Morning Song Page 16

  ‘I understand,’ she told him simply, and the lines on his face smoothed out into more natural, relaxed ones.

  ‘In that case, then ...’ He came forward and took her shoulders. ‘May I kiss you goodnight?’

  She laughed, tipping her face upwards to him. ‘You couldn’t before?’

  ‘Not as long as you were still thinking this was some sort of elaborate seduction scheme,’ he responded, and the deep light she loved so well was in his eyes as he softly touched her hair. ‘It was a good evening, wasn’t it, Lauren?’

  She whispered, ‘Yes.’ And his lips touched hers.

  It was meant to be a goodnight kiss, simple, tender, brief. She knew that. But she didn’t know how to control her response, which was natural and right and completely overwhelming, for in that moment everything she loved about Shane seemed to bubble up and demand release. Her arms crept about his neck and the blanket fell away unheeded. She felt his cautious intake of breath, the surprise and question, and then his hands were upon her waist, against the thin, silky material of her slip, caressing and delighting in the feel of it even as she delighted in the sensation of his strong fingers against her skin with nothing more than the fine layer of material separating them. His hand slipped about to cup her breast, fingers gently exploring, coaxing her to a new and heightened state of arousal, and her knees went weak with the tingling sensations of passion that swept through her.

  She was sitting on the bed, then lying back upon it, his breath was hot against her cheek, and her ear, and her neck, and the evidence of his restraint was in the slow, gently caressing course his hand traced along her leg, beneath her slip, feathering against the inside of her thigh and further upward to her bare abdomen. The moment was upon them, and it seemed as though it had been carved from destiny. It was right and it was good, she had waited for it all her life, and she gave herself over to it joyously.

  Shane had removed his coat and tie before coming in, and the shirt was unbuttoned already at the collar. It was an easy task, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world, for Lauren to release the remaining buttons, baring his chest for the embrace of her arms, her fingers exploring the smooth skin of his back, experiencing the tautness of his shoulders and the length of his muscles. Her hands swept lightly across his chest, delighting in the sensation of soft chest hair which tingled in her fingertips like static electricity. She felt the surprising quiver of his flesh as her fingers brushed across his breast and his soft, indrawn breath, and he cupped her face in his hands as his lips found her again, giving her a kiss that was powerful with desire but gentle in its restraint. Her hands explored the smooth, firm muscles of his abdomen, and the catch of his trousers, and slowly his lips left hers.

  ‘Lauren,’ he whispered, and she opened her eyes. Everything was blurred with the heat of passion and the warmth of his body next to hers, and she could not read the expression in his eyes. He took her fingers and brought them to his lips, and that simple, lingering kiss brought a new dimension to passion, to caring. His voice was slightly breathless and had a husky timbre, and she noticed that his eyes were so dark they seemed to have no colour at all as he said softly, ‘Who is it you’re going to make love with—Shane Holt the musician, or simply myself, the man?’

  It seemed a strange question, confusing and irrelevant. But it seemed important to him that she answer, and there was no doubt in her mind what the answer would be. She loved him, all of him, didn’t he know that by now? She whispered, tightening her fingers about his, ‘They’re one and the same, Shane.’ Slowly he released her hand. He turned away, he stood. She thought he would finish undressing, or simply turn off the light; she was completely unprepared for the steps he took towards the door.

  ‘I’m sorry Lauren,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s just not good enough.’

  She pushed herself upwards, every muscle in her body suddenly trembling and cold and weakness drained into horror as she realised he was leaving. She hardly had enough breath to whisper, and it came out in a choked, croaking sound. ‘Shane, what did I do? Why ...’

  ‘I won’t be part of your fantasy,’ he returned briefly. ‘Not any more.’

  But it wasn’t a fantasy! Couldn’t he see that? He was only the man she had loved for ever, first in dreams and now in reality, and she only wanted to share that love ... But she could not speak.

  With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to look at her, and the stark pain and disappointment in his eyes sent a pain through her chest; she hugged herself against a violent shiver and she wanted to reach out to him and comfort him, but she was helpless against what she saw in his face. ‘I wanted to be loved by you,’ he said, very low, ‘more than anything else in the world. But not this way. Not ...’ he opened the door, and the last words were hardly above a whisper, ‘this way.’

