Breaking the Rules (2 page)

‘I’m right, you know, she
is
cooling it with me.’

‘And you’ve done the same. You’ve even moved on a step or two, wouldn’t you say?’

He nodded, knowing she had called it correctly.

‘I’m thinking of making a big soup, a healthy French soup,’ M now announced. ‘Do you want to stay for supper?’

‘What’s a big French soup?’

‘You know, with vegetables and pieces of chicken…one of those soups that’s always on the hob in French kitchens.’ She smiled at him cheekily. ‘I’m a good cook, you know.’

‘I’m sure. And I’d love to stay for supper. And perhaps we can talk some more.’

M groaned. ‘Just as long as we don’t talk about your problems.’

‘Absolutely not. Anyway, it looks as if you’ve just solved them for me, M. There’s nothing like a bit of straight-talking.’

H
e had known her for only a few weeks but he trusted her, and his trust was implicit. Dax had never experienced this feeling with anyone else before, and he had quickly come to understand M was rather unusual. She was a very special person, one who had strolled into his life unexpectedly and had had a tremendous impact on him.

It was neither romantic nor sexual. Although she
was
beautiful, she was just not his type…too tall and dark of colouring, and also just a little too exotic to suit him. He had always had a predilection for blue-eyed blondes who were petite, and he did not mind at all if they weren’t very bright. He preferred them to be a bit dumb, actually.

M, on the other hand, was extremely intelligent, practical and straightforward. She fairly took his breath away with her bluntness, her incredible honesty. It seemed to him that M thought more like a man than a woman, got straight to the point in a flash. There were no holds barred: she just spat out what she had to say without any frills. Well, she had said that herself, in fact; that her elder sister believed she got right to the heart of the matter.

Dax knew where he stood with her, and he liked that. She
didn’t seem to have any special agenda, except for wanting to be a model, and there was no deviousness in her. Too many people he knew played both ends against the middle, and were shifty, even double-dealing, and some even ended up being treacherous.

Now, as he watched her moving swiftly around the kitchen, preparing the soup for them, he couldn’t help thinking that she moved fluidly and rhythmically, with the lightness and grace of a dancer. Before he could stop himself he blurted out, ‘You must be a dancer, M, the way you move.’

M swung to face him, a smile lighting up her dark eyes. ‘I am a dancer, Dax, but not a professional one. I took a few lessons when I was little, and then got more interested in sports. But I do think I have the spirit and soul of a dancer…I just love it. I prefer dancing to exercising, and running ruins the hips, so I dance all the time. When I’m alone.’

She turned back to the counter top, began pouring cartons of College Inn chicken broth into a large pot, adding chicken, carrots, potatoes, onions and parsnips that she had prepared, then reached for the jar of herbs of Provence and threw a handful into the soup along with some bay leaves. ‘There, that should do it,’ she murmured, turning on the gas. ‘All I have to do now is chop a few sticks of celery,’ and she reached for this, cutting off the leaves as well as the hard nut at the other end.

‘There seems to be no limit to your talents,’ Dax said, still watching her. ‘It strikes me that you’re a good cook; certainly you look as if you know what you’re doing.’

Her cheeky grin flashed. ‘I know how to cook a few dishes but I don’t have a huge repertoire. I can almost prepare this chicken-in-the-pot with my eyes closed, and I’m even better at it since I came to New York. I always make it on Friday evening, and it lasts me all weekend.’

‘You are practical, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose so,’ she agreed, and threw the celery into the pot. ‘Do you cook?’

‘Not me, no,’ he said, and sat back in the chair, sipping the second mug of scalding hot tea she had pressed on him a short while ago.

His light grey eyes rested on her as she cleaned the counter tops, put the lid on the pot, lowered the gas, carried dirty items over to the sink. She intrigued him, and also mystified him sometimes.

Leaning against the sink, the wet sponge in her hand, M said, ‘What does Dax stand for? It’s unusual.’

‘Derek Alan Kenneth Small. That’s what it is.
Ugh!
‘ He made a face, and explained, ‘At school the kids called me Daks, because I told them to, and when I got older and went to college, I changed the spelling. I thought Dax was more…sophisticated.’ He grinned. ‘Are we all dumb at times?’

‘I guess so. But you know, I like it. Dax, I mean. It sort of suits you, and your personality. Not to mention your blond good looks. Matinee idol looks, I might add.’

