kiss after kiss upon her.
At once she realised it was the worst thing she could do. It merely confirmed what he had just said about her, and when he lifted his head, as well as the blurred look of unassuaged desire, his pride forced a harsh laugh from between his lips.
'Long live Zia. If that's a taste of things to come, what are we waiting for?' He made as if to drag hex down the stairs but she pulled back, grappling with the front of her dress at the same time.
Shame at what he thought scorched her cheeks. 'It's not true, Elliot! Only with you --' she cried breathlessly. 'No one else could ever make me feel like this!'
'I'm sure you say that to all your men.'
'Don't be so hateful! I'm not like this!'
'Like what? Wild and wanton? Oh, but you are, Zia. You're very much like this. You're just a naughty little girl playing at being a woman but it still means only one thing—you want to be taken to bed. Look how you behaved in Amsterdam! You were utterly, deliciously, torturingly available!'
Her cheeks flamed.
'I should have taken you then,' he rasped. 'Unfortunately I still believed in Rachel! More fool me!' He shot out a hand to haul her against him. 'Don't pretend you don't want me to take you to bed right now!'
Her lips refused to deny it.
'No, I thought not. One look at your face and what you want is as plain as day. You can't disguise the truth from me any longer. 1 know you now as well as I know myself!'
'You don't. You think you do, but you don't! I've never --' She glanced wildly round but his bulk seemed to block all avenue of escape, asserting the story he believed, making her feel dominated by it, unable to resist his accusations. How could she explain that it was love she wanted; not a fling, not just his body, but his love and respect and a lifetime together? She put a hand up to her mouth. Had she forgotten her ambitions already, merely because he was holding her in his arms?
'Come.' He slid his fingers round her wrist. 'Maybe you're being sensible for once. Let's go back to the box. We have the whole night ahead of us. And Zia...tidy yourself a little.' He reached for her, holding her unnecessarily close. 'Let me fasten your gown.' He kissed the skin beneath the fabric before bringing the zipper up again.
'We're going back?' she asked, confused by his touch as much as by his change of plan.
'I always believe, darling Zia, that things waited for are best. Don't you?'
Rachel felt an overwhelming relief. He had pushed her to the limit of her resistance and she had made a poor showing. If he had pushed just that little bit more she feared she would have been unable to make that final effort. Now, with time in which to gather her resistance, she felt a flicker of hope. Later she would be ready. She would resist. She would say no emphatically, despite the mind-shaking heaven of his touch. But there would be no later, for she would leave as soon as the performance was over even if she had to run from the theatre with the entire audience at her heels.
When they slid into their seats Rachel's eyes sought the bright oblong of the stage. Shaking, she folded her hands in her lap lest Elliot slip her hand into his, and then she tried to concentrate on what was happening beyond the intimate darkness of the box.
At the end, as the heroine lay dying, there wasn't a dry eye in the house, and as far as Rachel was concerned the heartache of the lovers on stage mirrored her own plight with regard to Elliot. But she couldn't give up in a paean of glorious song. This was real life and she had to go on. What was more, she had to go on to triumph. It was the only way to give the heartbreak any meaning.
When Elliot suggested going back to his club to have dinner she began by pleading tiredness and begged to be taken home. Surprisingly, he agreed. With a mocking smile he said, 'It's been a remarkable evening, Zia,' and went on loudly enough for everyone to hear, 'I'm not surprised you're emotionally exhausted. You know we'll meet again... very soon.'
He must have read the silent vow in her eyes, for as he put her in a taxi he squeezed her waist. 'By now,' he said, 'you should know I always keep my word...'
It was Wednesday again and she was due at the Manhattan that evening. When she came in the waiters were bustling about under the main lights, the ones that were never put on during opening times. They seemed to drain all colour from the furnishings, showing the place in its worst, most tawdry aspect. Rachel paused on the threshold. Herman claimed he was working on obtaining a booking for her in a similar kind of place in Spain, but she was beginning to think this was not the kind of environment in which she wanted to con
tinue.
Attending the opera had crystallised something for her and she felt now she wanted to set her sights on a part in a musical show of some kind. Herman had told her to leave it with him. He had, he said, his ear to the ground.
She greeted Ray as usual and was about to go on to ready herself when he called her through into his office.
'I've got something to tell you, Rachel. Take a seat.'
