Devilish Delights, page 11
No wonder he’d been gaping like a goldfish. I cleared my throat and shifted in my seat but there was no stopping him. Sadly. Maybe he should have been writing romance.
‘She invited me to move a little closer. Held out her hand to me. The movement revealed still more of her body. Her nipples were so dark that I couldn’t take my eyes off them. She shifted her position and I looked straight at her. She deliberately looked down at my shorts. I was wearing tattered, cut-off jeans and it must have been quite obvious to her what was happening to me.’ His voice faltered.
Could he not afford counselling? This was utterly cringe-making and I hadn’t a clue as to why he was telling me this stuff. Surely he wasn’t hoping to recreate his virginal seduction scene?
There was no escape.
‘She gave this lovely sort of chuckle,’ he said. ‘It sounded knowing and worldly and I was – well, she reached out to me and, suffice to say, she introduced me to such delights as I’d only read about, callow youth that I was. That first time, she seduced me to satisfy a need. But after that, as the relationship between us progressed, one of her greatest delights was to parade up and down in front of me wearing baby-doll pyjamas or slinky negligées with lots of ribbons and lace. I began to live for these performances. Couldn’t wait for the next one – even when I was on my way home of an evening, my mind still struggling to contain all those gorgeous images.’
I could imagine. I bet this other Mrs Robinson couldn’t believe her luck when she’d first set eyes on her young gardener-cum-handyman, to coin a phrase. But I still didn’t know why he felt obliged to press this riveting confession upon me.
He was silent a minute, as if thinking over what he was going to say next. Then came the words that made my blood freeze.
‘You see, you are so very like her – in appearance, that is. When I saw you in your aunt’s shop that first time, it was as if I was that young man again. That’s why I had to return the same day. I had a pretty sleepless night and decided next morning to see if I could win your confidence. My one desire was to see you in the kind of garments she’d have chosen. It was like something eating away at me. I had a hunch you lacked a certain something in your life and … Well, you are a very attractive young woman, Laura.’
‘Jarratt, just tell me one thing, please. Does your wife know about your love of exotic underwear?’
He replaced his cup in its saucer, rattling the china. ‘Oh yes. She is well aware and, sadly, she finds it quite bizarre. She really doesn’t want to know. It is actually one of the reasons why we don’t live together permanently. Ianthe can be very unsympathetic – very selfish.’
I shut my eyes and took several deep breaths as Jarratt, muttering an apology, went into another room to take a telephone call. My thoughts needed to be assembled. So, his wife didn’t understand him. What a surprise. Maybe I was being naïve but I still didn’t think he’d force his attentions on to me. He’d already said as much and I really did believe he respected me. But, it was quite a responsibility when you learned you resembled a man’s first lover, flattering though it was to know she was so attractive, even if a few years older than I was, back in Jarratt’s youth. I was going to have to keep my head here. I was getting in too deep.
Not for the first time, I contemplated escape, but somehow my legs seemed incapable of carrying me.
Chapter Twelve
On his return, Jarratt looked far too pleased with himself. ‘Laura,’ he said. ‘I have a surprise for you. I haven’t mentioned my family to you before. It didn’t seem relevant.’
I needed another surprise like I needed a plateful of cold semolina pudding. ‘Mrs Holdforth mentioned something about you having a son.’
This showed the extent of my edginess. I didn’t want Jarratt to think I’d been having cosy chats about him with his housekeeper. He might get the impression I was interested. And after that little speech, I really didn’t want to give him any encouragement at all.
His eyes narrowed slightly but he didn’t pick up on it. ‘Yes, I have a son. He’s an actor and singer and he’s doing very well, though I have to say, although I tried to be supportive, I didn’t wholly approve when he decided to leave school and make a career out of show business. His mother was 100 per cent behind him and fortunately he seems intent on proving her right and me wrong.’
He must have read my expression because he gave me a rueful smile. His own chosen career wasn’t exactly a steady number, although in his case he seemed well able to shovel caviar on the bread. Still ignorant as to what this was all about, I stayed silent. Then I started feeling as though I was drowning in icy water.
