Whirlwind (8 page)

'I hope you're not going to ask me to be nice to him!' Anna said tartly.

'As if I would!' Joey said, grinning. 'On the other hand, don't go out of your way to be rude to him!' He spoke lightly, but Anna sensed that he was half serious. It was never easy to raise money for a play, especially with an unknown cast. 'And don't tell anyone that Patti is his sister, will you?' Joey went on. 'I don't want any snide remarks flying about. I didn't give her that part because I wanted her brother's loot, it was a purely professional decision—I wanted someone very young and innocent, and she was perfect.'

'I believe you,' Anna said wryly. 'But it looks like a hell of a coincidence.'

'That's why I want you to keep your mouth shut!' he said. 'I'm surrounded by cynics.'

She couldn't get out of dancing with Laird next, especially with Joey watching her. Finding herself in his arms again sent a wild tremor along her nerves, made her eyes darken. He danced well; his long- legged body instinctively graceful as he drew her closer, his hand pressing into the small of her back. His cheek brushed hers as he murmured, 'I thought of you all the time while I was away. Did you think of me?'

'No,' Anna said icily, and his face drew back a little so that he could stare at her. She turned her head, showing him a rigid profile.

'Did you get my roses?' he asked, frowning.

'Yes.'

'Didn't you like them?'

'They were very beautiful, but you shouldn't have sent them.'

'Why not? I wanted to thank you for a wonderful evening,' he said, a smile in his voice as if he was teasing her. Anna's teeth met. She knew why he had sent them; he didn't need to underline the message. If he thought he was ever getting her into bed again, he could think again!

The music had stopped; Joey was clapping his hands for their attention and as all the cast turned their faces towards him, he said crisply, 'OK, kids—I'm calling rehearsal tomorrow at eleven- thirty. There are still one or two rough spots, I noticed. Off you all go, and thank you.'

Anna yawned; collecting her jacket, and looked around for the assistant stage manager who had promised to give her a lift home. There wouldn't be a bus running at this time of night.

She couldn't see him anywhere, but as she hurried after the rest of the cast, crowding out of the restaurant, talking and laughing, Laird blocked her path.

'Looking for the young man with bushy hair? He's gone—r told him I'd give you a lift.'

The cool, bland voice made the blood rush to her head. She stared at him, shaking with resentment.

'You did what?' she snapped, and saw heads turn, eyes staring. 'What makes you think you have the right to calmly walk in and countermand my arrangements without so much as asking me?'

'I was doing him a favour,' Laird informed her, eyes gleaming with mockery. 'Did you know he lives just a couple of miles from here and that to take you home he would have to drive six miles there and six miles back again? He was dead on his feet and only wanted to go home to bed, so I suggested I'd take you.'"''

Anna saw Patti standing near the door, anxiously watching. Taking a deep breath, she forced down her anger. She shouldn't have erupted like that; he wasn't getting to her again, from now on she was going to be calm and distant every time Laird was within a mile of her.

'Thank you,' she said frostily, handing him a polite, phoney smile, then swished past him and joined Patti without giving Laird another glance.

The blue and silver Rolls made short work of the distance into central London from the riverside; the narrow, shabby dock streets vanishing past and in their place the wider thoroughfares of Piccadilly and then Mayfair. Patti made polite conversation for a few minutes, then fell asleep, her head lolling sideways on the cushions. Anna stared out of the windows, yawning. The heating in the limousine made her sleepier by the second, but she was afraid of shutting her eyes.

Laird finally slowed at some traffic lights close to her home and glanced back at her. 'You'll have to direct me from here."

'Straight on, the third turning on the left and then one to the right,' Anna told him flatly.

He pulled up outside the house five minutes later, got out and came round to open the rear door for her, his hand resting under her elbow as she slid out. Anna freed herself as soon as she was standing upright on the pavement.

Thanks for the lift, goodnight.' Her curt tone didn't deter him from following her towards the gate of the house, and she snapped over her shoulder, 'I can find my own way now, thank you.'

The street was far too shadowy, no street light nearby made it possible for her to see his hard-boned face clearly, only his eyes glittering under the windswept black hair.

