"Thank you—and thanks for your help. If you hadn't come along I'd still be struggling along that lane!"
Mark followed Valerie into the hall. "I'll drive you home."
"It isn't necessary."
"I daresay," he said doggedly. "But I'm still driving you."
She did not argue but followed him to the car.
"Well," he said as they bowled along the drive, "everything all right between you and Nicky?"
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"He was rather angry the last time I saw him."
"That was nothing. He soon recovered his temper."
"He's in America, isn't he?"
"Yes." Quickly she changed the subject. "Sheila's a nice girl. It was lucky you recognized her in London. She looks as if she needs a good holiday."
"She does. Her father's dead and her mother— from what I can make out—is more interested in her own welfare. Sheila pretends otherwise, of course. She's a loyal kid."
"Not so much a kid. She's my age."
Mark shrugged. "I still think of her with pigtails. She's cut her hair short and makes up her face a bit, but I'd have known her anywhere."
She glanced at him curiously. It was obvious Sheila was in love with him yet he seemed unaware of it. What idiots some men were, she thought irritably; they seemed incapable of seeing what was under their noses.
Mark pulled up in front of her house and she jumped out. "Can I see you again?" he asked.
"Not in the way you mean. It isn't fair to you."
He nodded, gave a slight wave of his arm and drove off. Wryly Valerie unlocked the front door. Mark had taken her refusal with unusual grace. Perhaps he wasn't as unaware of Sheila as he believed. With a sudden, illogical pang of jealousy she banged the door shut.
CHAPTER NINE
For the next week it rained incessantly. The countryside looked like a vast river. The grass was completely hidden beneath gray, muddy-looking water, the trees bent under the weight of rain, and those people brave enough to venture out walked with hunched shoulders and hands thrust deep into the pockets of their raincoats.
Standing by the sitting-room window, Valerie peered through the streaming panes and thought it could not have been wetter when Noah built his ark. She shivered and turned back to the fire. There had only been one more short note from Nicky, written in the studio itself, a scrap of paper torn from a music cue sheet.
"Sorry I missed you when I telephoned," he had scrawled. "I've lots to say but hate writing. If I______ "
The next few words had been scribbled out, and he had just put his signature and a P.S. saying: "I miss you."
As a love letter it had a lot to be desired, but it was all she had, and she took it out of her pocket and read it for the hundredth time. Did he really miss her? She longed to believe him but found it difficult. Dash it all, she thought mutinously, she found it impossible. If he meant it, why didn't he ask her to fly out to him?
"Valerie?" It was Mrs. Jakes bringing her a mid- morning cup of coffee. "How about a coconut biscuit too? I've just made some."
"No thanks." With an effort Valerie made herself smile. "I must watch my figure."
"You've no cause to. You've lost weight. I'll bring you one in." The woman disappeared, returning with plate of biscuits in one hand and a letter in the other. "Post's just come," she explained. "This is for you."
She seized it eagerly, her heart sinking as she saw it did not have a New York postmark. "Belfast," she read, and wondered who could be writing to her from there.
When her father came home to lunch he was confronted by an excited girl he had thought never't" see again. Had that confounded fianc6 of hers finally picked up the phone and called her again or had he had the sense to send her a ticket to join him? Neither, it seemed. For though Valerie was indeed going to New York, she was doing so on her own decision and with her own money.
"A legacy," she had exclaimed the moment he had walked into the hall. "Five hundred pounds from Emily Trant." She waved the cheque in the air. "I can't believe it. But it's true. Look."
"I will if you'll stand still." Mr. Browne studied the check. "It seems in order."
"Of course it's in order. Her lawyers have said so. She died a year ago and left me this money, but her estate took some time to settle. She was mother's cousin, wasn't she?"
"Second cousin. We haven't seen her for years."
"Wonderful Emily Trant," Valerie said. "I hope she won't mind me spending the whole lot in one go."
"One go?"
"To America," Valerie said.
"Ah." There was a pause. "Wouldn't it be wiser to invest the money?"
"I am investing it. If you see what I mean."
