"If Bob's released some new story about us without letting us know, I'll kill him!" He glanced at the first message and the smile left his face. Swiftly he drew Valerie away from the busy desk area. "It's from Mrs. Jakes. She's been calling you all evening. Your father's had an accident and she thinks you should fly home immediately."
"My father!" Valerie swayed. "What sort of accident? I must phone him." She turned distractedly, looking for a telephone and not knowing where to find one.
Nicky caught her arm and led her across to an elevator. "It'll be better if you phone from my room."
Silently they went up to his suite and he pushed her into a chair and brought her a brandy. "Drink it," he commanded, then picked up the receiver and dialed the operator.
Within seconds he was speaking to Mrs. Jakes, shaking his head at Valerie when she went to take the telephone from him. He jotted down a number on the pad beside him, cut the housekeeper short and put back the receiver.
"I've the hospital number," he said, "and the name of the doctor in charge. If I speak to him myself he won't put me off with platitudes."
"How b-bad is it?" she stammered.
"It was a car accident," he hedged. "I'll know more when—hello? Is that the Wiltringham Hospital? This is Nicky Barratt speaking. I want to make an inquiry about my father-in-law, Richard Browne."
Dazedly Valerie listened. How clever of Nicky to pretend they were already married. A son-in-law had much more weight than a fiancé—even a famous one. She tried to hear what was being said but the voice at the other end was too faint, and she had to wait until the call ended.
"Broken ribs, concussion and some internal injuries," Nicky said baldly. "They won't know how bad they are until they get him into the operating theater."
"I must go to him."
"I'll fix it. Now keep calm."
"How can I keep calm when my father may be dying?"
Ignoring the question Nicky turned to the phone again and Valerie paced the floor, wishing it were possible for thought to transport her instantly. If only she had never come to New York, if only her mother's cousin had not left her that legacy
"It's all arranged," Nicky announced, interrupting her thoughts. "And we're in luck."
"Luck?"
"I've got us two seats on Concorde's early morning flight."
"Two seats?" she echoed, knowing she should stop repeating herself but unable to do so.
"I'm coming with you."
"But your recording session… you can't leave in the middle. Mr. Villiers will—"
"Have a fit and I don't give a damn!" Nicky concluded. "I'm going with you and that's final."
He repeated these sentiments to Bob a half hour later when his manager returned to the suite, and Valerie left the two of them arguing and went to her room to try to rest for a few hours.
She dozed fitfully, and at four in the morning began to pack, dumping her things uncaringly into her cases and wishing she could trade the exotic Jackie Burns' clothes for her father's health. With a little moan, she knelt down by the side of the bed and prayed.
She was calmer when she followed the porter from her room. Nicky had phoned through to say he would meet her in the main lobby and he was waiting for her when she arrived. He looked unfamiliar in a dark suit and tie, more like a young executive than a pop star, and she wondered it she would ever cease to discover different facets to him.
"Poor darling," he said as they climbed into the back of the chauffeur-driven car. "I expect you're thinking that if you hadn't come out here to me, your father wouldn't have had his accident."
"How did you know?" She was amazed.
"It's the usual way one thinks at times like these. But you can't blame yourself. He could have had an accident like this at any time."
"But I should have been at home. Not thousands of miles away."
"I know." He patted her hand, held it momentarily and quickly let it go. "Poor kid. Bob and I have really messed up your life."
"Don't keep calling me a kid."
"Why not? I'm an old man compared with you. That's the penalty of being in show business. It makes you a star to your public but it rubs the stars from your own eyes."
He lapsed into silence, not breaking it until they were at the airport and given the VIP treatment that went hand in hand with being Nicky Barratt.
Only when they were airborne and supersonic did Valerie relax, knowing she was going as fast as possible to see her father. How different this return journey was from the one she had made over here. The flight held no magic for her, even though Nicky was by her side. She glanced at him, surprising him watching her. She still could not fathom exactly why he had wanted to accompany her, and wondered if it stemmed from guilt. Yet she was as much to blame for her unhappy position as he was.' She should never have been so naive as to believe she could appeal to a man of such worldly tastes. It was the Dawns of this world—with their blatant sexual charms and limited intelligence—who were likely to satisfy him.
"We'll be in London in four hours," he said "Greenwich time it will be two in the afternoon."
"Traveling supersonic makes distance seem unimportant."
"It also stops you feeling like a traveler. Without a sense of distance, you arrive in a foreign country expecting it to be like the one you've left behind."
He continued to talk, forcing her to respond, and she knew he was trying to stop her thinking of her father. His understanding and tenderness was a surprise to her, as was the authority with which he had taken charge of the entire situation. She had the con viction he rarely—if ever—felt responsible either to or for another person, and knew that in this lay the reason for his selfishness. But given encouragement he could be solicitous of others; his actions tonight proved it.
On arrival at Heathrow Nicky bundled her into a chauffeur-driven car that took them directly to Wiltringham Hospital.
