"Dad!" Valerie pressed his fingers. "You really are delirious, darling. Why ever should you worry about Nicky and me? We're perfectly happy and we'll be happier still once you're fully recovered."
A rustle of starch heralded the entry of a nurse, and correctly interpreting her look, Valerie and Nicky left, promising to return again later.
The knowledge that her father was going to recover robbed Valerie of all tension, leaving her as enervated as if she had done a hard day's work.
"We'll have a nice lazy day," Nicky said.
"I still can't believe the nightmare's over."
"Well, it is. I told you not to worry, didn't I? Next time, listen to me."
"I promise," she said, and smiled weakly.
At home once more, Nicky decided to call Bob and tell him he would return to New York in a few days.
"I don't suppose you will want to join me unti your father's out of the hospital?" he said to Valerie.
Before she could answer, Mrs. Jakes came in to ask if they would like some coffee. Nicky asked for some toast too, but as the woman turned to go, he gave an irritated mutter. "Would you hold back the toast for ten minutes, Mrs. Jakes? I've left a telephone number at the hotel and I want to fetch it. Villiers' private line," he explained Valerie. "I thought I'd call him personally and apologize."
"That's a good idea."
He was on the threshold when he paused. "Think over the question I asked you and give me the answer when I come back."
Hardly had Nicky gone when the telephone rang and, still on edge and nervous, she rushed to answer it.
"That you, Val?" It was Bob. "What's the news of your father?"
Happily she told him, then said, "Nicky was going to call you to say he's coming back to New York, but he went to his hotel to get Jackson Villiers' private phone number. He wants to call him and apologize personally for leaving the way he did."
"He's got nothing to worry about," Bob said easily.
This was so unlike the man's earlier, furious reaction to Nicky's intended return to London that Valerie was mystified. But truth came quickly, as did bitter, searing disillusion.
"Nicky got himself some fantastic publicity for coming home with you," Bob went on. "Villiers was mad as all hell to begin with, but when he saw the headlines he cooled down. He couldn't have made such an impact for Nicky if he'd paid half a million dollars. There were headlines in all the papers across the country."
Valerie clutched at the receiver. So that was why Nicky had been so eager to accompany her to England! Famous Singing Star Breaks Contract to be with the Girl He Loves. She could see the headlines as if they were in front of her.
"Tell him he needn't bother calling Villiers," Bob was still talking. "He's so tickled pink he wants to bring out a second album right away. Straight love songs, with a photo montage of shots of you and Nicky. Sounds great, doesn't it?"
"I won't be coming back to New York," she said. She tried to make her voice firm but it came out as a thin thread of sound. But not so thin that the man did not hear it.
"Why not? If your father's on the mend there's no reason for you to remain behind."
"There's no reason for me to come to New York either. You've got all the publicity you need out of my father's accident!"
Not waiting for him to reply, she slammed down the receiver. Angry tears coursed down her cheeks. But it was not anger against Nicky. He had acted true to form and she could not blame him. It was anger against herself for believing he had been motivated by affection for her; for believing that their few weeks in New York—when pretense had been abandoned- had helped them to establish a more genuine basis for a relationship.
A relationship. What a laugh that was. As if one could ever relate to a machine! And that's what Nicky was—a lovely voice inside a machine.
With a start she looked up and saw him. He must have returned without her hearing him and was watching her with a softened expression on his face. But seeing her eyes on him, he walked to the phone.
His hand was on it when she spoke. "Bob called while you were out. I told him you were going back to New York and he said for you not to bother ringing Mr. Villiers."
"You mean he wouldn't talk to me?"
Disgust shook her. "I mean you can stop playacting. It's over, Nicky. Finished. I know why you came back with me so you needn't pretend any more."
"Pretend about what?"