"Yes," Mr. Browne said slowly. "I suppose I do. Have you told him yet?"
"No, I want it to be a surprise."
"Do you think that's wise? Personally I always like to let people know what I'm doing."
"If he knows he might tell me not to come."
"If he does, you'd at least save your money."
"But not my peace of mind. Please, Dad, don't let's discuss it."
Forty-eight hours later, Valerie walked out of the T.W.A. terminal at John Kennedy Airport and took a yellow taxicab to the New York Hilton.
She refused to think of the meeting ahead of her, and made herself concentrate on the scenery. How immensely tall the skyscrapers were; the films she had seen of them gave one no real idea of quite how high fifty floors could be. The drive into the city had been a swift one, the motorways—called freeways, so her driver had informed her—being twice as wide as British ones and four times as busy. But once over the Triboro Bridge and in Manhattan they had crawled along. There were traffic lights at every intersection and so many pedestrians that she wondered if it were a special occasion.
"Today is quieter than usual," the cabby said in reply to her query. "Now you know why so many Americans like to live in Europe!"
She was still smiling when they reached the hotel, though it died as she saw the bevy of porters and the speed with which they took her luggage away. Hurriedly paying the driver, she dashed after her cases.
She was met with the same detached speed at the reception desk, and was soon being escorted to one of the many banks of elevators that served the teeming floors. Her head was in a whirl. This wasn't a hotel: it was a planet. It had its own shops on the lower floor, its own series of restaurants, nightclubs, bars. One could live and die here without anyone knowing.
Her room on the twentieth floor was well furnished, clean and impersonal. A large television stood in one corner and she eyed it. Had Nicky known she was coming, this room would have been full of flowers, sent by Bob, though. Nicky was not the thoughtful type.
She glanced at her hands. She did not even have a ling from him. Neither her aunt nor her father had commented on it but she had been aware of their surprise and had made what excuse she could.
"Nicky thinks engagement rings are old-fashioned. He wants me to have jewelry, but we'll go out and buy it together as soon as he has more time."
“I may never have a ring from him now, she thought dispassionately. That's what I've come here to find out. It was strange that she was so cool about it all, as if it no longer mattered to her. Except that it mattered so much that the only way she could maintain her composure was to deny all emotion. Valerie Automaton Urowne. That's what she had to be for the next hour.
Methodically she unpacked. It was four o'clock American time, nine o'clock her own, and she was feeling hungry. Nicky did not leave the recording studio till after six and that meant she had several hours to kill. She was too keyed up to rest, and instead went in search of a light meal.
She ended up in the cheapest of the restaurants: the Hilton equivalent of a Wimpey Bar, where a portion of one could have served three, and the price should have served to feed a family for a day. But it was tasty and it revived her, and after a second cup of coffee she wandered round to stare into the windows of the shops.
On the ground floor again, she almost wished she had not come, or at least stayed in a smaller hotel. This one was so large and busy that it was like being at Victoria Station in the rush hour. Everyone looked confident and happy; the well-dressed women with their elegant figures, the well-groomed men with just that oddness about their clothes that made it impossible to mistake them for Englishmen: self-assured little girls with polished nails—miniature editions of their mothers—and small boys with slicked-back hair and bow ties.
Inexorably the time neared six-thirty. Valerie's nervousness increased and she debated whether to telephone Nicky's suite or to go there unannounced as she had originally planned. Hesitation kept her captive and the hour showed seven before she gained back her courage and took the elevator to the twentieth floor. What a good thing she knew the number of Nicky's suite.
The silence of the carpeted corridor, heated to Caribbean heat, was a relief after the melee downstairs, and she felt slightly better as she walked toward the door of 2066. Not giving herself a chance to think, she rapped on the door. There was no answer and she rapped again, louder this time. Surely Nicky had left the recording studio by now? Tentatively she turned the handle. To her surprise the door opened and, drawing a deep breath, she went in. She had a quick impression of green brocade, thick pile carpet, deep armchairs and bowls of flowers. But it was not until she was in the middle of the room that she saw she was not alone. A girl was sitting on the window seat, half-hidden by a curtain. Her slim legs were drawn up beneath her and a cigarette dangled between her crimson-nailed hands. Hearing Valerie's gasp, she moved, revealing red hair and a heavily made-up face.
