malice that were never directed at her.
But he could be moody, this little boy who had always had everything he wanted in life. His thin face would darken and she could feel his longing for her like a volcano below the surface.
The eternal late nights were taking their toll on his health too. He had lost pounds and there were huge violet shadows beneath his eyes.
One May evening they were sitting on the sofa in her flat, when he said, ‘Don’t you mind that I never take you to parties and things?’
She shook her head. ‘The only parties I like are for two people.’
Rupert turned her hand over and stared at the palm for a minute, then said, ‘Why don’t we get married?’
Panic swept over Bella. ‘No!’ she said nervously. ‘At least, not yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘We come from different backgrounds. I’ve always been a have-not, you’ve always been a have. Your family would loathe me. I haven’t any background.’ She gave a slightly shaky laugh. ‘When I talk about the past, I mean yesterday.’
‘Rubbish,’ Rupert said angrily. ‘Don’t be such a snob. I love you and that’s all that matters.’
‘I love you too.’ Bella pleated the folds of her skirt.
‘You’re making things impossible for me,’ said Rupert sulkily. ‘You won’t marry me; you won’t sleep with me. I’m going out of my mind.’
He got up and strode up and down the room. He looked so ruffled and pink in the face, Bella suddenly had an hysterical desire to laugh.
‘There’s someone else,’ he said, suddenly stopping in front of her.
‘How could there be? I’ve seen no-one but you for the last six months.’
‘And before that?’
‘Casual affairs.’
He caught her wrist so hard that she winced with pain.
‘How casual? I don’t believe you! You’re as passionate as hell beneath the surface, Bella. One only has to see you playing Desdemona to realize that.’
Bella had gone white. She snatched her hand away from Rupert and went over to the window.
‘All right. There was someone, when I was eighteen. He seduced me and I loved him, and he walked out on me the night my mother died.’
Rupert was unimpressed. ‘But darling, one loves the most ghastly people when one’s eighteen. You wouldn’t be able to see what you saw in him if you met him now.’
Finally, Bella agreed to go and meet his family on her birthday, the following Thursday.
She lay in bed dreaming about Rupert the Monday morning before her birthday. I can’t have been very easy these past weeks, she thought ruefully. Living on a permanent knife-edge wondering whether or not to tell him the truth about my past.
‘I love you, and that’s all that matters,’ he’d said. Perhaps she would tell him, but could she bear to see the incredulity and contempt in his face? And if she didn’t tell him, would he ever find out? No-one else had. She realized that, for the first time in years, she was beginning to feel secure and happy.
She idly wondered what to wear when she met his parents. She hoped she wouldn’t be too intimidated by them. She ought to buy a new dress, but too many bills were flooding in.
She picked up the paper, glanced at the gossip page to see if she or Rupert were mentioned, then turned to the personal column — villas in the South of France, ranch minks, hardly worn, costing ?3,000. If I marry Rupert, she thought, they’d be within my grasp.
And then she saw the advertisement, in bold type, edged with black, and went cold with horror.
‘Mabel, where are you? I’ve looked for you everywhere. I’ll be waiting at the bar of the Hilton at seven o’clock. Steve.’
Suddenly, her heart was pounding, her hands clammy.
It must be a mistake. Lots of people communicated through the personal column — gangs of criminals, lost friends. It was a fluke. It couldn’t concern her.
But all day long she couldn’t get the thought of it out of her mind.
Next day, when she picked up the paper, she tried not to turn immediately to the personal column. But there was another advertisement, burning a hole in the page.
‘Mabel, where are you? Why did you leave Nalesworth? Please come to the Hilton bar at seven o’clock tonight. Steve.’
Oh God! thought Bella, giving a whimper of horror. A feeling of nausea overwhelmed her.
On Wednesday, after a sleepless night, she found another message waiting for her.
‘Mabel, where are you? I waited on Monday. Perhaps you can’t get to London? Cable me at the Hilton. I shall wait for you. Steve.’
She was sweating with fear. After all these years, Steve was in London, had come back to claim her. The one man in the world who could rock the boat and bring down the precarious fabrication of lies and falsehoods that was Bella Parkinson.
Chapter Four
On the morning of her birthday Bella was woken by the sun streaming through the window. For a moment she stretched luxuriously — then the sick feeling of menace overwhelmed her as she remembered Steve was trying to get in touch with her.
She jumped violently when the doorbell rang, but it was only the postman with a pile of letters and a registered parcel to be signed for. The newspaper was lying on the doormat. Willing herself not to look at it, Bella opened the parcel and gave a shriek of excitement. A pearl necklace was glittering inside. She put it on and rushed to the mirror. Even against a setting of mascara, smudged eyes and tousled hair, it looked beautiful.
‘There is nothing to say except I love you,’ Rupert had written in the accompanying letter. Bella gave a sigh of happiness. It was as if someone had pulled her in out of the cold and wrapped her in a mink coat.
There were cards from the rest of the cast, and more bills. There were far too many of those crowding in lately.
The telephone rang. It was Barney, her agent.
‘Happy Birthday, darling. Do you feel frightfully old?’
‘Yes,’ said Bella.
‘I’ll buy you lunch next week. We can’t go on not meeting like this,’ said Barney.
Bella laughed. Barney always cheered her up.
‘Harry Backhaus is in London casting for Anna Karenina,’ he said, in his nasal cockney drawl. ‘He saw you on the box last week and wants to audition you this evening.’
‘But I can’t,’ wailed Bella. ‘Not tonight. I’m meeting Rupert’s family.’
‘I know, sweetheart. As if you’d let me forget it. I’ve arranged for you to see Harry beforehand — at six. He’s staying at the Hyde Park. Ask for his suite at the desk. He likes birds, so be yourself. You know, sexy but refined. And don’t be late.’
Bella was elated. She’d worshipped Harry Backhaus for years. She rifled through her wardrobe for something to wear, but found nothing sexy enough. She’d have to go out and buy yet another dress. Afterwards she would come back and change into the discreet but ludicrously expensive black midi dress she’d bought for meeting Rupert’s parents.
The telephone rang again. This time it was Rupert wishing her a happy birthday. She thanked him ecstatically for the necklace, then told him about the audition.
‘I don’t know who I’m more frightened of — Harry Backhaus or your parents.’
