скачать книгу бесплатно
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 (#ulink_ea0bb673-d28d-5493-a4e6-f60b604de36d)
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.
At the driver’s comment that they were entering Georgetown, Darcy peered eagerly out of the window. According to an article in the airline magazine which she had read on the plane, this was one of the District of Columbia’s most fashionable neighbourhoods. It boasted late eighteenth- and nineteenth-century homes, where high-society hostesses entertained luminaries from the diplomatic and political worlds, interesting shops and myriad fine restaurants.
Refined and yet vibrant with vitality, Georgetown was a desirable residential urban village, something like an American version of Hampstead, Darcy decided.
The address that Keir had provided turned out to be a gracious turn-of-the-century brick villa on a quiet, leafy street. She walked up the short drive, mounted a flight of stone steps to a white-glossed front door, and pressed the bell. Hastily finger-combing her hair, Darcy adopted an expression which was intended to portray both maturity and sang-froid.
‘Hi,’ Keir said as the front door swung open.
In close-fitting jeans and a navy open-necked shirt which revealed a smattering of dark blond hair in the V at his throat, he looked all male, all lean physique, all powerful. Seeing him again hit her like a blow somewhere between the solar plexus and the upper thigh.
Darcy snatched in a breath. She was not going to be fazed? Her hormones would be controlled or, at least, ignored? Wrong on each count. The idea had been a huge folly. Her brow furrowed. Yet to be attracted to a man whom she classed as an enemy was a skewed notion which indicated a troublesome schizophrenia.
‘Hello,’ she said, the word emerging irritatingly like a gasp.
Keir smiled the kind of smile which once she would have drowned in. ‘Come in. Let me take your jacket,’ he said, and hitched it up amid a row of his which hung on brass hooks.
‘Has Jed Horwood arrived yet?’ she whispered furtively as he ushered her through a hall with stained-glass windows and a grandfather clock, and into an airy living-room.
‘No, he——’
‘Good, because I want to ask you something before he does. Last week I rented out videos of several of his films and now, frankly, acting with His Machoness is beginning to seem more and more a dubious pleasure,’ she said, arrowing in on a third worry which had helped to keep her awake the previous night.
‘I know you promised to get the best out of him, but, after seeing how wooden he is, I doubt if he has any best. Not only that but the celluloid Jed Horwood is so brash and smug.’ Darcy pulled a face. ‘Seriously awful.
‘I realise that he might be different in the flesh, but if not it could be a dampener. His character and mine are supposed to feel an irresistible urge for each other and, while I’m perfectly capable of acting this out——’ the declaration was defiant ‘—it would help if Jed Horwood weren’t a jerk. So,’ she demanded, reaching the end of her hurried spiel, ‘please would you tell me what the real man is like?’
‘In a word——’ Keir pursed his lips ‘—obnoxious.’
‘I knew it!’ Darcy wailed. ‘In that case it’s going to take——’
He cut her off. ‘We’ll talk about Jed in a minute. Can I get you a coffee?’
‘Oh—please.’
‘Cream?’ he enquired, gesturing to her to come with him through an archway and into the kitchen.
‘Just a dash.’
As he lifted a bubbling percolator Darcy put her thoughts about Jed Horwood on hold and gazed around. Fitted in limed oak and equipped with state-of-the-art appliances, the kitchen was streamlined yet cosy.
Her eyes strayed back to the pale-carpeted living-room, to a cauliflower-check sofa, to a wall unit which held television and stereo, to green and white curtains which floated at the sash windows. Although elegant, like its owner, the decor was a little spartan for her taste, but the room was light, well-shaped and possessed potential.
‘I like your house,’ she said.
‘Thanks. The place was virtually falling apart when I bought it a few years ago and since then I’ve spent a lot of time abroad, so I’m still in the process of getting things how I want them.’
‘Abroad where?’ she asked.
‘South America, the Caribbean, and I was in India for three months earlier this year.’
