by Liz Fielding
She arched a brow at him. ‘If that was supposed to be a compliment, Mac, it was on a par with your apologies. You’re going to have to try harder. Much harder.’ She leaned forward and tapped on the window. The driver slid the glass back. ‘Stop at the nearest convenient spot, please. Mr MacIntyre wishes to get out.’
The driver glanced at Mac for instructions. He shook his head. ‘Mr MacIntyre has the same destination as you ma’am,’ he said, with every appearance of regret. Then he closed the glass.
She turned on Mac. ‘Is that true? Are you going to the studios?’
‘Of course.’ He indicated his clothes. Like her, he was dressed as if about to take a parachute jump. ‘You don’t think this is my normal evening wear do you?’
‘I’m not prepared to hazard a guess at what you might choose to wear at any time of the day,’ she replied, stiffly.
‘Tony was supposed to come along and tell the viewers what a feisty girl you are and how well you did. But since I’m on the film and he’s still confined to barracks...’ His gesture said it all.
‘Tell me, Mac, if your sister thought you were at risk from my vampish behaviour, do you think she’d react in the same obliging way and keep you locked up?’
He regarded her sourly. ‘I think my sister has her hands full already, don’t you?’
‘With one baby on the way and another on leading strings? More than full,’ she agreed, then she kinked an eyebrow at him, refusing to let him duck the rest of her question. ‘What a pity your wife doesn’t keep you on a closer rein.’
‘My wife is in no position to do anything of the sort,’ he said, his voice expressionless. ‘My wife is dead.’
Claudia felt her insides curl up with embarrassment. The man was a grieving widower and she’d just jumped all over his wife’s grave. There were days when her mouth seemed to attract her foot. He continued to stare at her for a long moment before he turned away and looked out of the window.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘We’re here,’ he said.
He didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t have made it more obvious. She glanced at him as they reported to reception, signed the visitors book. He met her gaze, clearly aware of the questions rattling around her brain but his eyes made it quite plain that it was none of her business.
A girl in a pink wrap around overall appeared at her side diffusing the sudden tension. ‘Hello, I’m Jill,’ she said, brightly. ‘If you’d like to come this way Miss Beaumont, Mr MacIntyre, I’ll take you through to make-up.’ She ran a professional eye over Claudia’s bruise. ‘We should be able to do something about that.’
‘No. The bruise stays, Barty’s orders. All I need is a comb through my hair.’
‘Your lipstick could do with some work,’ Mac suggested, helpfully. Claudia glared up at him. ‘It’s a bit smudged.’
‘Just wait until they start to work on you,’ Claudia muttered.
Jill smiled up at Mac. ‘I don’t think Mr MacIntyre needs any makeup. He has a natural tan and with his bone structure...’ Apparently Mac’s bone structure defied description. ‘Why don’t you go along to the Green Room,’ she suggested, helpfully. ‘It’s just down there on the right.’
But Claudia wasn’t about to let him get away with it that easily.
‘I’m afraid Mac will have to stay with me,’ she said, turning an innocent expression on him. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to check everything out.’ She laid her hand on his arm. ‘Just in case...’ she whispered, leaving the implication hanging in the air. She didn’t believe it, but he was the one making all the fuss. ‘Unless of course you’re desperate for a drink? Kidnapping is such hard work.’
His smile was grudging, but it was there as he followed her into the makeup suite, leaning against the door as Claudia was seated and swathed in a large pink cape. Jill began to blot off her lipstick, cleaning off the smudges where Mac had covered her mouth with his hand to stop her screaming. When the girl had finished and had decided on a replacement colour, Claudia leaned around the chair to look at him.
‘Do you think you should test it first?’ she asked. ‘Just in case it’s been tampered with?’
‘I think I can restrain myself.’
Jill, apparently used to odd behaviour, took not the slightest notice of this exchange. ‘Just tilt your head back, please,’ she instructed, and began to paint on the colour. ‘There, that’s better.’ She eyed Claudia’s bruise through the mirror. ‘You’re sure about that? I can cover it up in a tick.’
‘I’m sure.’
