‘PARIS…’ His voice was thicker, and his breathing wasn’t any too steady either, and then his mouth was against hers, his hand a brand that burnt into her thigh, and he was…and then he…and she began melting, from the inside. Strength left her knees, her arms, her eyelids, and she felt boneless, ensorcelled, as his mouth and then his hands made music not heard this side of heaven. His body was a warm, heavy weight, not hurting, not uncomfortable, and when he moved his hands, allowed his palms to gently frame her jaw, fingers touching behind her ears, she freed his shirt entirely, touched her hands to his warm, naked back, revelled in the feel of smooth flesh, revelled in sensations too exquisite to define. Practised, her mind tried to whisper, and if kissing her made her feel mindless, just his mouth touching hers made her thoughts spiral out of control, then his hard frame against hers was something else again. She felt drugged.
She protested when he moved, but not when he stripped her of her dress; she helped him when he unclipped her bra, groaned in pleasure when he gently, seductively, pleasurably, removed her hold-up stockings. Not a word was exchanged as he slid his mouth from her ankle to her knee, to her groin, slipped his thumb between the lace of her panties, and then slowly returned his mouth to hers, teased her willing lips apart, touched his tongue to parted teeth—and surrender was as inevitable as it was desired. He was gentle, exciting, sure. No messy fumblings, no awkwardness, and, when he had loved her to the mindless exclusion of all else, he curved her warmly against his side, pulled the cover over them, and urged softly, ‘Go to sleep.’
‘I don’t want to,’ she mumbled. Pleasurably languorous, she wanted to talk, whisper things to him, explain how she felt, touch him, arouse him again…I have Oliver Darke in my bed, she told herself as she sensuously smoothed her hand across his ribcage; I have just experienced the most beautiful, most fulfilling, exciting moment of my life, and he wants me to go to sleep. Her lids impossibly weighted, her breathing slowing, drifting on a tide of sensation, a soft smile on her face, denial forgotten, she did as she was told.
Noise woke her, a discordant rattle; whether outside the hotel or in she didn’t know, only that light was hurting her eyes. Squinting, she registered sunlight through undrawn curtains. Sunlight? And then she registered the warmth of another body, an arm that was a heavy weight across her waist, and sleep fled as quickly as it had engulfed her. Moving only her eyes, she stared in horror at tousled blond hair, a stubbled jaw…And to her utter dismay, she had utter, total recall. She’d seduced him! He hadn’t been unwilling exactly, and he wasn’t the sort of man to be coerced, but…Oh, Paris, what have you done? And what in God’s name did she say when he woke up? ‘Hello, dear, have a good sleep?’ She could feel a little bubble of hysteria at the back of her throat, feel the desire to laugh and keep on laughing; she briefly considered fleeing, but where to? This was her room, and maybe she made some small sound, alerted him, because one brown eye suddenly opened.
He stared at her, blinked, and then he smiled. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘Yes,’ she whispered stupidly.
‘Good?’ Taking in her worried face, he queried comically, ‘Not so good?’
‘Oh, Oliver. I was drunk!’
His smile widened. ‘I wasn’t,’ he said softly.
‘I know.’ Was he regretting it? she asked herself feverishly. Remembering all those other women? Women who used him…‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted. Her face flaming, she jerked her head away. She felt so stupid. Wished she could get up, run away, hide. She’d practically begged him! And his naked thigh was pressing against her own, and there was a funny little flutter in her stomach. Nerves? Or desire? His thigh shifted, and she drew in a snatched breath, swallowed hard, tried to -ease free.
‘Cramp,’ he murmured teasingly.
‘Oh.’
‘Headache?’
She gave a jerky nod, then winced. ‘And I’m not ever going to drink again.’
‘Didn’t affect your performance any…’
‘Oliver!’ she protested.
He laughed, reached out, pulled her back against him, nuzzled the warmth of her neck. ‘Paris, Paris,’ he began soothingly.
‘Oh, don’t,’ she begged, her voice muffled by his shoulder, and so very aware of their nakedness, of his warm thigh against her own, his arm across her waist, she struggled to find words to make it right. ‘Please don’t say anything else,’ she begged. ‘I feel mortified enough as it is.’
‘Mortified?’
Hearing a different note in his voice, she raised her head to look at him, then wished she hadn’t. His eyes still warm from sleep, his face so—rakishly attractive, she swallowed, nodded.
‘You regret it? Is that what you’re saying?’ he asked gently.
‘Well, of course I regret it! Don’t you?’
He shook his head.
‘You don’t?’ she asked worriedly.
