Duel of Passion

by Madeleine Ker

  Ìt was all quite innocent,' Jenny preened. But you should see Kyle's house, Sophie.

  It's practically a mansion! Late Elizabethan, you know, all oak panelling and marble floors—and the biggest garden I've ever seen in London, going right down to the riverbank.' She turned to look up at Kyle. 'You must be absolutely, impossibly rich, darling!'

  Ì struggle along. More to the point, where are we going tonight?'

  `Somewhere special, darling.' Jenny was obviously delighting in showing off her new intimacy in front of Sophie. 'Somewhere really special!'

  Ì think I know just the place,' Kyle purred.

  Ànd then,' Jenny giggled, leading Kyle into the sitting-room, 'maybe we can go back to your house again ...?'

  Sophie clenched her mind against the pain. She leaned against the kitchen wall, trying to find a way out. Her instinctive thought was flight. Get out of London, away from Kyle and Jenny.

  Yet how could she just leave? She didn't even have her next job lined up, and for the time being she was tied to Joey.

  Just how was she going to survive the ordeal that Kyle had planned for her?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  `LUCIANI's offering two and a half per cent of his cut,' Joey Gilmour said, booming down the telephone as usual. 'Since he's entitled to thirty-three per cent net under his contract with the backers, that means you'd be getting less than one per cent of the pre-tax profits. About point eight-three per cent, in fact.'

  `That sounds quite respectable,' Sophie suggested.

  `Depends what the profit is,' Joey grunted. 'If you'd had point eight-three per cent of his last film, you'd have had point eight-three per cent of blow-all. Look at it this way—The First Day of Autumn has to make a hundred thousand profit before you even get ei ght hundred back. Out of which you have to pay my ten per cent. And I don't think all of Luciani's films put together have made that much. We're not talking Hollywood here.'

  He made àtchah' noise. 'Let's not bother with it, Sophie. The man is offering peanuts.'

  'I really want to do it, Joey.'

  `My advice is to forget it.' Joey had been negotiating with Franco Luciani over the past couple of days, and had rung Sophie at home to give her the benefit of his opinions.

  'Listen, the amount of enquiries I'm starting to get about you, you could have your pick of the plums in a month or two. Just sit tight for as long as it takes, and wait for them to drop into your lap'

  Ì can't help feeling you're being far too confident about it, and that isn't false modesty.

  Besides, I want to be working. I can't just sit around here!'

  `Listen, this guy is talking about starting filming in mid-September.'

  `Yes. He says the light in Tuscany is remarkable at this time of the year...'

  `The light in Tuscany?' Joey snorted. 'That isn't why he wants to bring the date of filming forward by six weeks. He's hustling you off to Italy ouick-sticks, before you get a better offer. All kinds of people are asking after you, Sophie. It would be far better if you stayed around in London to be on hand for the right opening. If you disappear to Italy to do an art film with Luciani, you might miss something far more important.'

  `But this film is important to me.'

  'Why?'

  `The script is very special. And I've got a feeling about it. I like Franco.'

  `Will you do me a favour? Just give me another week to look around before you give Luciani an answer. If I don't come up with anything better, you can think about doing The First Day of Autumn. Is that a deal?'

  Sophie agreed reluctantly, but as she put the receiver down, she was regretting having let Joey talk her out of an immediate decision. As far as she was concerned, there really wasn't a choice. She needed to take this film.

  Even if the script hadn't had a special appeal for her, which it had, she would have jumped at it just to get out of England, and away from her misery. She couldn't face the prospect of sitting around waiting for a better proposal to come along. Not the way she felt right now.

  By accepting Franco Luciani's offer, she would be flying to Italy in three weeks' time, and leaving Kyle behind her. Burying herself in work a long way from London was something that appealed very strongly right now.

  She glanced at the clock.

  `Damn!'

  She was due to meet Helene for lunch in an hour, at the Gay Hussar in Greek Street, a Hungarian restaurant much frequented by journalists, and one of Helene's favourites.

  She had a lightning shower in between changing out of her dungarees into a smart dress.