‘I just took a call from him. From Xander,’ he said. ‘We spoke last night and he told me he’s been given the lead role in a musical show called Devilish Delights. He wasn’t sure about getting tickets when we first spoke but it seems he’s been able to reserve two seats in the stalls for me, for tonight’s performance. He’s been trying to get through – gave me a ticking-off for being on the phone so long earlier.’
Here I had to stop him. I prayed I’d misheard. ‘Sorry, but which show did you just say?’
‘Devilish Delights. Have you not heard of it? Anyway, I don’t often get to see Xander perform. Well, not since Ianthe and I set up separate homes. She sees him more often than I do. Though, funnily enough, he was at home with me quite recently. They like to book him for the annual fundraising evening in the golf club. I just send a cheque to the treasurer. That kind of function is really not to my taste. So, there we are.’
How could he not have noticed my scarlet cheeks? How could he not have seen I was having trouble breathing? How could he not have wanted to go and support his son when he was singing his heart out just down the road from Milo’s Folly?
‘I hope you like musicals,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea what the show is like. But we’ll have some dinner with him afterwards, if that’s all right with you. He’ll be bringing a friend with him, if I know Xander.’
He reached over to select a meringue from the tiered silver cake stand on the low table in front of me. My mouth seemed full of cotton wool. I was incapable of coherent thought.
Then my heart lurched as I got a waft of his aftershave. It had to be the same one that Alex used. There was a rushing sound in my ears but with a great effort, I managed to speak. ‘That’s a different cologne from your usual lemony kind, Jarratt. Is it a brand I should know?’
‘I only buy it when I’m in London. I never remember the balance of top and bottom notes the perfumer reels off. Except I do recall there’s pink lime in there somewhere – oh, and cinnamon bark and vetiver.’ He chuckled. ‘My son palmed my only bottle while he was home the other weekend. He didn’t even stay the Sunday night as planned – collected his things then dashed off back to town to audition next day. He obviously shares my taste for the nicer things in life.’ He smiled indulgently.
My confused brain was untangling Xander into … Alexander … Alex? I was still so dazed I had to ask, though with faint hope of hearing anything except what must be the truth. ‘So, does your son perform as Xander Morley?’
‘He chose a surname at random from the telephone book. Xander’s professional name is Alex Conway. In his teens, he was pretty angry about the fact that his mother and I spent so much time apart. I suppose he’s got over that to a certain extent. As a child, he had to deal with some difficult issues and, well, it’s a tricky business, being a parent,’ he sighed.
I looked away.
‘My wife keeps all the family photographs with her in her flat in Bristol. I suppose you must have thought I was a very cold, impersonal sort of character, having none of the usual family impedimenta around. I do try to hide my inner feelings but you, Laura – somehow you have managed to penetrate my shell.’
I muttered an excuse and retreated to the safety of the sumptuous bathroom where I perched on the loo, trying not to hyperventilate. I really didn’t need or want to know about Jarratt’s marital situation. And I had to get in touch with Alex. I tried to ring but couldn’t get a signal. Somehow I had to leave him a message to call me. I’d even settle for sending a text. I’d have to try again. Have to tell him I was the friend his father was bringing to the theatre.
What Alex would deduce from this, I didn’t dare to think. And now I wished I were a thousand miles away. Even back in the safety of my own flat would have been good. Maybe that was what I should do. Except I couldn’t. I’d deliberately left my London keyring at Jan’s. Gloomily, I freshened my make-up and brushed my hair. I hadn’t packed another dress and I was past caring. What Jarratt and Alex would see was what they would get.
But when I returned to the sitting room, Jarratt clicked off the TV news. ‘Laura,’ he said. ‘I meant to tell you how beautiful you look. That particular shade of blue is perfect for you. It brings out those wonderful copper glints in your hair.’
