Rachel Lindsay - An Affair To Forget

by Rachel Lindsay

  She blushed. "I—I'm always here, Nicky. If you really do want—"

  "I want," he cut in swiftly, and pressed his lips on hers.

  It was a gentle, undemanding kiss, yet it evoked in her a wild desire to respond, a treacherous moment of passion that she was afraid might give her away. How could this man whom she had met for the first time yesterday arouse such a desire in her when Mark, whom she had known all her life, leave her completely cold?

  "Please go," she whispered. "You'll be late."

  He stepped back, triumph in his eyes. "I'll be down tomorrow. But earlier, so that we can have lunch together."

  "I always have lunch with my father."

  "Tell him you're having it with me for a change."

  Arrogantly, without waiting for her answer, he climbed into the car and roared away.

  For the next ten days the silver-gray Lotus was a familiar sight in the village. When the weather was fine, Valerie and Nicky drove to the coast or farther into the country. If wet, they stayed at home and played records. He always left soon after her father returned from the bank, and she wondered if it was because he felt uncomfortable with a man who so patently regarded him as different from anyone he had known. Yet her father had, until six years ago, been manager of a large bank in London and had commuted daily, so he was not totally unused to men of Nicky's type. Yet there was no doubting the constraint between the two of them, and she decided it was because her father still regarded Mark as her boyfriend and saw Nicky as the interloper.

  As for her own feelings, she was still too afraid to think about them. She lived only for the moment, savoring the pleasure of Nicky's company and seeing each new date with him as an added bonus—another memory to be stored away and brought out to shine in her dull future.

  Only occasionally did she wonder why Nicky never asked her to meet him in London; surely he must be tired of traveling to Kerring? Yet he never suggested it and she decided it was because he wished to keep his friendship with her a secret. Yet even this thought was not a happy one, for it brought other questions to mind, and one evening as he was driving her home alter spending the day with her on the Downs, she began to mull over them and feel very sorry for herself.

  "What's with you?" Nicky slowed the car. "You've been sighing like the wind in the trees for the past ten minutes."

  "It's nothing."

  "Don't give me that. You aren't the moody type, Val. Something's bothering you and I want to know what it is."

  She glanced at him, as always warming to his dark good looks. His slim body hid enormous strength, as she had found out when he had tried to kiss her too intimately and she had made an attempt to resist him. Yet after his first effort to make her kiss him the way he wanted, he had accepted her rebuff and had not tried to kiss her at all. Perhaps this was the reason for the dark thoughts that had overtaken her.

  "I was wondering how much longer you'll want to go on seeing me." she confessed.

  "Why? Getting tired of me already?"

  "I thought it might be the other way around. You may get tired of coming down here." There, it was out and she might as well say the rest of it. "It can't be much fun for you having to drive down here all the time and then rush back for your show."

  "So?"

  "So I… I… I'm surprised you've never asked me to come to London."

  "I see." He obviously did, for he drove the next couple of miles in silence. "Why do you think I've never asked you to come up to town, Val?" he asked at last.

  "I don't know."

  "Little liar." His tone was indulgent. "Come on, tell me why you think I've kept you hidden. Because you do, don't you?"

  Hearing him say her thoughts aloud made them seem unworthy ones, and she would have given a great deal never to have let him know how she had felt.

  "Well, yes," she admitted. "I—I thought you— you might be ashamed of me."

  "Ashamed?" He was so honestly incredulous that she immediately knew this was not the reason. "Or perhaps you were… were afraid I wouldn't fit in with your friends."

  "I don't have any friends—apart from my backing group. And they're not personal friends really. No, my reason for keeping you hidden was a selfish one." His glance was sharp, as if defying her to disbelieve him. "Once we're seen around together we'll be the butt of every news snoop in the country. I was trying to put off that evil day. But if you'd rather come to—"

  "No, no, I wouldn't." She was so happy that his reason was such a simple one that she could have wept for joy. "Let's leave things the way they are. Now I know why, I can—"

  "No, Val. You're right. I can't keep you hidden forever. Bob thinks it's—" He stopped, then said: "Come up for the show tomorrow night and we'll go out afterward and celebrate."

