Snowbound Heart (9 page)

Surely there was some way she could get out of it? She could leave the hotel, call Bev to come and get her. Logan did not know who she was or where she lived, not really. There would be no recriminations.

There might also be no movie from Logan’s script, and she would be to blame. Could she live with the guilt?

She must not think like that. She was making too much of what was no more than a dinner date. Nothing important would be decided. It would be a pleasant meal with a little business discussion over the coffee. When it was over, Logan would say good-bye and she would go on with her skiing vacation with a pleasant memory of an interesting encounter. What could be wrong with that? Nothing at all.

Why, then, did she have this feeling that she was getting into something she could not control? Could it possibly be because of her impulsive act this afternoon in laying claim to Logan? She could not imagine what had possessed her to do such a thing. Antagonism toward the other woman was one answer, but it was not completely satisfactory. What was even more puzzling was Logan’s easy acceptance of her meddling, when she would have expected him to be furious. Perhaps he appreciated the reason for her interference and was glad of it? He had not said so, not in so many words, but neither had he objected. She would have to take that as a sign of encouragement, and go on as planned.

Clare had not expected to be going out much in the evening. She had only one outfit with her even remotely suitable for the type of formal dinner she expected to be attending. It was a lightweight sweater and matching floor-length skirt in a silky, lacelike knit. The top had a round, scalloped neck and draped sleeves that fell to the elbow. The hem of the skirt was scalloped also. Of a soft, dusty rose color, it also had ribbon trim around the neck and sleeves.

With so little choice, it did not take her long to dress. She had shampooed her hair in the tub and dried it with the hot-air drier she had brought with her in her suitcase. Now, to give herself a less casual look, she twisted the long blond length of it into a shining coil low on the nape of her neck and fastened it with gold-topped tortoiseshell pins. Simple hooped earrings and a flat serpentine chain of gold were her only jewelry. A little rose lip gel and a touch of mascara completed her makeup. By the time Logan came for her, she was not only ready but had been waiting for some time.

They had arranged to meet Marvin Hobbs in the lobby. He came forward to greet them as they stepped out of the elevator. Whether it was because of the producer’s brusque manner, or the dispatch with which he led them into the dining room, they were not molested as they made their way to the corner table Hobbs had reserved for them.

The maitre d’ summoned a waiter and they ordered drinks. The opening amenities thus disposed of, the producer leaned back in his chair.

“I must say you make an attractive couple … remind me of Nordic royalty, with both of you so blond. Clare, you know you will make a lot of women jealous when this news gets out. For myself, I’m not sure it isn’t Logan who should be envied.”

“What a lovely compliment. Thank you,” Clare replied.

For no reason that she could think of, there was a husky note in her voice. She looked away, staring around her, at the restaurant’s decor, the gingerbread ornamentation, the nineteenth-century wallpaper, and the intriguing collection of antiques mixed with luxuriant green plants that sat here and there. A pleasant buzz of conversation and tinkling china and glassware filled the air. Some few of the other diners were formally dressed, but the vast majority were in casual wear. Her gaze passed over and returned to a woman who stood in the doorway on the far side of the room. She wore a gown of shimmering silver mesh that glittered with her every movement, while a silver-fox cape hung from her shoulders. Her dark hair, partially covered by a small, close-fitting turban of the same mesh as her gown, gave her the look of a Parisian, except that no Frenchwoman would have dressed quite so obviously to attract attention.

Confident that she had achieved her object, the woman spoke to the maitre d’, who moved to greet her, then turned in their direction. Her red lips wearing a pouting smile, she started toward their table. It was Janine Hobbs.

“Marvin, darling! How marvelous to see you. I am so glad you could get away. When I met Logan this afternoon and he told me you were here, I could not believe it. I never dreamed you would even think of joining me, or I would have let you know where I was staying.”

The producer’s back had been to the door. The expression on his face was carefully controlled as he swung to face his wife, then got to his feet “My dear Janine, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

“Is it? You mean Logan didn’t tell you he had seen me? Perhaps I should not have accepted his invitation to dinner with you this evening, then?”

