Читать книгу Kissed By a Stranger - Valerie Parv, Valerie Parv - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER lunch Luke insisted on driving Sarah to the studio, although she protested that she could take a taxi. ‘I’ve already taken up enough of your day.’

‘Will you stop organising my time for me?’ he said, a steely undercurrent in his voice. ‘If I want to spend an entire day ferrying you around the Gold Coast, it’s my choice to make.’

His authoritative tone met the tiniest resistance. She didn’t need him taking care of her, but at the same time his willingness to sacrifice his time to her needs brought an unwonted thrill of pleasure. No one had done that before, even men who’d sworn they were madly in love with her. She’d still been expected to fit in with their needs and schedules.

It was almost too good to be true. Was it too good to be true? Her hand froze on the car door and she looked at him. ‘Tell me one thing, Luke.’

‘What is it?’

‘Why aren’t you married?’

A vision of his assistant, Glen, working on this very car, flashed into her mind. Oh, no, surely Luke wasn’t...?

There was an icy pause. ‘Not for the reason you’re evidently thinking, so you can retract that journalistic antenna right now.’

He slid into the driver’s seat and leaned across to open her door. She almost collapsed into the passenger seat. ‘I wasn’t implying . . . ’

‘Yes, you were,’ he snapped. ‘Although you have no basis for it. If you must know, I was engaged to be married but a lot of things went tragically wrong. I decided I was better off alone.’

Was this the trouble which had driven him out of competitive racing? ‘What happened?’ she asked.

He eased the powerful car into the stream of traffic heading north along the highway. Without taking his eyes off the road, he said, ‘It’s a long story and not very pretty. Besides, I could ask you the same question.’

Clearly he wasn’t about to say anything more until he was ready. She wondered if that moment would ever come. Biting back her disappointment, she asked, ‘What question?’

‘Why isn’t there a man in your life?’

‘There was someone until recently,’ she admitted, determined to be more forthcoming with him than he was being with her.

‘What went wrong?’

‘He couldn’t handle the publicity that comes with my job. Being called by my surname was the last straw.’

‘So now you’re wedded to your career?’

His choice of words rankled. ‘Just because you walked out on a successful career it doesn’t mean we all have to.’

A muscle worked along his jaw and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘Thank you for the reminder.’

Desolation assailed her. She was allowing annoyance at being excluded from this part of his life to rule her tongue. It was so unlike her that she blanched and rested a hand on his arm. The muscles rippled under her fingers and she swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

His sigh gusted between them. ‘No, I’m the one who’s overreacting. You’re entitled to your opinion.’

But it was a further reminder that he didn’t share it, she thought uncomfortably. Would he change his mind about seeing her tonight? How would she feel if so?

‘What time shall I pick you up?’ he asked, forestalling her concern.

As she named a time her heart did a curious somersault. It turned into a full-blown circus when he leaned across to open her door from the inside. Then he cupped her face and turned her to align her mouth with his, kissing her gently, but with lingering promise. As he drew his lips away he slid a thumb caressingly down the side of her face. ‘Until tonight.’

‘Tonight,’ she echoed, her voice husky. Suddenly what was in his past seemed to matter a lot less than what might be in their future.

It was an effort to keep her back turned and walk into the studio. Watching him drive away would have been too much of a give-away for both of them.

Because of the telethon, the studio was crowded. The usually quiet set where she prepared her segments was flooded with light and activity. The red on-air light flashed over the door, warning her to enter on tiptoe. She waved a silent greeting to the floor crew as she made her way behind the heavy backdrop curtains and up the stairs to her dressing room.

This room was also occupied by telethon performers, who apologised cheerfully as she backed out again.

The only remaining refuge was the make-up room, so she spent the afternoon there, making notes and plans for the evening. Half an hour before airtime, Richard Nero dropped into a chair alongside her.

‘It’s bedlam around here today,’ he complained.

‘At least you didn’t lose your dressing room.’ Why had he been spared? she wondered. Unless management was sending her a message about the anchor position. She searched Richard’s face for clues, but he was always so insufferably smug that his expression told her nothing new.

She indicated the evening’s running sheet. ‘What’s this segment marked “to be confirmed”?’

He avoided her eyes. ‘It’s a late-breaking story I’m working on.’

‘What about?’

One of the make-up people shrouded Richard in a cape and he shrugged, indicating his helplessness. Her anger rose. How long would it take for him to answer her? But he closed his eyes and the make-up artist went to work, ending any further conversation.

Two could play this game. She sat back and closed her eyes, willing her taut body to relax as a make-up artist began to apply the heavy television make-up. Whatever Richard had in mind was bound to enhance his image in the eyes of the powers-that-be. She only hoped it wouldn’t have the opposite effect on her image.

Do you really care? The question seeped into her mind and she gave a start, earning a reproving mutter from the make-up artist.

‘sorry,’ she murmured, and tried again to relax. Luke had planted the question in her mind, she knew. He was the one avoiding the limelight, implying that enjoying her fame was some sort of character flaw.

She didn’t agree, did she? If so, she was in the wrong business. Damn him for sowing such doubts in her mind.

Except that damning him wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Instead of the expected censure, she felt anticipation at the prospect of seeing him after the show. What then? Maybe she’d invite him home for coffee after dinner. She lived at Mermaid Beach, a few minutes’ drive from the studio. It was a glorious evening. They could meander out onto the terrace overlooking the phosphorescent ocean.

How long was it since she’d invited a man to her home? Since she’d started appearing on television regularly it was more a case of keeping them from following her home. Luke was different. ‘I want a place in your life, not on your show,’ he’d said, sounding as if he meant it.

