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  Meg hesitated. ‘Er...’

  ‘Or kippers?’ Mrs Gafney added. ‘ And I can do you a nice piece of smoked haddock if you prefer something lighter.’ The aggression from the night before was gone, and she seemed none the worse for wear from her drinking session.

  ‘No, eggs and bacon will be fine. No fried bread though. Just toast.’

  Mrs Gafney nodded approvingly. ‘You can’t beat a good breakfast. Sets you up for the rest of the day.’ The woman went back to the kitchen and moments later Meg heard fat sizzling as the bacon hit the frying pan.

  She’d nearly finished eating by the time Gareth came down for breakfast. He was badly hung over and couldn’t be sure what time he’d arrived back at the guesthouse, though he vaguely remembered the sun coming up over the rooftops. He sat down at Meg’s table and picked up the teapot. ‘Do you mind?’ he said.

  ‘No, please, help yourself... though it’s probably stewed by now.’

  ‘As long as it’s wet and warm.’ He reached across to another of the tables and picked up a cup and saucer. He poured the dark brown liquid from the pot, added a dash of milk, sipped it gingerly and grimaced.

  ‘I told you it would be stewed,’ Meg said. ‘About last night... I’m sorry but I behaved like a bit of an idiot.’

  Gareth shook his head. ‘You were ill.’

  ‘No,’ Meg said. ‘I’m afraid that was a bit of an act. I think I was just feeling out of my depth and a little intimidated.’

  ‘You should have said.’

  Mrs Gafney entered the dining room, saw where Gareth was sitting and glared at Meg. ‘Your table is over here, Mr Barker,’ she said to Gareth indicating a table set in the bay window of the room.

  ‘I prefer to sit here,’ he said. ‘If that’s all right.’

  The landlady scowled at him and ran through the breakfast menu with clipped economy. When she’d returned to the kitchen Meg said, ‘Finlay Crawford rang me last night.’

  ‘I thought he might. I gave him the number. I hope you don’t mind.’

  Meg shook her head. ‘No, not at all. I just thought it was rather strange, that’s all. After all, it’s not as if he knows me. We barely spoke at the party.’

  ‘I think he found you very attractive. I saw the way he was looking at you when he was playing. It was as much as he could do to keep his eyes off you. Which is probably what put Narina Dressler’s nose out of joint.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Stunningly beautiful. Short dark hair.’

  The woman she’d encountered on the landing.

  ‘I saw her later in the evening talking to Martin. She had a face like thunder.’

  ‘So this Nar… what was it?’

  ‘Narina Dressler,’ Gareth said.

  ‘So this Narina Dressler is what to Finlay Crawford? His girlfriend… his fiancée… his wife? What?’

  ‘None of them, or so it would appear. Martin described her as Finlay’s companion, but I was talking to Clifford later and he was saying their relationship was strictly professional… but I’m not sure I believed him. There must be something deeper between them or she wouldn’t have taken such exception to the interest Finlay was showing you.’

  She stood up abruptly.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To telephone Finlay Crawford and tell him I won’t be accompanying him for coffee. There was something very unpleasant going on at that house last night.’

  ‘What do you mean, unpleasant?’

  Meg told him about her encounter with Finlay Crawford – although she didn’t mention the pale girl who’d led her to the burgundy corridor – about Narina Dressler witnessing Crawford making a pass at her, and the look the woman gave her. Finally she told him about the incident on the veranda between Stein and Narina Dressler that prompted her to leave the party.

  ‘I’d convinced myself that it was just me being naïve, you know the country bumpkin, out of her depth in the world of the sophisticated socialites. But the more I think about it now the more I think they were a fairly unpleasant bunch of people. I’m sorry, Gareth, I know they’re your friends, but I don’t think I want them to be mine.’

  ‘You should have told me all this last night. I had no idea Finlay made a pass at you. As I said, I knew he had eyes for you, but I’d no idea it had already gone further than that.’

  ‘You would have still given him the telephone number.’