She sat.
'It's this bother with the wife's health,' he told her. 'I've decided to take the plunge. The plunge into retirement, that is. I'm selling up. We're going to the villa on the Costa. It's for the best. No good going on until—well.' He spread his hands. 'I wanted you to know because you might be worried about your job..
Rachel bit her lip. It looked bad from her point of view, but on the other hand it left her with no alternative but to seek work elsewhere. The more she considered it, the more she realised it would be a relief to get away from a place that reminded her so much of Elliot. Herman would just have to pull his finger out and get her something else. Then Ray said something that took her completely by surprise.
'I have, as it happens, already had an offer for the place. But before I go ahead there is something you need to know. It's this. The prospective purchaser only wishes to proceed on condition that you remain as chanteuse.'
Her first reaction was relief. At lea t she was going to be in work. Then she floundered as she imagined what it would be like to continue in a place that contained so many torturing memories. Stifling such thoughts, she assumed a businesslike manner. 'That must mean my contract is going to be renewed. Presumably under the same terms?'
'You'll have to ask Herman that, my dear. I'm sure he'll do his very best for you.'
Next morning she was on to Herman first thing. 'What is this?' she demanded. Being tough and businesslike had the bonus of keeping thoughts of Elliot at bay.
'Good news, isn't it?' replied Herman genially.
'I'm not sure.'
'He's increasing your salary. That can't be bad.'
'I suppose not,' she admitted. 'But you know I was hoping to start doing a few auditions for shows instead of concentrating on club work.'
She heard Herman say something to someone else in the office with his hand partly covering the mouthpiece. When he came back to her he said, 'There was an audition lined up for you. But if you got the job you'd have to break your contract with the Manhattan.'
'As I haven't signed a contract with the new owner that's not an issue at present, is it?'
When there was another long pause she said, 'Look, Herman, surely you can think of some compromise? I don't want to jeopardise Ray's sale but --' she hesitated '—I do need to broaden my range. And I need that audition for the experience if nothing else.' Of course she didn't go into all her reasons for wanting out.
'You're right,' he agreed, coming to a sudden decision. 'We'll cross our bridges when we get to them as far as the contract goes. If you sign it you'll at least have a job, and then if you get offered something else we'll get out of it somehow. I'll ask my secretary to ring you back with the audition info.'
Things moved swiftly after that. The purchaser, under the name of Stateside Entertainment, began to go ahead in earnest once Rachel signed their contract. At the same time she found herself in a long line of other hopefuls auditioning for a part in a new as yet untitled musical due to open before Christmas.
After the audition she walked into Ray's office with a smile on her face, feeling her spirits lighter than they had been since the night at the opera with Elliot. 'They've asked me to go back, Ray, isn't that wonderful --?' Then the smile froze on her lips.
Elliot, looking more handsome than ever, uncoiled from Ray's swivel chair and leaned on the desk. Ray, in overcoat and grey trilby, stood by the door.
'Just in time,' he said cheerfully. 'Meet the director of Stateside—though I know you know each other,' he added in an aside.
'What?' Rachel gulped and stepped back.
Elliot smiled grimly. 'We know each other all right, don't we, Zia?' He came round the edge of the desk, one hand outstretched. 'You've just missed the handing-over ceremony. Welcome to the New Manhattan. May our partnership be mutually satisfying.'
There was no mistaking the double edge to his words. Rachel drew herself up. 'I've just come from an audition,' she began. 'And --'
'I'm sorry?' He looked from Ray to Rachel and back again. 'Has there been some confusion over the terms of the contract, Ray? I don't expect her to be looking for work elsewhere until I've finished with her. And that,' he added in a voice full of menace, 'won't be for quite a time.'
CHAPTER TWELVE
After Ray said goodbye and left, Rachel turned on Elliot with a muffled cry. 'You!' she exclaimed. 'Is it true? It must be some kind of joke!'
'I assure you, my dear, my bank take it very seriously.'
'Your bank?' She frowned.
His glance assessed their surroundings. 'This is an expensive little place, bang in the middle of the West End. It costs. But I'm sure it's going to be worth every penny.'
'But you don't know anything about nightclubs,' she accused.
'Don't I?'
