Clara’s voice was husky with compassion but she knew she must not show too much, for his pride was as strong as his dignity. ‘When did your father find out about the affair?’
‘Not for some time. He tried to close his ears and eyes, the way most cuckolded husbands do. And he had good reason to do so. He worked for Llewellyn. He could hardly go round to the Manor and punch his boss on the nose. So he blanked it all out until it became intolerable. That’s when the rows really took off at home.’
‘Do you think it was just a temporary fling for your mother?’
‘Oh, no, she was in love with Owain.’ He shot her a grim look. ‘No matter how much I hate the pair of them for what they did, I’ve never doubted the strength of their love.’
‘Does that make it harder to talk about it?’
‘It makes me feel hurt for my father, Clara.’ Pain shone in his eyes. He’d never spoken about his father to her. Nor shown her a photograph of him. She knew nothing about him except that he had died when Jared was eight. She didn’t even know his name.
Treading more carefully, she asked, ‘Did your father still love Lily while all this was going on?’
‘Yes,’ he said thickly, with absolute conviction, and then refused to add to that statement.
After a second, she asked, ‘But she didn’t love him?’
‘In retrospect, I don’t think it would be fair to speculate on that. It’s probably too complicated. They were teenagers when they met. They got married when they were nineteen. Too young, really. They were parents a year later, at the age of twenty, and by the time I was seven years old my mother had had enough of being a dutiful housewife and mother. She’d become a very different person from the girl my father married. I think by the time the affair started the rows had been going on for some time regardless. Of course they got much, much worse as the affair progressed. But they were already symptomatic of the final stages of their marriage. In the end, there was a row to end all rows and my mother walked out.’
‘She walked out…?’
‘Wham. Just like that. Left us both.’
‘But where did she go?’
‘To the Manor.’
Her breath caught.
‘To Owain Llewellyn,’ he finished, with a cold hard smile, and then turned to look out of the window again, his eyes brooding.
Clara somehow managed not to speak until she’d had time to assimilate this latest piece of the jigsaw. No wonder he’d tried to avoid the wedding. No wonder he’d been alarmed by the seating arrangements. And how completely understandable his horror over the wedding speech seemed now. For Jared to realise—who knew how long ago?—that Owain would give the Manor to Gareth and Susie as a wedding present, right in front of him, must have been a nightmare he’d been fighting to avoid ever since the couple met.
Clara pressed on, sure now that she was only looking at the first pieces of the puzzle. ‘And then what happened? Is that when your father came to—?’
‘Let’s go back to bed.’ He turned suddenly to smile at her, but his smile was tense and she knew he wanted to close the subject before she found out too much. ‘All this talk of the past is giving me another headache.’
‘But, darling—’
‘How many times must I tell you?’ His face hardened with temper. ‘I don’t want to talk about this!’
‘Jared, we need to if—’
‘Dwelling on the past is a waste of time and thoroughly unpleasant into the bargain. Now come on! Bed!’ His tone brooked no argument as he took her wrist, leading her along with him towards the bed. ‘Or I’ll put you over my knee and teach you what happens to girls who ask too many questions!’
Clara laughed breathlessly as he threw her onto the bed. He was very sexy again, and her heart beat with excitement as he moved with a look of dark intent in his eyes. Apart from the fact that it was best to let the subject slide, she knew she had no intention of missing out on some more of his wonderful lovemaking.
‘Oh, darling…!’ she whispered unsteadily as her arms went around his neck. She tossed all questions out of her mind and lay back…
Some time in the night she was woken by Jared moving fitfully in his sleep. Blinking tiredly and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, she remembered their passionate lovemaking, and then realised Jared was twisting in the grip of a terrible nightmare.
‘No!’ he kept saying as his body thrashed from side to side. ‘No…’
Clara sat up. Should she wake him? She wasn’t sure if it was dangerous or not.
‘Still there…can’t be!’ His voice grew hoarse. ‘Da…Da, wake up!’
