Silverbridge (16 page)

With a barely concealed shiver, she stepped up to her husband, put her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she whispered. “I am so sorry that I have made you angry with me. I never meant to do that. I thought I was just being polite to those other men. There was nothing more than that, I promise you.”

Jon’s body felt rigid to her touch. She could not see the expression on his face that the camera was filming. Finally, in a strangled voice, he answered her. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Cut,” Dave called, “and print.”

He was beaming as he approached his two lead actors. “That was great, absolutely great.”

A makeup woman had brought Tracy a tissue, which she was holding to her cut lip. “It was certainly realistic,” she said fervently. “You scared me half to death, Jon.”

He still wore the look he had worn while shooting the scene. His voice was harsh as he answered, “I’m sorry I cut your lip. I didn’t mean to.”

“The cut lip is great,” Dave enthused. He rubbed his hands together. “The first shedding of Julia’s blood.” He clapped Jon on the back and turned to Tracy. “You were marvelous, Tracy—innocent yet very sexy. Okay. Let’s do it again.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the rain began to fall. Tracy was relieved that she wasn’t going to have to redo the scene. She did not want ever again to feel herself locked in Jon’s steel-like embrace or be the subject
of his ravishing kiss. The experience had been both scary and deeply repulsive.

Greg came up with a large golf umbrella and held it over her while Dave complained. “Damn, damn, damn. If the first take doesn’t come out, we’re going to have to do it all over again.”

“I’ll bet the scene is great the way we shot it,” Tracy said.

Dave sighed. “I’ll have to wait until I see the rushes tomorrow. This was the last scene in the garden. We’re supposed to start filming in the house next.” He sighed again. “Well, the rain has finished us out here. At least that will give us more time to get the house ready to begin filming there.”

The rain was drumming hard on Tracy’s umbrella. “What about the actors, Dave? Are we free for the afternoon?”

“Yes,” Dave said. “But be ready to be called tomorrow. If I see a problem with today’s filming when I view the rushes, I’ll want to refilm the scene.”

16

G
ail was on the phone in the trailer when Tracy got back. She gave her secretary a brief wave, sat at her dressing table, and began to cream her face, all the while listening to Gail’s half of the conversation.

“I don’t see how Tracy is to do the
Letterman Show
when she’s still filming in England, Mel,” Gail said in a reasonable tone.

Tracy swung around in her chair and mouthed the words
NO LETTERMAN
at Gail. She hated to do the
Letterman Show.
He kept the temperature in his studio at a few degrees above freezing, which would have been okay if she could have worn wool slacks, a sweater, and long underwear. But the studio insisted that she look glamorous, which translated to “bare a lot of flesh,” and the two times she had done the show she had frozen.

Still speaking reasonably, Gail said, “Yes, I know she has a film coming out at the end of June, and yes, I
know that the studio expects her to promote it. But she can’t be in two places at one time, Mel.” Gail rolled her eyes at T
r
acy as she listened to Mel’s reply. Then she put her hand over the mouthpiece, and said, “He wants you to fly to New York, do the show, and fly back to England the next day.”

Tracy held out her hand. “Give me that phone.”

Gail complied.

“Mel?” Tracy said. “Have you lost your mind? I am not crossing the Atlantic twice in two days!”

The reply came over the wire from California, “You can take the Concorde, babe.”

“No, I cannot take the Concorde. The whole idea is ridiculous.”

“
Tracy.” She always knew Mel was annoyed when he called her Tracy and not babe. “The studio expects you to promote this film. They expect it to be one of the blockbusters of the summer and, as its star, you have to do your part to publicize it
.
”

“I know that, Mel.” Her voice was steely. “And I will do
Leno
when I get back home. But I am not flying in and out to do the
Letterman Show,
which I hate.”

“He has a lot of power.”

“Screw his power,” Tracy said. “And screw you, too, Mel.”

Mel sighed. “All right. I’ll beg off
Letterman
“Thank you.”

“There’s going to be some publicity about you coming from another source anyway. What’s going on between you and the Earl of Silverbridge?”

“What?
”

“I got a call from someone at the
Examiner.
Evidently Jason Counes has contacted them about some pictures with you and His Lordship. Kissing.”

“Oh my God,” Tracy moaned. “I thought Harry got those pictures away from him!”

“Aha! Then you
were
kissing Silverbridge!”

