Fast And Loose

She bit deep into her lip. She balked at revealing any of this now, balked at reviving hurtful memories which could, if she threw caution to the winds, lead to the flinging of a dramatic indictment. What was the point? Her much loved father was dead. Nothing could be changed.

‘You’re afraid that as I’ve not directed since— when?—last fall I might be rusty?’ he said, when she remained silent.

As he had hesitated Keir had brushed his fingertips across his mouth in thought and drawn her gaze. He had a thin upper lip and a fuller, sensual lower one. Once she had spent hours fantasising about those lips, that mouth—how it would feel when he kissed her, how after much delirious kissing, when her own mouth was softly bruised and tender, his would move slowly and tantalisingly down her naked body; how his lips would brush across the peaks of her aching nipples, how he would open his mouth and——

Darcy dragged her eyes away. What was she thinking?

‘Correct,’ she declared, grabbing gratefully, if untruthfully, at his suggestion.

While she never sought out information about Keir Robards it was impossible to avoid the occasional newspaper paragraph or comment made by a colleague within the theatre. So she knew that he would accept a directing assignment—sometimes a stage play, sometimes a film but, during the past seven years, never again in England—then vanish from public view for perhaps several months before he became involved in the next. What he did in between times was a mystery.

‘I often have gaps and yet—touch wood——’ Keir leaned forward to press long, blunt-tipped fingers to the table ‘—so far I’ve managed to do a good job. I intend to do a good job this time.’

And never mind any damage you might inflict on others, Darcy thought bitterly.

Pushing back his cuff, he checked the vintage Rolex watch which was strapped to his broad wrist. ‘It’s eight-thirty,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we find our table and carry on talking in the restaurant?’

Darcy clenched her fists, the fingernails biting into her palms. She did not want to dine with him. No, no, no. What she wanted to do was deliver a series of ringing slaps to his freshly shaven jaw, spin on her heel and march out; but that would be a big mistake.

Although Keir might direct intermittently, he possessed considerable status, and if she antagonised him too much it could rebound and damage her career. People in the business would notice her withdrawal from the play and ask questions, and all it would need would be a comment from him about Darcy Weston being unreliable or frivolous or plain contrary and other directors might think twice about employing her, regardless of her talent and unblemished track record.

So she must extricate herself in a manner which would maintain some entente even if it was a tad less than cordiale—though how she was going to manage this she did not yet know.

She rose to her feet. ‘Let’s,’ she agreed.

As they set off across the lobby towards the Brierly’s renowned and rosetted French restaurant Darcy was conscious of Keir prowling beside her. She was tall and, in her heels, sometimes taller than her escorts, which could be a handicap, but, at six feet four and well-built, he was very much the superior male.

She cast him a sidelong glance. While she half despised herself, his strong presence gave her a curiously protected feeling.

‘I wonder whether Maurice has arranged for you to be fed with oysters, followed by asparagus sprinkled with rhino horn?’ Keir remarked. ‘All washed down by champagne.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I got the impression he expects you to be poleaxed by my fatal charm and he might’ve asked the restaurant to dish up an aphrodisiac or two to help things along.’

‘If he has he’s wasted his time,’ Darcy said pertly.

Keir raised his brows. ‘Whatever you eat or drink, you’re not going to wrestle me to the ground, drag me beneath the table and have your wicked way with me?’

‘And break the first rule in the Brierly’s etiquette manual, which is “Do not cause a public scene”? Aw, come on.’

He gave the hint of a smile. ‘Then how about taking me up to the privacy of my room, perching on my knee, slipping your fingers between the buttons of my shirt and——?’

‘No!’ Darcy squeaked as images from the past danced like a chorus line of humiliating ghosts before her. She gulped in a breath. ‘Out of the question,’ she said, biting on every last syllable.

‘Pity,’ he remarked, and briefly placed a hand between her shoulder blades, where it felt as if it scorched a hole in her jacket. ‘After you.’

In the restaurant the maitre d’ ticked off the booking, which had been made in Maurice’s name, and led them to a quiet corner. As they threaded their way between pink-damask-clothed tables, Darcy was aware of a hush in the general buzz of conversation and several discreet glances.

