Golden Fever

by Carole Mortimer

  Jason Faulkner wasn’t just the director of the film, he was also her co-star, would play the part of Gunther to her Caroline. She had filmed only once with him before, when he was the star and she had only a very small supporting role. But even then she had found him unfailingly polite, with a patience and tolerance for his fellow actors that made working with him a pleasure. The preliminary work they had done on the film so far had been made easier because of his complete professionalism.

  A knock sounded on her door just as she was considering taking a shower. As she had guessed, it was Harvey.

  ‘I’ve ordered you some tea.’ He came in without being invited, sitting down on the sofa. ‘Good God, what’s that?’ He looked aghast at the fireplace.

  Clare had to smile at his expression. ‘One of the original electric fireplaces, I believe,’ she drawled.

  Harvey frowned. ‘Have I got one in my room? I suppose I have. I didn’t take the time to look. Do you think it works?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ she shrugged, each movement made with unconscious grace. ‘But I doubt if it would ever be needed here even if it does.’

  ‘No,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘By the way, there was a message for you at the desk.’

  ‘There was?’ she said sharply.

  ‘Mm. Apparently the whole cast is to meet in the Windsor Room at two o’clock.’

  ‘The Windsor Room?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s two floors down, on R Deck—I checked.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t get over the fact that this is actually a boat.’

  ‘Ship,’ Clare automatically corrected.

  ‘Ship, then,’ he shrugged. ‘Do you know we actually move up and down with the tide? I thought the damned thing would be secured somehow, but I’m told we’re floating in forty feet of water, with a draught of thirty-three feet. I wonder if you can get seasick without even moving …?’

  ‘Oh, Harvey,’ she burst out laughing at his woebegone expression, ’don’t be silly!’

  ‘Well, I feel as if I’m swaying all the time!’

  ‘That’s probably the flight,’ she teased. ‘A couple of hours’ sleep and you’ll feel fine.’

  ‘No time for sleep.’ He stood up decisively. ‘A shower and a change of clothes, lunch, and then you have to go to the Windsor Room.’

  ‘You don’t have to accompany me to lunch,’ she excused gently, seeing that he did actually look a little pale. ‘We can meet at dinner time.’

  He seemed to hesitate. ‘It’s only twelve now. I don’t like to leave you on your own all that time.’

  ‘I won’t be on my own,’ she smiled. ‘By the time I’ve showered and had lunch it will be time to go to the meeting. I’ll probably rest myself after that.’

  ‘Why not rest for an hour now?’ Harvey suggested. ‘You have a couple of hours, and you can get a snack lunch in the Capstan Restaurant later.’

  She gave him a puzzled look. ‘You seem to know a lot about the ship considering we’ve only been here a few minutes!’

  He gave a sheepish smile. ‘I read up on the Room Service while I was in my room. I happened to see the different restaurants on board at the same time. I thought I might just have a sandwich in my room.’

  ‘Good idea,’ she nodded. ‘Maybe I’ll do the same.’

  But when it came to it she didn’t feel like staying in her room. Her shower had refreshed her, her hair was newly washed and gleaming, her dress a deep shade of pink, off the shoulders, resting provocatively on her uptilted breasts. Her legs were bare, deeply tanned, the pink of her high-heeled sandals exactly matching the colour of her dress. As a child she had hated her height, always being taller than her classmates, but now it was a definite asset. Most of the popular actresses of her generation seemed to be taller than average, a new era in sex symbols.

  She hated that description of herself, but was well aware of the fact that the media referred to her as such, that some even compared her with her still popular mother.

  The latter she detested even more than being referred to as a sex-symbol, seeing no resemblance between her slender coolness and the kittenish image her mother cultivated.

