Charlotte Lamb Read online

  As he walked away Juno stared after him, her face thoughtful. 'Was I too pessimistic about Sean's mini-series? I didn't mean to be. It was just my instincts working overtime. I hope I'm wrong. Did you get the idea Greg had some sort of personal interest? I wonder if he's bought the series even before it has been edited? That would explain why he was so irritated by what I said. Oh, well, we'll soon find out if he has! Greg will have some difficult explaining to do to the board.' She gave Nadine a cheerfully naughty grin. 'Isn't life fun sometimes? I must go, too, darling. Can I give you a lift? My car's waiting outside.'

  'No, thanks, my own car should be here soon,' Nadine said, and the other woman sauntered off, her rounded body swaying inside the sexily formal black suit. Even at her age men stared after her, and she enjoyed their attention.

  As soon as Juno had vanished Nadine went out and hailed a taxi back to her Mayfair flat, feeling very bleak. Her mind was buzzing with everything Juno had told her. Sean was about to get married again. She had wondered when it would happen, but being prepared for it didn't make it any easier to accept.

  He had been involved with Fenella Nash, the American actress who was starring in his latest production, ever since he and Nadine split up. She had frequently read rumours that they planned to marry, had thought that as soon as the divorce was through and he was free Sean would marry again, but it hadn't happened. Nadine had wondered if Fenella didn't want to tie herself down just yet. After all, she was one of the cinema's new sex symbols—a small, fiery redhead with bedroom eyes and a voice like whisky tumbling over ice. Even if she was in love with Sean her career would be the most important thing in her life.

  Nadine didn't want to think about it any more. When she was back in her flat she stripped and took a shower, then went to lie on her bed, wearing just a terry-towelling bath-robe, witch-hazel-soaked pads on her eyes. Whenever she had had a bad day this was what she did to unwind: relax her body, empty her mind, so that the tension and stress seeped away.

  Today, though, it didn't work. Her mind was jumping like a cat on hot tiles. Then the phone rang, making her jump. She sat up and took the pads off her eyes, lifted the receiver.

  'Hello?' she said warily; she sometimes got very odd calls, even though she no longer had herself listed in the phone book.

  'Cherie, you sound distraite!' a French voice murmured. 'Was it tough? It didn't go well?'

  She relaxed, smiling. 'Oh, hello, Jamie. No, it wasn't difficult; in fact I enjoyed it, when I'd stopped being scared stiff! More than I thought I would. Greg got me to interview him on camera, and I found it really interesting; he's a fascinating man.'

  'Terrific! So, it went well? You think you got the job?' Jamie Colbert's accent remained intensely French, despite the years he had spent in London, but he spoke English fluently, colloquially.

  'God knows!' she groaned. 'Greg was very poker- faced, didn't give a thing away. I'll just have to wait and see.'

  'I think you will get it,' Jamie said firmly. 'When they rang your agent first of all I was certain. They wanted you. Remember what she said.. .Greg Erroll had seen you being interviewed on television several times, and thought you would make a good chat- show host yourself. When they come looking for you, baby, they are really interested.'

  'I hope you're right.'

  'I always am,' he said with his usual dazzling self- confidence. Jamie was not a tall man, but he behaved as if he was—dominating the company in which he found himself, insisting on his own views, his own beliefs, aggressive towards other men at times, charming to women. He was a thin live-wire of a man of just over thirty, with black eyes and hair, a tanned olive skin, a face full of nervous energy and fire, and very, very French.

  Nadine told him so, laughing. 'You're so French!'

  'Cherie, tu es tres gentille!' he said, gravely, then, dropping back into English, 'Nadine, you haven't forgotten we're having dinner tonight with the French ambassador?'

  'Of course not! I'm really looking forward to it.' She was going as Jamie's guest, since Jamie was the guest of honour that night. One of France's most famous photographers, although he lived abroad, he had just won a highly coveted award with his latest book of photographs, which was to be presented to him tonight by the French ambassador, at a large dinner held in the French embassy in Knightsbridge.