  Her own face in the mirror looked tired. There were shadows under the level grey eyes, signs of tension around the full mouth. The past three days had been almost more than she could bear. Pain and anger built up in her to explosion-point sometimes.

  It was hard to say which was worse—sitting alone in the flat every night while Kyle and

  Jenny were out, wondering what they were doing; or having to listen while Jenny enthused about last night's entertainments the next day, letting the bitchy side of her nature have full rein as she savoured yet another victory over her cousin.

  Right now, thank God, Jenny was still asleep, after dancing till dawn at discos with Kyle.

  As far as she knew, they hadn't yet made love. But Kyle was giving Jenny a tour of the most glittering nightspots and the most expensive restaurants, and Sophie knew it couldn't be long before he offered Jenny more. And Jenny, with her casual, open attitude towards sex, would take whatever Kyle offered.

  While Sophie watched, helpless.

  That Scorpio thirst for revenge: it was so strong. He hardly took his eyes off Sophie when he was at the flat; he was so intent on observing her reactions that he almost ignored Jenny. It was so obvious that his pleasure lay in Wounding Sophie, rather than in Jenny's company, that Sophie sometimes wondered how Jenny could' fail to notice.

  Maybe Jenny did notice. She'd always taken intense pleasure in proving herself more attractive to men than her older cousin. Maybe the sense of personal, female triumph made it irrelevant that Kyle didn't really give a damn about her. Maybe it made the pleasure all the more intense. Kyle Hart, after all, was a prize like no other man they'd fought over.

  Fought? That was a laugh. There was no competition here. There was no contest at all.

  Sophie sighed shakily. Maybe she was being unjust. Maybe Jenny really didn't know how much she was being

  hurt. But how could she tell her, without spilling out the whole humiliating story of what had happened between herself and Kyle? And how could she trust Jenny not to take even more advantage of the situation, and make her pain all the worse?

  She arrived at the Gay Hussar a little late, because the underground trains were running slow, and pushed her way through the crowded entrance. Helene le Bon was already sitting at a discreet table at the back of the restaurant, but Sophie paused in shock as she registered that Kyle was sitting beside her, laughing ouietly over some joke.

  A cold wave of reaction gave her goose-flesh, but she forced herself to go on, and even managed a breezy smile as she arrived at the table.

  `Sorry I'm late. Have you ordered?'

  `Not yet.' Helene gave Sophie a kiss on the cheek as she sat down. 'Kyle isn't staying for lunch,' she said brightly. 'Too busy making money. But I talked him into stopping for a glass of wine.'

  Ì'm not crazy about goulash,' Kyle commented. 'And I have clients to see.' His lazy green eyes drifted over Sophie's dress. 'Well, my dear Sophie, you look as fresh as a spring morning.'

  %low kind. You look reasonably fit yourself—considering the marvellous time you evidently had last night.'

  ' "Pleasure and action make the hours seem short,"' Kyle commented calmly.

  Òthello,' Helene smiled, 'Act two, scene three. Where did you go last night, Kyle?'

  `Dancing with a pretty girl.'

  Sophie lifted the menu, her face reddening, and wondered what he and Helene had been talking about before she'd arrived. Helene, who ha
d been watching them both with her luminous brown eyes, got to her feet.

  `W ould you two excuse me a moment? I have a couple of telephone calls to make!'

  Kyle's expression was pure irony as he rose and watched Helene head for the telephones.

  `That's called bringing two people discreetly together,' he observed laconically, sitting down again.

  Sophie looked at him briefly. He was wearing a dark suit with some kind of old school tie, obviously what he normally wore for work. But the exouisite clothes didn't hide the raw masculinity of the man beneath. In fact, he looked stunning, and that only made her feel all the more tense and ill at ease.

  Ìs it?' she said coolly.

  `Helene has only one flaw. She thinks that everyone has a right to happiness.'

  Ànd you don't agree?' Sophie said, her long lashes hiding her eyes from him as she scanned the menu. Ì'm a realist. I believe in crime and punishment.' Ì've already gathered that. It's in your stars.'

  `The fault, dear Sophie, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.'

