‘Almost as bright as usual.’ He touched a finger to the smoothness of her cheek. ‘But it doesn’t reach your eyes, Alex. Want to tell Uncle Paul all about it?’
‘It’s nothing, Paul. Really. I’m simply tired.’
Paul sighed. ‘Okay, love.’ He smiled crookedly, his narrow face attractive in a melancholy way. ‘I’m going to keep on trying, you know. And one day you’re going to forget to hold me at arm’s length.’
‘Oh, Paul! You know I value our friendship, but—’
‘But the chemistry’s wrong?’ he finished. ‘We could give it time to react. You might enjoy it.’ His dark eyes teased her. ‘Sometimes slow burners explode into a very healthy old fire.’
Alex shook her head as she laughed reluctantly. ‘Come on, we’re due on stage in five minutes. It’s a wonder Jeff hasn’t come looking for us.’
‘You’re side-stepping me again, Ice Maiden,’ he said softly as they walked down the narrow hallway. ‘I wonder who the guy was who hurt you so much you won’t let anyone halfway near you?’
Alex was glad they had reached the door to the small stage and there was no time for her to reply to Paul’s question, had she been able to answer it. He was right, though, she knew that. She did keep everyone at arm’s length. And on the couple of occasions that Paul had kissed her, light friendly kisses, it was as though her feelings, her senses, were frozen. Perhaps that part of her had ceased to function, had shrivelled up and died along with her marriage.
She tried to shrug off the wave of depression that washed over her. The fact that this was their last show at Christie’s for a month didn’t help at all, and she stepped out on to the stage with a disquietening sensation that there was more than the poignancy of a last show hanging over the evening.
***
The elevator soared smoothly upwards, travelling express to the top floor, and at eleven pm it contained only one occupant. The doors slid silently open and the man stepped out into the foyer of Christie’s Restaurant. The thick-pile red carpet and brushed velvet Regency wallpaper served a dual purpose. Not only did it give the impression of opulence but it muted the sound of the music and voices from within the restaurant.
The receptionist looked up from her desk before the entrance to the dining room and her smile, which began as a pasted on, part-of-her-job type of smile, quickly turned into a genuine smile of interest as her eyes encountered the tall dark man striding across from the lift.
‘Good evening, sir.’
‘Good evening. I phoned for a reservation. De Wilde.’ He smiled and the girl’s eyes filled with admiration.
‘Of course, Mr de Wilde. A table for one,’ she reluctantly glanced down at the book in front of her, ‘at the back of the dining room.’ She looked up at him, wondering at this particular request, but he refrained from enlightening her and she was forced to motion to the waiter who hovered nearby ready to direct the newcomer to his table.
The restaurant itself was as richly decorated as the foyer and judging by the number of patrons it was a popular place. The subdued lighting served to screen his entry into the dining section and he ordered a Scotch and dry before consulting the menu.
However, immediately the waiter left with his order his eyes turned to the spot lit stage in front of the small dance floor, which was packed to its capacity with gyrating couples. From this angle he was slightly side-on to the stage and he watched as the music slowed and the lights on the dance floor dimmed.
She raised the microphone she held and began singing. He couldn’t say he had heard the melody before, but she gave the sadness of its lyrics an added pathos and his eyes remained fixed on her for the entire song.
Lit by a spot, she was seated on a tall stool and the dark material of her wine-coloured cat-suit shone in the highlight as she swayed slightly with the beat. Justin’s eyes moved over her hair. It was as long and lustrous as he remembered and seemed to appear almost white under the lights. Memories flooded back over him, memories of its silken feel as he ran his fingers through it, how it twined about them in tangled disorder as they made love.
The familiar pain twisted deep within him and he cast the menu on to the table, his lips set in self-derision. He was acutely aware that his anger was irrational, as was the reason for that anger. It flared up against her because he couldn’t deny that she still had the power to stir him even after six years.
His eyes returned to her profile. He knew the long dark lashes shielded blue eyes that could deepen to indigo when… His lips tightened. Her nose was small and straight with just a slight tendency to turn up at the end, and he knew her lips were soft and pliant.
