La Vista, Palm Springs
October 1962
Red
What was it about this woman that she could hold his attention the way she did?
Had it not been necessary for him to fetch the steaks to put on the grill and to mix another round of martinis, Red would gladly have gone on listening to Romily for the rest of the day. But his stomach had begun to rumble with all the subtlety of a jet engine taking off, and she’d laughed, saying that she had better be quiet or they would never eat.
Pouring the vodka into the shaker with the vermouth, adding ice cubes and then shaking vigorously, he smiled to himself. When Gabe and Melvyn had started up about him collaborating with an acclaimed novelist from England, he’d visualised a wrinkled grande dame in tweeds with a face like an old boot. Never did he imagine a captivating woman who had the power to stop him in his tracks. Maybe even make him consider the improbable, that he could fall in love with her.
He shook his head in disbelief at such an idea. He was not the type of man who believed in love at first sight. Sure there had to be some kind of initial spark of attraction, but that was as far as he was prepared to go. He had always believed that to love – to love heart, body and soul – one had to dig down deep to find that particular buried treasure.
With most women he held himself in check, giving only of himself that which he was prepared to offer. That was why nothing ever lasted. The relationships he’d experienced had always been flawed for the simple reason the women wanted more than he would provide. He never blamed them for wanting more, it was entirely his fault he couldn’t give them what they wanted, and he made a point of saying so.
But along had come RomilyDevereux-Temple, and intwenty-four hours of knowing her, he was inexplicably thinking he might give more of himself to her than he had with any woman before. It was as if she had taken a knife to thelocked-down shell of him and was prising it open to get at his heart.
To prevent that happening, he had no choice but to deploy his tried and tested old techniques ofheavy-handed flirtation, knowing that she was not the kind of woman who would fall for it. But with each archly disapproving look she gave him, he felt that damned shell of his opening a tiny crack more.
To snap the shell shut again, to keep things entirely superficial, his tactic was to force her to keep talking about herself. While she spoke, he could observe her and figure out why he was reacting the way he was.
It was the damndest thing, but he could imagine that in another lifetime – when they’d both been young and carefree – she would have been the real deal for him. The whole enchilada, and some.
Had that Italian prisoner of war, Matteo, thought the same? Had he fallen under Romily’s spell the moment he set hisso-called sad eyes on her? Irrationally Red felt jealous of the guy having the chance to save Romily, to prove himself a hero and capture her heart. Because it sure as hell sounded like that was exactly what had happened. And had she deliberately told Red that story to say, ‘Look buster, you stand no chance against the memory of my perfect husband, and what’s more you,old-timer with your artificial leg, you are certainly not in the same league as a sexy Italian man who rescued me from a blazing inferno!’
He pulled himself up short. What the hell was this! What was he doing writing himself off as someold-timer? God damn it; he was a successful Hollywood scriptwriter, a bloody war hero who had bedded more women than he could remember, even with half his leg missing! So why now should he doubt himself?
Because this particular woman could see right through him.
And because there came a time when a person had to accept the obvious, that life lived on a superficial level was no longer enough. And at the age offifty-six, he had reached that point.
Gabe and Melvyn had said much the same to him only a few weeks ago.
‘Don’t you get tired of being the eternal playboy?’ Gabe had said.
‘Haven’t you ever wanted to settle down?’ Melvyn had asked.
They were both devout family men, which was unusual for Hollywood, where affairs were all part of the crazymerry-go-round.
He’d indulged in affairs with a few married women himself, a couple of actresses too, seeing that as an easy way to avoid having to get too serious. Such was the strict rules laid down by the studio bosses, no actress wanted her extracurricular activities made known, so they were as safe a bet as any for allowing him the pleasure of sex without commitment.
Put like that, he sounded just the lousy bum RomilyDevereux-Temple would wholeheartedly despise. Come to think of it, there were definitely times when he despised himself.
He poured the drinks into the cocktail glasses, placed them on a tray along with the plate containing the steaks and went back outside.
She was where he’d left her, sitting in the shade, her sunglasses off, her eyes closed in a tableau of perfect repose. She was so still he wondered if she were asleep. He wondered too what it would feel like to kiss those slightly parted lips of hers. No sooner had he thought this than she opened her eyes and for a guilty moment he could have sworn she’d read his mind and was about to rebuke him.
But she didn’t. Her voice, silky smooth, she said, ‘It’s so peaceful and relaxing here. I was close to nodding off.’
‘I’m glad you feel able to relax,’ he said, lowering the tray onto the roughly hewn table he’d made himself, and which he was rather proud of. He liked nothing better than to take a hunk of discarded timber and turn it into something useful. ‘How do you like your steak, rare or well done?’
‘Nothing in between?’ she asked, getting up to come and stand next to him.
‘Nope, not with me there isn’t,’ he said, ‘it’s all or nothing.’
‘Funnily enough I guessed that might be the case.’
‘Yes ma’am, what you see is what you get.’ He tone was upbeat and jokey.
