by Liz Fielding
He would keep scooping her up. Kissing her at the slightest excuse.
Her lips burned with the memory of the way he had kissed her in her dressing room. She glanced at herself in the mirror, all dewy eyed and idiotic for heaven’s sake! She wasn’t fooled by that was she?
She wasn’t averse to having men fall in love with her. She rather liked it. She had almost come to think of it as her right. But she didn’t encourage expectations of a more physical kind.
What about Tony? her subconscious probed, unkindly. Claudia sighed. She had been so naive about Tony. She thought he had genuinely liked her when he must simply have been taking sex for granted. Why else would a married man have bothered?
Why else was Mac bothering?
It wasn’t as if she’d given him encouragement of any kind. Quite the reverse. Most men who’d been very publicly slapped would have backed off and you wouldn’t have seen their heels for dust. But then Mac - no, Gabriel, she corrected herself carefully - wasn’t like most men. He had a careless arrogance that set him apart. They shared that same cavalier disregard for the opinion of others, Claudia realised, if nothing else.
Except, of course, she did care. She just wasn’t prepared to let it show. When people saw that you cared, they could hurt you.
She let herself out the bathroom. ‘It’s all yours,’ she called, as she crossed the hall to her bedroom.
He appeared in the kitchen door with the sheet still looped casually about his waist. It was breaking all the laws of physics and defying gravity. But only just.
‘What is?’ he asked, with look that was clearly calculated to provoke her.
You see, she told herself, closing the bedroom door with a crisp little click. Give him an inch and he’d help himself to the entire tape measure. And if she wasn’t very careful she would be the one left measuring out her foolishness in heartache.
The sooner this mess was cleared up and he was on his way, the better. If only she could think of someone who might want to make her life a misery.
It wasn’t as if she’d snatched any plum roles from beneath the nose of some other actress. She pulled a face. At least not lately. If anything, it had been the other way around. She’d lost a part in a film because the leading man had wanted his latest girlfriend to have it. But that had been partly her fault too. As her agent, and her father, had both pointed out in an unnecessarily sanctimonious fashion, if she’d signed the contract on the dotted line instead of pushing for a better deal, they wouldn’t have been able to switch her at the last minute.
Then a series of chocolate commercials had been cancelled.
She had suggested to Mac that Luke had twisted her arm to appear in Private Lives. The truth was that at the time she was glad to do it. And then the television series had fallen into her lap at the last moment. She paused, one leg in a pair of exquisite wide-legged russet trousers; she’d replaced Joanna Gray at the last moment because Jo had broken her arm skiing just before filming was due to start. Could she be feeling resentful?
Claudia stopped, horrified at the direction her thoughts were taking. Joanna was an old friend from RADA; they’d worked together, partied together, flirted with the same men. And she was a professional. Joanna knew that film companies couldn’t wait while broken arms healed.
She certainly wouldn’t be petty enough to blame her own misfortune on her replacement, or spiteful enough to write poisonous letters.
They’d had lunch together just before the weekend and Jo had gone out of her way to reassure her about the wretched parachute jump when Claudia had joked that she could step into her role in Private Lives if she broke her leg. Or worse.
Claudia fastened the trousers, slipped on the long, straight collarless jacket and lifted the collar of her pale peach silk shirt so that it stood up a little. Then she caught her hair back at the nape of her neck with a comb. Elegant, but casual, she thought, pleased with the result. After-dark glamour for breakfast television was so tacky.
Leaning towards the mirror to double check her light make-up, she realised it hadn’t covered the shadow of the bruise on her cheek. She shrugged. She was certain to be asked about the parachute jump and it would provide a talking point. She just hoped no one asked her about Mac. Gabriel. She’d better not get that wrong again.
Why was she finding it so hard?
What on earth had made her call him that in the first place? The way he had held her, the way he had kissed her. Like a lover. She recoiled from the word. Was she going quite mad? A tap on the door saved her from the embarrassment of answering herself.
‘Good grief,’ Gabriel exclaimed as she opened the door.
‘That bad, huh?’
‘You look fabulous. In less than fifteen minutes. How on earth do you do it?’
She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased with the compliment, or cross at his assumption that it would take hours to make herself look presentable. She settled for neutral.
‘I’ve had years of practise, Gabriel.’ See, it wasn’t so very hard, was it? ‘The ability to transform yourself into someone else is part of the job. You don’t have hours when the performance is live.’
He frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘So?’ Her eyes flickered quickly over the close fitting denims, the soft linen shirt he was wearing. He looked pretty good himself. Whatever had made her think of him as rough-hewn? ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.
‘You should have some breakfast before you go.’
Nobody had been that concerned about her since she had waved goodbye to her last nanny. It was unexpected, a little unnerving. The man had a way of getting to her, but she couldn’t afford to be soft.
‘Should I?’ she asked. ‘One of your bacon doorsteps?’
‘Don’t mock, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.’
‘That depends who you’re having it with.’ She threw the words away carelessly enough, but as she deliberately put the distance between them, her throat closed tight. Don’t make a fuss of me, she begged silently. Don’t pretend to care.