“Mel,” Tracy said dangerously, “Jason Counes does not have any pictures. Lord Silverbridge took his camera away from him.”

“He may have taken the camera, but Counes unloaded the film first.”

“Shit,” said Tracy.

Mel laughed.

“It’s not funny! Lord Silverbridge will be horrified to find himself in a scandal sheet.”

“It won’t be the first time it’s happened to him, babe,” Mel replied. “And the publicity won’t hurt you at all. An earl. My, my, my.”

Tracy said tensely, “Can you contact Counes and buy the pictures from him?”

“Not likely. And if I do, he’ll only give the
Examiner
a story about our buying the pictures. Or give me the negatives after he’s had them copied.”

There were tears of frustration and anger in Tracy’s eyes. “There must be
something
we can do.”

“Just ride out the storm, babe. Just ride out the storm.”

“Thanks, you’re a great help.” She slammed the phone down, pulled the wide elastic band off her hair, and threw it across the room.

Gail looked at her in concern. Tracy had a temper, but it usually blew over quickly and never manifested itself in a physical way. Then Tracy turned back to her dress
in
g table and lowered her face into her hands. “God,” she said in muffled tones. “How am I going to tell Harry he is about to be featured in one of the worst newspapers in America?”

W
hile Tracy was on the phone with Mel, Harry was approaching the outskirts of Warkfield with Meg in the car seat beside him. He was taking her to her appointment with Beth Carmichael, her therapist.

Meg was silent, but Harry scarcely noticed. He was too busy replaying in his mind his meeting with Tracy in the morning room the night before.

I insulted her,
he thought.
She didn’t like the way I looked at her.

Harry was having an increasingly difficult time fitting Tracy into the category he had established for her in his mind. He was trying very hard to see her as a movie star, but the more time he spent with her, the more difficult it became for him to see her as anything but Tracy.

No other woman had had the impact upon him physically that she had. And there was something about her personality, an underlying sweetness all the trappings of Hollywood could not disguise, that stirred him enormously.

They had reached the top of the hill that led down into the town of Warkfield, and Harry glanced over at Meg. She smiled at him and he felt the protectiveness that she always evoked in him awake. She looked so terribly fragile.

“It’s going well with Beth?” he asked.

She nodded. “I think so.”

The car was gathering speed on the steep hill, and Harry put his foot on the brakes to slow it. His foot went right to the floor.

In the flash of a second, the situation presented itself to him. There was a line of cars at the bottom of the hill, waiting for the light to change, Meg was in the seat beside him, and he had no brakes.

“Meggie,” he said, using the same tone of voice with which his ancestors had ordered men into battle. “Get into the backseat and put on the seat belt. Fast!”

Like a good soldier, Meg responded to his command and climbed over the seat into the back. “Okay!” she said. He put the car into a lower gear to slow it, and it did slow at first. But then it bucked and swerved and headed toward a truck that was parked next to the curb. Harry fought the steering wheel but could not get control of the car. His last thought before they crashed was,
Tracy.

H
e woke up in the hospital with an IV in his arm, a bandage on his head, and a skull-splitting headache.

“What happened?” he asked the nurse who was doing something with
the IV. His voice came out like
a croak.

“You were in a car accident, my lord,” she said soothingly. “You’ve a bad concussion, but you’re going to be fine.”

He had no memory of the crash. “Was I alone?”

“Lady Margaret was with you, my lord.”

Christ.
“Is she all right?”

“She is fine. In fact, she has been waiting for you to wake up so she can see you.”

“Was anybody else hurt?”

“No, my lord, just you.”

Well, that’s something,
he thought.

“My head hurts,” he said.

“That’s the concussion, my lord. The doctor wanted to know when you woke up, so I’ll just go and get him, shall I?” She gave him a cheery smile and left the room.

Hell,
Harry thought.
An auto accident. Why can’t I remember?

He was staring up at the ceiling, concentrating on enduring the pain in his head, when Meg appeared at his side. She was followed by Tracy.

M
eg had initially tried to get hold of Tony, but hadn’t been able to. Her next thought had been to try Tracy, and her call to Gail’s cell phone had found Tracy in her dressing room taking off her makeup. Tracy had said she would come.

