Laura Martin - Secret Surrender

The audience laughed at the deliberate heavy sexual innuendo he had put into his reply and Christy, much to her chagrin, blushed; she just couldn’t do a thing about it. The audience didn’t know, of course; no one knew that she of all people had allowed Drew to make love to her, that she had been seduced so very easily in exactly that way, but that knowledge didn’t stop her feeling heart-stoppingly anxious. How can he be doing this to me? she thought wildly. What shall I say now? What shall I do? I want to get out of here, she screamed silently, listening to the noise in her earpiece from the gallery above where the director and his assistants sat. How many minutes left? How many?

‘But duty calls,’ Drew continued with a dismissive shrug. ‘I decided that I would plunge into the rather disagreeable depths of promotion for the benefit of my latest project and so here I am—completely at your mercy.’

Who are you kidding? Christy thought angrily, watching the relaxed features, the twist of a smile. ‘Er…you put up a great deal of your own money for this film, I believe?’ she continued with determined briskness.

‘Almost all.’

‘You must have a lot of faith in its potential. What made you take such a risk? After all there is a recession on; this is not supposed to be the best of times for launching new ideas.’

‘On the contrary,’ he responded crisply, ‘good things rise to the top no matter what the economic climate; indifferent and average commodities sink without a trace, and as far as I am concerned that is how it should be.’

‘The script must be very good.’

His eyes were glacial, there was an expression of bored disdain written clearly on the smooth, tanned face. ‘Yes. I wrote it myself!’

Christy shifted slightly in her seat, her fingers curling tensely around the arms of her swivel chair, her bright expression fixed hopelessly, and waited, knowing that his reply was over, but waiting just the same. ‘Perhaps you’d care to tell us a little about the film?’ Her voice was still light, still sounded remarkably relaxed, despite the painful tension within. Would he continue with this almost monosyllabic massacre to the very end? Would he really make it that hard?

‘This film is what people wish to make of it. Funny in parts, dramatic, thrilling, tense, sad——’

‘Sounds too good to be true!’ Christy cut in lightly. ‘Surely it’s not possible to introduce so many elements in one piece of drama?’

He raised dark eyebrows and threw her a casual look. ‘Really? And why not?’ he enquired composedly. ‘Do you know something that I don’t about the film business, Miss King?’

She floundered like a fish out of water as he waited with deliberate cool for her to answer his question. ‘Well…I…’ She hesitated and cursed herself for falling into the trap of asking a question that hadn’t been thought through, that hadn’t been planned. He had unsettled her and she had said the first thing that had come into her head. ‘Well…’ Why couldn’t she think quickly enough? ‘Er…films tend to fall into categories, don’t they? I——’

‘Films as in life—there are many elements, Miss King.’

Silence.

She wanted to throttle him. To get up out of her chair and wipe that superior, slightly amused expression from his face. I could at least get up and walk away, she thought. What’s stopping me?

‘I believe you were once quoted as saying that you despised money? Rather a weird statement from someone who’s as wealthy as you, surely?’ Pick the bones out of this one, Michaels! Christy thought, relieved that she had changed tack so quickly. ‘After all, we read at very frequent intervals various things about your extravagant lifestyle——’

‘And you believe it all?’ He gave a small shake of his head and produced a brilliant, totally relaxed smile, gazing with stunning eyes at Christy, managing to produce just the right effect: a mixture of disbelief and genuine amusement, coupled with the implication that perhaps Christy was more than just a little bit dim.

‘So exactly what do you do with your millions, Mr Michaels?’ she enquired with ill-concealed annoyance. ‘Surely you aren’t trying to tell us you live like a monk?’

‘Not at all—anyone who believes that would have to be very foolish.’

Christy gripped the leather arm-rest and tried not to allow the cutting reply to get to her. ‘So you do indulge in extravagant luxuries, then?’

‘You seem rather obsessed by other people’s wealth, Miss King. Why is that?’

‘Obsessed? No…I’m——’

‘Aren’t I right in saying,’ Drew continued, ‘that you’re the highest paid female on television?’

‘Oh, no——’

‘You’re telling me that’s not a fact?’

His perfectly timed question was delivered with the utmost precision—any other time and Christy would have almost admired it. ‘Well—er——’ Stop stuttering, you fool! she told herself angrily. Say something. He’s getting the better of you! ‘I admit to earning a substantial amount,’ she conceded finally, forcing a smile that masked, she hoped, all of her awkwardness and her animosity. ‘But I’m sure the viewers don’t want to know about me——’

‘Oh, no false modesty, Christy, please,’ Drew delivered smoothly. ‘Credit your audience with more intelligence. How do you like to spend your wealth, Miss King? Or do you give it all away?’

‘Look——’ There was no mistaking her own annoyance now. She heard the audience collectively snigger and in that moment knew that she had failed miserably. ‘If we could just get back to you, I’m sure——’

‘You’re not doing as well as I had hoped,’ Drew remarked casually, ‘and I have to confess a certain amount of disappointment. I was led to believe you were one of the best when it came to interviewing, Miss King.’

Christy gulped back her shock and struggled to come up with some sort of half-decent reply. ‘I…I find that you’re rather a difficult personality to get to grips with, Mr Michaels,’ she retorted swiftly.

A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. ‘That’s not what you said last night!’ he drawled casually.

Christy paled visibly beneath the bright lights as the audience chuckled again. A joke, they imagined—if only, Christy thought desperately, if only…

And so it went on…and on…and on…

* * *

She had been a fool to imagine for one moment that she could handle him, of course, that he wouldn’t reap his revenge in some sort of sadistic way. Seven million people had witnessed her verbal humiliation on live television and to this day she still hadn’t truly managed to get over it.

‘Christy?’ She jumped a mile and glanced across to the door. ‘I did knock.’ Lizzie smiled and then a frown of concern furrowed her brow. ‘You OK? You look a bit peaky. Not sickening for something, I hope.’

‘No, no!’ Christy hastily pulled herself together and picked up a comb. ‘You just startled me a little, that was all.’ She managed a watery smile. ‘I was miles away.’

‘Planning all the wonderful things you’re going to do after this evening?’

Stop thinking about him. Stop it! Christy took a deep breath and made an effort to stay with the present. Three years ago, she told herself angrily; stop going over it!

She took a huge breath and determinedly thrust away the images that insisted on haunting her. ‘Umm…sorry, what did you say, Lizzie?’

Her friend’s grey eyes widened teasingly. ‘Hey, you really are in a daydream, aren’t you? I know this is the last one in the series, but you still have tonight’s show to do, you know!’

Christy managed a vague smile. ‘Lizzie…’ she frowned slightly and then made her voice sound casual ‘…that scent you’re wearing. I noticed it when you came in before—it’s new, isn’t it?’