His jaw tightened noticeably. ‘I made some toast.’
‘How domesticated of you. I never could get the hang of that toaster,’ she said, dismissively. ‘But they’ll give us a proper breakfast at the studio. Provided we’re not late.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got plenty of time. I’d like to call at the theatre on the way. I left my briefcase there last night and if I’m going to be sitting around half the morning waiting for you, I might just be able to get on with some work.’
‘Not half the morning.’ She managed a smile. ‘And I can promise you, darling, you won’t be doing much sitting around today.’
‘Oh? Is there something else you’ve forgotten to tell me about?’
‘I don’t think so. I did mention that I have a late night chat show after the performance tonight?’
‘Yes, you did.’ She spread her hands out, as if that was sufficient explanation. ‘So?’ he demanded, apparently unable to make the connection.
‘So I need a new dress. So this morning I’m going shopping.’
He exploded. ‘No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.’
‘Forbid it?’ she repeated, her voice dangerously low.
He must have realised that it was a mistake to challenge her because he immediately changed his tactics. ‘Be reasonable, Claudia.’ He was learning fast, she thought. ‘I can’t possibly guarantee your safety while you trawl the shops.’
But not fast enough. “Trawl the shops” indeed!
‘I need a new dress, Gabriel, not a parcel of herring.’
‘For heaven’s sake, you must have something suitable.’ He didn’t wait to be told, but strode across to the wardrobe and flung open the door while the protest was still forming in her head. ‘There,’ he said, as if he had proved his point. ‘It’s full of dresses.’
An exaggeration. It was full of clothes and there were quite a few evening dresses, but nothing right. ‘I need a n
ew one.’
He wasn’t so easily persuaded, but pulled out the first one he laid his hand on. Then he looked at it and swore, very softly. It was that kind of dress, a bright red sheath of clinging material that shimmered from her breasts to her ankles. It was, in fact, the dress she had planned to wear, but she had decided, when she had looked at it last night, that she didn’t feel quite comfortable in it any more. He must have felt the same way about it, because he quickly pushed it back, grabbing for the safety of a little black number.
‘I don’t think so,’ Claudia said, regarding the once treasured dress dispassionately. ‘It’s a style that’s become rather passe.’
He considered it. ‘It does have one thing in its favour.’ She raised an enquiring brow. ‘If the slasher had a go at it you could just add a few more safety pins and no one would ever ...’ She could actually see the moment he realised he had put his foot in his mouth. Right up to the ankle. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You are in desperate need of a new dress.’
‘I knew you’d understand. But you don’t have to come with me. I was going to ask Melanie to keep me company.’
‘Considering the size of my mouth I consider that a most generous offer, Claudia. But I’m afraid I do have to come with you. I promised-’
‘Luke,’ she completed for him. ‘I knew I should never have left you two alone to gang up on me.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d been there.’
‘You really believe that?’
‘You’re just so used to getting your own way, Claudia that you think you can ride rough shod over other people. It doesn’t always work. I promised Luke I would look after you and that’s what I intend to do. Whether you like it or not.’
He paused, offering her the chance to argue, but she didn’t take it. She knew when she was on a hiding to nothing. And apparently satisfied that he had made his point, he replaced the black dress in the wardrobe and closed the door.
She might have been put very firmly in her place, Claudia decided, but honours were just about even, since she had won over the shopping trip and because of that she was prepared to be generous. ‘There’ll be no crowds, I promise. Just a few little boutiques. And just to prove how much I appreciate it, I’ll take you out to lunch.’
He muttered something under his breath, but he made no further objection to her plans. Claudia tactfully kept her smile of satisfaction to herself, but mentally she chalked it up as a definite win on points.
While Claudia did her stuff for the television cameras, expertly fielding questions about rumours of romance, telling the viewers what it was like to step into her mother’s shoes and take over a role she had made her own, Gabriel MacIntyre listened to the tapes he had collected from the theatre.
As he anticipated, there was nothing of earth-shattering interest. Certainly nothing that appeared to threaten Claudia, although that didn’t mean anything very much. Only that if someone inside the theatre wished her harm, they were too bright to tell anyone else, at least on the telephone.
Disappointingly, Phillip Redmond’s calls were strictly business.
He left the tape from Claudia’s telephone until last. He found the idea of eavesdropping on her private calls particularly distasteful, but if she did suspect who was involved and was protecting the culprit out of some misguided sense of loyalty, he had to know.
He didn’t discover anything about the attacker, but he did discover something else. Something that made him smile.
Claudia had suggested to her father that he should go and see Diana, because her pub and the village green were ideal as the location for a new television programme he was planning. And she had suggested Heather might be used in some minor role, a kindness the girl scarcely deserved.
*****
Shopping was a nightmare. In the linen-fold panelled study at Winterbourne Manor it had seemed easy to rationalise his promise to Luke Devlin to look after his sister-in-law. He had his own reasons for wanting to know who had managed to get to her parachute, after all a security company that couldn’t keep its own premises secure wouldn’t be in business for long.