  The door closed softly behind him, and Lauren was alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘’I wanted to be loved by you ... The words haunted an endless night as tears streamed silently down her temples and soaked the cold pillow beneath her head. And she wanted only to love him, to comfort his troubled spirit and make him happy. But she could not reach him. What she had to give was not what he wanted after all. She had had the love of a lifetime within fingertips’ grasp and had somehow let it slip away ... and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing at all.

  She dragged herself out of bed at dawn, washed her face, and was dressed by the time Shane knocked softly on the communicating door. She had a pounding headache from sleeplessness and worry, and she found it difficult to return his rather strained smile. He, too, looked pale and worn, but there was no satisfaction in knowing he had slept no better than she had.

  They spoke hardly at all on the way downstairs. Shane offered her breakfast, and Lauren refused. He looked as though he understood.

  The day was clear and brilliant, but crystal cold. The snow-plough had been through and ribbons of asphalt gleamed between blinding white banks as they made their way out of the city. The car was warm, but Lauren was cold. The near-silent purr of the motor was rhythmic and soothing, but it only pulsed new waves of pain through her head. The silence between them was unbearable. They had to talk about it. Would they never talk about it? Would Shane try to ignore it, to pretend nothing of consequence had happened, and one day just walk away not knowing, or caring, that her entire life had been changed within the space of a few seconds last night in his presence?

  At last she requested, trying to keep the tension out of her voice. ‘Could we have the radio on, please?’

  He turned it on, and Shane Holt’s voice from an old recording floated through the speakers:

  The sun is on the mountain

  and it hovers like a prize

  for all the things left yet untouchable,

  But there’s winter in your eyes,

  And I must go ...

  Oh, God, thought Lauren in aching despair. Even now he has just the right words ... and he switched it off.

  He said unexpectedly, ‘Don’t hate me.’

  She looked at him, a quick breath and a startled protest on her lips, but his face was hard and expressionless, his eyes fastened upon the road. He said evenly, ‘I don’t expect you to understand, just listen. I know I acted badly last night and I’m sorry. The last thing in the world I want is to hurt you ... but I don’t want to be hurt, either.’ She saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel, and the muscle near his jaw was prominent. She wanted to see his eyes, but he would not allow it. ‘I can’t help hurting you, Lauren, don’t you see that? I can’t help disappointing you, because what you’re expecting of me is something I can’t give.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ she said quietly. ‘It may have been once, but ... not any more.’

  He glanced at her, and she could tell he wanted to believe her, but he did not. ‘You look at me,’ he said, ‘and you see the man who never existed. But it’s worse ... you try to make him come alive, and you drag up a past that’s—’ He strug
gled over the words. ‘Not pleasant for me to see. I get angry when you take me back to a time I’ve tried so hard to forget, and when I see the difference between what you think I am and what I really am, it makes me—ashamed. I can’t deal with it.’

  She turned to him earnestly, her arm resting along the back of the car seat, yearning to touch him but not daring. ‘I only want to care for you,’ she said softly. ‘You said you wanted it too.’

  ‘I expected too much,’ he replied shortly. His knuckles on the steering wheel were white.

  ‘Why won’t you help me understand?’ she pleaded. ‘You’re closing doors to me, you won’t let me get close. You can’t just tell me what I’m doing wrong, you have to show me. Why does the past frighten you so much? You have nothing to be ashamed of! Oh, Shane, don’t you know that I lo—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk any more,’ he cut her off coldly, and she shrank back as though struck. When he glanced at her there was a flicker of softening in his eyes, a hint of regret, and his voice lost its curtness as he turned back to the road. ‘I’m very tired,’ he said simply, heavily.

  And that, apparently, was the way he wanted to leave it.

  The next few days Shane was remote, polite yet distant, very quiet ... and not just to Lauren, but to everyone in the house. There was a vagueness in his eyes, as though he were fighting a deeply troubling battle within himself and could accept no aid. Too many times Lauren discovered him standing at the window, looking out at the snow, and there was a thinly disguised impatience there, a restlessness which would not be stilled. She knew she was losing him, and the knowledge curled into a dull, aching pain deep within the core of her which left her neither day or night.

