Dear Villain Page 2

  Liz lay back in the armchair, saying with amusement:

  'You'll have to be satisfied with the bare outline—all would take us through the night. Mmm… where to begin? Well, I'm twenty-three, the youngest of the family. Helen's thirty and Simon's twenty-eight.'.

  'Are you all alike?' Judy asked, sipping her coffee appreciatively.

  Liz grinned: 'Heavens, no! I'm the cuckoo in the nest. The only thing Helen covets are my long legs.' She stretched her limbs and gazed at them critically. 'Simon and I take after Father, who is tall and lanky. Unfortunately, tall, willowy, long-legged females are supposed to be graceful and sophisticated, and that I certainly am not! Mother nearly despaired. I ended up in as many escapades as Simon as a child, and even now I still manage to get into scrapes and do ridiculous things on the spur of the moment.' Liz chuckled. 'Still, with one beauty under her belt, Mum can afford to be philosophical.'

  'Okay. So yours may not be the face to launch a thousand ships, but physical beauty isn't everything,' protested Judy mildly.

  'Oh, I know that, I'm very happy to be me, honestly. God, I've met some beautiful bitches in my time, actresses who seem to have everything, but they're never very happy. Helen's not a bit like me, she really is beautiful and has the most gorgeous green eyes and titian hair and is a very good actress. I know I'm prejudiced, but she's a super person too. Not that she doesn't get on my wick sometimes,' Liz added with a grin.

  'Will she be at the Civic?'

  'Gracious, no. She's not worked now for about two years. I must admit I was surprised when she married John, she seemed set for a tremendous career, but Emma's her only career at the moment. I was rather sceptical about the whole thing at first. I mean, John's so different from the sort of person I thought Helen would marry, but he's a grand bloke and I'm glad I've been proved wrong.' She grinned, rather shamefacedly. 'I'm very pro-family.'

  'Lucky you. I couldn't get away from mine quick enough. What about brother Simon?'

  'Simon's got all the Browning brains. He's a lecturer in economics at the University here. He's tall and fair, not fabulous looking, but nice. I don't trust good-looking men,' she added.

  'And is Simon to be trusted?' asked Judy with a smile. 'Oh, yes, he's very dependable and… nice.' They both laughed.

  'And where do beautiful Helen and nice Simon live?'

  'When John got the directorship of the Civic, he bought a house on the outskirts of Queensbridge, and Simon's been at the University for about three years and has a rather posh flat on the London Road.'

  'And your parents?'

  'When we were all young, Dad was a teacher, but now he's head of a large comprehensive school in the county.' Liz yawned. 'Goodness, all this talking has worn me out.' She got up and began to clear the table. 'Now it's your turn!'

  Judy followed her into the kitchen. 'Not much to tell. Only child of divorced parents. I went into nursing to get away from upsets at home. Oh, don't look so horrified, Liz. I'm very happy. I'm doing a job I love, and I see both parents regularly. They've both married again, one lives in London and the other in Birmingham.' She hung up the tea-cloth.

  'When I was made a staff nurse I joined another Sister in this flat and we were here for about two years. She left to become a deputy Matron at another hospital in the South. I suppose I can afford to move to a better flat now I'm a Sister, but I like it here, I'm settled and it's convenient to the hospital. Why waste money unnecessarily?'

  'For my sake, I'm glad you didn't move,' said Liz. 'I'll take you up and introduce you to the two girls upstairs. They're part of the nine-till-five brigade, I don't see much of them.'

  Liz spent an enjoyable hour chatting upstairs and then excused herself, saying that she had some work to do before starting at the theatre the next day. Judy came with her as she had her hair to wash, and after assuring her new friends that she would pop up whenever she felt lonely, Liz said goodnight and followed Judy down to their flat.

  Later that evening, sitting on the hearthrug, papers spread around her, Liz gratefully took the cup of drinking chocolate from Judy, who then squatted beside her.

  'Who's this?' Judy demanded, picking up a photograph which had been lying, half concealed, beneath the folder. At her question, Liz glanced casually across. She sat very still, cup poised.

  'That's Adam Carlyon,' she said thoughtfully, sipping her drink.