It seemed that either one or perhaps both of them had been recognised, or, regardless of his identity, the interest of the diners had been drawn by Keir’s loose-limbed grace. It would be the latter, she decided astringently. His power to incite admiration had always been potent.

‘I’m not sure about working with Jed Horwood,’ Darcy declared after menus had been read, their choices given, and they were eating cold starters of lobster with mango and curry sauce. She had been searching for an excuse to leave the play, and here she had found one which contained an obliging degree of truth.

‘I know he breaks box-office records with his blast-’em-to-hell pictures, but——’ she wrinkled her nose at the thought of the American macho-man who, after forging a movie career armed with a Beretta, a forty-four-inch chest and a mumble, had declared the desire to ‘stretch’ himself and appear on stage ‘—I wonder whether his talents will transfer.

‘So,’ Darcy carried on breezily, ‘as there’s been a change in director this would seem to be the ideal time for a change of leading lady. I hate to relinquish the role but I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s far better if Jed is partnered by someone who’s one hundred per cent enthusiastic about him.’

‘You can’t pull out,’ Keir stated.

Her hackles rose. Her temper began to spark. He might have been brought in as director and have a special deal but that did not endow him with the divine right to dictate what she could or could not do!

‘Can’t?’ she demanded, her nostrils flaring and her chin tilted belligerently.

‘Can’t,’ he repeated. ‘You may have walked out on me once but you’re not going to do it again.’

She frowned. His voice sounded flinty, as though he had been annoyed about her walking out the first time. This seemed strange, for she had felt certain that he would have been relieved, if not downright ecstatic. Though perhaps Keir had objected to her leaving his room of her own accord, rather than him ordering her out. Yes, giving her the old heave-ho—Never darken my doorstep again, you idiotic and presumptuous child!— could have appealed to a deep-seated male need to be the master of every situation.

Darcy glowered. Whatever, she did not appreciate yet another reminder of the bedroom incident.

‘You think so?’ she challenged.

‘I know so,’ he replied. ‘You’ve signed a contract which commits you to play the role, remember?’

‘Yes, but as there’s been a change of director——’

‘Makes no difference. Your name on the dotted line means you agreed to do the job regardless of who directs or of any changes in the cast.’ He interrogated her with a look. ‘You weren’t aware of that?’

‘No,’ Darcy admitted, cursing herself for her ignorance.

She had been so delighted to be given the role that she had barely skimmed the pages before signing and Maurice had failed to warn her of any clauses which might prove obstructive.

‘I’ve read through everyone’s contract,’ Keir continued, ‘because, frankly, I’m not licking my lips over Jed and you, either. He could pull out in a pinch, but for you it’d be impossible.’ He sampled the red burgundy wine which he had chosen. ‘Unless, of course, you want to be sued.’

‘You mean go through a harrowing court case, be ordered to pay damages, end up broke and destitute?’ she enquired acidly. ‘I don’t.’

‘I figured not,’ he said.

‘How was the lobster?’ enquired the waiter, appearing to remove their plates.

Keir smiled. ‘Delicious, thank you.’

‘Nice,’ Darcy muttered, her mind flying every which way.

Just as she had been trapped into dining here with him this evening, so she was trapped into doing the play. She had no option but to work with the director who had had such a crippling effect on her father and never shown one iota of remorse.

Hurt gnawed inside her. One of nature’s extroverts, Rupert—he had liked her to call him by his given name—had always brimmed with joie de vivre, but after with-drawing from the production he had grown increasingly morose and distracted, until that dreadful day when——

‘Lamb cutlets with rosemary for the young lady,’ announced the waiter, removing a silver dome with practised flair and setting her plate down in front of her.

Darcy came back to the present. ‘Thank you.’

Another dome was expertly flourished. ‘And fillet steak, rare, for you, sir.’

As a selection of garden-fresh vegetables was served Darcy’s thoughts played hopscotch. Keir had reckoned that he was not licking his lips over either Jed or her? How dared he?

‘And what’s wrong with me?’ she demanded, her green eyes glittering. ‘Just as you always do a good job of directing, so I always do a good job—no, a great job,’ she adjusted mutinously, ‘of acting.’