‘My mother always told me I resembled Leslie Howard.’ Placing the mug on the table he murmured, ‘If you know who he was?’

‘Do you think I’m an ignoramus, for heaven’s sake! Of course I know who he was. He played Ashley Wilkes in
Gone with the Wind.
And guess what, since I’m Marie Marsden, they called me M and M at school. How about that?’

Dax chuckled, and then stood up. ‘I think my clothes must be dry by now. I’d better go and get dressed. See you in a minute.’

In Dax’s absence, M set the table for supper, checked the chicken, tasted the broth, added a few extra shakes of pepper and lowered the heat under the pot. Then she went out into the little entrance foyer and down the corridor that led to Geo’s studio at the back of the old brownstone.

On the phone earlier, Geo had asked her to check that all the blinds were pulled down and also to make sure that the air
conditioner was on low. When M walked into the vaulted studio she saw that the room was properly shaded and cool: the paintings stacked here and there against the walls were well protected from the daylight. She glanced at the thermostat on the wall; Geo had turned it to low earlier, but perhaps she had forgotten.

Moving forward, M stood in the centre of the floor for a moment, thinking what a perfect studio this was. There were three windows, all of them large; a skylight had been installed at one end, where a portion of the room jutted out into the back yard. No wonder Geo loved this place so much and painted so well in here. M had been captivated by Geo’s paintings when she’d first seen them, and she admired her talent. Geo had an uncanny way of capturing light on canvas and in a way only a few artists could.

M thought suddenly of an extraordinary painting, which she knew intimately since it was a family heirloom. It was a breathtaking picture by J. M. W. Turner, the great artist, who flourished in the first half of the nineteenth century. His forte had been capturing light on canvas, and nobody had ever excelled this master, and perhaps no one ever would.

M unlocked the back door, and stepped out into the yard. There was a wrought-iron seat, two chairs and a small table on the tiny flagged patio, and, beyond, a minuscule lawn and some flowering shrubs. M took a deep breath, sniffed the air. Earlier the rain had stopped and it had cooled off; the stifling heat of the afternoon was thankfully diminished. Returning to the patio, she sat down on the wrought-iron seat, thinking that this tiny verdant patch in the middle of Manhattan was like a miniature oasis that truly pleased the senses.

A moment later, a rush of sadness engulfed her as she thought of her mother’s garden in England. Closing her eyes, she saw it in her mind’s eye; saw all of its wondrous glory, walked along its winding paths. And for a few moments she was transported back to her favourite place on this earth, the place that was
always in her heart, would always be embedded there, the place where she had been her happiest.
Go back home, go back straight away,
a small voice whispered at the back of her head.
You’ve nothing to fear.

A second later M heard the sound of Dax’s feet clattering across the terracotta floor of the studio. She roused herself from her reverie and brushed a hand over her eyes, blinking back unanticipated tears that momentarily blinded her.

Dax did not appear to notice anything amiss as he came to a halt in front of her and said, ‘My clothes were dry, and I had a quick shower in Geo’s bathroom before I got dressed. I feel much better, as good as new, and my cold seems to have gone.’

‘I hope so,’ M answered, wondering whether he ought to be using Geo’s shower, and then decided she must clean it later. She didn’t want to go into a lot of explanations about Dax’s presence here this afternoon. Who knew what kind of relationship they now had?

He went on, ‘Geo’s lucky to have this back yard, even though it’s the size of a postage stamp. And the studio is awesome, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is, and
you
would be
really
awesome if you went back to the kitchen and poured us both a glass of wine. I bought a bottle of Sancerre the other day, and it’s in the fridge. You can’t miss my bottle, it’s got a big red M on the label.’

‘At your service,’ he said, grinning, and went back into the brownstone.

Leaning back against the wrought-iron seat, M closed her eyes once more and pictured her room at home, full of her special possessions, all the things she treasured, and she mentally walked through her parents’ house, opening doors, peeking inside other rooms. Inwardly she smiled; how she loved her family home…one day she
would
go there again…in a year or two…when she was sure it was safe…when she
knew
for a certainty that no one could harm her…

‘Here I am!’ Dax exclaimed, handing her the wine glass, sitting down next to her.

‘Thanks,’ M said, and touched her glass to his. ‘Down the hatch.’

He chuckled, looked at her, and chuckled again.

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘It’s such a masculine toast. My father always says that.’

