Читать книгу Rumours: The Legacy Of Revenge - Кэтти Уильямс, Cathy Williams - Страница 17
ОглавлениеKAT WAS THE last person to audition, which meant by the time her name was called her stomach had grown teeth and they were gnawing all the way to her backbone. The director asked her to take position, but instead of feeling the buzz of being onstage she felt sick. What if she blew it? What if she made an idiot of herself? Who was she kidding? She was an amateur. She hadn’t been to a performing arts school. She had rehearsed in front of a mirror, not an acting coach. All she was good for was toilet-paper ads. She was rubbish at acting.
She was rubbish, period.
‘Ready when you are, Miss McTaggart.’
It took Kat a moment to realise the director was speaking to her. She had used her grandparents’ surname instead of her own. ‘Erm...right.’ She stepped into position. The contents of her stomach curdled and began to crawl towards her windpipe. Sweat broke out on her brow. Her throat felt like someone had put a choke collar around it. A studded one, around the wrong way. The stage lights were making her eyes water. Or maybe it was because she felt ridiculously out of her depth. The spotlight was focused on her but she felt like it was shining on all of her faults. The irregularities of her features, the figure she wished was fuller in some places and more toned in others. The hair she hadn’t had time or money to have professionally styled. The supermarket brand of make-up she’d used instead of a designer brand.
The stalls were in darkness but Kat noticed a woman sitting at the back of the theatre. The woman was dressed in nondescript clothes but she had an aura about her that suggested she wasn’t one of the theatre or ancillary staff. She looked vaguely familiar but because the lights were off in the stalls it was hard to make out any distinguishing features.
‘Is there a problem, Miss McTaggart?’ The director’s voice contained a thread of impatience. A steel-cable thread.
‘Sorry.’ Kat wriggled her shoulders to shake off the tension. ‘I’m just getting into character.’
‘Would you like a bone to chew on?’ the woman at the back of the theatre asked in a tone dripping with sarcasm. Not dripping—flooding.
Kat bristled like a cat, which wasn’t all that helpful, given she was supposed to be a dog. She took a deep breath and channelled her angst at the woman into her performance, using it to galvanise her into the performance of her life. She became Sylvia. She used every bit of Cricket’s quirkiness she had born witness to: his pleading looks, his energy, his over-the-top excitement and his frantic rear-end wagging and wriggling. She felt so authentic in the scene she wished she had a tail when it was over so she could wag it.
‘Thanks, Kathy,’ the director said. ‘I’ll let you know what we decide in a day or two.’
The woman at the back of the theatre rose from the chair she was sitting on. ‘I’ve already decided,’ she said in an accent that this time Kat recognised as none other than Elisabetta Albertini’s. ‘I want her. She was by far the best.’
Kat’s eyes widened as Elisabetta came out of the low light of the stalls towards the stage. Her dream felt like it was balanced on a high wire without a safety net. As soon as Elisabetta recognised her it would plummet to the cold, hard floor of reality. There was no way Elisabetta would want to star alongside her husband’s love child. No way in the world. It wouldn’t matter how brilliant a job she had done of the audition. It would be better to get in first to save everyone from embarrassment. ‘Erm...my name isn’t really Kathy McTaggart,’ she said. ‘My name is—’
‘Katherine Winwood,’ Elisabetta said. ‘Yes, I know.’
Kat fought hard not to be intimated by that cold, dark-brown, assessing stare. Was Elisabetta searching for her husband in Kat’s features? As much as Kat knew it must be galling for Elisabetta to face the living, breathing evidence of her husband’s betrayal, she still wished she could be accepted at face value, for herself, not for the trouble she had inadvertently caused. ‘I really want the part but if you’d rather not work with me then—’
‘Didn’t you just hear me say I wanted you?’ Elisabetta gave an imperious arch of her brow.
‘Yes, but I thought since—’
‘I want you in that part,’ Elisabetta said. ‘Fix it, will you, Leon?’ she said to the director. She turned back to Kat. ‘Rehearsals start on Monday. Be on time.’
Kat had trouble keeping her jaw off the floor as Elisabetta walked out with regal poise. Had that just happened? Had Elisabetta Albertini just insisted she get the part?
But why?
