Читать книгу The Innocent Virgin - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 9

‘WELL, well, if it isn’t little Abby Freeman!’

Abby groaned as she sank further down into her armchair, having instantly recognised Max Harding’s mocking voice.

Holed up in a corner of the Dillmans’ crowded drawing room, having already drunk three-quarters of the bottle of champagne sitting in the ice bucket on the low table beside her, she was in no mood for company. Something everyone else in the room, including her hosts Dorothy and Paul, seemed to know instinctively and act upon—and of which Max Harding had taken no notice whatsoever!

‘Go away,’ she muttered, without so much as glancing in his direction. She could see the long length of his legs from the corner of her eye, though, and observed that he didn’t move by so much as an inch.

‘I didn’t have you figured as a woman who likes to drink alone.’ He sounded amused now.

Abby raised dark lashes in order to glare at him, her gaze belligerent. ‘I don’t usually drink—alone or otherwise,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘But I’m sure that you and probably everyone else in this room are aware of the reason I’ve made tonight the exception.’ And several million other people, she thought with another inner groan at the remembered humiliation.

How could she have known? How could she have guessed? Why hadn’t someone told her?

‘Hey, Abby, it really wasn’t that bad.’ Max came down on his haunches beside her chair now, the amusement having disappeared from his voice as he looked at her with something like concern. ‘In fact, I thought you recovered very well.’

She hadn’t ‘recovered’ well at all, and she was sure that everyone watching the airing of her first show earlier this evening had known it, too.

As previously agreed, she had interviewed Brad Hammond first for ten minutes, chatting warmly about his earlier career and his success now in a popular television series. Then Brad had gone off the set and Natalie had come on for her allotted ten minutes, discussing her own success.

But all the time those interviews were taking place a buzz had been felt in the studio. Both crew and audience obviously waiting expectantly for the time the estranged pair would come on together, with the promise of emotional fireworks in the air.

Except it had turned out Brad and Natalie were no longer estranged!

Abby had announced the two of them coming on together, feeling the tension rising in the studio as she did so, and could have collapsed in a heap when, instead of showing antagonism, Brad and Natalie had smiled warmly at each other before kissing and sitting down close together, their hands entwined, as Brad announced that the two of them had been reconciled for three days.

Abby had been rendered speechless by the announcement. All her carefully prepared questions had become null and void—questions she had spent hours labouring over in an effort to ensure she wouldn’t become the cause of further antagonism between the separated couple, intending to leave it to the two of them to set their own scene with as little prompting from her as possible. Brad’s announcement had made a complete nonsense of them.

She’d done her best to rally round at this sudden change of circumstances, congratulating them on their reconciliation, asking what their plans were for the future. A baby, for goodness’ sake; after all the public insults they had hurled at each other over the last six months!

Yes, Abby had done her best to keep the show alive and buzzing, but she had been aware that it had definitely lacked the sparkle and interest she had been hoping for when she’d invited the pair on her show.

And Gary Holmes’s snort of derision when she’d finally walked off the set had been enough to send her hurtling for the champagne bottle the moment she’d reached Dorothy and Paul’s house half an hour ago.

‘Go away,’ she told Max Harding a second time, turning away to lift up the champagne bottle, having no intention of crossing swords with him this evening.

Instead of complying with her request, she felt him take the champagne bottle from her hand. Her grip tightened but was no match for Max’s superior strength. The fluted champagne glass in her other hand was the next to go, before Max took her by one of her now empty hands and pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

‘You need food,’ he told her firmly as she began to protest. ‘Otherwise the headlines on tomorrow’s tabloids will read “Abby Freeman plastered”, accompanied by a photograph of you being carried out of here!’ He didn’t wait for any more arguments as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her into the adjoining room, where a table was set with a sumptuous buffet supper.

Not that Abby had been about to argue with him; the way she’d swayed unsteadily as she got to her feet, with the room tilting dizzily, was enough to tell her that food was exactly what she needed. Even if it was the last thing she wanted!

‘There you go.’ Max placed a heavily laden plate in her unresisting hand before turning to choose some food for himself.

Abby’s vision blurred as she looked down at the food. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ She sniffed, not sure she was going to be able to hold back the tears for much longer, despite blinking them away desperately.

He glanced at her, very tall and handsome in a black evening suit and snowy white shirt, although the dark hair was even longer than it had been when they’d met three weeks ago, and the grey eyes were still as mockingly amused.