The look on her face was puzzled and faintly hurt. Her words conveyed the impression that there had been something not quite aboveboard in her meeting with Logan, as if he had been meddling in the affairs of husband and wife for his own ends, or else there had been a mix-up due to the hurried and clandestine nature of the communication between the two.

“Nonsense. Logan and Clare have only just arrived; we haven’t had time to talk.” Hobbs, his smile grim, held a chair for his wife. “I assume you have met Clare,” he went on when he regained his seat.

Janine sent Clare a flickering smile. “Logan’s little friend? Oh, yes, I believe she was there this afternoon, though I did not quite catch the name.”

The producer supplied it. “I suspect you had better memorize it, my dear. Though it seems to have slipped your notice, she is Logan’s fiancee. I don’t doubt we shall be hearing more of her in the future than we have in the past.”

“His fiancee! Of course, I had forgotten,” Janine said, the frown that creased her brow serving to convey the impression despite her words, that this was the first she had heard of the matter.

“Have you been enjoying your holiday?” Hobbs asked in polite tones, though the glance he sent from Logan to his wife was sharp.

“Yes indeed. It has done me a world of good; I can’t begin to tell you. I know it was silly of me to pack and fly in such a dramatic fashion, but I really had to get away from all the terrible publicity. Why I let it bother me, knowing what all those magazines and newspapers are like, knowing it was all a stupid misunderstanding, I can’t say. I suppose I am just too sensitive.”

The waiter brought their drinks then, creating a small diversion. As Hobbs ordered for Janine, Clare slanted a quick look at Logan. There was hard anger in his blue eyes. Tactics such as Janine was using were hard to combat, especially in the present circumstances. Watching the way Logan’s fingers tightened around his glass, Clare was not certain how long he would even try. If Janine persisted much longer with her coy smiles and insinuations, Clare was afraid he would explode. Was that what the producer’s wife wanted? Was she so certain of her husband’s affections and her control of the situation that she would risk anything Logan might say, confident that she could twist it to her own advantage? Would Marvin Hobbs believe his wife had been throwing herself at Logan, or would he prefer to believe the accusation was only Logan’s way of trying to get out of an entanglement he no longer wanted?

“I don’t imagine you have been able to do much skiing?” Marvin Hobbs observed to the table at large.

“No,” Logan answered.

“Oh, no,” Janine said with a laugh. “You can have no idea of what the weather has been like, or you would not ask such a thing. If it is possible to get cabin fever from being cooped up in a lodge, then that is what I have had. A few hardy souls were on the slopes this morning, but not I. Powder is fine, I love it, but such deep powder is nothing short of an invitation to disaster.”

“Do you ski, Clare?”

“I’m afraid not,” Clare replied with a polite smile for their host.

“But that’s terrible!” Janine exclaimed. “What is the use of coming to Aspen if you don’t ski? Something must be done about it. I shall have to take you in hand. That way we will get to know each other better.”

“I’m not sure we will be here long enough for that,” Logan said.

“No? Such a pity. I could have given Clare quite a few pointers, not only on skiing, of course, but on a number of other things that will come in handy if she is to be one of our little group.” The woman paused long enough to give Clare a brittle smile. “Forgive my curiosity, Clare, but I can’t help wondering how you came to meet Logan, since you don’t ski, and you can’t be from L.A. or there would have been some mention of you in the gossip columns.”

“We met,” Logan said as Clare hesitated, “when Clare requested an interview. She is a writer.”

“A writer? How interesting. And who do you work for?”

“I freelance, personality pieces, mainly,” Clare answered.

“I see,” Janine murmured, though there was a puzzled look in her narrow green eyes. “I would like to read your article on Logan. Where did it appear, and when?”

“It hasn’t,” Logan replied with a lazy smile. “I’m afraid we never got around to the interview, what with one thing and another.”

“Pity,” Janine said, “but I suppose a ring is better than a story. Do you mind if I see yours, Clare? I’m sure, given Logan’s reputation for romanticism and generosity, that it is something spectacular.”

“I haven’t bought a ring yet,” Logan said. “There hasn’t been that much time.”