Was it because of her talent or was this some sort of publicity stunt? She hadn’t shown a skerrick of talent until Elisabetta had insulted her. How could she know for sure what Elisabetta’s motivations were? What if Elisabetta wanted to sabotage her career? What better way to get back at her husband Richard than by publicly humiliating his love child onstage?
‘Looks like you got the part,’ Leon said. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks.’ Kat mentally chewed at her lip. What if this was not about her acting merit? What if this was all about revenge? Wasn’t it the director’s or casting agent’s decision as to who got the part? Or had Elisabetta insisted on choosing whom she would front up with onstage? She had a reputation as a diva. And she certainly had the star power to call the shots. No one would ever employ Kat again if this turned out to be a stitch-up.
Why had Elisabetta chosen her other than to use it as an opportunity to get back at her?
The self-doubts sat like anvils on her shoulders. Her dream of being onstage was turning into a nightmare. The whole world would watch Elisabetta cut her down. It was risky but the determined streak in Kat’s personality thrived on the chance to prove to Elisabetta and to everybody she was made of stronger mettle. She would not be rattled or thrown off her game by a vindictive attempt to ruin her one chance at stardom.
‘Ruby the costume designer will measure you in Dressing Room B,’ Leon said. ‘I’ll email the contract to your agent.’
* * *
Flynn was sitting on his sofa with his foot up after work, reading through a client’s brief, when he got a call from Jake Ravensdale. ‘Jaz tells me you’re done like a dinner over Kat Winwood,’ Jake said. ‘Want to double up at my stag night? Half the cost, twice the fun.’
Flynn pushed the papers off his knee and Cricket promptly rested his furry chin on them, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. He reached out, absently stroked the little dog’s ears and was rewarded with a blissful puppy sigh. ‘My plan is to get her to your father’s party, not into church.’
‘Come on, man, you know Dad only wants her there to placate his fans,’ Jake said. ‘He doesn’t care a jot about her. Miranda and Jaz were quite taken with her. Do you reckon she’ll agree to meet Julius and me sometime, like at your wedding?’
‘Very funny,’ Flynn said. ‘But I want Kat to meet your father. I think it would be good for her. It will give her some closure. Even if she tells him to his face what she thinks of him.’
‘That’s going to be fun to watch,’ Jake said. ‘So, how’s the foot? Must be tricky sweeping her off her feet when you’re on crutches.’
Flynn eyed his bandaged foot with a scowl. ‘You can say that again.’
‘So is she The One?’ Jake said.
Flynn let out a swift curse. ‘What is it with you Ravensdales? You all get hitched within a month or two of each other and then try and recruit everyone else in your circle to do the bloody same.’
‘Just want you to be happy, mate.’ Jake adopted a serious tone for once. ‘You’re so jaded about settling down because of all those dirty divorces you handle. But life is short. Before you know it, you’ll be staring down the barrel of retirement. Is that all you want to show for your life? Work, work and more work?’
‘Listen,’ Flynn said. ‘I’m glad you and Jaz got your stuff sorted. You’re a great couple. Perfect for each other in every way. But leave me to my miserable life with work, work and more work, okay? I’m fine with it.’
Was he fine with it? Flynn thought once he had signed off on the call a moment or two later. Ever since Kat had come into his life he felt...different. Like the colours in his day were brighter, which was weird, since it was one of the bleakest, greyest winters on record. He felt sharper within himself, more switched on. More focused. He enjoyed life more, felt more potent, even though he hadn’t had sex in... When had he last had sex? He screwed up his face as he tried to recall his last relationship, not that it had been a relationship in any sense of the word. He had only slept with the woman a couple of times way back in September at a law conference in Newcastle before he’d lost interest.
September? Had it really been that long? He had been so focused on Kat Winwood since early October that no one else had taken his eye. He couldn’t even bear the thought of trying it on with anyone else. Who would match her for intelligence and feistiness? The chemistry between them was phenomenal. He had only to look at her and he wanted her. But it was more than a physical lust. Over the last few months he had got to know her. Getting to know a partner other than in the biblical sense was not usually high on his priorities.
But with Kat he felt he understood her. He could read her mood, even when she did her best to hide her emotions. Underneath all that feistiness and shtick was a sensitive girl who hadn’t had it easy.
And Cricket loved her, which was the best litmus test of all.
