HIS OTHER SON (17 page)

           
The
staircase was wide and
plushly
carpeted, leading up
through the centre of the house. The banisters swooped down in graceful arcs,
polished mahogany, supported by a lattice of black wrought iron. A huge crystal
chandelier was suspended from the ceiling at the top of the stairs, and lining
the walls were more of the abstract paintings that hung in the hall. It was a
curious mixture of old and new, of the classic and the starkly modern.

The
bathroom, in contrast to the hall was simple and functional. The tiles were
plain white, as was the suite, and the taps were modern chromium. She washed
her hands in the sink and dried them on towels warmed on a heated rail.

           
As
she stepped out onto the landing a movement at the far end attracted her
attention. A young woman turned the corner at the end of the landing and stood
watching Meg. Her long fair hair was parted in the centre and framed a
porcelain mask of a face – so much like the face that gazed back at her from
the mirror earlier that evening. The young woman raised her hand and beckoned
to her, and then moved quickly out of sight. Meg, her thoughts spinning, ran to
catch up with her, turning the corner at the end of the landing and finding
herself in a long corridor, lined with doors. There was a slight movement at
the end of the corridor, a flutter of pale material.

           
‘Wait!’
she called, and ran the length of the corridor.

           
She
turned the corner and almost pitched headlong down a flight of stairs. She
managed to grab the banister rail, but lost her shoe. It bounced and clattered
down the stairs and skidded across the lino-covered floor at the bottom.

           
She
paused to catch her breath, took off her other shoe to carry it, and walked
down the stairs. At the bottom she found herself in another corridor, but this
one painted a deep burgundy, and poorly lit by a single
unshaded
bulb. At the far end was a large door, oak, heavily panelled and imposing. A
shiver passed down her spine. There was something unsettling about that door.
She felt that behind it there were secrets she had no desire to discover. But
it was the only place the young woman could have gone and she desperately
wanted to talk to her, to find out who she was.

           
With
her bare feet making her approach silent, she crept along the corridor to the
door. She reached it and put her ear to the wood, trying to hear any sound
coming from behind it. She curled her fingers around the brass handle and
started to ease it down.

           
‘I’m
not sure you should be down here.’

           
With
a gasp she let go of the handle and spun around. The imposing figure of
Finlay
Crawford stood at the opposite end of the corridor,
a fierce expression on his face.

It was some moments later that Gareth,
realizing they were excluding Meg from the conversation, looked around to find
she was no longer standing with them. His eyes flicked about the room but
couldn’t see her. There was a small group of people surrounding a rather
beautiful woman over by the
french
doors, but Meg
wasn’t part of that group either.

           
Martin
noticed his friend’s distraction.
‘Something wrong?’

           
Gareth
shook his head.
‘No, not really.
Meg seems to have
wandered off, that’s all.’

           
‘Well
she can’t have gone far. She’s probably just gone to powder her nose.’

           
‘Probably.
Who’s that?’ he said, indicating the
cropped-haired woman.

           
‘
Narina
Dressler
. Rather stunning,
isn’t she?’

           
‘Is
she in the business?’

           
‘An
actress, I believe. She’s Austrian... done most of her work abroad. She’s here
tonight as
Finlay
Crawford’s companion. So she’s...’

           
‘Out of bounds?’

           
‘Well,
I’m not sure, but I’m taking no chances.
Finlay
Crawford is too important to the Stein organization for me to go stepping on
his toes.’

           
Gareth
started to laugh.

           
‘What
now?’ Martin said, puzzled.

           
‘The
look of disappointment on your face is priceless.’

           
‘Maybe,
but I learned a long time ago that not everything in the shop window is for
sale. Sometimes you just have to make do with what’s left.’ He sipped his drink
and changed the subject.
‘That young friend of yours for instance.’

           
‘Sorry,
Martin, but Meg’s out of bounds too. This is her first time away from home and,
I would think, very vulnerable to a wolf like you.’

           
Martin
was staring at
Narina
Dressler
over the top of his glass. She’d detached herself from her audience and was
about to slip out through the
french
doors. He
smiled. ‘Anyone would think I was a total cad.’

           
‘Martin,
you are, and both you and I know it so let’s not pretend, shall we? I should go
and find her,’ he said and headed off towards the stairs.

           
‘I
should think she’s been found by now,’ Martin said under his breath.

Meg felt herself blushing. ‘I… I’m
s...s…sorry,’ she stammered. ‘I took a wrong turning and got lost. I was trying
to get back to the party.’

           
His
face was like stone, unsmiling, implacable. ‘Well the party is not down here.
Come along.’ He made a quick beckoning gesture with his finger. Head bowed Meg
retraced her steps. Crawford picked up her shoe and was turning it over and
over in his hand. As she reached him he handed it to her. ‘I suppose you were
going to come back for this later,’ he said.

           
With
a sinking feeling Meg realised she’d been caught out in her lie. ‘I…I…’

           
A
smile suddenly split Crawford’s face, transforming him from a ferocious
schoolmaster, to a rather handsome matinee idol. Meg felt her stomach perform a
somersault. He was old enough to be her father, but he was incredibly
attractive. She smiled back shyly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I found myself down
here by chance and I’m afraid curiosity got the better of me.’

