by Liz Fielding
He tossed up a can of beans, caught it, added a can of stew. The decision had been made and a great weight lifted from him he backed out of the tent prepared to offer his unexpected guest a proper “bush” welcome. He was half way through the flap when he saw something small and bright glinting in the sand.
He stooped to pick it up and held it up in the slanting rays of the sunlight, a small gold leaf, spinning and dancing as it hung from his fingers. The earring Fizz had lost in the study at Winterbourne.
It must have fallen out of his wallet when he had taken out Melanie’s last letter to read again, hoping as always for some hidden message between the lines. Some indication that there was hope.
And suddenly, quite suddenly, as the jeep breasted the rise, even before he turned around, he knew who it was.
He turned as the engine stilled and she was there, her eyes echoing the deepening blue of the evening sky as she regarded him gravely, quietly waiting for him to speak. His heart felt so big that it might burst to see her. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak.
‘Have you a spare bed for a weary traveller?’ she said, at last.
‘Not spare,’ he replied, hoarsely. ‘But you’re very welcome to share my sleeping bag.’
‘Am I? Truly? After all the things I said?’
He crossed the hard ground to her then, wrenched open the jeep door and took her into his arms. ‘Oh, my dear, my lovely girl. Will you let me show you just how welcome?’
She held him back a little, her manner reserved, uncertain. ‘I haven’t come alone, Luke.’ His brows drew into a sharp frown and he glanced behind her. Then he saw the unconscious protective gesture to her waist and he understood.
‘You’re pregnant?’ His joy was short-lived. ‘Sweet Jesus, you’re pregnant!’ He was so angry he could kill. ‘Just what kind of an idiot are you? Driving out here by yourself. Another day and I’d have been gone. Anything could have happened to you.’ He stared down at her. ‘To our baby.’
‘I didn’t drive all the way. I flew to the nearest sheep station,’ she said.
‘Flew! Is that a good idea?’
‘I thought so. I used a regular airplane. It had an engine and everything.’
‘Two.’ He looked distraught. ‘Please tell me it had two engines.’
‘I didn’t notice. And the station foreman loaned me the jeep, showed me the way. ‘ A smile widened her beautiful, enticing mouth. ‘I expect he’s got a pair of glasses trained on us right now and if you don’t kiss me within the next ten seconds, he’ll come roaring up here to take me back with him.’
Luke Devlin put his arms around the girl he loved and for a while was certain that he had lost. ‘Let him try,’ he said, gathering her to him. ‘Just let him try.’
‘Luke,’ she said, a long time later, as they lay under the brilliant starscape. ‘Where were you going tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘You said that you wouldn’t have been here tomorrow.’
‘Oh, tomorrow.’ She heard the laughter in his voice and dug him in the ribs with her elbow. ‘I was going home,’ he said. ‘To Broomhill. To lay siege to a particularly stubborn woman I happen to love.’
‘To lay siege?’ It was her turn to laugh. ‘How?’
He began to softly quote. ‘“Make me a willow cabin at your gate,/And call upon my soul within the house;/Write loyal cantons of contemned love,/And sing them loud even in the dead of night -”‘
‘Stop! That’s enough. My neighbours would never stand for singing, particularly in the dead of night.’
‘Then move out. Marry me and you shall live in Winterbourne Hall.’
She didn’t answer immediately. ‘You don’t have to marry me just because I’m pregnant, Luke. I didn’t come for that.’
‘Didn’t you?’ He pulled away from her, sat up, his back hunched to her. ‘Then why did you come, Fizz? To inform me of the good news and tell me how much child support you expect?’ He glared back at her, his eyes glinting dangerously in the starlight.
Fizz just grinned back. ‘If I’d just wanted money I wouldn’t have come all this way, I’d have gone to Phillip. That was what you meant, wasn’t it?’ He didn’t answer and she reached out, slid her hand over his back. ‘What I want from you, can’t be handled by an accountant.’
His expression lightened. ‘Are you telling me that you just want me for my body?’
