LOVE IS FOR THE LUCKY Read online

  even chance of spotting a scam before you walk into it.*

  ‘Why don’t you just pack it in altogether?’ she asked curiously. ‘I mean, aren’t there other things you’d prefer to be doing?’

  ‘Such as?’

  To her surprise, there seemed to be a glint of sus¬picion in his eyes. Now what had she said? ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she ran on, flustered. ‘Why don’t you try to make more time for your own music? Wouldn’t you be happier doing that?’

  ‘Possibly.’ He was studying her face. ‘What is it you want from me, Rosalind Hammond?’

  She blinked at him in astonishment. ‘Why should I want anything?’

  His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. ‘Oh, everybody wants something,’ he asserted with conviction.

  ‘You can’t mean that,’ she protested horrified.

  ‘Don’t pretend to be naive,’ he sneered. ‘I haven’t quite worked you out yet, but I will.’

  ‘I don’t want anything from you,’ she insisted, angry at his cynicism. ‘What could I possibly want from you?’

  ‘I suspect that you might want a great deal.’

  She flushed scarlet. In a sense, that was true. She wanted the one thing he was most reluctant to give to anybody—she wanted his love. All these months she had been trying to tell herself that what she was suf¬fering from was an adolescent infatuation with a pop star that would fade with familiarity.

  But she couldn’t deny the truth any longer. It was Griff she was in love with—not the famous image of

  Jordan Griffin. But Griff was even more unat-tainable. And now he seemed to suspect that she was trying to trap him into something—did he think that was why she wouldn’t let him make love to her?

  With a click, the smoothly engineered machinery of the hi-fi came to the end of the tape that had been playing in the background. Griff uncoiled himself from his seat and stood up. ‘I’ll put another tape on. What would you like?’ he asked her.

  Suddenly Ros remembered the tape that the girl in the nightclub had given her. She reached into her bag and pulled it out. ‘Would you play this?’ she asked, handing it to him.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously, turning it over and reading the hand-written label with a frown.

  ‘That girl—you know, the one I told you about in the club,’ she explained. ‘She asked me to give it to you.’

  ‘Oh, she did, did she?’ Ros was puzzled by the glowering anger in his dark eyes. ‘And you were happy to oblige. Can’t I ever get away from it?’ With an impatient gesture he tossed the tape across the room, where it clattered into a corner. ‘Every talentless little nobody who wants to be a star, wheedling their way into my life, getting around my friends to introduce them…’

  ‘She said…’ began Ros nervously, vaguely feeling that she ought to defend Stevie, if only because hers had been the only friendly face in that hostile, ar¬rogant crowd.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ he snapped, cutting her short. ‘I can guess. She’d met me before, right? I’d said I’d

  listen to her demo, but she didn’t want to intrude, so would you just give me the tape? Am I right?’

  ‘I think you’re being unfair,’ she protested in a small voice, feeling all the more guilty because his as¬sessment had been so accurate. ‘She was a very nice girl.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she was,’ he sneered bitterly. ‘That’s how she conned you into giving me the tape.’

  ‘You could at least listen to it,’ she pursued. ‘That wouldn’t cost you anything.’

  The temperature in the room seemed to have cooled by several degrees. ‘All right,’ he conceded, crossing the room and picking up the tape from the floor. ‘I’ll listen to it. And what will you do for me in return, eh?’ He jabbed the tape into the hi-fi with a movement that was almost vicious, and the tinny sound of an amateur recording grated from the expensive sound-system.

  ‘Well?’ He was coming towards her slowly, men¬acingly. ‘I’m listening to it. It sounds like a cat with its tail in a wringer, and it’s probably ruining my speakers.’ As she shrank back into her seat, he reached out his hand and grabbed her wrist, jerking her ruth¬lessly to her feet. ‘And now one favour deserves another.’

  He curled his fingers into her hair, forcing her head back. Her gasp of protest was smothered as his mouth descended cruelly on hers, crushing her lips apart. She tried to squirm away from him, but he was far too strong for her. His tongue swept into the defenceless valley of her mouth, plundering every secret corner in a savage invasion.