The girl shrugged. ‘Do you want to do your own hair?’
Claudia regarded her reflection. Her sleekly styled hair was tousled from her recent close-arms engagement with Mac. It went with the bruise perfectly. ‘My hair’s fine the way it is.’ She pulled off the cape and thanked the girl before slipping her arm through Mac’s. ‘Come on, darling. I have a yearning for a glass of something wet and fizzy before the sound man comes looking for us.’
‘More champagne?’ he asked.
‘No, water. I’m less than half way through my day’s work,’ she said, propping herself up on a barstool.
He eased himself onto an adjoining stool. ‘I didn’t get a chance to tell you what I thought of the play last night.’
She took a sip of water. ‘Discretion,’ she reminded him, ‘is the better part of valour.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have bought a ticket,’ he confessed, ‘but it’s very stylish and the jokes still seem to work. The other girl is your sister?’
‘Melanie’s my half sister. We’ve different mothers. It seems impossible to believe now but none of us knew she existed until a couple of months ago, not even Dad.’
‘Really?’ He wasn’t convinced. She didn’t blame him.
‘It’s true. My mother was Elaine French.’
‘I know. Everyone’s heard of her.’
Who hadn’t? ‘Yes, well, she was badly hurt in a car accident at about the same time that Mel’s mother discovered she was pregnant. Rather than ask my father to make a choice she just went away and never told a soul who the father was. Not even Melanie. She died last year and Luke-’ She paused. This was getting complicated. She wasn’t even sure why she was telling him.
‘Luke?’ he prompted.
She shrugged. ‘Luke Devlin. He’s Melanie’s uncle, her mother’s younger brother. He discovered that Dad was Mel’s father and came looking for him with malice aforethought. Fortunately he met Fizz first and fell in love with her. She’s my other sister, a whole one this time, not half like Melanie.’
‘And she’s the pregnant one?’
‘That’s right. Felicity. The one who isn’t an actress.’ Claudia gave a little shrug. ‘She runs a radio station.’
‘You’re quite a family,’ he said.
There was an edge to his voice that she didn’t quite like. ‘Theatre is the family business, Mac. Is house-breaking yours?’
‘No. That’s an entirely new line of business.’ He stared into his glass. ‘In my family the men are soldiers. They always have been.’
‘Always?’ She regarded him coolly. ‘How long is always?’
‘How long have men been fighting? There was a MacIntyre with John Churchill at Blenheim. A couple battled across Spain with Wellington. One actually survived the charge of the Light Brigade-’
‘“... the glorious madness ...”?’
‘- and on a single day two brothers and a cousin died in the mud at Ypres.’ He glanced at her. ‘Not glorious, Claudia. War is a bloody business.’
She didn’t flinch from his criticism. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be flippant. Go on.’
‘There are always wars, Claudia. And always men stupid enough to fight them.’
‘You?’
‘I’m as stupid as the next man, I guess.’
Or maybe a man with little choice. ‘That’s quite some burden to carry around with you,’ she said. ‘How do you live up to that?’ She saw that she’d surp
rised him. Did he think she wouldn’t know what it was like to follow an illustrious line, to have everything you did analysed and compared?
‘Claudia, Mac,’ Barty gushed, as he pounced on them. ‘Thanks for coming. I’ll just run through what I want and then you can go and get miked up.’
Claudia almost felt the relief emanating from Gabriel MacIntyre. He was perfectly willing to tell the world about his illustrious ancestors, but she sensed a reluctance to talk about himself. Was he a flawed hero? Or not a hero at all? He was too young to have retired.
‘Claudia?’ Barty was looking at her, obviously expecting an answer. ‘Weren’t you listening?’
‘Sorry, I was distracted. I thought I saw somebody I knew.’
‘Well, you can go and talk to him afterwards.’ Why did everybody always assume it would be a him? ‘Now, listen,’ he instructed, as if it was her first day at primary school and he was the headmistress. Barty, Claudia thought, would be great in drag as the headmistress in one of those “Carry On...” films. ‘Since you made such a fuss about getting back to the theatre I’ve changed the running of the show and you’re on first. Mike’ll explain in the introduction why you’ve got to rush off.’ He gave her a petulant look. ‘That will give you a nice little hype for Private Lives.’
