‘Who?’ Merry asked wearily, knowing there was always supposed to be ‘someone’ in the audience. There rarely was, and somehow she doubted it very much for this play—it would probably be closed down within the week! A dozen or so inexperienced actors and actresses parading about the stage wearing weird clothes and having shocking coloured hair—her own was pink!—spouting inane dialogue to the meagre audience, was not something that was likely to attract the interest of anyone who really mattered. In fact, it no longer held her interest—and she was appearing in it!

‘Gideon Steele!’ Vanda pulled on her own tight leather trousers and leather waistcoat, her hair bright orange, her own blonde hair hidden beneath the atrocious wig.

‘Don’t be silly,’ Merry dismissed, putting on a similar outfit, hating the amount of bare flesh it left. This play might have paid her rent for the last month of rehearsal, but even though it would once more leave her one of the numerous unemployed, she would be glad when it came to an end. It would probably never have opened at all if Harry Anderson, the author, hadn’t been rich enough to pay to have it put on himself. All it had proved was that you could put anything on the stage if you had the money to pay for it. Nevertheless, the critics would close this play as soon as possible; even Harry Anderson couldn’t expect them to play to an empty theatre! Although having come to know Harry this last month she thought maybe that wasn’t so unbelievable. Left a millionaire many times over three years ago when only twenty-two, he had more money than sense, as her father would have put it.

As for Gideon Steele being in the audience, it was not only unlikely, it was highly ridiculous. He had won an Oscar last year for best film director, his work being highly acclaimed by fellow directors and critics alike. And he wouldn’t come to see a play like this. Besides, he was a film director, not a stage director.

‘Handsome Harry said he is,’ Vanda used their pet name for Harry Anderson.

‘Wishful thinking,’ Merry grimaced. ‘Come on, the second act is about to start. And in case you forgot, we should be on stage.’

‘Okay,’ the other girl shrugged. ‘But take a look in the front row. I only saw him on the box last year at the awards, but I don’t normally forget a good-looking man,’ she gave an exaggerated leer, ‘and Gideon Steele is a handsome devil. In fact, he’s gorgeous! I’m sure it’s him. Your mascara has run.’ Vanda handed her a tissue. ‘God, this make-up is awful!’ She shook her head.

It certainly was. Stage make-up was always thick, necessarily so because of the lights, but as they played the parts of two showgirls their eye make-up was very thick too, their lip-gloss a deep slash of red across the mouth.

The second act went as badly as the first, and Merry saw several people actually get up and leave. But not the man sitting alone in the very front row, several vacant seats away from other people. She couldn’t see him clearly, just caught glimpses of him every now and then, a dark-haired man wearing glasses with tinted lenses, making it impossible for her to see the colour or expression of his eyes. He was sitting back in his seat, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other one, the elbow of one arm resting on the side of the chair, his hand up over his mouth partly obscuring his face.

‘Did you see him?’ Vanda asked as they came off to prepare for the third and final—perhaps in more ways than one!—act.

‘I saw a man,’ Merry nodded. ‘But the way he’s hiding his face he could be anyone.’

Vanda giggled. ‘You’d probably hide your face too if you were Gideon Steele watching a play like this!’

‘If he is Gideon Steele.’

‘He is,’ Harry spoke from behind them.

Vanda spun round. ‘He is?’ her pretty face lit up, although she looked very garish in the bright make-up. ‘He really is?’ She grabbed Harry’s arm.

‘Yes, darling, he really is,’ he drawled, his fair hair brushed back from a middle parting, a white silk scarf draped casually around his neck, falling loosely down over the black evening jacket he wore. His features were almost too perfect, making him occasionally look beautiful, like right now, aptly earning him the nickname of Handsome Harry. ‘But he isn’t here to see you,’ he told Vanda smugly. ‘He’s here to see Merry.’

Her head went up. ‘Me?’ she gasped. ‘You really mean me?’

‘Well, he took me to one side and asked me to point out which one was Meredith Charles. He said you all looked alike,’ he added with a disgusted sniff.

Merry frowned. ‘But why would he want to see me?’ she puzzled.

‘Use your head, darling,’ said Harry in his most affected drawl. ‘He’s casting his latest movie, maybe there’s a part in it for you.’

‘Step on to my casting couch!’ Vanda giggled. ‘I might even be persuaded to do that for a man like him.’

‘Really, darling,’ Harry drawled haughtily, ‘do have some class! That approach is old hat now. And you, darling,’ he spoke to Merry, ‘make a good impression, there’s a love.’

‘“There’s a love”,’ Vanda mimicked softly as he moved away. ‘Do you know why he calls us all darling or love?’

‘Why?’ Merry asked vaguely, wondering if Gideon Steele really did have her in mind for his next film. What a break that would be if he did. This awful play would have been worth it!

Vanda grimaced. ‘Because he can’t remember our names.’

‘Who can’t?’ she frowned.

‘Handsome Harry can’t. Hey, are you with me?’ her friend teased.

‘Sorry,’ she smiled. ‘I was just—I can’t believe Gideon Steele asked to see me!’

‘Fantastic, isn’t it?’ said Vanda without jealousy, her arm through the crook of Merry’s as they went to the dressing-room they shared with two other girls.

Merry was very nervous when she went back on stage, even more conscious of the man sitting alone in the front row. His hand was down from his face now, revealing deeply tanned skin, a long straight nose, the well-shaped mouth twisted derisively, the tinted glasses still hiding his eyes. Merry had always believed the eyes to be the mirrors of the soul,

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Pagan Enchantment Carole Mortimer

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Pagan Enchantment

Carole Mortimer