Breaking the Rules (10 page)

Turning away from him, Pandora led Larry into the hall, hurrying him down to the kitchen. ‘Molly was a nurse, you know,
before she became our housekeeper. She’ll know exactly what to do.’

‘I’m all right, Mummy,’ Larry whispered, and stumbled bravely on…

The crash of the milk falling off the small side table awakened Larry. He must have knocked it off with his arm. He sat up blinking, for a moment disoriented, thinking it was already morning, but then, as he glanced around, realized it was still the middle of the night. Rising, he left the library, returned to his bedroom and got into bed, shaking his head as he did so. How strange it was that such a lot of his childhood memories remained in his head, and were so easily recalled. And lately, remembering them had become a curious pattern.

Within minutes he was asleep, Edward’s cruelty to him as a child forgotten.

G
eo looked up as M appeared in the doorway of her studio, and smiled. ‘Well, there you are! Good morning, Miss M. How’re you today?’

‘Fine, thanks, Geo, and you look pretty good yourself.’

Geo inclined her head, then said, ‘Your actor seemed very taken with you last night. Are you going to see him again?’ She grinned. ‘That’s a stupid question, isn’t it, since I’m sure you are.’

‘I’m having lunch with him today,’ M answered, leaning casually against the doorframe. She took a sip from the mug of tea she was holding, and gave Geo a brilliant smile that filled her face with sudden radiance. ‘And then we’re going to the movies.’

‘I thought he was going to swallow you whole last night,’ Geo remarked with a grin, her eyes dancing. ‘Gobble you up!’

‘Like the boa constrictor and the Little Prince?’ M raised a brow, laughing.

Geo also laughed, delighted by this response, and exclaimed, ‘I just loved that book when I was little, didn’t you?’

‘Of course, it was my real favourite, I think—everyone who reads it loves it, adults as well as children. It’s enchanting.’

Geo, intrigued by Larry and M after observing them together,
was filled with curiosity about their relationship, and now asked with great eagerness, ‘So, go on then, tell me everything that happened.
Everything.
Don’t miss out a thing.’

‘There’s not much to tell,’ M responded, ‘there really isn’t. We went to dinner at an unassuming little bistro Larry likes, and then he took me home. Truly, nothing happened…if you mean what I think you mean.’

‘To his home? Is that where you went?’

‘No, don’t be silly! He brought me here, to this house, to
your
house. I was back here not long after one o’clock, and you were still out, weren’t you?’

‘I was, with James Cardigan. We had something from the buffet at Iris’s, but then the apartment seemed to fill up with all sorts of people. Actors, actresses—and some other rather strange types, James thought, and so did I. Anyway, we decided to leave because it got so crowded. James didn’t want the evening to end so he took me to a bar he knows in the MePa, and we stayed there for quite a while, having drinks and talking into the wee hours. I got to know him better…he’s really charming…’

‘Is he married?’ M wondered out loud, giving Geo a questioning look.

‘He’s never been married. Well, so he said.’ She put down her paintbrush and sighed. Rising, she walked over to the sofa near the window and lowered herself onto it, sighing again and looking across at M, still loitering in the doorway.

‘What is it, Geo?’ M was aware of the long, contemplative stare her friend was giving her.

‘Do you have a few minutes to spare? I want to tell you something.’

‘Of course. What is it?’ M asked again, walking into the studio, joining Geo on the sofa, puzzled by her friend’s sudden change in mood.

‘There’s a problem I’d like to discuss with you,’ Geo murmured.

Staring at her intently, M said, ‘You look awfully troubled, and very serious all of a sudden. What’s the matter?’

Geo did not answer for a few moments, and when she did she spoke slowly, her voice low. ‘I like James…like him a lot, and I must admit I’d forgotten how nice he is. Anyway, the point is this, I’d like to see him again.
Want
to very much. I believe I made a big mistake with him last night, though; in fact, I’m sure I did.’

