Wild and Wanton (12 page)

‘Suddenly, Madame, I don't know. I thought I wanted your backing. I don't mean
for
the idea, I mean against. I didn't think I wanted to be the Allure girl. But now . . .'

‘I wouldn't waste my time pondering one way or the other, if I were you. Whatever you decide won't alter the outcome, so you may as well save yourself the energy. I saw the way Nick looked at you. He may not know it himself yet, although I wouldn't have thought he was that stupid, but when it comes to the crunch I don't think he'll want to wrap you in gold-and-white purity and put you out of his own reach. He'd be a fool. And don't go wide-eyed on me, young lady, and pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. I have something for you—a present. It's wrapped up and waiting for you. You see, I
did
know you'd come back.' She rang a bell and the maid reappeared. ‘Marie, bring me the parcel,' she commanded. ‘You know which.'

‘Yes, Madame.'

‘I'm intrigued,' Lindsay said as they waited. ‘It sounds very mysterious. What kind of present?'

‘You'll
know soon enough. Ah, thank you, Marie,' she said as the maid returned. The old woman then handed the parcel over to Lindsay. ‘Open it up and take it out. It won't have creased; it never did even when squashed into the tiniest space in my suitcase. There's a special resilient quality to the fabric. It's a great pity, but they don't seem to make material like that any more.'

‘It sounds too special for me to accept it,' Lindsay said in some bewilderment, doing as she was bid and unfastening the string and parting the overlapping ends of paper. Even before Luisa Delmar spoke again, Lindsay recognized the gift. She had seen this exquisite creation in Nick's hands that first night. It was a dream of a dress—white, with a fine silver thread running round the softly ruffled neck and delicately patterning the wrist-length lace sleeves.

‘It's special, very special. It's the dress that Nick wanted to put you in the night we met. I don't know what made him go to that particular dress. Chance, or the guiding hand of fate, perhaps. It's my memory dress; nice things always happened to me when I was wearing it. I wore it when my dear husband proposed to me. It always brought me good luck. Sometimes, in a fanciful mood, I'd wonder if it had special mystical qualities—a charm stitched into its hand-sewn seams that protected me. I hope it will protect you in the
same
way.'

‘I thought the dress belonged to you, Madame. How can you bear to part with it? I can't take it.'

‘Because it's no longer fashionable?'

‘Oh, no! It
is
fashionable. It's come full circle again. Anyway, expensive garments rarely date. I'd love to have it, but I just couldn't take it away from you.'

‘My dear, it's no longer possible for me to wear it. I'm too old for it, and I don't think it would fit me now anyway. I have enough memories in my head without having them clutter up my wardrobe as well. Now, I want you to go and take the dress with you. You
will
accept it, because I command it. Go quickly. Even the happy times can be sad and melancholy in retrospect. I'm displeased with you for making me reflect on the past. What's more, you've tired me out.'

‘I'm sorry. Thank you for the dress,' Lindsay said, rewrapping it. ‘Thank you so much. I know I'm going to love wearing it. I'm sorry for tiring you, I truly am. Does that mean you don't want me to come again?'

‘One thing my long life has taught me is not to waste time wanting something that cannot possibly be. Whether either of us likes it or not, you will come again. You and I share a bond, Lindsay. And don't insult my intelligence by pretending not to know what I mean.'

‘I
wouldn't dare, Madame.'

‘Madame is too formal. You'd better call me Luisa. I trust you won't find that too intimidating?'

‘No, Mad—I mean, no, Luisa.'

‘Before you go, one word of advice. Stand up to Nick. Don't let him ride roughshod over you. On your way out, tell Marie to clear the tea things.' The beringed hands crossed atop the silken lap. The heavily lidded eyes closed.

‘Yes, Luisa,' Lindsay whispered as she rose and tiptoed out, cradling her precious parcel close to her heart.

Chapter Six

The telephone call from Nick's secretary, the capable and chilly-voiced Barbara Bates, asking Lindsay to stop in at her earliest convenience to sign the contract didn't come as a surprise. Nick Farraday had mentioned something about getting the paperwork drawn up to make her appointment all legal and binding, but she had pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Was it a subtle move on Nick's part, she wondered, getting his secretary to phone her? However busy he was, surely he could have spared the few minutes it would have taken to make the call himself.

