Unguarded Moment (9 page)

Afterwards Alix had wondered if the anger might not have been easier to deal with than what followed—the smiling ridicule, the spiteful remarks cloaked in a smile like a wasp's sting in honey. She had smarted for hours at the way Bianca's eyes sometimes slid over her in half-pitying amusement.

She flayed herself with the thought that perhaps Liam Brant had told Bianca what he'd said, his criticisms of her appearance, and this was why Bianca watched her in that way. And yet if that had been the case she knew Bianca well enough by now to know that she couldn't have resisted the temptation to mention it, to lay the lash gently but surely along what was already an open wound.

Alix felt herself shiver at the thought. She had been incredibly naive when she first came to work for Bianca, but over the years she had developed what she thought was a protective shell, a self-sufficiency which enabled her to tolerate Monty's resentment and Bianca's swift and not always kind changes of mood.

Up to a few weeks ago she had known a kind of security, until a man with a lean, dark face and cool scornful eyes had made her realise that her shell was no protection after all, that in reality she was still as vulnerable as a child. It was not a comforting realisation. She also had to face the fact that no matter how determinedly she might put all thought of Liam Brant out of her mind, he was not so easily disposed of. And every time she thought of him, her hands and body grew cold, and all her blood seemed to concentrate in some weird way in her face in a burning flush. It was a reaction she couldn't explain, because in her heart she knew she didn't want to consider the implications of such an explanation.

At least the Italian trip would give her something else to think about, she told herself, and wished she could have felt more reassured.

The flight got off to a hectic start. The Press, duly primed by Seb, were out in force. Alix supposed by this time she should be used to the questions, the flashing bulbs which usually attended Bianca's arrivals and departures at the world's international airports. Bianca Layton was news—and the fact that she had accepted an invitation to stay at Carlo Veronese's villa was hot news, although the statement Seb had prepared was playing the whole thing very cool. It said simply that Bianca was flying to Italy for a much needed holiday, and dismissed all speculation about the role of Francesca as unfounded and premature.

The statement hadn't pleased Bianca very much. She felt the triumph was hers and wished to savour it, but at last she reluctantly agreed it might be better to delay any announcement until the contract was signed, and that being so she played the part Seb had assigned to her for all she was worth.

She looked amazingly beautiful, Alix thought detachedly. Nor was it a question of bone structure and expert therapy. The appearance of a camera—any camera—effected a kind of alchemy. She seemed illuminated from within in some mysterious way. And today she was all charm and graciousness too, without a hint of the petulance which had sometimes soured her relations with the Press. It was an enchanting performance, and Alix, standing the usual discreet distance away with Monty, silently applauded.

The impromptu press conference was just beginning to break up when one journalist said, 'What's going to happen about the authorised biography of you, Miss Layton? I understand preliminary work has already started.'

Bianca's smile was radiant. She said, 'I think that's also a little premature. Anything of that nature will have to be postponed indefinitely, of course. I shall be far too busy in the coming months, I'm afraid.'

And that was it, Alix thought, fascinated. Another problem solved, another cloud banished from her particular sky with a wave of the hand. Liam Brant had been relegated to the unimportant with a few casual words. She must be totally sure, totally secure in her power over him. She must have him eating out of her hand.

Their flight was being called, and Bianca was on her way, posing for last pictures, and calling smiling farewells to the columnists she knew by name. Alix noticed that Peter was not among them. He was probably licking his wounds somewhere, she thought, and could even feel sorry for him.

No one gave Monty and herself even a second glance as they followed Bianca at the same discreet distance to the aircraft.

The separation continued on the plane. Bianca and Leon were ensconced in the first class cabin, while Alix found herself in an adjoining seat to Monty in the second class accommodation.

She was thankful that it wasn't a long flight. She'd found herself in the same situation on several of the Transatlantic crossings, and Monty had hardly spoken a word to her. This time she was prepared; she had brought a book to read in her hand luggage. As she unfastened her seat belt and bent forward to retrieve it, she was suddenly aware that Monty was leaning back in her seat, her eyes closed, and her hands rigidly gripping the arm rests. She was alarmingly pale.