‘I figured someone ought to be,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘You presented rather a lonely figure sitting in there.’ He nodded in the direction of the drawing room.

Pity. He felt sorry for her. And only hours ago she had hoped to finish this evening on a note of triumph. Euphoria, even.

‘Keep your damned pity!’ she snapped as she slammed the untouched plate of food back down on the table, her eyes sparkling deeply blue, twin spots of angry colour in her cheeks. ‘You’ve heard of the phoenix rising from the ashes? Well, watch the show next week and see what a good job I make of doing exactly that!’ She turned on her heel and walked—steadily, thank goodness!—out of the room, unknowingly beautiful in her midnight-blue knee-length dress, dark hair loose about her shoulders. She made her way over to where she could see Dorothy, chatting with a well-known newspaper reporter.

Dorothy’s parties were always like this—attended by the rich and the famous—although Dorothy herself was one of the least glamorous people Abby knew. Her plain black evening gown was an old favourite with her, her face was homely rather than beautiful, and her figure tended towards comfortable plumpness now that she was approaching her sixtieth year.

But Abby had known the other woman all her life—knew that it was Dorothy’s genuine warmth and kindness that attracted people to her like a magnet. Her handsome husband of the last thirty-five years absolutely adored her.

‘You can’t leave just yet, Abby!’ Dorothy responded with genuine regret at Abby’s excuse of tiredness. ‘I haven’t had a chance to introduce you to anyone,’ she protested. ‘Jenny and I were just commenting on what an absolute triumph your programme was this evening. Natalie and Brad have made complete idiots of themselves these last few months, and I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house—well, certainly not in this one!’ she admitted unabashedly ‘—when they announced that they’re back together and trying for a baby.’

Abby’s smile was fixed on her face with sickening determination. She knew Dorothy was only trying to be kind by talking like that about her show—the older woman didn’t know how to be anything else!—but Abby really wished she didn’t have to stand here and listen to this. The whole show had been a disaster as far as she was concerned—and as far as Gary Holmes was, too, if his scornful remarks as she’d left the studio were anything to go by.

‘Yes.’ Jenny Jones took over the conversation, her manner slightly gushing. ‘The Natalie and Brad reconciliation was an absolute coup for your first programme!’

Was it? Or was the other woman just veiling her sarcasm for Dorothy’s benefit?

No, Abby realized, slightly dazedly, Jenny Jones looked genuinely disappointed that she hadn’t been the one to scoop the exclusive.

Abby brightened. Maybe it hadn’t been such a disaster, after all? Meaning that perhaps Max’s earlier comments hadn’t been out of the pity that she had thought they were either?

No—there was no need to go that far! If her show hadn’t been the complete failure she had initially thought it was, then she still knew she had only scraped through by the skin of her teeth, and someone as acutely intelligent as Max would be aware of that fact, too. And she would rather listen to Dorothy and Jenny’s misplaced praise, than Max’s mocking condescension.

‘My editor is running the story on the front page tomorrow,’ Jenny confided. ‘“Abby Shock: Brad No Longer a Free Man!”’

Abby gave a pained wince at the awful play on her surname. Although she couldn’t really have expected much else from the dreadful rag Jenny worked for. But she didn’t think Natalie would care for the headline too much, either!

‘How clever,’ Dorothy put in lightly at the lengthening silence. ‘I do so wish I could think of things like that.’

‘It comes with experience,’ Jenny consoled her slightly pityingly as she laid a sympathetic hand on the other woman’s arm. ‘I—Oh, look, there’s Max Harding.’ Her green eyes were bright with the fervour of the predator as she spotted Max entering the room. ‘I’ve been wanting to speak to him for absolutely ages. If you ladies would excuse me…?’ she added distractedly, not waiting for either of them to reply before striding purposefully across the room in Max Harding’s direction.

‘Gladly!’ Dorothy muttered with feeling. ‘That woman is such a pompous bore!’ she added with disdain.

‘Dorothy…?’ Abby looked at the older woman incredulously. ‘I’ve never heard you say an unkind word about anyone before,’ she explained at Dorothy’s questioning look.

‘No? Well, put it down to my age.’ Dorothy chuckled, easily shrugging off her brief bad humour. ‘My only consolation is that I know Max will quickly send her away with a flea in her ear! There.’ She nodded with satisfaction as she glanced across the room. ‘That has to be something of a record—even for Max.’ She sounded impressed.