"About caring that I'm upset or that my father might have died! You came back for the publicity it would get you, and you've been so successful that Villiers even wants to do a special album based on your mercy flight!" The very thought of it refueled her anger, making her want to lacerate him with her tongue, to destroy him the way he had destroyed all she had believed in. "You're so motivated by ego that you're incapable of doing anything unless it's for your own self-advancement. You've never had a genuine emotion in your life. I'm not surprised your aunt and uncle didn't love you. It would have been easier for them to have loved a robot!"
"Be quiet!" Never had his voice been so loud. "Don't you dare throw my past back into my face. You know nothing at all about the life I had. Nothing."
"I know you are nothing!" she stormed. "You're an image your manager has created. A gimmick he built up with money and lies. You're a phony, Nicky Barratt, and I never want to see you again in my life!"
Black eyes blazed at her, searing her as if they were laser beams. But soaked in her bitterness she was immune to them, and returned his look with equal force.
"I'll leave for New York today." The quietness of his voice was astonishing. "I hope your father will be out of hospital by the time I come back. Give him my regards and wish him well."
Unable to bear the continued sight of him, she turned to face the wall. She heard footsteps cross the hall and the door slam. Only then, alone at last, did she burst into tears.
CHAPTER TEN
It was from the newspapers that Valerie learned what Nicky was doing in America. A few weeks after returning to New York he flew out to California where, ensconced in a magnificent house, rented from a film star now based in Europe, he held court to reporters and photographers—all eager to relate the doings and sayings of a man they rapturously acclaimed as the voice of the eighties!
"I'm quite well enough for you to leave me and go back to that fianc6 of yours," her father said a month after she had come home. "And you don't need to worry about paying for your ticket. Considering you were forced to come back because of me, the least I can do is make sure you finish your holiday."
"It wouldn't be a holiday for me in Hollywood. Once Nicky starts filming he'll be busy all day and exhausted all evening. He has a punishing schedule, Dad, and he'll be better left alone."
"Would you leave him alone if you were married?"
"No, but-"
"Then why leave him alone now?" Mr. Browne moved his hand in a declamatory gesture. "Ignore the question, Valerie. I had no right to ask it. What goes on between you and Nicky is your own affair. But I'd like you to know that I think he behaved very well in flying home with you."
Valerie said nothing. She had not known whether to tell her father the true situation between herself and Nicky and had only decided not to do so because of its very sordidness. Despise Nicky though she did, she could not bring herself to let others see him for the sort of person he was. It was far better for everyone to believe their engagement had terminated because their love had died, rather than to know there had been no love in the first place.
"I'll see more than enough of Nicky when he's back in England," she said aloud. "Right now I'd prefer to concentrate on you!"
Slowly the days passed, each one as endless as the one before. The house was spick and span. Everything that could be polished was polished, everything that could be cleaned was cleaned, and eventually the day dawned when no matter how closely she looked, Valerie could not find anything to do. Restlessly she walked from room to room, and had just decided to make a cake to take to her father—she
had told Mrs. Jakes not to come in until he was home from the hospital—when the bell rang.
Opening the door, her eyebrows rose as she saw Sheila Stewart.
The girl smiled shyly. "I hope I'm not disturbing you?"
"Not at all." Valerie led the way into the sitting room and they sat down.
"I was terribly sorry to hear about your father. When Mark told me I wanted to call around at once, but I didn't feel you'd want to be bothered with visitors."
"I didn't," Valerie agreed. "But in the past week I'd have welcomed the next-door cat! I don't mean to be rude but—"
"I know what you mean," Sheila laughed. "In fact, I said as much to Mark. But he thought that with your fiancé being here, you wouldn't want anyone else around. I mean he must be sick to death of people pestering him. But when I read that he'd gone back to America, I knew it would be all right to call."
"You could still have called." Valerie smiled and casually changed the subject. "How's your ankle?'
"As good as new. I feel a fraud still staying on at the farm. But I help Mrs. Chariot with some of the chores, so it relieves my guilt!" Sheila glanced around. "When will your father be home?"
"Not for a few weeks."
"It must be lonely for you here. Why don't you come back and have a meal with us?"