‘No. You think I took advantage of you, is that it?’
‘No! Of course I don’t think that!’ she denied fretfully. ‘And that wasn’t very gallant.’
‘No. Nor is your…’
‘My what?’ she demanded.
He shook his head, refused to explain. Because it wasn’t worth even discussing? Because it hadn’t been the most exciting moment in his life? Well, of course it hadn’t, she told herself impatiently as she continued to stare at him, into brown eyes that held an expression she couldn’t quite identify; he probably did it all the time…and she wanted to cry, because she felt so foolish. Wanted to be held, reassured, wanted to shove him off and on to the floor. Didn’t know why she didn’t. Pride? A pretence that she didn’t care? But she did. So very much. She’d never gone in for casual sex, never leapt in and out of bed as the mood took her. Never slept with someone on such short acquaintance. She’d had two lovers in her twenty-nine years, and both times she had thought herself in love. But they hadn’t felt like this. She hadn’t felt anxious, frightened—so very aching. So very—stupid. And now he would think…probably did think, and she had no idea what to say, how to make it right, and when he reached out, touched his fingers to her face, she flinched, turned her face away, didn’t see his speculative look as he allowed his hand to drop.
Staring down at the well-muscled forearm that lay across the covers, she moved her eyes to his hand. A beautiful hand, strong, tender…With a small, twisted smile she closed her eyes, hiding the embarrassment that lingered there. So what happened now?
She had wanted him to love her, give in to the emotions that had buffeted her; she had let him love her as she had probably wanted him to love her from the moment he had stepped down from his private plane. Loved him back with all the passion she was capable of—because drink had clouded her reason, but not her desire. And, to him, it probably meant less than nothing. No, not less than nothing perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary. And would this one experience have to last her the rest of her life? A beautiful memory of how it could be? And, when they met later, would he just say, ‘Hi’? Smile, go on his merry way? Hi, she thought she could cope with, but if he tried to make her feel cheap…
It’s just chemistry, she tried to tell herself, strong attraction, a desire to have something special. On her part, anyway. And it had been something special. Nothing would probably ever be as special again…Oh, will you shut up, Paris! He made love to you, you made love to him. It happened all the time, all over the world—she just wished that reducing it to its lowest common denominator actually worked! Wished that Oliver could feel as she did. Only he didn’t, did he? Couldn’t possibly…Probably did not feel as she did…Possibly, he…
Agitated, not even really knowing what she was doing, but remembering so vividly what he had said about other women, about how they…she thrust the covers aside, started to swing her legs free, and he grasped her arm, stayed her.
‘Running away?’ he asked softly. ‘That won’t solve anything.’
‘I’m not running away,’ she denied with shaken dignity, ‘and there is nothing to solve. I just want to get up, forget it…’
‘Forget it? You only wanted me because you were drunk? Is that what you’re saying?’
Shocked, she twisted to face him. ‘No! Of course that isn’t what I’m saying!’
‘Then what are you saying? Thanks, but now that I’m sober, no thanks?’
‘No! Stop twisting things!’ Needing to put space between them, she lunged for her robe that was lying on the dressing-table stool. Shrugging into it, feeling marginally more in control now that she was covered, she took a small breath and bravely tried again. ‘I was only saying…Well, that you wouldn’t have made love to me if I hadn’t forced you.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’
Uncertain, she turned to stare at him doubtfully. Perhaps, after all…
‘Why did you want to make love to me, Paris?’
‘Why?’ she echoed.
‘Yes, why? Because I’m famous?’
‘Famous? Don’t be absurd. And I already told you after we—in the—I already told you I wasn’t like that!’
‘So you did.’
‘Don’t you believe me?’ she asked unhappily.
Without immediately answering, he hauled himself up in the bed, leaned against the headboard, and, with his eyes on her face, almost as though he were trying to see a truth there, he asked, ‘Then why the regret? It was a nice interlude, a——’
‘I don’t believe you!’ she exclaimed tearfully. ‘How can you even ask me that? I suppose next you’ll want to know if I was bloody satisfied?’
‘Were you?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes!’
‘I’m very glad to hear it.’
‘Stop it!’ she cried. ‘Stop it! Why are you being like this?’
‘Because I’m beginning to wonder if I haven’t been used,’ he said quietly.
‘Used? Oh, Oliver, no!’ Reaching out, hesitantly touching him, she exclaimed even more worriedly, ‘I was, am, embarrassed! I don’t, I mean…’
‘You don’t normally leap in and out of bed as the fancy takes you?’ he asked more gently.