Alix asked, concerned, 'What is it? Are you feeling ill?'

After a long moment Monty's eyelids flickered, and she gave something approaching a wan smile.

She said, 'No, not ill. It—it just doesn't get any better, that's all. And this time for some reason it's a great deal worse.'

Alix stared at her in bewilderment. She said, 'Do you mean—are you scared of flying?'

It seemed impossible. Monty had been with Bianca for so many years. She was a seasoned traveller if ever there was one.

She was beginning to lose some of that awful rigidity and a little colour was creeping back into her face as she said with some of her old crispness, 'Ridiculous, I know, but I've never been able to help it. I usually take tablets, but I found this morning that I'd run out, and there wasn't time to get any more. They're on prescription, you see…' Her voice trailed away with a little uncertainty, and she turned her head and looked at Alix. She said, 'You won't tell her? She doesn't know—she's never known. She—she wouldn't like it.'

That was quite true, Alix thought. Monty was Bianca's stalwart. No sign of weakness would be tolerated, and Monty knew it. Knew that one day Bianca might look at her and realise that she was getting old. And when that happened all those devoted years, Monty's care and expertise, would count for very little.

She remembered Lester Marchant saying, 'She uses people until they've nothing left that she wants, then she discards them. Well, she's not using me up.'

He'd been angry, she remembered, and bitter, but' there'd been hurt as well. She had only seen hint, once more. He had come into the office to say goodbye, and he'd kissed her cheek and said, 'Don't let her use you, Alix.'

She hadn't really understood what he meant then, because after all she was Bianca's secretary, and there to be used. It was what she was paid for. But gradually and painfully she had begun to see what he was getting at.

She said warmly, 'Of course I won't say anything. I don't know how you've managed to pretend all this time. I don't think I could be as brave as that.'

Monty's voice was tart. 'It's got nothing to do with bravery. It's self-preservation, and you know it. You're not a complete fool.' She paused and then said heavily, 'You're a good child in many ways. I don't think I've always been altogether fair to you. I never wanted you to work for her. I've never made any secret of it, and I blamed
him
for encouraging her. I told her it was a mistake, but she wouldn't listen.'

Alix listened in a kind of amazement. Monty had never spoken to her with such frankness before.

'But why?' she asked. 'I don't understand. Did you think I'd presume on our relationship?' She had to smile as she said it. The very idea of Bianca allowing anyone, even her own flesh and blood, to presume in any way was ridiculous.

But Monty did not join in her amusement. She said abruptly, 'I had my reasons. But it's turned out better than I thought—I'll admit that.'

And what an admission! Alix thought, startled. But she welcomed it if it meant that she and Monty would be on easier terms from now on. She wasn't wholly optimistic, of course. Monty might regret this unbending when she was safely down on the ground again.

She still looked pale and tense and when the stewardess came round to take orders for drinks, Alix ordered a brandy for her, as well as a gin and tonic for herself.

In the other cabin, Bianca would be drinking champagne with Leon, she supposed ironically. Bianca rarely drank spirits; she considered them ageing.

Monty swallowed her brandy with unusual obedience, and then seemed to doze for a while. Alix sipped her drink more slowly and watched the changing patterns of the clouds beneath the aircraft. Flying had never bothered her. It Was just one of those things. At first she had even found it exciting, but it had soon dwindled into the ordinary—a part of life to be got through like everything else, but never to be dreaded as apparently poor Monty had always done.

Her mouth twisted ironically. Little did she think when she got up that morning that she would be referring to the steel-backed, eagle-eyed Miss Montgomery as 'poor Monty', even in thought. And it could only ever be in thought. Monty's new-found tolerance of her would vanish like morning mist if she suspected for a moment that Alix pitied her.

Monty woke, and the stewardesses came round serving lunch. They exchanged a few desultory remarks over the meal, and Monty seemed amiable enough for Alix to ask her something she had often wondered about.