  And then Jimmy Wild arrived, and changed all their lives.

  Lauren did not know what she had expected. A longhaired, hyper-energetic, freewheeling rock musician, perhaps, like the members of Angel’s band. Or a moody, ultra-sensitive, prima donna type—certainly not the earnest young man who turned out to be Jimmy Wild.

  He arrived on a blustery winter day, plainly dressed in a brown suit which looked as though it had seen better days, his neatly combed brown hair frosted with snow, looking nervous, awed, and cold. He was easily impressed and overly appreciative, as though slightly dazzled by the trip and the house and all that had happened to him—a trait which Lauren and Marie found charming, and Van found amusing. But when Jimmy made the mistake of calling Shane ‘Sir’ Lauren did not know whether to burst into giggles or hold her breath for the young man’s sake, remembering how Shane had reacted to her gesture of respect on their first meeting and knowing that he was in no mood to be kind to strangers. His sharp tongue could carve the young man to shreds in less than a sentence and completely destroy whatever confidence he had left, and Lauren did not think she could ever forgive him for that. But to her relief, and much to Shane’s credit, he simply replied that no one had called him ‘sir’ since R.O.T.C. training in high school and that, as he had a terrible memory for names, it would probably be much better all around if everyone remained on a first-name basis while they were working together. There was a gentling of his features while he spoke to Jimmy, one that Lauren had not seen in too long, and she loved him for that.

  From that point, Jimmy seemed to relax slowly, and as Marie served spiced wine and hot hors d’oeuvres in the living room he talked about himself and his music. Often while he was speaking his eyes would flicker to Lauren as though seeking reassurance, possibly because she was the closest to his age or the only one present who could not intimidate him with power, and she always answered with an encouraging smile. She liked him.

  He was twenty-four years old and had started playing with a rock band when he was thirteen. He had never been out of his native state of Indiana, and he had been performing as a single with various back-up bands for the past five years. He liked what he was doing. It was steady employment, and stability was important to him. But, beyond that, he loved making music simply for its own sake. When he talked about music all hints of awkwardness and shyness were gone, his eyes were lit by a quiet sort of passion, and he was in his element. Although he did not say so directly, it was obvious he had no overt ambitions to be a star, but, from the look which passed from Van to Shane, Lauren knew he had the makings of one. And then Shane asked to hear him play.

  Jimmy’s eyes lit up with greedy delight as he saw all the equipment in the music room, but he chose a twelve-string acoustic guitar, positioned himself with natural ease before a microphone, and did not notice when Van turned on the recorder. He chose a simple ballad, and from the moment he began to sing a sort of hushed awe fell over the room, the spell in which he captured his audience of four was a tangible thing. Completely involved with himself, the love he felt for his art flowed from the strings of his instrument and from his voice and made it beautiful. Midway through the chorus Van joined him in back-up on the synthesiser, but Jimmy hardly noticed. Watching him, Lauren was struck by something achingly familiar about his performance, something heartrending yet indefinable. You are going to make it, Jimmy Wild, she thought in quiet exultation. You really are.

  When he was finished, the moment of reverent silence endured. There was triumph in Van’s eyes, and a mist of tears in Marie’s. But it was to Shane that Jimmy looked, and to Lauren’s shock, Shane, stony-faced, said abruptly, ‘Excuse me,’ and left the room.

  For a moment they all stared after him, then Van got up and followed him. Jimmy, shielding his eyes as he carefully replaced the guitar, said softly, ‘Wow! That bad, huh?’

  Marie assured him quickly, ‘You were fantastic!’ There was impatience with Shane in her eyes even as she defended him. ‘You mustn’t let Shane bother you. He’s temperamental, and he’s been moody lately, but that won’t affect his judgment of your performance. It’s just that—’ She looked to Lauren for help.

  ‘You remind him of himself,’ Lauren realised slowly. Jimmy’s eyes flew to hers in surprise, and she explained, ‘You could be Shane ten years ago. He saw it as soon as I did—it was like looking into a mirror on the past.’ Jimmy shook his head in wonder and disbelief. ‘There’s only one Shane Holt.’