And Claudia’s security wouldn’t be a problem. He’d assign someone reliable, install CCTV cameras, intercept her calls and mail and within a week it would all be over.
Then he’d heard himself telling her that the best way to handle close security was for him to move in with her, play the lover for a media panting for the story and throw the anonymous letter writer off the scent.
It had sounded right. He had apparently convinced her. He must have convinced himself because until half-an-hour ago, Gabriel realised, he had believed it. But the minute he had walked into a Knightsbridge boutique he had recognised the sham for what it was.
He would never, never have come into a dress shop with another client. He’d have summoned up female reinforcements and retired to a safe distance; there were plenty of well-trained women who would have jumped at the chance to show him what they could do when it came to close protection.
But he discovered that he wasn’t prepared to trust Claudia’s safety to anyone else, even when it meant he had to sit on a small, spindly-legged chair while Claudia explained exactly what she had in mind to the frighteningly elegant woman who owned the boutique.
‘It’s not your usual style, Claudia.’
‘I know, Lucy. But I think I’m getting a little bit tired of shocking people just for the sake of it. The trouble is whenever I attempt elegance I’m always compared with my mother. Unfavourably.’
‘No one can compete with perfection. I know everyone was raving over that photograph of you, but I’m not at all sure it was wise of you to pose for it, even if it meant you were on the cover. You’re not a bit like Elaine French.’
‘Not perfect?’
‘There’s something so unnerving about perfection, don’t you think? You should be concentrating on your own image, Claudia.’
‘It’s my image that’s bothering me.’
‘I’m inclined to agree that you’re getting a little bit old to be playing the enfant terrible.’
Claudia didn’t take offence at this remark. She’d once heard Lucy tell a twenty-year-old she was too old to be wearing white broderie anglaise frills.
‘It’s why I’ve come to you, Lucy. I need to reinvent myself and I trust your judgement.’
‘Reinventing yourself takes time. Unless you do it gradually people are inclined to notice and snigger. Of course you could get married and produce an infant.’ Lucy glanced at Gabriel sitting on the far side of the boutique, looking decidedly ill-at-ease. ‘The tabloid press are such suckers for motherhood.’
‘Don’t even think it.’
‘No? Pity. In that case you’d better come through to the fitting room.’ She nodded in Mac’s direction and raised her voice slightly. ‘Will he let you out of his sight for a few minutes? Or shall we have him in to help with the hooks and eyes?’
Claudia couldn’t quite meet Gabriel’s eyes. ‘I think between us we can manage.’
‘Good, this could take some time and your man appears to be something of a draw.’ Lucy looked around at the unusually large number of women who were apparently browsing through the day wear and then smiled at Claudia. ‘I don’t suppose you’d rent him out by the hour?’
‘Mr MacIntyre is a free agent. Why don’t you make him an offer?’ Hopefully one he couldn’t refuse.
For their shopping trip Mac had used the discreet taxi service he favoured, unwilling to risk parking problems and when Claudia emerged from the fitting room without any evidence of having found anything to suit her, he sighed and called it up on his mobile.
‘Don’t look so desperate. I’ve found exactly what I wanted, but it needs a tuck. Lucy will send the dress over when it’s done. Now,’ she said, as they stepped out onto the sunny pavement, ‘it’s time for lunch.’
‘We should get back to the flat. I’ll make you an omelette,’ he offered, in an attempt to persuade her to
behave.
‘How tempting.’ Her smile was positively wicked. ‘But I’ve booked a table at my favourite restaurant and no one’s going to do anything stupid in such a public place.’
He recognised a certain look that he was getting to know rather well. It suggested, quite forcibly, that an argument would be futile. And she was probably right. Tactics so far suggested the kind of man who crept around in the dark to do his dirty work. A fashionable restaurant, and he was certain that the restaurant would be fashionable, was the last place he would attack.
The light airy atmosphere of the place reassured him and the tables were far enough apart for him to see anyone coming. ‘Don’t look so tense, darling,’ Claudia murmured as they were shown to a table in the window. He wasn’t so happy about sitting in the window.
‘Anyone could see us here,’ he complained. He’d expected to be somewhere in the centre of the room, lost in the crowds.
‘That’s the point. We’re an attraction, that’s why we’ve been honoured.’
‘It’s an honour to be gawked at while we’re eating our lunch?’ He wasn’t convinced. ‘Anyone would think you were trying to draw attention to yourself. What have you got arranged for this afternoon? A quiet bungee jump at Tower Bridge? A nude swim in the Serpentine? A sponsored-’
She laid a hand over his. ‘A quiet lie down in a darkened room with you guarding my door, darling. We can discuss which side of it over lunch if you like.’ Then she stood up.
Still open-mouthed at her ability to take him by surprise, he rose quickly to his feet. ‘Where are you going now?’
‘To powder my nose. Would you like to come and watch?’
‘This is ridiculous, Claudia. You’re not making any effort to co-operate with me. I absolutely insist-’
‘Shush, darling. People are looking.’
‘Isn’t that what you want?’
‘The more people who are looking, the less likelihood that my personal fiend will attack, don’t you think? He seems more like a hole-in-the-corner operative to me.’