Da? she thought, perplexed. But he was obviously trying to wake himself up, or why was he talking about waking?
‘Come down! Come back!’
And then he shattered her belief that she really knew him.
He broke into fluent Welsh, and then, ‘He’s dead and you killed him!’ Then shot bolt-upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat as his breath came in fierce gasps and his heart hammered like a galloping horse.
‘It’s all right.’ Clara put her arms around him loosely, not wanting to constrict him with a close embrace when he was still disorientated. ‘It was only a dream. You’re safe now. I’m here.’
‘Just a dream…’ He sounded deeply relieved as he stared into the darkness, put a hand to his forehead, eyes closing. ‘Just a dream…only a dream…’
She waited while he calmed down but knew he might forget the dream if she waited too long. He put his arms round her and breathed a deep sigh of relief. She felt him relax and said quickly, ‘What was the dream about? Tell me what you can remember. You kept calling out something I didn’t understand. Something like “Da—”’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he interrupted as he tensed. ‘I can’t even remember the dream. Just a load of nonsense.’
‘You were talking in Welsh, too. I didn’t know you spoke Welsh.’
‘Neither did I,’ he drawled in that fake upper class English accent. ‘It was probably your imagination. As for the dream, I can guess what brought that on. Hunger! Do you realise it’s gone midnight and I haven’t eaten for forty-eight hours? I barely touched the wedding breakfast and didn’t eat a thing yesterday! I’m so hungry I could eat a rhinocerous!’
She looked into his guarded, smiling face and knew he was lying. He remembered the dream all right. Just as he knew who Da was. And that he spoke fluent Welsh, but she’d have to leave the questions for now…
‘I bet Mrs H is asleep.’ He was still faintly breathless but putting on a dazzling show of nonchalance. ‘I wonder who’ll cook me something nice to eat!’
Smiling in spite of herself, she said, ‘I just wonder!’
They tiptoed downstairs hand in hand. The house was silent save for the quarter-hour chime of the grandfather clock. Mr and Mrs Harrison were fast asleep, which left them free to make themselves at home in the kitchen.
Jared inspected the contents of the fridge.
‘Hmm! I think I fancy smoked salmon and scrambled eggs on toast. You’re very good at that, darling. I love the way you make the eggs. Every bit as good as the Ritz!’
‘Not trying to butter me up, are you?’
He grinned. The kitchen was very big, well furnished and built in a wide square with pine-fronted cupboards. In the centre stood the vast cooking area. Copper pots and pans hung from the walls. There was a raised level at one end which held a pine table and chairs for the staff to eat at. Jared liked eating there too. It reminded him of simpler times, when he hadn’t been a multi-millionaire with a dining room the size of a ballroom. He also loved to sit alone with Clara and watch her cook. Men were such funny creatures.
‘How many eggs?’ Clara asked when she’d put butter in the saucepan and was busy breaking eggs into a cup.
‘Just six.’
She laughed.
‘Oh—and I’ll have all the smoked salmon, too.’
‘Ziggy-piggy!’
; He came up behind her, slid his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. She laughed again, enjoying his light humour. If he preferred to forget about his nightmare it would be stupid and unfair of her to try to stop him. He’d had a terrible time of it with the wedding. He deserved a break, the chance to relax, be himself and have fun.
A cat mewed outside the back door. They both turned to stare in the direction of the plaintive cry. Unblinking emerald eyes peered at them from the sheer blackness of the glass door and seemed to envy their cosy bright-lit love.
‘A black cat.’ Clara smiled. ‘Oh, that’s good luck.’
‘Sure is.’ Jared strolled to the back door. ‘Maybe Owain Llewellyn will turn into a toad next week and I’ll never have to sit next to him again. Or maybe I’ll get this wine deal in California and make another couple of million quid. Just in case, I shall give Kitty a saucer of milk…’ But when he opened the back door the cat sprang away. He went out in search of it, leaving Clara to put the toast on, cut the smoked salmon into thin strips the way he liked it and put the kettle on for some decaffeinated coffee.