At that moment she turned slightly in his direction and those same lips were moving, forming the words, her face sad with the ballad of lost love she was singing. The corner of his mouth rose cynically at the sentiment behind the song.
From this distance he couldn’t say that she had changed very much at all. She certainly didn’t appear to look any older than she had looked when he had last seen her and he couldn’t repudiate the fact that she was every bit as attractive as she had always been. His hands clenched on the table top and the waiter had to address him twice before he was even aware of the young man standing beside him. Because it was expected of him he ordered a light supper he had no interest in eating and then his eyes returned to the stage.
She was standing now, hands clapping to the up-tempo beat, and the three young men were singing in harmony with her. None of the other three members of the band looked to be any older than their early twenties, and he noticed that they were all quite good-looking. But their music was faultless, he gave them that.
He recognised the song as one of Neil Diamond’s early numbers—she had always liked Neil Diamond’s recordings—and he watched her body swinging to the beat. She was not a short girl and he supposed before she had been a little on the thin side. Now he could see she had added a little weight, her cat suit moulding her nicely curved contours. She had gained weight in all the right places, he thought wryly, and glanced around the restaurant at some of the other diners.
Most of them were smilingly enjoying their meals and the music, and his lips tightened as he noticed that more than one pair of male eyes were turned to the stage and gazed admiringly at the blonde-haired singer. Anger flared within him as a fleshy man at the next table remarked a trifle loudly to his friend on the attractiveness of the female entertainer. The two men laughed together and Justin had to quell a desire to thrust his fist into the man’s face and throw him and his friend bodily from the room.
He took a long swallow of his drink. This was utter madness. What did he care after six years? For all he knew she could have found consolation in any number of men’s arms. His eyes ran over her again. No, he didn’t want to believe that. But she was a free agent and the break-up of their marriage and subsequent separation cancelled any obligation she had to him. Nor had he any right to make any stipulation to her about how she lived her life.
He finished his drink and stared moodily into the empty glass. It had been pointless to come here tonight, absolutely pointless. What had he hoped to accomplish anyway? If he’d had one shred of sense he would have let it be, gone off tomorrow without a backward glance. But what was he doing? Sitting drinking, gazing at her like a frustrated youth.
As the waiter passed he ordered another Scotch, wishing he was capable of drinking himself into oblivion. How many had he had since the end of the performance? Three? Four at the most? Margot had all but accused him of being tipsy before he left. She had been livid when he announced his disinclination to attend the ‘after the show’ party she had arranged at her hotel. He could have gone along and enjoyed himself without putting himself through this fiasco. Then he would have been off to Hayman Island in the morning with little more than a slight hangover.
And if it came to that, exactly what did he expect to come of this
evening? That they would be able to sit down and talk? Perhaps share a couple of drinks? All very civilised. And then go their separate ways. What could be simpler? He almost laughed out loud. Had he really deceived himself into believing it could be that way? Their parting had been washed with such bitterness, how could he even imagine that a few years’ separation would wipe the slate clean?
He looked up frowningly. Where was the damn waiter with his drink? The waiter was nowhere to be seen, but another man approached his table and Justin looked at him blankly when he smiled a greeting.
‘Mr de Wilde. Good evening. What a pleasure to have your company at Christie’s.’ There was just a trace of accent in the man’s speech and his short stout appearance and thick waving dark hair suggested he was from south-eastern Europe. He wore an immaculate dark suit and a white dress shirt, and Justin rose a little reluctantly and took the hand that was held out to him. The handshake was firm and decisive, but Justin was in no mood for a doting fan.
‘I’m Chris Georgi and I own this place.’ The man smiled. ‘It’s not often we have such a celebrated patron. My wife and I attended your performance last night. Most enjoyable. We’re both great admirers of your work.’
‘Thank you.’ Justin inclined his head and found himself smiling back at the man’s genuine compliment, and he motioned to the empty chair. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘Thank you.’ Chris Georgi subsided into the empty place. ‘May I buy you another drink?’