Then, as he smiled, relief rushed through me as I thanked my lucky stars I hadn’t slept with him. That would have been so, so tacky. I felt queasy just at the thought. Even if I had, how the hell could I ever have guessed about this? If Jarratt had told me about the son he knew as Xander, I wouldn’t be in this tricky situation now. And that drift of sexy aftershave coming from the wrong man unnerved me. It held too many memories for my liking. How I’d cope at the show, let alone dinner under such circumstances, I couldn’t imagine.
The wonderfully chatty cabby, with his lip-smacking views on the state of the country, lit up the ride from hotel to theatre. Even in my gloom I found myself thinking he talked sense. And, Jarratt, apparently in very good mood, far from giving him the brush-off, sounded as if he really was interested in the taxi driver’s opinions.
As I stared out at London on the move, I decided I was seeing a very different side to Jarratt now. He seemed to be softening his standoffish attitude. I wished he wouldn’t, because the more that happened, the more uncomfortable I felt.
While I stood in the chattering crowd of theatregoers in the foyer and Jarratt queued at the ticket counter, a text message arrived. It felt so weird, knowing Alex was somewhere backstage, oblivious of my nearness to him.
Pa & Ma in 2night. Neither knows the other’s coming. Are you back Sunday? Alex X
He wanted to know when I was returning to London and he’d sent a kiss this time. Surely that must be a good sign? But it seemed like he was playing Cupid to his folks. What was I going to do when his ma clapped eyes on me? And I still couldn’t understand why Alex hadn’t mentioned the fact that his father was a famous author. It was because of this lack of communication that I was standing here in this pickle. It spoke volumes about the father-son relationship.
And yes, what about Dixie? She was giving me the “what a lovely little choirboy” stuff and yet she never said anything about where he lived, or who his father was. Though, it could be that Dixie was on Ianthe’s side in this, just as Mrs Holdforth took it upon herself to be Jarratt’s watchdog. It was the Cranford mentality, wasn’t it?
And to think I’d come so close to discovering Alex was Jarratt’s son when I called in to see Mrs Holdforth. I’d almost poured out my feelings once her attitude to me had defrosted. Just mentioning his stage name would have brought it all out into the open and I wouldn’t have been stuck in this awful, scream-inducing predicament now.
Clearly the end of my shop-minding career couldn’t come soon enough. I pulled out my phone and checked the signal. Sent a brief text to say I was in the foyer. With Jarratt. This was hardly the sort of thing that happened to people in real life, was it? Viv was in love with a guy she’d met through work. And I’d first met love-rat Marcus at work before getting together with him at a party. That was real life. Not this hyped-up stuff.
I’d been living in a kind of dream world since the evening at the golf club. It was like a reverse version of Cinderella, with Alex disappearing, leaving me without even an odd sock, let alone a crystal slipper. Then, just as I was smarting from the whole episode, enter the intriguing Jarratt, bearing goodies. And that had set off the bizarre situation I now couldn’t wait to escape from.
Jarratt was back, tickets in hand and eyes shining with excitement. Please, I prayed. Please, let this be excitement about his son taking over the lead role in the show. Not because he was fantasising about nudging thighs in the stalls with his anti-Mrs Robinson.
He headed for the bar, guiding me through the crush with one hand cupping my elbow. He was the sort of person who commanded the attention of waiters and barmen with one twitch of an eyebrow. I took a swallow of white wine and tried to look as though I was having a ball. Who was that movie actress from way back, who said something about people needing to fasten their seat belts because it was going to be a bumpy ride?
Too late it occurred to me my overnight bag was still back at Jarratt’s hotel suite. Bugger. What was Alex going to make of that? Equally riveting was the thought of what Jarratt would say if I found myself – I wished! – telling him I was looking forward to a night of passion with his son. If either of them was still speaking to me by then, of course.
Jarratt was saying something, smiling and taking my empty glass. We headed for the auditorium. He showed our tickets to the attendant, moved over to a programme seller and bought two. He handed me one, as a keepsake, he said.
We took our seats in the middle of row J, not too close to the stage and not too far back. He couldn’t wait to find his son’s photograph in the programme and pointed out the little insert telling the audience Alex Conway was now playing the lead role, having taken over from Ricky Fox. I tried to match his enthusiasm, but he was already on such a high, it was unlikely he noticed.