  Gareth avoided her eyes

  ‘Well, you would wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t refuse the great man. Goodness knows what damage he could do your career.’

  Gareth was suddenly angry. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and threw it down on the table. ‘You really do have a lot to learn, and you’d better learn it fast if you ever want to make a serious career out of showbusiness. Listen, more can be achieved over a sociable cup of coffee than attending a hundred auditions. When someone of the standing of Finlay Crawford tells you to jump, you don’t ask why, you ask how high. And yes, it will do me no harm at all earning Finlay’s gratitude. Look,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I’ve told no one this, and I don’t want you to breathe a word of it to anyone else, but I’ve decided that unless I get a serious break that sends my career spiralling upwards, I’m quitting this business at the end of the year. Finlay Crawford and Clifford Stein are putting on a series of shows in the West End, and for the first time in my life I feel that I’m in with a fair chance of landing a reasonable part, and all because of seven little numbers. If I’d not given Finlay the telephone number here, do you think he would have offered me a private audition on Sunday when we go over there?’

  Meg was equally angry. ‘So I’ve been bought and paid for. Bartered like some… some sixpenny whore!’

  The newlyweds stood up and left the dining room, giving them both a look of disgust.

  Gareth’s anger evaporated. Meg was absolutely right. He’d behaved abominably. He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly.

  She sat down and took his hand. ‘So am I. Anyway, you’re probably right. I have got a lot to learn. I entered this profession thinking I could make a go of it based on my talent alone. I’d heard stories, rumours, and friends warned me what this business was like, but I really thought it would be different for me.’

  ‘Are you still going to cancel Finlay? I warn you now, he won’t take it well.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said.

  ‘Look, if it makes you more comfortable I’ll come with you to meet him.’

  ‘A chaperone?’

  ‘If you like. I feel responsible. I got you into this.’

  She reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘No you didn’t. I got myself into it. If I hadn’t been so nosy and gone exploring Stein’s house I would never have met Finlay Crawford, and we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation. Thanks,’ she said. ‘I may take you up on your offer.’

  Outside the door June Gafney stood wringing her hands and listening to the conversation. It’s happening again, she thought, tears again running freely down her cheeks. It’s happening again!

  By mid-morning Meg decided to accept Finlay Crawford’s invitation for coffee. Despite her better judgement the man fascinated her, and it was also a huge boost to her ego that he should be interested in her. During a break in rehearsals she found the scrap of paper on which she’d scribbled his telephone number, went out into the theatre’s lobby where there was a pay phone, and dialled.

  The telephone was answered almost at once by a woman with a slightly Germanic accent, and Meg’s knees turned to jelly when she realised she was talking to Narina Dressler.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the Dressler woman was saying, ‘but Finlay has been called back to London on some rather urgent business. I shall tell him of the telephone call when he returns. Who shall I say was calling?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Meg said and was about to hang up when the other woman said, ‘Wait! Please don’t hang up. It’s you, isn’t it? The girl from last ni
ght?’

  Meg hesitated. ‘Yes. Yes it is.’

  ‘I think we need to meet,’ Narina Dressler said.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea.’

  ‘Please.’ There was a note of desperation in her voice and Meg found her resolve wavering.

  ‘Very well,’ she said after a few moments.

  ‘Thank you. I can come to the theatre.’

  ‘No,’ Meg said quickly. She preferred neutral territory. ‘We could meet on the pier. There’s a cafeteria just before the entrance we could meet there in, say, half an hour?’

  ‘Very well,’ Narina Dressler said and hung up.

  Meg replaced the receiver and stood staring into space, her thoughts racing. What had she just agreed to?

  Gareth stood in the wings, watching while Ronnie Miller ran through his numbers in the show with the pianist Ted Taylor. Taylor was an old hand and Gareth had worked with him before. He knew that Ted was a true professional, who took work seriously but never let it interfere with his philosophy of living life to the full and enjoying every moment. When Miller called a break Taylor got up from the piano and came across to where Gareth was standing.

