by Liz Fielding
But then, that was part of Caro’s attraction.
Then she had arrived at the airport looking like a million dollars and he knew he’d been taken for a fool. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. But he would. No one took him for a fool and got away without paying for the privilege. But he intended that the payment should be pleasurable. ‘Jack?’ she prompted.
‘Yes, it’s a jungle,’ he agreed, bringing his attention firmly back to the problem in hand.
If she wasn’t who or what she had seemed, then who was she? Really? Not just some girl who had ideas of being an actress that was certain. Or maybe she was. Maybe Latham had convinced her that he could find her work if did this for him. Or was that what he wanted to believe? If so, he was a fool. But he didn’t have to keep on being one.
He smiled at her. She smiled back a little uncertainly, took a rather large swallow of champagne. Despite her careful veneer of self-assurance, she was nervous. He raised a finger and the waiter refilled her glass.
‘What is it?’ she asked, when he continued to smile at her.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. But it just occurred to me how little I know about you. Apart from your name.’
‘Are you sure you even know that?’ she enquired, archly.
‘It was on your passport.’ There was no reason to believe it was anything other than genuine, but he’d already given Mike the number and asked him to check it out. Just in case.
‘That’s true,’ she agreed. Up to a point.
Born Melanie Devlin, acted for years as Melanie Brett, but since her London debut she had taken her father’s name and become a Beaumont. It had been a little late for Edward to adopt her, she was already an adult. But he had been keen for her to change her name formally.
She’d think about it when she got home. Maybe Heather would like to add it to her name, too. Or there again, maybe she wouldn’t.
Jack, she realized, was waiting for more.
‘You’ve never wanted to know anything else,’ she said, somewhat abruptly.
Jack swivelled the glass between his fingers, watching the delicate trails of bubbles rise to the surface. Then he looked up, caught her staring at him. ‘In that case I’ve been a fool, Miss Devlin. You are clearly a very remarkable young woman and I’m seriously interested in everything about you. We have all evening so why don’t you tell me about yourself. I want to know...’ - and he smiled again - ‘...everything.’
And it was obvious that he did. Mel wondered why. Why now? Surely he should have asked her that before hauling her across the Atlantic? She returned his smile, took another sip of champagne and then quite deliberately kept him waiting.
‘I really should know a few details,’ he prompted, ‘in case anyone asks.’
He hid his irritation well, Mel thought as she watched him. But he was irritated. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. He didn’t like it while she, conversely, had begun to enjoy herself.
‘Make it up,’ she invited.
‘We might give different answers to the same questions,’ he pointed out quite reasonably.
She raised her brows a notch. ‘Who’s going to be interrogating us?’ He didn’t offer an answer and she leaned forward, lowering her voice to whisper. ‘The camouflagee?’
‘The what?’
‘The camouflagee. If I’m camouflage, there must be someone around trying to spot the join, or what’s the point?’
He stared at her for a moment, then he laughed. She was good. Very good. ‘You’re a bright girl, Melanie,’ he conceded. ‘So I don’t have to explain why it’s so important that we get our story straight. Where do you live, for instance?’
‘Not with you?’ she asked, lifting a well-shaped brow into a delicate arch. ‘How very old-fashioned.’
‘I am old-fashioned.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, ‘Would you want to live with me? If we were lovers?’ Melanie blushed and quite suddenly Jack laughed. She wasn’t that good, not with skin that blushed like a ripe peach to betray her. She was glaring him at him for laughing at her blushes. ‘I’m sorry. That was unkind. But as I’m sure you’ve realized, I prefer to live alone.’
‘Yes, I realized. Poor Caroline.’
‘She knew, Melanie. Don’t waste your pity on her.’
‘God, but you’re a cold-hearted bastard.’
‘You are not the first person to have made that observation.’
Why did people say cold, he wondered, when they meant unfeeling? His heart wasn’t cold; it had simply stopped functioning as anything but an efficient pump the day Lisette had been mown down. They called him cold because he had channelled all his passion into making money but he had been able to use it to do some good.
