Shadow Marriage. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
after all Hollywood was home to him now and he must have grown accustomed to all the luxuries it offered, Sarah wondered what he would say if she confided to him how thrilled she was that they were filming on location.
‘Well, here we are,’ Dale announced fifteen minutes later as he pulled off the main road and they bumped down a dusty, narrow track.
Ahead of them a collection of lights shone from the windows of large trailers, and the guard on duty at the makeshift ‘gate’ grinned a welcome to Dale, eyeing Sarah with a flat curiosity that made her raise her eyebrows a little. ‘He obviously thinks I’m someone you’ve picked up for the evening,’ she commented to Dale as he parked his car outside a darkened trailer and Paul got out, having wished them both goodnight,
‘And he’s probably envying me,’ Dale retorted with a grin, coming round to open her door. ‘By the way,’ he added casually, ‘one of the problems we have here is that we’re a little short on accommodation at the moment. Will you slap my face, sweetling, if I suggest you share with me for tonight? There’s a separate bedroom, and rather than rouse half the outfit…’
Hiding her surprise, Sarah nodded her agreement. A glance at her watch showed her that it was after one in the morning, and her body ached for sleep. She knew Dale well enough to know that she could trust him, and although she had half expected to have to share a trailer—accommodation always being notoriously problematical on location—she had reckoned on sharing with one of the other girls.
‘You were to have shared with Gina,’ Dale explained to her as he extracted a key from his pocket and unlocked the metal door, flicking on the light as he did so, and allowing Sarah to step past him into the illuminated interior, ‘but our dear Garia kicked up a fuss. It seems that sharing with someone would not be convenient—unless of course that someone happens to be our director. However, Ben isn’t playing—at least not publicly. With all the other problems he’s got on his hands, I don’t suppose he’s any too keen to upset one of our backers. He’s going to have a hard time of it, trying to appease both Gina and her lover. He could, of course, always bow out and let someone else take over, but his last film wasn’t exactly a box-office winner and…’
‘Oh, but surely,’ Sarah broke in impulsively, without thinking, ‘it got the Best Film Award, and…’
‘It might have got the Award, sweetling,’ Dale told her dryly, ‘but if you want my opinion, Ben over-stepped himself, spending so much on making it, and that money won’t be easily recouped. Would you like a drink before I show you to your room, madam?’ he parodied, laughing at her, as he changed the subject and indicated one of the three doors leading off the narrow corridor which ran from the living area in which they were standing, and down past a small but very highly sophisticated kitchen.
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go straight to bed,’ Sarah told him, suddenly conscious of the hectic day behind her, fulfilling the last of her ad commitments, and the long journey to their destination. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up for tonight, Dale, I could…’
Was there a touch of impatience in the frown lining his forehead? Dale was probably tired, too, and she was fussing unnecessarily, Sarah told herself when he assured her that he didn’t.
‘Come on, you can have this room. I’ll say this for Guy,’ he added as he pushed open the door, ‘these trailers are well equipped, even down to air-conditioning. He even had a temporary pool installed on the site. Not that we get much chance to use it with dear old Ben in charge. He’s a real slavedriver!’ He slanted Sarah a sideways glance, and her scalp prickled with sensitive awareness. There had always been keen competition between the two men, but now she sensed that this had changed, deepened in some way, and this suspicion was confirmed when Dale said slowly, ‘He’s changed since we filmed Shakespeare together, Sarah, and much as I hate to say it, he’s a sore loser. Don’t worry about it, though,’ he told her, his expression lightening, ‘Uncle Dale’s here to protect you.’
Was the air-conditioning the sole reason she was shivering? Sarah wondered half an hour later as she prepared for bed in the small but luxurious ‘room’ Dale had given her. It was senseless unpacking until she discovered where she was to stay, so, having showered in Dale’s minute but compact bathroom, she pulled on the nightdress she had extracted from one of her cases and climbed into bed.
It was silly to feel so apprehensive simply because she was working with Ben again. He would want to forget the past as much as she did. Hadn’t he said when he stormed out of their room on the night of the party that he never wanted to set eyes on her again? So why hadn’t he agreed to their divorce? Perhaps Dale was right and he was worried that she might make a huge financial claim on him—after all, he was now a very successful and presumably wealthy man. Her face tightened in disgust. He had indeed changed if he thought she would take a single penny from him. All she wanted was her freedom.
She sighed, remembering how she had fretted over the difficulty in getting a divorce. Her solicitor had been patient, but clearly a little at a loss.
‘Is there someone else you want to marry?’ he had enquired, and when Sarah shook her head had looked both thoughtful and perplexed, pointing out that the waiting period was meant to give couples a chance to see if they could not bury their differences and make a go of their marriages. A tight fist seemed to grip her heart, squeezing it until the pain was almost more than she could endure. What was the matter? Sarah asked herself bitterly. Surely she had learned long ago the folly of loving Ben? Hadn’t his treatment of her then—seducing her and then marrying her simply to get one up on Dale—killed all she had ever felt for him? So why did she feel this nerve-clenching sense of apprehension, and yes, anticipation at the thought of seeing him?
Too tired to find an answer to the riddle, she fell into an exhausted sleep.
The unfamiliar noises of the site woke her, and Sarah opened her eyes slowly, sitting upright when she remembered where she was. She glanced at her watch. Just gone seven, and already, if the sounds she could hear were any indication, the day’s work was well under way.
Showering quickly, she returned to her room to pull on a checked cotton shirt and some ancient jeans, brushing her hair quickly and securing it off her face with a band. The first thing she had to do was to find Ben’s assistant, report in to him or her and find out when she would be needed for filming.
Fortunately the weeks in between learning that she had got the part and her arrival in Spain had given her enough time to learn her lines, although she was fully prepared to find that some of them might have been changed in the interim. Would the mysterious author of the film script be in evidence? It wasn’t entirely unheard-of for writers to want to be present when their work was filmed, and since apparently the writer had also done the film script it was perfectly feasible that he would be on site. Sarah’s stomach tightened in a small thrill of anticipation and, chiding herself for being too impressionable, she quickly packed up her things and straightened the bed. It was almost as though she had a crush on the man—and without knowing the first thing about him! But that wasn’t true, she admitted thoughtfully. She did know about him. It was impossible to read the script and not be aware that he was a man of considerable compassion; of deeply felt but perhaps sometimes hidden emotions; a man to whom loyalty and self-respect meant far more than the indulgence in momentary pleasure.
There was no sign of Dale when she emerged from her room, and not knowing whether he was still asleep or already working, Sarah found the coffee percolator and filled it almost automatically, unable to resist the temptation to open the door and enjoy the lazy warmth of the morning as she waited for it to be ready. Later on the heat might be oppressive, especially if she was working, but right now it was just perfect, the tender fingers of morning sunshine warming the bare skin of her throat and arms, making her want to bask like a lazy cat. She closed her eyes languorously, opening them again quickly as a shadow blotted out the warmth of the sun, some sixth sense alerting her, awareness prickling dangerously over her skin as her muscles tightened and she saw that the object that had come between herself and the sun was none other than her husband, Benedict de l’Isle, director and producer and the Most Important Man under God on the site.