“You mean you haven’t been engaged long? But I understood you had known each other for some time. I do hope, my dear Logan, that all the furor recently didn’t force your hand?”

It was Clare who answered. “I don’t know exactly what you mean by that, Mrs. Hobbs,” she said, changing positions in her chair so that she leaned a little closer to the actor who was supposed to be her fiance. “If you must know, Logan wanted to buy me the biggest diamond in Aspen, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I didn’t want just any ring, but something special. By that, I don’t necessarily mean something expensive or bigger and better than anyone else’s. I would just prefer to wait for something that is as unique as what we feel for each other.”

As if on cue, Logan reached to take in his warm clasp her hand that rested on the table. The touch sent a tingle like an electric shock up her arm.

“How sweet. But if you will take my advice, darling, you won’t wait too long. If the engagement were to be called off at this stage, you would have nothing.”

Clare, meeting the searching glance of the man beside her with heightened color, said, “If the engagement were called off at this point, I think I would prefer to have no reminders.”

Marvin Hobbs grunted and lifted his glass to Clare in a brief salute. “It’s too bad more young women don’t feel as you do.”

Janine Hobbs, busy slipping her fur coat from her shoulders, said nothing. When she looked up again, it was to inquire about her household in Los Angeles. From there, she moved to people and places known only to Logan, her husband, and herself, effectively excluding Clare from the conversation.

They had ordered and their plates had been placed before them when Janine looked up, fixing Logan with a faintly malicious gaze.

“I think you made some mention of business with my husband this afternoon. Am I right in supposing it concerns the screenplay you gave Marvin a copy of to read a month ago?”

“More or less,” Logan agreed, “though I am still working on it.”

“Oh, really?” Janine turned to her husband. “And are you thinking of taking on the project?”

Marvin Hobbs nodded, his attention on the prime rib that covered his plate.

“I was afraid of that.”

Clare looked up. “Afraid?”

“Yes, and why not? Basically, it’s another western, isn’t it?” The producer’s wife gave a pretty shrug. “No one takes such equine epics seriously.”

“It is set in the West, all right,” Logan replied in answer to her question, “but the plot bears no resemblance to the type of thing you are talking about, and the theme is important.”

“Heaven preserve us from movies with important themes,” Janine declared. “The critics may applaud, but the public doesn’t want such heavy stuff. It gets in the way of the story. It was Barnum, wasn’t it, who said, ‘You will never go broke underestimating the public taste’? I’m not advocating a sideshow of freaks, but I’ve been in this business long enough to know that Shakespeare is not good box office.”

“My story may have a historical background, but I doubt anybody could mistake it for Shakespeare,” Logan drawled. Beside him, Clare could sense the disgusted rage building within him and the tight leash he held on his temper.

“A costume drama!” Janine sat back with a trill of laughter. “Marvin, did you hear that? You know what poison those have been in the last few years.”

As the woman’s laugh grated on her nerves, Clare entered the fray. “It seems to me that whether a costume drama is successful or not depends on the production. I don’t think you can call Roots, which was essentially a costume drama, box-office poison.”

“Oh, television!” Janine sneered.

“Whether with television or movies, you are appealing to people who invest their time and attention, as well as their money, in the entertainment you are providing. You can’t divide them up into moviegoers and TV viewers. The two groups are interwoven, basically the same people.”

“I hadn’t realized you were quite such an authority.”

“I’m not,” Clare said. “Some things only require common sense.”

“So long as we know how to value your contribution,” Janine said with a superior smile.

A cold light entered Clare’s gray eyes. “So far as that goes, perhaps there is another point that needs clarification. Have you read Logan’s screenplay, Mrs. Hobbs?”

“No, but I have discussed it with Marvin,” Janine said defensively.

“Not the same thing, I think. You can have no idea of the scope and stature of the characters, the color and movement of the tale, its grandeur or its poignancy.”

“You speak as though you have read the script.”

“Yes, I have, and I think it would be tragic if it is never put on film, not only because of its beauty, but for its contribution to the quality of life for ourselves and our children.”