He realized she was staring at him and he straightened slightly. ‘I thought we’d agreed not to mention Caroline again. It’s your life story I’m interested in.’ There was a long pause while he waited for her to continue. She didn’t. ‘So where do you live?’ he was finally driven to ask. ‘If not in the wardrobe department of the BBC.’
The sweet reason was beginning to sour, Mel noticed and twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers she considered what to tell him. Bearing in mind she’d have to live with whatever she said for the next week. Stay in character and never lie when you can tell the truth was a good maxim and it would certainly make more sense than inventing a lot of nonsense about living in a bed sit in some part of London she barely knew. That decision made, Melanie raised her lashes and looked him full in the eyes.
‘I live in Chelsea,’ she said.
‘Chelsea? What part of Chelsea?’
‘I have an apartment overlooking the harbour.’
His mouth twisted slightly; apparently he was unimpressed with her inventiveness. ‘Isn’t that rather expensive?’
‘Extremely expensive,’ she agreed, driven by a deep, dangerous need to make him see her, really see her instead of the idea he had built up in his mind. ‘Are you sure that you can afford me?’
‘It would seem so. At least by the hour.’ She bit back the urge to tell him that he was paying seriously bargain basement prices for her time. Instead she took a long swallow of champagne. ‘Do you live alone? Or with your family?’ he asked, after another pause during which he must have realized that nothing further was going to be volunteered.
‘There are a number of other possibilities,’ she pointed out.
‘That you’re living with a man?’ Latham? The idea was not pleasing. Then he shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t be interested in the kind of man who would have let you come away on this jaunt with me.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ She was surprised he had given the matter any thought, and that having thought about it, that he was so perceptive. ‘But it’s just a job.’ It was his turn to remain silent, hers to shrug. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But I don’t live with my family, either. Like you I prefer to live alone.’
Melanie smiled. Sticking to the truth, she discovered, was rather fun.
‘I see. So there you are,’ he continued, apparently deciding that this was after all a game and since she was making up the rules, he might as well play along with her for the time being, ‘an out of work actress, reduced to cleaning to make ends meet, living in an expensive apartment in Chelsea. May I ask, if it isn’t incredibly rude of me just how you manage to pay the rent?’
The mockery was gentle enough, but it was there. Mel wondered what it would take to raise a doubt in his own certainties. Just for a moment. After all, divested of her ghastly uniform and dressed in expensive clothes Melanie knew she looked the part for the simple reason that she was the part. And she would take great pleasure in denting that unwavering confidence.
She wrinkled her forehead in a delicate little frown.
‘Rent?’ she repeated, as if she wasn’t quite sure what the word meant. ‘I’m sorry, Jack, didn’t I make myself clear? I own the apartment.’
There was no outward sign of his irritation. No outward sign that he was anything oth
er than slightly amused by her silliness. And yet his growing annoyance came back at her like radar waves, so strong that she could almost feel the shock of it.
‘You own an apartment in Chelsea,’ he said, slowly, ‘and you scrub floors for a living. Could it be that I was right all along? That you are, indeed, Cinderella?’ The teasing smile that played about his mouth didn’t quite make it to his eyes.
‘With you as Prince Charming? I don’t think so.’ Her own smile rivalled candyfloss for sweetness and had about as much sincerity as that of a hungry crocodile. ‘And who scrubs floors these days? Although I don’t suppose you’ll be keen on me broadcasting details of my brilliant career. I’d probably better stick to the actress part. We needn’t mention that I’m out of work.’
She glanced pointedly around at the softly lit restaurant, the well-dressed couples. The whole place oozed money.
He took no notice. ‘Even without rent, the expenses...’ He was being sucked in, she realized, enjoying the sensation of being in control, at least for the moment.
‘It’s kind of you to worry, Jack, but honestly, it’s not a problem. I have considerable assets. A large, well managed portfolio of shares. Some property -’
‘Apart from the flat in Chelsea?’ he enquired.