‘Yes. I mean, no.’ With a helpless sigh, she just stared at him, and when he gave her a gentle smile, she smiled shyly back. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So you should be.’
Feeling awkward and unsure of herself, she looked down, fiddled with the belt of her robe. We made love, she told herself, and she still didn’t quite believe it. That she could have so far forgotten herself. And it had been so perfect! And now she was behaving like a frightened virgin, not like herself at all. She should have been blasé, pretended, and then maybe she could have carried it off—as she would have carried it off if it hadn’t mattered. But if it hadn’t mattered, she wouldn’t have had him in her bed in the first place. With a sigh, she peeped at him, blushed faintly when he gave her a look that was—well, sexually blatant, caught sight of the clock and blurted stupidly, ‘It’s gone eight.’
‘Has it?’ he asked drily. ‘And Paris Colby won’t allow intimate discussions after eight o’clock in the morning? Some sort of watershed, is it?’
‘No,’ she mumbled, ‘don’t be silly. I just meant, if we wanted breakfast…And don’t look at me like that! I only meant…you know I didn’t mean—that!’
He chuckled, flung off the covers and, standing unashamedly naked, he stretched, yawned, and bent to pull on his trousers. ‘Better?’ he taunted softly, and she nodded, gave a shamefaced grin.
‘I’m not used to…’
‘I know,’ he agreed gently. ‘That’s why I’ve forgiven you.’
‘Forgiven me?’
‘Mmm.’
‘For what?’ she asked, beginning to be justifiably incensed by his casual tone.
‘Your—mortification, of course.’ Scooping up his clothes, he made for the door, hesitated, came back and dropped a kiss on her surprised mouth. ‘Don’t be late for breakfast.’
Picking up her hairbrush, she threw it half-heartedly after him, and then just sat there with a silly smile on her face. Smoothing out the belt of her robe, amused warmth in her eyes, her smile even more foolish, she decided that maybe it was all right. Maybe. Her headache forgotten, she got up, wandered into the bathroom, caught sight of herself in the long mirror, and stuck out her tongue. So? she defiantly asked her reflection. We only made love. Only? That had never been only! And his behaviour implied that it would happen—again. That…Don’t think ahead, Paris, she warned herself. Don’t anticipate! No, but it was very hard not to. Still staring at herself, she tilted her head to one side. An ordinary face, a face smeared with last night’s make-up, she noted ruefully, and eyes that looked—smug. You’re a very silly girl, Paris Colby. Yes. And found she didn’t in the least care.
You don’t love him, she told herself, knowing she needed the warning, at least trying to be sensible. How could you? You don’t even know him. Like him, yes, was delighted by him, and, remembering their lovemaking, she felt warmth flood through her. But if she hadn’t had too much to drink, would he…? Shut up, Paris! Reaching for her toothbrush, she forced her mind into other channels. Like the knowledge that in a few hours Athena would be here.
By nine-thirty she was showered and changed—and was still having to force the silly smile off her face! But the memories of his lovemaking, his warmth, his teasing, gave her a warm glow inside, a feeling of—anticipation, and hoping, praying that nothing of this showed on her face, she walked with every appearance of composure down to the dining-room.
Aware of the buzz of conversation from inside the restaurant, wondering if she was first, or whether Oliver had beaten her to it, she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and stepped inside. No Oliver, but Athena had already arrived—and was doing what she did best.
Unobserved for the moment, she tried to be objective as she watched her pretty sister hold court. A word here, a smile there, as she so easily, happily ensnared the film crew, the waiters who hovered, awaiting recognition. Even Henry looked adoring, and an absurd little dart of jealousy pierced her, only to be as hastily dismissed. They were alike—well, in so far as they had the same colouring, the same blue eyes—but everything about Athena was brighter, better, more rounded. Her hair was curlier, her eyes bluer, her figure more shapely. Paris always felt like the copy that nature hadn’t got quite right—but not today, and, determinedly forcing the black demon back where he belonged, knowing she was being stupid because, in reality, she was really rather proud of her sister’s beauty, her popularity, she walked to meet her sister.
‘Paris!’ she exclaimed. Carelessly dismissing her court, arms theatrically wide, she hugged Paris as though she hadn’t seen her for months.
Dismissing the possibly unworthy thought that such exuberance was for the crew’s benefit, Paris returned the hug.
‘Darling!’ Athena purred extravagantly, ‘I’ve been waiting for hours!’
‘Don’t exaggerate,’ Paris smiled, ‘if you’d been here hours you’d have been up banging on my door.’ And wouldn’t that have been a shock for everyone concerned?