Ami popped in to see Lindsay for one of her
customary
chats while Lindsay was still puzzling things over in her mind. ‘Don't tell me it's fallen through?' the leggy model asked, misinterpreting the reason for Lindsay's woeful expression.

Lindsay nodded toward the telephone. ‘Nick Farraday's secretary has just been on. I'm supposed to go in and sign the contract.'

‘But that's marvelous! You must feel terribly excited. It's not exactly every day you're given the chance to change the course of your life. What's it feel like to be on top of the world?'

‘I wouldn't know,' Lindsay replied. ‘I don't feel like that.'

‘Then you should. What's the matter with you?'

‘I don't know.'

What is the matter? Lindsay asked herself, glowering at Ami for making her analyze herself. She had an idea that she wasn't going to come out looking very good. Why wasn't she cheering from the housetops and celebrating her good fortune? How many times had she sent one of the girls on some fascinating assignment to some exotic location, and wished it were herself? The girls worked hard; modelling was no sinecure, no one knew that better than she did. But it was exciting work, and she would have been less than human not to be a little envious. She'd often wished that her job were more exciting and had some glamor attached to it, and she had traveled
with
the models in her thoughts.

Lindsay's frown deepened. ‘What's the word, Ami, when you live life through someone else's experiences as a form of escape?'

‘I don't know. You're the brain.'

‘It'll come. I've got it! Vicarious. That's the word I'm searching for. I've been getting my kicks vicariously. And now that the chance of something different has been presented to me, I'm refusing to take it. Why?'

Ami shook her head, looking thoroughly mystified. But it was suddenly crystal-clear to Lindsay. It was because the man who was giving her this wonderful opportunity was Nick Farraday. The excuses that she'd invented in her mind wouldn't wash, because she knew, just as well as Nick Farraday did, that she was equal to the challenge. Was she petty-minded enough to turn him down because she didn't want to prove him right?

‘Oh,
no
! If I don't do this, I've got a feeling that I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life.'

Ami didn't listen to the despondent tone, just picked up on the words.

‘That's the spirit. Think positive. You're going to be a success. An astute businessman like Nick Farraday wouldn't want to sign you up if he weren't sure of that in his own mind. Come on, put your jacket on and go along and do the deed.'

‘I
will!' Lindsay said decisively, but she knew it was her own thoughts that goaded her into action and not Ami's enthusiasm.

Miracle of miracles, she managed to get a cab. Usually cabs whizzed straight past her, but this time she raised her hand and one materialized as if by magic. Maybe that's a good omen, Lindsay thought. A jauntiness was in her step as she entered the Delmar Building. She was suddenly sure she was doing the right thing.

Her buoyant mood deflated at the shock of seeing Nick's secretary. She had thought that Barbara Bates would be an older woman. Seeing her in the flesh, Lindsay realized that she was only in her late twenties. She had expected Barbara to have a forceful, commanding personality that gave off rays of super-efficiency. This was spot-on. But her cold tone and undoubted efficiency had somehow planted a picture in Lindsay's mind of a woman of dowdy appearance. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Barbara Bates was a creamy-skinned redhead with an attractive tip-tilted nose and a superb figure.

Lindsay sensed that Barbara Bates's opinion of her was far less flattering. There was something scathing about the icy smile on Miss Bates's lips that was reflected as well in her amazingly beautiful cool-green eyes.

She rang through to Nick Farraday. ‘Miss
Cooper
is here.'

Then Nick's distinctive voice said, ‘I'll see her right away. Bring yourself in as well, Barbara.' Lindsay soon realized the reason for that latter command. A third party was required to witness the signatures.

Nick looked different behind the huge, leather-tooled desk. The air of authority suited him, Lindsay decided as she took the chair directly facing him. Barbara Bates remained standing for a moment; then, as she bent to witness Nick's signature, her hair brushed his cheek. He absently scrubbed the spot with his hand, but he didn't seem to find it an annoyance. His smile was wide as he handed Lindsay a copy of the contract to take with her.