By the time he returned she was just putting the finishing touch of a sprig of parsley on top of his mountain of scrambled eggs.
‘Couldn’t catch Kitty. So I got you a present instead.’ He produced a single red rose from behind his back.
Touched, she said huskily, ‘Darling…’
‘I got pricked by a thorn because it was so dark.’ He presented his finger for inspection.
Clara kissed it better, but within seconds he had pulled her into his arms and held her there in silence for a long moment, unmoving. Listening to his heartbeat, she thought again of the nightmare. He almost never had bad dreams. He usually slept like a log. Still, she didn’t have to look far to see the cause of the nightmare…
‘Your food’s getting cold,’ she said softly after a moment.
‘Oh, yes…’ He released her with a kiss, avoiding her eyes, and she knew there was pain in there but that he wouldn’t show it. A woman had to be a mindreader in order to love a man. Or was it an emotionreader? Probably both, but that was what made the world go round, and maybe she wouldn’t have it any other way.
They moved to the kitchen table to sit together on the pine chairs. He ate hungrily while she nibbled at a slice of toast with low-fat spread on it.
‘Dieting again?’ Jared asked after consuming most of his egg mountain.
‘I’ve got to, just in case I’m called for the test. Mitch thinks there’s a strong chance I’ll get the part of Rachel.’
‘You’ve been rehearsing the script for weeks, though.’
‘Night and day,’ she groaned. ‘But it’s such a wonderful part. A starring role in a powerful drama series. I even get three monologues. Lots of sincerity, passion and even some serious crying to do in episode four!’
He studied her with a sudden gleam in his eyes and observed slowly, ‘That kind of stuff could win you an award, Clara.’
‘Or at the very least a nomination.’ She blushed at her own high hopes.
‘What a talented girlfriend I have. By far the most versatile actress in the business, too, in my opinion.’ He smiled at her, then reached for her hand across the table, squeezed it lightly. ‘I’m proud of you, baby.’
‘Darling…’ She felt tears of love in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. I had to fight so hard for the confidence I now have as an actress. People told me so many times that I’d never make anything of myself but I wouldn’t listen. I couldn’t let myself listen. It was too important to me to be somebody.’
‘That’s how we all get there. The fuel of the driven few is just the need for recognition. I saw it in you the night we met.’
‘I thought you wanted to meet Jezebel Whitney that night!’
‘I did, but I knew as soon as I saw you that I was going to fall in love.’ He studied her honest face. ‘I move in such a corrupt world. It’s tough at the top, and what makes it tough is having no one to trust. I guess I’d reached the end of the line when I met you. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to trust someone. I needed you, Clara.’ His voice deepened. ‘I still do.’
Their fingers linked tenderly across the table. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you really do trust me, Jared. It upsets me to know how long you suffered in silence about this wedding.’
‘I don’t have to keep silent any longer, though—do I?’ He tugged at her hand so that she half-stood half-slid onto his lap. Pushing his plate away, he cradled her on his lap, kissing her mouth. ‘Thanks to you. The persistent and perceptive Miss Clara Maye…’
‘You haven’t told me everything, though, have you, Jared?’ she asked softly.
His eyes became guarded. ‘I’ve told you the truth.’
‘About everything?’
He answered with a kiss and she allowed herself to be silenced. But as she gave herself up to his love she knew her silence would not—could not—last long.
He left for Texas on Monday morning. Clara saw him to the door in her ivory satin dressing gown. Cool sunlight mingled at the open front doors with the scent of the exhaust fumes and the sound of birds singing in the park as Harrison waited discreetly in the Rolls, engine running.
‘I’ll call you every day,’ Jared said, as he always did when going away. ‘I wish you could come with me. Can’t Mitch give you a definite date for this test yet?’
‘You know what it’s like in television. Everything’s up in the air, dates get shifted, programmes are cancelled at a moment’s notice… I have to be on the spot or I could miss it altogether.’