‘Don’t be so practical,’ she pouted, but there was a very odd glitter in her eyes that Paris definitely found worrying. ‘And if you’d told me there were so many delicious men here——’ she exaggerated, loud enough for everyone to hear ‘—I’d have been here days ago!’
‘I know,’ Paris grinned. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you.’ Staring at her sister, trying to concentrate, not keep glancing at the doorway like an expectant child, she wondered again at the rather febrile gaiety that clung to Athena. Almost an air of anticipation. Automatically returning the smiles of the film crew, acknowledging their greetings, thanks, goodbyes, she steered her sister towards an empty table. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Of course,’ she murmured with an arch look, ‘George invited me to sit with him. But I’ll have another coffee with you, if you like.’
‘Thank you,’ Paris said drily. Ordering coffee and rolls from the smiling waiter, very well aware that something was troubling her pretty sister, Paris put her elbows on the table, rested her chin in her palms, and teased softly, ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘A stop-over! I told you, well, I told whoever answered the phone to me to tell you.’
‘Stop-over to where?’
‘The States, of course! And then I arrived just as everyone was leaving!’
‘Mmm. What’s wrong?’ Paris asked quietly.
‘Wrong?’ she exclaimed with every appearance of astonishment. ‘What should be wrong?’
‘I don’t know, but something is, almost as if you were waiting for something to happen.’
‘Don’t be silly. And I’m the one with the imagination, remember?’ With a bright smile at the waiter as he carefully poured her coffee, she waited until he’d gone before resuming, ‘Don’t you want to know about the States?’
‘Yes, of course I do. Er, you haven’t burnt the flat down or something?’ she pleaded with humorous hope of denial. ‘Wrecked the car?’
‘Of course I haven’t! Do be serious!’
Not entirely comforted, but knowing from past experience that it was waste of time trying to get Athena to tell you something if she didn’t want to, she smiled encouragingly. ‘OK, tell me about the States. Chris has found work?’
‘You don’t need to sound so hopeful,’ Athena reproved, ‘but yes, he has! Isn’t it marvellous? Only in a soap; it won’t make his name, of course, but quite lucrative. And don’t pretend to be sorry to see me go, because we both know it won’t be true!’ she concluded with the teasing smile that seemed to captivate everyone she met.
‘And you naturally didn’t want to go without saying goodbye,’ Paris murmured with her own brand of teasing.
‘No. So here I am! And…’
‘Yes, here you are.’ Hating herself for being so suspicious, she added quietly, ‘How?’
‘How?’
‘Yes, as in how did you afford the fare?’
‘Paris! I thought you’d be pleased to see me!’
‘I am.’
‘And it might be ages before we meet again!’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re always so practical!’
‘Someone has to be,’ she reproved gently.
‘Why? It takes all the fun out of things!’ With a rather sly smile, she added, ‘Did you know that Rupert got married?’
‘No, and you can take that look off your face; I am not brokenhearted, nor do I mind. I hope he will be very happy.’
A sulky look to her mouth, Athena complained, ‘Don’t you even want to know who it is?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘It could have been you,’ she burst out, ‘if you hadn’t been so picky!’
‘Picky not to want to be two-timed?’ Paris asked gently.
‘It didn’t mean anything!’
‘No, I know, but her father was a producer, and Rupert wanted to further his career. Is that who he married?’
‘Yes. And you let her win!’
Reaching across the table, she touched her sister’s hand. ‘It wasn’t a question of winning,’ she pointed out gently. ‘And if I’d really loved him…I wasn’t that hurt, you know. Or at least——’ she qualified ‘—I soon got over it, so I couldn’t have been. And it wasn’t really my scene. All that backbiting, jealousy, the petty squabbles. I’m not like you, Athena, I don’t enjoy…’
‘Tinsel town!’ Athena scoffed.
‘No. I like being independent, like to direct my own life, not be an extension of someone else’s…’ Ha, ha, ha, really directed it last night, didn’t you? Glancing quickly down, not wanting Athena to see the smile in her eyes and wonder at it, as she would, she went on hastily, ‘I don’t want the things you want, enjoy the things you enjoy,’ she resumed quietly. Gently touching her sister’s hand, she asked softly, ‘Are you happy, ‘Thena?’
‘Of course I’m happy! I know you don’t like Chris…’
‘I don’t like what he’s done to you,’ she corrected.