  Ìs it my turn to guess the Shakespearean allusion? Julius Caesar, but I don't know the act or scene number.'

  `Very good. Helene thinks that a little honest, civilised talk would iron out all the problems between you and me,' Kyle said drily. He poured her a glass of the dark red wine he'd been drinking. Sophie thanked him, and took a sip. It was strong, almost metallic, but not unpleasant. 'Unfortunately,' he went on, 'she doesn't know that you're not honest, and that I'm not civilised.

  `W hat nice things you say, Scorpio,' Sophie shot at him angrily.

  `My pleasure, Virgo.'

  Sophie glanced at Helene, standing at the telephone with her back studiously to their table, and grimaced. `Helene is not going to be back for at least a ouarter of an hour,'

  she said wryly. 'So it looks like we have to talk, if only just to fill in fifteen minutes.'

  Èven if the subject matter turns out to be uncivilised and dishonest?'

  Ì'll risk it,' she replied with a lightness she was very far from feeling. 'You've never even told me what happened with Emma's parents,' she reminded him. 'Have they decided on a divorce?'

  `No, poor fools,' he growled. 'They've kissed and made up, and are giving the hoary old myth of happy wedlock another spin.'

  Ì'm so pleased for Emma's sake,' she said, wincing at his cynicism. 'She must be very happy about it.'

  `She's delighted. But then, she's too young to understand the falsity of most human relationships.'

  Sophie let that one ride, too. 'Did you go on that cruise with her?'

  Kyle picked up his glass and drank briefly. 'After your little disappearing trick, we were both rather dazed,' he said drily. 'It wasn't exactly easy to explain what had happened to an eight-year-old child.'

  `Kyle, I'm so sorry—'

  `Don't prattle apologies,' he rasped, silencing her. 'As it happened, we left the hotel the same day. Somehow, I just couldn't face staying there another night. Not after you'd—'

  He bit off what he was going to say. 'We stayed with a friend in Kingston for a few days, then chartered a twenty-eight-foot sloop and spent a week sailing round Haiti. By the time we got back to Kingston, Emma's parents wanted her back, so we flew home to the happy family.'

  `Did—did Emma enjoy it?'

  Ì suppose so,' he shrugged. 'It was a bit of an adventure for her. It did me good, too.

  Put things back in perspective.'

  `Kyle, why can't you believe that I didn't set out to hurt you in Jamaica?' Her voice was low, urgent. 'You think it was some kind of deliberate plan, but it really wasn't like that!

  It was all so confused. When you didn't recognise me, I—I had this crazy idea to play a joke on you.'

  `You consider it a joke,' he said bitingly, `to go to bed with a man, knowing he thinks you're someone else?'

  Ì had no idea how we were going to turn out. I thought—I thought you just wanted a holiday romance with me. Something shallow and temporary—'

  `That's all I ever did want,' he cut in brusquely. 'Don't kid yourself, Sophie. I never wanted anything more than that from you.'

  Silenced, she fought back the tears.

  He turned the wine glass absently, watching the scintillating ruby lights on the tablecloth, and went on, indifferent to her unhappiness. 'There was something about you that intrigued me, even in Brighton. You were good company in Jamaica, and you were kind to little Emma. But otherwise ...' He shrugged his broad shoulders. 'All I really wanted was a painless affair with a pretty girl. So don't kid yourself that there was ever any chance of anything deeper.'

  She fought for self-control in a sea of dizzy nausea. `Then I'm glad we parted,' she said with an effort, `before I was discarded for the next pretty face.'

  `You haven't been discarded yet,' he said, with a return to that panther smoothness of tone. He smiled into her eyes. 'I haven't finished with you yet. You just watch this space, darling.'

  Helene was heading back to their table, and Kyle rose with an air of finality. 'If I don't leave now,' he said, threat turning to a purr, 'I'm going to offend a very important man in electronic components.' He kissed Helene's hand, then bent to brush his lips against Sophie's cheek. 'I'm sure we'll see each other again soon,' he said with syrupy politeness, and was pushing his way through the crowds towards the bright street outside.

