Читать книгу Elements of Chance - Barbara Wilkins - Страница 23

18

Valerie lay on the blue and white chaise longue in her bedroom, a blanket over her legs, gazing at the picture of herself and Victor Penn in the latest issue of Country Life. It had been taken during the weekend Lady Anne and Valerie had spent at Victor’s country estate. Their heads were together, smiling into the camera. Victor wore a corduroy jacket over a crewneck sweater. There was a hint of a shirt collar. Valerie wore her camel hair coat, a sweater under it, pearls. He looked boyish, and proud. She looked soft, beautiful, a little dazed.

She remembered lying in the four-poster bed in the bedroom of her suite at the estate, which was a castle, really, bought from some ancient royal family, restored and decorated with treasures Victor’s agents had collected around the world. As the moonlight streamed in the tall windows, Valerie had fantasized a tap on the door. Victor, coming to her, taking her. She imagined herself swooning in his arms, imagined him entering her.

Instead, she had seen him the next morning at breakfast, along with all the other guests. Victor’s eyes had been bright, solicitous, as he asked if she had slept well, hoped that she had been comfortable. He always seemed to want something from her. But whatever it was, he didn’t seem to want her. Valerie put a finger to her chin where Victor had touched her after her concert at the Royal Albert Hall the night they met. Other than taking her elbow to help her into the car, or up a stairway, or to shake hands with her when he said good night at the front door of Lady Anne’s house, he had never touched her again.

Several times, Victor was waiting for her when she got out of the conservatory at noon, and they went off for lunch, chatting, laughing, and flirting. Coming home at night after attending some performance or other, and the supper that invariably followed, Valerie would sit next to Victor in the car, willing him to touch her, take her in his arms, kiss her. Anything.

When Maria came home, triumphant, from her American tour, Valerie talked with her about Victor for hours.

“He is playing games with you,” Maria pronounced. “He is like a cat, waiting for the right time to pounce on the mouse.”

Maria’s words consoled her for a while.

A quiet knock on her bedroom door brought Valerie back to the present.

“Valerie?” called Lady Anne.

“Come in, Your Ladyship,” she said.

“Victor rang up this morning, dear,” Lady Anne said as she crossed the room. “He has to run over to Paris to look at some tapestries he’s thinking of buying. He thought it might amuse you to go along, but, of course, he wanted my permission before he asked you.”

Paris with Victor Penn. Valerie jumped up excitedly. “Would it be all right, Your Ladyship? Please? May I go?”

“Well, it’s just for the day. You would leave in the morning, see a bit of the city. Victor can look at whatever he’s thinking of buying. Then, dinner and home.” She paused for a moment, and then asked, “Do you think Victor is courting you, dear?”

“I don’t know,” said Valerie, shaking her head. “Oh, Lady Anne, I’ve never dated anyone but Julian.… I feel so confused.…”

“Well, how do you feel about Victor?”

“I’m not sure,” Valerie answered. “I can’t figure out what he wants with me.”

A few days later, Valerie sat on the Penn International jet at Heathrow. Victor sat at a round oak table, going over some papers with Brian Graham, his secretary. As the jet’s engines revved the instant before takeoff, sending a vibration of power through the cabin of the plane, Victor glanced over at her and smiled. He was so attractive, Valerie thought, clutching the arms of her seat. She smiled back at him. And, oh, he made her feel so good. But why me? That was finally it, she decided. The unanswered question that kept everything from falling into place.