  She tried to hold herself rigid in resistance, but her will was faltering, in spite of herself. She couldn’t dis¬guise her response. As her head swam dizzily, he swept her up into his arms, and strode over to the stairs.

  ‘Griff, no!’ she cried, trying to struggle. ‘Put me down, please.’

  He ignored her protests. He carried her straight up the stairs to the bedroom on the upper level. A huge double bed dominated the room, and he dropped her on to it. She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back. She stared up at him, tears starting to her eyes.

  ‘You… you promised,’ she protested in a choking voice. ‘You said you’d never use force.’

  ‘I just decided to change the habit of a lifetime,’ he growled fiercely.

  He caught her wrists as she tried to push him away, forcing her back on to the bed and crushing her be¬neath his weight. She bucked and twisted beneath him, but all he did was laugh in her face, as if he were thoroughly enjoying it. He was just waiting for her to exhaust herself.

  ‘I’ll scream,’ she warned him, sobbing for breath.

  ‘Scream all you want to,’ he invited cordially. ‘This is no jerry-built block where you can hear every sound from next door.’

  ‘You mean it’s sound-proofed?’ she asked, aghast.

  ‘As good as.’

  She closed her eyes, and turned her face away from him, lying still. ‘I didn’t want it to happen like this,’ she whispered, the tears spilling over and coursing down her cheeks.

  To her surprise, as soon as she stopped struggling he let her go, rolling off her and flopping back on the

  bed beside her. ‘Oh, lord,’ he muttered, throwing his arm across his eyes, ‘what the hell am I doing? I’m sorry, Ros. I didn’t mean it. I just got mad.’

  Cautiously she sat up, and stared down at him, still wary. He put up his hand and touched her cheek. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘No. You just scared me a bit,’ she admitted shakily. ‘I thought you meant it.’

  ‘I did, just for a minute.’ He laughed, a trace of wry self-mockery in his voice. ‘That’s the second time you’ve almost driven me over the edge—I ought to steer clear of you.’

  ‘I… I’m sorry,’ she whispered tremulously. It seemed as if she were drowning in the dark, hypnotic depths of his eyes. Slowly his hand slid round her head to draw her down towards him. Their breath mingled, and their lips met again, melting together in a kiss that was all tenderness.

  This time as his tongue swirled languorously into her mouth she yielded, and as his hand slid up be¬neath the thin silk of her top she didn’t protest. His fingers curved possessively over the aching swell of her breast, and he lifted his head to smile down into her eyes.

  ‘Mmm. You’ve got a fabulous body,’ he murmured.

  She blushed with pleasure. ‘I… I always thought I was too skinny,’ she confessed breathlessly. ‘I’m practically flat-chested.’

  He shook his head. ‘Anything I can’t hold in my hand is just waste,’ he told her, easing aside the filmy lace of her bra-cup so that his expert fingers could tease the tender nipple into a taut bud of ecstasy.

  Ros closed her eyes, and buried her face against his shoulder. She so much wanted to surrender, to stay here all night with him… But if she did that, the tenuous self-respect that she had rebuilt with such difficulty over the years would be shattered all over again.

  As she wavered, unable to bring herself to a de¬cision, the doorbell
rang. ‘My taxi!’ She drew away from him, fumbling to pull her clothes straight.

  ‘You’re going?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes, I… Shelley will be wondering where I am if I don’t go home.’

  ‘Don’t you think she’ll guess?’ he murmured, smiling.

  She refused to meet his eyes. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ she confessed in a small voice.

  He sighed, and as the bell rang again he stood up and helped her to her feet. ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘Maybe it’s just as well.’ He put his hands on each side of her face, and dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. ‘Adieu, fair Rosalind. Go on, you’d better hurry before he gives up and goes away.’

  Shaken by that close encounter, Ros decided the next morning that, if Griff was going back to Arnby Bridge, she was going in the opposite direction. Since part of her book was set in mediaeval Spain, she had a ready-made excuse for herself—after all, she really ought to do the research at first hand.