She was glad of Nicky's silent support as he entered the rubber-floored reception hall where she was met by a young doctor who said her father had undergone surgery a few hours before and was as comfortable as could be expected.
"There was internal bleeding," he explained, "but we managed to stop it. Dr. Simons is an excellent surgeon. He's operating at the moment, or he would have spoken to you himself."
"May I see my father?" she asked.
"By all means. He's unconscious though."
Staring down at her father's silent figure she knew a deep sense of fear. He was ashen gray and there was extensive bruising down one side of his face.
"Do you know how the accident happened?" Nicky asked the doctor.
"According to the police—who found a witness to it—Mr. Browne was driving along the main road when a learner driver shot out from a side and turned without stopping."
"I bet he wasn't hurt."
"How did you guess?" the doctor said dryly. "That's the way of the world." He inclined his head in Valerie's direction. "You may stay here if you wish, but your father's unlikely to come 'round today. He's still heavily sedated."
"But if he gets worse I—"
"We'll call you the moment there's any change."
"I'll take you home, Val," Nicky said. "You look as if you're out on your feet." "I feel it," she admitted, and followed him back to the waiting car.
A crowd of youngsters surged toward Nicky and he pushed Valerie into the backseat and dived in after her.
"Fans!" he muttered. "That's all I need now."
"Are you going back to London?" she asked as they headed toward Kerring.
"No. I asked the chauffeur to book me at the Taverners."
"You can stay at the house."
"And give fodder to village gossip?"
Again she was surprised by his thoughtfulness. "I don't care what gossips say."
"But I do. For you, not me. But we'll have dinner together."
The prospect of an evening with Nicky was more than she could bear. "I want to go to the hospital again."
"There'
s no point to it while your father is still unconscious. Wait until he knows you're there, before you start trekking back and forth."
"He might never know."
"Don't talk like that." Nicky was unexpectedly sharp. "You've got to keep hoping."
"Hope and dreams," she said wearily. "That's all I seem to have done with my life."
"You've got years ahead of you, Val. Plenty of time for your hopes and dreams to come true."
Tears blurred her vision and she closed her eyes. Did Nicky honestly think she would find love with someone else? Having been emotionally untouched in his own life, he could not conceive of the way it affected one's outlook. In time, her love for him would fade, but it would never vanish completely.
It was six o'clock when they walked into the house, where Mrs. Jakes was anxiously waiting for news. Learning from Nicky that they would not be returning to the hospital that night, she offered to make dinner for them.
"It will be better for Valerie to get out," he said, refusing the suggestion with thanks. "If we stay home, there'll be tears in the soup!"
"How can you make jokes?" Valerie cried. "Are you so insensitive that you don't know how I feel?" Remembering the way he had walked out on his recording sessions, she regretted her outburst. "I'm sorry, Nicky. That was a stupid thing for me to say."
"I'll only forgive you when you're sitting opposite me in the Taverners dining room. So run and change."
Within fifteen minutes she was back, her pale cheeks masked by color, though nothing could disguise the shadows beneath her eyes.
"I like you in lilac," he said. "You should wear it more often."
"You said that when I wore red the other day, and when I put on a green suit last week."
"That just shows how many different colors suit you!" He held open the door. "I told the chauffeur to go," he went on. "I thought you'd like a little walk."
"I would."
Slowly they made their way to the small inn. The bar was crowded but the dining room was empty, and they chose a table in the corner. Mrs. Mathers took their order personally, pausing to offer her sympathy to Valerie and asking if there was anything she could do to help, before going into the kitchen.
"I suppose you know everybody in Kerring," Nicky said. "And everybody knows you. I'm not sure I'd like that kind of life."
"It's not much different from yours. Except that more people know you."
"They know my publicity—the image Bob has created."
"You are your image," she said flatly.
His eyebrows came together. It was not a frown, but more of a contemplation, as if he were pondering what she had said. "You make me sound as if I don't exist," he murmured.
"But you do. To millions of people you're the best singer since Sinatra."
"A voice," he said. "But not a man. That's what you mean, isn't it?"
She shrugged. "You don't like people. You distrust them and it's made you defensive. That's why you don't want any meaningful relationships."
He half smiled. "Not so long ago you accused me of being incapable of anything meaningful. So at least we're progressing."
Progressing to where? She longed to ask the question but bit it back, glad when their first course was served and Nicky turned to a less personal subject.
They returned home at eleven, and only as they entered the house and he saw it was in complete darkness, did he realize she would be sleeping in it alone.
"I thought Mrs. Jakes lived here," he said.
"She has her own cottage on the other side of the village green."
"But you can't stay here by yourself."
"Why not? I'm not a child."
"You are to me," he said and then stopped, as if embarrassed. "I've never worried about anyone else before," he went on.
"You've no need to worry about me. I can look after myself." She looked at the door. "Please go, Nicky."
"Not until you're safely in bed."
"But-"
"No arguing, Val. I'll wait till you're in your room and then I'll go."
Reluctantly she went upstairs, undressed and got into bed. Downstairs all was quiet. Not sure whether Nicky was still there, she called his name.
