style="font-size:15px;"> A QUICK visit to a nearby hairdresser and her dark locks were transformed, becoming curled and lush. The blue satin dress was elegant, closely fitting a slender figure that many women would have envied.
And yet there was something missing. Honesty forced Charlene to admit that. Whatever the magical ‘extra’ was, she knew she didn’t have it. She looked pleasant, but not special.
Nor could she recall ever being really special to anyone in her life. Even her mother.
Her father had been mostly absent, more absorbed by his work than his family. He’d died when she was five, and her mother had remarried a year later. She and Mark, her stepfather, had been reasonably affectionate in an undemonstrative sort of way, but she’d sensed even then that they meant more to each other than she did to either of them. Mark had a son, James, by a previous marriage, who lived with his mother. Mark had been immensely proud of him, often speaking of him in a way that made Charlene feel that she herself didn’t really exist. Even her mother, anxious to please her husband, had sometimes seemed to value James more than her own daughter.
Once she’d overheard them discussing the idea of another baby.
‘It would be nice to have a daughter,’ Mark had remarked.
‘We’ve got Charlene,’ her mother had pointed out.
‘Yes, but—you know what I mean. A real daughter—ours.’
She had crept hastily away and never mentioned what she had heard. The casually unkind words, a real daughter, haunted her ever after.
When she was fifteen they had taken a holiday together. Just the two of them.
‘Can’t I come?’ Charlene had pleaded.
‘Darling, it’s our anniversary,’ her mother had said. ‘Mark and I need to be alone. You can understand that, can’t you?’
Of course she could understand. She’d always understood why she wasn’t a priority.
So they had gone without her, and never returned. Everyone said how lucky it was that she hadn’t been on the plane when it crashed, but haunting her grief was the knowledge that she hadn’t been wanted.
Her mother’s parents had taken her in. They had no other children or grandchildren, and they consoled themselves by lavishing affection on Charlene. In their warmth she blossomed, and much of the pain was eased. She had two people to love, and she knew that they loved her.
But the knowledge of having been second best never quite left her. Her stepbrother was never in touch, which made her sad because it would have been nice to have a big brother.
She’d come to understand that she was moderate in all things: moderate-looking, nothing special; moderately talented, with skills that were efficient rather than glamorous. Her bank employers praised her with the words, ‘We need good back-room staff.’ And she felt that this was where she belonged. In the back room—of work, of life, of love, of everything. The spotlight was for others.
She had boyfriends, but none seemed to last long. The one she’d cared for most had turned out to be using her to get close to her best friend. Charlene had been a bridesmaid at their wedding, which had seemed to her to be a gloomy portent for the future.
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, she’d thought, gazing at her reflection on the day.
But on the stage it was different. In the spotlight another side of her came to life, and she revelled in it. Her scenes with Lee had inspired the producer to say, ‘You two really make something fizz between you. Keep going.’
And something had happened, something that continued when they’d left the stage, that took them into each other’s arms, then into the same bed. It was her first experience of passion, and she rejoiced.
Lee hadn’t rejoiced. He’d been troubled.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he’d said hastily. ‘I didn’t know you weren’t … that you hadn’t … I mean …’
‘I guess I was waiting for you,’ she’d said softly, but that had seemed to trouble him even more.
She’d thought how nice he was to be concerned for her. The other thought, that he simply hated responsibility, was one she avoided.
But soon it would have to be faced. This afternoon he’d seen her at her dullest. Tonight she would present a face that reminded him of another time. And they would talk.
Her two room-mates, both pleasant young women, applauded her appearance.
‘Got a decent guy escorting you?’ one of them asked.
‘Travis Falcon.’
They whistled, as though impressed. But in the mirror she caught the look they exchanged, which said plainly that she was fantasising. Nobody who had to stay in this run-down hotel could ever attract such a glamorous escort.
She didn’t really blame them for not believing her. She barely believed it herself. Perhaps it really was a fantasy, and Travis would fail to turn up, leaving her abandoned.
In fact he was downstairs at that moment, looking around with horrified eyes. It was as bad as Rick had warned him. He hastened upstairs and knocked on her door.
It was opened by a young woman whose face registered total astonishment at the sight of him.
‘Is Charlene here?’ he asked.
‘Yes, she … Hey, Charlene—’ She turned back to Travis. ‘Are you really … really …?’ She seemed about to faint.
‘Yes, really,’ he assured her, stepping into the room and offering Charlene his arm. ‘Shall we go, my lady?’
To his delight, she slipped into the role easily, taking his arm and declaring, ‘Thank you, kind sir.’
From the way the other two stared at them it was clear that Charlene’s standing had rocketed. They came out into the corridor and followed the couple with longing eyes until they had vanished. Then they threw themselves into each other’s arms and screamed.
Charlene tried, unsuccessfully, to control her mirth.
‘Glad you find it funny,’ Travis said as they settled into the back seats of the car.
‘It’s myself I’m laughing at, not you.’ She chuckled. ‘Did you see their faces? A woman who can claim Travis Falcon as an escort is a woman to be reckoned with.’
‘Even if she’s poor enough to stay in this neighbourhood,’ he said. ‘You should have something better. Bad characters hang out here, and they’ll be very interested in that bracelet you’re wearing. Did Lee give it to you? If so, I commend his taste.’
‘No, it belongs to my grandmother.’
‘Are you wearing anything from him?’
She shook her head. There had been no gifts from Lee.
‘Then put this on,’ he said, holding up a necklace.
Even