‘Apart from the flat in Chelsea.’ She took another drink. ‘In Australia, actually.’
‘Australia,’ he repeated. ‘How original.’
‘Do you think so? It’s where I lived until quite recently.’
‘Is that a fact?’ He sat back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘And all these - assets - they bring in a suitably large income, I hope?’
If he had believed in their existence, this question would, indeed, have been incredibly rude, but since he plainly didn’t believe one word of what she was saying she answered him.
‘I’m certain that your hope is vastly exceeded by reality, Jack.’
‘Are you indeed? So where did these assets come from? Were they inherited?’
‘Some, from my mother. And my uncle gave me a lump sum on my eighteenth birthday. But over the years I’ve earned quite a lot too.’
‘Not that many years,’ he pointed out. ‘How old are you?’
‘It isn’t polite to ask. But since you have I’ll tell you. I’m twenty.’ But not for much longer.
Twenty. The same age as Lisette when she died. ‘Your mother...’ He cleared his throat. ‘Your mother couldn’t have been very old, Mel.’
‘No. She wasn’t old.’ Not quite forty, still beautiful, still with the possibility of a wonderful life ahead of her with the man she had loved all her life. ‘She died in an accident a couple of years ago. A flash flood.’
He said nothing for a moment. She wasn’t sure if he was simply being quietly sympathetic, or trying to work out if she was telling the truth. ‘Tell me about the rest of your family, Mel. You do you have family?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ But he was no longer playing. ‘Well, let me see. I have a father, but I didn’t know him until last year. He and my mother weren’t married,’ she explained. ‘I’m afraid he was married to someone else...’
‘Was?’
‘She died too.’
‘Quite the Greek tragedy.’
‘Sophocles would have had a field day,’ she agreed. ‘My father’s first wife was a natural.’ That, she thought, reproaching herself, was an awful thing to say even if it was the truth. ‘And when I finally met my father I discovered I had two half-sisters, both married now, one with a baby daughter who is named Juliet after...’
‘After the Shakespearean heroine?’
‘Who?’
‘Juliet. I thought perhaps the theatre ran in the family.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She shook her head. ‘No, actually she was named after my mother.’ Her mother. Edward’s first grandchild had been named for his lost love. How on earth could she have thought that her father, or Luke had forgotten her?
‘Your mother?’ She looked up to discover Jack regarding her with the faintest suspicion of a frown and she rapidly blinked back the threatened brightness. ‘Isn’t that rather unusual, given the circumstances?’
‘Not in this case. Fizz - the half-sister with the baby daughter - is married to my uncle, my mother’s younger brother. No relation. In case you were wondering. People do, you know,’ she said, pertly, to cover that sudden moment of revelation. ‘And then my father remarried a few weeks ago and I now have a step-mother and step-sister.’ She added and then stopped.
‘That’s it?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’ He didn’t immediately answer. Obviously not. Oh, well in for a penny... ‘You might also like to know that it’s my birthday next week. Under the circumstances…’ - she made a general gesture to take in their surroundings - ‘…you would be expected to know that wouldn’t you? But please don’t feel that you have to buy me a present,’ she added. Still no response. Melanie wrinkled her brow, thoughtfully. ‘When is your birthday by the way?’
Jack Wolfe shifted uncomfortably. ‘Stop it, Mel.’ She managed to look puzzled. ‘I think you’ve demonstrated that your imagination is in full working order, but the joke has gone quite far enough.’
She regarded him from beneath lowered lids. Not quite. Not quite. ‘That’s why you’re wooing me, of course. For my family connections. And my money. You’ve lured me to paradise in the hopes of getting me to say “I do” beneath a tropical moon before anyone can convince me of the error of my ways. I know they do beach weddings here,’ she said. ‘I saw some photographs in reception.’
Jack almost choked. ‘You’re worth marrying for your money?’
