Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  Marian felt herself turn cold. She remembered going back to close the wardrobe door, remembered what she was thinking at the time, but she’d had no idea . . .

  Stephanie left her outside her room, told her not to move from it, and went back upstairs to find Matthew.

  Marian waited, a drum of apprehension beating hard in her heart. She wished she was someone else, or somewhere else, anything rather than see that look in Matthew’s eyes again. After all the arguments about the opening sequence, the cost of it, the scheduling of it, the complexity of it, then his euphoria when it had worked . . . She remembered Josey’s remark about the shot being jinxed, and buried her face in her hands. She would probably be fired now, sent back to England in disgrace. She hated herself so much that nothing was too horrible to contemplate.

  When someone knocked on the door an hour later, she was tempted not to answer. In the end, sickened by her own cowardice, she dragged herself from the bed. It was Josey.

  ‘You’ve really blown it,’ said the production secretary, as she put a plate of sandwiches on the bedside table. ‘Stephanie asked me to bring these up, thought it better you didn’t venture down for dinner.’

  Marian’s misery was painted all over her face. So everyone knew. They were all talking about her, and despised her.

  ‘Do you think I’ll get the sack?’ she asked, in a small voice.

  Josey shrugged. ‘Who knows? But if I were you, whatever happens, I’d keep out of Matthew’s way for a while.’

  ‘What will they do about the shot?’

  ‘Bob got onto the labs just now and asked them to print all the other takes. Hazel’s going over the schedule with Woody to see if there’s any possibility of a re-shoot.’

  ‘A re-shoot!’

  ‘Well, what did you expect? It’s no good with you in it, is it? Jesus, Marian, whatever came over you? Everyone knew where the shot was going to end up, so why the hell were you in there?’

  Marian only looked at her. Eventually she said, ‘Nothing you say can make me feel any worse than I already do, Josey.’

  ‘No, I guess not. Well, I’ve got tomorrow’s call sheet to finish, so I’ll leave you to your sandwiches.’

  As the evening wore on and the shadows in the room merged into darkness, Marian sat on the edge of her bed, sinking deeper and deeper into a tide of despair. By the time midnight came round she knew no one was going to come, and no one would ring. She was filled with self-loathing at the way her hopes had continued to foment, even after Stephanie had told her her secret. How could she have made herself so ridiculous? How could she have entertained the idea, even for a minute, that Matthew would return her feelings when, despite everything that had happened over the past months, despite the way she had changed not only in appearance but in character, she was still the same nonentity she had always been.

  She sat staring at the phone, willing herself to pick it up. If only she could speak to him, try to explain, but the anger in his voice when he told Stephanie to get her out of his sight, stole over her courage and turned it into weakness.

  But no! She wouldn’t allow this to destroy everything. She wouldn’t allow herself to be ruled by self-pity, ever again. Snatching up the phone, she dialled his room number. She had to speak to him, try and apologise at the very least. But when the ringing stopped it was Stephanie’s voice that answered.

  She hung up, feeling as though everything inside her was breaking into tiny pieces. She felt so far from home, so alienated from those around her that she couldn’t understand how she had even come to be here. She didn’t belong, she never had.

  She picked up the phone again and started to dial. Looking at her watch, she caught a glimpse of her mother in her mind’s eye, washing up her few dishes after tea. She didn’t know what she was going to say to her, she just needed to hear her voice. Finally the connection was made, and thousands of miles away, in Devon, the phone rang – and rang, but no one answered.

  She slept fitfully. Dismay and humiliation continually slithered into her dreams, wrenching her back to wakefulness, so that in the end she switched on the light and dragged out her suitcase. She would tell Stephanie that she was going back to England, so that Stephanie wouldn’t have to go through the awkward business of sacking her. But before she did that, she was going to face them all, show everyone – and herself – that she had nothing to be ashamed of; that she was going away not because she wanted to, but because she understood that she had to.