Keir looked across at her, then looked up to speak to the waiter. ‘Would it be possible for you to bring a sharp knife?’ he requested. ‘As you can see, my companion is in an inflammatory mood and I have the feeling she’d very much like to cut off my——’

‘I don’t want to cut off anything,’ she gabbled, at speed.

When she had known him before he had sometimes shocked her—and secretly excited her—with his direct approach to matters physical and sexual, and now she was fearful of what he might say. They were dining at the genteel Brierly Hotel, after all.

‘That’s a relief,’ he murmured, and the waiter chuckled. ‘Of course,’ Keir went on, speaking to the man in a tone of male-bonded confidentiality, ‘she’s crazy about me really.’

‘I am not!’ Darcy yelped, then, recognising that he was baiting her and she was falling for it, she shone a plastic smile. ‘I think he’s cute——’

‘Cute?’ Keir winced.

‘But not that cute,’ she finished, with crushing relish.

Wary of being baited again, Darcy held back on any further protests until the waiter had safely departed and they were alone.

‘You should be grateful that I’m taking the female lead,’ she said as she renewed her attack. ‘You obviously aren’t aware of this but last winter I received an award for the Best Young British Actress of the Year. It’s an acknowledgement of outstanding performance given to actresses under thirty and it’s been won by a long line of women who are now some of this country’s most distinguished actresses.

‘I deserved the award,’ she went on, with a little puff of self-importance and more than a touch of grandeur, ‘and I was far ahead of the rest of the field.’

‘Wowee,’ Keir said, placing a fist to his brow in a gesture of mock exultation, but she ignored him.

‘I received the award for playing a difficult part in which I was totally realistic and totally convincing, and I’ve been totally convincing in all the other parts I’ve done, whether they’ve been on the stage or on television. My stage credits have included…’

As she catalogued a trio of West End successes Darcy listened to herself in surprise. She had been grossly sceptical of the award, as she was of all acting awards, yet this evening she had flaunted it. Also, mention the word ‘publicity’ and normally she cringed, yet now she was publicising herself and doing an excellent job.

Maybe she could be accused of going over the top, but it could not be helped. What mattered was making Keir realise, and acknowledge, that in her he had a jewel, a veritable diamond.

‘And ever since I won the award scripts have been thudding through my letter box, including some from Hollywood film producers,’ she informed him in a voice which thumbed her nose and said, So there! ‘Maurice is urging me to grab the scripts with two sweaty hands,’ Darcy went on, then hesitated, frowning. ‘However——’

‘I know about your award,’ Keir interrupted, as though her hard sell had exhausted his patience and any more would have had him stampeding hysterically for the door. ‘I also saw the play and was impressed.’

‘You did?’ she said in surprise. ‘You were?’

‘Most impressed.’

Coming from a director of his clout, this was praise indeed—but Darcy refused to blubber her thanks or even smile. Instead she coolly tossed the drift of dark curls back from her shoulders. ‘So you should’ve been,’ she said.

Keir had started to eat and he nodded towards her plate. ‘Don’t let your meal go cold.’

Obediently she picked up her knife and fork and for a few minutes they ate in silence. ‘So why aren’t you happy with either Jed or me?’ she demanded, when her lamb cutlets had been reduced to bone. ‘I’m——’

‘A phenomenal actress. Message received and understood.’ His look was sardonic. ‘But I didn’t say Jed or you—my reference was to Jed and you together. Have you met the guy?’ She shook her head. ‘I have and——’ He broke off. ‘How tall are you?’

‘Five feet nine.’

‘He’s much the same, in his built-up heels. But the male lead’s height is important because it’s integral to the plot that he’s seen to physically dominate the girl. Some actors—good stage actors—could create the illusion despite the lack of inches, but Jed? I doubt it.

‘He’s also dark and so are you, but a visual contrast would be better. The two characters are supposed to be chalk and cheese, different in many ways, until finally they join together.’ He eyed her sable-brown curls. ‘I couldn’t persuade you to get busy with the bleach bottle?’

‘Persuade?’ Darcy said warily. ‘Going platinum isn’t stipulated in my contract?’

‘Nope.’

She expelled a sigh of relief. As soon as she could she would go through the small print with a fine-tooth comb. ‘Then no chance.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Keir said, and, stretching an arm across the table, he entwined a wisp of her hair around a long finger. ‘You have beautiful hair.’

