Dark Secret

Copyright

Published by Hachette Digital

ISBN: 9780748131204

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Marina Anderson 1995

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

Hachette Digital

Little, Brown Book Group

100 Victoria Embankment

London, EC4Y 0DY

www.hachette.co.uk

Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

‘HARRIET, WHERE’S YOUR
ring?’ asked Ella, her RADA trained voice carrying to every corner of the wine bar.

Harriet blushed and removed her left hand from the top of the table, sliding it out of sight beneath the tablecloth. ‘Keep your voice down,’ she muttered.

‘But where is it?’ persisted Ella. ‘Surely the ever-efficient Miss Radcliffe hasn’t mislaid her impeccably tasteful and priceless engagement ring? What on earth will James say?’ she added.

‘James won’t be worried. I’ve given it back to him,’ said Harriet.

Ella stared at her friend in astonishment and then drained her glass. It was her usual reaction to any kind of shock. ‘You mean, you’re not going to marry James after all?’

Harriet nodded. ‘That’s what I mean.’

‘But why? You were the perfect couple, and with you at his side James would have gone right to the top. God, I wish I could find a merchant banker to marry me, I can tell you.’

Despite her depression, Harriet laughed. ‘Ella, you could never marry anyone like James. You’d die of boredom on your honeymoon.’

‘Really?’ Ella leant forward eagerly. ‘You mean you’re finally going to confess the secrets of your sex life together? Wasn’t he any good in bed?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘He was all right. I mean, he was always very considerate and made sure I was satisfied, it was just that there was never any … I don’t know, excitement really. I suppose he loved me, but he lacked real passion. I was in bed with him last Saturday and when he turned on his side and his hand went straight to the same place as it always did I suddenly thought, I can’t stand this any more; if he touches me there one more time I shall scream. Well, he touched me and I did.’

‘You screamed?’ Ella was stunned.

Harriet laughed. ‘Yes! I actually screamed
“Don’t do that”
at him. I felt terrible afterwards. He was so hurt, and kept saying “but I thought you liked it”, which I did the first few times. Anyway, that was it really. He said I must be having a breakdown and needed a rest. I said it wasn’t that at all; it was simply that I’d finally come to my senses and realised he wasn’t the man for me. Then I gave him back his ring and he left. End of story.’

‘But the wedding!’ exclaimed Ella. ‘All those guests, and the presents you’ve already had.’

Harriet nodded. ‘I know. Luckily since my parents are still abroad and weren’t even coming they won’t kick up a fuss. It’s poor James who’ll have to cope with his family’s wrath.’

‘Have you told them at work?’ asked Ella.

‘There wasn’t any need. I went in to work on
the Monday and handed in my notice.’

‘Get another bottle of wine,’ said Ella. ‘This is too much to cope with sober. I mean to say, Harriet, we’ve known each other for over ten years and in all that time you’ve never done anything unexpected. You passed all your exams easily, got a wonderful job in the City as PA to a top company director, became engaged to a handsome, wealthy merchant banker and were just about to marry him and produce the requisite son and daughter – in the correct order no doubt – and then you decide to go totally off the rails. That’s
my
prerogative. I’m the actress, I’m the one who does outrageous things and you always listen and give me good advice that I ignore. How come our roles have been reversed?’

Harriet’s hands twisted together in her lap. ‘I don’t know. Like I say, it just happened out of the blue. I mean, there has to be more to life, Ella, doesn’t there?’

‘More what?’ enquired Ella, pouring herself a glass of wine from the second bottle. ‘Money? Sex? Career? Which particular rejected aspect of your wonderful life were you hoping to improve on?’

‘All of them,’ confessed Harriet.

Ella looked at her friend. At twenty-three she was a tall, slim, leggy brunette with grey eyes and a cool air of self-possession. This evening, as always, she was dressed impeccably, in a suit with a long-line jacket that ended three inches above the hem of her skirt and a knotted cream silk scarf at her throat. Her appearance suited her life, or the life she’d led until now. Suddenly Ella wondered what hidden depths there were to her friend.

‘Right then,’ she said briskly. ‘If you want to improve them all, where do you intend to start?’

‘I want an interesting job; something really different,’ declared Harriet.

‘Any ideas?’

Harriet pulled a face. ‘That’s the trouble, I can’t think what I want to do, I only know that it has to be exciting and different.’

‘Try being an actress,’ suggested Ella. ‘There’s plenty of excitement there. Will I be working this time next week or not!’

Harriet sighed. ‘I know I’ve probably been stupid but I simply couldn’t stop myself. It was as though a voice in my head was telling me that this was my last chance. If I didn’t stop now, change direction quickly, it would be too late.’

‘Stupid or not, you’ve done it,’ said Ella. ‘Have you looked for a job yet?’

‘I glanced through some adverts in the evening paper, but there wasn’t anything that appealed to me. There are several jobs like the one that I had, but there’s no point in that.’

Ella dived into the large canvas bag that she always carried around with her. ‘Let’s see what I’ve got here.
The Stage –
well that’s no good to you, you haven’t got an Equity card!
Evening Standard
– you’ve seen that;
The Times
– let’s try that.’

