There was no answer and the silence increased the older man's irritation. "I tell you, Nicky, you've gone too far! Even if you manage to stay out of Dawn's divorce, once she's free she'll expect you to marry her."
"She'll have a long wait."
"She'll create hell if you don't."
Nicky shrugged. "She bores me."
"She didn't bore you three months ago." Bob Vane frowned. "I don't know what's got into you. You were a nice enough kid when I found you singing with that third-rate group, but since you've hit the top___ " He raised his shoulders expressively. "If you're not careful you'll do yourself a lot of harm."
"Whatever I do, people pick on me."
"That's the price of success."
"Then I'm tired of paying it. I'm not going to marry Dawn Meadows and nothing you or anybody else says can make me!"
"I don't want you to marry her!" Bob shouted. "She does! And if you don't, she'll sell her story to the press."
"So what? The publicity won't harm me."
"This time it will. For heaven's sake, Nicky, face facts. I've just got you the biggest and best recording deal of your life with Jackson Villiers, but if you're involved in a sordid sex story, he'll tear up the contract."
"He can't. It's already signed."
"He can and he will. He insisted on a morals clause. He always does."
"Then you should have turned him down."
"Turned down twenty million dollars? Are you crazy?"
"You're crazy if you think I'm going to live like a monk."
"No one's asking you to do that." Bob tried to keep hold of his temper. "All I want is for you to be discreet and remember the image you've got. It's also the image that Villiers bought. Hometown boy waiting for the right girl to come along."
"If my fans believe that of me, they're more stupid than I think. They read the papers, don't they?"
"They still believe you'll settle down when you fail in love."
"I'm always falling in love." Nicky taunted. "At least four nights a week!"
"Okay," Bob said. "Have it your way. If Villiers terminates your contract you can always sign up with someone else. You'll only make half the money, but if you don't care, why should I? I can always find myself another star to manage."
Nicky turned away from the mirror and leaned against the dressing table. "You've made your point, Bob. Tell me what you want me to do."
"Help me to think of some way of stopping Dawn from making trouble. Once she knows we're scared she'll start to lay down the law. Yet if we try and give her the brush-off, she'll get nasty." A callboy's voice quavered in the corridor and the singer stood up.
"I'm on in a minute. We'll talk about it after the show."
From her corner seat in the topmost gallery, Valerie joined in the tumultuous applause as the orchestra ended their introduction on a thunderous chord and Nicky Barratt sauntered on to the stage. Smiling his acknowledgment of their welcome, Nicky signaled to the band and, as the clapping died away, his voice, throbbing and tender, echoed into the auditorium.
Three thousand people sat enthralled, mesmerized by a melody they had heard countless times before and would want to hear countless times again. For more than an hour they were hypnotized by the magic that exuded from this slim, dark-haired young man.
It was impossible to analyze the reason behind his power; impossible to understand the quality which made everyone sit in complete, engrossed silence, giving their minds as well as their emotions into the grasp of a slightly insolent charmer.
As the lights dimmed on his last number the silence was broken: from the gallery and stalls, from the dress circle and pit, the audience began to clap and cheer, their calls growing louder and louder until the spotlights brightened and Nicky returned to the stage. He held out his hands for silence and in the hush that followed, the notes of "My Final Fling" were softly heard. Once again he held his audience captive, and so masterly was his ability that when the lights went down for the second time, everyone knew and accepted that he would not return to the stage for another encore.
In a daze Valerie stood up, then seeing the mass of surging people ahead of her, sank back on the bench.
"Wonderful, isn't he?" a voice said in her ear. "I feel as though he's singing just for me."
Valerie turned to the plump girl next to her and smiled. "I think we all feel the same. That's what makes him so exceptional."
The plump girl rose. "I always go backstage afterward and wait to see him come out. Care to come with me?"
