She froze. In an instant she saw she could risk everything and call his bluff. Or she could keep control of her instinctive anger at what he was doing to her and find another way out.
She turned on her chair to face him. 'I enjoy singing here. Why should I break my contract? But all I want to point out is, if someone is gallant enough to send me champagne and a single red rose every evening, that's my business, not yours. I shall, if I wish, accept a hundred red roses.'
'If you live long enough to be offered them.' He smiled without humour.
'That too.' She smiled a little as well.
Elliot, however, was only waiting for his moment. 'I intend to run this club as a respectable establishment, Zia. I don't wish to have my staff involved with the vice squad. If you step out of line I may have to issue a written warning to you.' He gave an arrogant jerk of the head as he turned to go.
Rachel stood up. 'How dare you?' She felt a violent race of colour scudding up her neck into her face. For a moment she felt she could literally see red. Before she could stop herself she had crossed the room and gripped him by the arm. As he turned she realised what she had done, but was powerless to release her hold on the sleeve of his dinner-jacket.
He looked down at her pale hand with its painted scarlet nails and rings of cheap coloured glass. On stage they looked exotic, but now they were what they were, a symbol of tawdry glamour. Time seemed to stop during which neither of them moved or spoke. Rachel was conscious of her own held breath. She was also intensely aware of the heady masculine scent of his cologne. It brought back memories of how he had once held her in his arms in a time that was now lost forever.
So slowly that she could count off the seconds, he lifted his own hand then grasped the offending one on his sleeve. With a gesture of deliberation he pushed it off. The space between them seemed to yawn like a chasm. To Rachel it seemed alive with criss-crossed wires, tugging and tearing apart the other lines that seemed to tie them together. It was all confusion. She couldn't turn away but nor could she go forward. She looked up. Elliot's blue eyes were fathomless, a deliberate professional blank.
Love me, Elliot, she found herself praying amid the tumult of her thoughts. But let me go, she prayed almost simultaneously. A small cry escaped her throat.
'You shouldn't have said that to me,' she heard herself say as if driven by the rules of convention to defend herself. 'You know it was uncalled for. As if I would --' she gasped '—as if I would behave like that!' She couldn't bring herself to say bluntly the thing he had accused her of. 'It's horrible of you, Elliot! You must know I'm not like that! You're deliberately trying to humiliate me. It's so unfair.' Her eyes seemed heavy with unshed tears but she was determined not to collapse in front of him. She tried to draw herself up. 'It shows exactly what you think of women in general to imagine, to even imagine such a thing!'
'Either you're blindly persisting in this role of naive country girl, even though you know it's run its course and no longer convinces me, or you really do imagine you can carry on with my customers and never be called to book. Haven't I already told you—if you promise something, eventually someone is going to collect?'
Changing his mind about leaving, he kicked the door shut behind him and turned to her with a lethal smile. 'You flaunt your innocence by day, driving men wild with it. And on stage in the safety of the public eye you promise the tormenting pleasures of the night. Look but don't touch'. Is it fair, Zia? Is it honest?'
'I don't—I don't do what you say!' she exclaimed. Something made her step back. 'I'm only singing. It's not my fault if men take my appearance to mean something else.'
'Are you so naive?'
'Am I?' She looked bewildered.
He gave a harsh laugh. 'There it is again. That helpless, wide-eyed look. But you're not stupid, Zia. Not stupid by any means. You have a brain. You can't fail to know what sort of effect you're having. It's pure calculation.' He gave a groan. 'Hell, damn you! Why do I try to reason with you? We both know what game you're playing. Why can't I treat you with the contempt you deserve— or play along with it, like Henry?'
'Play along?'
'You don't imagine Henry doesn't know you're playing games, do you?'
'He's always very courteous --'
'Paws you a little, but nothing you can't control?'
'I suppose so, if you want to put it like that.'
'But that's his particular turn-on, isn't it, Zia? He likes the thrill of wondering how long it'll be before he can manoeuvre you into bed.'