‘I know, I know,’ Athena cut in impatiently. ‘Made me hard, made me selfish! But he didn’t! I was always that! Always knew what I wanted. You just wouldn’t see it. Tried to make me like you…’
‘No! That’s not fair. I only tried to give you a set of values…’
‘Your values. Not mine! I know you thought you had to be a mummy figure when Mum died, but…’
‘Oh, Athena, I didn’t, just tried to guide you, help…’
‘Well, don’t let’s argue about it now,’ she broke in impatiently, ‘be glad for me, I’ll be happy out there. Lots of sunshine, house with a pool, parties…And don’t pull faces! I couldn’t bear your life, always working…’ Breaking off, she bit her lip, and, Athena being Athena, was immediately on the defensive. ‘Anyway, it’s your own fault! You shouldn’t lend me money! I keep telling you!’
‘I should leave you to roam the streets? Live in a cardboard box?’
With a little giggle, she summoned up a smile. ‘I wouldn’t, you know.’
‘No,’ Paris sighed. ‘I do know. You’d inveigle some other poor idiot into giving you things. Born with too much charm, that’s your trouble.’
‘And you were born without enough. I do love you, Paris, it’s just that…’
‘I’m so practical.’
‘Yes. Friends again?’
‘Friends,’ Paris agreed, as she always agreed, ever since they’d been children. It was wrong, of course, but so very hard to deny Athena what she wanted. Silly to feel responsible for her; she was all grown up now, able to direct her own life, but old habits died hard. ‘You really do want to go to the States? I mean, if you didn’t…’
‘I do,’ Athena said firmly. ‘And,’ she added, bright triumph in her face, ‘I’m going to have a screen-test! That’s what I came to tell you! I might be able to get a walk-on part in Chris’s soap, and…’
‘Screen test?’ Paris echoed in dismay.
‘Yes! So, not only a famous brother-in-law, but you might soon have a famous sister!’
‘And it’s really what you want?’ she asked hollowly. Was that what she’d been discussing with George? Telling him, hoping for…
‘Oh, Paris, don’t look like that! I want it!’
Yes. Finding a smile, nodding, accepting it, and, in truth, rather relieved that all this would be taking place in America, she asked, ‘How long can you stay?’
‘Not long.’ Glancing at her watch, she murmured, ‘Half an hour or so. The hire-car’s coming back for me at ten. I only popped in to see you, say hello really, tell you my news, and that I’ve left the flat all nice and tidy, and…’
‘Hire-car?’ Paris exclaimed in horror. ‘Oh, Athena. How on earth did you afford a car and the fare? I didn’t think you had any money.’ If she’d lied to her, used Paris’s savings when all the time she had money of her own…
Affecting deafness, Athena got to her feet, forcing Paris to do the same. ‘I really have to g…There he is!’ she exclaimed in satisfaction.
Bewildered, Paris turned to follow the direction of her glance, saw Oliver, began to smile, registered what Athena had said, and asked quietly, ‘You know him?’
‘Of course I know him.’ Her sister forgotten, her smile wide, enchanting, she fluttered across the room like a pretty butterfly.
Staring after her, a little frown in her eyes, Paris tried to dismiss the thought that her sister’s air of anticipation had been because of Oliver, and couldn’t. Had she known he was here? How? Because George, or one of the crew had told her? Or had she known already, and that was why she’d come? Not to see her sister, but to see Oliver. Athena had never mentioned him—but that didn’t mean she didn’t know him…And Oliver was the highest star in the current firmament, and Athena only liked the best.
Hating herself for her suspicions, the twist of jealousy she felt, she stood like a fool, watched her sister smile seductively at him, and then frowned, because he didn’t smile back. Men always smiled at Athena.
She couldn’t hear what they said to each other, only knew they were saying something, and then Athena slid her hands up Oliver’s chest, stood on tiptoe as if to press a kiss to his mouth, and Paris felt that awful sliding feeling in her stomach, that twist of pain. Oh, no. Please, no, I saw him first…Horrified at the way her thoughts were going, what she had almost said, as though he were a piece of property, she went to turn away, then saw him grasp Athena’s wrists and forcibly remove her arms from his neck. Athena pouted, scathing, almost. Puzzled, and very well aware that they must know each other if they were arguing, she continued to watch them, and then he glanced at Paris, said something to her sister, and began striding across to where she stood.
‘Good God, Paris, what did you tell her?’
‘What?’ she asked blankly.
‘It was bad enough being seen!’
‘Seen? I don’t understand, and I didn’t tell her anything…’
‘Then don’t! And please, please just keep her away from me!’
‘But what did she do?’
