Shadow Marriage

‘It’s Ben, Sarah,’ he told her quickly, his hand going to her arm as he saw her sway slightly. ‘Look, I know what a shock this must be to you, that’s why I wanted to be the first to tell you. Knowing that bastard, he’d just let you walk right into him without any preparation at all. You must have done quite well out of him when the divorce went through.’ He gave her an oblique look. ‘I mean, by that time he’d have been working in America; he went there right after Shakespeare finished, didn’t he?’

Sarah made no response—she wasn’t capable of doing so. Ben directing Richard—she couldn’t believe it! She didn’t want to believe it. Paul came to join them, and if he found anything strange in her pale face and strained features, he was too polite to say so, simply opening the front passenger door of the car for her when she reached it, and helping her with her seat-belt, causing Dale to raise an eyebrow and comment that he obviously believed in working himself into the right mood for a part. ‘Not that you’ll find Sarah a walk-over,’ he added, grinning at Sarah encouragingly. ‘She knows all about the dangers of getting involved with her leading men, don’t you, sweetling?’

Sarah knew that Dale was only teasing her, but she wished he had been a little more reticent when she saw the way Paul looked at her. ‘Some of them have caused problems,’ she agreed lightly.

‘And in case you think she means me, Sarah and I have always had a very special relationship, haven’t we?’ Dale chipped in.

They had in many ways, and Sarah grinned back at him, trying to banish from her mind the knowledge that soon she was going to come face to face with Ben, Ben whose acting ability in Shakespeare had been so greatly acclaimed, but who had gone on to find equal fame in directing and producing. She could vouch personally for his acting ability; she had had first-hand personal experience of it. She smiled rather bitterly to herself. God, how naïve she had been! Dale had been a good friend to her then. If it hadn’t been for him she would never have known the truth; never known how cruelly Ben had deceived her. She had thought he loved her as she loved him while all she had really been to him was the fulfilment of a bet. Even now to think about what had happened brought her flesh out in goose-bumps, shivering with distaste and despair. Dale, frantic when he learned that Ben had married her, had told her the truth, wanting to protect her; Ben with whom she was so crazily and deeply in love had married her for no other reason than simply to win a bet. It had started in complete innocence, on Dale’s part at least. When the three of them started to film Shakespeare, Dale had bet Ben a thousand pounds that he would be the first one to get her into bed, and Ben had accepted the wager. When he had told her of his own part in what had happened Dale had had the grace to be very shamefaced, but he had not known her then; she had just been another very pretty girl and the bet had been made half in jest, but already there had been a certain competitiveness between himself and Ben; Dale being the more acclaimed and well-known actor of the two, and Ben had obviously determined that this time he was going to be the winner.

Sarah had had no idea about the bet between her two fellow actors; no idea of what was intended, and while from the very first she had been wary of Dale’s outrageously flirtatious manner and had kept him at bay, she had had no defences against her own feelings for Benedict, falling in love with him almost at first sight, allowing herself to become so bemused by him and their roles that she had permitted him to make love to her, and she had thought when she had refused to allow him to make their relationship public that his proposal of marriage stemmed from his desire and love for her, not realising that he simply saw it as the only way he could force Dale to acknowledge that he was the winner of their bet.

Dale had been enjoying a brief break away from the set when it happened and only returned the day they were married by special licence, less than a week after Ben had made love to her. Dale had got slightly drunk at the post-wedding party given by the cast, and he had followed up to her hotel room when she went to get changed, to tell her the truth. Sarah had still been in tears when they heard Ben outside the door, and it had been then that Dale had whispered to her that they would turn the tables on him, taking her in his arms and wrenching unfastened the front of her dress so that Ben had discovered them together locked in what appeared to be an intensely passionate embrace, Dale’s cool comment that he had after all lost, as Sarah preferred him, driving Benedict from the room and ultimately from her life. She could still vividly remember the climax to their wedding party when Ben very obviously drunk, had announced to the assembled cast that she and Dale were lovers.