'Don't be ridiculous, Elliot. He doesn't want that!'
'Stupid girl!' Elliot's face darkened. 'Every man in the audience wants that. Luckily most of them can't get near you. Ray used to make damn sure the barricade was up.'
'Ray?' She felt stupid now, only half understanding what he was saying.
'He warned me what would happen. "The stage-door johnny syndrome" he called it. He must have told you! He only allowed Henry to penetrate the security barrier because he thought it would take the pressure off if you could be seen with him now and then. Are you quite stupid?'
Rachel blinked. 'I'm only singing a few songs,' she muttered, turning away. 'You make it sound as if—I don't know.' She turned back. 'I don't know what I've done. I just --' She glanced briefly at her appearance in the wall-mirror. 'I just dress the part and go out and sing a few songs. I don't try to do anything else. I try to entertain. I just do --' She shrugged.
'Do what comes naturally?'
'Yes,' she said at once, then bit her lip again. It sounded bad like that.
His response was a harsh groan of sound wrenched from deep in his throat. 'Well, in case you still haven't realised it, Zia, what you think of as doing what comes naturally means only one thing to the chaps out there. And it has only one conclusion. I surely don't have to spell it out?'
She swallowed and shook her head.
'On the other hand,' he muttered thickly, 'perhaps a practical demonstration would help?'
He moved closer. 'Zia...' His breath was ragged. 'Damn you, Zia, for being such a tantalising little... I want --' His arms reached out for her before she could do more than bring up one hand in defence. Then she was enveloped in a hot embrace, her own body, aching with desire for him, overriding her natural impulse to resist. Betrayed by her own emotions, she clung to him, lifting her lips helplessly to receive his. His tongue swooped to meet her own, heat racing between them as all control deserted them.
There was a knock on the door.
Elliot dragged his lips away from their sweet plundering, his eyes bleared in confusion by this unexpected interruption. Rachel managed to tear herself out of his arms. She moved away, clutching the back of a chair to stem the violent shaking in her limbs.
'What is it?' Elliot's voice was rough-edged with anger. An apologetic Piers looked cautiously round the edge of the door. He had disposed of the champagne, but held the red rose in one hand.
'The reply, Zia,' he said, 'is, "please".' He took in Elliot's expression at once. 'Sorry, sir.'
'Give me that bloody rose.' Elliot snatched it out of his hand, tearing it into little pieces and throwing them savagely across the room. 'Tell him that! And if he persists, by God, I'll knock him down myself!'
Piers shot a startled glance at Rachel and went out, closing the door behind him with infinite caution.
'Bloody hell, Rachel, what do I have to do to keep you for myself? Marry you?'
She was still holding on to the back of the chair.
Elliot came towards her again and she flinched back as if she thought he was going to take hold of her again but instead he stood in front of her, raking one hand through his hair, eyes sweeping her flushed face with a look of dazed surprise.
'You won't be bought,' he muttered half to himself. He closed his eyes for an instant and she wondered what next. Already she felt as if she had spent the last half-hour on a roller-coaster that had spun out of control. Where it would fling her next she had no idea. All she could do
was wait and see.
Elliot gave a sort of sigh and reached out with one hand to squeeze her waist. She tried not to flinch as he pressed with no apparent awareness of how hard he was handling her. Then he released her.
'Get ready to go home,' he said abruptly, swivelling towards the door.
With an effort she managed to prompt, 'Ray usually calls a cab for me. Fifteen minutes will do.'
He halted at the door and looked back. 'I'm not Ray, you'll get no cab from me...' He paused. 'I'll take you home myself.'
When he left she ran a shaking hand down her cheek. He was as disruptive as she suspected he would be at their very first meeting. She couldn't fight him. He seemed to attack her from all sides. The only thing she had to cling on to was that his accusations were one hundred per cent false. She had had no idea she affected men in the way he claimed.