‘Oh, well,’ he said with an arrogant look. ‘I’ll just have to boast about you and content myself with long late-night phone calls.’
Wrapping herself around him, she buried her face in his dark cashmere coat and breathed in the scent of his skin, his aftershave. ‘I’ll miss you terribly.’
‘I’ll be back before you know it.’ There was a pause before he spoke in a wary voice without looking at her. ‘When do Gareth and Susie get back from their honeymoon?’
‘A fortnight. They should get back just before you fly home from California.’
He nodded, but as he drew back she saw his eyes—those hard black pupils and the ever-shifting shards of blue glittering like shrapnel in the kaleidoscope she knew so well.
After she had waved goodbye she stood there for a long moment, shivering slightly, deep in thought. She had a feeling their lives were moving towards some crisis point. And, no matter how much she told herself not to be ridiculous, it was a feeling she could not shake…
Time passed slowly, as it always did when he was away. But he rang every night and they spoke for an hour or two while she lay in bed, a cup of peach and passion-fruit tea beside her, gazing at the smiling photograph of him which stood framed in gold on her bedside table.
‘How’s it going?’ she would ask.
‘Brilliantly,’ he would say, with his usual charming arrogance. ‘How do you think?’
But he wasn’t always arrogant.
‘Any news from Susie and Gareth?’ he always asked, with that wary edge to his voice.
And she always replied, ‘They’re on their honeymoon, darling. They probably won’t even get out of bed, let alone start writing postcards or ringing old friends.’
He obviously wanted to know the minute they returned. Clara made a note of it. She would ring Susie just as soon as she thought they might be back so that Jared could know what was going on. Anything to put his mind at rest.
Mitch finally rang about the test ten days after Jared had left. He was in an energetic panic because the test had been rush-arranged at the last minute. Clara wasn’t thrown by the panic. She was exhilarated by it. It was the waiting that had unnerved her.
On the next day, the day itself, she went to the studios, went through Hair and Make-up and arrived on the soundstage to find familiar cameras, cables and an encouraging director.
As the cameras rolled she was alre
ady Rachel. She began the monologue, using all her skills, building slowly from a low voice, emphasising powerful words and letting her voice break on others. She drew breath with a tremor before shouting, and turned her face away with pained eyes to whisper the next line. Then she was free to build again until she reached the climax with shattering emotional power.
When she finished there was a hushed silence. She was shaking with the force of emotion unleashed.
‘Yes,’ said the director, and she heard the smile in his voice.
Later, she met Mitch for a drink at the Sloane Grill. They sat on the pavement in the early evening sun, watching expensively dressed women late-night shopping at the exclusive designer shops. Clara wondered why some of the women spent a fortune on couture clothes when a pair of faded jeans and a white top could make any woman as slim as they were look far more lovely and natural.
‘I think you’ve got it,’ Mitch told her as he ate his Caesar Salad. ‘I’ve never heard such an enthusiastic “We’ll be in touch.” Not even when you landed Jezebel Whit—’
‘That name will follow me to the grave,’ she groaned. ‘Playing Rachel is the only way I’ll ever supercede Jezebel and leave her behind for ever.’
‘You met Jared through Jezebel. Don’t knock it.’
Clara laughed. They’d been together as agent and actress for eight years now.
A good-looking, slender man, Mitch was fastidious about his appearance: thick dark hair was always perfectly blow-dried in the latest cut, and his immaculate clothes were the last word in elegance and style. And he had a personality that was sheer showbiz. Mitch could razzle-dazzle better than most of his artistes, and consequently ran one of the most successful agencies in town.
When she arrived home at eight o’clock the phone was ringing.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Jared’s dark voice demanded. ‘I’ve been ringing for hours but—’
‘It’s Mrs H’s day off.’ She was breathless, leaning over to kick the front door shut. ‘And I just spent the day at the television studios doing my test…’
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