Her eyes widened. He was the first man—the first person—in years to appreciate her for herself, not for what she did.

‘Sarah, please!’

The make-up woman’s cry of frustration jolted Sarah back to reality. She’d opened her eyes as the eyeshadow was being applied. She schooled herself to behave, and the job was finished moments later. As she climbed out of the chair she flashed an apologetic smile at the make-up artist. ‘Things on my mind today.’

Understatement of the week, she thought as she made her way to the studio.

Richard was already on the set—in the right-hand seat she normally occupied. His grin dared her to complain. Somehow Luke was in her mind again, giving her his rare sense of perspective—rare in this business, anyway.

She smiled and took the left-hand chair, enjoying Richard’s look of surprise. Maybe he’d hoped to provoke a row on the set to make her look bad. It wasn’t going to work.

Well, not today. Today she had a guardian angel looking over her shoulder, counselling her. She had a suspicion his name was Luke Ansfield.

It was just as well. Since they rarely worked on-camera together, Richard made the most of every opportunity to upstage her. He stepped on her lines, read the autocue out of order, forcing her to improvise, and ad-libbed jokes which brought the camera back to him, as designed.

After forty-five minutes of this, Sarah was ready to scream. It took all the professionalism she possessed to keep smiling and treating Richard as her on-screen buddy. Only thinking of her date with Luke kept her on an even keel.

Richard seemed disappointed by the failure of his efforts to provoke her. During a commercial break before the final segment, he said, ‘You should enjoy the last story, Sarah. In fact, you should have written it.’

Before she could ask what he meant, the floor manager counted them out of the break. As Richard’s opening remarks scrolled up the autocue, a leaden sensation invaded Sarah. Oh, no, he couldn’t do this to her.

But he had.

She could do nothing but sit there in agony as Richard publicly identified Luke as Sarah’s rescuer. Footage of the car accident was followed by a newsreel clip of Luke on the racing circuit four years before.

Against her will, she sat forward. The first view was from the driver’s set of Luke’s car as he hurtled around the Suzuka track at the Japanese Grand Prix. Then the camera caught Luke himself, his compelling eyes the only part of his face visible beneath a balaclava and helmet, as he battled Schumacher, Berger and Mansell for lap upon lap.

‘Ansfield, the ultimate competitor, manages to pass the competition and take the Japanese Grand Prix,’ the commentator gasped.

Sarah released a pent-up breath. Several times Luke had appeared to be inches from death as he hurtled around the tight curves with more than seven hundred horsepower beneath him. Her vision blurred as he was shown climbing from the car to be decked in wreaths.

Dazedly she registered that they were showing a close-up of Luke while Richard read from the autocue. ‘Today a mystery surrounds this road warrior, who now lives in seclusion at his home on the Gold Coast Hinterland. Why did he quit when he had the world at his feet? We’ll bring you more as this intriguing story unfolds.

‘One person who has cause to bless Luke Ansfield’s presence on the Gold Coast is our own Sarah Fox, who might not be with us today if not for this reticent racer. Sarah?’

The camera came back to her. She blinked hard to clear her vision. This was the very thing Luke had sought to avoid. ‘You caught me by surprise, Richard,’ she said, ignoring the script scrolling beneath the camera. ‘Luke doesn’t want public recognition for saving my life. Naturally I’m grateful to him, as I’ve already assured him privately. I’m sure you’ll understand if I leave it at that, Richard?’

Her co-host gave a wolfish grin, but beneath his make-up he looked furious. ‘News is news,’ he said smoothly. ‘Although Sarah’s shyness on the subject suggests that more than her car caught fire last week. Could the former racing driver catch the Fox? You’ll hear it first on Coast to Coast. I’m Richard Nero—goodnight.’

Sarah was too incensed to care that he hadn’t thrown to her for the customary sign-off. As soon as the floor manager gave the all-clear, she tore her ear-piece from her ear and threw it onto the chair, whirling on Richard. ‘How could you run that story without consulting me first?’

He shrugged. ‘They loved it upstairs.’

‘But it was my story.’

He stood, dwarfing her by half a head. ‘Admit it, Sarah, you had no intention of blowing the whistle on Luke Ansfield.’

She felt her colour heighten. ‘Of course not. I gave him my word I wouldn’t reveal his identity.’

A gasp came from their producer. ‘You did what?’

Sarah hadn’t seen Donna Blake come up behind her. There was nothing for it but to continue. ‘Luke saved my life. Keeping quiet was the least I could do to repay him.’

Donna’s nostrils flared. ‘You’re a journalist, Sarah. This is a major story. You should be digging around to find out what he’s doing holed up in the hills instead of making deals with him. How long did you plan to sit on this scoop?’

Even Richard looked uncomfortable, as if he hadn’t expected so much furore over his story. Sarah gritted her teeth. ‘It isn’t a scoop. Luke’s an ordinary man and he’s entitled to his privacy.’ She didn’t even want to admit to herself why she hadn’t dug into his background. Was she afraid of finding something unsavoury? No, he had done nothing to warrant such an investigation, she told herself. It would be poor repayment to him for saving her life.

Donna gave a sceptical snort. “Ordinary” depends on your point of view. Luckily Richard warned me you’d try and stop this story from going to air.’

Sarah swung on her co-host. ‘So you sprang it on me unannounced. Thanks a lot, partner.’

Before Richard could frame a reply, the producer intervened. ‘Partner may be a relative term. As soon as management hears about this it will help decide the show’s permanent host. You couldn’t blame them for wanting an anchor whose first loyalty is to the programme.’