‘Nothing, as yet! She didn’t get the chance, but the Athenas of this world are trouble, and…’
‘Trouble? Oliver, I don’t know what you’re talking about!’
He sighed, looked momentarily exasperated. ‘Paris…’
‘You think I’ve been gossiping? Is that it? Having a nice girlish little chat?’
‘Have you?’
‘No! You think I would advertise it?’ Her eyes wide, suddenly remembering a conversation about women who caused him trouble, she shook her head. Thoroughly bewildered, she glanced to where her sister still stood, a rather vindictive expression on her pretty face, then turned back to Oliver. ‘But what did she say?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said dismissively. ‘Just keep her away from me. More trouble I certainly do not need!’
‘I didn’t give you trouble!’ she denied as though he had accused her. ‘And I’m not her keeper!’
‘I didn’t say you were, but I would be enormously grateful if you would impress upon her that I’m a dangerous man to cross, and…’
‘Are you?’ she asked worriedly.
‘Yes! And I do not like importuning women, of which your sister is a fully paid-up member…’
‘She is not!’
He stared at her as though trying to see whether she actually believed that, then sighed again. ‘Just keep her away from me, Paris, not only now, but in the future.’
‘You’re over-reacting…’
‘No, Paris, I’m not. I’m issuing a warning, and if you don’t want to see your sister hurt, keep her out of my orbit. And tell her to keep her pretty little mouth closed. I’ll talk to you later.’ A look of frustration, or was it irritation, on his strong face, he turned on his heel and walked out. Opening her mouth to call him back, she closed it again, because what on earth could she say? She didn’t know what was going on!
Barely aware of anyone else in the dining-room, unaware of their curious glances, needing only to talk to Athena, she hurried after him, watched him ascend the stairs.
‘Very chummy with him, aren’t you?’ her sister taunted scathingly from behind her.
Swinging round, wishing she understood what the hell was going on, she asked helplessly, ‘What in God’s name did you say to him?’
‘Nothing!’
‘You must have said something! He just accused me of…Told me to keep you away from him!’
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he?’ Athena said almost viciously, ‘Bastard thinks he can order everyone around.’
‘No, he doesn’t…’
‘Doesn’t he? What would you call it? All I did was greet him, for God’s sake!’
‘Yes, I sa…’
‘Twice he’s done that to me! And I hope you haven’t been daft enough to get involved with him. Not that it’s very likely,’ she added, her pretty face twisted with spite.
‘Why isn’t it?’ Paris demanded, not at all flattered to be dismissed so summarily.
‘A bit out of your reach, I would have thought.’ With a curiously bitter smile, she added, ‘I love you dearly, Paris, but even I have to admit that you’re no siren. Nice,’ she added moodily, ‘kind, kinder than me at any rate, but you’re not exactly in Oliver Darke’s league, are you?’
‘Aren’t I? And what does that mean? That you are?’
‘Me?’ With a brief, unamused laugh, she said, ‘Not according to him, but at least I’m not a little girl to be eaten for breakfast.’
‘And I am?’
‘Maybe. You can be very naïve.’
‘Thank you.’ Knowing that irony was wasted on her sister, and getting more and more confused by the minute, not understanding any of it, she offered quietly, ‘I’m not really the innocent you seem to think, you know.’
‘Yes, you are. You believe people.’
‘Well, that’s not a bad thing, but I still don’t understand why he said…’
‘Leave it, Paris!’ she ordered. ‘Please! Just take my advice and steer well clear of him!’
‘A bit difficult to stay clear of him when I’ve been interpreting for him for the past few weeks.’ Amongst other things. Things she was having trouble believing had actually happened. ‘Anyway, they’re all leaving today. Filming’s finished.’ But hopefully not…But what had he meant?
‘I know. And I was only warning you to be careful. No need to make a production out of it.’
‘I wasn’t making the production! You were! And I’d dearly love to know why.’
‘Because I didn’t want you to get hurt! You’re a romantic, Paris. A fool. You don’t know these people the way I do!’ she snapped impatiently.
Staring at her sister’s carefully schooled expression, remembering what Oliver had said, the way he had looked, she began to feel just a little bit sick. ‘Twice, you said. Just how well do you know him, Athena?’ she asked carefully.
‘Who? Oliver?’
‘Of course Oliver! Stop evading the issue! You know what I’m asking. How well do you know him?’
‘Well enough.’ Hesitating, glancing at her sister, she shrugged. ‘We met at one of those charity bashes a few years back.’
‘I see. And?’
‘And what?’
‘Athena! He wouldn’t warn you off without reason! What happened?’