'Are you sulking because I didn't tell you Patti was my sister?' he murmured right in her ear, as she stopped to hunt for her front door key. The warmth of his breath on her lobe made her stomach clench, but she lifted her head, moving slightly so that he couldn't do that again.

'No.' She put the key in the lock and his hand covered hers; his skin warm and firm. Anna stared at that long-fingered, powerful hand and remembered it touching her with far more intimacy; the memory sent waves of shame and anger through her again.

'We have to talk,' Laird said huskily.

She threw his hand off and turned the key, and the door swung open. 'I'm not interested, Mr Montgomery,' she bit out sharply. 'I have other plans for my future; I don't want to get involved with you. Please, take Patti home, and stay away from me after tonight. You'll just be wasting your time if you don't.'

She walked rapidly into the house and without looking back closed the door in his face, not knowing how he had taken what she said and preferring not to know. She hadn't needed Patti's warning about his cynicism and the scar left by his marriage and the divorce that followed; Laird Montgomery carried his own warnings in his sophisticated, sensual, hyper- aware face. He wasn't a man to care about. He would hurt you; and Anna had no intention of letting him do her any more damage. He had done enough already.

A
NNA
woke up with a start, her muscles at once tightening as she prepared to leap out of bed to hurry to rehearsals, then she heard the ringing of church bells and it dawned on her—it was Sunday! She didn't have to get up or catch a bus across London; she could stay in bed all day if she liked and be totally lazy. This was her first day's holiday for weeks.

Stretching, she linked her hands behind her head and wiggled her toes under the covers. What bliss! She would get up soon, have a leisurely breakfast and later maybe take a stroll through the park to watch the squirrels.

Her mind wandered idly over her plans for the day, then she frowned, remembering that last night she had met Patti's parents. They had finally been persuaded to see the play and had come backstage in the interval, looking dismayed as they noticed the squalor of the poky little dressing-room shared by three members of the cast, but smiling politely as they shook hands with Patti's colleagues.

Their appearance had given Anna a double shock—Hugh Montgomery was far older than she had expected, he had white hair and a stooping body and was clearly in his seventies—while his wife was much younger and couldn't be above fifty. Anna was not mathematically inclined, but even she at once suspected that Laird was not this woman's son, unless she had given birth to him when she was around fourteen or fifteen.

'So you're Anna,' Mrs Montgomery said, warmly smiling. 'We've heard all about you from Patti.' She was handsome rather than beautiful, a tall woman with the dark hair and blue eyes she had passed on to her daughter, her face calm, her manner kindly and level-headed.

'We're enjoying the play,' Mr Montgomery chimed in, leaning on the ivory-headed cane he carried. His leonine head bore a strong resemblance to Laird, so did the direct gaze of his pale eyes. 'Dame Florence is a good as ever, and you seem to me to have a very starry quality yourself, Miss Rendle.' He smiled and she flushed, feeling she ought perhaps to put a finger under her chin and curtsey.

'Thank you, sir.'

'What do you think of Patti, hmm?' he demanded under cover of a moment when his daughter was showing her mother a view from the peephole in the wings.

'She's very good . . . ' Anna had begun politely, only to be cut short by a raised finger, shaken at her with peremptory insistence. 'The truth, now! Can she act?'

'Yes!'
she assured him, stressing the word.

His old eyes peered into her face. 'Not up to your standard, though, eh?'

'You can't honestly expect me to answer that . . . ' she demurred, laughing angrily.

'You just did, Miss Rendle,' he commented drily.

'Patti's still very young,' Anna began, and he patted her cheek, smiling at her.

'And you're so old, is that it? How old, I wonder? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? D'you really think that in a couple of years' time Patti will be able to act you off the stage the way you do her now?'

'I hope I do nothing of the kind,' Anna protested hotly. 'We're a team, the whole company, we aren't in competition. The star system is dead.'

His sardonic stare reminded her of his son so forcibly that she blinked. 'Is that why Dame Florence's name is neon-lit outside this theatre tonight?' he asked, and Anna could think of nothing to say in answer.