  'And who, my dear girl, is Adam Carlyon?' Judy rolled over on to her front and gazed at the photograph, chin on hand. 'He looks rather interesting. And you said you didn't meet any luscious actors!'

  'Oh, no, I didn't,' protested a laughing Liz. 'What I said was that luscious actors weren't usually interested in anyone but themselves.'

  'Cynicism doesn't suit you, Lizzie, and get back to dark eyes here.'

  'He isn't an actor—at least, he used to be, but early on he turned to production. He's our guest director.'

  'And you'll be working for him? My, oh my, lucky you!' said Judy with relish.

  'Yes,' conceded Liz.

  'You don't sound too sure.'

  'I am really. He's a terrific director.'

  'Have you worked with him before?'

  'No. I've met him though, socially, I mean. About two years ago. He's a great friend of John Harvey.'

  'What's bothering you, then?' asked Judy, then catching the look of hesitation on Liz's face added quickly: 'Forget it. I'm being nosey.'

  'No, you're not. I'm being silly. It's pre-job nerves, I suppose. Coupled with the fact that the last time I saw Adam Carlyon we had a row. But it's so long ago and so unimportant, he's probably forgotten all about it… and me, for that matter.'

  'I bet he doesn't suffer fools gladly,' said Judy reflectively. 'He looks as though he knows what he wants, and gets it. Bags of attraction oozing out, and yet he's not handsome in the accepted sense, is he?'

  Liz studied the photograph dispassionately. No, she thought, his face is too lean and angular for that, the eyes, dark and strangely compelling, set beneath heavy brows. But these features, coupled with a melodious, deep voice, a tall, lithe frame, easy and loose-limbed, the very maleness of him, all she supposed added up to a man whose presence is felt on immediate contact.

  'What's he like as a person?' Judy asked, flicking through the programme.

  'He has a ready wit, a pleasing and charming manner— when he likes, is an excellent conversationalist, is clever and intelligent,' said Liz, ticking off these attributes on her fingers. 'At other times he can be rude, overbearing, sarcastic and intolerant,' as I have personally found out, she added to herself.

  He sounds like one of our top surgeons. Yet if I were ill, it's his hand I'd want to wield the knife.' Judy looked up from the programme. 'It gives details here of his past career, makes impressive reading. It says that he had his first major production at the age of twenty-four, and was one of the youngest producers in his early days to gain a name for himself and maintain that early promise. By the sound of things, he can obviously pick and choose where he works.' She got up and dropped the programme into Liz's lap, saying with a grin:

  'If ever he gets a temperature, bring him along and I'll willingly wipe his fevered brow!' She yawned. 'Bed for me, I'm on at eight tomorrow. Don't forget to drop the catch and switch everything off, will you, Liz?'

  'Goodnight, Judy. I won't be long myself.' Liz sat with the photograph staring up at her, conscious of a slight fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Adam Carlyon's dynamic force was capable of affecting her, even from a photograph. The dark, hooded eyes seemed to be harbouring some secret amusement, and his mouth, surprisingly sensitive, was smiling slightly. He wasn't smiling the last time we met, she reflected ruefully. Perhaps, after all, I ought to have told John everything? But, Lizzie, let's be practical, she told herself crossly, "everything" really boils down to "nothing" and surely must be forgotten by now? Closing her thoughts firmly on the past, Liz pushed the offending photograph into the folder and prepared for bed.

  But not to sleep.
r />   After twenty minutes of tossing and turning and pillow thumping, she finally gave in. All right, Lizzie, she told herself with resignation. Relax, lie quietly remembering and then, when you've gone through it all and got it out of your system, perhaps you'll get some sleep.

  So she allowed herself to remember.

  And the memories came flooding back with a vitality and clearness, as if it were yesterday.

  She was sipping a drink at one of Helen's after-show parties, listening to a very boring young man telling her what a good actor he was. Once or twice she found herself searching the crowd for James's face, to catch his eye and smile, and then she would remember that James was not there, that she was not a couple any more but only Lizzie Browning, recently jilted—not quite at the altar, but very nearly. The boring young man droned on and on, a smile now and again being all that was needed to keep him happy. Suddenly, Liz became aware of someone blatantly staring at her. Slightly confused, she turned back to the drone, but another casual glance and her eyes were again caught and held.