‘Nothing! And why the avid interest? You aren’t involved with him, you said so, so what does it matter?’
‘It doesn’t,’ she lied, and she wasn’t involved with him. Involvement implied some sort of permanency, and permanency wasn’t on the agenda, she knew that. Perhaps brief wasn’t on the agenda either…Forcing her own thoughts aside, she insisted, ‘He said you were importuning… Were you? I mean, did you…?’ Hating herself for this need to know, for this feeling of almost desperation that drove her, she asked quietly, ‘Did you just flirt with him, or…?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Paris! How long have you known me? All my life! And if I want someone, then…’ A rather calculating look on her pretty face, and staring in the direction Oliver had taken, she murmured almost viciously, ‘And he’ll pay for that.’
‘Pay for what?’
‘How dare he? I…’
‘Athena!’
‘What?’
‘What happened?’
‘What do you think happened?’ she asked dismissively. ‘We had an affair, of course. All right? Is that what you wanted to know?’
Feeling cold, feeling sick, as though all the air had been sucked out of her, she whispered, ‘An affair?’
‘Yes. Why not? Men like me!’
‘He wasn’t liking you just now…’
‘No, he wasn’t, was he?’ she asked with a rather nasty smile. ‘And he’ll definitely pay for that little mistake. I know a lot of people in the film world, and he’s not so great he can’t be brought down.’
Horrified, and feeling even more sick, she whispered, ‘Oh, Athena.’
‘What? Don’t be so damned nice. He deserves everything he gets. There was absolutely no need to talk to me as though…’
‘As though what?’
‘Nothing!’
Unable to leave it alone, needing to know, she asked, ‘When did you have this affair?’
‘Not long ago. I was feeling unloved at the time, unwanted; you know how it is.’
No, she didn’t. ‘And?’
‘And what?’
‘Don’t play games, Athena! How long did it last?’
‘It didn’t. It was as brief as it was electric!’ she taunted as she turned away. Paris turned her back.
‘How long ago?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Does it matter? I have to go!’
‘Yes, it does! How long ago?’ she insisted.
‘I told you! A few years! Two, if you must know,’ she muttered.
‘Two years?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘But you were married to Chris!’
‘So? There’s no need to look so damned horrified! We were going through a bad patch. It happens all the time!’
Did it? Yes, she supposed it did, she thought drearily. ‘Does Chris know?’ Perhaps that accounted for his behaviour…
‘Well, of course he doesn’t! And you’re not to tell him!’
‘No,’ she agreed listlessly. Not that she would have done. ‘So why was he being nasty? Why…?’
‘Was he warning me off? Because he doesn’t like his “victims” to kiss and tell, of course.’
‘And you were intending to?’ she asked painfully. And kiss and tell who? Herself? Because he didn’t want Paris to know that…Because he hoped that Athena would be discreet enough not to tell her, and her sister had refused to promise? That would account for his anger, wouldn’t it? Discomfited at being confronted by his former lover, afraid she would find out, he’d got in first with a tale of her sister being…Then why had he thought she’d told Athena about them? And seen, he’d said. Athena had seen him. Where? When?
Suddenly realising that her sister had gone, she hurried after her. Distracted, confused, hurt, so very angry, wanting to go and accuse him, hit him, she hurried after her sister. And was that why Athena was in such an allfired rush? In case Oliver reappeared? Afraid he would somehow punish her for her indiscretion…‘Athena!’ she called frustratedly. ‘Who were you intending to tell?’
‘I haven’t decided!’ Not slackening her pace, she called back, ‘I can’t stop! I don’t want to miss my flight.’
‘No,’ Paris agreed hollowly. The probably expensive flight. She was feeling bitterly used, wondering whether she was likely to see her sister’s name plastered all over the tabloids, like that other girl—or was that the point? Any publicity was good publicity, and if she wanted to break into films, make her name…Oh, God. Quickly catching up with her, she asked, ‘So who is paying?’
‘Mmm?’
‘And don’t give me that innocent, wide-eyed look, Athena. Who’s paying? Me?’
‘Oh, don’t be so picky, Paris! I’ll pay you back!’ Reaching the foyer, she turned to give her sister a quick hug, then dragged open the heavy glass door, halted, groped awkwardly in her trouser pocket, and thrust a small green card at her. ‘I’ll ring,’ she added hastily. ‘Maybe you can come out for Christmas or something. Bye. Take care.’ Rushing out, she left Paris to stare distractedly down at the small credit card, and the horror she should have felt at her sister’s actions didn’t materialise.
