like that.
Derek wasn’t yet home when she let herself into the apartment, but his wife Judy was. She rose out of an armchair at Eve’s entrance, a small girl with frizzed blonde hair and a gaminely attractive face.
‘Wonderful concert, Eve,’ she hugged her.
‘Thanks.’ Eve gave a wan smile. ‘No Derek?’ There was always the possibility he could be in the bedroom.
‘He stayed behind to finish things up there.’
Eve at once felt guilty. ‘I should have done that,’ she sighed, collapsing into a chair and closing her eyes. ‘God, I’m tired?’
‘Go to bed,’ Judy encouraged. ‘There’s no reason for you to wait up for Derek.’
Eve opened her eyes, new life flooding into her weary body. ‘Oh yes, there is,’ she said firmly.
Judy raised her eyebrows. ‘That sounds ominous.’
‘It is.’ After all, it was Derek’s fault that she had met Bartholomew Jordan.
‘Oh dear!’
Eve forced a smile to her stiff lips. ‘Don’t worry, I just have a few questions to ask him.’ Like how forcefully Bartholomew Jordan had said he wanted to meet her!
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ Judy offered. ‘It will help to keep us awake.’
It did, just. And when Derek arrived home forty minutes later Eve woke up completely.
‘How did you get on with Jordan?’ was his first query.
She frowned. ‘You saw how I got on with him,’ she said guardedly.
He sat down beside her. ‘I meant later.’ He didn’t seem to notice her darkening expression. ‘Boy, he followed you like the devil himself!’
‘I think he is the devil himself,’ Eve said with disgust.
Derek looked disappointed. ‘You didn’t like him.’
‘Did you expect me to?’ she challenged.
He pulled a face. ‘I hoped you would.’
‘Well, I didn’t!’ she told him vehemently, her usually calm features animated with her dislike of the man.
‘Pity.’ Derek looked away, standing up to pace the room, a worried frown to his face.
Eve tensed. ‘How much of a pity?’ she asked slowly.
His expression became evasive. ‘He’s a powerful man,’ he shrugged. ‘It never pays to antagonise men like that.’
Judy looked puzzled. ‘Are we talking about Bart Jordan?’
‘Judy——’
‘Yes,’ Eve cut across Derek’s warning. ‘Yes, we’re talking about Bart Jordan, Judy. What do you know about him?’
The other girl frowned. ‘Well, I—I—Derek?’ she looked at him appealingly.
‘Okay,’ Eve sighed, ‘Derek can tell me. What about Bart Jordan, Derek?’
He shrugged. ‘I already told you, he isn’t a good man to make an enemy of. Make us some coffee, sweetheart?’ he requested of his wife.
Eve knew it was a way of getting the other girl out of the room, which only heightened her suspicions. ‘Derek!’ she said firmly once they were alone. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’
He threw himself back down into the armchair, one leg hanging over the arm. ‘Nothing is going on,’ he dismissed tersely, a sure sign that he was agitated. He was usually so even-tempered that Eve knew there was something wrong.
She frowned, biting her bottom lip. ‘Why do I get the feeling there’s something you aren’t telling me?’
‘I have no idea,’ he dismissed. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting to bed? You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.’
‘And the day after that, and the day after that,’ she grimaced. ‘A week of this and I’ll be dead.’
‘A week of this and you’ll be made,’ Derek corrected.
She quirked an eyebrow. ‘I thought I already was,’ she reminded him, tongue-in-cheek.
‘Yeah, well—wait until you see the reviews in the morning!’ His enthusiasm was never dampened for long, in fact it was this enthusiasm that had got Eve this far.
She stood up. ‘Don’t wake me,’ she instructed tiredly.
‘Not even for the reviews?’
‘Not even for them,’ she groaned, aching in every bone of her body. Her stage show involved dancing as well as singing.
‘Rehearsals at eleven sharp,’ he reminded her, his mind firmly on business as usual.
‘Don’t remind me!’ She staggered into her bedroom.
Without Derek’s prodding and hard work Eve doubted she would ever have risen above touring the seedy clubs she had been working in when they had first met. At the time she had been happy with her lot, had accepted what she felt to be her limitations, had lacked the drive and ambition to get even as far as she was today, let alone the superstar bracket Derek had mapped out for her. But Derek had pushed her on until now she had one hit record behind her, another new release, and now this concert.
Derek had worked so hard on her behalf, had begged and stolen work for her, until the last six months her career had really taken off. She couldn’t exactly be called an overnight success, although the public recognition, such as the taxi-driver’s, still came as something of a surprise to her.
Had Carl seen her success? Did he ever regret the way he had forced her out of his life?
Damn Carl! She hadn’t thought of him for months—well, weeks—well, actually it was days, but who was counting? Bartholomew Jordan had brought back the memories of Carl, one more reason why she hated him. Just another rich man who thought his money could buy him everything, including love!
She could finally remove the detested make-up, and felt cleaner and fresher once that was done. She studied her reflection in the mirror. Derek was right, she did look about sixteen without the make-up; she also, to her mind, looked more attractive.
At the end of the week she could go back to Norfolk and be just the nonentity Eve Meredith, could go back to her houseboat and live a normal life again. Derek had promised her a holiday after this week of concerts, and she could hardly wait to get back to Norfolk. Maybe she wasn’t really cut out for stardom, although this was a hell of a time to discover it, and Derek felt sure that she could make it right to the top. Still, much as she valued him as a friend, she still knew that fifteen per cent of nothing was nothing.
She turned over in the bed. Heavens, she was an ungrateful bitch tonight! Everything was sure to look brighter in the morning.