"I've got so much food in the house that I'll waste if I don't eat it up," Valerie replied, unable to face the thought of seeing Mark.
"In that case," Sheila grinned, "I'll stay and eat."
Valerie's mind flew to the larder hoping there was enough food there to make a meal. If there wasn't, it would give the lie to her statement. She stood up hurriedly. ,
"Why don't you read a book or look at the television while I prepare supper?"
"Can't I help you?"
"Definitely not."
"In that case I'll phone Mrs. Chariot and tell her I'm staying on here."
While Sheila talked on the telephone, Valerie closeted herself in the kitchen. A quick search disclosed a well-stocked larder—again thanks to Mrs. Jakes who still insisted on doing the shopping, to allow Valerie more time with her father—and she set about making a shepherd's pie from tinned mincemeat topped by instant mashed potatoes, well flavored with butter, an egg and a dash of nutmeg. While it was cooking she whipped up a souffl6, using a generous splash of Grand Marnier to give it zest.
An hour later, she and Sheila sat at the dining- room table.
"I'm afraid I can't offer you any wine," she apologized.
"I don't mind," Sheila said. "I'm not much of a wine drinker. I'm afraid you must think me awfully unsophisticated."
"Because you don't like wine?" Valerie shook her head. "It's an acquired taste, you know. I wouldn't worry because you haven't acquired it!"
"But I do. I feel so—so inadequate and childish. I wish I had your poise, Valerie. I'm not surprised Nicky Barratt fell in love with you."
"I'm sure a lot of people were."
"Then they were stupid." Sheila's piquant face was earnest. "If Nicky married someone in show business he wouldn't stand a chance of being happy. I think he showed remarkably good sense in choosing you. You're beautiful to look at and you're also sensible."
Valerie could not help laughing. "You speak with such authority, yet you hardly know me."
"I don't need to know a person a long time in order to judge them. I've got an instinct."
"You and a million other women!" Valerie retorted. "I used to pride myself on my judgment too, but I don't anymore.
"Why not?"
Afraid she had said too much, Valerie changed the conversation. "If you like living in the country, why don't you try to find a job around here? Mrs. Mathers at the Taverners Hotel might be able to help you."
"No. I don't want to stay here indefinitely. It's wonderful for an interlude but it can be no more than that."
"I don't see why not. You might even meet a farmer and marry him," Valerie teased. "We've a couple of nice young ones in the next village."
The color that flamed into Sheila's face made Valerie regret her joke. But thinking it kinder to pretend ignorance of the girl's embarrassment, she muttered about seeing to the souffle and hurried out. By the time she returned with it, Sheila was once more composed, and for the rest of the evening they chatted desultorily, and it was nearly ten o'clock when Sheila stood up to go. "This has been one of the nicest evenings I've ever spent," the girl said as she rose to leave at ten o'clock. "I wish I'd been able to see more of you."
"So do I. Maybe when you come down again…"
"You're still here," Valerie replied, smiling.
"But not for long. I'm definitely going at the end of the week." Sheila nibbled on her lip. "How about riding with me tomorrow? Mark promised to come but some extra work has cropped up on the farm and he can't make it."
Valerie hesitated. It was a long while since she had ridden and the thought of doing so was pleasurable.
"What time shall we meet?"
"Nine-thirty. Which of Mark's horses do you prefer?"
"Trigger."
"Good. I'll see he's mounted for you."
As she watched Sheila's thin figure disappear down the village street, Valerie wished that Mark could see the girl as someone more than a kid with whom he had grown up. Yet having made such a mess of her own life, she did not feel qualified to interfere in his.
The next morning dawned clear. The roads were dry and though a red sun shed little warmth, it cast a cheerful glow over everything. It was a perfect day for riding and as Valerie swung her leg over the glossy flanks of the chestnut mare, her spirits rose. Sheila was astride an enormous black gelding which moved uneasily as she settled herself in the saddle.
"He looks a bit wild," Valerie commented. "Is he safe?"