‘What do you mean?’ M leaned closer, her expression puzzled. ‘It can’t have been all that bad, surely.’

‘Look, I had a lot to drink at the party, and later. More than usual, and I got far too garrulous, in my opinion. I told him too much about myself and it might have put him off.’

M was taken aback by this statement. Geo was not a particularly talkative person, nor was she very confiding. For a second she was silent, and then asked, ‘What on earth could
you
tell him about yourself that would turn him off?’ Her genuine puzzlement was apparent. When Geo did not answer, she asked, ‘You haven’t murdered somebody, have you?’

M said this in such a droll manner, Geo couldn’t help laughing. ‘No, I haven’t. But I have been married twice, and stupidly I told him this, and I think he was really shocked.’

‘I doubt that! He’s not the shockable type, if I know my Englishmen. He runs that security and investigation company, so I’m positive he doesn’t shock easily. Besides which, I think he might well have been a cop, or something like that. He would certainly have been in some sort of law enforcement agency before, in order to start that kind of company, don’t you think? He would need that kind of expertise and experience.’

‘I think he might have been a spy…I vaguely remember someone telling me that ages ago. Still, he did look shocked, I promise you.’

It struck M that Geo might have simply misunderstood James’s reaction, not read him correctly, and she said this to Geo, adding,
‘I’m sure it was only
surprise.
You don’t look old enough to have been married
twice.
’

‘I’m twenty-eight, didn’t I tell you that?’ Geo asked and sat back on the sofa, closing her eyes for a moment, looking pained.

‘Are you all right?’ M asked swiftly.

‘Yes, I’m okay.’ Opening her eyes, Geo sat up straighter on the sofa and continued, ‘I can’t imagine why I told him. It was stupid of me. I think it was because he reminded me of my first husband, Andy, who had that same wiry look as James. Oh, God, there’s not much I can do about it. I told him, and that’s that. Let’s face it, I’ve probably blown it.’

‘I’m sure it’s not a problem,’ M ventured, meaning this sincerely, and frowned as Geo closed her eyes once again, leaning back against the sofa. Her face was pale, and she trembled slightly.

After a moment, M took hold of her hand. ‘What is it, Georgiana? You can talk to me about private things if you want to. You know I’d never break a confidence.’

Opening her eyes, Geo said, ‘I know you wouldn’t. It’s just that…well, I usually get a terrible ache inside when I think of the way Andy died. I was heartbroken, I almost died myself when he had that fatal accident, and our baby certainly died…I had a miscarriage within days of Andy’s fall.’

‘Oh darling, I’m so terribly sorry; how very, very tragic. And your grief must have been enormous…’ M’s voice trailed off; she was at a loss for words. Anyway, weren’t words meaningless in a sense? Although her mother constantly said that loving words
did
help a person to cope with sorrow and grief—with most things, in fact.

‘I don’t think I’m overstating when I say it was overwhelming,’ Geo murmured. ‘It did take me a long time to recover. I was only eighteen…when Andy fell…and my life fell apart.’

Clearing her throat, M hesitated for a moment before quietly saying, ‘Perhaps it would help you if you told me about it, as you told James last night.’

‘Andy was a construction worker here in Manhattan,’ Geo began, ‘like his father and two brothers. He loved it, loved being up there, “hitting the sky”, he used to call it. Still, it was frightening at times to most of the guys. In fact, Andy often said that no one knows what fear really is unless they’ve dangled high in the sky with nothing between them and the ground but a narrow edge of metal and empty air.

‘There’s another thing, the men are worried about getting “the freeze”. That usually occurs when a guy has seen one of his buddies fall, which happened to Andy one day. He saw a friend slip and was never the same again. The freeze took hold of him. Naturally he understood that he couldn’t keep going indefinitely, and he became apprehensive about hitting the sky because he might fall off a girder. If they’re going to keep their jobs, the guys do have to keep on going
up
when they’re working on a high building, because the building keeps going up and up and up. I begged Andy to quit, and he promised he would as soon as they reached the next floor of the skyscraper. Unfortunately, he never made it to that floor…he slipped off a girder, fell and broke his neck, smashed his head on the pavement…At least he died instantly.’

