Escape Me Never (10 page)

'Oh really,' he said. 'And I find the thought of you with Haswell equally so.' He gave her a derisive look. 'There's a thought to take to bed with you next time. It should add an extra— piquancy to the encounter, shall we say?'

'I'd prefer you not to say anything more,' she said raggedly. 'Anything at all.' She looked past him. 'And your—mistress is waiting for you.'

'Is she?' His eyes never left her face. 'What a sweet old fashioned term for a committed feminist to use. You make her sound as if I keep her in a little place in St John's Wood and shower her with jewels and furs.'

'Starting with a mink cloak.' The words were out before she knew it.

He laughed. 'Oh, I'm capable of the odd generous gesture,' he said. 'And you must admit she looked good in it. The photographs were fantastic—especially those that weren't for publication. In fact, she's a magnificent lady in every way, and you're quite right—I shouldn't keep her waiting.'

She stood by herself, staring down at the papers she was holding while the words danced in a meaningless jumble in front of her eyes. Her legs felt weak and there was an agonisingly hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Roger joined her. 'Keep your fingers crossed,' he said in a low voice. 'Tony's having one run-through, then going for a take. Let's hope that Sarah Bernhardt behaves this time.'

'Where's Peter?' Serena was demanding imperiously, seeking the actor who was to play the unknown man joining her at the end of the commercial. 'I need him here.'

'He's popped up to make-up for a minute,' Tony said soothingly. 'One of the lads will walk it through with you, if that's what you want.'

'Rohan.' Serena gave him the full treatment, eyes shining, lips pouting provocatively. 'You do it, darling.' She gave a tinkling laugh. 'It is only a run-through after all. Equity won't object.'

Rohan shrugged slightly. 'Why not?'

A moment later, Cass found herself watching the transformation of Serena Vance. A woman, she thought, her eyes full of secret dreams, perfumed and alluring, awaiting the arrival of her lover in the moonlight. Exactly what they'd wanted from the start, and who cared about the words she was saying. All the millions who'd eventually watch the commercial would remember would be that lovely, erotic face, and the husky-throated tones promising them paradise.

'
Moonglow
' Serena said softly, sinking down on to her bench. 'The start of your own very personal magic.'

Rohan stepped forward, and put his hand on her shoulder, stroking away the frill. Then he bent without haste and put his mouth against her long white throat, and Serena gasped ecstatically tipping her head back against his shoulder.

For a moment there was total, almost shocked silence, then Rohan lifted his head, moved, and a semblance of normality returned.

Beside Cass, Roger emitted a long, low whistle. 'Parental Guidance only,' he muttered. 'My God, they should forget about the scent, and bottle what's between those two instead. They'd make a fortune.'

Cass didn't speak. A long shudder went through her. Seeing Rohan touch Serena, kiss her throat, had filled her with an anguish so intense she had nearly cried out.

Across the studio, Rohan's gaze searched for hers, locked with hers, in fierce, cynical triumph.

She looked back numbly, knowing that he'd see what she had been unable to hide in time. Knowing that he'd recognised the fact that he could make her suffer.

There was no shelter for her to cower behind any more. No pretended indifference to guard her. He'd seen her—exposed, vulnerable, jealous—and now he knew all he needed to know.

Somehow she pulled herself together, and turned to Roger, forcing a smile. 'Then let's pray she can produce the same reaction with poor old Peter, so we can all go home.'

Home, she thought. To a flat with sunshine walls, and shadows that waited in the night.

The take which followed was perfect. Serena, wreathed in smiles, was congratulated by everyone. Cass watched her turn to Rohan, lift her face for his kiss, and turned away, realising as she did so, that the pencil between her tense fingers had snapped completely in half.

Rohan was speaking again, and she forced herself to listen.

'Thank you all for a good professional job,' he said. 'I'm having a party at my house in the country in two weeks' time to celebrate the launch of the whole campaign, and naturally, you are all invited, although my secretary will be in touch with more formal invitations.'

'Well, that's generous,' Roger muttered. 'Just what I've always wanted. A chance to see how the other half lives.'

She managed a quick, bright smile. 'I hope you enjoy it.'

'Well, you'll be there too,' he said, giving her a surprised look.

She shook her head. 'I doubt if I'll be invited. I'm being taken off the account by Mr Grant's special request.'

Roger's dismayed expression would have been heartwarming, if she'd been in the mood to appreciate it.

'The bastard,' he said indignantly. 'I thought you seemed to be having a pretty fraught conversation with him just now. Was that what it was all about?'

'It was—related,' Cass said neutrally. 'But don't get me wrong, Roger. If Mr Grant hadn't suggested that I stop working on
Eve
, then I would have done. It's been bad news from the start, as far as I'm concerned.'

'Hm.' Roger gave her a considering look. 'I don't want to pry, Cass, but I remember the last time we talked about this. Is it a personal thing?'

She bit her lip. 'You could say so.'