"Perfectly." Sheila leaned forward to pat her mount's neck. "I've ridden him many times before. He's all right as long as you've got a firm hand."
Together they set off toward the Downs, the horses' hooves striking sparks on the hard road. Valerie sat comfortably in her saddle, the feel of the superb animal beneath her and the warm comforting smell of horse and leather giving her a sense of physical well-being. There were not many cars about as she guided the horse along High Street, and the Trigger, responsive to the slightest touch of the rein, stepped delicately along, ignoring the occasional hooting of a car horn. Sheila's horse, Wanderer, seemed less sure of himself, his ears pricking nervously every time a car drove close to him, his elegant forelegs skittering on the road. But Sheila was an excellent rider and controlled him beautifully, and once they were off the road and could canter, Wanderer lost his nervousness.
At length they pulled the horses to a stop and, dismounting, left them to crop the grass while they strolled through the trees.
"Each time I go riding," Valerie observed, "I vow to do it regularly."
"It is heavenly, isn't it?" Sheila agreed. "That's one of the things I'll miss when I leave here."
"The other's Mark, isn't it?" Valerie stated in a flat, composed tone.
"Have I made it so obvious?"
"Only to me."
"I suppose that's because you're in love," Sheila sighed. "You're luckier than me, Valerie. Mark does not even know I exist."
Valerie knew a sudden desire to confide in Sheila. But she hardly knew the girl. Besides, Sheila had her own troubles.
"Maybe Mark will realize what he's missing one day," she said. "They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and perhaps when you've gone______________________________ "
"I'd be kidding myself if I thought that," Sheila said. "Mark still thinks of me as a schoolgirl with freckles and pigtails." She gave a watery smile. "Anyway, he's madly in love with you."
"No, he isn't!" Valerie protested. "He only thinks he is. We're quite different types and we'd never be happy together." She thought of Nicky and her voice firmed. "Love can't last if there's no compatibility between the two people."
"Mark's love for you has lasted."
"Only because he's obstinate. The more you chide him about something the more fixed he'll become in his ideas. The thing to do is to tease him out of it."
Sheila shook her head. "If I haven't been able to make Mark aware of me in all the weeks I've been staying with him, I won't have much hope of doing so when I'm a couple of hundred miles away!"
"Then don't go."
"I must. I'm not a fighter, Valerie." She sighed. "It's like Mrs. Chariot says: what can't be cured must be endured."
"I hate cliches." As she spoke, Valerie remembered that Nicky had once used an almost identical phrase. If only her thoughts did not always return to him. "Let's get back to the horses," she said, and whistled for Trigger.
He lifted his head and looked in her direction, but Wanderer set his ears back with his usual obstinacy and went on cropping the grass. Sheila laughed and went toward him.
"What an obstinate creature you are," she said, swinging herself into the saddle. "I think I'd better change your name to Mark!"
At a brisk trot Wanderer went ahead of Trigger, breaking into a canter as they skirted a large lake. The red glow from the sun turned the water to liquid fire and Valerie called Sheila to look at it. As the girl turned in her saddle, a piece of paper blew against Wanderer's forelegs. With a nervous whinny he shied and, taken unawares, the reins jerked out of Sheila's hands. Unnerved at feeling his rider lose control, the horse took the bit between his teeth and careered off round the lake. Instantly Sheila recovered her poise and leaned forward to catch the reins. But it was too late, for they were dangling over the horse's head and trailing between his front legs.
With growing alarm Valerie urged her own horse forward after Sheila, vaguely aware of a man appearing at the brow of the hill and running toward them. As he came closer she recognized Mark. He was shouting and waving his arms in an effort to stop Wanderer, and was so successful in his intent that the horse tossed his head wildly and stopped dead in his tracks, jerking Sheila from her seat and flinging her into the lake. The water was deep and she disappeared from sight, coming up a moment later, gasping and struggling.
Rachel Lindsay - An Affair To Forget Page 14
