Fast And Loose

Wary of being baited again, Darcy held back on any further protests until the waiter had safely departed and they were alone.

‘You should be grateful that I’m taking the female lead,’ she said as she renewed her attack. ‘You obviously aren’t aware of this but last winter I received an award for the Best Young British Actress of the Year. It’s an acknowledgement of outstanding performance given to actresses under thirty and it’s been won by a long line of women who are now some of this country’s most distinguished actresses.

‘I deserved the award,’ she went on, with a little puff of self-importance and more than a touch of grandeur, ‘and I was far ahead of the rest of the field.’

‘Wowee,’ Keir said, placing a fist to his brow in a gesture of mock exultation, but she ignored him.

‘I received the award for playing a difficult part in which I was totally realistic and totally convincing, and I’ve been totally convincing in all the other parts I’ve done, whether they’ve been on the stage or on television. My stage credits have included…’

As she catalogued a trio of West End successes Darcy listened to herself in surprise. She had been grossly sceptical of the award, as she was of all acting awards, yet this evening she had flaunted it. Also, mention the word ‘publicity’ and normally she cringed, yet now she was publicising herself and doing an excellent job.

Maybe she could be accused of going over the top, but it could not be helped. What mattered was making Keir realise, and acknowledge, that in her he had a jewel, a veritable diamond.

‘And ever since I won the award scripts have been thudding through my letter box, including some from Hollywood film producers,’ she informed him in a voice which thumbed her nose and said, So there! ‘Maurice is urging me to grab the scripts with two sweaty hands,’ Darcy went on, then hesitated, frowning. ‘However——’

‘I know about your award,’ Keir interrupted, as though her hard sell had exhausted his patience and any more would have had him stampeding hysterically for the door. ‘I also saw the play and was impressed.’

‘You did?’ she said in surprise. ‘You were?’

‘Most impressed.’

Coming from a director of his clout, this was praise indeed—but Darcy refused to blubber her thanks or even smile. Instead she coolly tossed the drift of dark curls back from her shoulders. ‘So you should’ve been,’ she said.

Keir had started to eat and he nodded towards her plate. ‘Don’t let your meal go cold.’

Obediently she picked up her knife and fork and for a few minutes they ate in silence. ‘So why aren’t you happy with either Jed or me?’ she demanded, when her lamb cutlets had been reduced to bone. ‘I’m——’

‘A phenomenal actress. Message received and understood.’ His look was sardonic. ‘But I didn’t say Jed or you—my reference was to Jed and you together. Have you met the guy?’ She shook her head. ‘I have and——’ He broke off. ‘How tall are you?’

‘Five feet nine.’

‘He’s much the same, in his built-up heels. But the male lead’s height is important because it’s integral to the plot that he’s seen to physically dominate the girl. Some actors—good stage actors—could create the illusion despite the lack of inches, but Jed? I doubt it.

‘He’s also dark and so are you, but a visual contrast would be better. The two characters are supposed to be chalk and cheese, different in many ways, until finally they join together.’ He eyed her sable-brown curls. ‘I couldn’t persuade you to get busy with the bleach bottle?’

‘Persuade?’ Darcy said warily. ‘Going platinum isn’t stipulated in my contract?’

‘Nope.’

She expelled a sigh of relief. As soon as she could she would go through the small print with a fine-tooth comb. ‘Then no chance.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Keir said, and, stretching an arm across the table, he entwined a wisp of her hair around a long finger. ‘You have beautiful hair.’

‘Thanks,’ Darcy said, and drew back, forcing him to draw back too. She knew that it was simply his charm kicking in and her common sense kicking out, yet his touch seemed alarmingly intimate. Like a lover’s touch. ‘So you have your doubts about Jed’s capabilities too?’ she enquired.

Keir nodded. ‘Between you and me, I feel that in insisting on taking on the role he’s being overly ambitious. By far. That said, I’ll squeeze as good a performance as it’s possible to get out of the guy and I won’t let him turn the play into a piece of hokum.

‘However,’ he added, with a faintly mocking twist to his mouth, ‘while I hesitate to step on your ego—or put myself at risk of an impromptu vasectomy—don’t forget that it’s Jed who’ll bring in the audiences. You might be the cat’s pyjamas of the British stage but in the States you’re an unknown.’

Aware of being adroitly cut down to size, Darcy gave a thin smile. ‘True.’

‘Though,’ he continued, ‘there are some who’ll recognise you as Sir Rupert Weston’s daughter.’

She shot him a glance. His expression looked benign but did she detect condemnation again or could this be a jibe? From the start of her career Darcy had had to face comments, sometimes envious, sometimes scathing, about how she was following in her father’s footsteps, yet doing so had not been easy. His fame was a doubleedged sword in that while it had opened some doors it had closed others; and on the occasions when she had got inside she had had to perform and expectations had been high.

‘True,’ she repeated, being determinedly noncommittal. ‘Why did you agree to direct the play if you have doubts about Jed Horwood?’ she enquired, when they had both refused dessert but ordered coffee.

‘Because it’s so cleverly plotted and the dialogue crackles with such credible passions that, given dedicated performances, it has the ability to be theatrical dynamite. And because my financial deal is excellent.’

‘It is?’ she said, with a frown.

He nodded. ‘I had something going which I was reluctant to leave, but a special deal whereby I get a percentage of the profits was hammered out and I agreed,’ he explained. He swirled the remaining red wine in his glass. ‘I also agreed because the rehearsals and previews take place in Washington.’

‘What’s special about that?’

‘I live in Washington.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Darcy said, thinking that in fact she knew very little about his private life.

‘In Georgetown, so it means I’ll be able to keep a handle on—the rest of my activities,’ he said vaguely, ‘which is useful.’

His activities? What did he mean? she wondered, and it suddenly occurred to her that her one-time hero could now have a wife and it might be family life which demanded his attention. A line cut between her brows. The idea shocked and oddly jarred.

‘Are you married?’ she enquired.

‘No,’ he replied a little brusquely.

‘Oh, I just thought that, well, your looks and your talent make you quite a catch——’

‘You’re not praising me?’ Keir drawled when she stopped, aware of talking herself into an awkward verbal corner.

‘And you’re thirty-six, which is a marriageable age,’ Darcy finished in a rush.

‘I’m still single,’ he said, and raised his glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to the success of the play and here’s to the next time we meet—in Washington in a fortnight.’

‘A fortnight? You mean in a month,’ she protested.

‘No. This appears to be something else which Maurice neglected to mention,’ Keir said mordantly, ‘but rehearsals start in two weeks’ time. As you know, the lead roles are complex and, while Bill Shapiro may’ve been happy with a month of rehearsals overall, I’m not. I want two weeks with you and Jed working on the script together and alone before the rest of the cast arrives. OK?’

‘Do I have a choice?’ Darcy enquired tartly.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth and he shook his head. ‘None,’ he said.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ea0bb673-d28d-5493-a4e6-f60b604de36d)

FASCINATED by the panorama which stretched for miles into the hazy, shimmering distance, Darcy gazed out of the tenth-floor window. As her eyes travelled across rooftops, traffic-dotted streets and swaths of green to focus on the dome of the Capitol, gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, she smiled. This was her first time in Washington and her plane had only touched down a couple of hours ago, yet already she was enchanted.

‘Jim-dandy city, ain’t it?’ the friendly black cab driver had said, noticing her pleasure on the journey in from the airport, and she had assured him that with wide boulevards, majestic memorials and squint-white obelisks Washington lived up to its claim of being the greatest free show on earth.