first. This play will be heralded as Harry Anderson’s biggest folly to date.’
And indeed it was! The critics ripped him and the play to pieces. In fact, they didn’t have a good word to say for anyone in it either, although luckily no one was mentioned by name. When they turned up for rehearsal that morning it was to be told that ‘Mr Anderson has decided to take a cruise on his yacht. For an indefinite period’. All the staff were paid off, and they were all out of work again.
Merry dressed carefully for her luncheon appointment, wanting to make a good impression now that she had checked and found that Gideon Steele was who he said he was. It wasn’t too difficult to verify, he was a well-known personality in the crowd she mixed with, and it was rumoured that he was on the look-out for new talent for a film he intended doing later in the year.
She wished she hadn’t been so presumptuous as to choose the Ritz, though. It had been a perverse act of defiance on her part, and it had backfired on her. It wasn’t really her sort of place, not the pomp and ceremony, the snobbishness. Oh well, she would make the best of it. After all, she was an actress, wasn’t she?
None of her nervousness showed as she was taken to Gideon Steele’s table in the lounge area, and her red suit, the narrow skirt and blouson top, looked as good as any of the clothes the other women wore. Except the woman in the fur coat—and as she abhorred the killing of animals for furs, this really didn’t count.
Gideon Steele stood up as she arrived at the table, easily the most impressive man in the room, his light grey three-piece suit and black shirt perfectly tailored, very expensive by the look of the cut, his tie a perfect match in colour for the suit. And today the tinted glasses had been removed, revealing very deep blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes, the face incredibly handsome in a rugged sort of way. Certainly handsome enough to star in one of his own films instead of just directing them!
If Merry was bowled over by his good looks he made no effort to hide his surprise at hers. ‘God …!’ his eyes were intent on her face and hair as she sat down, sitting down himself once she had done so. ‘I thought last night that the hair was yours!’
‘Pink?’ she derided with sarcasm, giving every impression of frequenting restaurants like this every day of her life.
He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘It was possible. Women today seem to dye their hair to match the colour of their clothes.’
‘I never wear black, Mr Steele,’ she told him coldly. ‘But my hair stays that colour.’
‘And green eyes.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s incredible!’
Those green eyes widened, the lashes thick and silky, naturally dark, the tips golden. ‘There’s nothing incredible about my colouring, Mr Steele.’
‘Oh yes, there is,’ he nodded, watching her with narrowed eyes. ‘Let’s go in to lunch and you can tell me about yourself.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she dismissed.
‘Nevertheless, I want to hear it.’ He stood up to pull back her chair for her, towering over her as they walked side by side into the dining-room, the walls lined with mirrors, the ceiling very ornate. Meredith had never been here before, and she found it all beautifully elegant.
For the next fifteen minutes she gave him a résumé of what she had been doing since she left school four years ago, hardly noticing the food that was quietly and efficiently placed in front of her, only knowing that it was delicious.
‘And your family?’ he prompted.
She frowned. ‘Is that necessary?’
She couldn’t see what her family history had to do with giving her a part in a film, but after the indifference she had treated him with the night before she was willing to do anything to please him. Well, not quite anything, she thought ruefully.
‘Something funny?’ He quirked one dark brow, perfectly relaxed with his surroundings, taking the efficiency of the service for granted, the perfection of the food.
And also the female attention coming his way. And there was plenty of that! Young and old alike seemed to feel his magnetism, the aura of sensuality that Merry was becoming more and more aware of with each sip of wine.
‘Not really,’ she smiled. ‘It was really good of you to agree to meet me here. You must have thought me very audacious yesterday.’
‘Possibly,’ he replied enigmatically, dismissively. ‘You were going to tell me about your family.’
She looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘What would you like to know?’
He sat forward, his expression intent. ‘Everything.’
‘What an invitation!’ she laughed huskily. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean “everything”?’
‘My dear Miss Charles,’ he drawled with barely concealed impatience, ‘I never do, or say, anything I don’t mean.’
‘How clever of you!’ her sarcasm was barely veiled.
‘Yes,’ he agreed tersely.
‘Don’t you know that it’s fatal to invite an actor or actress to talk about his or herself? I could go on for hours,’ she warned lightly.
‘I’m willing to take the risk,’ he taunted, the blue eyes deeply mocking.
‘All right,’ Merry sighed. ‘I’ve lived a very normal life, with very normal parents.’
He scowled at her, the black brows dark over his eyes. ‘That was hardly hours,’ he snapped.
‘I can’t help that,’ she shrugged. ‘That’s been my life so far. I’ve lived a very uneventful life. In fact,’ she added softly, ‘the most exciting thing to happen to me so far is meeting you.’ Her eyes were widely innocent.
His mouth twisted with scepticism. ‘I don’t need flattery, Miss Charles,’ he rasped. ‘Especially the insincere kind.’
She flushed at the way he had seen straight through her. So much for her acting! He was right, her flattery was insincere. Something about this man warned her to beware, that he was dangerous. Maybe it was the way he kept staring at her, those deep blue eyes totally unnerving, making her wish he had kept the tinted glasses on. Whatever the reason for her nervousness, she knew that here was a man she could never relax with, and her guard was well and truly up—although she had nothing to hide.
‘Do you still live with your parents?’ he asked now.
She shook her head. ‘My father lives in Bedfordshire. I have to live in London for my work.’
‘And your mother?’
A flicker of pain crossed her face. ‘She died, two years ago,’ she revealed huskily.
Gideon Steele nodded. ‘I didn’t think there’d been any mistake. The moment I saw you today, without the wig and that atrocious make-up, I knew Harrington hadn’t been wrong about you. But I had to be sure.’
‘Sure of what?’ Merry frowned, suddenly tense. ‘And who is Harrington?’
‘That
