Beaumont Brides Collection (Wild Justice, Wild Lady, Wild Fire)

by Liz Fielding

  Her mother had never had any of this, the old church decked out in spring flowers, the solemn vows, the expensive reception that would follow it.

  Not that Juliet would have bothered about the rich trappings of ceremony. A simple register office wedding would have been enough. But her mother had been denied any public acknowledgement of Edward’s passionate love for her.

  She had lived out her life with only her daughter to remind her of a love so great that she had sacrificed everything for it. And she had died before Edward had discovered what she had done and been able to put things right. If she had lived this might have been her day.

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and made an effort to concentrate on the service. But as she looked up she caught Heather Archer’s gaze fixed upon her from the other side of the church and saw the shocking reflection of her own thoughts in the younger girl’s face. Maybe she was remembering the other ghost at the feast, her own beloved father.

  Melanie, the smooth skin between her dark eyes momentarily creased in the slightest of frowns, continued to regard the other girl, this new member of a family that seemed to be growing almost daily, first with the birth of Fizz’s daughter, then Claudia’s marriage to Gabriel. Now Edward was taking a new wife. There seemed to have been nothing but celebrations in the last year.

  But Heather, his new stepdaughter, eighteen years old and dressed like a black scarecrow in her student uniform of Oxfam cast-offs that would have looked more at home at a funeral than a wedding, wasn’t celebrating.

  The only difference between the two of them, Mel decided, was that Heather didn’t care who knew it.

  If she didn’t make an effort to counteract the tears stinging at her eyelids, everyone would know how she was feeling too. Not that there was anything wrong with tears. Both Fizz and Claudia were dabbing at their eyes with delicate lace-edged handkerchiefs. Tears at a wedding were to be expected, almost mandatory, but they were supposed to be tears of happiness.

  Irritated with herself, reminding herself that she had been acting professionally since she was ten years old, she assumed a serene smile. But the need to lever a smile to her lips on what should have been the happiest of days forced her to come to a decision that she had been putting off.

  It was more than a year since she had come to England. It had been a momentous year, a wonderful year. She had found a family she had never known existed, they had taken her to their hearts and she had wallowed in the kind of family life that she had never experienced before. But when she had added Beaumont to her name, Melanie Brett had somehow got just a little bit lost.

  Luke should have understood. Her mother’s younger brother, he was surely sharing just a little of her feelings today? Except that he was now a part of the extended Beaumont family. Married to Fizz and with a darling baby daughter to take up every moment, he was distracted by his own happiness and she couldn’t deny him that.

  Maybe if she had had a love of her own she would have been less wrapped up in the past. But for weeks the past had been tugging at her sleeve, calling her back and it was, Melanie decided, time to take a look back, remind herself who she was. Before she forgot.

  *****

  After Edward and Diana had left the reception, she sought out Luke to tell him what she intended to do.

  ‘You’re taking a year off?’ he repeated, in all too obvious disbelief. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘I’ve been working practically non-stop since I was ten years old, Luke. I’m not complaining, I nagged Mum to let me do it, I was the envy of all my friends and I loved every moment of it, but I’m entitled to a holiday. So I’m adding up all the holidays I’ve missed out on over the last ten years and I figure a year off is about right.’

  ‘Can you take a year off in your business? Aren’t you afraid that when you come back everyone will have forgotten you?’

  ‘I’m prepared to take that risk.’

  He still looked doubtful. ‘You’ll be bored to death in ten minutes.’ Melanie stifled her irritation. Luke didn’t mean to be patronizing, it was just that he’d been a surrogate father to her for so long that he couldn’t quite come to terms with the fact that she was an adult.

  ‘I won’t be bored. And if I am I’ll get a job. Something ordinary. I’ve never done anything ordinary.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that “ordinary” is over-rated.’ Luke, still regarding her with concern, was distracted by his wife waving frantically from the other side of the room. ‘Fizz wants to take the baby home, Mel. Can we talk about this later?’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Luke. I’m not asking your permission here, or asking you to hold my hand. I’m just letting you know my plans so that you won’t worry. Will you say goodbye to everyone for me?’