‘I have ordered one.’ Justin looked around as the waiter materialised beside him and the restaurant owner waved the young man away before Justin could sign for the drink. ‘You have a nice place here.’
‘Yes. It took a while for us to get on our feet, but in the past few years we haven’t looked back. We’re opening another restaurant next week, down at Surfers Paradise on the Gold Coast. I’ll be happy if it’s only half as successful as this one.’
The band started up again and both men turned towards the stage.
‘They’re not bad, are they?’ remarked Chris Georgi. ‘Just the kind of pleasant sound you need as background music while you dine.’
‘Yes, they are good.’ Justin’s eyes moved again to ex-wife as she began singing.
‘That’s Alex Marshall.’ Chris’ eyes followed Justin’s. ‘Looks great, sings great. And she’s one of the nicest young woman I’ve met in this business. The band will be down at Surfers for the opening on Tuesday and I’m keeping them there for a month or so.’ He smiled to himself as he watched Justin’s eyes remain intently on Alex. ‘Would you like me to introduce you?’ he asked seriously enough, although his eyes danced teasingly.
‘Oh, no, I don’t think so.’ Justin turned back to the other man, a fixed smile on his face. ‘I’m looking forward to my supper.’ He changed the subject easily. ‘Does the food taste as good as it looks?’ he asked as the two men at the next table were served.
They chatted until Justin’s order arrived and then Chris Georgi excused himself and Justin was left to eat his meal alone. At least he wouldn’t have to pretend an enjoyment he wasn’t feeling. But surprisingly he found he was hungry, and once he had eaten, his head seemed to clear and he felt a little more in command of himself. Perhaps he had needed the food to banish the effects of the alcohol.
He sat back listening to the music, enjoying an excellent cup of coffee, and was surprised to note that the dining room was now only half full. His wristwatch told him it was drawing close to closing time. The song was another slow ballad and the lights had dimmed accordingly and his eyes narrowed on his wife’s figure.
A quarter of an hour later he stood up and after settling his bill he asked to see Chris Georgi and was directed to an office door off to the right. Before he could change his mind he strode across, rapped on the door and went inside.
***
Those patrons remaining in the restaurant applauded enthusiastically as the Everglades’ final song drew to a close and the four young people left the stage. Sighing tiredly, Alex went straight to her dressing-room and slowly began collecting her make-up together.
Resting her chin on her hands, she gazed at herself in the mirror. She could see the strain of the afternoon there in her face and underneath her make-up she knew the dark shadows lay beneath her eyes. Her jaw felt stiff with the effort of smiling and she gently massaged her temples, trying to dispel some of the aching tension.
If only she’d stayed away from that wretched performance! It had been a mistake to see him again, to rake over old coals.
‘Ready, Alex?’ Jeff banged on her door. ‘We’ve got most of the gear all set to go in the wagon.’
Alex pulled herself together and, hastily collecting her bag and make-up case, she joined Jeff in the hallway and they walked along to the now empty dining room. Most of the lights had been switched off and only those about the stage glowed brightly. Paul and Danny were lifting a large amplifier on to a trolley which they used to transfer their equipment downstairs to the station wagon.
‘Grab the other end, Jeff,’ Danny strained under the weight of the amplifier. ‘You too, Alex. You know we’re small lads and every little bit helps.’
Alex laughed. ‘You don’t need me, you’re doing fine. Besides, I love watching all those muscles flexing,’ she chuckled.
‘What muscles?’ Paul hunched his shoulders as they set the amplifier down. ‘We’re musicians, not weightlifters.’ He smiled. ‘Looking forward to our few days’ break?’
‘Sure am,’ she replied with feeling.
‘Me, too,’ added Jeff. ‘I guess we may as well get the gear down to the car.’
‘You sure you don’t mind taking a taxi back to your flat, Alex?’ frowned Paul. ‘I could run you home first.’
