"Darling!" Carol had said when she telephoned last night. "I'm so looking forward to meeting you again-you can't imagine! Wear something stunning-I'm going to." Then came a burst of the husky laughter Anne remembered all too well. "We'll compare notes, after we knock them all dead!"
Remember to introduce Violet to Carol ... and Craig, of course. Making mental notes helped keep her mind occupied. I feel like a debutante! Anne thought ruefully, and then the Rolls, miraculously finding a space, drew to a smooth halt before the steps; a uniformed doorman opened the door almost immediately.
Harris's suite, seeming to have grown since she saw it last, was crowded with people. But there was no need to hesitate at the door-the chauffeur-or the doorman?-
must have called upstairs, for Harris was waiting.
"Anne-you look stunning! No need to ask who designed that lovely gown, is there?"
He hugged her lightly turningto Violet, clad in an outrageously slit-skirted dress of bronze silk, bending down to kiss her cheek. Trust Harris to do and say exactly the right things! Even to putting Craig at ease.
"Hello, Hyatt! We've met before, haven't we? In Washington-Senator Markham's. And speaking of the senator-he's actually here tonight. Flew up from St. Tropez, where Mrs. . Markham and the children are enjoying the sun."
"The senator's here?" Anne could have sworn she noticed a slight stiffening of Craig's shoulders. And then she forgot about Craig as Carol swooped down on her, hands outstretched, flaming hair worn long and curly, green eyes just as brilliant as she remembered. Carol looked lovelier and more flamboyant than ever; and as usual when she was around Carol, Anne felt herself eclipsed into mediocrity.
"Anne-sweetie!" Carol's perfumed cheek pressed against hers for a moment before she drew back, studying Anne with the unabashed freedom of old friendship. "My God-but you have changed! You're lovely, love, and I'm jealous already of that gown!
Antoine, of course? The bastard, he might have let me see it first!" Carol's eyes narrowed teasingly as she drawled, dropping her voice, "Unless, of course, Some of those rumors I picked up in Paris were true?"
"Carol dear-" Harris interposed smoothly, performing introductions to which Carol responded with her flashing, brilliant smile.
"How lovely to meet you ..." How did Carol do it?
Anne straightened her spine, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls of the small foyer. She'd do fine, just fine. She mustn't let Carol give her a complex.
Her pale-flame colored gown bared her shoulders and most of her back-one of Antoine's masterpieces (she remembered how he had modelled it on her, sticking her with pins and swearing under his breath in French while she tried to stand very still), it was cut with deceptive simplicity to emphasize the slight swell of her breasts; falling away from a scarcely defined empire waist in a cascade of sheer chiffon that nevertheless clung to her slim body in all the right places.
She did look good. She looked like a stranger to herself, captured for an instant in the mirror. The Lady of Shallot. Don't turn around to look for Sir Lancelot, though! That would shatter both the mirror and the magic spell ...
More people were coming in as Carol turned to Anne, whispering over her shoulder,
"Don't wander too far away, sweets. We have a lot of catching up to do!" And then there was the usual mingling, Harris leading them at first, leaving Craig talking earnestly to an expansive, surprisingly young-looking and handsome Senator Markham, reintroducing Anne to Tony Petrillo, who played the second lead in Bad Blood, and leaving him mesmerized by Violet.
Harris held her elbow lightly but possessively, making sure she met almost everyone before he relinquished her to Yves Pleydel. Switching effortlessly to French, Harris said with a smile, "Use all your powers of persuasion, my friend. I want to make a formal announcement soon, and I don't want Anne to start having second thoughts."
Yves kissed her hand, looking genuinely happy to see her, and Harris was about to move away when a bespectacled woman, her press badge prominently displayed, came belligerently up.
"Mr. Phelps-where's Webb Carnahan? I was told he'd be here-and he's the one my readers want to hear about."
He wasn't here then ... Anne felt an uncontrollable rush of relief as she listened to Harris placating the woman. "Webb's always late! But I promise you he'll be here, Miss-Ms. Warren. He's flying in from Italy, you know, and the traffic from Heathrow is pretty bad this time of the evening."
Slightly mollified, the woman moved away with a sniff, and Harris shrugged his shoulders. "The local paparazzi, I'm afraid! The genuine article can be found hovering by the doors. I noticed how they brightened up when you walked in, Anne!"