The twenty-minute ride to the hospital had been a nightmare for Tracy. She could not get out of her mind the words of Scotty’s doctor when she had got to the hospital.
I’m so sorry, Mrs. Collins, but the fire was too intense for anyone to get to him.

Harry can’t be dead.
She said it like a mantra the whole time she was parking the car and running to the hospital door.
Harry can’t be dead. God wouldn't do this to me again. Harry can't be dead.

A hospital administrator met her in the lobby and her first words were, “Is he alive?”

“Oh yes, Miss Collins, it’s not as bad as that,” the gray-suited man replied reassuringly.

She shut her eyes.
Thank you, God. Oh thank you, God.

They had put Meg in a private waiting room, and when Tracy came in she jumped up and ran to her. “Tracy! Thank God you’ve come. I can’t find out anything about Harry. They took him away as soon as the ambulance got to hospital. They finished checking me out an hour ago, but no one’s told me anything about Harry!”

There were shadows like bruises under Meg’s blue eyes. She looked incredibly fragile.

“Let’s sit down, and you can tell me exactly what happened.” Tracy said steadily. Meg followed her to the sofa, sat a trifle awkwardly, and recounted the whole ordeal, from the failing of the brakes to the crash.

“I
…
I think Harry hit his head on the steering wheel.” Meg began to cry. “It was so scary. Harry was unconscious, and I thought I should get him out of the car in case it went
on fire, but I
couldn’t budge him from behind the wheel. Then some men came running, and they did get him out. Then the ambulance came and brought us here.”

At the mention of fire, Tracy felt sick to her stomach. She said unsteadily, “Did Harry wake up in the ambulance?”

“N
…
no,” Meg said. Her tears were coming faster.
“They wheeled him away, and no one’s told me what’s happening.”

“I’ll go and find out right now,” Tracy said. Then she reached out and put her hand on Meg’s knee. “How about you, Meggie? Are you all right?”

“I have some bruised ribs from the seat belt, but otherwise I’m fine.”

Tracy stood up. “Okay. Wait here.”

She went to the nurses’ station and, after a minute or two returned to tell Meg, “The doctor is coming to talk to us. Harry’s conscious, Meg, so that’s good news.”

“Is he badly hurt?”

“I don’t know the extent of his injuries. We’ll have to wait for the doctor.”

They had barely reestablished themselves upon the sofa before the door opened to admit a tall, rangy, middle-aged man with gray hair and washed-out blue eyes. He looked at Meg, and said immediately, “His Lordship is going to be fine, Lady Margaret. He has a concussion, and we want to keep him overnight, but nothing appears to be broken.”

At this good news, Meg once more began to sob. “Oh thank God, thank God.”

Tracy said, “I am Tracy Collins, Doctor, and Fm a friend of His Lordship. Is it possible for us to see him?”

The doctor nodded his stately gray head. “Certainly. As I said before, he has a concussion and should be quiet, so I would ask you not to stay for too long.”

“I understand.”

The three of them walked along a confusing maze of corridors until finally the doctor stopped outside a numbered door. “He’s in here. I’ll send a nurse to fetch you if you’re too long.”

Tracy nodded that she understood and motioned for Meg to precede her into the room. She waited until she heard Harry’s voice before she herself slipped inside.

He had an IV in his arm and a bandage on his forehead and his eyes looked almost black in the pallor of his face. Meg was standing beside his bed saying,
“I’m
fine. It’s you who are hurt, Harry.”

“It’s just a little bump on the head,” he replied soothingly, and then he noticed that Tracy had come into the room. His concussion-dilated eyes met hers, and he said her name. He did not seem surprised to see her.

Her heart turned over in her breast. She walked to the bed and had to forcibly restrain herself from touching his hair. “Meg said your brakes failed.”

“Yes.” He frowned, and said fretfully, “I can’t remember a damn thing, though.”

Meg, who was standing on the opposite side of the bed from Tracy, said tearfully, “You made me get into the backseat, Harry. You saved my life. The
f
…
front seat where I was s…
sitting took the worst part of the crash.”

Slowly he turned his eyes from Tracy to his sister. “You’re sure you weren’t hurt?”

“Just some bruised ribs from the seat belt.”

He let out a slow careful breath. He had not yet moved his head. “Have you contacted Tony?” he asked his sister.

“No.” Meg fished a tissue from her pocket and blew
her nose. “I called the house, but he wasn’t there. So I called Tracy, and she came.”