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brushing down her full skirts. 'You're tired. You'd better get a good
night's sleep. Rehearsal tomorrow in the studio, remember.'
Suki put the magazine on her bedside table and lay down, her cheek
curled on her hand. Rosie walked towards the door and flicked off the
light.
'Are we pushing you too hard, Suki?' she asked quietly in the dark.
'Are you feeling the pace these days?'
'Of course not,' Suki said at once.
Rosie was silent. 'Maybe you ought to have a holiday,' she mused,
almost to herself. 'Maybe Milly's right.'
'Milly's a killjoy, she just talks for the sound of it.'
'All the same, she could have something,' said Rosie, then she went out
and closed the door.
Suki lay in the bed, struggling to relax, trying to evict Joel Harlow
from his possession of her mind, but un-able to forget the feel of that
strong yet oddly gentle hand on her throat. She put her own hand there
as if he had left marks which she could trace, her fingers trembling. It
was a long time since any man had got close enough to touch her like
that. She had walled herself behind glass, a transparent wall between
her and the world, and tonight Joel Harlow had broken through that
invisible barrier to lay his hand on her.
She turned over in the bed heavily, biting her lip, burying her face in
the pillows.
She had known he was dangerous the moment she met his eyes in that
nightclub. Most men she met were shadowy figures on the far side of
that wall of hers, moving around her and never coming close enough to
make her aware of them, but with that first brief contact of the eyes
Joel Harlow had made impact on her that had disturbed her. For five
years she had been engrossed in the remote dream of stardom and
fame which Buddy had held out to her and she had needed nothing
else. When she stood on that stage she was alive and locked in a
passionate exchange with the people out in the audience, moving with
them on the heights of a wild elation born of the music. Recording in a
studio could never give her what live performances gave her. She
needed the fix those moments held. She was hooked on the sound of
those voices out there, the feel of their involvement with her.
Joel Harlow hadn't told her anything she didn't know, even though she
had denied it to him.
He had been trying to make her admit it, but why should she? Why
should she tell him anything, admit anything? She didn't want him too
close. She didn't want him to know her, it threatened the security of her
invisible force-field. If she once let anyone through, the world might
flood in and drown her. She was only safe while she was alone in her
head, her only moments of release while she was on stage and letting
the submerged passion flow out towards the unseen faces. It all built
up in her in between performances, an intense emotion which crashed
out when she began to sing.
Outside the house the wind blew through the elm trees along the far
corner of the garden and Suki listened to them blankly, her mind
obsessed. She fell asleep at last, worn out by her struggle with herself,
and at some time in the night she woke up with a gasp from the dream.
It was rare for her to dream it two nights running, and this time she
hadn't screamed out. The room was silent and she hadn't disturbed
Rosie and Buddy. She lay, shuddering, her inward eye still fixed on the
grey emptiness the dream held.
She hated waking up from it in the room alone. Loneliness was the
worst thing life could offer. She lay tense and still in the bed, then
switched on the light. It was a relief to sit up in the blaze of brightness,
a relief to lean over and turn on the radio and tune in to some late-night
music show, hear the chat of the disc jockey as he filled in between
discs. Suki listened but did not hear much of what he was saying, then
a wry smile touched her lips as a familiar sound throbbed out. Her own
voice still sounded odd to her. She turned the radio off again, switched
out the light and lay down to sleep again.
She was just finishing her morning orange juice whep Rosie came in
carrying a large box. Suki raised her brows as Rosie flipped off the lid
to reveal several dozen perfect dark red roses.
'Guess who,' said Rosie, grinning.
Suki felt a faint pink steal into her face and was annoyed with herself.
'Who?' she asked, pretending she had no idea.
Rosie wasn't deceived. She gave her a wry look and plucked the card
out of the box, tossing it to her.
There was no message, just the name scrawled in powerful black
handwriting.
'Joel Harlow,' Suki said aloud.
'Surprise, surprise.' Rosie peeled back the cellophane covering and
took out one long-stemmed flower, raising it to her face. 'Roses have
such a marvellous scent, don't they?' She held it towards Suki, who
breathed in the delicate fragrance.
'Lovely!'
Rosie dropped the flower back into the box, surveying her with dry
amusement.
'What are you going to do about him?'
"I'm not going to do anything.'
'He's in pursuit, you know that.'
'I'm not interested,' Suki shrugged. 'He'll get the message eventually.'
'Let's hope so,' Rosie murmured, biting her little finger. 'But I don't
feel so sure, myself. He looks to me like a man who's used to getting
what he wants. The list of his women reads like a mini version of
Who's Who he always chooses fabulous ladies, those from his own
world. He likes his women to be rich and famous in their own right.
He's a collector.'
'Well, he isn't collecting me!'
'You're so strong-minded,' Rosie said sarcastically. 'Now, me, if he
was giving me a strong come-on I wouldn't have the willpower to say
no.'
Suki laughed. 'You know you would. You wouldn't want to break
Buddy's heart.'
'What heart?' Rosie asked, going to the door. Milly came into the room
as she went out and threw Suki a scolding look.
'Aren't you up yet?'
'Yes,' said Suki, taking a flying leap out of the bed and making her way
to the bathroom.
Buddy drove her to the rehearsal studio, dropped her there and went
off to his office, saying: 'I'll be back at one to pick you up.'
Louis was in the control room talking to several other men. He waved
to Suki as she wandered into the studio, a slender figure in smoothly
fitting jeans and a white T-shirt, a chunky black knitted jacket over the
top which she kept on for a while as she started work.
It was a slow, monotonous process, constantly interrupted by Bill
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