The play was sold out for weeks, but since gratitude was evidently expected, she smiled like a good little girl. ‘Thank you, Barty.’
‘We’ll run the film and when that’s over you’ll be called onto the set. There’ll be loads of applause so I want you to run down to the centre of the stage, arms raised in triumph.’
‘Oh, God,’ Mac groaned, as Barty demonstrated exactly what he wanted. Claudia coughed loudly to cover him.
Barty waited impatiently to her to finish. ‘Then Mike’ll tell you how much you raised for your charity and present the cheque.’
‘What is your charity?’ Mac asked, turning to Claudia.
‘A children’s hospice in Broomhill. My home town. Fizz began a campaign for it on her radio station last year. Luke has donated a site for it and raised some of the money through the City. But building work is starting next month and-’
‘Yes, yes,’ Barty said, impatiently. ‘It was a lovely choice. You’ll be glad to know that we’ve had an enormous response to the appeal and some lovely letters. A lot of people still remember your mother with great affection and you are so like her.’
‘I’m not in the least bit like her, Barty. She was-’ Mac’s fingers tightened warningly on her arm and she dragged at a breath, caught back the words. ‘She was a real star,’ she finished, slowly.
‘Yes, dear. She was utterly radiant. Your father must miss her dreadfully.’ Then he gave an awkward little laugh as he realised he had said something that perhaps wasn’t quite as true as everyone had once thought.
‘My father devoted himself to her until the day she died,’ Claudia said, through barely clenched teeth.
‘Yes. Well.’ He turned quickly to Mac. ‘Once we’ve given Claudia her cheque, we’ll thank you for all the work your team put in make the jump a success. Since you’re not taking the payment for your services personally, but for your own good cause, Mike will tell everyone about it, run the little film we made and after that you’ll get your own cheque. Okay? Right.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Time to get wired for sound. We’ll be ready to go in ten minutes. ‘
‘Is it too late to tiptoe out?’ Mac asked, as he watched Barty buttonhole his next victim.
‘Just grin and bear it,’ Claudia said. ‘Think of the people who’ll benefit because you were prepared to make a fool of yourself for a few minutes. And Mac...’ He tilted a questioning brow in her direction. ‘Thanks for stopping me from saying something I’d regret.’
‘Anytime.’
‘How did you know?’
‘You went sort of white around the nose. Adele does that just before she hits the roof. I had a very recent reminder of what that’s like.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s all right, Claudia. I understand.’
‘Do you?’
‘It can’t be much fun living in your mother’s shadow.’
‘Really?’ She stared at him, furious with herself for hoping that a man who lived under the weight of a whole regiment of heroes might actually have been just a little more sensitive. ‘I suggest you save your amateur psychology for those it impresses, Mac. You’ve got me all wrong.’
She spotted the sound man and crossed to him, leaving Mac to stay or go. She didn’t care either way.
He stayed and when he had been rigged up for sound he came to stand alongside her as the show started, watching the monitor as the film of her training sessions and the jump was shown. He put a hand on her arm as she tensed, but it didn’t look as bad as she had feared although her insides contracted uncomfortably as she hit the ground.
The next shot was her arrival back at the apron, the waiting champagne, Mac lifting her from the jeep. Mac kissing her. She held her breath as it was Mac’s turn to go rigid. Surely they wouldn’t show her slapping him? But the film froze on her just-kissed face, her lips soft, slightly parted, her eyes bright, filling the television screens in eleven million sitting rooms throughout the country.
She didn’t have time to think about that, not with the floor manager waving at them frantically to get onto the set. Mac caught her hand and they ran down onto the set to thunderous applause from the hyped-up studio audience.
Mike Grafton, the show’s host, beamed at them before turning back to the audience. ‘Let’s hear it for a brave young lady.’ The audience went wild. ‘And the lucky man who gave her all that support.’ Another cheer. ‘Do you think he deserves another kiss?’ he asked them.