  "Celebrate what?"

  "That we've known each other a fortnight. I've no show on Sunday so we can really have a night out tomorrow."

  She thought quickly. "I'll have to let my aunt know I think it'll be all right to stay with her."

  “I'll fix you a room at the Savoy."

  "No, I—I—if I can't stay with my aunt, I'd rather come home."

  “You'd be quite safe at the hotel," he said irritably. "I don't intend to rape you!"

  “I wasn't afraid of that. But Dad's rather old-fashioned and—"

  "So are you." His good humor had returned. "It's time you got with this century, Val. Not all couples wait until marriage before they make love to one another."

  “I realize that. But I still prefer to wait until I'm a Man's wife before I…" She could not go on, painfully conscious of her vulnerability where Nicky was concerned. What would she do if they were engaged mid he wanted to make love to her? She closed her id to the question.

  "What time shall I come up tomorrow, Nicky?"

  "I'm not free till after the show. I'm recording all day at the studios."

  "Shouldn't we leave it till the following Saturday, then?"

  "Certainly not, you're coming up tomorrow, so slop arguing. I'll leave a ticket for you at the box office, and when you've seen the show, come along to my dressing room."

  Valerie's pleasure at the evening ahead disappeared ns she examined her wardrobe and the one dinner dress it contained. She longed for something more with-it than pink crepe, and wistfully thought of black silk or misty violet blue, the same color as her eyes. But it would be extravagant to buy something she would have little call to wear again, for she was unlikely to last much longer in Nicky's life. He did not take out the same girl for long. It was part of his stock- in-trade to be seen around with lots of different, glamorous females.

  Depressed, she climbed into bed. Being with Nicky in the country, away from his show business friends and jet-set hangers-on, she felt close to him. But once in London, she would again feel a nonentity. Yet it would be cowardice to telephone him and say she was not coming. Sooner or later she would have to see him in his own milieu, and if she could not fit into it, then she must have the courage to admit it and get out of his life.

  A quick telephone call ascertained that it would be all right for her to stay with her aunt, and she caught the first train to London after lunch. As they pulled out of the railway station she glimpsed Mark's blue station wagon crossing the small bridge and felt a pang of disquiet at her behavior toward him. Still, she had not encouraged him to fall in love with her, and had gone out of her way to make it clear she could never be his wife. It might be painful for him to know she was going out with someone else, but it should at least make him realize she meant what she said. Pushing him from her mind, she settled back in the corner and for the rest of the journey contemplated the evening ahead.

  Mrs. Pafford was delighted to see her niece and incredulous to learn the reason for her visit.

  "Going out with Nicky Barratt? I didn't even know you knew him."

  With assumed nonchalance Valerie went into an explanation, conscious all the while of her aunt's growing dismay.

  "I hope you're not going to get hurt in
the end," the older woman said.

  "Why should I?"

  "Do you really need to ask that question?" You're not a stupid girl, Valerie."

  "I'm sorry." Valerie flushed. "But for the moment I don't want to think about the future. Nicky's giving me a wonderful time and we're good friends."

  Quickly she turned for a final look in the mirror. Now that she was wearing the pink dress it looked better than she had imagined. The delicate color echoed the pink that heightened her cheekbones, and her dark hair, brushed until it gleamed like a raven's wing, curled under at the ends to frame her face. She might not look as soignee as the girls with whom Nicky usually went out, but at least he needn't be ashamed of her.

  With unexpected extravagance she decided to take a taxi to the Palaceum, and she shivered slightly as sdlie settled back on the cold leather seat. It had been laining earlier and the streets gleamed darkly wet, the lamps seeming to loom twice as large in the misty air. September was fast drawing to a close and winter would soon be here. As they turned down the narrow street that led to the theater, she saw the pavements thronged with young people still hoping to obtain a seat for the show.