There was that word ‘love’ he usually steered clear of. Love was an emotion that had let him down from as young as he could remember. Sometimes he wondered if his abandonment as a baby had done something to his brain, changed its architecture or something, making him distrustful of any bonds no matter how genuine they appeared.
But he didn’t want to be tied down with the responsibility of a relationship... Did he? The thought kept returning like a tongue to an irritable tooth. Before he’d met Kat he had been perfectly at peace with his decision to keep his relationships casual. He knew marriage was something that worked well for some people. Even his adopted parents, for all their other faults, were committed to each other and there was every indication they would remain that way for the rest of their lives.
But he saw plenty of other marriages. Horrible marriages. Bitter marriages. Marriages where the warring parties tore each other to shreds and where children were used as pawns and payback.
He wanted no part of it.
Cricket whined and wriggled up closer to put his head on Flynn’s knee with a look of complete and utter devotion, as if to say, ‘I love you and will never let you down.’ Flynn ruffled the dog’s ears again. ‘I love you too, buddy,’ he said, a little shocked to find his voice catching slightly over the words.
* * *
Kat let herself into Flynn’s house to save him the trouble of having to answer the door on crutches. She was later than usual, as the audition had run over time, plus she’d had to feed Monty and convince him to sit on her knee long enough for the Carstairs family to be assured their beloved pet was being looked after properly. Thankfully Monty hadn’t scratched her this time, but he’d coughed up a fur ball in her bedroom, which seemed a little too deliberate for her liking.
Cricket came like a NASA rocket out of the sitting room, his toenails scrabbling on the marbled hallway, his little body skidding like a drunken skater on loose ice skates. She bent down and he leapt into her arms and gave her face a virtual baptism. ‘Yes, you crazy little excuse for a dog,’ she said, laughing. ‘I love you to bits, too.’
She looked up to see Flynn had limped to the doorway after all. ‘Sorry I’m so late,’ she said. ‘I had to feed Monty and quickly Skype the Carstairses before I came over.’
He glanced at her hands. ‘No scratches? Things must be looking up between you two.’
Kat gave him a rueful smile. ‘We’re getting there, slowly but surely.’
There was an enigmatic twinkle in his eyes. ‘Not a bad way to do things.’
She reached for Cricket’s lead. ‘I’ll just take Cricket out now.’
‘Don’t worry about taking him out tonight,’ Flynn said. ‘It’s foul outside. How did your audition go?’
She put Cricket’s lead back on the hallstand. ‘I got it...’
‘You don’t sound too excited.’
Kat let her shoulders down on a sigh and faced him. ‘I’m not sure I got it for the right reasons.’
‘Did the director recognise you?’
She didn’t bother hiding her worry. She had a feeling he knew it anyway by the way he was looking at her. Softly. Understandingly. ‘No, but Elisabetta Albertini did. She’s playing the role of Kate in Sylvia. I didn’t know that otherwise I would’ve thought twice about auditioning. She was sitting at the back of the theatre and, after insulting me when I took a bit of time getting over my nerves, she insisted the part was given to me.’
‘You must’ve done a good job. She’s picky about who she works with.’
‘I can’t help feeling I’m being set up,’ Kat said. ‘I looked like such an amateur up there. I was quaking in my shoes. I’ve never felt so nervous in my life. What if she only wants me in that part so she can make a fool of me?’
His gaze lost none of its softness; if anything it got softer. Tender, almost. ‘You need to work on your confidence, sweetheart. She’ll eat you alive if you show you’re intimidated by her.’
Kat’s heart was still skipping over the word ‘sweetheart.’ Lots of men used terms of endearment and they usually meant nothing. Sweet nothing. But somehow the way Flynn said it gave it weight. Substance. A foundation she could stand on while the rest of the world trembled with uncertainty. ‘Do you think she’d do it? Ruin opening night to get back at me?’
‘Do you want me to have a chat with her?’
She gave him a horrified look. ‘No!’
‘You’re not really frightened of her, are you?’
Kat tossed her hair back off her shoulders—a gesture of bravado straight out of the actor’s handbook. She just wished she felt the indifference she was portraying. ‘Of course not.’
‘How about we go out to dinner tonight?’
Kat frowned. ‘Dinner?’
‘To celebrate you getting the part.’
She chewed at her lip. ‘I don’t know...’
‘Ouch.’
Kat looked up at him in concern. ‘Is your foot okay?’