           
Crawford
smiled indulgently. ‘And we all know what curiosity did to the cat. These are
Clifford’s private quarters, and he hates to have his privacy invaded. I’d
better take you back to the party.’

           
He
stood aside to let her take the stairs before him. When they reached the top he
took her arm and guided her back along the landing. About halfway along
he
stopped. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked a
door. ‘You run along now,’ he said to her. ‘I shall be down shortly. I promised
Clifford I would provide a little entertainment later so I’d better prepare
myself. What’s your name, by the way?’

           
‘Meg,
Meg Johnson.’

           
‘And
are you in the business, Meg?’

           
‘I’m
an actress… and singer.’

           
Crawford
nodded.
‘A singer eh?
Well perhaps you and I should
duet later. What do you say?’

           
There
was something about the way he looked at her that told her he was not talking
about singing. She avoided his eyes. ‘I’d better get back to the party.’

           
Crawford
started to laugh, and was still laughing when he shut the door to the room. Meg
turned and was about to walk back to the party when she stopped. Standing at
the end of the landing, having just come up the stairs was the beautiful woman
with the cropped black hair. She was staring at Meg furiously. Flustered, but
strangely excited Meg walked quickly back along the landing to the stairs. As
she reached the woman she said, ‘Excuse me.’

           
The
woman stood to one side to allow her to pass, but Meg could feel her eyes
burning into her back all the way down the stairs. She reached the bottom,
almost bumping into Gareth who was on his way up the stairs.

 
‘I was just coming to find you,’ he said, and
then looked at her askance. ‘Are you all right? You’re blushing.’ He looked on
past her, back up the stairs at
Narina
Dressler
who was standing at the top, casually lighting a
cigarette but staring down at them. There was something in the woman’s eyes – a
curious mixture of amusement and contempt.

Meg
said, ‘I’m fine, really. Just a little flushed, that’s all. It’s very warm. I
think I could do with some fresh air.’
    

           
‘Come
on then,’ Gareth took her by the arm and led her back into the party, through
the
french
doors and out onto the veranda. The cool
evening air on her face revived her instantly and she took several deep
breaths, filling her lungs and letting the air out slowly.

           
‘Wait
here and I’ll fetch us some drinks.’

           
She
nodded and smiled, and turned to gaze out over the garden. It was huge and
floodlit. A gazebo stood in the centre of the sloping lawn, and she noticed
there were people inside, sipping drinks and talking. Beyond the garden was the
cliff edge, judiciously fenced off, and beyond that the sea. A great expanse
coloured crimson by the dying sun. It was a breathtaking view. Her mind was
spinning.
Finlay
Crawford had just made a pass at
her.
Finlay
Crawford!

‘
He’s
ruined many a promising career has that one.’
Mrs
Gafney’s
words echoed in her ears.

She shook her head to silence them. She
felt faint but would let nothing spoil this moment.

June
Gafney
flicked over the pages of the scrapbook. The earliest entry was a cutting from
a local newspaper, reviewing a school concert.

The star of this particular show was
eight-year-old Mary
Gafney
who sang
Nymphs and Shepherds
with a gusto and confidence that belied
her age.

There
were more, many more similar reviews, taking Mary up to the age of fifteen and
her first professional engagement in a pantomime. By this time she’d changed
her name from plain Mary Elsie
Gafney
to the more
exotic Marie Elise.

A NEW STAR IN THE MAKING

…The new production of Cinderella was
notable because of the debut appearance in the West End of a young woman whose
star is sure to burn brightly for many years to come. Fifteen year old Marie
Elise is possessed of a fine singing voice and is also an excellent dancer, but
her acting skills brought to the part of Cinderella a touching vulnerability
and an emotional depth that is sadly lacking in most modern pantomimes…

           
Mrs
Gafney
opened up a theatre programme and a sob caught
in her throat as the pretty face of her daughter smiled back at her from a
small black and white photograph. How quickly her daughter progressed from that
Christmas pantomime, to taking leading roles in plays by Coward and
Rattigan
. She was the star of her generation, feted by
critics, adored by the public, and dead by the time she was twenty-one.

WEST END ACTRESS FOUND DEAD

Police today are investigating the death
of the West End actress Marie Elise, who was found at her Holborn apartment
yesterday evening. Miss Elise was taken to St Bartholomew’s hospital where she
was pronounced dead on arrival.

Miss
Elise was appearing in
Blithe Spirit
at the Shaftsbury Theatre. Her fellow cast members treated the news of her
death with shock and surprise but insist that this evening’s performance of the
play will go ahead as planned…

She
closed the scrapbook, then placed everything else back into the suitcase and
took it back to the bedroom. Back in the kitchen she poured herself another
sherry, downed it in one swallow and poured another, then went through to the
hall and picked up the telephone. She dialled a familiar number. A gruff male
voice answered.

‘Hello,
lover,’ she slurred. ‘I’m lonely.
D’you
want
to come over?’

‘Okay.
Twenty minutes,’ the gruff voice said.