Without waiting for a reply she started to push her way along the row. Valerie hesitated, then intrigued by the prospect of seeing her idol at close range, she followed the girl. Outside the theater the streets were milling with fans, but Valerie's companion seemed to know her way around, for she backed into the foyer and darted down innumerable corridors that finally brought them out into a narrow alleyway. Here too they were surrounded by girls, but at least they were in sight of the stage door, and the plump girl shoved her way forward, using her elbows and feet to help her.
Valerie tried to follow suit but she could not bring herself to emulate the other girl, and she was soon left far behind, hemmed in by a mass of people who threatened to squeeze her into oblivion. Panic- stricken, she tried to fight her way but, but the road behind her was blocked and a large limousine was slowly edging its way alongside of her, with policemen trying to force a path for it to the stage door.
"There's his car!" someone screamed and immediately the crowd increased its frenzied pushing.
Gasping with terror, Valerie struggled wildly. Her coat was torn and she was flung bodily against a wall, pressed to it so tightly that she found it impossible to breathe. She lunged out with her hands, fighting for air, then suddenly felt the wall give way behind her. It was a door and it was miraculously opening. She went to dive in, but as she turned, a crowd of men surged out through it, their momentum flinging her against a burly, middle-aged man.
Hardly knowing what she was doing, she clung to him. "Help me get out of this!" she cried. "They've gone mad."
"You're one of them," he muttered and tried to push her away. As he did so he glanced at her face. Her skin was ashen and her eyes dilated with fear. "Come on," he said grimly. "I'll do what I can."
Clutching his arms around her, he bundled her in front of him along the path that was forged for them by the straining, linked hands of some dozen policemen. The limousine she had noticed a moment ago was now directly in front of them, and her rescuer pushed her in and climbed in himself. Panting, she sank back in a corner and wiped the perspiration from her face. She was still trembling and for a few moments she sat with her eyes closed, feeling the car edge its way along the street and then gain a little more speed. On the other side of her she felt someone stir, and lifting her lids, saw that apart from her middle-aged rescuer, there was also a young man in the car.
She stared at him and the color rushed into her cheeks. It couldn't be! She blinked, then blinked again. But the image remained and she knew she was not dreaming. It was Nicky Barratt. She was sitting next to the man whose voice had haunted her dreams and most of her waking moments for almost as long as she could remember. Tentatively she stared at him, seeing the narrow, firm nose and sensuous lips; the heavy-lidded dark eyes, almost closed now as they maintained indifference to her presence.
She swallowed nervously. "Wh-what am I doing here?"
"That's what I would like to know," Nicky Barratt said and looked at the older man.
"I saved her from being trampled to death," came the reply. "The crowds were pretty wild tonight."
"And she was part of it," the singer said. "I don't mind giving all of myself when I'm on stage, but I'm damned if I'll do it when the performance is over! One day my devoted fans will kill me."
Mortified, Valerie leaned toward the door. "I didn't ask to be pushed into this car. I might be a fan of yours, Mr. Barratt, but I wouldn't want to trespass on your privacy. If you'll ask the driver to sto
p, I'll get out."
"Relax, honey." The order came from the older man. "Don't take any notice of Nicky. He's always nervy after a show. I'm not letting you go until you've had a drink."
Remembering some of the stories she had read about the wild parties that pop stars held after their concerts, she shook her head quickly.
"I don't need a drink, thank you. I'm perfectly all right."
"You don't look it. Now, don't argue. Come and have a drink with Nicky and me, and then I'll get the chauffeur to drop you wherever you want to go. After all, it's not much to ask in return for rescuing you, is it?"
Valerie hesitated, then glanced at Nicky Barratt, who was staring through the car window, an aloof expression on his face. "Well, if you put it like that…"
"I do put it like that. And don't take any notice of Nicky. He'll soon be in form again. By the way, I'm Bob Vane, Nicky's manager. What's your name?"
"Valerie Browne."
How mundane it sounded, she thought, and sank back into the corner, wishing there was some way she could escape. Hardly had she formulated this wish, when the car edged into the forecourt of the Savoy Hotel. The commissionaire jumped forward to open the door and a throng of girls clamored around it.