‘Thanks,’ Darcy said, and drew back, forcing him to draw back too. She knew that it was simply his charm kicking in and her common sense kicking out, yet his touch seemed alarmingly intimate. Like a lover’s touch. ‘So you have your doubts about Jed’s capabilities too?’ she enquired.

Keir nodded. ‘Between you and me, I feel that in insisting on taking on the role he’s being overly ambitious. By far. That said, I’ll squeeze as good a performance as it’s possible to get out of the guy and I won’t let him turn the play into a piece of hokum.

‘However,’ he added, with a faintly mocking twist to his mouth, ‘while I hesitate to step on your ego—or put myself at risk of an impromptu vasectomy—don’t forget that it’s Jed who’ll bring in the audiences. You might be the cat’s pyjamas of the British stage but in the States you’re an unknown.’

Aware of being adroitly cut down to size, Darcy gave a thin smile. ‘True.’

‘Though,’ he continued, ‘there are some who’ll recognise you as Sir Rupert Weston’s daughter.’

She shot him a glance. His expression looked benign but did she detect condemnation again or could this be a jibe? From the start of her career Darcy had had to face comments, sometimes envious, sometimes scathing, about how she was following in her father’s footsteps, yet doing so had not been easy. His fame was a doubleedged sword in that while it had opened some doors it had closed others; and on the occasions when she had got inside she had had to perform and expectations had been high.

‘True,’ she repeated, being determinedly noncommittal. ‘Why did you agree to direct the play if you have doubts about Jed Horwood?’ she enquired, when they had both refused dessert but ordered coffee.

‘Because it’s so cleverly plotted and the dialogue crackles with such credible passions that, given dedicated performances, it has the ability to be theatrical dynamite. And because my financial deal is excellent.’

‘It is?’ she said, with a frown.

He nodded. ‘I had something going which I was reluctant to leave, but a special deal whereby I get a percentage of the profits was hammered out and I agreed,’ he explained. He swirled the remaining red wine in his glass. ‘I also agreed because the rehearsals and previews take place in Washington.’

‘What’s special about that?’

‘I live in Washington.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Darcy said, thinking that in fact she knew very little about his private life.

‘In Georgetown, so it means I’ll be able to keep a handle on—the rest of my activities,’ he said vaguely, ‘which is useful.’

His activities? What did he mean? she wondered, and it suddenly occurred to her that her one-time hero could now have a wife and it might be family life which demanded his attention. A line cut between her brows. The idea shocked and oddly jarred.

‘Are you married?’ she enquired.

‘No,’ he replied a little brusquely.

‘Oh, I just thought that, well, your looks and your talent make you quite a catch——’

‘You’re not praising me?’ Keir drawled when she stopped, aware of talking herself into an awkward verbal corner.

‘And you’re thirty-six, which is a marriageable age,’ Darcy finished in a rush.

‘I’m still single,’ he said, and raised his glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to the success of the play and here’s to the next time we meet—in Washington in a fortnight.’

‘A fortnight? You mean in a month,’ she protested.

‘No. This appears to be something else which Maurice neglected to mention,’ Keir said mordantly, ‘but rehearsals start in two weeks’ time. As you know, the lead roles are complex and, while Bill Shapiro may’ve been happy with a month of rehearsals overall, I’m not. I want two weeks with you and Jed working on the script together and alone before the rest of the cast arrives. OK?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ Darcy enquired tartly.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth and he shook his head. ‘None,’ he said.

CHAPTER TWO

FASCINATED by the panorama which stretched for miles into the hazy, shimmering distance, Darcy gazed out of the tenth-floor window. As her eyes travelled across rooftops, traffic-dotted streets and swaths of green to focus on the dome of the Capitol, gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, she smiled. This was her first time in Washington and her plane had only touched down a couple of hours ago, yet already she was enchanted.

‘Jim-dandy city, ain’t it?’ the friendly black cab driver had said, noticing her pleasure on the journey in from the airport, and she had assured him that with wide boulevards, majestic memorials and squint-white obelisks Washington lived up to its claim of being the greatest free show on earth.