  At times she even managed to forget Carlene Walters was her mother, and she felt sure she had tried to do the same thing. After all, when you had stopped ageing at thirty-six it was a little hard to admit to having a twenty-three-year-old daughter. Her press releases always claimed she had been a child bride, but even so …

  Damn! She hadn’t wanted to think about her mother, had studiously avoided doing so on the flight over here. Why on earth Harvey had had to call her she had no idea. No, that wasn’t strictly true. She did know. Her mother was still the undisputed Queen of Hollywood, and Harvey hoped to use her influence while they were here.

  She couldn’t altogether blame him, after all it was his job to see that her career reached its highest pinnacle. But she drew the line at asking her mother for anything. She had reached this stage in her career, and she wasn’t being conceited when she knew that she was quite successful, without any help from her mother, and she would continue to do so.

  She could hear someone moving about in the adjoining suite, whistling to themselves as they seemed to be preparing for lunch. Thoughts of the latter reminded her that it was almost one o’clock, and it was some time since she had eaten anything but plane food.

  The Capstan appeared to be quite busy, but the boy at the door found her a vacant table near the window. The view of the harbour was breathtaking, with ships waiting in line to dock.

  Clare had quite a view of Long Beach from the porthole windows in her suite on the other side of the ship, everywhere looking very white and clean from here, the sea a greyish-blue, and several people were out in speedboats when she had last looked out.

  A young boy came to take her order, and she looked up and smiled at him, the smile deepening to sympathy as he recognised her and instantly dropped the menu on the floor.

  He fumbled picking it up again. ‘I—Sorry.’ He licked his lips nervously. ‘It was just that for a moment you—’ He frowned, shaking his head. ‘You are Clare Anderson, aren’t you?’ he queried disbelievingly.

  Maybe she would have been wiser to have eaten in her room after all; she didn’t relish the thought of being on show as she ate. If this boy had recognised her then other people would too.

  She didn’t bother to look at the menu, neither confirming nor denying the boy’s statement. ‘Could I have a chicken salad?’ she requested softly, finding the boy’s stares a little unnerving.

  ‘I’m sure you could,’ he nodded eagerly. ‘Are you here with the others making the movie?’

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed, realising he wasn’t going to give up.

  He nodded again. ‘There are several other people in here that are going to be in it too. I’m David, by the way. If you need anything, just ask.’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’

  She accepted the offered coffee, glad when David at last left. By tonight she was going to be dead on her feet; the time difference would have caught up with her by then, although right now she didn’t feel too bad.

  ‘Clare!’

  She turned with a frown, her tension relaxing as she recognised Rena Dawes. Rena was to play her sister in the film. The two of them had been at drama school together, and Clare had been delighted when she found the two of them were to be working together.

  ‘How lovely to see you,’ she said warmly. ‘Can you join me?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rena was a pretty girl of her own age, also blonde, with a mischievous grin never far from the surface. She sat in the chair next to Clare. ‘I was sitting over the other side of the room with some of the camera crew, but their talk got a bit technical for me.’

  Clare laughed. ‘It gets too technical for them sometimes!’

  Her friend looked at her appreciatively. ‘I don’t have to ask how life’s been treating you—you look marvellous. And where’s that handsome fiancé of yours?’

  ‘Resting. Have you e
aten?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Rena ordered her meal, and the two girls chatted as they ate, recalling old times; the two of them had once shared a flat for a few weeks.

  ‘Whatever happened to that boy Alan you were always trying to evade?’ Clare teased, relaxed as they drank their coffee.

  Rena spluttered with laughter. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I married him!’

  ‘Rena!’ Clare laughed, a low husky sound that had several male heads turning in their direction, obviously appreciatively. ‘Did you really?’ she asked once she had sobered.

  ‘Mm,’ Rena nodded. ‘I got tired of running.’

  ‘And?’

  Her friend gave a rueful shrug. ‘I love him too much to describe how happy I am, how happy being with him makes me. But then I don’t need to explain that to you, do I?’

