Wild Lady Part 6

"No, water. I'm less than half way through my day's work," she said, propping herself up on a barstool.

He eased himself onto an adjoining stool. "I didn't get a chance to tell you what I thought of the play last night."

She took a sip of water. "Discretion," she reminded him, "is the better part of valor."

"Well, I wouldn't have bought a ticket," he confessed, "but it's very stylish and the jokes still seem to work. The other girl is your sister?"

"Melanie's my half sister. We've different mothers. It seems impossible to believe now but none of us knew she existed until a couple of months ago, not even Dad."

"Really?" He wasn't convinced. She didn't blame him.

"It's true. My own mother was Elaine French -"

"I know. Everyone's heard of her."

Who hadn't? "Yes, well, she was badly hurt in a car accident at about the same time that Mel's mother discovered she was pregnant. Rather than ask my father to make a choice she just went away and never told a soul who the father was. Not even Melanie. She died last year and Luke -" She paused. This was getting complicated. She wasn't even sure why she was telling him.

"Luke?" he prompted.

She shrugged. "Luke Devlin. He's Melanie's uncle, her mother's younger brother. He discovered that Dad was Mel's father and came looking for him with malice aforethought. Fortunately he met Fizz first and fell in love with her. She's my other sister, a whole one this time, not half like Melanie."

"And she's the pregnant one?"

"That's right. Felicity. The one who isn't an actress." Claudia gave a little shrug. "She runs a radio station."

"You're quite a family," he said.

There was an edge to his voice that she didn't quite like. "Theater is the family business, Mac. Is house-breaking yours?"

"No. That's an entirely new line of business." He stared into his gla.s.s. "In my family the men are soldiers. They always have been."

"Always?" She regarded him coolly. "How long is always?"

"How long have men been fighting? There was a MacIntyre with John Churchill at Blenheim. A couple battled across Spain with Wellington, one actually survived the charge of the Light Brigade -"

""... the glorious madness ..."?"

"- and on a single day two brothers and a cousin died in the mud at Ypres." He glanced at her. "Not glorious, Claudia. War is a b.l.o.o.d.y business."

She didn't flinch from his criticism. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to be flippant. Go on."

"There are always wars, Claudia. And always men stupid enough to fight them."

"You?"

"I'm as stupid as the next man, I guess."

Or maybe a man with little choice. "That's quite some burden to carry around with you," she said. "How do you live up to that?" She saw that she'd surprised him. Did he think she wouldn't know what it was like to follow an ill.u.s.trious line, to have everything you did a.n.a.lyzed and compared?

"Claudia, Mac," Barty gushed, as he pounced on them. "Thanks for coming. I'll just run through what I want and then you can go and get miked up."

Claudia almost felt the relief emanating from Gabriel MacIntyre. He was perfectly willing to tell the world about his ill.u.s.trious ancestors, but she sensed a reluctance to talk about himself.

Was he a flawed hero? Or not a hero at all? He was too young to have retired - "Claudia?" Barty was looking at her, obviously expecting an answer. "Weren't you listening?"

"Sorry, I was distracted. I thought I saw somebody I knew."

"Well, you can go and talk to him afterwards." Why did everybody always a.s.sume it would be a him? "Now, listen," he instructed, as if it was her first day at primary school and he was the headmistress. Barty, Claudia thought, would make the perfect headmistress in one of those "Carry On..." films. "Since you made such a fuss about getting back to the theater I've changed the running of the show and you're on first. Mike'll explain in the introduction why you've got to rush off." He gave her a petulant look. "That will give you a nice little hype for Private Lives."

The play was sold out for weeks, but since grat.i.tude was evidently expected, she smiled like a good little girl. "Thank you, Barty."

"And then we'll run the film and when that's over you'll be called on, there'll be loads of applause so I want you to run down to the center of the studio, arms raised in triumph."

"Oh, G.o.d," Mac groaned, as Barty demonstrated exactly what he wanted. Claudia coughed loudly to cover him.

Barty waited impatiently to her to finish. "Then Mike'll tell you how much you raised for your charity and present the check."

"What is your charity?" Mac asked, turning to Claudia.

"A children's hospice in Broomhill. My home town. Fizz began a campaign for it on her radio station last year. Luke has donated a site for it and raised some of the money through the City. But building work is starting next month and -"

"Yes, yes," Barty said, impatiently. "It was a lovely choice. You'll be glad to know that we've had an enormous response to the appeal and some lovely letters. A lot of people still remember your mother with great affection and you are so like her."

"I'm not in the least bit like her, Barty. She was -" Mac's fingers tightened warningly on her arm and she dragged at a breath, caught back the words. "She was a real star," she finished, slowly.

"Yes, dear. She was utterly radiant. Your father must miss her dreadfully." Then he gave an awkward little laugh as he realized he had said something that perhaps wasn't quite as true as everyone had once thought.

"My father devoted himself to her until the day she died," Claudia said, through barely clenched teeth.