It was only eleven o'clock, too early for Nick to suggest lunch, Lindsay realized, wishing she'd had the forethought, and cunning, to time her arrival better. She felt that the signing of the contract should be celebrated. Or did she mean that seeing Nick again deserved something special?

It was something of a letdown to find herself being dismissed, even though Nick managed it courteously by saying that he wouldn't detain her as he was sure she had a lot to do in winding up her commitment to Jim Bourne. How true that was.

Lindsay
was seated at her desk, endeavoring to clear up the backlog in order to leave everything up to date for her successor, when Ami burst in on her, clutching a newspaper.

‘This is a goodie,' she said spreading it open before Lindsay and stabbing a finger at the Hot Sauce gossip column. ‘Or a baddie, depending on how you look at it.'

Maisie Pellman, who wrote the column, could be rated as one of the wittiest columnists in town, but she was also one to be feared, because her barbed pen was often unkind to its victims. She rarely bent the truth, even if she did occasionally pass on a slightly warped version of it, and people therefore took notice of what she wrote.

Puzzled by Ami's interest, Lindsay read:

Hot tip from Hot Sauce. Rumor has it that the House of Delmar is all set to launch its latest breathlessly awaited product. But—interesting point—has the devastating and eminently eligible Nick Farraday found himself hoist with his own petard? What is the allure of the blonde he was seen dancing heart-to-heart with quite recently, the one who is tipped as being groomed to promote the hush-hush commodity? The gleam in Nick Farraday's eye suggested he meant business. Wink-wink. Nudge-nudge.

‘Nick Farraday isn't going to like this one
bit.
I'm not too gone on it myself,' Lindsay declared crossly.

‘I guess Nick Farraday is used to living under a microscope. But I'm with you in thinking that he isn't going to appreciate this kind of advance publicity. What is the allure? she asks. Well, I'm asking, has the word “allure” anything to do with the name of the product? Even the name itself?'

‘I can't tell you that!'

‘You just have, by not denying it. Makes you wonder where they get their information from,' Ami said reflectively.

‘Just what I was thinking myself,' Lindsay gloomily retorted.

‘I suppose there's always one person with a grudge who's spiteful enough to let something drop in the right ear.'

‘Not me. I haven't breathed a word.'

‘Who's accusing you? You have no ax to grind with Nick Farraday. And if he thinks this column in any way sullies the image, you've everything to lose. You would almost certainly be dropped. No, if I know Nick Farraday, he'll start digging for someone with a score to settle. I wouldn't like to be in their shoes. Don't look so worried, honey; I'm being unduly pessimistic. Don't take any notice of me. I'm sure it'll all blow over and won't spoil your big chance. Although . . . I'd say it was lucky for you that this didn't appear before you signed the contract. Sorry . . . I'm doing
it
again.'

Lindsay frowned. She hoped that Nick wouldn't think she had anything to do with this column. But was it possible that it might be her doing? She had sworn to Ami that she hadn't breathed a word about the promotion to anyone, but was that true? In the heat of her agitation she'd told Cathy. But had she mentioned the name of the product? If only she could remember more clearly. She had a dreadful suspicion that she
had
mentioned Allure by name. And if she had, Cathy wasn't stupid. She would know that it was still top-secret. Yet surely she couldn't be this vindictive? Yes, she could. It was all-too plausible to think that Cathy might be the informer.

Cathy was extremely vindictive where Nick Farraday was concerned. It was a black poison that was eating her away.
Oh, Cathy, how could you?
That thought made Lindsay feel instantly ashamed of herself. How could she condemn her sister-in-law without a hearing?

It wasn't going to be pleasant, but she knew that she would have to take on Cathy. The sooner the better, she thought, lifting up the telephone receiver and dialing the number.

A few seconds later she was saying, ‘Cathy, is that you? Lindsay here. I've got something to ask you. Do you remember my telling you about the new product that Nick Farraday wants me to promote for him?'