  It was the height of the tourist season, but she stayed well away from most of the tourist traps, rambling through sweltering Madrid, on down through Seville and finally to Cadiz, from where King Philip’s

  Armada had set sail four centuries ago on their ill- : fated expedition.

  It was there towards the end of August, that a letter from Annie finally caught up with her, announcing the healthy arrival of David Anthony Osbourne, seven pounds and two ounces. It was time to go home— why should she let Jordan Griffin keep her away from her friends?

  She had forgotten that it was the Bank Holiday weekend. Heathrow was packed with crowds waiting for delayed holiday flights. She picked up her car from Shelley’s, too eager to get home and get on with her work to accept her invitation to stay overnight, but as she sat impatiently in an endless line of crawling traffic on the motorway she wished she had stayed, after all.

  The radio was tuned to a pop-music programme, and a bouncy disc jockey was compering a panel dis¬cussion of the week’s new releases. ‘Right. Next one on the turntable—this is “Obsession” by Stevie Reeves.’ Ros was so startled that she jerked at the wheel, causing the driver of the car in the next lane to give her a loud blast on his horn.

  The music belted out, a raunchy, rocking sound, overlaid with a husky, sensuous female voice. It was unmistakable—that was the voice she had heard on the tape she had given Griff. She couldn’t deny that it was really a very good song, and the panel enthusi¬astically agreed with her. The DJ announced that this was Stevie’s first record, and that it had been written and produced by her new manager, Jordan Griffin.

  So he had signed her, after all. Ros bit her lip. For the past two months she had refused to let herself

  remember that night in London, but now it all came flooding back. She could almost hear Griff’s voice, soft and faintly regretful as he had said, ‘Maybe it’s just as well.’ He had known that she was in love with him, and he had known what it would have done to her if she had stayed that night—and he hadn’t wanted that on his conscience. Her heart ached so badly, it was difficult to hold back the tears.

  And now he had met Stevie Reeves, and had changed his mind about her singing. That was hardly surprising! And if they were having an affair that wouldn’t be surprising either. It was rather ironic, she reflected, that she had been the one who had brought them together. But she had always known that she couldn’t have him for herself, and if it hadn’t been Stevie it would have been someone else.

  The sun was setting as she turned off the busy A1. The sky was a deep cobalt blue to the east, but to the west, above her beloved Dales, it was streaked with vermilion and gold. The road was quiet—most of the tourists tended to flock around Hardraw and Aysgarth, to the north, leaving some of the loveliest places to the locals, who weren’t giving their secrets away.

  She was just thinking how tranquil, how perfect it all was when the air was torn apart by the clatter of a helicopter. It buzzed over her like a giant gnat, and settled into the valley beyond the next line of hills. Jordan Griffin, ‘commuting’, she surmised wryly. How could she be expected to keep the man out of her mind, when he was continually intruding on her notice like this—his songs on the radio, his chopper

  shattering her peace, and no doubt his picture in the paper as frequently as ever?

  It was almost dark by the time she reached Arnby Bridge. The lights of the village twinkled up the side of the hill, but her own cottage was in darkness. It seemed very empty, without even Cinders for company. She was tired after her journey, but really it was much too early to go to bed—and besides, she couldn’t wait to see the new baby. She dumped her luggage in the hall, and drove straight on up the hill to Annie’s.

  ‘Ros! You look great! When did you get back?’

  ‘About three minutes ago—I rushed straight up to see the baby as soon as I got home.’

  ‘He’s two weeks old,’ Annie pointed out, laughing as she drew her into the hall.

  ‘I only just got your letter. I’ve been on the move quite a bit.’

  ‘Well, you’re just in time—you can help me bath him.’

  ‘Great. Oh, hello, you two!’ she added, crouching down as Annie’s two children came running out into the hall in their pyjamas. She swept her arms wide, hugging them both at once. To her surprise, little Lucy burst into tears. ‘Hey, whatever’s the matter?’ she asked gently.

  ‘You’ve come to take Cinders back,’ the little girl sobbed.

  Ros glanced up at Annie questioningly. Annie pulled a wry face. ‘I was going to ask you… would you miss her dreadfully?’