Abby turned just in time to see Jenny Jones beating a hasty retreat from the glacially angry Max. There were twin spots of humiliated colour in the tabloid reporter’s cheeks. Having received what Abby was sure was a similar put-down herself only three weeks ago, she couldn’t help but feel a certain fleeting sympathy for the other woman.

‘Why does he do that?’ she mused, shaking her head as she turned back to look at Dorothy. ‘And get away with it, too!’ she added wryly, absolutely positive that not a single word of Max’s rude put-down of the other woman would ever reach the pages of even the tacky tabloid Jenny worked for.

‘Because he’s absolutely brilliant at what he does, of course,’ Dorothy answered. ‘And gorgeous as hell, too,’ she added with relish.

Abby watched as Max fell into easy conversation with Dorothy’s husband Paul. The two men were of similar height and build. Paul’s blond hair was sprinkled liberally with grey, but otherwise, to Abby’s eyes, he looked every bit as fit and handsome as the younger man.

‘I would rather have Paul any day,’ she announced firmly.

‘Well, of course, having been married to the darling man for thirty-five years, so would I,’ Dorothy agreed laughingly. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to the way other men look—and Max has to be the epitome of “tall, dark and handsome”. And all that brooding aloofness has to be a direct challenge to any normal red-blooded woman!’

Then Abby had to be an abnormal red-blooded woman—because she had been daunted by Max rather than attracted to him.

Well…she had been attracted to him too—but the daunting had definitely outweighed that attraction!

‘If you like that sort of thing,’ she dismissed, with an audible sniff of uninterest.

Dorothy gave her a searching look, warm blue eyes probing now. ‘You never did tell me how your meeting with him went three weeks ago…?’

Abby withstood that searching gaze for several long seconds before looking away. ‘I told you—he said no to coming on the show,’ she said with a casual shrug.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Dorothy, I really don’t want to talk about Max Harding.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he drawled mockingly from directly behind her, making Abby start guiltily. His grey eyes were openly laughing as she turned sharply to face him. ‘I find the subject of me boring, too,’ he acknowledged, with a derisive inclination of his dark head.

‘Then at least we’re agreed on something, Mr Harding!’ she came back waspishly, completely disconcerted at having him appear behind her in this way; the last time she had looked he had been deep in conversation with Paul.

‘Well, well.’ Dorothy chuckled with delight. ‘What do you have to say to that, Max?’ she teased, obviously deeply amused by the turn in conversation.

Max gave the older woman an affectionate smile. ‘That Abby obviously has exceptional taste,’ he drawled unconcernedly. ‘Here.’ He handed Abby one of the two champagne flutes he held in his hands. ‘I thought you might be in need of it after talking to Jenny Jones!’ He grimaced.

‘What a perfectly dreadful woman,’ Dorothy agreed as Abby rather dazedly took the glass of bubbly wine from Max. ‘I really will have to have a chat with Paul about the sort of people he’s inviting into our home. In fact, if the two of you will excuse me, I think I’ll just go and have a word with him now.’ She gave them a bright smile before moving to join her husband.

Leaving Abby completely alone with Max Harding. Again. And, despite the champagne she had consumed earlier, she now felt completely sober. Stone-cold sober.

‘How is it that you know the Dillmans so well?’ Max asked lightly.

‘As until quite recently I was only a lowly weather girl, you mean?’ she came back tartly.

He took a leisurely sip of his champagne, that grey gaze unwavering as it met Abby’s seething eyes. ‘I didn’t say that,’ he finally drawled.

‘You didn’t need to. But it just so happens that I’ve known the Dillmans all my life,’ she told him with satisfaction.

‘Really?’ Max murmured, his gaze speculative as he glanced across to where Dorothy was now in laughing conversation with her husband. ‘“A friend of a friend”, I believe you said…?’ That grey gaze was once again fixed piercingly on Abby.

Damn it! She was sure Max had just set a trap for her—and she had just walked straight into it. Like an innocent mouse into the lion’s den. But unfortunately she seemed to have taken Dorothy in with her, and the other woman deserved better than that.

‘That description hardly fits Dorothy,’ Abby told him. ‘She happens to be my godmother.’ Dorothy was actually the ‘friend of a friend’ who had told her Max’s home address, but Abby had no intention of betraying her godmother’s confidence by admitting that.

‘Your godmother?’ Max repeated evenly, seeming to be having trouble digesting this piece of information.