  ‘And there’s only one Jimmy Wild,’ Lauren assured him firmly. ‘And I think you’ve just found the one man in the world who can understand your music and turn it into something special. The two of you couldn’t make a more perfect team.’

  There was uneasiness in Jimmy’s eyes as he sat down at the synthesiser and absently fingered the silent keyboard. ‘I don’t know. Maybe this whole thing was a big mistake. I only agreed to it because ...’ he glanced at Marie with a slightly apologetic smile, ‘you don’t turn down a man like Marvin Van Fossen.’

  ‘Oh, but surely,’ protested Marie, ‘you wouldn’t consider turning down a contract with one of the biggest recording studios in the business. It’s the chance of a lifetime!’

  ‘Sure it is,’ agreed Jimmy sensibly, ‘but it could also be the biggest fall of my lifetime. A contract doesn’t make you a star, and neither does one hit. I’m pretty satisfied with my life the way it is right now, and to tell you the truth, I don’t know that I’m all that crazy about being a star, even if I do make it. It’s all so risky.’

  ‘Think of the money,’ prompted Marie.

  ‘I am,’ Jimmy agreed glumly, and just then Shane returned.

  He had a drink in his hand, and his stance was relaxed, but beneath the casual demeanour Lauren could sense a quiet turmoil. He told Jimmy briefly, ‘You’re good. I think we can talk a deal, but I’m going to have to hear how you come across on tape—after all, we’re talking recording contracts, here. I know you brought some demos, but if you’re not too tired, I’d like to make a couple or more here tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll go to the studio for some good back-up sound. What do you say we get started?’

  There was excitement in Jimmy’s eyes as he looked at Lauren, but it was still tempered with a measure of caution. She gave him a wink and a sign of encouragement with her thum
b and forefinger, and left the professionals to their work.

  After breakfast two days later Jimmy’s work was finished. Shane and Van locked themselves in the music room with his tapes, and had lunch served to them there. During the afternoon Jimmy wandered about looking forlorn and worried, and Lauren felt sorry for him. The two producers made an appearance at dinner but their conversation was mostly technical, and they gave Jimmy neither a sign of encouragement or discouragement—and, in fact, hardly addressed themselves to him at all. After dinner they returned to the music room, and Jimmy hung about the kitchen as the women cleared the dishes, trying to make himself useful while his fate rested in the hands of two virtual strangers.

  To distract him, Lauren challenged him to a video game, and, although he agreed readily enough, it was obvious his mind was not on the game. Lauren, who was a terrible player, completely massacred him in the first three games, and finally she demanded in exasperation, ‘They were good, weren’t they?’

  He looked up absently. ‘What?’

  ‘Your tapes. Weren’t they good?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He smiled a little. ‘Yeah, they were good.’ She sat down on the sofa, making a sweeping gesture with her arm to dismiss his anxieties. ‘Then you have nothing to worry about. You look like they’ve already set the execution date!’

  He laughed a little and came to sit beside her. ‘Yeah, I know. I just feel like I’m in way over my head. I mean, men like Shane Holt and Marvin Van Fossen—they’re superstars in the business; I’m just a small town boy. And I’m homesick. I miss my family.’

  The admission was endearing, and she smiled at him. She had known he was married, but she asked, ‘Do you have children?’

  ‘Two,’ he answered, then he grinned. ‘I don’t suppose you’d be interested in seeing some pictures?’

  She enthusiastically agreed, and curled her feet beneath her as he opened his wallet and took out a collection of photographs of two boys in various stages of development. ‘This is Bear,’ he pointed out a picture of a tough-looking, husky little kid in a baseball cap, scowling at the camera. ‘His real name is Richard, but he’ll never be anything but a Bear. Looks like one too, doesn’t he?’ Lauren laughingly agreed, and he went on, ‘He started kindergarten this year and terrorised the whole class. For a while there I thought we might be the first parents to have their son expelled from kindergarten ... This is Mickey. He’s three, and thinks his big brother told God how to create the earth. This is my wife, Jean.’