  When her ashen face appeared in the breakfast room the following morning, a horrible silence punctured the morning buzz. Bronwen immediately rose from her chair, and the crew members watched as she took Marian by the arm and led her back to her table.

  Bronwen asked the waiter to bring more coffee, then turned to Marian. ‘Bad night, cariad?’

  When Marian nodded, Bronwen took up her hand and squeezed it. ‘It’s only a film, pet. Not the end of the world.’

  ‘I know, but it feels like it. Where’s Matthew?’

  ‘Never mind Matthew. He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.’ She looked up, and following her eyes, Marian saw Stephanie heading towards them. As she sat down, she glanced at Marian. ‘I’d have come to see you last night,’ she said, ‘but it was late before things settled down. Coffee please,’ she told the waiter, ‘and toast.’

  ‘Stephanie . . .’ Marian began.

  Stephanie shook her head. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but if I were you I’d save it for Matthew.’

  ‘Is he still angry?’

  Stephanie nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. It looks as if there’s another take we can use, but he’s not too keen on it. We’ve been up half the night fighting. He refuses to understand that apart from the fact that the cranes are on their way back to California, we can’t afford the time to go and do it again.’

  Marian looked down at her cup. There was nothing she could say.

  When Matthew came in a few minutes later, he sat at their table. His face was still thunderous and he didn’t even acknowledge Marian. She was acutely aware that every eye in the room was focused on them.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Matthew,’ she began, haltingly.

  He relinquished his study of the breakfast menu and looked up, but she only shook her head, unable to go on.

  The waiter took his order, then leaning his elbows on the table, Matthew fixed her with implacable eyes. ‘You’re sorry, I suppose. Well not as sorry as I am. I don’t want details of how it happened, I just don’t want you anywhere near the set again, is that clear?’

  Marian’s face began to twitch with unshed tears, then suddenly Bronwen was on her feet. ‘Come on, Marian, come and help me pack.’

  Gratefully Marian got up. She kept her eyes fixed on Bronwen’s back as they walked out of the room, knowing that everyone was watching her and, wondering what Matthew had said.

  ‘Why have you packed?’ she asked Bronwen, as they walked into her room.

  ‘I’ve done all I can here for the time being, so I’m going home to spend a few days with my old man. I’m actually missing him,’ she chuckled.

  ‘That’ll be nice,’ Marian said. ‘Maybe I can book myself on the same plane.’

  ‘What for? You’re not due to leave for another ten days.’

  ‘I think it would be better all round if I went home,’ Marian said.

  ‘No!’ Bronwen’s tone was vehement. ‘You made a mistake, yes, but you’re not the Marian I know if you go running away from it. It was an accident, we all know that . . .’

  ‘Matthew doesn’t seem to think so.’

  ‘That’s because he’s being irrational. No one gets themselves in shot purposely, he knows that, and he’ll realise it soon enough.’

  Marian stared at her, her white skin patched with nervous blotches, and Bronwen’s face softened.

  ‘Oh, cariad, don’t think I don’t understand, I do. The pain hasn’t gone away yet, has it? You still care for him.’

  Marian looked down at her hands and
Bronwen hugged her. ‘You’ll survive, pet. You mark my words, in a few days you’ll be laughing about this.’

  ‘I won’t if Stephanie sacks me.’

  ‘If Stephanie sacks you, I’ll have something to say about it. But she won’t, I doubt it’s even crossed her mind.’

  ‘I’ll bet it’s crossed Matthew’s.’

  Bronwen laughed. ‘I won’t lie to you, I’ll bet it has, too. But he won’t do it. Apart from anything else . . .’ She stopped, and Marian looked into her face.

  ‘What?’ she whispered.

  Bronwen shook her head. ‘Nothing. Well, I was going to say that apart from anything else, he’s much too fond of you, but I didn’t want you to take it the wrong way.’