‘That won’t have anything exciting,’ protested Harriet, but Ella was already scanning the situations vacant column, muttering to herself as her eyes raced over the words.

‘Hey, this looks promising,’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Listen Harriet. “American actress on six-month stay in England needs PA of sociable
disposition who is willing to work unusual hours. CV and photograph essential.” Then there’s a box number for replies. What do you think?’

‘It’s a PA job again,’ said Harriet doubtfully.

‘Hardly the same as working in the City,’ Ella pointed out. ‘It might be Meryl Streep or Sharon Stone. How fantastic to see them at close quarters!’

‘Don’t be silly,’ aid Harriet. ‘They wouldn’t need to put an advert in
The Times.
Besides, why do I have to send a photograph?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps the actress has a fragile ego and doesn’t want any competition. You could be too good-looking for the job.’

Harriet laughed. ‘I doubt it. If anyone was likely to put a film star’s nose out of joint it would be you, not me.’

Ella studied her friend and silently disagreed. She knew that she was attractive, and with make-up could look beautiful, but there was something special about Harriet, something that had always made people look twice. She was so immaculate, so apparently assured and yet in her eyes, and her body language, there was quite often the suggestion that beneath this surface there lay something more. A vulnerability certainly, but also the very quality that Harriet herself had said James lacked – passion. An untapped passion, as Ella knew very well, was an irresistible aphrodisiac to a lot of men.

‘I think you should answer the advert,’ she said decisively. ‘You’ve nothing to lose.’

Harriet felt her stomach move with nervous excitement. It would be exciting, and different, but she also sensed something more from the
wording of the advertisement. Somehow she knew that if she sent off a photograph and was given an interview her whole life would change, and she hesitated because if that happened there would be no going back.

‘Well?’ demanded Ella impatiently.

Harriet hesitated for only a second. ‘You’ve convinced me,’ she agreed with a nervous laugh. ‘I’ll send off a photo and my CV tomorrow.’

‘No, tonight,’ said Ella firmly. ‘We’ll go back to your place and I’ll help you choose the best picture, then we’ll make sure it goes first post tomorrow.’

That night, as Harriet prepared for bed, she thought for a moment about the letter, now lying in a pillar box awaiting the postman in the morning. Would anything come of it? she thought to herself. Had her meeting with Ella and the fact that she’d had a copy of
The Times
with her been part of some predestined plan? Or would she hear nothing more and spend the next few months wondering if she’d been right to give up James and her job in the space of three days? She rather suspected it would be the latter, but couldn’t help nurturing a hope that at least she’d manage to get an interview, if only in order to find out who the actress in question was.

Two days later she returned from visiting a friend to find her telephone ringing. She ran to answer it.

‘Miss Radcliffe?’ asked an icily detached female voice at the other end.

‘Yes,’ replied Harriet, somewhat mystified as to who the called could be.

‘You replied to an advertisement in
The Times
recently.’

Harriet’s stomach lurched. ‘Yes, yes I did.’

‘Your CV and photograph were satisfactory. Would you be free to attend an interview tomorrow morning at eleven?’ asked the voice.

Harriet felt flustered. ‘Tomorrow? Let me see, I…’

‘Tomorrow is the only time that our client has free.’

‘I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll just check my diary,’ replied Harriet, determined not to let the caller know that at this particular moment she had nothing planned for the rest of her life. She waited a couple of minutes and then returned to the phone. ‘Yes, I can manage that,’ she said, hoping she sounded as indifferent as the other woman.

‘Excellent, I’ll give you the address. Do you have a pen and paper to hand?’

She must think I’m six years old, thought Harriet to herself, but she kept the annoyance out of her voice and scribbled down the address and directions as to how to get there. It was only when she replaced the receiver that her legs went weak and she had to sit on the sofa to recover.

It was all so quick, she thought in astonishment. An advertisement like that must have attracted masses of applications, and yet she’d been called by phone in less than forty-eight hours. The speed of the response made her nervous and later that evening she rang Ella.

‘Why are you worrying?’ Ella demanded. ‘You should be grateful. Where do you have to go?’

‘Regent’s Park. I’ve looked it up on the map – I think it’s one of those large houses that overlook the park.’

‘Fantastic! You’ll probably have your own suite of rooms and use of a swimming pool – when the star isn’t keeping in trim, of course. Did they say who she was?’

‘No, but no doubt I’ll find out early on in the interview.’

‘Make sure you let me know,’ said Ella. ‘I’m consumed with curiosity.’

‘So am I,’ responded Harriet.

By the time she actually arrived at the house the following morning she was consumed by nerves as well. She drove herself there in her blue BMW which had to stop at the huge padlocked wrought-iron gates while a gateman came out, took her name and phoned through to the house. Then he opened them with apparent reluctance and when she waved and smiled at him as she drove in he simply stared blankly at her. ‘Let’s hope the rest of the household are more friendly,’ she muttered to herself.