Geo stopped speaking, sat very still, and M held her hand for a long time, not knowing how else to comfort her.

At last Geo spoke once more, continued her story. ‘I eventually pulled myself together and kept going as best I could. After Andy’s awful accident, my mother died. She’d had a long fight with cancer, had been in pain for years. In one way it was a blessing for her, she was no longer suffering. I had gone to live with her after Andy’s death, and inherited this house from her, where I’ve been living ever since.’

‘I’m so sorry about Andy and the baby, and your mother. How you coped I’ll never know,’ M murmured, her heart going out to Georgiana.

Geo nodded. ‘I suppose I coped by getting married again.
When I was twenty-two, and it lasted a big two months. One day Ken packed his bags and left, without even saying goodbye. We eventually got a divorce, thank God.’ Now Geo glanced at M, and finished in a sad, low voice. ‘I’m known as a person who never talks much about the past, but I certainly talked last night…to a man I liked, and in a way I never spoke to Dax. You go and figure that one. And I’ll never hear from James again.’

‘I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t believe James Cardigan was shocked, or put off. How could he have been? And if he’s the man I think he is, then I’m sure he was touched, felt tremendous sympathy for you. I certainly do.’

‘You’re a woman: you would be sympathetic. Men sometimes aren’t at all empathetic, certainly about the kind of things I’ve just told you about—death, illness, and all that. It’s too much for them to handle.’

‘Oh, I do think you’re wrong! There are any number of men who are sympathetic, compassionate and very caring. At least I know a few.’

‘Introduce me to one. I’d like to meet a sympathetic man,’ Geo muttered.

‘Actually, I believe you were with one last night. Give James a chance. I think he’s worth it. And, you know what, I bet you he calls today.’

‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ Geo answered, and she did not sound very convinced.

Later, in her room, as she got ready to go out, M soon discovered that her mind remained focused on Georgiana. She had been touched and moved by the conversation they had just had, their most intimate to date. And now she realized yet again how little they knew about each other really. Yet they had bonded,
become closer in the last few weeks, had quickly discovered they liked the same things: going to the theatre, and the movies, reading good books, especially biographies, listening to their favourite music. And art. That was the one great link between them, their love of beautiful paintings. And there was something else. Geo was endeavouring to make it on her own without cashing in on her mother’s name.

A week ago, Geo had confided that her mother had been Constance Redonzo, a well-known artist in the Seventies, Eighties and into the Nineties. M was familiar with her work, and knew that she was from the school of Marie Laurencin and Mary Cassatt, specializing in paintings of children and women in the Impressionist style. Geo had explained that soon after her mother’s death, she and her sister began to understand there was a very viable market for their mother’s work. Many of her fans, reading of her death in the obituaries, had been in touch with the gallery that represented her work, suddenly wanting to buy paintings. ‘Joanne and I had an unexpected but wonderful windfall. We made a lot of money and that’s why I am able to paint in peace. For now.’

Later, Geo had shown her some of the paintings by her mother that she owned, and M had been impressed, almost salivating over one in particular, longing to buy it on behalf of her father. But she did not dare. Such a move would be dangerous, would expose her. She had too much to hide, she knew that, and then wondered if James was aware of who she was. After all, he was in the business of…information. She doubted it, though.

And what about Laurence Vaughan? Did he suspect she was not who she said she was? Not at all, she was absolutely positive of that. Although she did have to admit that he would obviously be aware she came from a certain echelon of English society…their backgrounds were almost identical in so many ways, and he couldn’t have failed to miss the telltale signs last night.