  'I thought you might be so excited after your audition that you had forgotten everything else!' Jamie said, a smile in his voice. 'OK, so I pick you up at seven. We have to be there at seven-thirty, for drinks before dinner at eight-fifteen. So be prompt, Nadine! We must not be late tonight.'

  They weren't. They were early, and while they were waiting parked briefly outside a shop whose windows were full of televisions, all switched on, showing different channels.

  'Oh, no! I don't believe it!' groaned Jamie and, startled, Nadine followed the direction of his gaze to find herself staring at Sean, his face filling a screen in a corner of the shop window. He was smiling faintly, but his eyes were shadowy and his facial muscles tight with tension.

  Jamie said, 'What's the programme, I wonder? Film Night?'

  Then the camera pulled back and Juno Harper came into view, laughing. 'It must be a repeat of the Juno Harper programme,' Nadine murmured. 'He was on it this morning; I bumped into him in the TV studios.'

  Jamie shot her a look. 'I thought you looked rather harassed tonight. What happened?'

  'Nothing—we were very polite to each other,' she said, then looked at her watch. 'Isn't it time we got going again? We don't want to be late.'

  Jamie started the car again, his expression wry, but didn't say another word.

  The ambassador already knew Jamie and greeted him like a friend before being introduced to Nadine and giving a Frenchman's approving glance at her figure. She was wearing a black silk and lace dress: a brief bodice which just cupped her breasts, leaving her white shoulders bare, tantalising with glimpses of the deep valley between her breasts; a stiffly layered skirt fell to her calf, flaring whenever she moved.

  'St Laurent?' asked the ambassador's wife knowledgeably. 'Very chic.'

  Tonight, though, Jamie was the centre of attention, the star of the evening; everyone wanted to talk to him, shake his hand, congratulate him, and Nadine left the limelight to him, rather relieved not to have to talk much, as they moved around the huge, chandelier-lit room. She smiled when introduced, replied if anyone spoke to her, but otherwise stayed in Jamie's shadow, finding it hard to follow the conversation because everyone spoke French, talking fast and furiously, their voices seeming to her English ear like the stuttering of machine-guns. Mostly she was silent, her mind elsewhere.

  She was thinking about Sean, remembering the lines around eye and mouth, the weariness in his eyes, his pallor, wondering if Juno Harper had been right. Was his mini-series going to be a failure? But there were always disaster stories going around about projects like that; some people just loved to ill-wish anyone successful, and Sean's career had been one long success story.

  On the way home, some hours later, Jamie gave her a frowning sideways look. 'You are very quiet, cherie. What is wrong?'

  'Nothing,' she said, not willing to talk about what was on her mind. 'I'm just tired, I suppose.' A sigh wrenched her. 'This past month has been very hectic. I think I worked almost every day, except Sundays, and they were long days, some of them. I need a break, Jamie. I'm going to clear my diary and go away for a couple of weeks soon.'

  She had been working hard for a year, in fact; ever since the divorce. It had been the only thing that saved her sanity; she had thrown herself into work to keep her mind busy and she had thought she had succeeded—she had been so sure that she was cured, that it was over. But seeing Sean again had thrown her back into the same old obsessed pattern; ever since this morning she had been thinking about nothing else, pretending to be speculating about his company, the mini-series, when she was constantly thinking about the way he looked: his brooding eyes, that sudden lop-sided smile which could charm or mock, th
e way his dark hair fell over his temples... Nadine broke off, biting her lip. There she went again.

  Even when they were quarrelling bitterly, Sean had always been able to get a sensual response from her. Their chemistry, at least, had been a perfect match, but their marriage had been a battleground, and Nadine was terrified to find that she wasn't over him yet; he still had that effect on her, nerves like red-hot wires, pulses going crazy.

  If she made a complete break, did nothing but lie on a beach and sunbathe for days, she might finally shut the door on the past and on Sean Carmichael.

  'I wish I could come with you, but I'm too busy. Where will you go?' asked Jamie.

  'Somewhere sunny and warm,' she said dreamily. 'The West Indies, the Canaries, Greece... I'll get some brochures tomorrow.'