She thought guiltily about Dale’s comment on their divorce. She always described herself as ‘divorced’, but the plain facts of the matter were that she was still, legally at least, married to Ben. They had been married in England, where the law had been and still was that only an uncontested divorce could be obtained after three years. Where both parties were not in agreement the waiting period was five years, and it was still only three and a half years since they had been married. Why Ben refused to give her a divorce she had no idea, unless it was because he feared she might make some sort of financial claim on him. Either that, or he simply wanted to punish her. But she wasn’t the guilty party. She had married him because she was deeply in love with him and had believed he felt the same way about her. Their love scenes together had possessed an intensity, a luminosity which had far transcended even the most gifted acting, or so she had believed, and driven half mad by her love for him and the constant exposure to the sensuality imposed on them by their roles, she had abandoned all her dearly held beliefs—and herself—to him.

The screech of the car brakes jerked her back to the present. Dale had always been an aggressive driver and in that regard he didn’t seem to have changed.

‘I’ve just been telling Sarah about our new director,’ he commented to Paul. ‘Unlike me,’ he added for Sarah’s benefit, ‘Paul likes our new director. Of course he isn’t the only one. Gina, my sweetly innocent Berengaria, had made her preferences in that quarter very well known. Of course Ben’s playing it cool—he can hardly do otherwise since Gina’s lover is one of our most influential backers. He’s having quite a hard time of it trying to keep Gina at bay without offending her, but then he always was adept at double-dealing. Still, you’re going to come as quite a shock to him.’

From the back seat Paul interrupted gently, ‘A very pleasant one, I’m sure, Sarah. It’s just that there’s been a change on the continuity side as well, and the girl who replaced Ellen, our first continuity girl, must have forgotten to take Rachel Ware’s name out and insert yours in the casting list.’

Sarah’s heart sank even further. She hadn’t realised that someone else had actually been cast for the part ahead of her. ‘Come on, Dale,’ Paul protested. ‘You’re frightening the life out of Sarah! Ben won’t eat you,’ he told her. ‘Oh, he’s demanding all right—knows exactly what he wants from the cast and makes sure he gets it, but…’

‘Sarah knows all about Ben, Paul,’ Dale interrupted, his eyes leaving the road for a second as he turned his head to frown at the man in the back seat. ‘We both worked with him on Shakespeare. You’ll have to forgive Paul’s ignorance,’ he added to Sarah. ‘He’s come rather late to the acting scene. He was training to be a chartered accountant when he suddenly got the bug.’

‘I qualified, too,’ Paul put in with a disarming grin. ‘I had a girl-friend who was a model, and she got me some ad work, which is how I got started.’

‘Yes, he’s the original chocolate-box hero,’ Dale retorted.

So Paul didn’t know about her marriage to Ben; of course it was over three years ago and had happened in England, and Sarah couldn’t help hoping that the rest of the cast were similarly ignorant. It wasn’t going to be easy working with him, especially not with the eyes of the rest of the cast monitoring their responses to one another.

‘Is it much further?’ Sarah queried, trying to ease the crick in her neck. They seemed to have been speeding through the dark, apparently empty countryside, for half a lifetime, and on top of her flight, the journey was beginning to take its toll on her.

‘Only another ten miles or so,’ Paul comforted her from the back.

‘If Guy wasn’t such a fanatic for realism we could have shot most of these scenes in the Californian desert and used the studios for everything else,’ Dale chimed in rather bitterly.

Telling herself that it was only natural that Dale should sound a little disgruntled, after all Hollywood was home to him now and he must have grown accustomed to all the luxuries it offered, Sarah wondered what he would say if she confided to him how thrilled she was that they were filming on location.

‘Well, here we are,’ Dale announced fifteen minutes later as he pulled off the main road and they bumped down a dusty, narrow track.