"Keep back there! Keep back!" the man called testily and tried to ward off the crowd with his arms.
"Quick!" Bob Vane muttered. "Let's make a dash for it."
The three of them did so, but as the swing doors closed behind her, Valerie heard a shrill voice cry: "Who's the girl? Did you see the girl with Nicky?"
Valerie's embarrassment increased, but Nicky Barratt seemed not to have heard and stared straight in front of him as though he were alone. He really was behaving oddly. Where was the charm she had associated with him?
As though sensing what was going through her mind, Bob Vane took her arm and led her toward the elevator. "Come on up to the suite. We'll all feel better when we've had a drink."
Hiding her nervousness Valerie obeyed, and was soon walking down a thickly carpeted corridor and into a sitting room furnished in Regency style. The wide windows, with their blue velvet curtains, were not yet drawn, and afforded a magnificent view of the Thames.
"I expect you'd like to tidy yourself," Bob Vane suggested. "I'll show you—" He broke off as the telephone rang.
"I'll get it," Nicky said swiftly and going into the bedroom, closed the door behind him.
As soon as he had disappeared, Valerie turned to the older man. "I shouldn't have come here, Mr. Vane. Mr. Barratt doesn't want strange people about the place. After working so hard, he must want to relax by himself."
"The only way Nicky relaxes is when he's in the middle of a crowd. Now go tidy up while I fix us a drink."
"Well, if you're sure______ " Valerie drew a deep breath. "I've always admired Nicky Barratt's singing and you've no idea how I felt when I found myself sitting next to him."
"I can guess."
"It wasn't just hero worship," she said, aware of his dry tone. "I was thinking about his voice and the songs he writes. He knows exactly how young people think… the way they feel. His lyrics have a sensitivity that___ " She stopped, annoyed with herself. "Now
I'm sounding like a pop struck idiot. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You've expressed your thoughts very clearly and they'd be echoed by all Nicky's fans—if they had your ability with words." Bob Vane stared at her thoughtfully. "You have a genuine admiration for him, haven't you?"
"I think he's very talented."
"But you don't look the sort of girl who goes into hysterics when he sings, like that bunch of loonies out there." He jerked his head towards the window.
Valerie flushed. "I got caught up in that crowd tonight by accident. I never realized what it would be like. I've only seen Nicky Barratt once before. It was at a pop festival and there were far more police there to keep order."
The man went on regarding her thoughtfully. "I don't see you fitting in at a pop festival."
"I didn't," she said ruefully. "I felt like a fish out of water. I'm a country girl by birth and inclination. A rare avis in this decade."
"A rare what?"
She smiled. "It's a Latin term for a rare bird."
"You can say that again." He crossed the room and opened the door of the bathroom. "Come out when you're ready."
As the door closed after her, Nicky came out of the bedroom and flung himself on to the sofa. "Thank the lord she's gone. Why did you bring that girl up here?"
"She hasn't gone," Bob said shortly, "and you'll find out my reason if you listen for a minute."
"Don't give me any guff about being nice to my fans."
"I'm suggesting you be nice to yourself.'"
"To myself? I don't get you."
"Then it's time you did. This is serious, Nicky. I spoke to some of the newspaper boys this evening and they bombarded me with some pretty tough questions about Dawn. I told them you'd never been serious about each other—that you were just good friends and all that jazz—but they just wouldn't swallow it."
"What did you expect?" Nicky grinned. "They aren't fools."
Bob ignored the interruption. "I told them you were in love with another girl and that you'd been using Dawn as a cover."
"A cover for what?"
"For your romance with a nice, innocent girl from the country."
Nicky stared at him without speaking, then he flung back his head and roared with laughter. "A girl from the country? You've got to be kidding! Next thing you'll be telling me is that you've got her hidden in your pocket."