  Didn’t she? The sadness returned to her golden eyes, the cool haughtier back. She was fond of Harvey, knew that he was equally fond of her, that they would have a good marriage, but they certainly didn’t have the nerve-shattering ecstasy Rena meant. They were comfortable together, shared the same interests, but their lovemaking never gave her such intense pleasure that the rest of the world ceased to exist.

  But no, Rena didn’t have to describe those feelings to her. She knew about them, she just didn’t have them with Harvey.

  ‘Do you have any children?’ she asked now.

  ‘Not yet,’ Rena grinned. ‘Maybe soon, although we aren’t in any hurry.’

  ‘Where is Alan now?’

  Her friend pulled a face. ‘In England,’ she sighed. ‘He’s a lawyer, a busy one. It gets harder and harder to accept these parts that take me away from him.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ Clare said simply.

  ‘It’s this business, it gets into your blood,’ Rena dismissed. ‘One day I’ll know it’s time to stop, but I’m not quite ready yet.’

  ‘Talking of business,’ Clare looked pointedly at her wrist-watch, ’I’d better go and tidy up for this meeting this afternoon. Jason doesn’t like unpunctuality.’

  ‘Jason?’ the other girl frowned.

  ‘Our director, dear,’ she teased.

  ‘Oh, but he isn’t,’ Rena shook her head. ‘At least, he wasn’t the last I heard.’

  Clare frowned her puzzlement. ‘And what did you hear?’

  She shrugged. ‘That Faulkner had an accident of some sort, I’m not sure what. They were looking around for another director.’

  ‘Did they find one?’

  ‘Well, we’re here, aren’t we?’ Rena grinned.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Clare agreed slowly.

  ‘I would have thought they would have told you.’

  So would she, which meant she had to talk to Harvey. ‘I’m just going back to my room. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Sure.’ Rena stood up, giving a casual wave.

  Clare hurried back to Harvey’s room, getting lost a couple of times and having to ask the way, being further delayed as the people she asked recognised her and asked for her autograph.

  The feelings of apprehension she had been experiencing since she had accepted the part of Caroline suddenly seemed to loom up black and dangerous. She should never have agreed to come here, should have followed her instinct and stayed far away from Los Angeles.

  Harvey took some time to answer the door, and she tapped her shoe impatiently on the floor as she waited. He looked less than his usual immaculate self when he at last opened the door, a robe pulled hastily over his nakedness, his fair hair tousled from sleep.

  But Clare cared nothing for this, walking agitatedly into the room and closing the door behind her.

  Harvey blinked to clear the sleep from his head. ‘What’s the matter? Shouldn’t you be on your way to the meeting?’

  Her mouth twisted. ‘The meeting Jason called—only it wasn’t Jason, was it?’ Her tone was brittle.

  ‘Oh lord!’ He put a hand to his temple. ‘With the rush of the last few days I forgot to tell you—’

  ‘Tell me now, Harvey,’ she encouraged sharply.

  ‘Faulkner had an accident a week or so ago, a fall from a horse, I think. He broke his leg.’

  ‘So he’s completely out of the picture?’ Clare said with dread.

  ‘Afraid so,’ her fiancé nodded.

  ‘But I—Who’s replacing him?’ she demanded abruptly.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ he frowned. ‘No, I don’t suppose I did. Well, it obviously had to be someone who could act as well as direct—’

  ‘Yes?’ she prompted tensely.

  ‘They managed to get Rourke Somerville,’ Harvey told her excitedly. ‘A piece of luck really. Normally he wouldn’t have been free, but the film he should have been working on has been delayed several months. I think he …’

  Harvey’s voice continued to drone on, but Clare was no longer listening. Rourke … Oh God, Rourke was here, on this very ship, and she was going to be working with him!

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘CLARE!’ Harvey was frowning at her.

  She blinked dazedly. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was talking to you,’ his tone was petulant, ’and you haven’t heard a word I said.’

  ‘You were saying how lucky we were to get Rourke Somerville,’ she recalled dully.

  ‘Yes,’ he acknowledged eagerly. ‘If anything he’s better than Jason Faulkner.’