Ahead of them a collection of lights shone from the windows of large trailers, and the guard on duty at the makeshift ‘gate’ grinned a welcome to Dale, eyeing Sarah with a flat curiosity that made her raise her eyebrows a little. ‘He obviously thinks I’m someone you’ve picked up for the evening,’ she commented to Dale as he parked his car outside a darkened trailer and Paul got out, having wished them both goodnight,

‘And he’s probably envying me,’ Dale retorted with a grin, coming round to open her door. ‘By the way,’ he added casually, ‘one of the problems we have here is that we’re a little short on accommodation at the moment. Will you slap my face, sweetling, if I suggest you share with me for tonight? There’s a separate bedroom, and rather than rouse half the outfit…’

Hiding her surprise, Sarah nodded her agreement. A glance at her watch showed her that it was after one in the morning, and her body ached for sleep. She knew Dale well enough to know that she could trust him, and although she had half expected to have to share a trailer—accommodation always being notoriously problematical on location—she had reckoned on sharing with one of the other girls.

‘You were to have shared with Gina,’ Dale explained to her as he extracted a key from his pocket and unlocked the metal door, flicking on the light as he did so, and allowing Sarah to step past him into the illuminated interior, ‘but our dear Garia kicked up a fuss. It seems that sharing with someone would not be convenient—unless of course that someone happens to be our director. However, Ben isn’t playing—at least not publicly. With all the other problems he’s got on his hands, I don’t suppose he’s any too keen to upset one of our backers. He’s going to have a hard time of it, trying to appease both Gina and her lover. He could, of course, always bow out and let someone else take over, but his last film wasn’t exactly a box-office winner and…’

‘Oh, but surely,’ Sarah broke in impulsively, without thinking, ‘it got the Best Film Award, and…’

‘It might have got the Award, sweetling,’ Dale told her dryly, ‘but if you want my opinion, Ben over-stepped himself, spending so much on making it, and that money won’t be easily recouped. Would you like a drink before I show you to your room, madam?’ he parodied, laughing at her, as he changed the subject and indicated one of the three doors leading off the narrow corridor which ran from the living area in which they were standing, and down past a small but very highly sophisticated kitchen.

‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go straight to bed,’ Sarah told him, suddenly conscious of the hectic day behind her, fulfilling the last of her ad commitments, and the long journey to their destination. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up for tonight, Dale, I could…’

Was there a touch of impatience in the frown lining his forehead? Dale was probably tired, too, and she was fussing unnecessarily, Sarah told herself when he assured her that he didn’t.

‘Come on, you can have this room. I’ll say this for Guy,’ he added as he pushed open the door, ‘these trailers are well equipped, even down to air-conditioning. He even had a temporary pool installed on the site. Not that we get much chance to use it with dear old Ben in charge. He’s a real slavedriver!’ He slanted Sarah a sideways glance, and her scalp prickled with sensitive awareness. There had always been keen competition between the two men, but now she sensed that this had changed, deepened in some way, and this suspicion was confirmed when Dale said slowly, ‘He’s changed since we filmed Shakespeare together, Sarah, and much as I hate to say it, he’s a sore loser. Don’t worry about it, though,’ he told her, his expression lightening, ‘Uncle Dale’s here to protect you.’

Was the air-conditioning the sole reason she was shivering? Sarah wondered half an hour later as she prepared for bed in the small but luxurious ‘room’ Dale had given her. It was senseless unpacking until she discovered where she was to stay, so, having showered in Dale’s minute but compact bathroom, she pulled on the nightdress she had extracted from one of her cases and climbed into bed.

It was silly to feel so apprehensive simply because she was working with Ben again. He would want to forget the past as much as she did. Hadn’t he said when he stormed out of their room on the night of the party that he never wanted to set eyes on her again? So why hadn’t he agreed to their divorce? Perhaps Dale was right and he was worried that she might make a huge financial claim on him—after all, he was now a very successful and presumably wealthy man. Her face tightened in disgust. He had indeed changed if he thought she would take a single penny from him. All she wanted was her freedom.

She sighed, remembering how she had fretted over the difficulty in getting a divorce. Her solicitor had been patient, but clearly a little at a loss.