The lights dimmed, and once again I saw the spotlights focus on the wakening inhabitants of Hades.
Chapter Thirteen
Light filtering through lenses stained the stage blood red. When the Devil made his entrance, my heart thumped as if about to jump from its ribcage. Of course, I was reacting to the character. Alex no longer played this role. He wouldn’t be making his entrance for a while. I needed to relax and enjoy the performance. If that was possible. Would he be able to see me? I hadn’t a clue and imagined it depended on how blinding those spotlights were.
I wondered if Jarratt felt nervous about seeing his only son take centre stage in the West End, his first week in the lead role. With an almost full house, I was feeling a little nervous myself. Although in my case, the nerves were no doubt for different reasons. I was still not at all sure how the evening was going to end. What I was sure of was, I’d no intention of going back to Jarratt’s suite with him, especially now I knew about my amazing resemblance to his first lover, the captain’s lady with the shifting kimono.
If Alex didn’t rescue me, I’d travel back to Newport on the first available train, whatever that might be. The thought of arriving at the train station in Newport early in the morning, bleary-eyed and minus transport, wasn’t enticing. But the thought of not being with Alex tonight after all I’d gone through was devastating.
‘I know,’ whispered Jarratt, wafting his cinnamon- bark bottom note in my direction. ‘He didn’t quite hit the mark, did he? Never mind, I’m sure Alex will be on soon. Now, he does have an exceptional voice. Certainly didn’t get it from my side of the family, though.’
I felt guilty because the new boy playing the part of the Devil was in fact rather good. I thought he must have been shadowing Alex over the last few performances because he’d inherited a few of his mannerisms. Probably Jarratt was being a tad unfair. And Devil Mark Two related well to Didi and Maxine. When the imps made their entrance, I relaxed somewhat. It was good to know the girls were around. If all else failed, maybe I could join them for something to eat after the show and cry on their shoulders.
The lights dimmed. We were rising far above Hades with its cynical, debauched inmates. The spots wove their magic and we were being allowed entry into Number 10 Downing Street. The audience got the innuendo and there was a ripple of appreciation around the auditorium. A tall man wearing a tailored grey suit was standing, back to the audience, speaking into a red telephone. The broad shoulders, the way the hair curled slightly at the nape of the neck – it was the man I just couldn’t get enough of, playing the lead part of Mr Adam Fletcher, UK Prime Minister.
A secretary, bottom pert in a short-skirted navy blue suit, hurried in with a red dispatch box and placed it on the tooled-leather desk. The PM turned halfway towards front of house and, to my surprise, I saw Alex was wearing a pair of specs. These had the effect of aging him by about five years. He gave his colleague a heart-stopping smile as she hurried off again. On her way, she almost collided with a man on his way in to see the Prime Minister – one who, with his silver-dappled hair, had the look of one of those suave old movie actors from the films my grandma had liked to play for me when I stayed over.
The PM ended his call, then turned to welcome the newcomer, addressing him as Home Secretary. This character’s name was Ed Liveth. Not being particularly clever with words, I hadn’t noticed the anagram before. Alex was now pacing the stage. He turned and faced the audience, holding his hands out as he made a point. Jarratt gave my hand a quick squeeze and whispered, ‘That’s my son.’
On stage, there was a short conversation between the two men before Alex began his first number, Cell Block 10 Downing Street. It was a clever song in which the PM bemoaned his entourage of spin-doctors, secretaries, and security guards. What he really yearned for was an old-fashioned wife. But what he’d got for his first lady was Eve Fletcher – still played by the sexy Natasha Pryor – an academic with attitude, currently in the USA on a lecture tour, and enchanting them with her rapier mind, her powers of oratory, and her devastating charm. The word was that she had the ear of the Man in the Oval Office on a level her husband, the UK Prime Minister, hadn’t yet been able to achieve.
An overhead screen lit up. A tabloid headline scrolled across it.