  Clare was regaining her composure now, forcing herself to mentally collect herself together. ‘Do you think so?’ she said in a bored voice, once again the ’Ice Lady’ one perceptive newspaper had nicknamed her. The name had mainly been chosen out of pique by the reporter when she had refused his invitation to dinner, but nevertheless it was a truer description than ’Golden Lady’.

  ‘Of course.’ Harvey seemed not to have noticed her withdrawn attitude, that momentary slip of composure. Which was perhaps as well, because she had no intention of explaining the reason for it to him! ’If anything Rourke Somerville is a bigger box-office draw then you are.’

  Clare gave a mocking smile. ‘Is that a good thing? As my manager aren’t you supposed to get me top billing?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll get that,’ Harvey took her seriously. ‘Somerville has no objection to your taking top billing over him. After all, his name will be under director too.’

  Yes. And Rourke had had a sight longer than she had to become accustomed to the fact that they were to star in this film together, were to act as lovers. God, he must find the situation funny! If Rena hadn’t casually mentioned the change of director to her she would have walked into that meeting this afternoon totally unprepared. As it was she was going to find it difficult, if not impossible, to do.

  ‘Clare!’ Harvey gave her an impatient frown for her lack of attention. ‘Maybe I should call and tell them you can’t make the meeting,’ he frowned. ‘You seem to be suffering from jet-lag.’

  She longed to accept the reprieve offered to her, and yet she couldn’t do it. Rourke was sure to know the real reason, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking she was frightened of meeting him again—even if it were true!

  It was five years since she had last seen him, five years when she had tried not to even think about him, five years during which she had matured into a self-confident woman who wouldn’t allow a rake like him to get to her. He couldn’t touch her, not now or in the past; she had Harvey now, and would one day be his wife. Then why was she filled with such alarm just as the prospect of seeing Rourke again …?

  She straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘That won’t be necessary, Harvey,’ she said coolly. ‘I feel perfectly well enough to attend this—meeting.’ The nervous fluttering in her stomach wouldn’t be stilled. ‘I have to go now,’ she told him jerkily. ‘I don’t want to be late.’

  ‘Okay, darling,’ he kissed her tenderly on the mouth. ‘And if you would rather have dinner in your room tonight that’s fine by me.’

/>   ‘Thank you, Harvey,’ she said, touched by his gentleness. ‘Perhaps you would like to join me?’ she offered generously.

  His handsome face became flushed with desire. ‘Clare …!’ he murmured huskily, his lips claiming hers in a kiss that told her of his passion.

  Harvey desired her, she had always known that. And after accepting his ring she had allowed him more intimacies with her body, feeling his hand on her breast now, and yet so far they had never completely made love. Maybe if they had she would be able to banish rakishly attractive untidy black hair and twinkling blue eyes from her mind. Maybe from her body too …

  She extricated herself from Harvey’s arms with a consoling smile. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you later.’

  He was breathing raggedly, his eyes bright with suppressed desire. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ he told her throatily.

  Clare left with a quick, warm smile, but the smile faded as soon as she closed the door behind her. Twenty to two—she didn’t have to go to the Windsor Room quite yet, so she hurried back to her suite, shutting herself in with a feeling of relief.

  Rourke Somerville! God, Rourke … She collapsed into one of the comfortable armchairs, closing her eyes to shut out the pain just hearing his name again had caused. In her mind she could see it all, all the pain, the disillusionment that she had thought forgotten, or at least buried. But it was far from being that, the memories, all of them, as vivid as if it had all happened yesterday.

  * * *

  She was eighteen again, newly arrived from England, having left school to come home and consider what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

  Charles, her mother’s chauffeur, had met her at the airport as usual, her girlish pleasure as she climbed into the limousine still as delighted as the first time she had come home from school and been met in this way. She had been coming to Los Angeles for holidays for the past ten years, but this time it was different, this time she didn’t have to go back to England if she didn’t want to.