Dawn Meadows! Valerie stared at her, unbelieving and speechless.
"Well, well," the girl drawled. "I didn't know you came over with Nicky."
"I didn't—I've only just arrived." Valerie's tone was cold.
Dawn shrugged. "I've come to see Nicky too. I've as much right as you have."
With an effort Valerie controlled her trembling.
"Where's Nicky now?"
"Probably trying to dodge you the way he's been trying to dodge me the last two days!"
"I doubt that. He didn't know I was coming. But now I am here, I hope you'll leave."
"Cut the act," Dawn said rudely. "Your baby- faced innocence doesn't fool me. I never did believe you'd been engaged to Nicky for two months. Two minutes, more likely! He just made the whole thing up in order to try and get rid of me."
Valerie could no longer control her trembling and she sank down on a chair. "I'm sure that isn't true. If Nicky stopped liking you he needn't—"
"Liking me?" Dawn's metallic voice rose and she jumped off the window seat. "He was crazy about me. He was only happy when he was with me and he was with me all the time! But as soon as my husband said he was going to divorce me, Bob forced Nicky to cool off."
Valerie was bewildered. "What did it have to do with Bob?"
"Nothing," Dawn snapped. "Except that he doesn't fancy me as Mrs. Barratt. Once I was, he knows damn well he'd get his walking papers!"
"I don't believe Bob can tell Nicky what to do- certainly not in his private life. If Nicky stopped seeing you, it's because he stopped loving you."
Dawn gave a shrill laugh. "Maybe you are innocent after all! You must be, if you believe that!" Her expression changed, grew sullen. "Nicky's never stopped loving me. He was all set to marry me when that big oaf talked him out of it."
"How could he marry you when you were already married?" Valerie demanded.
"He was going to be cited in my divorce case and he didn't give a damn. Then Bob started to play the heavy father role and told him it would ruin the new image he was trying to build up for him. And also upset Jackson Villiers, who's a religious maniac. So it was either a new recording contract or me—and the contract won. Nicky only got engaged to you as a means of giving me the brush-off. You don't imagine he'll marry you? Why, he's probably forgotten you exist! That's why I came here. His new contract is signed and he's already cutting his first album for Villiers. He won't need to act pious anymore and he needn't be scared of Bob."
Listening to the monologue of spite, Valerie wanted to be sick. But she forced herself to show a semblance of calm. She must not allow this vindictive girl to influence her. Nicky had not had a blameless past, he had told her so himself, and it would be unfair to judge him on Dawn's word alone.
"I think you'd better go," she said aloud, and pointed to the door. "Tell me where you're staying, and if Nicky wants to get in touch with you—"
"I'm not going anywhere," Dawn screamed. "I'm staying right here."
"Then I'll phone for the floor detective and ask him to remove you." Valerie did not know from what T.V. episode she had dragged up this piece of dialogue, but with bitter triumph she saw it was working.
Dawn's skin grew blotchy beneath its veil of pancake, and her eyes were pinpoints of hate. "Nicky's mine, you little fool. You may think you've got him but-"
"Get out!" Valerie ran to the telephone and lifted it. "Get out now or I'll call the detective."
"Don't bother. I'm going. But you can tell Nicky I'll be at the Plaza, waiting for his call."
The door slammed behind her.
Valerie groped her way to an armchair and fell into it. She could not take in the full meaning of what Dawn had told her, yet she knew it had tolled the bell on her own future with Nicky. He did not love her— had never loved her in fact—and had only asked her to marry him as a means of ridding himself of unwelcome publicity over Dawn. It couldn't be true! No man could be so cruel! In the light of this knowledge so many things fell into place: Nicky's changeable moods toward her; his ability to act the lover one moment and a brother the next; his disregard at leaving her behind in England and his lack of telephone calls. How easy it would have been for him to have spoken to her each day if he had wanted to hear her voice. But he hadn't wanted to. It had all been a pretense.