  Melanie watched Luke struggle to keep his silence knowing that he wanted to tell her that nothing would ever stop him from worrying about his sister’s little girl. Instead he said, somewhat gruffly, ‘We’ll miss you, Mel.’ Then he bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Keep in touch. If you need anything -’

  ‘I’ll send you a postcard.’

  *****

  Her agent was less sanguine. ‘You can’t leave London now, Mel.’ Trudy Morgan tapped a script lying on the desk in front of her. ‘This,’ she said, ‘could have been written for you.’

  ‘Really?’ Mel was standing at the window staring down into the street where a mime artist had attracted a small crowd. He was working them with great skill drawing them into his routine, making them laugh at him, making them laugh at themselves. ‘Then I’m sorry. But I meant it when I said I won’t be available for a while.’

  ‘Read it, Mel. You’ll love it. And you’re perfect for the part.’

  Mel shrugged. She had no intention of taking a part in a sitcom but she knew Trudy meant well so she picked up the script, glanced at the character outlines. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, pulling a face. ‘I get to play the dizzy blonde, right?’

  ‘The part could have been written for you.’

  ‘Could it? I’m blonde,’ she agreed. ‘So is any other actress with access to a bottle of peroxide -’ ‘Maybe. But not everyone can play sweet and dizzy as convincingly as you, darling.’

  Melanie knew her agent meant that as a compliment and that was part of the problem. ‘I’m sure this is a gift,’ she said, replacing the script on the desk, ‘but I’ve been playing a dizzy blonde since I was ten years old, Trudy. Pre-pubescent cute, boy-mad adolescent, teenager in the throes of calf love and then true romance and a wedding so beautiful that it made the fans weep in the streets. I’m twenty-one in a few weeks, Trudy. I’m sick of playing the sweet girl next door.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Ah? What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She took back the script and put it away in a drawer. ‘I’ll give you a call when the National are auditioning for Ophelia, shall I?’

  Mel could usually tell when she was being teased but this time she wasn’t quite certain. ‘Does the National audition leading roles?’ she asked, her own tongue firmly in her cheek.

  Trudy didn’t laugh. ‘You might get lucky.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I don’t think you do.’ Her agent, Mel realized with a shock, was angry. ‘You may have been a soap queen in Australia since you were knee high to a dung beetle, Melanie. And there was a time when every schoolgirl in Britain rushed home after school to watch the series too, so your name is well-known in Britain to a mainly young, mainly female audience.’ She placed her hands on the desk and leaned towards Mel. ‘That’s good. That I can sell. That’s your value to a producer. You have to capitalize on that.’

  ‘What about Private Lives?’

  ‘An ingénue role in a play directed by your father, launched on money put up by your uncle and starring your sister. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you were playing a dumb blonde in that too.’

  ‘It was a box office success,’ Mel protested. ‘It made money hand over fist.’
<
br />   ‘Well, Luke Devlin has the Midas touch, even when he’s indulging his niece. And all that tear-wrenching publicity when Edward Beaumont told the world that you were his love child didn’t exactly harm the box-office. As a dizzy blonde you’re bankable, Mel, but you haven’t got the track record for anything tougher. And this is a tough business. No one can afford to take the risk that you’ll fall flat on your face.’

  ‘Taken to its ultimate conclusion that suggests I’ll still be playing the same role when I’m fifty.’

  ‘You’d never be out of work.’

  ‘Frankly, I’d rather quit now.’

  Trudy did not back down. ‘Well, maybe you should think about that, Melanie. That way I won’t be wasting my time chasing parts that you think you’re too good for.’ She eased back slightly, tilting her head in a gentle query. ‘Or maybe you can persuade Uncle Luke to underwrite your career,’ she suggested, with calculated cruelty. ‘I warn you, he’ll find Shakespeare a lot more expensive than a popular four-hander.’

  ‘I notice you haven’t suggested I appeal to my father?’

  ‘Your father has been in the business a long time. He’s got more sense.’