‘No, Paul, of course I don’t mind. It’s the most practical solution. The equipment plus the three of you in that poor station wagon will be stretching it to its limits as it is. I’ll meet you down at the Coast some time tomorrow or early Monday.’
‘Okay, I’ll tell Chris we’re leaving.’ Paul moved towards the office. ‘Oh, here he is now. We’re off, Chris.’
They all turned towards their employer as he strode into the circle of light. Behind him moved another figure bathed in the muted shadows. The tall figure stepped from behind Chris’ stocky frame and as the light fell on his face, Alex froze to the spot. She was totally incapable of speech or movement as she struggled to swallow in a mouth suddenly dry with the shock she had received.
‘You’ve had a most celebrated audience tonight,’ Chris was saying, ‘and as he enjoyed your performance I thought you might like to meet him.’ He turned to include Justin in their circle. ‘Paul Denman, Jeff Martin, Danny Lane and, of course, last but by no means least, the very ravishing Alex Marshall. I’m sure you’ve all heard of Justin de Wilde.’
The lights caught the flash of silver hair at his temple as he shook hands with each of the young men in turn. Alex’s eyes remained fixed on his profile, a profile she knew by heart, had not forgotten one single contour of, and she waited with racing pulses for him to turn to her.
‘Miss Marshall.’ His eyes met hers, steady, controlled, expressionless, and he held out his hand.
The contact between them burned like a flame in Alex’s cheeks and she dragged her eyes from the web of his, fighting to portray an outward calm she was far from feeling inside as her stomach churned. What could he be playing at? Obviously he wasn’t going to acknowledge their association. Association? She felt the corner of her mouth twist cynically and knew those eyes wouldn’t miss her fleeting expression.
But she had to say something. She could see the frown of concern on Paul’s face as he watched her cheeks flush and then pale.
‘How do you do, Mr de Wilde.’ She found her voice with difficulty and tried to control its waver.
‘Wouldn’t have expected you to go in
for our type of music, Mr de Wilde,’ grinned Danny. ‘We’re most flattered.’
‘On the contrary, I enjoy all music, especially when it’s well performed.’ His tone was pleasant enough, but Alex noticed his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘You have a good sound.’
‘Thanks,’ smiled Danny. ‘If you want to talk classical stuff then Paul here’s your man. He’s crazy about it, has stacks of old classical records, the vinyl type.’
Justin’s gaze turned on Paul and the younger man shrugged his shoulders and grinned lopsidedly. ‘Nobody’s perfect,’ he quipped.
‘Quite.’ Justin’s eyes left Paul to return to Alex and she felt that Paul was watching them both. Paul was altogether too perceptive, and the last thing she needed now was for him to begin asking probing questions.
‘Ah, Alex! Your taxi!’ Chris struck his forehead with his hand. ‘It completely slipped my mind. I’ll go and ring you one right away.’
‘I’ll take Miss Marshall home.’ Justin’s deep voice halted the restaurateur as he made to return to his office. ‘That will save her having to wait for a taxi.’
‘Oh, really, I couldn’t put you to the trouble.’ Alex’s heartbeats fell over themselves in agitation. ‘I don’t mind waiting at all, Chris,’ she added almost desperately.
‘It’s no trouble,’ Justin said evenly. His light eyes seemed to be searing down into her very soul, and she was sure he was aware just how reluctant she was to be left alone with him.
‘That’s extremely kind of you, Justin,’ Chris smiled innocently. ‘There you go, Alex. A hire car is much more comfortable than a taxi.’ He put a friendly hand on Justin’s broad shoulder. ‘You know, we don’t trust Alex to just anyone,’ he said lightly enough but he levelly held Justin’s gaze.
‘Of course,’ Justin acknowledged with a slight nod. ‘I’d be honoured, Miss Marshall.’
Alex flushed again and Paul’s forehead puckered enquiringly.
‘Well, the sooner we get this gear downstairs the sooner we can get home to bed as well. See you down the coast, Alex.’ Danny moved over to the trolley and they all began to follow him.
Play Our Song Again (Lynsey Stevens Romance Book 13) Page 3