Harris said in an undertone before he moved off. "I hope to hell Webb does show up, or we're liable to have a minor riot on our hands, not to mention a lot of very unfavorable publicityl"
Yves spread his hands, his eyes bright on Anne. "Ah-that Webb Carnahan! He has something for all the women, eh? I think I will enjoy directing him-but such a harsh, barbaric name!" His voice dropped as he took Anne's hand again, holding it tightly.
"Now you, you are all music. Your name and everything about you. Anne Mal-lo-ry.
Yes, I like it. I like you -but perhaps you have observed that already? Mind you, I am not easy to please. I am-how you say-finicky? Yes. But in your case, Harris was so right. You have not only classic beauty, but something else as well-inside-driving a man mad to explore, to find out . . . did I tell you all this last night? I mean it more each time I see you ..."
Pleydel fascinated her, in a way. He was a very intense man, and his concentration on her was slightly unnerving. She felt relief when he broke off in the middle of his impassioned speech; she turned her head to follow the direction of his eyes.
His-and everyone else's, it seemed. Caught unprepared, Anne looked across the room, and there he stood, with Claudia del Antonini hanging onto his arm as if she was afraid to let go. Pleydel's beautiful, blonde ex-wife-hadn't she made a movie with Webb not too many months ago? Or was it only that they were supposed to do one together? Meaningless thoughts whirled round in her head, while she could not stop watching them. No, not them-the deliberately sensuous, passionately pouting Claudia didn't seem important at all. It was Webb she watched. Webb, with more lines than she remembered at the comers of his eyes when he squinted them at the electronic flashes. The press crowded around, and when he smiled, more lines indented themselves in his face. But they only made him seem more wickedly attractive, damn him!
Beside Anne, Yves Pleydel sighed with Gallic resignation. "Ah-I suppose it happens to everyone at some time or other, eh? Claudia was the first one of my wives to leave me. I nick-named her my golden bitch-and believe me, she is one! I think, though, that in this instance she has met her match. He is not kind to his women, I have heard, although he loves them hard for a time. It will do Claudia good to learn a little lesson!"
Oh yes-Webb was so good at teaching lessons! Close to Anne a woman sighed audibly and whispered to her wooden-faced escort, "Oh Jesus! What I wouldn't give to be her!"
And in spite of everything, all her stout resolutions, Anne felt her nerve-ends tingle, sending a quiver down the length of her spine. She didn't want to see him again-God, Harris was crazy, and she was crazier yet. She didn't want to meet his eyes, flickering and burning on her like tongues of fire some-times ... like ... why did she have to remember? Why now?
She wasn't far enough away to avoid watching him. Hypnotized, Anne couldn't move her eyes away. The sure way he moved, the sound of his laughter when one of the clustering reporters asked a low-voiced question with a sly look at Claudia.
"I think you should ask Signorina del Antonini that yourself. Excuse me ..." "Webb darling!" That was Carol; and how heartlessly he left Claudia pouting while he kissed Carol.
"I think we should go up and say hello," Yves said suddenly. He flashed Anne a gamin grin. "You don't mind if I want to make that bitch Claudia a little bit jealous?
Wait till she finds out her boyfriend will be making his next picture with you! Oh-she will be like a spitting cat-ha!"
"But I don't think Harris wants anyone to know yet!" Anne whispered desperately.
"And besides I-I haven't really made up my mind yet, you know!"
Yves shot her a disbelieving look. "No? But of course you have. Do you realize how many women would give all they have just for the chance to try out for the part you have been offered? You would be stupid not to accept, and I do not think you are stupid, Anne. Besides-with me directing you, you have nothing to worry about!
Claudia couldn't act when I first picked her up. Yes, right out of the chorus line in some sleazy little place that called itself a theater. All she knew about was showing her body. I taught her everything else!"
Fortunately, Harris came up just then, sliding his arm through hers, whispering confidentially to Yves that perhaps he'd better go rescue poor Claudia from those nasty reporters, especially as she seemed to have been deserted by her escort.
"I suppose I should take pity on the poor creature," Yves said magnanimously. He kissed Anne's hand again, turning her palm up this time, pressing his lips passionately against it.
