Sweet Pretence Read online

  'My God!' she answered tartly. 'So I should hope! What are you doing here, Joe?' His face went muzzy and she felt a little giddy and put out a hand to steady herself. 'I'm sorry, I think I shall have to sit down.'

  Joe took the glass from her hand, commenting, 'You'd better lay off the booze.'

  'I've only had two glasses!' Her vision had cleared suddenly, but she was still glad of his hand beneath her elbow.

  'The waiters are doing an excellent job of topping up,' he told her drily.

  'You've probably not noticed.'

  'I think I'm hungry.'

  'You women and your slimming fads!' Joe exclaimed in exasperation, changing direction towards the food.

  'I'm not slimming,' Freddy ground out. 'I just haven't had time to eat much today, and I came late, and then the wine on an empty stomach...'

  'I'd have thought,' Joe pointed out, filling a plate with food, 'that you were old enough to know better than to skip eating, Fred.'

  'Thank you very much! I now feel a hundred— and don't call me Fred!'

  He pushed the plate into her hand and cleared a space on the table. 'There doesn't appear to be a chair handy, but you can lean against me, if you like,'

  and he gave Freddy a malevolent smile. 'Or if that doesn't appeal, you can hitch yourself against this, it seems solid enough. Eat.' He watched her take the first mouthful.

  A waiter came up and refilled Joe's glass, Freddy covered her own with the palm of her hand. She said, 'You didn't seem surprised to see me.'

  'I thought you might be here. I knew you worked for Atticus, I've seen your name on their credits. I saw the Sixty Minutes documentary you did on handicapped children—I liked it very much.'

  Freddy was glad she was eating. It gave her something to do. The programme as a whole had been very well reviewed, but Joe's praise sent a rush of pleasure through her out of all proportion, and it brought her up sharply. She said coolly, 'Thank you, I was quite pleased with it myself.'

  '1 always knew that determination such as yours would get somewhere,' Joe said reflectively. 'Talent and determination.'

  She challenged his look. 'We were alike in those areas, weren't we?' This self-same ambition and drive had finally parted them—was he remembering that too, she wondered?

  'I won a bet with myself, seeing you again,' Joe claimed, and Freddy eyed him warily. 'That you would turn out to be beautiful.'

  She choked on a mouthful of fresh salmon, and suffered the ignominy of Joe pounding her on the back. When she had caught her breath Freddy said sarcastically, 'Very funny! You always did have peculiar ideas.'

  His brows shot up. 'Beauty,' Joe drawled, 'is a fascinating subject, very individual. And you can admire a Chippendale chair, admit it has style and elegance, yet not wish to own it.'

  Freddy bit savagely into a roll. Thank you very much, she muttered to herself. Let's not have a rush to the head, just because he's likened you to a chair!

  Someone nearby made a remark to Joe and he half turned from her to answer. It was a good opportunity to covertly study him. He hadn't changed that much in the years since they had parted. His medium brown hair was still straight-and thick, springing crisply at the new growth and expertly cut. He had a strong jaw, a nose his enemies called large, changeable brown eyes and a mouth that more often had a cynical curve at the corners, but which could break out into a devastating smile. No, Joseph Corey was no oil painting, but there was something about him, something that grew on you. Freddy had never been able to work it out.

  'Feeling better?' Joe had turned back and caught her staring. She put down the empty plate. 'I feel fine, that was delicious. Playing nursemaid isn't your usual style, Joe. Thanks.'

  'I'm adaptable, and I didn't want you fainting all over me. What would folks have thought?'

  'That the sight of you was too much for me? How quaint,' she mocked. 'And you never did tell me what brings you to Queensbridge.'

  'I'm based here at the moment.' He surprised her by taking her left hand and studying the ringless fingers, giving her a frowning look under his brows. 'I was told you were married.'

  'I was. I am no longer. And you?' She took back her hand and ignored the sharp awareness of contact.

  'No. You once told me I was a selfish, prejudiced bastard, and I decided you were right and it wasn't fair to subject any woman to be shackled to such a poor specimen,' Joe replied, his voice and smile decidedly sardonic. Freddy felt a blush sweep all over her body and her eyes were locked with his. She knew he was remembering her saying those descriptive words after they had made love, when Joe had asked her to go with him to America and all hell had been let loose. She had left the next day, and now they had met up again, some seven, or was it eight years later? Much water had flowed under the bridge since then.