He groaned. 'Oh, Cassie. I tried to warn you.' He paused awkwardly. 'If you want a shoulder to cry on, then Lorna…'

She interrupted gently. 'Thanks, Roger, but fortunately, there's nothing to cry over.'

But was that really true? she asked herself. Hadn't she been crying inside for weeks now?

Roger patted her shoulder. 'That's all right then. Work's the thing,' he went on. 'After all, you've got to be realistic in this life, and you— and a guy like Rohan Grant?' He shook his head decisively. 'Never in a month of Sundays.'

No, never, Cass thought when she was alone. Never—in all the long bleak months which lay ahead.

Work, Cass discovered in the days which followed, could be an anodyne, but it didn't dissolve the pain completely.

She was bewildered by the strength of her own feelings. After Brett, she had lived with the conviction that there never would—never could be another man in her life.

Now she knew differently, and the fact that the man in question only wanted her for his own casual sexual gratification hadn't even blunted the pang of the sharp, shattering desire she experienced each time she thought of him.

She'd never realised she was capable of such emotion. Nothing in her short, tragic marriage had prepared her for such a revelation. In fact, she'd always believed she was frigid, and blamed this, to some extent, for the terrible failure of her relationship with Brett. It was the same conviction which had made her retreat into her shell, camouflage her femininity, and follow the path of self-sufficiency, telling herself that one disaster was enough. As a burned child fears the fire, she'd shrunk from the prospect of any kind of intimacy with a man.

But why—oh, why did it have to be Rohan Grant who'd woken her from her drugged, isolated sleep, and taught her that her numbed body, her dazed crushed senses had responses— needs she'd never even imagined?

Because the most she could hope for from him was a brief surcease to the cravings which assailed her. A fix for her addiction, she thought wretchedly.

And she didn't want that—to live her life at the mercy of her body's needs. Because when Rohan tired of her—as he inevitably would—what then?

No, she told herself vehemently, it was better this way. Better to live with a hunger which would never be satisfied than to feed it with crumbs.

There was Lloyd, of course. A smile of self-derision twisted her lips. The safe half-loaf, she thought, hating herself, that everyone said was better than no bread at all. Only she'd never believed that, and never would.

She was seeing too much of Lloyd, using him as a palliative, with the result that he was now beginning to regard himself as a fixture in her life, making plans which she didn't want to share, making references to the future which worried her. No, she hadn't been fair to Lloyd.

And he'd nearly hit the roof when he discovered she wasn't going to the party at Graystocks, the Grants' country home. She'd torn the card, when it arrived, into very tiny pieces, and buried them at the bottom of her waste basket, before returning a brief formal refusal.

'But you must go,' he'd almost howled. 'Everyone's going. After all the man's an important client. Does Barney know about this?

Cass shrugged. 'It's impossible for me to go,' she said evasively. 'As it happens, Mrs Barrett's sister has her silver wedding party that same evening, and so I have no sitter for Jodie. And even Barney would hardly expect me to go out and leave her alone, even for
Eve
cosmetics.'

'Surely there are other sitters,' he protested sullenly.

She sighed. 'Thousands, I expect, but I'm not prepared to leave Jodie with strangers either. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.'

He chewed his lips frustratedly. 'Well, it's a damned nuisance. My parents don't live far from Gray stocks, and I'd half-arranged for us to spend the night there so they could meet you.'

'Then perhaps you should have consulted me first.' She saw him look downcast and said more kindly, 'There'll be other occasions, Lloyd, if you want me to meet them.'

'Yes, but this time we'd have been on our own,' he muttered.

'Without Jodie, do you mean?' Cass gave him a straight look.

'Well, yes,' he said rather fretfully. 'You've got to understand, Cassie. Mother knows you're a widow, and she can accept that, but a widow with a ready-made family is a big step for her.'

It was a step which the unknown Mrs Haswell would never be called on to make, Cass thought without regret.

She was startled out of her reverie by the buzz of the telephone at her elbow. She picked up the receiver. 'Cass Linton.'

'Otherwise known as Jodie's mother.' A woman's voice, cool, pleasant and amused. 'How do you do, Mrs Linton? I'm Marcia Wainwright and I was wondering whether you'd possibly had second thoughts about allowing Jodie to spend a few days with us at Graystocks. It's Easter next weekend, and the boys have acquired a pony which they're dying to show her.'

Cass swallowed. 'I'm sorry,' she said stiltedly. 'It's—quite out of the question.'

'Because of the nightmares?' Mrs Wainwright asked. 'I understand your anxiety, believe me, but I can promise you she'll be well looked after. Our elderly nanny still lives with us here, and she's in seventh heaven to have something like a nursery functioning again. Neither Rohan nor I were ever allowed to have nightmares when we were small. Nanny didn't believe in them.' She paused. 'And she's dying to have another little girl to look after, as she keeps telling me. Well, I have no plans to oblige her at the moment, so it's all up to Jodie.'

Cass bit her lip. 'Mrs Wainwright, I'm sure you mean to be kind, but it isn't possible, please believe me.'