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shimmering with intellect and animal vitality.
She stared upon his golden, handsome face, which was vivid with
bright laughter at something Richard had said to him, and she was
numb with a solitary, private shock. He was lovely. He was a
masterpiece of transcendence. All previous outbursts of temper were
forgiven and forgotten. The complex swarmed around him, drawn by
the sparkling effervescence, eager to bask in the magnetic glow.
Whatever his inner demons had been, he had struggled with them and
overcome them; but she she had demons of her own to battle with,
and she was floundering.
She acted the whole, interminable day long. She was Hannah with
superiority, even according to her own punishing standards, and
when she was not working she was the best projection of Yvonne that
she could possibly be: light with an employment of delicate malice
that struck infallibly at her intended victims' sense of humour, and
never at their vulnerabilities; relentless with a wicked charm that
even her opponent Rochelle succumbed to at long last; molten with
sultry, sensual laziness; hooded, massive eyes smiling with secretive,
unshakeable poise.
She never broke character, never unmasked, not for one single
moment. Yes, the shabby performing clown knew how to shuffle.
The end of the day saw the end of Christopher's job. Dinner was a
going-away party for him, and all the cast and crew assembled for it,
an affectionate and regretful farewell. In warm gratitude her father
proposed to host a reunion party for everyone who was returning to
Los Angeles after the filming, and his invitation was greeted with
uproarious acceptance.
Afterwards, Adam gave Yvonne the keys to his BMW so that she
could drive her father to Phoenix Airport; what they talked about for
the two hours, she never recalled. She only knew that the trip had
been pleasant and undemanding, and that she hugged her father
goodbye and told him that she'd see him in Los Angeles in a few
weeks' time, and she watched him stroll into the airport terminal with
unexplained tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat.
It was ten o'clock in the evening, and she was bone- weary. Adam had
offered to juggle the next day's schedule so that she wouldn't be
needed until later in the morning and she could stop in Phoenix
overnight, but with typical self-defeating obstinacy she had refused.
She made the drive back to the location in an hour arid a half,
breaking the speed limit quite emphatically, pushing fate, the
powerful car, her luck. She drove well, and the highway was
practically deserted, and there was nary a policeman to harass her.
How typical. Sometimes one couldn't find trouble no matter how
enthusiastically one looked.
She gentled the BMW's hurtling speed upon reaching the dirt road
turn-off, for she didn't want to mark the expensive car, and crept up to
the location in a nearly soundleg^ purr. Eleven-thirty was a terribly
late hour on a work, night when the next day began, as always, at
dawn. Aside from a very few floodlights, and one or two windows
still profligately shining, the temporary little city was silent.
She left Adam's car in its usual place with the keys in the ignition;
there was no fear of anybody stealing it, after all, and she walked to
her trailer in a slow stride eloquent with exhaustion, her head bent.
She climbed the steps to the door, and opened it, never noticing that
hers was one of the few windows still shining with light. The golden
lamp-glow was a fresh and surprising onslaught, as she entered the
trailer and found Adam wide awake, engrossed in a newspaper and
reclining on her settee.
Sometimes one had a talent for finding trouble when one least
expected it.
His auburn head jerked up at her entrance, and her dark gaze and his
grey eyes met, in one melded instant of mutual astonishment. He was
the quicker to recover, however, as his dark brows plummeted into a
harsh frown and he took in the digital display of his wrist- watch, then
looked at her in a classic double-take.
'What are you doing here?' he demanded.
She stared at him as he rose off the settee and stalked over to her.
'What an odd question,' she uttered, and threw her bag carelessly on to
the table. 'Shouldn't I be asking that of you?'
He was absolutely furious, and she didn't have the energy to face him.
He accused, 'You're not supposed to be back for at least another
half-hour yet!'
She blinked, feeling sluggish under his attack, and was immensely
proud of how her mouth reacted without conscious volition, as she
heard herself say in a dry voice, 'If you like, I shall be happy to leave
and come back again.'
A tiny muscle moved in his jaw, ominously displayed along the clean
line. He growled, 'How fast did you drive, Yvonne?'
'Oh, for heaven's sake,' she snapped wearily, 'I was fast, but I wasn't
foolish. Your precious car is safe enough!'
He looked as if she'd punched him in the stomach, then his hands
snaked out to fasten on to her shoulders and haul her against him. 'My
car?' he repeated, in mild, terrible contrast to the violence of his
actions. 'I wait up for you, get worried with the thought of what might
have happened when you walk in far too early, and all you can bitch
about is my stupid car? Do you really think so little of me?'
Her face paled, her eyes widened; she was already regretting the
thoughtless remark, but she cried, 'You're not my keeper and I don't
have to account to you for my actions. If you don't want to hear bitchy
remarks, then don't attack me the minute I walk into my own door!'
He was frozen, his eyes darkened to pewter with even greater hurt. He
said coldly, as his fingers loosened and fell away, 'Of course you're
right. Whether you kill yourself or not should be no concern of mine.'
If she was the dark mistress of vicious goading, then he was the
master. The sardonic bite of his words sank into her jugular, and she
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