  Ros smiled. ‘It’s my own fault for leaving her so long—1 might have known this would happen. It’s all

  right, Lucy,’ she added reassuringly. ‘She can stay here.’

  She was rewarded with a melting smile. ‘Oh, thank you, Auntie Ros! Come on, Peter, let’s go and tell Cinders!’

  The two children scuttled away, and their mother chuckled indulgently. ‘You know, you ought to get married and have kids. You’re really good with them.’

  There was a trace of irony in Ros’s laugh. ‘Who’d put up with me?’ she asked lightly. ‘You know what I’m like when I’m into a book—I get completely carried away. We’d pass on the stairs, and he’d say, “Oh, I remember you—you’re the one in the wedding photographs!” I don’t really think that’s a recipe for success, do you?’

  Annie smiled, shaking her head. ‘There’s the right man out there for you somewhere,’ she insisted. ‘It’s just a matter of finding him.’

  ‘I’m perfectly happy as I am, thank you,’ Ros de¬clared firmly.

  Annie clucked. ‘I don’t believe… No, Lucy, put Cinders down. Of course you can’t take her to bed with you.’

  ‘But she wants to come,’ the child insisted, clutching the long-suffering cat to her chest.

  ‘Mummy said no.’

  ‘Hello, Paul. Congratulations,’ smiled Ros, strolling into the sitting-room where the proud father was bouncing the newest arrival on his knee.

  ‘Thanks.’ He stood up and gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek. ‘Well, here you are, little ‘un. Your Auntie Ros has finally come to see you.’

  He put the baby into her arms and she cuddled him close, loving his warm, milky smell and the perfection of his tiny Fingers. Annie was so lucky! But fortu¬nately the tussle of wills with her small daughter had distracted her friend’s attention for long enough for her to bring her emotions under control.

  ‘By the way, you’ve just got back in time,’ Annie told her, her eyes dancing with excitement. ‘Guess what’s happening on Saturday? Griffs having a party!’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I can’t wait!’ Ros’s damp response went un-noticed. ‘There are all sorts of people going to be there—George Harrison, Eric Clapton, maybe even Diana Ross! It’s to launch Stevie Reeves’ new record. Oh, of course, you won’t have met her. Griff signed her a couple of months ago. Her first record’s just been released—Griff wrote it. It’
s really great! It’s called “Obsession”.’

  Ros felt her jaw tighten, but she managed to keep her voice commendably level as she remarked casu¬ally, ‘Oh, yes—I think I’ve heard it on the radio.’

  ‘She’s absolutely fabulous-looking—well, you’ll see her on Saturday.’

  ‘I haven’t been invited,’ Ros put in.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly—you’ll be going with us. Griff was asking only the other day when you’d be getting back. Did you see him in London, by the way? He said he might give you a call.’

  ‘Oh, we had lunch. I think your son had better have his bath now,’ she added, changing the subject. ‘He’s almost asleep.’

  ‘Come on, then. You can carry him,’ agreed Annie, always easily distractible.’

  But she hadn’t quite forgotten the subject, bringing it up again later when the children were all tucked up safely in their beds, and ruthlessly wringing a promise out of Ros that she would go to the party. Perhaps it was better not to protest too much—she didn’t want Annie to remember that she had once harboured the illusion that there was a budding romance between herself and Griff. And besides, once she saw him with Stevie, it might be easier to come to terms with the reality of the situation, something she had been strug¬gling to do ever since she had heard that record.

  If she had been nervous about Annie’s party back in March, that was nothing to the way she felt now. She was all of a dither, and barely able to eat a thing. She went shopping in York for a new dress, but she couldn’t find one she liked, so she decided to wear the one she had worn to Annie’s. That would convey some sort of message to Griff—that she wasn’t so intent on impressing him that she minded about wearing the same dress. Not that he’d notice.

  Paul and Annie came to pick her up at nine o’clock. Annie was positively bouncing with excitement. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to get there! The helicopters have been coming and going all afternoon.’

  ‘I heard them,’ put in Ros caustically.

  ‘And you should have seen the cars we passed as we were driving down. Come on, are you ready? You won’t need a coat.’