He grinned at her. ‘That was my ego, not my foot. How many times does a guy have to beg a girl to go out to dinner with him?’
She looked at him narrowly. ‘Just dinner?’
‘I’d offer to take you dancing, but can you see me burning up the dance floor on these sticks?’
Kat’s conscience and willpower went into battle again.
Dinner will be fine.
You think?
Of course it will. We’ll have a drink, eat a meal. Go home. Simple.
You’ll sip champagne while gazing into his dreamboat eyes and start planning how many of his babies you’ll have.
I will not. Anyway, he’s not the settling down type.
But you are.
Am not. I want a career. Stardom. My name up in lights.
And then what?
And then I’ll be happy.
Yeah?
Kat forced a smile. ‘I’m not much of a dancer myself. I’ve never been able to get through a waltz without pulping my partner’s toes.’
He smiled with his eyes, making her stomach free-fall. ‘Sounds like you just haven’t found the right partner.’
* * *
The restaurant Flynn took her to in a cab was owned by one of his clients. They were given the best table in the house in a romantic corner that gave them privacy from the other diners. Flynn ordered champagne and, once it was poured, raised his glass to hers in a toast. ‘To your brilliant career.’
Kat took a sip of the delicious bubbles whilst looking into his eyes that were dark as pitch, yet soft and melting. How on earth was she going to stop herself from falling in love with him when he looked at her like that?
You’re well on your way.
No, I’m not. I’m just aware it could be a danger, that’s all.
Stop looking at his mouth. Dead giveaway.
Kat put her glass down and shifted in her seat, keeping her gaze trained on the cleft in his chin. ‘So...how was your day?’
‘Look at me, Kat.’
She looked. Felt her heart kick at the way his knowing smile curved up the corners of his mouth. The mouth that had kissed hers—kissed it and made it hungry for more. So hungry it was all she could do to keep herself on her side of the table. Her knees bumped against his, sending a shockwave of awareness through her body, concentrating in the heated core of her womanhood. Warmth flooded her, need oozing, the ache of lust building with every beat of the silence as his gaze tethered hers. ‘Wh-what?’
‘You’re nervous.’
‘I’m not.’
‘When was the last time you went out to dinner with a guy?’
Kat let out a long sigh and looked at the salt-and-pepper shakers on the crisp snow-white tablecloth. ‘September last year. Charles the creep. I was so ashamed I was physically sick when I found out he had a wife and three little kids, one of them only a few weeks old.’ She brought her gaze back up to his. ‘How can men do that to their wives?’
Flynn made a twisting movement with his mouth. ‘There are some prize jerks out there, that’s for sure. I come across them all the time in my line of work. You’d be shocked at how many men try and wriggle out of paying for their kids once their relationship with their mother is over.’
Kat fiddled with the stem of her glass. ‘I just hate how I didn’t see it. That I didn’t see through him. How could I have got it so wrong?’
He placed his hand over her restive one, the warmth and steadiness of it moving through her entire body like a soothing wave of a calming, cleansing drug. ‘You did the right thing by getting out of it as soon as you found out. But I can see how it would make you cautious.’
She looked at their entwined hands, hers so light against the tan of his. ‘I’ve always prided myself that I’m nothing like my mother. She was hopeless at reading men. She was in and out of dysfunctional relationships all through my childhood. I never knew who would be there when I got home from school. Sometimes it was so scary. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t see the innate badness in some of the men she brought home. I could see it and I was just a kid.’
Flynn’s expression was gravely serious. ‘Were you ever in danger? Did any of your mother’s men friends hurt or interfere with you?’
Kat pulled her hand out of his light hold on the pretence of brushing back a wayward strand of hair. She didn’t trust herself to touch him for too long. His touch made her body hunger for him. Hunger and ache. ‘A couple of times I had to fight off some unwanted attention, mostly when I was a teenager. It was worse when Mum was drinking. She just didn’t pick up on stuff. I couldn’t talk to her about it, as she would get angry and blame me for being too mouthy or whatever.’
His frown formed a bridge between his eyes. ‘But in spite of it all you still loved her?’
She gave him a crooked smile. ‘Yeah, well, that’s what kids do, isn’t it? Their survival depends on it—loving their caregivers. Not that she was great at caregiving or anything. But, yes, I loved her.’
