Pagan Enchantment. Carole Mortimer
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enough for one day—or night. Goodness, she was tired, and if she didn’t soon get this heavy make-up off she would break out in a rash. ‘If you’ll excuse me …’
‘Meredith—–’ his hand grasped her arm, the skin firm and tanned, with a light sprinkling of dark hair, the fingers long and tapered, very strong, as he held her immobile.
She looked from that hand into the hard, inflexible face. ‘Yes?’ She suddenly felt breathless.
‘Don’t let me down,’ he instructed softly. ‘It’s too important. All right?’
‘All—right,’ she nodded, wishing the tightness away from her chest. And miraculously it was as he released her. ‘Good—goodnight.’ She went into her dressing-room, not looking back, although she wanted to, if only to see if he were still there.
‘Well?’ Vanda pounced on her excitedly as she entered the room, looking more like her normal self, her short blonde hair now in evidence, the thick make-up removed now, showing her own clear complexion and sparkling blue eyes.
‘Well what?’ Merry said absently.
‘Has he offered you a part in his next film?’
‘Not yet.’
Vanda frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s eleven-thirty at night, much too late to be discussing anything. I’m exhausted! We’ve arranged to meet tomorrow,’ she revealed reluctantly, knowing Vanda wouldn’t rest until she knew everything. ‘For lunch,’ she supplied before the other girl asked, and pulled the pink wig off with a sigh of relief, taking the pins from her ebony-coloured hair, allowing it to cascade in gleaming waves down her back, the feathered fringe swept back either side of her small heart-shaped face. Next came the make-up, and her skin really started to feel uncomfortable. ‘Ugh!’ She removed the artificial lashes, cleansing her eyes of the black clog applied to them earlier, instantly looking more like her twenty years without the cheap image she had projected on stage.
‘Sounds promising.’ Vanda sat cross-legged on the sofa that was pushed against one wall of the small room. The two girls were the only ones left, the others having already gone home.
‘Mm, he said it was important,’ Merry said slowly.
‘Even if it’s only a small part—–’
‘Oh, it will be,’ Merry smiled ruefully, feeling more comfortable in her denims and casual blouse.
‘But just to work for Gideon Steele—–’
‘If he is Gideon Steele.’ She picked up her shoulder-bag. ‘Ready?’
Vanda followed her out of the theatre on their way to the Underground. ‘You surely don’t have any doubts about that?’ she frowned.
‘Well, Harry’s hardly a good character witness,’ Merry derided. ‘We all know Liam only got the male lead in the play because he’s Harry’s “friend”.’
‘But it was Gideon Steele. All six foot three, one hundred and seventy-five pounds, thirty-four years, black-haired, blue-eyed bachelor inch of him,’ Vanda finished breathlessly.
‘Know a bit about him, do you?’ Merry teased.
‘Not really,’ her friend said tongue-in-cheek. ‘His father is Samuel Steele, he owns one of the big airlines, I’m not sure which one. Well, I wasn’t really interested in his father,’ she protested at Merry’s mischievous derision.
‘Of course not.’
Vanda grinned, sitting beside her on the Underground train. ‘He’s really rich, you know.’
‘The father or the son?’ Merry mocked.
‘Both. His father’s loaded, but Gideon Steele is rich in his own right now. And his films speak for themselves.’
Yes, they did. After that first youthful mistake, they had all been masterpieces in their own way, and last year’s Oscar had been well deserved. If she could get a part in one of his films her career could really take off—and in the right direction this time! The sooner this play was over and forgotten the better she would like it.
Vanda was of the same opinion. ‘At least you’re in with a chance,’ she grimaced. ‘I think it’s back to the dole queue for me tomorrow.’
Merry’s eyes widened. ‘That soon?’
‘In case you didn’t notice, it was the critics who walked out first. This play will be heralded as Harry Anderson’s biggest folly to date.’
And indeed it was! The critics ripped him and the play to pieces. In fact, they didn’t have a good word to say for anyone in it either, although luckily no one was mentioned by name. When they turned up for rehearsal that morning it was to be told that ‘Mr Anderson has decided to take a cruise on his yacht. For an indefinite period’. All the staff were paid off, and they were all out of work again.
Merry dressed carefully for her luncheon appointment, wanting to make a good impression now that she had checked and found that Gideon Steele was who he said he was. It wasn’t too difficult to verify, he was a well-known personality in the crowd she mixed with, and it was rumoured that he was on the look-out for new talent for a film he intended doing later in the year.
She wished she hadn’t been so presumptuous as to choose the Ritz, though. It had been a perverse act of defiance on her part, and it had backfired on her. It wasn’t really her sort of place, not the pomp and ceremony, the snobbishness. Oh well, she would make the best of it. After all, she was an actress, wasn’t she?
None of her nervousness showed as she was taken to Gideon Steele’s table in the lounge area, and her red suit, the narrow skirt and blouson top, looked as good as any of the clothes the other women wore. Except the woman in the fur coat—and as she abhorred the killing of animals for furs, this really didn’t count.
Gideon Steele stood up as she arrived at the table, easily the most impressive man in the room, his light grey three-piece suit and black shirt perfectly tailored, very expensive by the look of the cut, his tie a perfect match in colour for the suit. And today the tinted glasses had been removed, revealing very deep blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, the face incredibly handsome in a rugged sort of way. Certainly handsome enough to star in one of his own films instead of just directing them!
If Merry was bowled over by his good looks he made no effort to hide his surprise at hers. ‘God …!’ his eyes were intent on her face and hair as she sat down, sitting down himself once she had done so. ‘I thought last night that the hair was yours!’
‘Pink?’ she derided with sarcasm, giving every impression of frequenting restaurants like this every day of her life.
He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘It was possible. Women today seem to dye their hair to match the colour of their clothes.’
‘I never wear black, Mr Steele,’ she told him coldly. ‘But my hair stays that colour.’
‘And green eyes.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s incredible!’
Those green eyes widened, the lashes thick and silky, naturally dark, the tips golden. ‘There’s nothing incredible about my colouring, Mr Steele.’
‘Oh yes, there is,’ he nodded, watching her with narrowed eyes. ‘Let’s go in to lunch and you can tell me about yourself.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she dismissed.
‘Nevertheless, I want to hear it.’ He stood up to pull back her chair for her, towering over her as they walked side by side into the dining-room, the walls lined with mirrors, the ceiling very ornate. Meredith had never been here before, and she found it all beautifully elegant.
For the next fifteen minutes she gave him a résumé of what she had been doing since she left school four years ago, hardly noticing the food that