  ‘Don’t worry, after the way he looked at me last night I’m quite aware of what Matthew thinks of me. Just as I’m quite aware of the way I’ve been reading much more into the things he’s said, and the situations we’ve been in, than I should have done. God knows, I’ve tried to stop myself, but it’s so difficult, Bronwen. I hate myself for it, especially after all Stephanie’s done for me. It seems so disloyal, so bloody treacherous.’

  Bronwen smiled. ‘You’re only human, pet,’ she said, ‘just like the rest of us – including Matthew. I think I told you once before,’ she went on gently, ‘that Matthew hurt Stephanie very much once; she wanted him at a time when he wasn’t ready to leave his wife, you see. Now he has, but they’ve still got a lot to work through and they’re both making mistakes all the time, Stephanie with her jealousy and Matthew with the way he’s been behaving towards you. But try not to hold it against him, cariad, try and see it for what it is.’

  ‘But I don’t know what it is. At least, I didn’t, but after last night . . .’

  ‘The only thing that matters about last night is that it has brought this to a head for you. And now you’re going to find the courage to deal with it, just like you’ve made Stephanie do in the past. As for Matthew, well, you’re so much younger than he is and he’s flattered that you should be interested in him. Any man would be, Marian, you’re very special, you know.’

  For a moment or two Marian held her breath, wanting to stop the tears that were threatening to choke her voice. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘on the plane over, just as we were coming in to land, I thought, I really got a feeling, that New York was going to be the turning-point for me and Matthew. Well, it looks as if I was right, but I didn’t expect it to be like this.’

  ‘Oh Marian,’ Bronwen sighed, folding her into her arms, ‘I wish it hadn’t been like this, too. And I wish I wasn’t leaving today. You could so do with a friend right now.’

  Half an hour later Marian wandered up to the production office. She knew now that it had been a mistake to pour her whole life into her work the way she had been doing ever since she left Bristol. She loved her job, and if Stephanie wasn’t going to sack her, she would stay; but she needed a release, not only from the work, but from the people she worked with, something that would take her mind off Matthew and help her to forget the way she felt about him – and something to stave off the horrible feeling of loneliness that was beginning to creep up on her.

  Wearing only a towel, Paul strolled from the bedroom of their luxury suite at the New York Plaza into the sitting-room. Room service were clearing away the remains of lunch and a few journalists were still hanging around talking to Madeleine. He moved to the mirror, combing his damp hair, but it was Madeleine’s reflection he was watching.

  He was wondering what Deidre would have to say about the way Madeleine had flown in the face of the world’s conservationists by buying herself the white sable coat she had worn throughout lunch. He’d sat quietly on the sofa, watching her while she picked at a salad and fluttered her lustrous eyes at the press, knowing that she wore nothing underneath it. Now, so did everyone else. The last photograph they’d posed for was for American Playboy, with her coat open and his hand on her breast.

  The exposure they were receiving at the moment was ostensibly to do with the publication of his book. Their relationship had nothing to do with that, of course, but everyone wanted to see him and Madeleine together, just as they had when his book came out in England. He had no qualms about going along with this – the publicity it generated would almost certainly launch him into the best-seller lists. That morning they had done an interview on Fox 5 TV, and later they were attending a party to celebrate the publication of his book in America. And after today’s lunch, the following morning was guaranteed to see their pictures in – if not on the cover of – every newspaper in New York.

  It amused Paul that it took so little to incite the public’s interest – two beautiful faces, a flaunting of sexuality and public proclamations of love seemed to be all it took. Achievements obviously counted for nothing, because between them they had achieved very little – at least, very little of value: a look of extraordinary concupiscence that sold any number of luxury products, and a novel which in his heart Paul knew to be far short of brilliant. But reviewers could be bought, and they had been; though it was mainly due to Madeleine’s skilful handling of the press – something she quite guilelessly excelled at – that they had not fallen prey to the poisonous pens of scandal, envy and conjecture. That would come, sooner or later, Paul was convinced of it. It was the same the world over – build a pedestal for your subject, sit him upon it and crown him with glory, then, just when he’s least expecting it, pull the pedestal away and make his fall as ignominious as possible. It made no difference whether the scandal was fact or fabrication, it sold newspapers and it was the one thing for which the public had a bottomless appetite. So their turn would come, and when it did Paul would be intrigued to see just how it happened.