  ‘Good set of lungs that boy,’ he said, jerking his thumb back at Ronnie Miller who was charming two of the girls from the chorus with his patented Irish blarney.

  ‘He can certainly hold a tune,’ Gareth said.

  ‘When was it we last worked together on a show?’ Taylor said, sprinkling some tobacco into a cigarette paper.

  ‘Three years ago. Boys Will Be Boys, at the Apollo.’

  ‘Really? What a stinker that was. So why are you still in the chorus? With your talent I had you marked down for greater things.’

  Gareth shrugged. ‘You need the breaks in this business. Mine have been few and far between. Actually, I’m hoping something might come my way soon. Did you know Finlay Crawford is in town? He’s staying at Clifford Stein’s house.’

  Ted Taylor’s eyes narrowed. He ran the rolled up cigarette paper over his tongue to gum it down. ‘So?’

  ‘I’ve managed to wangle a private audition with him on Sunday for the series of shows he’s producing next year.’

  Taylor pulled a book of matches from his pocket and lit the cigarette, blowing smoke up at the flies. ‘Well, I’m very pleased for you… But you know what they say, he who sups with the devil should use a very long spoon.’ He winked, but before Gareth could ask him what he meant he walked back to his piano and sat down, his fingers running over the keys, playing the arpeggio introduction to Ronnie Miller’s next song.

  The door at the back of the theatre banged shut and Meg came down the aisle towards the stage. Gareth jumped down to speak with her. ‘I’ve decided,’ he began. ‘I’m coming with you to see Crawford,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not meeting Finlay Crawford. He’s been called back to London on business.’

  ‘Oh,’ Gareth said, wrong footed. ‘Well, that’s all right then. Only I…’

  ‘But…’ Meg interrupted him. ‘I am going for coffee with Narina Dressler. I spoke to her on the phone and she said she’d like to talk to me.’

  ‘What about?’

  On the stage Ronnie Miller stopped singing. ‘Could we have some quiet down there please?’ he called to them.

  ‘Sorry,’ Gareth called back. ‘What about?’ he whispered.

  ‘I really don’t know, but I must admit I’m curious. And,’ she added, ‘scared out of my wits. She’s a very intimidating lady.’

  ‘Where are you going for coffee?’

  ‘I suggested the cafeteria on the pier. We’re meeting there.’

  ‘Well the offer is still there. I’ll come with you if you wish.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you, but I think this is women’s business. I think she just wants to make sure I’ve got no designs on Finlay.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘Gareth, he’s old enough to be my father.’

  ‘He’s old enough to be Narina’s father, and it hasn’t stopped her.’

  ‘Good point. But seriously, while I’d be flattered if Finlay Crawford is interested in me I’ve no real desire to pursue it further. And that’s what I’ll be telling Narina Dressler. Hopefully it will put her mind at rest and make it a little less awkward when we go over there on Sunday.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens. I’ve got to fly.’ She pecked him on the cheek and ran silently back up the aisle and out the double doors.

  Gareth put his fingertips to his cheek. He could still feel the warm moistness of her lips. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was becoming very fond of Meg Johnson.

  A layer of grey cloud was obscuring the sun and there was an unseasonable chill to the air as Meg walked the mile from the Winter Gardens to the pier. She shivered as she walked along, but whether that was due to the weather, or because she was nervous she wasn’t sure. As the pier came into view she quickened her pace. She reached the cafeteria and looked in through the window. At a table in the far corner sat Narina Dressler. She was dressed in a black sweater and slacks. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but she looked across at Meg as she entered and beckoned her across. There were two cups of coffee on the table in front of her. As Meg sat down she slid one across to her, took off her dark glasses and set them down on the table. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said.