‘Is there someone else you want to marry?’ he had enquired, and when Sarah shook her head had looked both thoughtful and perplexed, pointing out that the waiting period was meant to give couples a chance to see if they could not bury their differences and make a go of their marriages. A tight fist seemed to grip her heart, squeezing it until the pain was almost more than she could endure. What was the matter? Sarah asked herself bitterly. Surely she had learned long ago the folly of loving Ben? Hadn’t his treatment of her then—seducing her and then marrying her simply to get one up on Dale—killed all she had ever felt for him? So why did she feel this nerve-clenching sense of apprehension, and yes, anticipation at the thought of seeing him?

Too tired to find an answer to the riddle, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

The unfamiliar noises of the site woke her, and Sarah opened her eyes slowly, sitting upright when she remembered where she was. She glanced at her watch. Just gone seven, and already, if the sounds she could hear were any indication, the day’s work was well under way.

Showering quickly, she returned to her room to pull on a checked cotton shirt and some ancient jeans, brushing her hair quickly and securing it off her face with a band. The first thing she had to do was to find Ben’s assistant, report in to him or her and find out when she would be needed for filming.

Fortunately the weeks in between learning that she had got the part and her arrival in Spain had given her enough time to learn her lines, although she was fully prepared to find that some of them might have been changed in the interim. Would the mysterious author of the film script be in evidence? It wasn’t entirely unheard-of for writers to want to be present when their work was filmed, and since apparently the writer had also done the film script it was perfectly feasible that he would be on site. Sarah’s stomach tightened in a small thrill of anticipation and, chiding herself for being too impressionable, she quickly packed up her things and straightened the bed. It was almost as though she had a crush on the man—and without knowing the first thing about him! But that wasn’t true, she admitted thoughtfully. She did know about him. It was impossible to read the script and not be aware that he was a man of considerable compassion; of deeply felt but perhaps sometimes hidden emotions; a man to whom loyalty and self-respect meant far more than the indulgence in momentary pleasure.

There was no sign of Dale when she emerged from her room, and not knowing whether he was still asleep or already working, Sarah found the coffee percolator and filled it almost automatically, unable to resist the temptation to open the door and enjoy the lazy warmth of the morning as she waited for it to be ready. Later on the heat might be oppressive, especially if she was working, but right now it was just perfect, the tender fingers of morning sunshine warming the bare skin of her throat and arms, making her want to bask like a lazy cat. She closed her eyes languorously, opening them again quickly as a shadow blotted out the warmth of the sun, some sixth sense alerting her, awareness prickling dangerously over her skin as her muscles tightened and she saw that the object that had come between herself and the sun was none other than her husband, Benedict de l’Isle, director and producer and the Most Important Man under God on the site.

He saw her at the same moment as she saw him, halting almost mid-stride, a look, almost of shock, rippling across features that looked as though they had been hewn from stone. If Dale was the archetype of fair-headed good looks, his face open and sunny, then Ben was his direct opposite, Lucifer fallen to earth with his darkly bitter features, his hair as black as night, and his profile that of a man to whom the weaknesses of others were unknown. Eyes the colour of jade assessed her ruthlessly, stripping away the veneer of sophistication she had gathered over the years, and with it the barrier of her clothes, so that Sarah felt as though she stood before him as she had done on the set for Shakespeare, naked, and vulnerable. And then she remembered that Dale had told her Ben didn’t know she was among the cast. That gave her enough courage to lift her head and match him stare for stare. Her heart hammered violently against the confines of her flesh. She had forgotten how tall he was. She was five eight and even with the advantage of the steps she still had to look up to him. The surprise, if indeed there had been any, was gone, and had been replaced by the same icy contempt she remembered from another confrontation. It was really amazing how green eyes could be so cold, she thought, shivering a little as she realised the interested stares they were attracting from the small crowd that seemed to have gathered almost instinctively, drawn by the scent of blood no doubt, she thought bitterly. Well, if Ben thought he was going to take this part away from her! Her eyes smouldered darkly. She needed it far too much to give it up tamely, and she had her contract…

With a little start she realised that already she was on the defensive, feeling too vulnerable, too aware of the power of the man watching her.