‘So?’ She gazed at him, her eyes narrowing. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘Nothing really, it just struck me that it’s a man’s toast, that’s all.’

Finally, M gave him the benefit of a wide smile. ‘I suppose I picked it up at home. Like your father, mine often uses those words, too.’

Dax took a long swallow of the wine and said, ‘I know you don’t want to hear my problems, but there’s just one thing I’d like to say…okay?’

‘Shoot,’ she responded and sipped her wine.

‘I’d like you to explain
why
you’re so against my going out to LA? I mean, what do you have against Hollywood?’

‘I don’t have anything against it, nor am I against you going, actually. I was just trying to point out, earlier, that moving to another city doesn’t solve problems. Not for anyone. Because the problems are inside the person…a new city won’t change a thing, Dax. Anyway, I was always led to believe that Hollywood was a bit…well, overcrowded, especially with young talent.’

‘I hear you, and you’re right, M. But I haven’t been able to get acting work here, and I do want to be an actor…I’ve been acting since I was a kid, you know. I thought I ought to go out to the Coast and give it a try, take my chances.’

‘I understand. I suppose if you don’t go you might end up regretting it one day.’

‘Does that mean I have your blessing, M?’

‘Not really. Because I do think you should try again, have a
go at getting a job here. But I do understand why you want to go to the Coast.’

‘Thanks for saying that. And listen, it will remove me from the scene here. I think I’d like to make myself scarce, if only for a few months.’

M nodded, pursed her lips together, and then said softly, ‘I’ll miss you, Dax.’

He was an observant young man, and he noticed the sadness flickering in her eyes. Reaching out, he put an arm around her, pulled her closer and held her tightly against him. ‘I’ll stay in touch. And you know what, I’ll miss
you
too, babe, I will indeed.’ He turned her face to his and kissed her on the cheek. ‘We can call each other, text all the time.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she murmured and, putting a brave face on it, she went on, ‘I think we’d better go in. The soup must be ready by now, and I don’t want it to burn.’

‘What do you think is wrong with us, Dax?’ M asked a little later, sitting back in the chair, eyeing her friend across the kitchen table.

Frowning, he said, ‘What exactly do you mean?’ As he spoke he put down his soup spoon and, with his head on one side, threw her a quizzical look.

‘Not being able to get work. Look, you’ve been trying hard to find an acting job, and I’m striving to be a model, but no one seems interested in us, do they?’

‘True enough, but it’s more to do with the time of year than anything else, at least as far as modelling is concerned. And, let’s face it, you’ve only been in New York two months. But things are bound to pick up in the fall. As for me, I just explained why I’m seriously considering going to the West Coast. I want a change of scenery, new contacts, and I
do
think there are opportunities there.’

M nodded, picked up her spoon and finished the soup. For a moment her mind focused on her eldest brother, who had often taken her under his wing, and tried to guide her in many different ways. He had once said that looks and talent weren’t always quite enough, that other factors frequently came into play in a successful career. Such vital things as timing, being in the right place at the right time, and, most importantly, having Lady Luck on one’s side. Although she sometimes disagreed with her brother about certain things, she was well aware he was wise and scrupulously honest. He told it the way it was, and she trusted him.

‘Penny for your thoughts,’ Dax said, peering at her.

After a small silence, M responded, ‘I haven’t seen you act, but I’m assuming you can, and you’re certainly good looking, and you photograph well. But you’ve got to
really
want it—to be an actor, I mean. It’s really got to be the most
important
thing in your life, and you must have immense drive, discipline and determination. And total dedication. There are a lot of good-looking, talented young men out there, and you’ve just got to want it
more,
be
better
than them. If you’re going to succeed, that is.’

He leaned forward. ‘But that
is
the way I feel, and I
am
very dedicated and determined, M, honestly. I just need one break.’

‘I know that. Sometimes it’s just a question of being in the right place at the right time. And of course, there’s another vital element involved—’

‘What’s that?’ he asked, cutting in.

‘Luck. You’ve got to have Lady Luck on your side.’

He grimaced. ‘So far
she
hasn’t been anywhere in sight.’

‘Listen, go to Hollywood, Dax! Do it! Don’t listen to me and other nay-sayers. Take a chance, go out there and make it. I’m certainly behind you. Forget what I said about it being crowded with good-looking young talent…go and compete, and I wish you lots of luck!’ She laughed. ‘Just don’t forget me, will you? You’re the only friend I have in the whole of America.’