  Meg picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. It was strong and bitter. She reached for the sugar dispenser and poured a measure into her cup, stirring it in to the dark liquid with a spoon. ‘I must say, I’m a little intrigued as to why you wanted to meet with me,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think you are that naïve,’ Narina Dressler said. ‘I heard what Finlay was saying to you on the landing. A duet! Ha!’ She leaned forward in her seat and lowered her voice. ‘If Finlay is attracted to you – and I believe he is – then there is very little I can do about it. Finlay is very dear to me… I love him, and I don’t think I could bear to lose him. So I’ve asked you here to beg you not to take it further. I know I am asking you to make a very great sacrifice, but I don’t really see what else I can do.’

  Meg looked at her over the top of her coffee cup. She felt sorry for the woman. Being in love with someone like Finlay Crawford could not be easy. He was a hugely successful man, immensely popular, as well as being rich and very good looking. Anyone having a relationship with him would be incredibly insecure and vulnerable. She felt it only right to put the woman’s mind at rest.

  ‘I have no designs on Finlay Crawford,’ she said.

  Hope flared in Narina Dressler’s eyes to be replaced quickly with suspicion. ‘But he is a very handsome man,’ she said.

  Meg laughed. ‘Yes, I know he is, and I’m very flattered if, as you say, he finds me attractive. But I have no desire to enter into a relationship with anyone at the moment, least of all Finlay Crawford.’

  Narina Dressler put her sunglasses back on and swallowed the last of her coffee. ‘Then I think I have behaved very foolishly,’ she said and got to her feet. ‘I shouldn’t have asked you here. I’m sorry if I have wasted your time.’

  Before Meg could respond the woman walked to the door of the cafeteria stepped outside and moved quickly back along the pier to the road. As she reached it a black Jaguar pulled into the kerb and Jarvis, Clifford Stein’s butler got out of the driver’s side and came around the car to open the door for her. Without a backward glance Narina Dressler stepped into the car and slammed the door. A few seconds later the car eased away from the kerb and was soon lost in the other holiday traffic.

  The suddenness of Narina Dressler’s exit left Meg breathless, feeling she’d in some way been hoodwinked. It was as if there was no real reason for the woman to ask her here. Moreover she was not entirely convinced by Narina Dressler’s performance as the slighted and wronged lover. Performance! That’s exactly what it was. Narina Dressler was acting… and not very convincingly. But why? And who’d put her up to it?

  The answer to that question dropped into her min
d.

  Clifford Stein!

  She remembered the incident on the veranda. Stein’s dominance of the woman, her tears. Would he have really acted like that if Narina was in fact Finlay Crawford’s partner? Or was it really as he’d told Gareth, that Finlay Crawford and Narina Dressler’s relationship was strictly professional? Meg was confused. How on earth did all this concern her? She felt that she was slowly being sucked into a web of intrigue that she really wanted no part of. But it seemed the more she tried to extricate herself from it the deeper she became enmeshed. She needed to talk to Gareth about it. And this time she would tell him everything. It was strange, but in the short time she’d known him, he’d become an important figure in her life.

  She checked her watch. She needed to head back to the theatre. Across from the cafeteria was a mirror maze, shut for lunch. The ticket kiosk was empty and there was a chain across the entrance. As she turned to walk back along the promenade a movement in the mirror maze attracted her attention. At that moment the sun broke from behind the clouds and she shielded her eyes with her hand to get a clear view. Standing inside the maze, her image multiplied by the dozens of mirrors was the pale-faced girl she’d seen at Stein’s house.

  As Meg approached, the girl moved and her reflections moved with her. Within seconds there was nothing to see except for a wall of glass. The chain across the entrance was secured by nothing more than a hook through a ring. She lifted the chain and stepped through the entrance, securing the chain behind her.

  She hadn’t been in a maze like this since she was a child, but the principles hadn’t changed. There was a narrow wooden track snaking its way through a system of walls – some made of clear glass, some of mirrors. Sometimes she could see the route of the path through a glass wall, and then she’d turn a corner and be confronted by a dead end and a dozen images of herself.

  Taking a deep breath Meg moved forward, deeper into the maze. She caught sight of the girl again. ‘Wait!’ she called out and the girl stopped, glancing back over her shoulder before moving on again.