‘You kiss him,’ Claudia muttered, but no one heard. The audience, being worked skilfully by Mike, was loudly roaring its assent.
‘How much is it worth?’ he asked them.
‘One thousand pounds,’ they shouted back with one voice.
He put his hand to his ear as if he hadn’t heard them. ‘How much?’
‘One thousand pounds, one thousand pounds, one thousand pounds,’ the primed audience chanted gleefully and Claudia’s insides curled up at this further indignity as Mike turned to her and Mac, hands open in an “over-to-you” gesture.
Claudia felt her insides contract again as Mac turned his blue eyes upon her. ‘It’s all in a good cause, sweetheart,’ he murmured, with the slightest lift of his brows.
‘Sure it is.’ She’d been set up, the audience primed in advance by the warm-up man and there was no way out, but if Barty James thought he was going to get off that cheaply he had seriously underestimated her. She turned and looked up at the audience, then putting her hand to her ear in an imitation of Mike’s gesture she called out, ‘How much?’
She made an upward gesture with her other hand and the audience, assuming this was all part of the fun, didn’t need any encouragement. ‘Two thousands pounds,’ they chanted, noisily.
Claudia placed her hands on her hips and stared up at them. ‘Only two thousand?’ she demanded. ‘You can do better than that. Think of all those sick children.’
‘Three,’ they shouted back, gleefully. ‘Three thousand pounds.’
She turned to Mac with a broad gesture of disgust at their cheapness. Mac, taking his cue from her, joined in.
‘Come on now,’ he encouraged them. ‘It isn’t coming out of your pockets. Mike’s got the money burning a hole in his wallet right now. Just say the word.’ The audience obliged.
Mike Grafton, realising his show was being hijacked, quickly joined in hoisting up the price until Barty James’ frantic signals brought him to a halt.
‘Well, Claudia,’ he said, turning to her. ‘The audience want another kiss and we like to keep our audience happy even if it means we have to give seven thousand pounds to your good cause.’ Off camera, Barty’s expression suggested that it was coming straight out of his veins. ‘What do you say?’
Claudia s
miled sweetly. ‘I say you should double it.’
Mike gave a nervous laugh. ‘Double it?’ On the edge of the set she saw Barty groan, but he knew when he was beaten and he nodded once before disappearing to grab a large whisky that had magically appeared in front of him. Mike, determined to make the most of this turn of events, turned to the audience.
‘Double it!’ he repeated. ‘Shall we ask Gabriel MacIntyre if he thinks she’s worth it?’
Claudia was aware that Mac was looking at her, but she was incapable of meeting his eyes. Instead she kept her professional smile turned on the audience as an expectant silence settled over the studio.
‘She’s worth every penny,’ Mac said.
The audience loved it, but Mike held up his hand for silence, then as the studio darkened, he stood back leaving them in a sudden bright spotlight.
It was nothing, Claudia told herself. A stage kiss meant nothing. But Mac made no move to help her out. Maybe he was remembering what had happened last time and he was leaving it up to her to take the lead. Slowly she turned to him, took his hands in hers for a moment.
‘We’d better give them their money’s worth, darling,’ she said, then reached up to put her arms around his neck.
‘Have we got that long?’ he murmured softly.
She didn’t answer, she simply raised herself on tiptoe and pressing herself against him, she kissed him. Cold, calculated and entirely without feeling, it was undoubtedly the most brazen kiss she had ever given, on stage or off. An unabashed, no-holds-barred plundering of his lips and for a moment she felt him tense against the unexpected onslaught.
Just for a moment.
Then his arm tightened about her waist and he was in control, kissing her back, raiding the softness of her mouth, stealing the very breath from her body. One moment she was firmly in control of the situation, dictating the pace, the manner of a very public kiss. Then, quite suddenly she wasn’t.
Startled by the sudden switch she froze. But as his body moulded itself to her, his arms about her waist lifting her from the floor, taking her weight, all the anger at being set up like this seeped away from her and she bunched his sweater beneath her fingers, clinging to him.