As she buttoned the white cotton shirt and tucked it into her
navy blue trousers, M contemplated the combination of Geo and James. It seemed to her that they would fit well together. She hoped he called this morning because that would make Geo exceedingly happy.

Turning away from the mirror, M pulled on a three-quarter-length navy blue knitted coat, added her pearl earrings, snatched up a battered red Hermès Kelly, slung it over her arm and left her room. She ran downstairs, strode down the corridor and waved to Geo, wishing her well, and swiftly exited the house. She hailed a cab, excited and intent on her purpose—being with Larry.

L
aurence Vaughan’s face was wreathed in smiles as he opened the door, greeted M, and added, ‘I just knew you’d be punctual, and thank God you are! I couldn’t wait to see you.’

She smiled back at him. ‘I know what you mean…and good morning, Larry.’

Taking hold of her hand, he brought her into the front hall of the apartment swiftly, drew her into his arms and closed the door with his foot, all of these movements executed with a smooth and agile fluidity.

He held her close, kissing her on the cheek, taking in the perfume of her—lilies of the valley, he decided—and the fresh lemony tang of her newly washed hair. She was wearing it loose today and it fell around her face like a sleek black veil.

A crooked smile lurked around his mouth. ‘You are beautiful, M, simply perfect.’ His eyes narrowed slightly, held a mischievous glint as he finished. ‘And, just imagine, you’re not even half an Audrey today. You’re just M, and that’s good enough for me.’

‘I’m glad you like
me.
’

‘You bet I do.’ Taking hold of her arm he led her into the living room, walking her through to the library. ‘This is my favourite room,’ he explained, and immediately took her over to the bay window. ‘Just look at this view, isn’t it great?’

‘It’s fantastic, I feel as if I’m on a ship,’ M responded, looking up at him. She was wearing flat shoes today, which made her a couple of inches shorter than Larry, who was six feet tall. She was five-ten in her stocking feet. We’re a perfect fit, she thought, most probably in every way. I hope we are.

‘You really ought to see the view at night, then you’ll realize how spectacular it actually is,’ Larry told her. ‘How about staying for dinner?’

M couldn’t help laughing. ‘We haven’t even had lunch yet. But yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t miss this view at night. So of course I’ll stay for dinner, I’d love it.’

‘That’s a big relief.’ He grinned at her. ‘I thought you’d be fleeing after lunch, leaving me alone again.’

‘Aren’t we going to the cinema?’

‘We’ll do whatever you want. In the meantime, how about a Bloody Mary?’

‘Thank you, yes, that’d be nice.’

‘Coming up in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ He strode across the floor to a chest that held a silver tray filled with bottles of liquor, a jug of tomato juice and various other important ingredients for drinks.

She smiled to herself, remembering a nanny she’d once had who had constantly used that old and rather curious phrase: three shakes of a lamb’s tail.

Larry busied himself with the drinks, and M turned to look at the amazing collection of silver-framed photographs lined up on another chest, positioned to one side of the sofa. What an array it was.

Taking pride of place was an eight-by-ten of Larry’s father when he had been a much younger man. How devastatingly
handsome Nicholas Vaughan was, truly glorious looking in this particular picture by Patrick Lichfield. It hit her then. Larry, as he was today at thirty-five, was the spitting image of his father in this photograph. Except for the hair. Larry’s was as dark as a raven’s, like hers, whilst his father’s was a light brownish-blond, almost nondescript. It’s the eyes, she thought, they’re exactly the same blue, the colour of cornflowers, and they’re powerful, mesmerizing. And both men have the same classical features, the same straight nose.

Her eyes moved on and she gazed at the picture of Larry’s father and mother, standing together on a stage dressed in the costumes they wore as Antony and Cleopatra. Next to this was a portrait of Pandora Gallen alone—so blonde, so beautiful; Larry’s exceptional mother, a talent beyond belief. And then came a collection of smaller photographs of Larry with his various siblings. My God, they were a good-looking bunch. Just like her lot were.