‘Yes—godmother,’ Abby confirmed, wondering what he found so strange about that. ‘She and my mother were at school together, and they have remained friends ever since,’ she added defensively, wondering just what his problem was with that. Although, whatever it was, it had at least succeeded in diverting his attention away from that ‘friend of a friend’ she had unwisely admitted three weeks ago to have been the source of his address.

She wasn’t quite prepared for what he did next. She was sure her comment hadn’t warranted derisive laughter!

But laughter was a definite improvement on his usual mocking expression. Laughter lines appeared beside his eyes and mouth, his teeth were very white and even, and he had a slight dimple in the groove of one cheek.

But none of that detracted from the fact she had no idea what she had said that was so amusing.

‘So you were telling the truth after all about your producer and director?’ he finally taunted, once his laughter had faded. ‘It was relatives in high places instead,’ he added appreciatively. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Abby, I’m not knocking it,’ he went on, at her startled and indignant expression. ‘We all have to start somewhere, and why not use the advantages—the less obvious ones—’ he gave her slender attractiveness in the midnight-blue dress an appreciative glance ‘—that you have at your disposal.’

It didn’t matter that Abby had no idea what he was talking about. His mocking tone and derisive expression were enough to tell her it was nothing pleasant. But then ‘pleasant’ hardly described this man, did it?

She gave a shake of her head, her raggedly layered hair dark and shining as it moved on her shoulders. ‘I’m not sure which of us has imbibed the most champagne this evening, Max, but I do know I have no idea what you’re talking about. So either you’re talking gibberish, or I’m just too befuddled to understand you. Either way, I think it best if we terminate this conversation right now,’ she added firmly, more than ever determined to follow through on her earlier decision to make her excuses and leave.

‘This is my first drink of the evening.’ Max held up his barely touched glass of champagne.

Implying she was the one who was ‘too befuddled’ to understand him. Well, he might just be right about that. It had been a long day—and an even longer evening.

She straightened determinedly. ‘I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure meeting you again, Mr Harding—’

‘Oh, I think we’re well enough acquainted now for you to call me Max,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘As you did a few minutes ago.’

They weren’t acquainted at all—in fact, she knew less about this man than she had thought she did the first time she’d met him. ‘If you say so.’ She gave him an insincere smile, hoping they wouldn’t meet again, so she wouldn’t need to call him anything. ‘I really do have to go now, Max,’ she continued brightly. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me—? What are you doing?’ she demanded indignantly as he reached out and grasped her arm when she would have turned and walked away.

It wasn’t just that the physical contact was so unexpected—though it was!—but also that Max Harding didn’t give the impression he was the touchy-feely type of man that always made her cringe. In fact, to date he had given the clear impression that his ice might be in danger of melting if he actually touched someone, and so he chose not to do it.

‘Would you like me to give you a lift home?’ came his also completely unexpected reply.

Abby frowned up at him, searching that enigmatic face for any hidden meaning behind his offer. But years of presenting an inscrutable expression to the world in general made that impossible.

‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’ Abby couldn’t keep the astonishment out of her voice. The last time the two of them had met he hadn’t been able to get rid of her fast enough.

And yet he had been the one to approach her this evening—not once but twice, so perhaps…

‘I haven’t changed my mind about your show, Abby,’ he assured her mockingly.

Which was exactly what she had been wondering! Were her thoughts so obvious to everyone? Or was it only this man who seemed to know what she was thinking?

That definitely wasn’t a good idea, considering some of the thoughts she had been having about him. They swung erratically between being left breathless by his animal magnetism to actually wanting to hit him!

He was grinning when she glanced back at him—as if he had definitely been aware of that thought.

‘You can’t blame me for trying.’ She shrugged dismissively, avoiding that knowing gaze.

‘I never blame anyone for trying, Abby,’ he retorted. ‘But, to answer your earlier question, considering you know exactly where my apartment is, I thought it only fair that I should know where you live, too!’

‘Fair’ had nothing to do with it. Where this particular man was concerned she was a lot more comfortable with him not knowing where she lived!

‘It’s not far from here, actually,’ she said evasively. ‘In fact, I walked over this evening.’

He nodded. ‘It’s a pleasant spring evening. A walk sounds an excellent idea.’

Not with this man it didn’t. And why was he being so persistent? He obviously thought her a lightweight in the world of television, and had made no effort to disguise the fact that he wasn’t particularly enamoured of her as a woman, either—those remarks about her not being his type had stung! So why was he deliberately seeking out her company now?