‘Would you doubt it?’
‘I hope I’m gentleman enough to believe that your body would be inducement enough.’
‘How sweet,’ she said, thoroughly enjoying the moment. ‘But I’m afraid it’s definitely the money. After all, I’m here with you, sharing a romantic beach cottage, so you see as far as the world is concerned my body is already yours.’
She spread her hands in a gesture that indicated she had finished, inviting his response. She rather hoped he would be lost for words, but he wasn’t.
‘I think you’d better tell me more about your very interesting family, Mel. If they’re to come racing to the rescue I’d like to know what to expect. Your father, for instance. Is he likely to be wielding a shotgun?’
She leaned forward and lowered her voice in a confidential manner. ‘It’s my uncle you’ll have to watch out for. He’s been in loco parentis for as long as I can remember and inclined to be protective. As for Dad, well, he’s still on his honeymoon, so you’re safe from him. For the moment.’
He held up his hand, finally reduced to laughter. ‘That’s enough. You’ll be telling me next that you’re pursued by every impoverished young man in the land.’
‘Will I? Actually, you’d be amazed at the really rich ones who quite fancy me too.’
‘I beginning to think I’m beyond further surprises. Tell me, have you never been in the least bit tempted by any of them?’
‘Heaven’s no,’ she declared. ‘I’m an only child -’
‘Excepting the two half-sisters and a step-sister?’
‘- and shockingly spoilt which is why, despite all the dire warnings of my family and friends, I’ve chosen to risk my heart on a scoundrel who will undoubtedly break it. Any man who used a girl to cover a doubtful business enterprise would have to be a scoundrel, wouldn’t he?’ she asked, very gently.
His jaw tightened slightly and suddenly he wasn’t laughing any more. ‘Doubtful?’
‘Why else would you need camouflage, Jack?’
‘That’s enough, Mel.’
‘You don’t like your role?’
‘Make up your own stories if you like. Leave me out of it.’ He had begun to enjoy her game until he was cast as the villain, she realized with interest. Had she struck a raw nerve?
‘But all the best stories have a villain,’ she explained. And the
best villains were dangerous, exciting men who could curl a girl’s toes with a twitch of a brow, the suspicion of a smile.
‘Maybe. Perhaps you should consider a career writing dizzy romances instead of trying to make it on the stage.’
Dizzy, eh? Mel lay her hand on her heart. ‘But it was the truth,’ she said, earnestly. ‘Every word. Didn’t I convince you?’
‘To be honest, Mel, it’s frightening how convincing you were.’ He regarded her with something like pity. ‘For a moment there-’ He looked up as the waiter approached with their food.
‘Yes?’ Mel encouraged, her eyes sparkling at this evidence of her success.
For a moment he said nothing as doubt gnawed at him. Then he shrugged.
‘It seems that you’re a far better actress than I gave you credit for.’ Good enough to blush on cue? He turned away as the waiter began to serve them, unwilling to let her see how much her charade had irritated him. Then his frown deepened. ‘Don’t look now, but someone’s staring at you.’
‘One of my many fans I have no doubt,’ Mel said, flippantly enough, but nevertheless a nervous quiver rippled her spine. A fan was a complication she could do without. ‘What does he look like?’
‘Mid to late fifties, hair greying at the temples, exquisitely tanned. One of those thoroughly distinguished English gentlemen that you wouldn’t trust with your daughter.’
‘As bad as that?’
‘Don’t look,’ Jack said, catching at her wrist as she began to turn. Mel jumped as if branded and for a moment their eyes locked. Then, very carefully, Jack opened his fingers and let her go. It made no difference. The heat was still there, burning right through her. ‘He’s still staring,’ he said, with studied carelessness. ‘You wouldn’t want to give him any encouragement?’ Or would she? Was this her contact? ‘Would you?’ he pressed.
‘Perish the thought.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’ He indicated her plate. ‘That looks good,’ he said, as if determined to return the conversation to the mundane.