‘Sorry the drinks took so long,’ Larry said, walking across the room with two glasses. Handing one to her, he lifted his Bloody Mary. ‘Cheers!’ he said.

‘Cheers, and thanks.’ M took a sip, and exclaimed, ‘Wow, oh wow, that’s very strong! But great.’

Larry glanced at the photographs arranged on the chest, and then at her, a brow raised quizzically. ‘Since you know so much about me, and you did claim that, then you don’t need me to explain who all of these disreputable ruffians are.’

‘You don’t have to do that, no, I can reel off their names to
you.
But I would like to know
about
them. I’m very curious about your siblings.’

‘Take your pick, and I’ll give you the low-down.’

‘This is Horatio, isn’t it?’ She pointed a finger at one of the men in the photograph.

‘Yep. And my favourite brother. He’s a good guy, a good friend, always on my side, as I’m on his. You’ll like him a lot.’

‘Named for Hamlet’s friend Horatio, correct?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And Portia is named for another favourite Shakespearean character of mine…straight out of
The Merchant of Venice.
’

‘On the nose, babe. And Portia’s a friendly sort. No agenda.’

‘And you like her, I think—more than
like,
actually. You
love
her.’

‘How did you guess?’

‘It’s the expression on your face, Larry. Your eyes are warmer, you smiled when I mentioned her name, and your face is relaxed.’

‘My favourite sister. I certainly don’t like the other one, Miranda. A pain in the ass, that one. Don’t worry, you won’t have to meet her.’

M burst out laughing. ‘And Thomas? Tell me about
him.
’

‘We’re not so close. He is the eldest, but you’re aware of that, if I know you. He’s serious, a little bit dull, but hugely talented, and we’re friends, respectful of each other, but no, we’re not close.’

‘And that leaves us with Edward.’

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Don’t you like him?’

‘He bloody well beat me up when we were kids, so I’m always

wary of our crafty Edward, but we’re pals, at least to some extent, these days. And he’s aimed to please me for years. We have a sort of truce, I guess you’d call it. Edward’s okay, in small doses. But questionable.’

‘He’s probably suffering from terrible guilt for smacking you around when you were little, don’t you think?’

‘Possibly. One never knows with Edward. Cagey bugger that he is, and a past master of the art of dissimulation.’ He took a swallow of the Bloody Mary. ‘And he can be a real bastard with women.’

M said, ‘I love this photograph of your mother and father as Antony and Cleopatra. They became legends after that play, didn’t they?’

A huge smile lit up his face and he nodded enthusiastically. ‘They sure as hell did! The greatest stars of the English theatre, that was them in their heyday. And it’s a tough part, Cleopatra. Most actresses are scared to touch it; you need quite a range to play Cleo. My mother did it to perfection. It’s Shakespeare’s greatest play, at least in my opinion, and still very modern…politicians, politics, tragedies, failures, celebrities hitting the dust.’

‘Fallen heroes all,’ M announced.

He gave her a swift look, and frowned. ‘Someone else once said those exact words to me, but I can’t remember who.’

A feeling of sick dismay swept over her, and she chided herself, aware that this was one of her brother’s standard comments about the play. Changing the subject swiftly, she said, ‘I’m getting hungry, Larry. Why don’t we go to the kitchen and make lunch?’

‘Brilliant,’ he replied, walking back to the chest and the jug of tomato juice and vodka. ‘I’ll make us another, shall I? To help us through the cooking.’

‘Why not?’ she said, and went to join him, relieved she’d distracted him.

‘I think I’d better make lunch,’ M announced after five minutes of moving around Larry, bumping into him as he skirted her. ‘It’s a great kitchen, but it’s not big enough for two cooks. Anyway, too many cooks spoil the broth, so my mother says.’

‘But I really want to do it,’ Larry shot back, turning to her, frowning. ‘After all, I invited you
here,
not to a restaurant, and I am your host, you know.’