Oh, thank goodness for Harris! She wasn't ready yet ... As if he'd sensed her sudden panic, Harris said briskly: "You might as well meet our celebrity and get it over with, Anne. That is," he added dryly, "if we can manage to tear him away from present company."
The affected, public embrace of Claudia and Yves Pleydel was being photographed now-the carnerasjs with true British discretion, ignoring the quiet corner where Webb was engaged in a low-voiced conversation with a pretty if rather plump royal princess. He concentrated on her, acting as if there was no other woman in the room.
Good publicity for Webb, of course-if he lived up to his reputation and the princess to hers. She was reputed to be something of a swinger, and, it was rumored, often used her royal prerogative to be the one to take the initiative.
A big, jovial-looking Englishman with glittering decorations on his chest greeted Harris with boisterous enthusiasm, even while his small blue eyes raked Anne over from head to foot.
"Harris, old boy! You've been hiding yourself ever since that weekend in Monte Carlo-ha ha!-and I understand you were one of the few to walk off Petrakis's yacht under his own steam! Making movies now, eh? Well ..." His eyes wandered to Webb and the princess, who had put her small, heavily beringed hand on his sleeve as if to emphasize something she was saying; and he chuckled. "Leading up to a cordial little entente between our countries, wouldn't you say? Well, I'm Labor Party myself, and liberal-minded-ha!-and I don't mind. But the young woman's mum is going to have a queenly fit-after the fact, most likely, though. Little Mary Victoria's got a mind of her own, we hear."
Anne didn't like him-even when she recognized his name when Harris introduced them. A former field marshal, he was rumored to be one of her father's counterparts in England. Rumored-but surely not? Such a loud, obviously vulgar kind of man-so very different from her father, who would never make an appearance at a party like this ... Colonel Blimp! Anne wanted to giggle hysterically, wondering why she felt slightly unhinged.
And then Webb looked up, glancing across the room at them as if he had sensed their eyes on him. It happened too suddenly for Anne to drop her eyes away; and she hadn't, she honestly hadn't been consciously staring at him. But strangely, it seemed suddenly as if a space had been cleared between them, and his eyes, narrowing slightly, came arrow-straight to her face.
And he didn't recognize her! He looked her over appraisingly as a stranger might, taking in her wand-slim body in the flame-colored dress; and then when she looked defiantly back at him as if compelled, unable to stop the humiliating rush of blood to her face, his eyes, about to move away casually, were suddenly arrested. She saw the spark of recognition leap into them for a split second, only to be carefully extinguished by his actor's mask. Unbelievingly, anger uppermost now, Anne saw him give an insolent nod of acknowledgment in her direction.
His attention went back to the princess, where it stayed until Claudia grew tired of smiling for the press and exchanging sweetened barbs with her ex-husband. By the time Harris introduced Anne to Claudia, she felt sure she'd been presented to just about everyone else in the crowded suite. Claudia, after a lightning second of sizing Anne up, was quite charming. Poor girl! Anne couldn't like her, exactly, but she had almost a fellow-feeling for her. Anne wondered fleetingly what had become of Tanya, as they watched Webb kiss the princess lightly on the ear, and less lightly on the pink lips that parted avidly for him.
Armored by her scorn, Anne was able to extend her hand quite coolly when Carol of all people finally reintroduced them to each other, making a big production out of it.
"Webb-you remember Anne, of course? And what a sweet-heart she was about helping me out with that bet we had?"
"Hello, Webb." No tremor in her voice-hardly any expression at all; but she had no control over the icy coldness of her fingers. And then, lightly, "Where's Violet? She's been dying to meet you; you must be nice .. ." Was that really her voice, sounding as tinklingly brittle as Violet's? Thank God for all the people standing around them and for her newly acquired poise ...
"You've changed, Annie," he said shortly, cutting across the rest of her meaningless, inconsequential speech. Where was Violet? Even Craig ...
And then his hands closed over hers, and it was as if a high-voltage switch had suddenly been turned on, jolting them both.
Webb had meant to kiss her lightly on the cheek as he had done all the other women he'd met this evening, settling whatever had once been there for both of them once and for all. She had changed into one of those coldly brittle, pseudo-sophisticated bitches-all looking and acting as if they'd been cast from the same mold; and it hadn't taken her too long to learn all their shallow tricks, had it? It had been enough of a shock to recognize her; and then to find out she was Harris Phelps's latest