‘You don’t think you’re getting off that lightly do you?’ She pushed herself up beside him and nuzzled his shoulder. ‘This baby is going to be a family concern and you are going to have to do your bit.’
‘Oh? And what exactly is my bit?’ he said, rolling over, pushing her back against the thick down of the sleeping bag, trapping her there.
‘Hand holding, back rubbing and the books I’ve read about natural childbirth have whole chapters on the subject of panting. I think it might be a good idea if we go to classes-’
‘We? You really mean that?’
She took his hand, could feel it trembling as she pressed it against her waist. ‘This is our baby, Luke. A life we made together. Luke Devlin and Felicity Beaumont made into a new person, unique, special. I thought we might call her Juliet.’
‘You’re that sure it will be a girl?’
‘Positive.’ Then her lips curved into a provocative little smile. ‘Of course, if I’m wrong, we’ll just have to keep on trying.’
He lifted her into his arms then and held her. ‘Fizz, I don’t know what to say, how to tell you how much I love you. You are so beautiful, so good, so generous...’
She tilted back her head. ‘And?’
‘And sexy as hell,’ he said, his voice husky.
‘Oh, yes, there’s the sex too…’
‘The sex?’
Her teeth gleamed white in the darkness. ‘That’s included in the job description as well.’
‘I see. Well, Miss Beaumont, I have a job description for you. It’s headed “Wife”. If you want my body on a regular basis you’re going to have to promise to marry me the minute we get back to Broomhill.’ He bent his lips to the smooth contour of her breast, blushed pink in the dying firelight, teasing its rosy tip with his tongue until she was clinging to him. Then he raised his head. ‘What do you say?’ he asked.
‘That’s not fair,’ she exploded. Then as he began to pull away. ‘I promise!’
‘Cross your heart?’
‘On one condition.’
‘Anything.’
‘When you buy Winterbourne Manor, will you make sure the four-poster bed goes with it?’
He laughed out loud. He’d always known the four-poster would get her in the end. ‘Whatever it costs,’ he promised her, softly. ‘But for tonight I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with a sleeping bag on the hard ground.’
‘If you were sharing it,’ she murmured softly as she reached for him, ‘I’d be happy on a bed of nails.’
*****
As Private Lives came to an end the house erupted in wild applause, the curtain calls going on it seemed for ever, the flowers arriving on stage for Claudia and Melanie, extravagant by any standards and the appearance of Edward Beaumont as the director of the play brought forth a renewed round of cheering. Fizz and Luke sitting in a box overlooking the stage exchanged a glance.
‘I was rather afraid that Claudia would wipe the floor with Melanie,’ Luke said.
‘Were you?’
‘It must have been tempting to try.’
‘She might well have done, my darling, but for one small detail.’
‘Claudia took it easy on her because she’s family?’
‘No, love, she simply recognised the quality of the opposition. Melanie is a Beaumont after all, and Beaumonts are born to the limelight.’
He saw the excitement shimmering from her, lighting her eyes and something very like fear clutched at his heart. ‘You’re a Beaumont too. Don’t you long for that acclaim?’
She must have heard the odd note in his voice because s
he turned and looked up at him. ‘I’m into production these days,’ she reminded him, patting the barely visible swell of her body where their baby was growing.
‘And afterwards?’
‘Shhh…’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘Dad’s going to make a speech.’
And while the audience listened, held in the palm of his hand, Edward Beaumont told the world he had found a daughter so long lost to him. For a moment there was stunned silence, then the crowd rose to its feet as Claudia and Edward Beaumont presented Melanie Brett Beaumont to them.
‘The man’s a genius,’ Luke said, with genuine admiration. ‘Seats have been selling like crazy because everyone wanted to see Melanie make a fool of herself. Now she’s a triumph. More than that, she’s a Beaumont. She’ll be on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow and tickets for the show will be like gold-dust.’
‘And Claudia, despite being leading lady, having to take a backseat? Was that part of your plan, too?’