By the time she was dressed in her plain wool coat and the make-up and the elaborate hairpiece were removed, she had come to a decision. Whether he liked it or not, from now on she would appear simply as Rachel. If it meant she was any less popular with the customers, then so be it. It wasn't right to pretend to be something she wasn't. The thought of what she had inadvertently done made her feel ill.
He stood in the corridor in a dark overcoat. The strip-light made his face seem haggard. There were lines of strain around his mouth.
'Ready?' He gave her a brief glance then looked again. 'Quite an actress, aren't you? Looking at you now, who'd believe you were Zia?'
He moved briskly towards the street door.
'I'm sorry, Elliot. I didn't realise.'
He gave her a scathing look, but when they were settled in his car she tried again. 'I had no idea you felt I was deliberately leading men on. It all seemed to begin by accident—the stage image, I mean. When I first started to sing I used to feel so horribly shy I wouldn't have dared go on without some sort of protective camouflage. It was while I was doing the window at the store I got the idea of borrowing one of the wigs from display.' She glanced quickly at him. 'I shouldn't have told you that. I don't want Lulu to get into trouble.'
'Don't worry about Lulu. Go on with what you're saying.'
'Well,' she continued, 'it just seemed to escalate from there. Obviously I couldn't wear a silver wig with a dull, plain dress. So I got something a bit flashy, in keeping with the Manhattan. It's a very stylish and exclusive place, isn't it?'
'Have you been to many clubs?' he asked.
'No. Actually, it's the only one.'
He gave a short laugh. 'Go on.'
'That's it, really. I felt I had to dress the part and it helped me get over my nerves. You've no idea, Elliot, how terrified I am before I go on. Even now after all this time.'
'All this time?' He took his eyes off the road for a moment. 'I know actors who've been treading the boards for a decade or more and still suffer stage fright.'
'That's it, then,' she said gloomily. 'I'm stuck with it.' Then she said, 'But if what you say is true— and I suppose it is—then I shall have to tone things down. It makes me feel horrible to think men imagine what you said about me. All I wanted was to look the part and sort of put the songs over as truthfully as I could.'
'And they are, after all, love-songs.'
She gave him a startled glance. He turned briefly and their eyes met.
'That's right, isn't it? Why do you look so surprised?'
'You sounded as if you almost understood,' she mumbled, looking down at her hands.
He pulled up at some traffic-lights. 'Either you're an even better actress than I thought or I've wronged you,' he said briefly. He drove on in silence.
When they reached her flat he switched off the engine. 'Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you if I can come in. I don't expect that.' He gazed out at the empty street. The sodium lights gave the trees and the fronts of the houses a poignant and strangely unreal beauty.
Rachel slumped. She felt drained and it was with an effort she turned to unlock her door.
'Don't go just yet.' His voice was gruff. 'Rachel --' He gave a short laugh. 'Rachel it is— and ever shall be,' he said somewhat enigmatically. 'Will you consider what I said to you in your dressing-room?' He didn't look at her.
'I've told you—I'm going to get rid of the fancy-dress.' She still felt pained that she could have laid herself open to his accusations. Scrabbling at the catch of the door, she got out of the car as quickly as she could and fled into the house.
Next morning she had come to a decision, hewn out of the restless hours of the night. She would back out of her contract at the club. There was really no alternative. If Elliot wanted to sue her then it was up to him—but if she explained her reasons he would surely understand.
What his words had done was point out something she should have realised long ago—that where her ambitions lay wasn't in nightclub singing at all, but in performance. The ease with which she had been able to slip in and out of the role of Zia should have shown her that at once, and the night at the opera had opened her eyes in more ways than one, confirming what she had begun to suspect. Of course she had no delusions about becoming an opera singer. Musicals were the avenue she wished to explore, and even if it meant singing in the back row of the chorus she knew she wouldn't be happy doing anything else. She would find a good teacher and learn the job properly. Then, perhaps, Elliot would realise what he had said about her leading men on had been untrue all along.
