Wild Melody (7 page)

'Of course it is. I'll try and get you a pass to see round the TV centre too.

Perhaps you could watch the dress rehearsal for the play. I'm sure Hugo

wouldn't mind—he's the producer. I'll mention it to him.'

'I don't want to be any trouble...' Catriona began diffidently, and Sally

grinned at her.

'That's not what Jason said about you on the phone this morning. He said

you were a permanent thorn in his flesh— a little Scottish thistle.'

'And he,' said Catriona clearly, 'is quite the most arrogant,

detestable—creature I've ever met.'

'That's because you haven't met Moira,' said Sally.

THE rest of the week passed in a buzz of sightseeing for Catriona. To Sally's

amusement she bought a guide book and settled down to visit all the places

that had hitherto been only names to her.

"The Tower?' Sally gasped. 'I've never been there, and I've lived within

twenty miles of London all my life.'

'Then you should be ashamed,' Catriona told her with mock severity. 'It's a

fascinating place—all those stones steeped in history. Just think of all the

suffering that's gone on there down the centuries, the tears and blood that

have been spilled there.'

'There's enough blood and tears at the TV centre to last me for a while,' said

Sally with a groan. 'Keep up the good work, darling, and I'll try and make it

to the Zoo with you at least. I can't resist the bears.'

Under Sally's guidance, Catriona had made one or two modest additions to

her wardrobe and a dark green trouser suit with a sleeveless tunic top had

proved a favourite buy. Sally had shown her too how to blow-dry her hair

into the style she had worn at the party and encouraged her to experiment

with cosmetics in the day-time as well.

She had put the boxes with the evening gown and other articles on top of the

wardrobe, and to her relief Sally had never questioned her about them.

Nor did she hear from Jason Lord, although he had told her, 'Keep in touch.'

It was one of those meaningless phrases, like his perpetual 'darling', she told

herself. For the first few days, she had tensed each time the phone rang, but

it had always been for Sally, and Catriona found herself in the odd position

of not knowing whether she felt glad or sorry. She could tell herself

vehemently that if she never saw Jason Lord again, it would be too soon,

and yet at the same time it was not pleasant, she found, to be completely

ignored.

She was homesick too in many ways. The air of London felt thick after the

sparkling clarity of Torvaig with its sea and heather-laden breezes. The

anonymity of the place distressed her too, coming from a closely knit

community where a kindly interest was expressed in one's most mundane

doings. Catriona soon gave up searching the faces of the people she passed

in the street for some trace of friendly recognition.

Above all, she missed the sunsets and the blazing jewel colours that used to

herald twilight over the western sea. Aunt Jessie had told her when she was

a child that it was possible to pick up amethysts and sapphires in the hill

burns, and Catriona had been convinced for a long time that these jewels

were really pieces that had broken off the sunsets and been washed ashore

by the whispering tide.

Jeremy and she had spent one rainy day wading in one of the burns looking

for precious stones, she recalled with a pang. But they had found nothing,

which made the little ring he had bought her in Fort William doubly

precious. She still wore it on the chain round her neck because she could not

think what else to do with it. To wear it openly was out of the question, but

she could not bear to throw it away either.

Sometimes at night, when the noise of the traffic came between her and

sleep, a sudden wave of misery would sweep over her, and she would cry

into her pillow, fearful of waking Sally. In a way she welcomed the tears.

She felt this continual longing for Jeremy proved that Jason Lord was wrong

with his cynical remarks about the transitory nature of first love, although

why she felt it necessary to justify her emotions in this way was something

she did not probe too deeply.

Sometimes, as she wandered alone among crowded art galleries and

museums, she let herself daydream that Jeremy was with her. Once in fact

she had stepped through a doorway in the National Gallery and seen him

standing there, his back to her, studying a catalogue. It was only when she

ran to him and touched his arm and a stranger's face turned and stared down

at her that she realised her mistake and stepped back blushing hotly.

She still could not believe he was entirely lost to her. Money had never

seemed all important to him during their time together in Scotland. And if

that was all that was binding him to Helen, he could still be brought to see

that he was making a tragic mistake.

Jason had been right about one thing at least, she recalled, wincing. If she

had not seen Jeremy and Helen together at the party, she would never have

believed it.

Sometimes she wondered guiltily what Aunt Jessie would have said if she

had known her niece was hankering after a man who was openly pledged to

another girl. Aunt Jessie had always regarded an engagement as being as

binding as the marriage itself, and had clicked her tongue disapprovingly

over the feckless modern habit of breaking engagements without a

backward glance.

Catriona supposed this was why she still thought of Jeremy as belonging to

herself rather than to Helen. The little ring that still lay between her breasts

had been a symbol of something she thought would last for ever.

She told herself things would improve when she got a job and had more to

occupy her mind. And she was soon to start work. Sally had taken her along

to the agency she used herself between acting jobs, and Catriona blessed the

long evenings when Aunt Jessie had shown her typing and the intricacies of

book-keeping while she was still a schoolgirl. She had been given a typing

test at the agency and had impressed Miss Shaw, the supervisor, with her

speed and accuracy.

Miss Shaw looked Catriona over and nodded as if she was satisfied about

something.

'What sort of a job are you looking for, Miss Muir?' she inquired. 'A

temporary post to start with—or would you prefer something with a degree

of permanence about it?' She began to go through a card index file. 'There is

something here, as a matter of fact, that I feel might suit you. The

Henderson Trust is looking for a general office assistant.'

'Is it a big organisation?' Catriona asked a little apprehensively.