  With difficulty the taxi maneuvered to the theater entrance. "I hope you've got a ticket," the driver said ,is she paid him. "You'll never get in otherwise."

  Valerie looked at the man's florid face and wondered what he would say if she told him Nicky Barratt himself had arranged for her to see his show. Smiling at the thought, she fought her way toward the I oyer, whose entrance was guarded by a commissionaire.

  "No seats left," he said brusquely. "You can't get in without a ticket."

  "Nicky Barratt's left one for me," she explained. "I just want to collect it."

  "Oh—this way then." He opened the door and she slipped through.

  At the box office she collected her ticket, thrilled to see it was in the fifth row of the stalls. What a difference from the last time she had seen Nicky perform, when she had been so far away from the stage that she had felt like a fly on the ceiling.

  A buzzer sounded and she hurried down the stairs to the auditorium, taking her seat as the orchestra crashed into a crescendo of ear-splitting trumpets and drums and the curtains swung apart for a juggling act. Nicky was not coming on until after the interval and Valerie wondered if he would send word to her to go around and see him backstage. But he did not do so and she remained in her seat, self-consciously aware of being alone.

  At last the interval was over, the house lights were lowered and the curtains pulled back to show a stage bare except for the group of four musicians hidden in the corner: "my only friends," Nicky had called them. The audience went silent, the very air trembling with excitement that burst into screams as a tall slender figure in a white dinner jacket sauntered on to the stage.

  Caught up in the emotion round her tears filled Valerie's eyes. Until tonight she had managed to think of the Nicky she knew as being different from Nicky Barratt the singer. But seeing him in front of her and hearing the wild applause, the two suddenly became indivisible. The man and the singer were one complete whole, and with this realization, the differing emotions they aroused in her also fused. Nicky was not a man who could be divided. If one loved him, one did so for his talent as a composer, his marvelous voice, his personal charm. This meant one had to accept the differing lifestyles that were part of such a complex character—accept and not try to change them. If change were needed, it would have to come from herself. She clasped her hands. She dare not think such foolish thoughts. She had only known Nicky a couple of weeks; in a couple more he might have gone from her life. Pushing away the thought, she listened as he went into the familiar refrain of his current hit record and then into all the other songs that were associated with his name. For forty minutes he held the stage alone, and when he sang his last number, the audience would not let him go, cheering and screaming and demanding an encore.

  Only the playing of the National Anthem stilled the audience, though there were still a few hysterical shrieks of "Nicky, Nicky!" emanating from the balcony.

  As the anthem died away Valerie made for the nearest exit and approached an attendant.

  "Would you please tell me how to get backstage? I want to see Mr. Barratt."

  "So do a million other girls. You go out through this door here, turn left and left again. That'll bring you to the stage door."

  "I don't want the stage door. I want his dressing room. Mr. Barratt's a friend of mine. He's expecting me.

  The attendant looked disbelieving and, not stopping to argue, Valerie ran into the foyer, where she found the commissionaire who had let her into the theater. Breathlessly she explained what she wanted. "You know Mr. Barratt left me my ticket, and I promise you he's expecting me."

  "That's all right, miss. Hang on a minute and I'll take you around myself."

  Thankfully she followed him back into the auditorium, and through a door marked Fire Exit. It led along a narrow corridor and brought her around to the side of the stage. Thick electric cables snaked over the floor and she picked her way carefully past them.

  "Take the corridor facing you," the commissionaire said behind her. "Then it's the third dressing room on the right."

  Smiling her thanks, Valerie obeyed the instruction and apprehensively tapped on the door. Nobody answered and she leaned close to it. A great deal of noise could be heard coming from inside, and she turned the handle and went in. The room was full of people and Nicky was nowhere to be seen. For a moment she wondered whether the commissionaire had misdirected her and was about to step back when she heard her name called and saw Nicky's manager pushing his way toward her.