  It took longer to extricate herself from bookings than she had expected; her agent talked her into doing the next month's work but did manage to switch the jobs booked for the month after that to other girls, and meanwhile Nadine read brochures and daydreamed. She settled at last on a fortnight's holiday in the West Indies on a small island where she could not only enjoy lots of sunshine and clear blue seas but also learn to paint with a well-known artist whose wife ran the hotel. Nadine liked to sketch and painted water-colours in her spare time, although she had never had any formal training.

  The day after she booked she heard from Greg Erroll. 'You've got the job,' he said cheerfully, and Nadine took a long breath, her face flushing and excitement making her stammer.

  'Oh...oh, thank you! Oh, that's wonderful! I didn't really believe I'd get it, you know, thank you for letting me know so promptly and... Well.. .what happens now? I mean, when do I start work?'

  He laughed. 'Not quite yet! We won't need you until the end of August; months away. I'll be in touch with your agent and arrange a contract; I'll discuss all the details with him so that he can rearrange your diary and cancel any modelling jobs from September. But you had better be prepared to do publicity when we release the news; you're bound to be wanted for media interviews.'

  'When will you release it?'

  'Next week, I think, if your agent says you have time free for interviews. We want to get some good pie-publicity, we'll follow that up just before the show starts, but it is always useful to trail a new show months ahead.'

  'I've just booked a holiday in the West Indies starting in a month's time—should I cancel?' Nadine reluctantly asked, hoping he would say no.

  He did. 'Good heavens, no! The West Indies? Lucky girl, I wish I could get away but I'm too busy. No, go ahead, have your holiday. By then you should have done all the media interviews. They'll come in a rush, and any requests that come later can be put off until you return from holiday.'

  He was right: when the announcement was made she did get an immediate rush of demands for interviews, but Nadine was used to talking to the Press and felt she did quite well, although some of the reporters asked what she considered to be outrageously personal questions.

  One in particular, a columnist on one of the trashier papers, asked, 'Are you living with Jamie Colbert?'

  'No, I am not!' said Nadine, bristling.

  'But he is your lover?' the woman pressed, undeterred. Short and blonde, wearing a designer-label pink suit, she was very pretty, and as full of venom as a coiled cobra. Nadine had been warned about her by her agent in advance, and he hadn't been over-estimating her nastiness.

  Coldly, Nadine said, 'Jamie Colbert has nothing to do with my new job! And I don't want to talk about my private life.'

  Ignoring this declaration, the blonde purred, 'But you and he have been close for years, haven't you? You were still seeing him while you were married to Sean Carmichael. Wasn't he cited in the divorce?'

  'No, he was not!' Nadine said through her teeth. 'If you had taken the trouble to check, you'd have discovered that our divorce was on the grounds of irretrievable breakdown of the marriage. Nobody else was involved.' She got up, looking at her watch. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other appointments.'

  'I haven't finished my interview yet!'

  'You have,' Nadine said, on her way to the door of her flat to open it pointedly.

  The columnist gave her a catty little smile. 'Well, if you don't really need the publicity, that's up to you... but I haven't really got anything worth printing here, and I think City TV isn't going to be too happy not to get a mention in my column.'

  Nadine just held the door open and waited.

  The blonde furiously collected her possessions and walked towards her, and as a parting shot said spitefully, 'Hoping there's a chance you might get back together with Sean now he and Fenella have split up, are you, darling?'

  Nadine couldn't quite control her face and the reporter, fast as a snake, saw the way her skin tightened and paled, and smiled at having drawn blood.

  'Oh, didn't you know? Yes, she flew back to the States this morning, and gave an interview at Heathrow saying it was all over between her and Sean. And the word is out that Date with Death, this TV mini-series they just made, is the worst disaster since the Titanic, and that's why she has dumped Sean. Not that she would answer any questions about that, and she denied that the series was a flop, but then she would, wouldn't she? She's an ambitious girlie, our Fenella, and if the series bombs out Sean Carmichael stands to lose everything, including his shirt, making him a less than desirable proposition for someone like Fenella.'

  'Goodbye,' Nadine said, almost pushing the woman out of the door and slamming it.