  ‘He was keen to do The Three Sisters with Fizz and Claudia -’

  ‘It would have had a certain curiosity value,’ Trudy admitted, ‘although it has been done before.’

  ‘I see.’ Mel’s heart was beating with almost painful slowness. ‘Tell me, Trudy, are you trying to tell me that I’m at my personal zenith? That this is as far as I’m ever likely to go?’

  ‘Who can tell?’ She waved her hand dismissively as Mel began to protest. ‘You don’t lack talent, darling, or you wouldn’t be in my office, no matter who your father is. But we have a problem with the public perception of you. You’re light, you’re fun. But would you pay good money to go and see yourself as Lady Macbeth?’

  That didn’t even merit a response. She was far too young for the part and they both knew it. ‘No, but it might be fun to try Portia. Or what about Nora?’ she said, in a moment of inspiration. Ibsen’s heroine made her point exactly.

  Trudy’s reaction was less than flattering. ‘Are you serious? That’s a role for an accomplished actress.’

  ‘I know, darling,’ she said, putting on a grand dame voice. ‘Someone terribly distinguished.’ Then she shrugged. ‘And years too old for the part. They used to say the same thing about Juliet.’

  ‘Melanie -’

  ‘And you have to agree that on the surface Nora is just about the dizziest creature in the theatrical cannon.’

  ‘Yes, but-’

  ‘Yes, but, Trudy. It’s all just an act. I know. And I know exactly how it’s done. I do it myself every time I step on stage or in front of a television camera.’

  Trudy was stunned. ‘You’re telling me that you’re prepared to turn down a sitcom by writers with a track record for success, a role that could turn you into a household name, for a dream?’

  ‘Why not?’ Everything she’d said was true. And if it made Trudy think twice about her career she was quite prepared to let her believe it. ‘We all need dreams, Trudy. They might as well be big ones.’

  ‘And if you fell flat on your face?’

  ‘I would have tried.’

  For a moment the older woman was lost for words, then she busied herself about her desk, straightening papers, pins. ‘Yes, well, dreams come expensive. Your problem, my girl, is that you don’t have to work to eat. I do.’ This time the dismissive gesture had a finality about it. ‘I can’t afford to waste my time on dreams. Call me when you’ve come to your senses.’

  ‘That’s the whole point, Trudy. I have come to my senses.’

  ‘What’s sensible about taking a year off when you’re being offered work? Save your holiday for the time when the phone doesn’t ring.’

  ‘This is more than a holiday. I’ve missed out on a lot of ordinary life.’

  ‘Ordinary life?’ Trudy snorted. ‘All you’ll do is lotus-eat on some Aussie beach and listen to your friends tell you how wonderful you are while they eat your prawns and drink another crate of Fosters.’

  ‘You really think I’m that shallow?’

  ‘I think that’s about as close to ordinary life as you’re ever likely to come. Ask Claudia what it takes to become a real success, Mel. Your sister sweated her socks off to get where she is but she has no illusions, she knows that the theatre is a looking-glass world where it takes all the running you can do to stay in the same place. If you want to actually get somewhere you have to work at least twice as hard as that.’

  ‘I’m not running away from hard work. I’m refusing to repeat myself endlessly until I start to believe that’s all I can do.’

  ‘Really? Well you’re in the fortunate position of being able to take that line. You’ve been working for ten years and your clever uncle has invested all the money you’ve earned so that you can afford to be picky. Perhaps that’s your real problem. You’ve never had to struggle or call on any deep reserves of strength to see you through months, years even without a decent part. You’re like an oyster without the grit, Mel, a soft-centred chocolate, a little treat that slides down without any effort. Maybe you should go away and grow up a bit. But you won’t do it lying on beach, contemplating your navel.’

  Mel had been holding her feelings in check for weeks. Trying not to show her unhappiness because she knew she was being unfair to her family. She knew her feelings were unreasonable. It had been her mother’s decision to stay away from Edward and he’d suffered every bit as much as she had. But that didn’t make them any less real and Trudy’s scathing attack was the final straw.