Even though they had no future together it was important to her that he should believe the best of her. To lose him hurt, but to have lost his respect hurt even more. She would rather he thought her a prude, with some sort of integrity, than a slut, with none.
On top of this she was going to confess something else to him when she told him the final goodbye—and it would only mean something if he knew he was the first man she had ever said it to.
She rang him at the store and left a message for him to ring her as soon as he was free. Then she practised a few songs from the musical while she waited.
It was less than half an hour later when he returned her call. 'I need to talk to you, Elliot. May we meet for lunch?' she asked without preamble.
He agreed to meet her in the West End.
Replacing the receiver she got up and went to her room. She dressed carefully in the dark suit with the white silk blouse and only the antique pin for adornment. Then she piled her sleek hair on top of her head and slipped into a pair of plain black court shoes. The final image was cool, professional and made her look far more composed than she felt. She took a taxi into town and arrived at their meeting place in good time.
He was already waiting and took her by the arm at once. 'You left without giving me your answer,' he muttered tersely. 'Is this it?'
She shot him a startled glance. 'It's about my contract,' she said, rushing to get the worst of it over. 'I want to break it.'
He stepped back, still holding her by the arm, his grasp tightening with involuntary force. His face looked almost grey. 'Let's get inside. We've got to talk first.'
He pushed her into the restaurant ahead of him. When they were seated he said gruffly, 'You've thought this through?'
'I tossed and turned all night long,' she admitted. 'There's no way out, but before you say anything, let me tell you why...' Briefly she outlined her reasons. 'You see,' she finished up when he had listened without interrupting, 'you're the first man I've ever loved and the only one I would ever give up my ambitions for—if it would make any difference.' She lowered her eyes to the cloth. 'I'm not saying that to make you feel bad or anything. I accept the fact that you don't want a serious relationship with anybody, with me least of all --' She tried to smile and raised her eyes then, through the tears that were suddenly swimming in them, she saw his face in front of her. But instead of looking bored or wearing any of the expected expressions he was smiling, with a look of such tenderness that she could only gulp and draw in a ragged breath. He was making it difficult for her, looking like that—as if he
cared...
He didn't speak at once, but reached across the table for her hand. 'Idiot, idiot, idiot,' he repeated half to himself. 'Didn't you understand what I was saying to you last night?' He squeezed her hand. 'I said, "What do I have to do to keep you for myself, marry you?" It wasn't the most orthodox proposal ever, but I certainly meant it to be taken seriously. I thought you were coming here today to give me your answer.'
When she went on staring at him in amazement he said, 'I accept your resignation from the club if you're sure that's what you want, so let's get on to this other question, shall we? What do you say about marrying me, Rachel? Is it yes—or no?'
Before she could recover from her astonishment he went on, 'I'd like us to have a proper engagement, a time when we can discover each other, rectify all past misunderstandings. I want to make you happy. And, Rachel, I want to see your ambition fulfilled too. When we first met you said something about not wanting to get involved because you were dedicated to your career. I go along with that. You have a very special talent, a rare and very moving talent as a performer. It would be a crime to clip your wings when you're just beginning to spread them. I want to help you.'
Rachel felt silent tears coursing down her cheeks and if anybody at the nearby tables noticed she didn't care because they were tears of happiness. 'I've loved you for so long,' she whispered, 'but I daren't admit how black life would seem without you. I tried to tell myself my career was all that mattered, because it would be permanent, while an affair with you wouldn't be. But Elliot, I've learned nothing matters except you. I love you so very much.'
He took both her hands in his. 'You seem to have forgotten what I told you about my time in the States when I was consultant to the music industry.
I guess I'm as highly qualified as anybody to manage your career. Now you've got into the habit of saying yes, maybe you'll say yes to a business partnership too? We could be the hottest duo on the scene. What do you say?'
Steps to Heaven Page 14