'Maybe you do,' she mumbled, turning away. 'How the hell would I know?' She spun to face him again, her hands twisting helplessly in front of her. 'What made you do it, Elliot?' Already the ramifications were beginning to explode in her mind like so many fire-bombs.
'I thought it an amusing thing to do. You didn't imagine I was happy being a mere shopkeeper, did you?'
The store was one of the most prestigious of its kind and Rachel would have smiled at any other time to hear it referred to as a shop, but now she was too frightened to smile. 'What about me?' she managed to blurt. 'Are you going to tear up my contract?' The thought that she might soon be without a job was at the back of her mind. Even though she had been short-listed for the musical she knew she couldn't count on that. Uppermost though was the realisation that his answer would depend on whether he wanted her around—in any capacity—or not.
Elliot watched her closely as she turned to look at him. 'Tear it up?' he said after an agonising pause. 'I don't think so. Why should I? After all, when I bought the club—I bought you with it.'
Now her heart swooped painfully. 'Bought me?' She summoned up a scornful glance. 'I'm not for sale, Elliot,' she said through tight lips.
'That's true—now,' he told her coolly. 'But you were for sale, as I've just demonstrated.'
'I --' she went right up to him '—I,' she repeated, 'am not for sale. And never will be!'
'Everyone has their price. Yours is clearly stated in the contract. Would you like to back out of it?' Before she could answer he went on, 'Because if so let me know and I'll get on to my solicitors right away.' He gave a sardonic smile. 'There are penalties for breach of contract as I'm sure you know.'
'Elliot, why are you treating me like this?' There was a note of uncertainty in her voice.
'Don't play the innocent, blinking your wide blue eyes like that, Zia.' He uttered her stage name with such sarcasm it was like a slap in the face. 'I'm not taken in any more. You can't get away with playing the innocent Rachel any longer. I've seen through that one, darling. Now, shall we get down to business?'
'I don't know what you mean.' She bowed her head, bewildered by the turn of events and confused further by the genuine dislike Elliot was displaying. Had she hurt his feelings so much? Didn't he see it hadn't been her intention to make him look a fool?
'Elliot, please let me explain --'
'No time for that. You should surely be getting ready to go on?' He glanced at his watch. 'I seem to remember you start at ten-thirty?'
She nodded.
He turned back to some papers on his desk and with a feeling that she was living in some kind of nasty dream she made her way to the sanctuary of her dressing-room.
What now? she thought as she got ready. She resented the suggestion that she had been bought— as if she wer
e part of the fixtures and fittings of the club, she thought bitterly. Who did he think he was? And why, why in heaven's name, had he done it? It all seemed to hint at something but she couldn't guess what.
When she came off around midnight the applause rang hollowly in her ears and she slumped down in her chair, apparent physical exhaustion masking what was really a deep-seated emotional fatigue.
It had all seemed so simple to begin with. Dedication to her career. But that was when she was a complete beginner in life, before she learned even the first letter in the alphabet.
There was a knock on the door and she called out in a weary voice. It would be Piers with Henry's champagne and the inevitable red rose.
'Thank you, Piers, I --' She broke off. Elliot stood there, a rage in his eyes. Behind him she could see the waiter's anxious face.
'What the hell is this?' snarled Elliot. He turned to indicate the waiter and the tray bearing Henry's tokens of esteem.
'As you can see --' She yawned, unable to stop herself.
He swivelled to the waiting Piers. 'Take it all back and tell him --' He stopped. 'No, better not tell a customer what I was just about to say. Tell him "not tonight". Go on.' Piers left and Elliot turned back. 'Does he do that often?'
'Every night, I'm afraid.'
He came inside and closed the door. 'Why don't you tell him to stop?'
'Why should I?' She regarded him levelly in the mirror. His face hovered over her left shoulder.
'You'll tell him it's got to stop.'
It made no odds to her. She had already suggested to Henry that he shouldn't do it but his reply had been that it was a bit of nonsense he enjoyed. Now Elliot's stark order made her anger rise. 'If it isn't clear enough already, Elliot, I'll say it again. You may have bought the club but I'm not part of the furniture. You haven't bought me.'
'Zia...' Her name was a snake sound on his lips, sinister enough to make the hair on the nape of her neck rise. She shivered even before he touched her. His fingers were feather-light. When he spoke his voice was a mere whisper. 'I've already told you, if you want to break your contract, go ahead. See what happens.'
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