"Yes. Well." He turned quickly to Mac. "Once we've given Claudia her check, we'll thank you for all the work your team put in make the jump a success and since you're not taking the payment for your services personally, but for your own good cause, Mike will then tell everyone about it, run the little film we made about it and after that you'll get your own check. Okay? Right." He glanced at his watch. "You can get mike'd up now and in ten minutes we'll be ready to go."

"Is it too late to tiptoe out?" Mac asked, as he watched Barty b.u.t.tonhole his next victim.

"Just grin and bear it," Claudia said. "Think of the people who'll benefit because you were prepared to make a fool of yourself for a few minutes. And Mac..." He tilted a questioning brow in her direction. "Thanks for stopping me from saying something I'd regret."

"Anytime."

"How did you know?"

"You went sort of white around the nose. Adele does that just before she hits the roof. I had a very recent reminder of what that's like."

"Oh."

"It's all right, Claudia. I understand."

"Do you?"

"It can't be much fun living in your mother's shadow."

"Really?" She stared at him, furious with herself for hoping that a man who lived under the weight of a whole regiment of heroes might actually have been just a little more sensitive. "I suggest you save your amateur psychology for those it impresses, Mac. You've got me all wrong." She spotted the sound man and crossed to him, leaving Mac to stay or go. She didn't care either way.

He stayed and when he had been rigged up for sound he came to stand alongside her as the show started, watching the monitor as the film of her training sessions and the jump was shown. He put a hand on her arm as she tensed, but it didn't look as bad as she had feared although her insides contracted uncomfortably as she hit the ground. The next shot was her arrival back at the ap.r.o.n, the waiting champagne, Mac lifting her from the jeep. Mac kissing her. She held her breath as it was Mac's turn to go rigid. Surely they wouldn't show her slapping him? But the film froze on her just-kissed face, her lips soft, slightly parted, her eyes bright, filling the television screens in eleven million sitting rooms throughout the country.

She didn't have time to think about it, instead the floor manager was waving at them frantically to get onto the set. Mac caught her hand and they ran down onto the set to thunderous applause from the hyped-up studio audience.

Mike Gratin, the show's host, beamed at them before turning back to the audience. "Let's hear it for a brave young lady." The audience went wild. "And the lucky man who gave her all that support." Another cheer. "Do you think he deserves another kiss?" he asked them.

"You kiss him," Claudia muttered, but no one heard. The audience, being worked skillfully by Mike, was loudly roaring its a.s.sent.

"How much is it worth?" he asked them.

"One thousand pounds," they shouted back with one voice.

He put his hand to his ear as if he hadn't heard them. "How much?"

"One thousand pounds, one thousand pounds, one thousand pounds," the primed audience chanted gleefully and Claudia's insides curled up at this further indignity as Mike turned to her and Mac, hands open in an "over-to-you" gesture.

Claudia felt her insides contract again as Mac turned his blue eyes upon her. "It's all in a good cause, sweetheart," he murmured, with the slightest lift of his brows.

"Sure it is." She'd been set up, the audience primed in advance by the warm-up man and there was no way out, but if Barty James thought he was going to get off that cheaply he had seriously underestimated her. She turned and looked up at the audience, then putting her hand to her ear in an imitation of Mike's gesture she called out, "How much?"

She made an upward gesture with her other hand and the audience, a.s.suming this was all part of the fun, didn't need any encouragement. "Two thousands pounds," they chanted, noisily.

Claudia placed her hands on her hips and stared up at them. "Only two thousand?" she demanded. "You can do better than that. Think of all those sick children."

"Three," they shouted back, gleefully. "Three thousand pounds."

She turned to Mac with a broad gesture of disgust at their cheapness. Mac, taking his cue from her, joined in. "Come on now," he encouraged them. "It isn't coming out of your pockets. Mike's got the money burning a hole in his pocket right now. Just say the word." The audience obliged.

Mike Grafton, realizing his show was being hijacked, quickly joined in hoisting up the price until Barty James" frantic signals brought him to a halt. "Well, Claudia," he said, turning to her. "The audience want another kiss and we like to keep our audience happy even if it means we have to give seven thousand pounds to your good cause." Off camera, Barty's expression suggested that it was coming straight out of his own pocket. "What do you say?"

Claudia smiled sweetly. "I say you should double it."

Mike gave a nervous laugh. "Double it?" On the edge of the set she saw Barty groan, but he knew when he was beaten and he nodded once before disappearing to grab a large whisky that had magically appeared in front of him. Mike, determined to make the most of this turn of events, turned to the audience.

"Double it!" he repeated. "Shall we ask Gabriel MacIntyre if he thinks she's worth it?"

Claudia was aware that Mac was looking at her, but she was incapable of meeting his eyes. Instead she kept her professional smile turned on the audience as an expectant silence settled over the studio.

"She's worth every penny," Mac said.

The audience loved it, but Mike held up his hand for silence, then as the studio darkened, he stood back leaving them in a sudden bright spotlight.