  "Thank goodness you've got here. We expected to see you during the interval."

  "I wasn't sure if Nicky wanted to see me then. He never—"

  "Wanted to see you?" Bob gave a broad grin. "If you haven't the right to be with him, who has?" Still talking, he pulled her forward. "I'd like you to meet some of the press. You'll be seeing a lot of them in future."

  "Who is she, Bob?" a man asked.

  "A special friend of Nicky's."

  "Aren't they all?" someone else questioned sarcastically.

  "This one's extra special," Bob replied.

  "How long have you known Nicky?" a hard-faced woman asked, thrusting herself in Valerie's path.

  "A long time," Bob answered for her and, catching Valerie by the elbow, pulled her over to a door almost hidden by a vast bouquet of flowers.

  "Go in," he said out of the corner of his mouth, "and lock the door behind you."

  Wondering where she would find herself, Valerie did so, and saw she had entered a small room, little bigger than her own bathroom. It was overpoweringly hot and brilliantly lighted, furnished with two chairs in front of a long table on which was an array of cosmetics, a small sink and a screen. But it was the man brushing his hair in front of the mirror on whom she focused her attention.

  "Nicky! Thank goodness I've found you."

  "Hello, darling." He swung around. "I've just finished changing. You shouldn't have come through the main dressing room." He pointed to another door. "If you'd come in this way you could have bypassed the crowd outside."

  "I wish I'd known. All those newspaper people make me nervous."

  "They're okay when you get to know them. The main thing is to keep your cool with them." He pulled forward a chair. "Sit down, honey. Would you like a drink?"

  "No, thanks." She was aware of the bright lights shining full on her face and glanced at herself in the mirror.

  "There's no shine on your nose." Nicky smiled. "You look perfect. Now tell me how you liked my show."

  "Surely you don't need to ask? You were wonderful."

  "I like to be told. It gives me reassurance."

  "I wouldn't have thought you needed it."

  He turned back to the mirror and picked up his hairbrush.

  "All performers need it. You keep telling me how good I am and I'll keep telling you I love you."
>
  She flushed. There was something about Nicky's conversation that gave her the feeling he was playing a part. Or was he always so brittle after a performance? Quickly she reminded herself that he was found to seem different from the young man who spent his days with her in the country.

  Suddenly he swung around and pulled her to her feet.

  "Don't look so scared, Val. You're going to enjoy yourself tonight, I promise you. I bet you've never been to the Candlelight Club?"

  "I've never even heard of it!"

  He squeezed her shoulders. "Come on then, we've got to face the lions before we can go."

  She looked behind her. "Can't we just sneak out?"

  "Bob would kill me! Publicity's important, Val. It helps sell my records and keeps my name in front of the public."

  In the dressing room once more, Valerie saw yet another side to Nicky and marveled at his diversity of character. She had seen him gay and moody, tender and quick-tempered; now he was a mixture of wit and bonhomie, easily parrying the pertinent and impertinent questions flung at him. They mainly concerned his love life and, embarrassingly aware of the glances cast in her direction, she wished she had arranged to meet him anywhere but here.

  Suddenly he caught her hand and pulled her toward the door. "That's all for now, folks," he called over his shoulder. "But come around to the hotel in the morning. I might have some news for you."

  Closing the door quickly on the fresh barrage of questions, he raced her down a stone passage and up a narrow flight of concrete steps.

  "This is one exit the fans don't know about," he said as they reached the roof and clambered down a steel staircase to a backyard.

  "Where does it lead?" she asked, groping her way after him.

  "Into a dress factory!" He unlocked a wooden door and Valerie found herself in some kind of storeroom. A few more hallways were crossed and they reached another door.

  "I hope you won't get hauled up for breaking and entering," she teased, half seriously.

  "You've got to be kidding! Bob fixed up these arrangements for me with the owner. I give him a couple of seats for all my concerts and he gives me this safe conduct pass!"