Night Heat. Anne Mather
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you don’t?’
He shook his head. ‘There are other things in life besides dancing.’
Her lips twisted. ‘You have been talking to Vicki,’ she conceded ironically.
Tony Korda shrugged. ‘As I said a few moments ago, Sara, you’re a beautiful girl. Perhaps you weren’t meant to waste your life in hot theatres and even hotter studios.’
‘That’s your assessment of it, is it?’ Sara was trying very hard to be as detached as he was, but his ruthless candour was tearing her to pieces.
‘I think you’re allowing emotion to colour your judgement, yes,’ he said frankly. ‘So—you had an audition coming up. So what? You could have fluffed it!’
Sara bent her head, angry with herself for allowing him to upset her. ‘Do you mind going away?’ she exclaimed huskily, groping for a tissue from her bag. ‘I’m sure you think you know what you’re doing, but I can do without your amateur psychology.’
‘I’m no amateur psychologist,’ he asserted flatly. ‘I’m just trying to make you see that——’
‘—there are more things in life than dancing. I know. You already said that.’
‘That wasn’t what I was going to say, actually,’ he retorted, without heat. ‘I was going to tell you that sitting here feeling sorry for yourself is a form of self-indulgence. There are people much worse off than you are, believe me!’
Sara felt the warm, revealing colour fill her cheeks. ‘I’m sure there are …’
‘And I don’t just mean the millions who die every year from disease and malnutrition,’ he continued, his tone hardening. ‘You hurt your ankle, and it’s going to limit your career. But how would you have felt if you’d been completely immobilised?’
She held up her head, forcing herself to listen to him. ‘You said that with some feeling,’ she ventured at last. ‘Is there a reason?’
Tony Korda studied the amber liquid in his glass. ‘Yes,’ he admitted eventually. ‘Yes, there is a reason. My nephew had a car accident six months ago. He was only eighteen at the time. Now he’s paralysed from the waist down. It looks like he’ll be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.’
Sara caught her breath. ‘I’m sorry …’
‘Yes. So’s Jeff.’ Tony sounded bitter. ‘Unfortunately, being sorry doesn’t help at all.’
She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean——’
‘I know, I know.’ Tony was instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to sound as if I was blaming you. I was only trying to show you how futile a situation like that can seem to a boy of Jeff’s age.’
Sara nodded. ‘I’m sure it must.’
Tony sighed, his face taking on a brooding expression as he refilled his glass. There was silence for a pause, and then, as if compelled to go on, he added: ‘It doesn’t help that Link and Michelle—that is, my brother and his wife—seem to ignore his existence.’ He grimaced. ‘I guess your parents want you to go back home, eh? Didn’t Vicki say you came from up north somewhere?
‘I lived in Warwickshire for a number of years,’ admitted Sara, after a moment. ‘But my parents are dead. They died in a car crash when I was eight.’
‘Aw, hell!’ Tony swallowed the contents of his glass at a gulp. ‘Trust me to put my foot in it yet again! You’re going to have to forgive me. I guess I’ve had more of this stuff than I can handle.
‘It’s all right.’ And Sara meant it. Curiously enough, Tony had achieved his objective. Right now, she was more intrigued with his story than with her own. She wanted to ask him to go on, to explain what he had meant about his brother and sister-in-law ignoring their son’s existence, but of course she couldn’t. Nevertheless, his words had stirred a sympathetic chord inside her, and she felt for the youth whose future had been laid waste.
‘I didn’t mean to depress you, you know,’ Tony muttered now, filling his glass again. ‘God, I’m such a clumsy bastard!’
‘You haven’t depressed me,’ Sara assured him swiftly. ‘As a matter of fact …’ She hesitated before continuing, but then silencing her conscience, she added, ‘I’m interested.’
‘In Jeff?’ He blinked.
‘Well, in the reasons why you think his parents don’t care about him.’
‘Oh,’ he shrugged, ‘I don’t say they don’t care about him. I guess they do. They must, mustn’t they? But Michelle has her—commitments, and Link—well, I guess he’s too busy making money to care that his son’s bleeding to death!’
‘Bleeding to death?’ Sara exclaimed, appalled.
‘Emotionally, I mean,’ Tony explained himself. ‘The kid’s neglected! Left alone in that big house, week after week, with only the paid help for company—I’m surprised he doesn’t go round the bend!’
She moistened her lips. ‘Your brother lives out of London, then.’
‘Out of London?’ Tony blinked. ‘Hell, yes. He lives in New York.’
‘I see.’
‘I doubt you do.’ He took another mouthful from his glass. ‘My brother married an American, Sara. He’s lived in the States for almost twenty years. Jeff was born there.’
Sara frowned. ‘But your nephew lives in England, now——’
‘No! Jeff lives in Florida,’ amended Tony impatiently. ‘My brother owns a property there. A place called Orchid Key, about twenty-five miles north of Miami.’
‘Oh …’
Sara was beginning to understand, but before she could say anything more, Vicki’s faintly-intoxicated tones broke into their conversation. ‘You two seem to be hitting it off,’ she declared, leaning over the back of Sara’s chair and regarding the pair of them with evident satisfaction. ‘I thought you would. When are you going to come and work with us, Sara? Don’t tell me Tony hasn’t asked you, because I won’t believe it.’
Sara sighed, turning to survey her friend with some regret. Vicki’s intervention had terminated Tony’s narration, and she guessed from the way he greeted the other girl that he was not averse to the interruption. He was probably already regretting the fact that he had confided personal details to someone he barely knew, and she suspected that without his liberal intake of alcohol, he would never have spoken so frankly. As if to confirm that fact, Tony excused himself a few moments later, and Sara was left with the unpleasant feeling that she was to blame.
Even so, she could not resist the temptation later that night to quiz Vicki about her boss’s nephew. Having persuaded the other girl that she was tired. Sara offered to make a cup of hot chocolate when they got back to the flat, carrying it into Vicki’s room as she was creaming off her make-up.
‘Did—er—did you know Tony Korda’s nephew had been injured in a car accident?’ she asked casually, perching on the end of Vicki’s bed, her cup cradled in her hands. ‘He was talking about it tonight.’
‘Was he?’ Vicki had sobered considerably since encountering the cool October air, and her brows arched inquisitively at Sara’s well-schooled expression. ‘Yes, I knew.’
Sara’s lids fell defensively. ‘You didn’t mention it.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Vicki hesitated. ‘I thought it might upset you. Your parents, and so on.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Sara’s head lifted. ‘That was sweet of you, but honestly, it is more than ten years since the accident. And I’m not a child any more.’