‘No, my love. I’ve no plans for anyone but us.’ He looked back at the stage. ‘And I’m sure Claudia’s graciousness in giving her new sister the centre stage on her West End debut will be given generous mention.’ He stood up, drew back Fizz’s chair and as she turned to him he smiled. ‘Not that either of them can compare with the beautiful Felicity Devlin.’ He took her hands in his. ‘You do know how much I love you?’ he said, urgently.
She laughed softly. ‘I promise I’ll never tire of hearing you say it.’
‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’
‘Don’t stop!’
‘I’d rather show you,’ he said, his voice husky with longing. ‘Right now.’
‘But if we don’t make an appearance at the party people will talk.’
‘Oh? And what will they say?’ He was delighted to discover that he could still make her blush. ‘That Devlin couldn’t wait to take his lovely wife home to bed?’
‘Something like that.’
Luke grinned. ‘They’d be right.’
‘I suppose if we go backstage now and tell everyone how absolutely fabulous they were we’ll have done our duty. They’ll be so high on adrenalin and excitement that they won’t remember whether we went to the party or not.’
But the moment they walked in the dressing room Claudia rushed across to them. ‘The Three Sisters, Fizz,’ she exclaimed. ‘Dad says he’ll do it next year if you’ll take part.’ Linking her arm with Fizz she turned to Luke. ‘We can’t leave her out of all this excitement and she deserves another chance to show what she can do. You’d never guess it to look at her but underneath that cool, touch me not exterior she positively smoulders with repressed passion.’
‘Does she?’ he enquired, with studied surprise.
Claudia laughed as her sister coloured. ‘I’m all technique and sex appeal. As you’ve obviously discovered for yourself, Fizz is the real thing.’ She touched his arm. ‘You wouldn’t mind, would you, darling?’
He would mind. He would positively hate it. But he’d seen the way Fizz had lit up to the atmosphere and the excitement of the theatre. She had been robbed of her chance to become a star once. If she really wanted it, he would not do anything to stop her.
‘Fizz is quite capable of making up her own mind, Claudia. Whatever she does, she knows she’ll have my support.’
‘There you are. Say you’ll do it!’
‘Don’t be silly, Claud. I’m going to have a baby. That’s a full time job.’
‘Rubbish.’ She appealed to Luke. ‘She can have a nanny, can’t she?’
‘She can have anything she wants.’
But Fizz started. ‘A nanny?’
For a moment, for just a moment she had been dazzled by the lights, the excitement and she had been tempted. But remembering the confusing procession of nannies who had tried to provide a little love and warmth until Elaine French could spare a few moments for her daughters, she blenched.
Claudia saw her face and remembered too. Impulsively flung her arms about her sister and held her for a moment.
‘No. Of course not. Silly of me.’ Then she stepped back, quickly blinking away a tear to flash a brilliant smile. ‘For goodness sake take her home, Luke, back to the real world. It’s where she belongs.’
In the limousine gliding quietly through the quiet London streets he held her hand. ‘Are you sure, Fizz? For a moment I thought you wanted it.’
‘For a moment, so did I.’ She turned to him. ‘But I don’t. All I want is you and our baby. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.’
He took her in his arms then and held her. ‘I suppose I still can’t quite believe you’re mine. After what I did.’ She placed her fingers lightly over his mouth.
‘That’s all over, Luke. Forgotten.’
‘I’ll always be there for you,’ he said, suddenly fierce. ‘Always.’
Her lips widened in an inviting smile. ‘Show me.’
He was still showing her when the porter smartly whisked open the car door as they drew up in front of their hotel. They didn’t even notice when he closed it again much more gently and with a smile, gave a signal to the driver to take them once more round the block.
Wild Lady
by
Liz Fielding
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN Claudia Beaumont, late and pushing her new sports car hard in the narrow Berkshire lanes, finally spotted the entrance to the airfield, she experienced two distinct and warring emotions. Relief and dread. And dread was winning by a country mile.