  Helene met Sophie's eyes guiltily. 'Oh, dear. It seemed a good idea at the time,' she said, covering Sophie's hand with her own. 'Judging by your expression, it wasn't?'

  `Not really,' Sophie said, struggling to stitch a smile across lips that were ouivering downwards in grief. `Want to talk about it?'

  `Not really.' She got a hanky out of her bag, and stopped any tears before they had time to show. 'Let's just have a lovely lunch, and talk about the theatre, shall we?'

  Sophie went in to see Joey Gilmour two days later, and announced that she wanted to do the Luciani film.

  He sighed patiently. 'OK, it's a very romantic script, and maybe the finished product will get rave reviews in little arty magazines and student newspapers. But it won't make a penny, I guarantee that. You'll come out with a few hundred pounds in direct fee, and you'll be lucky if you ever get a penny on top of that. I can get you ten times that just doing commercials here in London!'

  Sophie was staring at a framed picture on the wall, showing Joey shaking hands with a famous stage actor who had died a year or two ago. 'I've never been to Pisa,' she said absently.

  `She's never been to Pisa,' Joey repeated, throwing down his pencil. 'Let me get you a real contract to do a real film. Make a lot of money, then go to Pisa on holiday.'

  She smiled at him tiredly. 'I think my mind's made up,' she said, and it sounded almost apologetic. 'I want to do Franco's film. I don't care about the money.'

  ÒK, so you don't care about the money,' Joey growled, slapping the desk. 'But this is a very important time for you, careerwise---'

  Òh, damn my career!' she said with sudden brittleness.

  Ì'm not sure I understand you,' Joey sighed, running his hand through his hair. 'You don't look happy lately, Sophie. You're pale, you're withdrawn, you sit there with misty eyes and tell me you don't care about your career—what's up with you?'

  `Nothing,' Sophie assured him gently. 'I've just got a feeling about The First Day of Autumn. Whether it makes nothing, or makes a million, I know it's the right choice for me.'

  Joey stared at her hard, then shrugged. 'OK. I'm not going to argue with you if that's the way you really feel. Do you want me to go ahead with the contract?'

  `Yes, please.'

  Ànd you're happy to start in mid-September?'

  `Yes. I'll probably only be gone for two months, Joey. Franco wants to get the filming done before the early nights set in, so I'll be back well in time to take up anything else that might come in.'

  Ìt's your life, sweetie. You're going to make one Italian movie director very happy, I can tell you that. The guy has hardly been ou
t of my office this past week. Right, I'll get on to it right away.' He got up to usher Sophie out of his office. 'Just don't do a disappearing trick on me,' he warned, patting her shoulder. 'I'll need a contact number where I can reach you in Pisa, any time of the day or night. Your career is just opening up, kiddo, and you need to stay available.'

  On the Tube, she sat thinking about her career, and facing up to the feeling that had been growing in her heart for some time, now. The feeling that she no longer wanted to be an actress.

  Oh, yes, she had a certain amount of talent, and once she got established she would presumably always have work. A career lay in front of her, a vocation which might even aspire to success. But she doubted whether she would ever achieve true brilliance. She was no Helene le Bon. And something had happened to her, something which had given her a deep distaste for her profession.

  A life based on illusion, on dreams, a career made out of counterfeiting emotions she did not feel, earning the plaudits of people who did not know her, living lives and saying words that were never her own ... Was that what she wanted?

  It had all seemed so glamorous to her at eighteen, when she'd signed up for drama school. She'd always had a talent for theatricals, had always aspired to be an actress, but in the five years since then she had changed so much. Especially in the last year; especially since Kyle Hart had entered her life.

  Like so many things in life, it wasn't nearly as simple as it had at first seemed. Drama as a pleasant hobby was one thing. Drama as a way of life had to satisfy something deep inside you, or it would only lead to disillusionment and failure. Doing The Elmtree Road Murders had been a very mixed experience. Touring with Here, There, and Nowhere had been frankly horrible. Unless you loved the stage, be it theatrical or cinematographic, it was a very hard life. So much depended on illusion, on pretence and imitation. And she was deeply wearied of pretence ...