Her focus blurred. Enchantment was not a feature on her agenda; she had come here to work—with Keir Robards.

Although at first she had raged against what had seemed the inscrutable, star-crossed perversity of fate, over the past fortnight she had gradually come to realise that, by throwing them together, fate had performed a favour, insomuch as it had presented her with two opportunities. The first was to be a smash hit in the play, for, in all honesty, Keir’s directing abilities by far exceeded those of Bill Shapiro, and the second was to get even.

Darcy tweaked at the neck of the putty-coloured silk top which she wore with matching trousers. No, not even—full retribution could never be exacted—but she would make it plain that while Keir might have trampled mercilessly over her father he could not trample over her—and she would take some revenge in the process.

She was not malicious by nature, but she did not see why he should escape from his sins scot-free, not now that fate had so emphatically intervened and when her relationship with Keir Robards was beginning to seem more and more like unfinished business. She might have thought about him spasmodically, yet it had not been so spasmodic and she had never forgotten him. How could she have done when he had had such a dramatic effect on her life—in different ways?

Darcy nibbled pensively at a fingernail. She must not do anything which might damage her reputation or mar the play—that would be counterproductive—but whenever a chance arose to rile, unsettle or alarm the man she would take it. For the next couple of months she intended to make Keir Robards’ life hell—subtly.

Her thought-train jumped tracks. What were the activities on which he wanted to keep ‘a handle’? Darcy wondered. She had been wondering about this and his reference to having ‘something going’ which he was reluctant to leave. Could Keir have been unwilling to be separated from a lover who shared his Washington home, and, as the separation while they were in New York would not be too lengthy, was that why he had eventually agreed? It seemed feasible. Who was his live-in lover?

Abruptly Darcy swung from the window. She had better things to do than speculate over Keir’s personal affairs, which did not interest her anyway. Her unpacking awaited, after which she would ring her new boss—oh, how the prospect of being bossed by him rankled—and advise him of her arrival.

She was in an impressive city and staying at a spectacular hotel, Darcy reflected as she hung up her clothes. An architectural marvel of bronze girders and tinted glass, the De Robillard was, so Maurice, who had fixed the accommodation, had informed her, the most prestigious hotel in town.

Her eyes travelled across the chic taupe and white quilted emperor-size bed, the vast walls of wardrobes, the mirrored bar with its mind-boggling selection of on-the-house drinks. It also had to be one of the most spacious.

After she had walked what seemed like miles, putting everything away, Darcy lifted the onyx telephone and dialled Keir’s number.

‘It’s Darcy,’ she said when he answered. ‘I’ve arrived and I’m installed.’

‘Installed where?’

‘At the De Robillard.’

There was a moment of silence. ‘How’s the jet lag?’ he enquired.

‘Non-existent.’

‘Then how about bringing over your script and we can make a start?’

‘Now?’ she said in surprise.

‘Now.’

Darcy dithered. Last night, anticipation of needing to be up before dawn in order to catch her flight—and an itchy awareness of seeing Keir again—had meant that her sleep had been fitful. Which, in turn, meant that, while she felt wide awake at this moment, she could slump without warning. So should she backtrack, plead incipient weariness and hope to annoy—or did she show him that she was a professional? Demonstrating her professionalism won.

‘You want me to come to a rehearsal hall?’ she asked.

‘I want you to come to my home. The journey won’t take long in a cab.’

Darcy reached for her caramel-coloured suede jacket. Forget the refreshing soak in the Jacuzzi that you had planned, she thought. Forget a stop at the hotel’s marble-pillared coffee-shop. Forget a stroll outside to view the White House.

‘What’s the address?’ she enquired.

When she met Keir this time she would be cool and composed, Darcy told herself as the cab sped along the busy city roads. A fortnight ago, being faced with him out of the blue had thrown her and, like the teenager she had once been, she had racketed around from blushes to squeaks to gabbles. But forewarned was forearmed and now, whatever Keir might say or do, she refused to be fazed. As for him attracting her…

Once more Darcy chewed at her fingernail. Because there was no man currently in her life, she supposed that she was what was described as sex-starved, and thus susceptible. However, by reacting to Keir, her hormones had acted the traitor. From now on they would be kept under strict control, but if they should react to him again she would ignore them.