But she knew that the letter was simply the product of a sick mind.
Someone was trying to frighten her, make her look feeble and if she backed out now her anonymous correspondent would have succeeded. For heaven’s sake, she expected to be frightened.
Who wouldn’t be? And who was she to deprive millions of television viewers of a vicarious thrill?
She slowed and turned into the gate. There had damned well better be millions or she would want to know the reason why.
The security guard checked her car registration against a list he had on a clipboard before directing her to the far side of the field where the OB unit was set up beside a large aircraft hangar.
Even at a distance the scene gave the appearance of organised chaos. Excitable men, earnest young women milling about in an attempt to give an impression of their own enormous importance, heavy cables snaking through the grass, vehicles everywhere, the essential catering truck doing a roaring trade in coffee and bacon sandwiches.
And a small aircraft, a very small aircraft, was parked on the apron in front of the hangar waiting to take her several thousand feet into the air so that she could jump out of it for the amusement of the vast audience of Saturday night viewers.
‘Do the show, darling,’ her agent had coaxed. ‘It’s popular family entertainment, not in the least bit tacky, all the money the viewers pledge goes to a charity of your choice. And we’ll get a big plug for the new television series.’
He’d forgotten to mention the fact that one of the guests would be landed with an amusing little forfeit. And with three envelopes to choose from she’d managed to find the parachute jump.
It was quite possible, she realised with a belated flash of insight, that they all contained the same forfeit.
It was highly probable that she’d kill her agent.
‘You’d better put your foot down, miss,’ the security guard advised. ‘The weather looks as if it might be closing in and if you don’t get off the ground soon, you’ll have to come back another day. And that won’t please Mr MacIntyre.’
It wasn’t her eagerness to please Mr MacIntyre, whoever he was, or to get on with the jump that sent the little car leaping forward. If the film crew had a wasted day because she was late, Claudia knew she would be about as popular as an outbreak of rabies in a boarding kennels.
There were a number of cars parked in a neat line facing the hangar. Her car was lipstick bright against the greyness of the morning and aware that e
very head had turned at her approach she did a slick change down as she drove onto the grass, planning to slide neatly into the space between a gleaming black Landcruiser and the silver Porsche that she recognised as the pride and joy of the show’s director.
There was only one problem. When she put her foot on the brake it went straight to the floor without resistance.
For a split second she froze.
It couldn’t be happening. Her car was brand new. Two days old. But it was happening. And she was heading straight for Barty’s Porsche.
She wrenched hard on the steering wheel, somehow expecting that it, too, would fail to respond. It didn’t fail. It responded with fingertip precision. And after that everything seemed to happen at once. The jolting tango along the black bulk of the Landcruiser, the bruising jerk as her seat belt locked and bit into her shoulder, the airbag exploding into life. The final nightmarish sound of rending metal as she collided with the hangar.
Then everything went very quiet for a moment before the door beside her was wrenched open. If she had had the time to anticipate any reaction from the horrified onlookers, she would have expected sympathy, concern, even worry that she wouldn’t be able to go ahead with the planned jump.
What she got, apparently, was a bear with a sore head. And he was growling at her.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
Definitely a growl. The kind produced by low, controlled anger. It seemed par for the day, Claudia thought, that the gap between expectation and reality should be so vast.
She turned, unhurt, but somewhat dazed by the rapidity with which events had overtaken her and was confronted by a pair of large boots, combat trousers that seemed to ascend into the stratosphere and the kind of taut, aggressive hips that would normally give her a pleasurable tingle of expectation. The voice however, did not encourage her to expect anything except aggravation.
At a disadvantage in the near ground level car, she unfastened the seatbelt, leaned out and looked up. She was right about the stratosphere. Wrong about the bear. But not that wrong.
The man went up a very long way before widening out into a pair of shoulders that would have done justice to a barn door. He also had a thick pelt of black hair that would have curled had it not been ruthlessly trimmed into submission and the kind of blue eyes that any girl would gladly die for.