The door opened and she looked up dully as Nicky and Bob came in.
"We'll have to—" Nicky was saying and stopped dead as he saw the girl facing him. For a moment he stared at her as though seeing a ghost. "Valerie! What—when—how long have you been here?"
"Too long," she said expressionlessly. "It was all a mistake. I should never have come."
She rose and he ran forward and caught her closely. "What's wrong, Val?"
With a gasp she wrenched away from him. "Leave me alone. Don't ever touch me again!"
"What's wrong?" he repeated. "You're not making any sense."
"I'm making too much sense. I know everything, Nicky. I know why you got engaged to me in such a hurry and why you pretended we'd known each other for two months. You can stop pretending, do you hear? Dawn's told me everything."
"That bitch!" Bob burst out. "When did you see her?"
"Just now." Valerie looked at the manager with contempt. "She's staying at the Plaza. I'm sure you'll both want to speak to her."
"I never want to speak to her again," Nicky said before Bob could answer. "She means nothing to me, Val. You've got to believe that."
"Do you also want me to believe you loved me when you asked me to marry you? That you didn't do it in order to save your reputation and your contract with Jackson Villiers?"
"That was the reason to begin with," he said, "but it isn't any more. I love you, Val. I—"
"Don't lie to me!" Her voice rose on a scream. "Haven't you lied enough? Do you have to go on making it worse?"
"Don't blame Nicky," Bob said urgently, coming between them and elbowing the younger man out of the way. "The whole thing was my idea. If Nicky had been named in Dawn's divorce, he'd have had to marry her. And he never wanted that. He only—"
"Shut up, Bob!" It was Nicky speaking, his eyes on Valerie's stricken face. "Can't you see you're making it worse? Leave me alone with Val. There are things I want to say that—"
"I don't want to hear them," Valerie cut in. "I wouldn't believe you if you told me my own name! You'
re a liar and a cheat and I never want to set eyes on you again." She went to step past him but Bob put himself in the way.
"You can't leave like this, Valerie. We've got to talk things over. I know you're feeling hurt and angry and I'd feel the same if I were in your shoes, but you've got to be reasonable about it. We'd every intention of telling you the truth. In fact only the other day Nicky said to me that—"
"Bob!" Nicky thundered. "Can't you see you're making it worse? Leave me to talk to Valerie alone."
"No," Valerie cried, tears streaming down her face. "I'd rather listen to Bob. At least he's got the decency to stop pretending."
"Sure I'm not pretending," Bob soothed. "All I want is just for you to understand why we did it."
"I know why. Dawn was more than explicit." "It was more than the Villiers contract," Bob said.
"There was a film contract in the offing too. And right now Hollywood is going through a roses and confetti boom, so it was important to keep Nicky clear of scandal. To have him cited in a divorce case would have ruined his chances, and when you practically fell into my arms outside the theater, it seemed as if Fate were telling me what to do. We only want you to go on with the engagement for a few more months. Once Dawn is divorced we—"
"Why can't her husband still cite Nicky?" Valerie asked, marveling that she could be so logical when all she wanted was to throw herself on the floor and scream.
"Because Nicky never stayed with her any place that her old man can prove. She was either in his suite or on the boat."
"Bob!" Again it was Nicky, and the look he threw Valerie was one of anguish. "Val, let me talk to you alone, I beg you."
"You don't need to beg," she said coldly. "Bob's doing it for you!" She eyed the manager. "Have you anything else to say?"
"Only that I'd like you to see things through. Don't turn on us now. Think of the millions of people who believe in Nicky—who get pleasure from his songs and his voice. You don't want to destroy all that, do you? Villiers could still tear up the contract, and if he did, the Hollywood one could be affected too. All I'm asking is for you to wait till Nicky is halfway through his first picture. Once he is, there'll be so much money at stake that the movie moguls will stick by him if he murdered his mother!"
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