It was nothing, Claudia told herself. A stage kiss meant nothing. But Mac made no move to help her out. Maybe he was remembering what had happened last time and he was leaving it up to her to take the lead. Slowly she turned to him, took his hands in hers for a moment. "We'd better give them their money's worth, darling," she said, then reached up to put her arms around his neck.

"Have we got that long?" he murmured softly.

She didn't answer, she simply raised herself on tiptoe and pressing herself against him, she kissed him. Cold, calculated and entirely without feeling, it was undoubtedly the most brazen kiss she had ever given, on stage or off. An unabashed, no-holds-barred plundering of his lips and for a moment she felt him tense against the unexpected onslaught. Just for a moment, then his arm tightened about her waist and he was in control, kissing her back, raiding the softness of her mouth, stealing the very breath from her body. One moment she was firmly in control of the situation, dictating the pace, the manner of a very public kiss. Then, quite suddenly she wasn't. Startled by the sudden switch she froze. But as his body molded itself to her, his arms about her waist lifting her from the floor, taking her weight, all the anger at being set up like this seeped away from her and she bunched his sweater beneath her fingers, clinging to him. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear the audience clapping, counting out the seconds as the kiss went on and on. But this final humiliation didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter, except the heat of Gabriel MacIntyre's mouth and slow, deliberate way in which he was taking possession of her.

Then, suddenly it was over and as she leaned back against his arm, her hair falling back from her face, his eyes were shuttered, giving her no clue to the way he was feeling. Furious with him, furious with herself, she barely managed to keep her own emotions from spilling over. But despite the provocation, the temptation to do exactly what she had done the first time he had kissed her, she knew better than to lose her temper in front of an audience of millions. Instead she briefly lowered her lashes. "Tell the people, Mac," she murmured huskily, "was that kiss worth fourteen thousand pounds?"

"It's your good cause, Claudia, you tell me," he replied, his voice soft as tearing velvet.

"Don't even talk to me," she said, as Barty followed her to the door. "I never want to be involved in a show with you again."

"It was just a bit of fun, Claudia. And you did very well out of it -"

"No thanks to you. And it's still chicken feed. This is the cheapest kind of television going. You get celebrities to appear for nothing but their expenses because the proceeds are all for charity and you get the public to put their hands in their pockets to support them. And tomorrow I'll be all over the tabloids locked in his arms." She glared at Mac. "I suppose you knew all about this? So much for your objection to making a fool of yourself."

"I didn't as a matter-of-fact." He shrugged. "But as you said, it was for a good cause."

"No, Mac. It was for cheap publicity for his show."

"Not that cheap," Barty complained.

"No," she agreed. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had squeezed him until he squeaked. She glanced at her watch and headed for the door. "Just consider yourself lucky that I have to be somewhere else, Barty. You've got off lightly." Mac beat her to the door, opening it for her, but as he took her arm she shook him off. "Will you stop manhandling me?" she demanded, eyes flashing as her temper turned on him. He lifted his hands, holding them palm up to show that he had got the message. "Right. Let's go."

He held the car door for her, but did not offer her a hand as she climbed into the car. And he didn't try to make conversation as they sped back to the theater. But he did follow her inside when they arrived.

"Get lost, Mac. I've had all I can take of you for one day."

"Not quite, I'm afraid. You won't be able to get into your flat. I've changed the locks and the combination on your alarm. I'll take you home after the performance and run through it with you."

"No, Mac, you won't, because I'm not going back to my flat. I won't be back until Monday afternoon," she informed him. "Which will give you plenty of time to put everything back exactly the way it was. And, since you're such good pals, you can leave my spare set of keys with Mrs. Abercrombie."

With that she turned on her heel and went backstage to her dressing room. She was still shaking with rage as she applied her makeup.

"Five minutes, Claudia."

"Right." She put the finishing touches to her hair and stood up, taking half a dozen slow breaths. Then she opened her wardrobe door to take out the long white lace peignoir that she wore in her first scene.

It was in shreds.

"Darling, you looked absolutely fine," Melanie rea.s.sured her. "Your wrap is lovely, no one could possibly have known you weren't wearing your costume."

"Unless they'd seen the show before," Phillip said. "Or they had looked at the production stills outside the theater. Or they checked their programs." He was white with rage. "Have you any idea how this reflects on me? On my staff? I don't know what Mr. Edward will say."

Melanie turned on him. "Is that all you can think of? Your own selfish concerns? Have you any idea what it must have been like for Claudia to walk on stage, carry on as if nothing had happened minutes after finding something like that? I don't know how she did it."

Claudia raised a hand. She was not about to referee an argument between the two of them. "Phillip, will you please see that the garment is replaced by Monday evening and ask wardrobe to ensure that there are spare costumes available in future."

"For Miss Melanie as well?"

Claudia considered telling him that it wasn't necessary. But that would draw unnecessary attention to her own predicament and the fewer people who knew about that the better. "Of course. And when I come to the theater on Monday I will want a full list of everyone who has been through the stage door since the first performance today. Staff and visitors, anybody working here."