  The man was standing with a brooding look of resignation on his face, drink in hand, while a vivacious blonde was animatedly giving him her all. As their glances met again, he raised one dark brow speculatively, first at Lizzie's earnest young man and then at his voluble blonde. With a persuasive hand under his companion's arm, he led "Miss Vivacity" to where Liz was standing. Suavely introducing their partners to each other, he led Liz away before they, or she, knew what was happening. His eyes smiled as he said gravely: 'I do feel that they deserve each other, don't you?' Liz could not help but laugh at his audacity. 'Ah, I've been waiting for some time for you to do that. I'm Adam Carlyon.'

  Liz's hand was firmly grasped. So this was the marvellous Adam Carlyon about whom her sister raved? It said much for the man's charm and personality that he almost broke through her recently erected shell. Almost. He had enough women falling over him, by all accounts, without having her as well, even if he wanted her to! And so at that first meeting, she stood outside herself, remembering that she was just Lizzie Browning, recently spurned, hater of men, who was the object of this flattering attention. When he had left her to fetch another drink, Helen sidled up and whispered: 'What do you think of him, Lizzie?'

  'For goodness' sake, Helen, I've only just met him!'

  'Well, it shouldn't take you long to realise how gorgeous he is!'

  'Just because it was through him that you met John, it's only natural that you should have a soft spot for the man— but that doesn't mean I have to have one too.'

  'Very funny, ha, ha,' said Helen dryly. 'But don't you think he's madly attractive, Liz?'

  'I suppose so,' said Liz reluctantly, 'although I don't trust madly attractive bachelors in their thirties. Why hasn't he been snapped up, long ago? And why is he bothering with me, when there's all these fantastic females all eager to catch his eye?'

  'Oh. Lizzie, I give you up! Where's your self-confidence girl?'

  'Knocked from under my feet,' said Liz ruefully.

  'Rubbish! He's coming back, I'll have a word with you later,' and with those ominous words, Helen melted back into the crowd.

  It was flattering, Liz acknowledged, to have his company for the rest of the evening, whatever the motive. He was probably, she said later to Helen, giving his last lady-love the brush-off.

  'My dear,' said Helen, in her most theatrical drawl, 'when it's over, Carlyon comes straight to the point, he doesn't use such devious methods.'

  'Yes, now I come to think of it, he looks the ruthless type,' and Liz wondered whether Helen was speaking from bitter experience. 'Well, I won't waste any sleep over the whys and wherefores.'

  'No, Lizzie dear, I wouldn't. But I'm glad you've met him at last. He's quite a man.'

  'I expect he eats, sleeps and breathes, like any other mortal,' said Liz airily, and couldn't understand why Helen burst out laughing.

  After that first encounter, they seemed to meet fairly regularly. Nothing planned, and usually due to a connection in some way with the Harveys.

  It ended, if it ever began, one cold winter night as Adam Carlyon drove Liz home from Helen's. The evening had begun with a telephone call from Helen.

  'Lizzie darling, we've suddenly found ourselves with an impromptu party tonight after the play. Can you come?'

  'Oh, Helen, not tonight, I've got too much to do.'

  'No one can have that much to do. Anyway, I need you.'

  Secretly convinced that Helen was crusading a "making Lizzie forget" campaign; the fact that she just happened to mention a few of the male guests' names rather confirming these suspicions, Liz nevertheless was persuaded. Passing in and out of the crowded room, she made herself useful with plates of food and chatted to those she knew. The odd snatches of conversation were irresistibly typical of theatrical gatherings.

  'Darling! It was the best thing you've done in years!'

  '… get my hands on that designer, I'll…'

  'My dear, she looked ghastly, positively ghastly!'

  '… upstaged me all through act two and I couldn't do a damn thing about it, stuck there on the chaise-longue. But I got my own back in act three…'

  Liz found herself, throughout the evening, looking for the tall figure of Adam Carlyon. Helen by now had told her at least three times that he was coming and was rather cross that he'd not yet turned up. Liz thought she was optimistic, Carlyon giving her the impression of having no fixed course and a behaviour pattern both erratic and unpredictable.