  At last Madeleine closed the door behind Jay Blackwell from People magazine and turned back into the room. She put a hand up on either side of the high collar of her coat, and as she snuggled deeper into the sumptuous fur Paul could see how aroused she was. He glanced at his watch. Three o’clock – he’d told Harry he’d be there at three thirty, but what did it matter if he was late? The only reason he was going was to try and persuade Harry to become the ‘murder’ victim for his current book – and he felt certain Harry would refuse. If he did, he would fire him; there were plenty of publishers after him now.

  He turned from the mirror and, crooking a finger, beckoned Madeleine towards him. She came slowly, moving like a cat until she stood in front of him, when he removed his towel and she curled her long fingers round his erection. As she started to purr, he leaned back, resting his elbows on the overmantle and watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her succulent lips moist and ripe, and as she rubbed herself against him that famous look started to spread across her features. His chest tightened as he was engulfed by his feelings; he loved her so much now, he was no longer able to stop the tide of it. At times he hated her for it – even beat her – but the crushing weight of contrition that followed was becoming too heavy to bear. He knew he would have to concede defeat sooner or later, and acknowledge what she truly meant to him. It would bring an end to his writing, it would bring an end to everything beyond her.

  Suddenly the phone rang. He reached out for the receiver then let it fall back in the cradle as, with a salacious smile, Madeleine dropped to her knees. The ecstasy of her mouth around him was excruciating. His head fell back and the rigidity started to seep from his knees. Then, taking her face between his hands, he pulled her back to her feet and kissed her. She led him to the sofa where she shrugged off her coat and pushed him back into the plush cushions. Then, sitting astride him, she positioned herself for the penetration and looked deep into his eyes.

  ‘Oh God,’ he groaned, and placing a hand on either side of her hips, he jerked himself into her.

  They moved from the sofa to the floor and from there to the bed, their lust for one another almost insatiable, until finally, as the shuddering spasms of climax subsided to a gentle pulse, he rolled off her and lay staring at the ceiling, too exhausted
to speak. After a time her hand moved over his thigh, and lifting the arm that was across his eyes, he turned to look at her. Her hair was in chaos and her skin glistening with sweat. Smiling, he raised himself on one elbow and leaned over to kiss her.

  ‘You don’t know what you do to me,’ he murmured.

  ‘Oh, I think I do,’ she said, on a low laugh.

  ‘I don’t want to leave you.’

  ‘But you have to go and see Harry if you want to persuade him to help you with your book.’

  ‘I know.’ He kissed her again. ‘You don’t mind that he’s followed me here to New York?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘I just thought, after . . . after what I did . . .’

  ‘Ssh, it’s all in the past, and as long as you don’t feel the urge to do it again, what have I got to be worried about?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ he told her. ‘You know how much I love you, I can’t even tolerate the idea of sleeping with anyone else, least of all Harry.’

  ‘Well, that’s all that matters. Mm, keep doing that,’ she murmured as he started to roll a nipple gently between his fingers.

  ‘Tell me you love me, Maddy.’

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered, and he lowered his mouth to hers for a long, lingering kiss.

  As he dressed, she lay on the bed watching him, knowing that she was happier than she had ever been. They were so close, so much a part of one another now, that she couldn’t imagine living without him. She knew he felt the same way, which was why he came almost everywhere with her these days; even his writing seemed less important to him than it had.

  ‘Are you sure you want to come to France straight after New York?’ she said, as he tucked his shirt in his jeans. ‘I mean, you haven’t had much time to do any writing lately.’

  ‘I’ll write there,’ he said, buttoning up his fly, ‘while you and Shamir are out posing for the cameras. Unless you don’t want me to come, of course.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, of course I want you to come. I hate being away from you, even for a minute, you know that.’