She shivered again as Ben’s mouth curled tauntingly, stepping backwards and instantly grateful for the warm support of Dale’s arm, as it curved round her. She hadn’t realised he was there, Paul at his side, and the brief glance she gave him showed that she was tremulously glad of his presence.

‘Morning, Ben,’ he drawled affably. ‘Come to say hello to your ex-wife?’

Sarah saw Paul’s eyes widen, but barely had time to register her protest of Dale’s unwise comment, her swiftly indrawn breath checked as Ben’s face darkened, his eyes and mouth hard with contempt. What on earth had possessed Dale to challenge him like that? Paul too looked to be concerned and slightly shocked. Obviously he had meant well, but Sarah shivered, wishing he had kept quiet.

‘My ex-wife?’ Ben murmured softly, cruelty glinting in the smile he gave Sarah as he reached them, grasping her hand, and uncurling fingers almost numb with shock as he jerked her forward so that she practically fell into his arms.

‘You mean to say you haven’t told him, darling?’

The words were murmured against her ear, shivering across her skin, Ben’s hold tightening round her until she could barely breathe. Almost as though she were standing outside herself Sarah witnessed the small tableau—Dale, standing in the doorway of the trailer, wary, and questioning, his eyes searching her face as he tested it for reaction. Ben and herself locked in an embrace which made her frighteningly aware of the muscled power of his body, her back and legs warmed by the male flesh of his body, the contrast of his darkly tanned forearm resting alongside the pale fragility of hers, his fingers curling possessively round her wrist, holding it just before the curve of her breasts, so that he couldn’t help but be aware of the hurried thud of her heart.

‘Told me what?’ Dale demanded at length with just enough edge under the light voice he used for Sarah to know that he was taken off guard.

‘Why, simply that she isn’t and never has been my “ex”,’ Ben drawled lightly, the concerted but very audible gasp that went up from their ‘audience’ reminding Sarah that he always had been a first-rate actor, able to draw every last ounce of emotion out of any scene.

‘You could have told Dale our little secret, darling,’ Ben murmured behind her. She felt him bend his head, and then the warm brush of his mouth against her skin, just below her ear, making her shiver in shocked response. ‘I know I said I didn’t want it made public just yet, but since I took this job especially to be near you, I think we’ve rather given ourselves away, don’t you?’

Sarah was too numb to speak. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Dale. How could she deny Ben’s assertion that she was still his wife, when in effect it was perfectly true? But as for the rest of his statement! She tugged away from him, her eyes already darkening with anger, and thought she had caught him off guard as she found herself free, but her freedom only extended to the length of time it took Ben to turn her in his arms, so that her breasts were crushed against the thin silk of his shirt, her nostrils full of the male scent of him, the grainy texture of his skin, and the hard pressure of his body as he held her against him.

‘For those of you who don’t know,’ he drawled, raising his voice so that it reached the crowd of onlookers, now much larger than it had originally been and every one of them unashamedly listening, ‘Sarah and I have been separated for the past few years, but now we’re back together again, and my only regret is that on this occasion I won’t be playing her lover—at least not in public!’

There was a wave of goodnatured laughter, only Dale and Sarah not joining in. She couldn’t believe this, Sarah thought dazedly. Why had he done it? And then as she heard him saying coolly, ‘I didn’t realise you were arriving last night, darling. You should have let me know. Never mind, you’re here now. I’ll get someone to move your things to my trailer. Thanks for looking after her, Dale. It’s almost like old times,’ she knew. He wasn’t going to have it said a second time that his wife had a lover who wasn’t her husband. But why not simply divorce her? He didn’t want her. He had made that more than plain enough; had told her to go to Dale. She could still remember the cruelty of his words when he had done so. All she had ever been to him had been the winning of a bet!

The crowd was slowly beginning to drift away. Break-ups and reconciliations were common enough in their industry not to cause too much comment, although it would have seriously undermined Ben’s authority had it been thought that his estranged wife was having an affair with another member of the cast.

‘Let me go!’ Sarah demanded tersely, not even bothering to conceal the shaken anger she was feeling. Dale was still watching them and came down the steps, frowning as he approached them.