M swallowed her amusement at his seriousness about this, and exclaimed, ‘No, no, no, it’s better if I do the cooking. And do be careful, don’t drop those eggs.’

He was now leaning towards a counter top, and the box of eggs was precariously balanced in one of his hands.

Hurrying across the floor, she took the eggs from him, placed them on the counter, then untied the white chef’s apron he was wearing over his black cashmere sweater and black jeans. ‘I shall put this on instead of you, and that means
I’m
now in charge.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, General, as you say, General.’ He saluted her, grabbed her arm, pulled her to him and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. His eyes were appraising when he asked teasingly, ‘Have I fallen for a bossy Margaret Thatcher?’

‘I’m afraid you have.’ She eyed him flirtatiously, laughter making her black eyes sparkle. ‘It’s easier if only one person cooks. Now go and sit at the table,’ she ordered. ‘We can chat as I cook. What kind of eggs would you prefer?’

‘Poached, fried, scrambled, I don’t care. There’s streaky bacon in the fridge, and Canadian bacon as well. The tomatoes are over there in that bowl. We could have a real fry-up, if you’d like that.’

‘I do, and we could, but hey, Larry, what about bacon butties? Don’t you just love them?’

‘I do indeed, they’re my favourite, and I always make a beeline for them on an early morning shoot. The film caterers usually serve them for breakfast. And what about fried egg sandwiches as well?’ He grinned at her, enjoying being with her; she was a good sport, and he liked that about her. He couldn’t stand pretentious women who put on airs and graces.

‘It will be a fantastic repast,’ she confided, sounding sure of herself, and began to move around the kitchen, taking food out of the refrigerator, and getting organized, looking across at Larry, listening to him when he told her where to find the things she needed. She loved hearing that marvellous voice of his, so rich and full of cadences, an actor’s beautiful voice.

For his part, Larry was thinking that she was probably one of the more adorable women he had met in his life. This morning she looked young and delectable, wearing very little makeup, her hair now pulled back in a ponytail. Yes, she did have a look
of Audrey, that was true, but she was also herself and highly individualistic. It suddenly struck him there was something rather exotic about her looks, and he was absolutely certain she was photogenic. It was the high cheekbones, of course, the broad brow and hollow cheeks, the perfectly arched brows. Yes, she probably photographed like a dream; no wonder that photographer had been entranced.

He sat back, scrutinizing her as she moved around, energetic, lithe, and so graceful in her movements. She paused for a moment to roll up the sleeves of her white cotton shirt, and it occurred to him that she had an elegance about her that was unusual in somebody so young. This led him to ask himself a question: Was she too young for him? He answered himself immediately with a resounding
no.
He was twelve years older than her, as she had pointed out, but then she had also said that numbers didn’t matter. This was true; he’d always believed that. And M was confident, truly self-assured, and had apparently been groomed to go anywhere, meet anyone, and at any time; there was no doubt in his mind that she would conduct herself with great aplomb and lots of charm. She was unusually engaging.

The whistling of the kettle broke into his thoughts, and he made a move to get up, but M shushed him down, exclaiming, ‘No, no, no! I’ll do it. Do you have a brown teapot?’

‘I’m afraid not, love, only my mother’s antique silver pot.’

‘Then I’ll have to buy you one.’

‘Thank you. I accept,’ he said, smiling across at her. Suddenly he was no longer hungry, had lost interest in food. What he wanted was to take her to bed and slowly and tenderly make passionate love to her.

‘You’ve got a funny look on your face,’ M said as she carried over the teapot and a jug of milk, peering at him as she put them down on the table.

‘What do you mean?’

She shrugged, laughed and said, ‘You were sort of ogling me,
I guess.’ And she laughed again and walked away, murmuring, ‘Perhaps “leering” would be a better word.’

He made no response, amazed at her keen powers of observation. I’m going to have to watch myself when I’m around her, he thought. I’d better put on my actor’s mask, and prepare to dissimulate.