'How did you meet Bianca in the first place?'

Something like a reminiscent smile touched Monty's lips. 'We were in rep together. Oh, yes,' she went on, meeting Alix's surprised look. 'I was much older, and playing character parts, and she was just beginning to get juvenile leads. She was good, but I never thought the stage was the right medium for her. I always thought films—or television.'

Alix was thoroughly bewildered. Monty as a character actress was something which had never occurred to her.

'But if you were in the theatre, how did you come to learn massage and all the other things?'

'I had a fall, a bad one, which needed extensive treatment. At one time it seemed likely I was going to have a limp, which meant my stage career was probably at an end, so I had to look for something else to do. Massage had been part of my treatment, and I became interested in it. I decided to take a course, and beauty therapy was part of it I'd lost touch with Bianca after she left the company, but I met her by chance one day in Harrods. We had tea together, and she asked me what I was doing.' She gave a half-shrug. 'Next thing was that she offered me a job, and I've been with her ever since— over twenty years.'

Another side of Bianca, Alix thought, surprised, extending a helping hand to an old friend. That kind of loyalty didn't seem particularly characteristic of her aunt. After all, she had never displayed it towards her own family. Perhaps Lester Marchant's view was the true one—that Bianca had seen in Monty someone who could be useful to her, and it went no deeper than that.

She glanced at Monty and saw that she was staring straight in front of her with a rather brooding expression on her face. Perhaps the same thought had occurred to her.

To change the subject she said, 'I wonder what the villa will be like?'

Monty produced something like a sniff. 'Opulent, I expect.' She paused. 'And very warm.'

Alix laughed. 'Perhaps I shall be able to work on my tan.'

Monty gave her a considering look. 'You don't want to get too brown. It won't do your skin any good in later life.'

Alix said cheerfully, 'Oh, I don't really need to bother about things like that.'

'You should always bother about your appearance,' Monty said flatly. 'I thought from the look of you that you were beginning to take a real interest at last.'

Alix put up a hand and touched the silken fall of her hair. She said ruefully, 'I'm afraid Bianca isn't very pleased with me still.'

Monty shrugged. 'There's no reason why she should be. After all, you've reminded her of something she won't want to remember.'

'What's that?' Alix asked.

'What she looked like when she was a girl,' Monty said drily. 'Don't you remember the photographs she was going through—to illustrate the book?'

'I never really saw them. I went on holiday, and when I came back she'd changed her mind about the biography.' She stopped, because the mention of it had brought Liam Brant back into her mind again, and she was conscious of that deep fierce ache again. She noticed that the warning lights about smoking and seat-belts had come on again, and a voice was telling the passengers that they would be landing at Rome airport shortly. She bent her head and concentrated on her seat-belt, knowing that Monty would be doing the same and would not be able to watch her too closely.

Trying to make her voice casual, she said, 'Did Mr Brant mind very much—about the book? He—he seemed very set on it, I thought.'

'Heaven knows what he'll think.' Monty was clearly steeling herself for the descent, and disinclined for conversation.

Alix stared at her. 'Doesn't he know—that Bianca's going to Italy, I mean?'

'She did telephone him,' Monty said grudgingly. 'But there was no answer, and she wasn't pleased. She may have phoned again, but I doubt it. I think she was expecting him to be in touch with her. He'll know soon enough when he sees tomorrow's papers.'

She closed her eyes determinedly and leaned back in her seat with a deepening look of apprehension.

Alix felt apprehensive too, but it had nothing to do with the fact that the aircraft was coming in to land. She was wondering what Liam Brant's reaction would be when he found that Bianca had left the country without a word to him. He was the last man who would take kindly to being made a fool of, and the realisation that Bianca had merely been playing him along with no intention of co-operating over the biography at all could make him very angry indeed.

And that was something Bianca could very well regret, she thought unhappily as the plane's wheels descended smoothly on to the tarmac, and she was aware of a chill that even the brilliant Italian sunshine could not dispel.