  'Oh, good, you've found each other.' Patrick Tyson's voice broke in on them and Freddy turned to him gratefully. His wife was at his side and he drew her forward, saying, 'Dinah, come and meet Joseph Corey. Joe, my wife, Dinah.'

  Dinah Tyson was a cool, poised woman, with dark, perfectly groomed hair and an impeccable manner. In the three years Freddy had known her she had never seen Dinah lose her temper, nor show spontaneous emotion of any kind. Dinah now smiled graciously and extended her hand, saying, 'Mr Corey, I'm a fan of yours. I have all your books and I loved Wandering Man. It fully deserved the recognition it received. It's a pleasure to meet you.'

  'How kind of you, Mrs Tyson,' replied Joe. 'May I congratulate you on your share of the company's fifteen years?'

  Dinah received the compliment with another smile and then looked from Joe to Freddy, eyes piercing. 'You two know each other?' she asked. Joe answered casually, 'We met some years back.' He tilted his head at Freddy. 'How long is it? Can you remember?'

  Freddy could remember exactly, and knew Joe could, too. She could see him now, walking into the lecture-room, his notes in a folder under his arm and his eyes travelling round the class, hesitating slightly when they reached Freddy, the only female. She could even remember what he said, or very nearly, something like, 'We shall take chapter fifty-five of Bleak House, the section dealing with Lady Dedlock's meeting with Mr Guppy, and decide how we can turn it into a camera script.' Straight in and no messing for Joe Corey! He'd taught them twice a week, and for the full year's course Freddy had thought he disliked her—until it had ended, and she had found out differently.

  She now shrugged and pretended to think. 'It must be ten years,' she replied, smiling slightly. Ten since they had met, eight since they had parted.

  'You must have a great deal to talk over,' Dinah observed. 'Patrick, there are people waiting to say goodbye. I'm glad you've been persuaded to join our ranks, Mr Corey,' and allowing a smile to do for them both she drifted away. Patrick, about to follow, turned back, saying, 'I've told Joe he can join you for a few days, Freddy, to see how we work. Look after him, won't you?' He gave a quick smile. 'Goodnight, both.'

  Freddy responded and then turned to Joe, who was watching her as if waiting for her reaction, his expression bland.

  'I suppose I should have guessed,' she said, 'that you were here in a professional capacity.'

  'Something could be in the offing in the future. Tyson's trying to drum up the money. It could come off, or not. Does that worry you, Fred, that I might be working for Atticus?'

  'Why should it?' She glanced round the room.

  'You give the impression of wanting to escape.'

  'It's hardly worth escaping now if I've got you tagging along tomorrow, is it?'

  'Exactly. Can I give you a lift?' He saw the hesitation on her face and added drily, 'Or get you a taxi?'

  Brown eyes held green ones for some seconds and then Freddy said, 'Thank you, if it's not too much out of your way.' She mentioned the district in which she lived, learned that he would need to make only a slight detour and swung on her heel, walking ahead of him out of the room.

  There were mirrors lining the corridor to the lift. Freddy glanced at their refl
ections, even now hardly able to believe that Joe Corey had come back into her life; she felt the same stabbing shock. The glistening red sequins caught the light, and her face looked brittle and unreal. Joe was walking with an easy, relaxed stride, half a pace behind her. Any man can look good in an evening suit, thought Freddy dourly, as they went down in the lift. His car was a Sunbeam Tiger, brilliant red with gleaming chrome. Luckily the soft top was up.

  Freddy didn't care to be blown to pieces, and there was rain in the air. She remarked, 'You still like fast cars, Joe.'

  He made no reply, waiting while she fixed her seat-belt. He started the engine and it rumbled into life, the merest touch of the accelerator bringing forth a subdued snarling roar. 'Perhaps you'd better refresh my memory on the best way to go,' Joe suggested, switching on the headlights, and Freddy complied.

  The journey was taken in near silence, only Freddy's directions punctuating it. When the Tiger pulled up in Dean Close she said briskly, 'Thanks for the lift. About tomorrow—I'll meet you at the office, say eleven, if that's OK

  with you?'