  For several minutes she stood there, leaning on the door, breathing thickly, her mind whirling. Only a couple of weeks ago Juno Harper had told her that Sean was going to marry Fenella, and now Fenella was on her way back to the States saying it was all over between them, there wasn't going to be any marriage. Was the blonde columnist's verdict the right one? Had Fenella dumped Sean because the mini-series they'd been making was a failure?

  Next day she was able to read all about it in the popular Press, which went to town with photos of Fenella and Sean and interviews with Fenella. There was no quote from Sean. The papers all said that he was not giving interviews, and his staff answered telephone calls with one phrase: 'No comment.' That didn't stop the Press from speculating, naturally; the gossip columns were thick with innuendo, hints and half-truths.

  Nadine wished she knew how Sean felt. Had he been in love with Fenella? That thought made her wince and hope he was miserable. He deserved it.

  She only had a few more interviews to do during the fortnight that followed, and then she started packing to fly to the West Indies. She didn't need to buy any clothes: her wardrobe was full of sundresses, sandals, tops, shorts, beachwear which she had worn for photographic sessions but never on a beach yet.

  She was leaving on a noonday plane, and when her doorbell rang sharply at nine o'clock she supposed it was the taxi she had booked, arriving earlier than planned to pick her up. She ran to answer it, intending to ask the driver to wait a few minutes, but the man on the doorstep was Larry Dean, one of Sean's closest colleagues in Carmichael Films.

  'Larry!' Nadine was startled, her hazel eyes widening and darkening in shock. 'Hello. Good heavens. How are you? It's ages since I saw you.'

  'I've got to talk to you, Nadine,' he said huskily. He was in charge of accounts in the film company; Sean had always said Larry was a genius with an account ledger. A big man physically, broad- shouldered, tall, Larry was a little clumsy. He lacked co-ordination, was always dropping things or knocking them over. He wasn't a good-looking man, or even a striking one: his hair was brown, his eyes were brown, his skin was freckled; he had a big grin and an appealing personality, like a shaggy dog who wanted to be friends with everyone it met but kept falling over them. Nadine had always been fond of him, but since he was Sean's oldest friend she had not set eyes on Larry since she and Sean parted.

  'Well, come in,' she said, wondering what he had to talk to her about. 'I'm afraid I'm being collected in about half an hour; I'm off to
the West Indies on holiday. But come in... can I get you a drink? Coffee or tea?' She played the polite hostess, and smiled, but her mind worked overtime on what he was doing here like this, out of the blue. Something to do with Sean, obviously. Had he sent Larry to see her? Her heart turned over.

  Larry followed her into the flat. 'I don't want anything to drink, thanks. I won't keep you long, Nadine.' He looked down at her from his six-foot- four height, his face pale and drawn. She had never seen Larry look so sombre, and her heart missed a beat.

  'What's wrong, Larry?' she asked huskily, and his brown eyes searched her face, their expression pleading.

  'Nadine, do you know where he is? I must know, Nadine—I'm really worried about him. It isn't like Sean to disappear without a word.'

  CHAPTER TWO

  'SEAN ?' Nadine repeated, wondering what on earth made him think he would find Sean with her.

  'Yes, Sean,' Larry said impatiently. 'Have you seen him? Did he come here?'

  She shook her head, blankly, and Larry gave a groan.

  'Oh, God, why is he such a fool? I thought even he could see... well, if he isn't with you, where is he? He wouldn't do anything crazy, would he?'

  'What are you talking about? What is all this?' Nadine burst out, and Larry looked at her helplessly, his big hands hanging clenched at his sides, as dumb as an ox.

  She took him by the arms and shook him, her slight strength making almost no impression on that solid bulk. 'What is it? Tell me, Larry, damn you! What's going on?'

  His brown eyes suddenly held hostility, shocking her even more because she had never seen such a look in Larry's cheerful, friendly face before.

  'It's all your fault!' he threw at her in a choked voice. 'You and that damned divorce settlement! You ruined him!'

  Nadine froze. 'That isn't fair!' she stammered. She had been taken aback by the size of the settlement, it was true, but her lawyers had insisted that it was only fair taking into account Sean's enormous assets. They had seen balance sheets drawn up by Larry which showed the company to be worth in the region of a hundred million pounds, and had excitedly told her that they were sure they could get her a very large settlement.