‘Is that why you don’t want kids?’ he said after a moment. ‘Are you worried you won’t do a good job of mothering your own kids?’
Kat picked up her glass for something to do with her hands. ‘I guess on some level... But I really want to achieve what I set out to achieve first. If I get tied down with kids and marriage, I’ll never reach my goal.’
‘What if fame isn’t everything you think it will be?’
‘It’s not just the fame,’ Kat said. ‘I’ve wanted to act for as long as I can remember. I know I won’t be satisfied until I exhaust every opportunity to make it onstage. It’s not like I want to prove it to anyone else. I need to prove it to myself.’
‘It’s a tough life, working for weeks and then nothing for months,’ Flynn said. ‘There are good years and bad years. Plays fold without notice or run for season after season until you’re bored out of your brain for the want of something fresh and more challenging. Then there are the great reviews and the awful ones. You have to have a tough skin.’
She met his dark gaze across the table. ‘And you don’t think I have one?’
‘Underneath that tough exterior is a girl with a soft heart. I see it. Cricket sees it. Miranda and Jaz saw it. Probably Elisabetta saw it, which is why you’re feeling so threatened by her.’
Kat had always prided herself on the impenetrable armour she wore around her heart. But in his presence she could feel it falling away, piece by piece, like a glacier fracturing. He seemed to understand her in a way no one had ever done before. It was hard to keep her defences up when he was so strong and supportive, so intuitive and accepting of her. ‘Do you think I should meet Julius and Jake?’
‘They wouldn’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But they’re on your team, Kat. We all are.’
‘Apart from Elisabetta,’ she said with a downturn of her mouth.
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. ‘Let your talent do the talking. You have no reason to doubt yourself.’
Kat stroked her fingers over the flesh of his thumb, feeling a rush of lava-hot heat go from his body to hers. His eyes held hers in a lock that said all that needed to be said. The message was erotic, exciting, thrilling. Urgent. The need that pulsed between them made her inner core vibrate with a longing no amount of celibacy pacts could withstand.
Resisting him any longer was pointless. They had been moving towards this moment from the first time they’d locked gazes. She wanted him and couldn’t bear prolonging the agony. She could no longer find any reason not to explore the chemistry between them. So what if he wasn’t the settling down type? She wasn’t ready for the white picket fence and cottage flowers either. All she wanted was to feel his arms around her, to feel alive in the way a man can make a woman feel when they both like and respect each other. She couldn’t think of a man she liked and respected more than Flynn.
Maybe that was what she had been doing all wrong with dating up to this point. She had dated men who weren’t her equal intellectually, not strong enough to stand up to her and for her. They had only been interested in her body, not her mind, her emotions, her ambitions, her drives and aspirations.
‘If we were to get involved...hypothetically speaking...’ Kat chanced a quick glance at him. ‘What would you want out of it?’
His thumb found the nerve-rich centre of her palm and began stroking a mesmerising caress across the sensitive flesh. ‘You mean apart from sex?’
Kat’s belly quivered at his touch, at his words, at his smouldering-coals look. ‘I mean...would we be having a fling or be in a...a relationship?’
‘You said “relationship” like it was a prison sentence.’
‘Yes, well, some of mine have been a bit like that.’
His stroking continued, stoking a fire within her body she could feel deep and throbbing in her core. ‘What about your celibacy pact?’
‘I’ve proven my point to my friend. Besides, I think she’s going to break it herself this weekend. She’s going to be within arm’s reach of her ex. Always a dangerous prospect for her.’
‘Whose idea was the pact?’
‘Mine mostly,’ Kat said. ‘I just got tired of getting involved with men who were shallow and not interested in me as a person. Or ones who told blatant lies.’
‘Well, if it’s any comfort, I’m not married, haven’t been and was only engaged for forty-eight hours eleven years ago,’ Flynn said. ‘Every other relationship—and I use that term loosely—has been temporary.’
Kat stroked her fingertip over the blunt end of his thumb, watching as his dark ink-like pupils flared with molten heat. Even the candle on the table flickered, as if it was tired of competing with the flame of attraction glowing between them. ‘So...if we get involved what will we call it?’
His mouth slanted in that spine-tingling manner. ‘How about a flingsationship?’
She gave him an answering smile. ‘I’ve never heard of one of those. What does it involve?’
He winked at her. ‘Let’s go back to my place and I’ll show you.’