  'Eleven will be fine. Who do I ask for?'

  'Sorry?' Freddy shot him a puzzled look.

  'Your married name?' prompted Joe.

  'Ask for Leigh. I've reverted to my maiden name.'

  'Are you over it, Fred?'

  Freddy couldn't fault his tone. She said matter-of-factly, 'Yes. It was a mistake for both of us. He has a new wife and she sounds a much better proposition.'

  'And you?' Joe turned in his seat, leaning back against the door, resting an elbow on the steering wheel. The gold stud in his shirt cuff caught the light from the street-lamp as his hand lay across the leather trim. 'Have you a better proposition?'

  'That's none of your damned business,' Freddy told him pleasantly.

  'Why so uptight? I'm interested. We're old friends...'

  'I am not uptight.'

  '... and if you don't want to tell me, that's fine.' He glanced towards the house. The hall light was on, but elsewhere was in darkness. 'I just wondered if he was waiting up for you.'

  Freddy expelled a deep breath. 'The only male in the house at the moment is a dog called Houdini, if you're so interested.'

  'Very sensible. Deters burglars. Why Houdini?'

  'Because he's always escaping. Joe, it's late. It's flattering that you should be so interested, but the last thing I want is you poking your big nose into my...'

  'I know.' His voice was sympathetic. 'You have things all neat and tidy and along comes Corey to stir things up.'

  '... life, and I have no intention of allowing you to stir things up.'

  'As for my nose, you shouldn't be personal, Fred. You know how sensitive I am about my nose.'

  'You're a fine one to talk about being personal! And you know I didn't mean

  ...' Freddy stopped and gave an incredulous laugh. 'Sensitive? You! Joseph Corey, you're impossible!'

  'No, no, merely curious. It's the writer in me.'

  'Rubbish,' came back Freddy tartly, 'it's pure nosiness.'

  He ran his forefinger down the bridge of his nose. 'There you go again.' Pain was in his voice, changing to satisfaction as he added, 'You nearly smiled that time.' He peered into her face. 'I was beginning to think that the old Fred had completely disappeared under all this welter of sophistication. Very smart. I wholeheartedly approve.'

  'I can't tell you how glad that makes me,' Freddy answered with mild sarcasm, 'and don't call me Fred!' She saw the flash of a smile, and her hand was taken in his and he studied her palm.

  'Do you believe in fate?' he asked lazily.

  Freddy looked at him askance, conscious of the feel of his pulse against the palm of her hand. 'I don't know. Yes, I suppose so.' She pulled her hand free, making the excuse of tucking a fall of hair from her eyes. 'Do you?'

  There was a knowing glint in his eyes as if he had guessed exactly the reasons for breaking contact. 'Yes,' he replied promptly, not needing to give the matter thought, 'although I'm arrogant enough to want to be in charge of my own destiny. Fate opens doors, offers paths—I rather think it's up to us whether we close the door or walk the path.' He leaned across to push down the door-handle and it swung open. Freddy could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, he was so close. She stiffened, expecting a kiss, not knowing whether she wanted one or not. And then he moved away, saying cheerfully, 'Goodnight, Frederica,' and she was out of the car, forcing herself to walk without haste up the path.

  She didn't look back as she let herself in, and heard the sound of the engine opening up as the Tiger moved off. She stood for a moment, carefully thinking of nothing in particular. Houdini padded into the hall and pushed his blunted nose into the palm of her unresisting hand, wanting to be noticed. She absently scratched his head and went to look in on Megan. The child was breathing lightly, two red patches on her cheeks, a disreputable rabbit clutched in one hand. Freddy stood looking down on her and, as if she sensed her mother's presence, Megan's eyes flickered open and she stirred. Freddy stood still, not wanting to disturb her so that she woke fully.

  Megan murmured sleepily, 'Did he come?'

  'Yes, he came,' Freddy replied softly, taking the easy answer, intent on soothing the child back to sleep.

  'Good,' said Megan, and turned over.

  CHAPTER TWO

  'How did your evening go?' asked Judith the next morning, joining Freddy and Megan for breakfast.

  'He came,' Megan told her importantly, lifting her head from a glass of milk and presenting a white upper lip.