  Nevertheless, Helen's anxiety transferred itself to Liz, and to her annoyance she found herself following Helen's lead and inspecting each newcomer to see if it were he. Liz was in the kitchen, washing a few much needed glasses, when the door swung open and in Carlyon strolled, hands in pockets, a lazy smile on his face.

  'Hello, Elizabeth,' he drawled, 'be an angel and find me something to eat. Helen says you know where the spares are.'

  Fighting a heady feeling of happiness at the sight of him, and slightly perturbed that she should be so, Liz said smoothly:

  'Do you think you warrant anything, at this hour?'

  One brow was raised and his eyes gleamed. 'You missed me, Elizabeth!'

  Being essentially a truthful person, Liz ignored that remark and said quickly:

  'It'll have to be French loaf, cheese and onion, will that do?'

  Carlyon's voice was low and amused. 'That sounds fine. Although perhaps I'd better do without the onion, Elizabeth, unless you've eaten some too?'

  Disregarding this innuendo too, Liz handed him a glass. 'It'll be ready by the time you've filled that.'

  His fingers touched hers as the glass changed hands, but instead of taking it, he covered her hand with his own.

  'May I fetch you a drink, Elizabeth?'

  Liz shook her head, conscious of the feel of his long fingers on hers.

  'No, thanks, I have one here,' she managed casually. 'One lasts me a long time,' and she tried to remove her hand. There was a pause while she gazed at him uncertainly and then, with a slight smile, he released her and went to the door. Liz was just beginning to relax when he hesitated and turned back. Now what? she wondered uneasily.

  'Elizabeth… I've noticed a certain amount of reluctance on your part to give voice to my name. It's a very old name and I think easy on the tongue. It's long been a whim of mine to hear it on your lips.' The dark eyes were challenging. Liz swallowed and said feebly:

  'How ridiculous you are!'

  'Adam,' this gently but persistent.

  'Adam,' she repeated weakly.

  He leant over and lightly kissed her lips. 'There—it wasn't too difficult, was it? Practise a few times, you'll soon get the hang of it. Adam's very easy to remember, you know. Just think of apples and serpents.'

  Another kiss, more insistent than the first, and then Liz was bemusedly contemplating the swinging door. And don't let's forget Eve, she muttered to herself, absently buttering the bread.

  For some reason, which Liz refu
sed to look into, the party took on a livelier note. A guitar was brought out and the singing began, and if it happened to be Adam Carlyon's arm she was leaning on in the crush of people, it was purely coincidental. When the songs ran out the chat began. Liz didn't contribute much, preferring to listen. It was the first time she had heard Adam Carlyon talk in a group and her respect for him grew. He was cool, calm and logical, qualities Liz admired and envied. Whenever the conversation began to flag slightly Adam Carlyon, to her increasing amusement, would slip in a controversial statement and then sit back and enjoy the ensuing argument, now and again adding fuel to the fire whenever necessary. She caught his eye once when this happened and received an intimate, conspiratorial wink.

  Records were then put on and the lights dimmed, the hitherto noisy laughter and chatter changing to subdued murmurs and the occasional soft laugh. Liz did not lack for partners, but the evening had gone suddenly flat. She felt tired and dispirited. Carlyon had disappeared, and the possibility that he had left without saying goodbye caused her unexpected disappointment. Yet why should he? Being sensible and rational, he was way above her touch, professionally and otherwise—but who wanted to be sensible and rational?— suddenly and intensely, not Liz. She was just about to place her heel "accidentally" very hard on the instep of the florid-faced individual with whom she was dancing, who had the roving hands syndrome, when a firm hand gripped her arm. A low, determined voice murmured, 'My dance, I believe,' and she was drawn decisively into Adam Carlyon's arms, leaving her erstwhile partner stranded, gaping like a fish.

  Her face must have told him her feelings, but she didn't care. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the happiness sweeping over her. What a difference one's partner makes, she thought dreamily to herself, and said shyly: