Dear Villain Read online

  Dear Villain

  By

  Jacqueline Gilbert

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

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  Harlequin Presents edition published October 1976

  ISBN 0-373-70660-X

  Original hardcover edition published in 1975

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  Copyright ©1975 by Jacqueline Gilbert.

  CHAPTER 1

  Enter the villain—Stage Directions

  The clock, on the nearby University tower, struck the quarter as Elizabeth Browning approached the stage door of the Queensbridge Civic Theatre. She smiled, as memories of herself as a child, furiously cycling to school past that same clock, came flooding back to her. She climbed the steps and pushed open the door, giving a self-satisfied sigh as she contemplated the future ahead of her as deputy stage manager. With its latest modern equipment, the Civic was already the talk of the Profession, and in just under four weeks they were to open with The Taming of the Shrew, a lavish, costly production—a fitting start to an exciting new venture.

  Introducing herself to the girl in the stage-door office, Liz gratefully accepted directions along the maze of corridors. The door she was seeking, marked "John Harvey—Director" was half open and she tentatively knocked and peeped round. John was sitting at his desk, telephone in hand, listening intently to the conversation at the other end. Seeing her, he waved to go in, indicating that he would not be long. Liz grinned and blew him a kiss. Crossing over to the window, she looked round her with interest. The room was decorated in shades of creams and browns, a far cry from John's previous cubby-hole, which had overlooked a grimy back .street. From this present window, looking left, it was possible to see the tree-lined pedestrian walk, leading down to the mellowed building of the old University of Queensbridge. To the right, as a direct contrast, was the half-finished shopping precinct and office block of which the theatre formed the predominant part.

  A ladybird was making her way slowly, but with determination, along the sun-warmed windowsill. Liz coaxed the tiny creature on to her finger, opened the window, and blew the insect gently into the sunshine. With a certain amount of wry amusement over her lifelong compulsion to rescue anything in difficulties, she closed the window in time to hear John saying:

  'Right, Adam, that's settled, then. I'll accept the fiat on your behalf and look forward to seeing you on the twenty-eighth. 'Bye for now.'

  Replacing the receiver, he scribbled a memo and then crossed quickly to Liz, putting an arm affectionately round her.

  'Well now, how's my favourite sister-in-law?' and he led her to one of the armchairs opposite his desk.

  Liz laughed obediently at his joke, she being his only one, and replied:

  'Fine, just fine.' But she was not fine at all. Not having just heard him say "Adam", for how many Adams would John know? Not many, surely? It was not a name one came across often. Her heart sank as she realised that the association was too close for her to be wrong. But she was given no more time for conjecture. John barraged her with a host of questions, and gradually her unease lessened, the smile on her face became a little less fixed, and carried away by John's infectious enthusiasm, she slowly found herself relaxing.

  'What do you think of our theatre, then, Lizzie? Marvellous, isn't it?' John waited expectantly for her reaction and was not disappointed.

  'The whole place is unbelievable, John. I just can't get over it.'

  They smiled at each other, warmed by their fellow-feeling. John said:

  'I don't know whether you realise, but I shall divide my time between the artistic and the administrative side of things. Until we get off the ground, I'm concentrating on management. Then, if things go according to plan, and I see no reason why they shouldn't, I'll do some directing, probably the Shaw or the Feydeau next spring.'

  Liz cleared her throat and said carefully:

  'Who… who is directing the first part of the season, then?'

  'Adam Carlyon, and very lucky we are to get him, too. He'll do the first five and there's a November let which is a visit from the Hungarian Folk Dancers. That should bring back some memories, Lizzie. Remember when I took you and Helen to see them in London?'

  Liz nodded in reply. Now that she knew for sure, all the niggling thoughts that Adam Carlyon's name had provoked disappeared, and she felt curiously resigned. John rummaged among the papers on his desk and handed her a printed leaflet.

  'Here's a list of the plays. You'll see that we run for three and a half weeks, each play finishing on a Saturday. The theatre closes the Monday and Tuesday following, and the new play opens on the Wednesday. It's a tight schedule, but we've got an experienced crew and good actors working for us.'

  And Adam Carlyon. I could do without Adam Carlyon, thought Liz. Life's coincidences were a little hard to bear, sometimes. Pushing this particular coincidence to the back of her thoughts, to be brought out and examined later, she asked:

  'Are the same actors booked for all the plays?'

  'A small nucleus of them will go through the season, but the main ones are only booked for a group of plays. That way we can keep the interest of the public going with a succession of well-known names.' John frowned. 'There's something Helen told me to ask you. Ah, I remember… digs. Are you fixed up?'

  Liz nodded. 'I'm sharing a flat with your Mrs Lawson's niece, Judy.' She shrugged and smiled. 'Only time will tell if it works out. She seems nice enough. I met her when I came over for the day last week.'

  'Good.' John pulled a file open and foraged through the contents. 'If she's half as nice as Polly Lawson, she'll do. I'm glad that's settled. Your mother was on to Helen the other evening about it. If you'd been stuck you could have come to us for a time, but I knew you wanted to be independent, and besides,' he grinned, 'Emma's cutting teeth. When your mother and Helen realise that you're not the baby of the family any longer, I'll put the flags out.' He pushed the folder towards her. 'Now, here's all the information left you by Paul Scott, our stage director. He's had to leave us for a couple of days to move his family, but he'll be here on Monday. I'm having to throw you in at the deep end, I'm afraid, but there isn't much time, and the fact that the theatre's not finished yet doesn't help matters.'

  'Is there still much to be done?'

  'Not a great deal. The twentieth of September must be our deadline, we can't have workmen about
after then. That leaves us with four clear days before we open.' He looked at his watch and grimaced. 'Good lord, it can't be that time surely?' He paused and then said thoughtfully:

  'Lizzie, you'll be working in close contact with Adam Carlyon and it's important that you get on well with him. I had the feeling that whenever you and he were together for any length of time, the sparks began to fly.' John thrust himself lower into his chair and looked questioningly at her.

  Keep it cool, Lizzie girl, and summoning a wide smile, she managed to say with commendable composure:

  'But, John, although we may have had our differences in the past, they've never been about work,' and trying to draw him off the personal note, she continued brightly: 'What a feather in your cap! It'll be quite an experience working for him.' And you can say that again, she thought wryly.

  John nodded, but didn't say anything, merely carried on looking at her intently. By the continuing silence it seemed that more was expected of her. Liz sighed and obliged. Taking a deep breath, she said with a rush:

  'Look, John. I've the greatest respect for Adam Carlyon, as a director. It's not the professional side of him that rubs me up the wrong way.' She hesitated, seeking the right words. 'As a man—well, his arrogance annoys me, and then seeing every female who comes near him making a fool of herself doesn't help. It feeds his ego.'

  'You're too hard on him, Liz,' said John mildly, absent-mindedly doodling on his memo pad.

  'Maybe, but amused condescension needles me,' she replied dryly. And Adam Carlyon knows it does, she added moodily to herself.

  'The man can't help it if he attracts women. Especially as he comes into contact with so many. And he's a man's man, for all that.' John raised his eyebrows. 'You surely don't expect a healthy, personable male of—let me see, what must he be now? thirty-five—well, you don't expect him to be celibate, do you? And that's putting it too strongly. He's no profligate, Liz, whatever the rumours. I know for a fact that it's the women who make most of the running.'

  You don't know all the facts, dear brother-in-law, here's one who didn't, thought Liz with grim satisfaction. Aloud, she said reassuringly:

  'You're probably right, John. After all, you know him far better than I do, and if you remember, when I met him in London, I was off men at the time.'

  'Mmm… well, I never thought you and James were particularly well suited.'

  Liz laughed, a trifle bitterly.' On reflection, what happened was for the best, but at the time I didn't think so.'

  'You were too young, Liz. Oh, not in years—plenty of girls marry at twenty-one, but in outlook.'

  'Naive is the word you're seeking, John dear. Helen says I still am.' Liz grinned, 'She's always telling me that I go round with my head in the air, expecting everyone to be straightforward, and not seeing what's going on under my lose.'

  John snorted derisively. 'Helen's a fine one to talk! You tell her to keep her nose to herself.'

  Liz laughed, then asked casually:

  'What's Carlyon been doing lately?'

  'Since he left London, do you mean?'

  She nodded and John frowned as he thought back.

  'He did a season in Edinburgh—was there for about a year. Then his mother became seriously ill and he went over to France to be with her. She was a Frenchwoman, an invalid for the latter part of her life, but still a beautiful woman. Unfortunately, she died not long after he went over.'

  Liz said in surprise: 'Was his father French, too?'

  'Oh, no. Carlyon's a good old Cornish name. He died when Adam was about twelve. He left provision for Adam to be educated over here and that's where I met him. He spent the long holidays in France, I joined him for part of them, and the shorter ones he stayed with my family.'

  For some reason, the thoughts of Adam Carlyon as a fatherless boy of twelve softened his image and confused her. 'Hasn't he any relations over here?'

  'I don't know of any, he may have some, but if so he doesn't keep in touch.'

  'He doesn't seem very French to me,' Liz said, wandering restlessly back to the window.

  'No? You wouldn't say that if you heard him jabbering the language. Still, it's not surprising. He spent all his formative years in England.' John joined her at the window, and together they watched the workmen on the half-completed building opposite.

  'I've known Adam Carlyon for longer than I care to look back on,' John continued reflectively. 'He's been a good friend to me and on the one or two occasions when I've been in need of moral support, he's supplied it.'

  This, from the solid, dependable John, was accolade indeed, and for his sake, if for nothing else, Liz would try and forget the past. She felt a surge of warmth for the stocky man at her side and, frowning, she said impulsively:

  'You're not worried about me, are you?'

  'Good lord, no!' he said, startled.

  'Well, I mean, being related—it won't cause awkwardness, will it? I never thought…'

  'Don't be ridiculous, Lizzie. I wouldn't have given you the job without having complete faith in your ability—couldn't afford to. And so far as Adam's concerned, I suppose I can't understand why you both don't hit it off and I just want you to give yourself the chance to show how good you are. He's a complex character, is Adam. Not easily fathomed, and being an only child hasn't helped this rather single-mindedness of his. But don't underestimate him, Liz.'

  'Not bloody likely!' Liz quoted mischievously, laughing at John's face and saying airily: 'Just keeping my hand in, in case you need me to understudy Eliza Doolittle—I notice you're doing Pygmalion in the spring.'

  John laughed and together they walked to the door.

  'Take the rest of the day to get installed and if you've time, read through these papers. Then tomorrow you can start in earnest.' He opened the door and they went through the empty outer office. As they walked down the corridor, Liz asked lightly:

  'Does Carlyon know I'm DSM?'

  Pushing open the stage door and screwing up his eyes against the bright August sunlight, John said:

  'From what I can remember, he made no comment when I told him who would be working under him.' He shot her a look. 'Why? Were you expecting him to?'

  'Oh, no,' she said quickly, then smiled. 'My love to Helen and that gorgeous niece of mine.'

  They parted, and as Liz walked to the bus, quite unreasonably she was annoyed. No comment indeed! Whatever I may be as a woman, she thought indignantly, in my job I take justifiable pride!

  The house was a big rambling place, aptly though unimaginatively called The Laurels, and only a ten-minute bus ride from the theatre. It was set back slightly from the road, giving, Liz thought as she walked up the laurel-lined path, an impression of faded gentility. Her luggage had arrived safely, and the rest of the afternoon she spent unpacking, and gradually her room took on some semblance of home.

  The flat consisted of a large main room, a kitchen and two bedrooms. The bathroom and toilet were shared with the upstairs bedsitter and the ground floor was occupied by the owners of the house, a young couple with two children, who had their own entrance. By the time Judy Lawson arrived home, Liz had thoroughly explored the flat, the house, and the neighbourhood.

  Judy was a cheerful girl of twenty-five, with a mass of dark curls, large brown eyes and two dimples which appeared every time she smiled, which was often. She was, Judy explained to Liz, a relief Sister at the main hospital in Queens-bridge.

  'I'm on Women's Surgical at the moment. I quite enjoy moving around. Next week I'm on Children's. I'll probably be offered a ward of my own soon, though.'

  Over the evening meal they discussed the practicalities of sharing.

  'It's a good idea to chew things over right from the start,' Judy ventured. 'If we both draw up a list of rules and try to keep to them, life will be much easier.'

  'I agree. How nice to find someone practical,' Liz exclaimed with pleasure. 'It must be your job that makes you so. I know that mine has changed me. I used to be terribly untidy as a child, but h
aving to have a place for everything and everything in its place at the theatre, I'm much tidier at home as well.'

  'I hadn't thought about it like that, but you're right, of course,' agreed Judy, happily tucking into a cheese omelette. 'Have you shared before?'

  'Yes, but only with my sister, so I don't think that counts, do you?'

  'Not really. Well, have you got any devastatingly bad habits? I know one of your good points, this omelette's delicious.'

  'Why, thanks,' Liz said, beaming. 'I love cooking, but I have to admit to hating housework.' She frowned, thinking hard about herself. 'Heavens! Let me think… well, I've been told I talk in my sleep when I'm worried about anything. If I do, I hope it won't disturb you,' she added anxiously.

  'I shouldn't think it will,' said Judy, laughing.

  'Er… I do like to soak in the bath,' Liz admitted, 'which can be annoying, at least, so my family tell me. I take a book with me and forget the time.'

  'Do you? As there's four of us queuing up, that might be difficult, but no doubt we can come to some arrangement so you can have your soak. I'm an "in and outer" myself Is that all?'

  Liz grinned, 'I'm sure it's not, but that's enough to be going on with.'

  'Now it's my turn.' Judy rested her chin on hands and frowned. 'I think my worst fault is that I'm not at my brightest first thing in the morning, and not at all talkative. I know this upset my last flatmate as she was positively indecently bright the minute she woke. I don't like housework either, and adore cooking, so where does that leave us?'

  'Living in a hovel,' Liz grinned.

  'I don't think I'm particularly difficult to live with, and as our hours are both irregular we probably won't see much of each other, anyway! By the way, we always lock the outer front door, as well as the flat front door. We had burglars last year—they wasted their time, poor things, but it was a horrid feeling knowing that someone had been pawing through our possessions.' Judy poured out coffee and handed a cup to Liz. 'Come on, let's make ourselves comfortable and you can tell all about yourself. We'll do the washing up later,' and they moved from the table. 'I know that Aunt Poll's boss is married to your sister and you're going to work backstage.'