  'Darling,' broke in Freddy quickly, 'you were half-asleep last night, so I didn't explain properly. It wasn't Indiana Jones, but an old friend who turned up.' She gave her daughter a comical shrug and a grimace. 'I reckon we'll have to make do with the poster.'

  Megan copied both the gesture and the grimace, asked if she could get down, was told to go and wash her face and left the room. Judith murmured,

  'That child I can see ending up on the stage.'

  Freddy answered without heat, 'God forbid!'

  She poured a cup of tea and passed it over. Then she dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and turned to glance out of the window. The kitchen was her favourite room, not because it was elegant, for it was quite the reverse. The house had been built in the early part of the century and still retained old-fashioned cupboards and quarry tiles. But the kitchen faced the garden, where Houdini was now mooching about, and she could see splashes of purple and white from the Michaelmas daisies, and red and gold from the dahlias. Late roses were climbing the dividing wall, and signs of autumn showed in the turning colours of the trees.

  Judith could contain her curiosity no longer. 'Am I allowed to ask who this old friend is?' she enquired.

  'A fellow I knew years ago,' replied Freddy, 'by the name of Joseph Corey. Just look at that rose, Judith, the pink one—it's so perfect it hardly looks real.'

  'The name's vaguely familiar,' remarked her friend, uninterested in nature just at that moment.

  'You borrowed one of his books some time back, and enjoyed it if 1 remember rightly. Wandering Man, it's called. Him.'

  'Really? You didn't say you knew him personally,' protested Judith.

  'No, well...' Freddy rescued the toast as it popped up '... I guess I didn't see any point.'

  Judith stared. 'Is that all? Ah, come on, Freddy! How friendly is this old friend? A real live author, for God's sake!'

  Freddy laughed. 'It was a long time ago, Judith, when I knew him. He was one of the lecturers on the TV course.'

  'Oh, old,' pouted Judith, disappointed.

  'No, he was about twenty-seven then. He was a good teacher.' Freddy began to butter the toast.

  'What did he lecture?' Judith sensed a need for Freddy to talk, and was quite

  happy to encourage her.

  'Scripts and adaptations of novels... how to use the camera to move the plot along visually, that sort of thing.'

  'And he wrote books as well?'
marvelled Judith, spreading her toast with marmalade and eyeing the clock.

  'He was drawn into television when one of his books was made into a play.'

  'Some people's energy is positively disgusting,' pronounced Judith. 'What's he like—to look at, I mean?'

  Freddy reached and took up a book that was lying on the nearby cupboard, handing it to Judith. Judith looked at the photograph on the back cover, making no comment on the fact that the book was so handy, and asked,

  'What's he doing in Queensbridge?'

  'Probably going to work for Atticus. I doubt he'll be staying long... wandering man would be a good name for Joe Corey.'

  'Am I allowed to ask if you were pleased to see him?'

  'You could say I had mixed feelings,' Freddy replied drily, 'and you can remove that too innocent look! You're right, we were more than Just good friends' putting the last three words into mocking italics. 'In fact, we had one hell of a time together, lasting nearly a year.'

  Eyes wide with interest, Judith studied the photograph again. 'He looks as though he could be fun. Why? I mean, why only a year?'

  'We were too much alike and had too much to do,' stated Freddy. She poured herself another cup of tea and offered the pot to Judith, her eyes drawn to the photograph. 'Joe had the chance to go to Hollywood to work on a film script. He wanted me to go with him. Just like that. Drop everything and go with him.' She gave a laugh and shook her head, remembering. 'I'd just started my first job—which I'd been darned lucky to get, I might add—and he was taking it for granted I'd give up this fantastic chance. We had a row to end all rows and I told him he'd hate Hollywood, that it wasn't his scene, and he said how could he know unless he tried it—which was quite true and Joe was all for trying everything—oh, and lots more, plus the "I thought you loved me" scenario. All the corny stuff delivered with fury and passion.'

  'Did you love him?'

  'Yes, I loved him, but not enough to blow the chances of my career. I remember I suggested that if he loved me he would give Hollywood up. I didn't expect him to, of course, but he got the point... it was all right for me to trot along in his wake. I told him he only wanted someone to bask in the shadows of his own ego and that there would be plenty who would, no doubt, jump at the opportunity.'