"In the bathroom, as a matter of fact," came the reply. "So take that grin off your face and listen to me. I came out with that story on the spur of the moment, but when I saw the way those boys reacted to it, I knew I'd hit the jackpot. The only trouble was that there didn't happen to be any nice, innocent girl from the country, and I was beating my brains out trying to figure out what to do, when little Miss Browne fell into my arms."
Nicky's mouth dropped open. "You can't mean___ " He stared at the bathroom door and Bob nodded.
"That's just what I do mean. When that kid pushed against me in the crowd tonight, I don't know what made me pull her into the car with us. I haven't much sympathy with these screaming Janes, as you know, but she looked different somehow. It wasn't till I was talking to her just now and she was raving about you— wait a minute," he said as he saw the expression on Nicky's face, "not in the way you think. I told you before she's not one of those sexy bits who scream themselves into a frenzy when you sing. She's got dignity, that kid, and she has a genuine admiration for your voice and your songs. That's what gave me the idea. She's not bad-looking and she's obviously as simple as they come—just the sort of wife your public would adore."
"Wife!" Nicky shot out of the settee. "Now I know you're out of your mind!"
"Keep calm," Bob said soothingly. "I'm not suggesting you marry her."
"Thanks!"
"I'm only suggesting you get engaged to her until we get Dawn Meadows out of the way."
"And then what?" Nicky asked. "Even supposing this girl's crazy enough to agree to do as you say, how will she react when I tell her to go? She could blackmail us, Bob."
"She's not the type. Take it from me. Anyway, there's no reason to tell her the truth. Let her think you've genuinely fallen for her! She'll be flattered as hell. And by the time you're ready to ditch her, Dawn will be yesterday's news."
Nicky wandered over to the mantelpiece and frowned at his reflection in the mirror. "If she's the sort of girl you say she is, we can't pull a trick like that on her."
"Why not?" Bob reached for a cigar. "What's she got to lose? She'll have a wonderful time and she'll get herself a load of publicity."
"She probably doesn't want any publicity."
"All girls like publicity—even this one. And all of them would fall flat on their faces to be given a whirl by Nicky Barratt."
"Maybe so," Nicky replied. "But I don't like it and I won't do it
. Give her a drink and get rid of her."
Bob chewed on the end of his cigar. "If she goes, so do I."
"Come again?"
"You heard me. I meant what I said, Nicky. I discovered you and I pushed you to the top. If you do as I say, you'll stay there. If you don't, you'll lose your Villiers contract."
"So what's wrong with Columbia or Decca or E.M.I.?"
"What's the difference between ten and twenty million dollars? Damn it, Nicky, listen to me and do what I say. You can just about save your skin if you romance this kid along. All she has to do is to say she met you a couple of months ago—before Dawn came on the scene."
"Suppose she refuses?"
"She won't if you make her believe you've fallen for her."
"I can't do that."
"If you don't, I'm through with you. It's your last chance and—"
Bob stopped short as Valerie came back into the room. In her plain navy coat and dress she looked out of place in the opulent room, but as the two men watched her they noticed the symmetry of her features and her clear, porcelain skin.
"How are you feeling now?" Bob asked heartily.
"Much better, thanks."
"Good. Come and talk to Nicky while I fix the drinks. What would you like?"
"Some orange juice, please."
Bob looked startled but turned to the sideboard without comment and Nicky waved his arm at the sofa. "Sit down, Miss—what's your name?"
"Valerie Browne."
"Well, sit down, Miss Browne."
Nicky stressed the rhyme but his grin disappeared as she did not react, but settled herself on a corner of the settee and crossed her legs decorously at the ankles. They were slim ankles and beautifully shaped legs, he noticed, and thought cynically that there was nothing wrong with Bob's taste in women.
"What did you think of the show?" he asked.
For the first time she looked animated and her eyes glowed. They were the largest eyes Nicky had seen and the most unusual shade of violet blue. They owed none of their luster to makeup either. In fact as far as he could tell she wasn't wearing any, not even powder. It was incredible.
Rachel Lindsay - An Affair To Forget Page 2