Almost at once he came up the stairs. Her heart beat fast and she lay back on the pillows and pulled the bedclothes above her shoulders as he came in, carrying a glass of hot milk.
"Just to make sure you have a good night's sleep," he said.
Obediently she sipped the drink and wondered how it was possible for a man to be so thoughtful when he was basically so callous—for that he was callous she had no doubt. A man who became engaged to a girl in order to protect himself could not be deemed otherwise.
While she finished the milk he stood by the window, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other holding the curtain apart as he looked into the dim street. His face was half turned away from her but she discerned its brooding expression and felt a pang of love so intense that she almost cried out.
How can I love someone I despise, she wondered, and shakily put down the glass.
"You can go now, Nicky."
"Shall I open the window for you?"
At her nod, he did so. Cool air wafted in, billowing the curtains, and he stood by the bed, watching her.
"Sure you won't be in a draft?"
"Positive."
He grunted. "Beats me why women can't wear sensible nightclothes. That bit of chiffon you're wearing wouldn't keep a cat warm!"
"I'm not a cat," she said lightly.
"I know. There's nothing catty about you, Valerie. You're the nicest girl I've met." He caught her hand. "Don't worry about your father. I'm convinced he'll be all right."
"I hope so." She stared up into his face. "Thank you for being so kind. I never expected that you could be___ " Her voice trailed away but he picked up where she had left off.
"You never expected me to be kind. Well, I didn't expect it myself."
Before she could answer he sat on the edge of the bed, so close to her that she could see the rise and fall of his chest.
"I've never wanted to be kind to anyone until now, Valerie. I've always been more concerned with protecting myself."
"You might feel differently if you forgot the past and concentrated on the future."
"The future?" His eyes grew darker. "When I'm close to you like this I can only think of the present. A warm, pulsating present."
She tried to smile. "You're talking like an old- fashioned romantic!"
For a reply he pulled her forward until she was resting against him, the buttons of his jacket pressing through the filmy material of her nightgown. She tried to resist but he was too strong, and when his mouth came fiercely down on hers, she did not want to resist anymore. He drew her back onto the pillow, pushing aside the blanket that separated them. His whole body was shaking and he kept murmuring half sentences that all seemed to incorporate her name.
Again and again they kissed until Valerie lost all sense of where she was or who she was. She existed only for Nicky: for his touch, his need of her, his possession.
"Nicky… darling!"
Suddenly he wrenched himself free and stood up. His skin was shiny and his eyes glazed. "I—I must go," he said jerkily. "I—I'll see you in the morning."
The door closed behind him and Valerie buried her head in the pillow and wept.
She had dressed and telephoned the hospital before Mrs. Jakes arrived the next morning.
"Dad's conscious," she said at once, seeing the woman's anxiety. "According to the Sister, they're very pleased with him."
"Then you've no excuse for not having a decent breakfast. You must have starved yourself in New York, Valerie. I've never known you so thin."
"I didn't have much appetite."
"Then the sooner you and Mr. Barratt get married, the better. When I was courting with Harry, we both ended up like a pair of skeletons!"
Valerie reddened and Mrs. Jakes went purposefully into the kitchen, from which soon wafted a del
icious smell of frying bacon and percolating coffee.
It was still early when Valerie was ready to leave for the hospital. There had been no word from Nicky and, remembering last night, she was loath to call him. Slipping on her coat, she made for the front door. Simultaneously the bell rang and she opened the door and saw Nicky.
Color flooded her face and he grinned mockingly. "Trying to avoid me? Had an idea you would."
"Not at all," she said. "I wanted to get to the hospital early and I—I know you sleep late."
"Only after I do a show." He walked beside her to the car: a small one minus a chauffeur. "I came back to England to be with you while your father's ill, and I can't have you run out on me now!"
"You're very-"
"Don't you dare say kind. I'm enjoying myself taking care of you. Let's leave it at that, for the time being."
Although not sure what he meant, she nodded silently, then watched him surreptitiously as he drove. There was no need to ask if he had slept well, for his face was grayish and there were lines beneath his eyes and on either side of his mouth which she had not noticed before. He was tense too, his hands gripping the wheel as if it were going to take off.
"I phoned the hospital," she said.
"So did I."
That was the end of their conversation, and still in silence they arrived at the hospital and went up to the third floor.
Mr. Browne was weak but able to smile as they entered his room, and Valerie ran forward and knelt beside him, too choked by emotion to speak.
"Sorry about spoiling your holiday," he whispered. "Mrs. Jakes shouldn't have called you."
"Don't talk nonsense. Anyway I'm glad to be back. I was fed up with America."
"I don't believe you. You wanted to be with Nicky." Only then did he become aware of the dark- haired young man in the room. "Nicky?" he said questioningly.
"In person, sir. I flew back with Valerie."
Mr. Browne visibly relaxed, as if Nicky's presence had reassured him. "I'm glad you did. I… I've been worried, you know. Wasn't sure how you and Valerie were getting along."
Rachel Lindsay - An Affair To Forget Page 13