As they left, Mrs Montgomery turned to Anna and said, 'Will you come to lunch soon? I'll tell Patti to fix a suitable day. It's been a pleasure to meet you, Anna.'

Anna had said smilingly that she had enjoyed meeting them, and would love to come to lunch. She might not have so readily" agreed if she hadn't remembered that Laird no longer lived with them and wouldn't be there. As she and Patti stood in the wings later Patti had given her a shy, wistful look. 'What did you think of them?'

'Your mother's charming and your father is amazingly like your brother,' Anna said at once, then gave her a searching stare. 'Laird isn't your mother's son, is he? She looks too young to have a son that age.'

'Oh, didn't I tell you?' Patti asked, laughing. 'I'm so used to thinking everyone knows! No, my father was married before and Laird's really my half- brother.'

Anna heard her cue and turned away at once, taking on her alter ego as she walked on to the stage, at once sucked into the drama being played out and forgetting everything else.

Now, though, she thought back over that brief conversation, her sleepy contentment seeping away as Laird shouldered his way back into her thoughts.

Had his mother died or had there been a divorce? She didn't want to think about it; it was dangerous to be too curious about the man, it kept him in her mind when what she ought to be doing was forgetting all about him. It was infuriating that Laird simply refused to be evicted; he kept coming back. Like indigestion, she thought crossly.

The morning after the first night another couple of dozen red roses had arrived. She had still been in bed; Mrs Gawton had handed them through the door, positively apoplectic with curiosity, and Anna had shut the door on her excited questions and put the flowers down to sit and stare in brooding preoccupation.

What was Laird playing at? she had been asking herself with foreboding. She vividly remembered his expression the night before as he looked up at the shabby house, his eyes distasteful, his mouth twisting. Now he knew where and how she lived, he could see how far outside his own milieu she moved—so why was he sending her red roses? He thought she was a cheap pick-up, obviously. He thought he could buy her with a few flowers and a candlelight dinner. Anna had felt like shredding the dark red, scented petals and flinging them to the four winds. If he laid one finger on her again she'd hit him so hard he wouldn't stop bouncing for a week!

Irritated with herself because she seemed unable to stop thinking about him, she made herself get up and have a bath. She had to share the bathroom with everyone else on her floor. The water was always lukewarm and had a rusty tinge when it first came out of the tap, making a knocking, shuddering noise. The bathroom was draughty and usually had a cobweb or two in the corners. Anna was always finding huge black spiders in the bath. She hated touching them, so she shut her eyes and turned the taps on full to wash them down the plughole, only to be full of guilt over it afterwards.

Today she wasn't tempted to soak for long; she towelled herself hurriedly and padded back to her room to dress, but at the top of the narrow stairs she saw a dark figure looming.

She gasped before she recognised Laird; in the shadows he had a distinctly threatening height.

When it dawned on her that it was him her crazy pulses didn't calm down; to her anxiety they even quickened as her eyes ran over him. He looked so out of place in these shabby surroundings, his clothes far too expensive and his manner radiating too much assurance. Long-legged, tall, with that strong-boned face and coolly commanding eyes, he confronted Anna with a mocking little smile.

'How did you get in here?' she burst out, and from the bottom of the stairs heard Mrs Gawton's voice.

'I let him in, dearie. He said he'd come to pick you up to have lunch. Isn't it all right?'

Anna heard the intrigued note in her sly voice and bit her lip, angrily aware of Laird's sardonic amusement at her predicament. She couldn't bear to argue with him in front of her landlady; she didn't want to give Mrs Gawton even more fascinating gossip to pass on to all her neighbours.

'Yes, thank you, Mrs Gawton,' she said, raising her voice politely, then swung and opened her door.

Laird wandered past her without a word, and Anna winced as she closed the door, watching his eyes flick round the room, his brows shooting up.

'So this is where you live,' he said, and she saw the place through his eyes, wishing to heaven that she hadn't allowed him through the door. She hadn't made her bed yet; she moved over to pull the quilt over it, her face burning, conscious of him watching her, assessing her well-washed old blue dressing- gown, her damp red-gold hair, her threadbare blue slippers.