‘It won’t be just them,’ said Rupert. ‘Gay, my sister, will be there with Teddy, her fiance.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s in the Brigade. If you take away his long umbrella he falls over. His chin goes straight down into his stiff collar. Gay used to be an ally. Now all she can talk about is curtain material. I say, you’ll never guess.’
‘What?’
‘She’s pregnant.’
‘My God! When did she find out?’
‘Well, she only told me yesterday, so she’ll have to carry a very big bouquet.’
‘Was your mother livid?’
‘Doesn’t know. My father was very good. He walked once round the drawing-room then said, “Never mind, you always get a few shots fired before the 12th of August.”’
Bella giggled.
‘And as well as my pregnant sister,’ Rupert went on, ‘you’re finally going to meet my glamorous cousin, Lazlo, and you’re to promise not to fall for him; and his sister Chrissie’s coming too. She’s sweet. So there’ll be some young people — as my mother calls them — for you to play with, darling.’
Dear Rupert, thought Bella fondly, as she put down the receiver. He loved her so much, Steve really couldn’t hurt her any more. Casually, she picked up the paper. She must have been imagining things before.
But there it was — the first advertisement that caught her eyes when she turned to the personal column.
‘Mabel, where are you? Why didn’t you turn up at the Hilton? I shall wait again tonight. Steve.’
She felt a lurch of fear as a huge black cloud moved over the sun of her happiness.
She spent the rest of the day in a frenzy of activity — shopping and at the hairdresser. Anything not to think about Steve. She squandered a fortune on new make-up, a pair of impossibly tight blue jeans and a white frilly blouse that plunged to the waist. She also had her hair set in a wildly dishevelled style that made her look as though she’d just crawled out of bed.
She arrived twenty minutes late for the audition. Harry Backhaus turned out to be a lean, dyspeptic American who sucked peppermints all the time. He had been ruined, he said, by lunch at what was supposed to be the best restaurant in London.
‘So you wanna play Anna, eh?’ he said.
‘I’d like to.’
‘Know the book?’
‘Adore it. I’ve read it over and over again.’
‘So you’ve got all kinds of preconceived notions how the part should be played?’
‘I could be talked out of them.’
‘I picture Anna as dark. You’d have to dye your hair. You’d have to diet, too. And the boy we’ve got lined up for Vronsky is a good three inches shorter than you.’
Finally he said, ‘We’ll be in touch. Thanks for coming along.’
A beautiful tiny brunette was waiting to go in as she came out.
‘Harry, darling! It’s been too long!’ Bella heard her say as she shut the door behind her.
Bella looked at her watch. It was twenty to seven. Enough time to go home and change before dinner. But she didn’t go home. Across the Park she could see the Hilton gleaming like a liner at sea. Her flat was in the opposite direction but, as though mesmerized, she began walking towards the hotel.
You’re mad, she kept telling herself. You’re walking straight into a torture chamber. In five minutes you’ll undo all the good of the last five years.
Just go and have a quick drink, said another voice inside her. See if it really is Steve and come away. Once you’ve seen him it’ll break the spell.
Outside the hotel, to gain time, she bought some flowers for Rupert’s mother.
Her heart was thudding like a tom-tom. Her hands were clammy as she went through the swing doors of the hotel.
The bar was very crowded. People turned to stare at her. Why couldn’t she stop trembling? A tall, fair man who looked like a pig was giving her the glad eye. Surely he couldn’t be Steve?
‘Hullo, darling,’ said a soft voice with an American accent in her ear.
She jumped like a startled horse and swung round. Her mouth was dry. The bottom seemed to fall out of her stomach as she looked into the bluest, most wicked eyes in the world.
‘Oh, baby,’ he said, taking her hands. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘Hullo, Steve,’ she croaked.
‘You made it. You really showed up. I can’t believe it. Come and sit down.’
Bella felt the years melt away. She was eighteen again.
‘We ought to celebrate by drinking that filthy sparkling hock which I always pretended to you was champagne.’
‘I’d like some whisky,’ said Bella stiffly.
‘Two double Scotches,’ Steve told the waiter.
He got out a packet of cigarettes and, as he lit hers, their fingers touched.
‘Oh, honey,’ he said. ‘You’ve grown so beautiful. Look at me properly.’
With a great effort she raised her eyes to his. How insane she’d been to think he’d have gone off. If anything he was better looking — more seasoned. He’d lost his peachy, open, golden-boy look. There were lines now, fanning out at the corners of his eyes, and his hair was brushed forward in a thick, blond fringe to cover lines that might have developed on his forehead.
She lowered her eyes.
‘I’ve looked for you everywhere,’ he went on, as their drinks arrived. ‘I wrote to Nalesworth over and over again, but they sent my letters back saying you’d gone away like a fox. I even went there to see if anyone had any news of you. Advertising in the personal columns was my last hope. What are you doing now — modelling?’
‘I’m an actress.’ She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice as she told him how well she’d done.
Steve whistled. ‘You have gone places.’
‘And I’ve just had an audition with Harry Backhaus for the lead in his new film.’
Lay it on thick, she thought. Damn you, Steve. I can get along without you.
‘Darling, you’re a star! I must come and see the play. What name do you act under? Surely not Mabel Figge?’
‘No,’ said Bella in a strangled voice. ‘I. . I changed my name to Bella Parkinson.’
She noticed that he was wearing a very well-cut suit and heavy gold cuff-links.
‘You’ve made good too, Steve.’
He grinned. ‘Can’t complain. I’ve got a couple of clubs in Buenos Aires. One of the reasons I’m over here — apart from finding you, of course — is to find a site for a disco in London.’
He signalled to the waiter. ‘Let’s have another drink.’
‘Not for me,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay.’
But she didn’t move, and when the drinks came he raised his glass to her. ‘To us, baby.’
‘There isn’t going to be any “us”!’ she snapped. ‘I’ve got someone else.’
‘Did have, you mean. Who is he?’
Again the temptation to brag was too much.
‘You won’t know him. He’s called Rupert Henriques.’
Steve raised his eyebrows. ‘Not the banking family?’
Bella nodded defiantly.
‘Oh, sweetheart, you
‘You know him?’
‘I’ve run across his cousin, Lazlo, in Buenos Aires.’
‘Everyone seems to know him. Rupert adores him. What’s he like?’
‘Ruthless, rather sinister. A strange mixture. Half Jewish — his mother is some Austrian opera singer. The City don’t know what to make of him. They don’t approve of his long hair and all that scent he wears. But they have to admit he pulls off deals with a panache no-one else can equal. He’s got the kind of steel nerves that buys when
