Waiting Game. Diana Hamilton
to hold my hand for that reason alone.’
He was beginning to look white around the mouth, Fen noted, giving him an narrow-eyed glance as the car swept between high hedges filled with the foam of Queen Anne’s lace and pink campion. It was a beautiful blue and green afternoon, as perfect as only an English early summer could be, and everything seemed to be going to plan, so why should the pair of them be so uneasy?
‘I’ve suddenly developed a split personality,’ he confided. ‘One minute I’m up in the air and thinking all this is a superb idea—especially when it’s bringing results—and the next I’m wishing we’d never started it. Trouble is, Fen, I can’t come to terms with the thought of being on the scrap heap, reduced to earning my crust advertising somebody’s frozen dinners in some ghastly commercial.’
About to point out that he didn’t need to work at all, that Jean’s fortune would keep them both in reasonable luxury for life, she thought better of it. Jean loved him to bits and wouldn’t begrudge a penny—as the gifts she showered on him so lavishly testified. But Alex had his pride. His ability to keep himself and support his wife was important to him.
‘But we won’t get anywhere if we back out now. And Jean would clobber us senseless if we did,’ he chuckled softly, his mood swinging again as he slowed down, looking for signposts.
Fen had imagined that the garden party would be held in some suitable spot near the main studios and the information that Saul Ackerman’s country home was to be the venue had only added to the niggling sense of unease she’d been suffering ever since she’d had to admit there was no backing out, no way of rejecting the invitation to attend.
Though it was more like a royal command, she decided edgily as the high hedges gave way to a wall of rough-grained quarried stone and then to a pair of massive iron gates flung open in well-bred invitation. Uniformed men who looked suspiciously like security guards directed them along a track that branched off from the main gravelled drive to an area of grassland that served as a temporary car park.
Big white vans bearing the distinctive Vision West logo left Fen in no doubt that the television crews would be prowling, getting the glittering occasion on film to be relayed to the viewers through the local news programme this evening. And there was well over a million pounds’ worth of motorised status symbols lined up on the crushed dry grass, she noted, which meant that everyone here was a ‘somebody’, and that sent her tension-reading up another couple of notches.
Just why had Saul Ackerman changed his mind and invited Alex along at practically the last moment? He couldn’t have had second thoughts about tossing him on to the scrap heap on the strength of a few scandal-mongering write-ups in the tabloids, surely?
Ducking her head as she got out of the car, she still managed to knock her hat to a rakish angle. Muttering under her breath, she righted it. She wasn’t used to wearing any kind of headgear; she felt like a mushroom. Hitching up her skirts, she spindle-heeled her way to Alex who was pocketing the keys to the Daimler, her tawny eyes wary as she told him, ‘I don’t want to spoil your moment of triumph, but have you stopped to wonder why you’re here? We never thought about the possibility of Ackerman being disgusted by what he must have read in the papers—he might not want to employ a man who is seen publicly to be cheating on his wife. We could be letting ourselves in for a highly public snub. Have you thought of that?’
‘Yes.’ Alex smoothed down his hair then took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. ‘It’s always a possibility, but a remote one. Publicity and top ratings are the name of the game, and besides, he’s no saint. He’s rarely seen with the same woman twice. Whatever he is, I don’t think he’s a hypocrite.’
‘Is he married?’ Fen spiked her heels into the grass. For some unknown yet powerful reason she needed to know more about the man. A case of ‘know your enemy’, she supposed.
‘He was.’ Alex gave her a look that carried a hint of impatience. ‘But it ended very messily. There was someone else involved—there always was someone else involved during the short lifetime of that marriage. Do come on, Fen!’
More cars were arriving, sunlight glittering from their faultless bodywork, more frivolous hats and sleek-faced men in morning suits. Fen gave in and fell in step beside her uncle as they gravitated towards a gateway in the fuchsia hedge, a graceful figure in the amber silk that emphasised the slenderness of her hips and long, long legs, blissfully unaware that each step she took afforded the onlooker a tiny tantalising glimpse of creamy thigh and intriguing stocking-top.
Alex’s brief words had told her as much as she wanted to know about Saul Ackerman, and left her even less endeared to him than before. His poor wife was well rid of him; Alex had spoken of the marriage ending—so presumably that meant divorce. Because he couldn’t keep his hands off other women? It certainly sounded like it.
Fen couldn’t understand why any right-minded woman wanted to get married at all. Why put yourself in a position where your happiness depended on the good nature and fidelity of one man? Generally speaking, she liked men, enjoyed their company and valued their friendship. But she would never surrender her independence to one; she knew what it had done to her mother and, in consequence, to her. And had heard enough about disastrous marriages to make any sensible female wary.
So footloose and heart-free she would remain, a citizen of the world, a happily independent lady answerable to no one but herself.
‘Fen!’ A sharp nudge in her ribs brought her wandering mind back to present circumstances. Blinking, she focused on the tray of glasses, the white-shirted, impassive-faced waiter who held it. Then, champagne in hand, she took in her surroundings. Acres of emerald-green, closely mown grass quartered by stoneflagged paths, parterres of flowers cut into the sward, punctuated by tall trees, their leaves whispering softly in the gentle summer breeze. And, beyond and above the long sweep of a closely cut yew hedge a few hundred yards away, the glimpse of the tumbled roofs of an impressive Tudor house.
Some country pad, she thought sourly, contrasting it with the humble stone cottage, the only place that had ever remotely come to resemble a home, a bare twenty miles away as the crow flew.
But at least there was no sign of the owner, so be grateful for small mercies, she told herself, wondering if they could possibly manage to avoid him all afternoon.
‘What do we do now?’ she asked. ‘Plant ourselves in front of the camera crews and grin?’
‘We circulate and give each other adoring glances,’ he said firmly. ‘Drink your fizz; it might put you in a better mood.’ He whisked her along paths and over expensively maintained lawns, mingling with various groups of guests, introducing her simply as Fenella, doing nothing at all to dampen the often openly inquisitive stares she was getting, speculative eyes watching her every move. She could almost hear them thinking, debating whether she was with Alex for love or for money.
There was a lot of well-mannered back-slapping, a lot of preening and a fair amount of talking shop and by the time they had worked their way through to the terrace beyond the hedge Fen had had more than enough.
The paving ran along the entire frontage of the spectacularly lovely house and was set with white-clothed buffet tables and bars, all perfumed and punctuated by terracotta pots brimming over with stately lilies. And in the middle distance, surrounded by a group of obvious sycophants, was Saul Ackerman.
Fen recognised him with a curious jolt right in the pit of her stomach. He was easily the most impressive male around—the handful of sexily handsome actors she had encountered notwithstanding.
Oh, drat it to Hades! She had really hoped she wouldn’t have to see him. Guilty conscience, she supposed. She had behaved badly that first time they’d met. Which didn’t mean she wouldn’t behave twice as badly if there happened to be a second time. And that wouldn’t do Alex’s career prospects a whole heap of good, she admitted. But then, she had never encountered anyone, male or female, who had aroused her to such a pitch of unthinking animosity. Her blood boiled whenever she thought of him!
‘We could leave now,’ she whispered to Alex out of the side