Miss Shaw's eyes twinkled. 'On the contrary, my dear. The Henderson Trust

was set up only a few years ago to provide a hostel for homeless people of

all kinds. If you took the post, you would be working at the hostel itself for

the director, Mr Milner.'

'He may want someone with qualifications,' Catriona said dubiously.

'I don't think you'll find him too exacting,' Miss Shaw promised her. 'Most

girls seem to want glamour jobs these days—air-conditioning and luncheon

vouchers—and I'm afraid the Trust doesn't fall into that category at all. The

money isn't quite as much as a City office would pay either, but I have a

feeling that you might find it congenial, and it will help you find your feet a

little if nothing else.'

She gave Catriona a green card to present at the Trust at nine o'clock the

following Monday morning and wished her luck.

Catriona thought Sally had forgotten her offer to show her round the TV

centre, but she was mistaken. Sally raised the subject while they were

washing up one evening.

'We're having a complete run-through tomorrow with full sets and

costumes prior to recording,' she said. 'I spoke to Hugo and he said you

could come as long as you were quiet as a mouse.'

'What did you say?' Catriona smiled, secretly thrilled at the idea of visiting

the studios.

'Oh, I said you were the image of a "wee, sleekit, cow'rin', timorous

beastie",' Sally responded, grinning. 'Rehearsal starts at one-thirty, so we

can have a good look round beforehand. And we're having lunch there,'

she added. 'By special invitation.'

'Oh. From whom?' Catriona asked, intrigued.

'Can't you guess?' Sally looked surprised. 'Oh, come off it, love. It's Jason,

of course. Who else could it be?'

Catriona felt stricken. She was aware that her face had flushed, and that

Sally was looking at her in amazement.

'Do we—have to?' she asked in a low voice.

'Well, yes—no. I mean, I don't see how we can get out of it.' Sally was

obviously perplexed. 'I'm sorry, love, I thought you'd enjoy it. I thought

you were friends.'

'That's not the word I'd have used,' Catriona said drily.

'Oh dear.' Sally looked downcast. 'I've never probed, but he did bring you

here, so I assumed . . .'

'I can guess,' Catriona said a trifle shakily. 'But it was never anything like

that, Sally. I—I swear it wasn't.'

'Well, I'll believe you,' Sally said cheerfully. 'But I honestly don't see how

we can dodge round this lunch. I'm a struggling actress, after all, and it is

his . . .' She stopped, red-faced, and went on hurriedly, 'He is an important

producer.'

Catriona wondered what Sally had intended to say, but decided with a

mental shrug not to pursue the point. Instead she sighed and said, 'Don't

worry, Sally. I can stand one lunch, I suppose. Just as long as I don't have

to be alone with him.'

Sally gaped at her. 'Well, you must be alone in feeling that,' she said at last.

'I can't think of any other girl I know who wouldn't give anything to be alone

with Jason Lord.'

Catriona smiled wryly. 'Perhaps that's why,' she said, more lightly than she

felt.

She was still on edge the next day as she and Sally walked the short distance

from the underground station to the massive glass and concrete complex

that was Home Counties Television.

At the same time, she was conscious she was looking her best in a scarlet

two-piece with a pleated skirt and short- sleeved jacket worn over a white

silk shirt. Jason Lord would find her very different from the shabby waif

who had arrived so unexpectedly on his doorstep, or who had masqueraded

in borrowed plumage at his behest, she thought, her firm little chin jutting

defiantly.

She felt less confident when the time came to pass the two security men on

the door, but they waved the two girls through with only a cursory glance at

their passes.

'We'll go up to Drama first so that I can drop these things off,' Sally

remarked as they waited for the lift, indicating the small cream-coloured

vanity case she was carrying.

Catriona felt an immediate stir of interest. The plays she had watched over

the past week or so were some of the things she had enjoyed most on

television, and she was keenly looking forward to seeing Sally in her new

role. She had read the script and cued Sally with some of her lines, so she

was quite familiar with the story.

'It's about the strain on a family when the elder of the two daughters

suddenly returns home for her younger sister's wedding to an old flame of

hers,' Sally had explained. 'It's a powerful piece of writing, but it has quite a

strong vein of humour in it too.'

'Who wrote it?' Catriona asked, idly glancing at the title page.

'Oh, it's a complete unknown, writing his first play,' Sally said, a little

hesitantly. 'They call him Jon Lisle.'

'What's wrong?' Catriona glanced at her, puzzled. 'It's not some deadly

secret, is it?'

'Of course not.' Sally gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. 'It's just that he

doesn't seem to want any personal publicity, that's all.'

Now, as they went up in the lift, Catriona said musingly, 'I wonder if he'll be

there.'

'Who?' said Sally.

'Your shy Mr Lisle. I'd love to meet him, Sally, just to tell him how good I

think his play is. Surely he wouldn't mind that.'

'We-ell,' Sally frowned a little. 'If I see him, I'll introduce you, I promise.

How about that?'

'That'll be great,' Catriona agreed, her eyes shining.

She was keenly interested in everything she saw when they emerged from

the lift. As well as a large studio, where the sets for Sally's play were

waiting, there were make-up rooms and a bustling wardrobe department.

'Generally we're allowed to wear clothes of our own choosing,' Sally told

her. 'The main thing the wardrobe is supplying for me this time is my

wedding dress.'

Catriona was introduced to a tall balding man in a baggy navy sweater with

large holes in the elbows who turned out to be rather surprisingly the

director, Hugo Desmond. If he was not entirely as Catriona had imagined a

dynamic television executive to be, she had to admit he had a most