‘Athena!’ she shouted urgently. Hurrying after her, she grabbed her arm, then didn’t know what to say. ‘Did you really have an affair with him?’ It was almost a plea for denial.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! Does it really matter? Now?’ Throwing a quick glance over Paris’s shoulder, she muttered urgently, ‘I have to go!’ Climbing quickly into the back of the waiting car, she shut the door.
Feeling blank, stupid, sick, she watched the hire-car pull away. Her sister waved. She didn’t in the least feel like waving back. Both sisters? And had he known? When he’d made love to her last night? Yes, of course he had. That was why he’d been reluctant. And did he find it amusing? Both sisters? Aware that she still held the credit card, she thrust it into her pocket with an almost frightened little movement as though it might, without her knowledge or assent, suddenly run up more bills, and turned to go back inside. She felt cold.
Oh, you fool, Paris, you stupid, stupid fool, she castigated herself as she blindly crossed the foyer. And yet, if he’d made Athena feel as he’d made her feel; dear God, don’t make excuses for him! But why in God’s name hadn’t he said that he knew her sister? Then none of this would have happened! And even if he’d forgotten her, hadn’t actually known in the beginning that they were sisters, he could have apologised, couldn’t he? Instead of rubbishing her sister’s morals? And had he whispered to Athena those words he had whispered to her? Kissed her as he had kissed her? Made love… Shutting her eyes tight, she drew a deep ragged breath into her lungs, gripped the banister hard. Had he muddled the sisters up? Had he for one brief moment thought she was Athena? Was that why he’d hesitated? Not because he was a famous film star and he didn’t make love to nobodies, but because he’d suddenly realised she was Athena’s sister?
And now he was up there somewhere, waiting? And she couldn’t leave, because she hadn’t packed, and her passport was in her room…Opening her eyes, she stared upward, then gave a distressed little gasp, because he was standing just three steps above her. Waiting. That was why Athena had fled so precipitately. She’d seen him standing there.
Tired of running away, tired of hurting, her face grimly determined, she began to climb the stairs. Walked past him.
‘Paris!’
Head down, she ignored him, climbed on.
‘Paris!’ His face as set as her own, he grabbed her arm, swung her to face him. ‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing! And take your hand off my arm! You knew!’ she accused tearfully. ‘You bloody knew!’
‘Knew? Knew what?’ he asked blankly.
‘Knew!’ she shouted. Twisting away, she hurried up the remaining stairs and along the corridor to her room. Fumbling the key in the lock, she pushed inside and shut the door.
So casual, friendly…loving! And then, this morning, laughing, teasing…And yet, if it hadn’t been her sister, it wouldn’t have mattered, would it? Yes, yes, it would, but it wouldn’t have been personal. And if she asked him, would he deny it? Make excuses? He might not even have an excuse! Might even think she wouldn’t mind! Well she did mind! And she sure as hell wasn’t waiting around for a discussion on it! Marching across the room, so angry, hurt, bewildered, she yanked on the wardrobe door. She would pack, get the hell out of here, go home, to sanity, safety, to a world where actors didn’t intrude and mess up your life!
‘Oh, open, will you!’ she gritted. Tugging ineffectually on the stuck wardrobe door, she aimed a kick at the half-stripped panels, didn’t hear the bedroom door open behind her.
‘What in God’s name is going on?’ he demanded.
Stiffening, refusing to look at him, she continued to tug on the door. ‘I can’t get this bloody door open!’
‘Why do you want to get it open?’ he asked with a bewilderment that made her want to physically attack him.
‘To pack, of course!’
‘And packing makes you bad-tempered?’
‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Being made a fool of does that!’
‘Paris,’ he began, ‘I didn’t make a fool of you…’
‘No!’ she yelled. ‘I did that all my myself, didn’t I?’
‘Paris…’
‘Don’t Paris me! Both sisters!’ she swung round to accuse. ‘And you knew!’
He looked blank. ‘I beg your pardon? I admit I was out of order accusing your sister, but I was…’
‘Accusing?’ she shouted. ‘Accusing? And did you really think your little manoeuvre would work?’ she demanded. ‘Did you really think my sister wouldn’t tell me?’
There was a little silence, a rather nasty little silence. ‘Tell you what?’ he asked quietly. Turning her round, he held her shoulders, looked down into her stormy face. ‘Tell you what?’
‘Don’t touch me!’ she snapped, shrugging out of his hold. ‘I don’t take my sister’s cast-offs!’
His eyes narrowed.
‘And pretending she was importuning!’ she practically screamed. ‘Telling her to lie makes it ten times worse!’