  ‘You think not knowing who your father is until you’re nineteen years old is easy? You think working on a soap opera day in and day out and still getting good school grades is easy?’ She placed her hands flat on the desk and looked her agent straight in the face. ‘You think sitting and watching your mother die is easy? You’ve seen me this year with my father and Claudia and Fizz, playing happy families at first nights and weddings and christenings. But don’t think you know me, because you don’t.’ She straightened, gathered her jacket and bag and paused in the doorway just long enough to say, ‘Don’t call me, Trudy, when I’m ready to start playing at make-believe again I’ll call you.’

  As the door slammed behind her Trudy Morgan stared for a moment and then gave a hoot of laughter.

  She would never have believed Melanie had it in her. Still chuckling she crossed to the window. Would the girl still be travelling on a head a steam by the time she reached the square. Or would she have had time to calm down?

  *****

  Steaming. Seeing through a red mist, positively vibrating with rage, her heart alone would have made redundant the entire timpani section of an orchestra. Melanie’s whole body was focused on her one purpose, to catch the first available flight to Sydney where she was the hometown girl made good that the crowds turned out for and not just another Beaumont.

  And a second-class, inferior sort of Beaumont at that.

  She didn’t even see the white-faced mime artist do a classic double take. Nor did she hear the ripple of laughter from his audience.

  Swept along on a tide of blistering rage, her angry momentum carried her through the heavy glass door of the travel agent’s office with such speed that the man approaching it from the other side was forced to step back sharply to escape the abrupt and painful rearrangement of his profile. And still she was oblivious to her surroundings until, on a reflex honed by an acute sense of self-preservation, the man grabbed her shoulders to prevent her from cannoning into him.

  ‘Hey, there, slow down.’ The abrupt jolt almost stunned her, so deep had she been in her fury, so intent in her purpose. Melanie had never been so angry, had no idea that it was possible to feel that way and she raised her hand to her forehead, dazed by the suddenness with which she had been wrenched out of her temper. ‘Are you all right?’

  All right? Of all the stupid... Of
course she wasn’t all right! Then she took a deep shuddering breath. It wasn’t this man’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It would have been so much simpler if it were.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she began. ‘I’m afraid I wasn’t looking...’ And then she was. Looking straight up into a pair of steel grey eyes that were regarding her with more than a touch of impatience. His voice too, she realized, had been more irritated than concerned. And with awareness came the realization that his hands were still clamped to her shoulders. The man clearly thought that if he didn’t hold on her she might collapse at his feet. And his expression left her in no doubt that he didn’t want the bother of picking her up again. About par for the day, in fact. She took a short breath and very firmly stepped back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated.

  And then one of the girls who worked in the office was at his side. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Wolfe?’ she asked. ‘Are you hurt?’

  His eyes never left Melanie’s face and she gave another little gasp as something seemed to heat in them, something intense, something she thought, almost desperate. Then, whatever it was had been obliterated and his eyes were as cold as steel.

  ‘I’m fine. I can’t say the same for this young woman.’ He stared at her for a moment longer, then eased his shoulders in a movement so slight that it could scarcely to be classed as a shrug. ‘You’d better slow down before you hurt yourself. Or someone else,’ he said. Then he nodded briefly to the girl at Melanie’s side.

  ‘I’ll call back for the tickets in about twenty minutes.’

  Melanie shivered slightly, but couldn’t have said whether it was the suddenness with which he had jolted her from her temper, or the strange impact of the man’s eyes that made her feel as if she had been touched by a force of nature. A damped down, hidden force. Like a slumbering volcano.

  ‘If you’d like to come and sit down, one of our assistants will help you.’ Melanie had quite forgotten the girl at her elbow, but now as she looked round the office she discovered herself to be the single point on which every gaze was fixed.

  ‘What? Oh, no. No. It’s all right.’ She was already backing out of the office as fast as her slightly shaky legs would carry her. ‘I think I’d better... That is, I need to think...’ She stopped, took a steadying breath. ‘I’ll come back later.’ Maybe. The girl’s concern was palpable and Melanie did her best to produce a reassuring smile. ‘I think I need a few minutes to gather my thoughts. I’ll go and have some coffee.’