'I was...' she had whispered, biting her lip. 'I am..
'Don't lie, Nadine!' he had bitterly said. 'Not any more. You lied to me, then, you cheated me...I thought you were someone very different, I thought I had found the mother of my children, but it turns out that you're just another ambitious woman with her sights set on stardom!'
'That's not true!' She had been bitter, too; and so the quarrel had ended like all their quarrels, like their marriage itself.
They had gone round and round in circles without ever coming to an end, or resolving any of the issues they fought over, and finally they had split apart after one last terrible row. They hadn't talked about divorce at first. They simply could not bear to see each other because it was too painful. The days had become weeks. The weeks had become months. Their lawyers had talked. They hadn't. They were both busy working.
When the word divorce first cropped up it had been a shock for Nadine, but her lawyer had pointed out that it was an inevitable conclusion after such a long separation, and that Sean undoubtedly wanted to marry again, so she had said she wouldn't contest a divorce, and the long process had begun.
She had gone on working and tried to forget how miserable she was by leading a lively social life for a while: partying in London or New York, Rome or the Cote d'Azur, with the international jet-set. As Sean Carmichael's wife her place in their ranks would have been assured, especially as she was known to be very wealthy now, but Nadine was famous in her own right too. Fortune-hunting young men had pursued her; society hostesses had sent her invitations; sh
e was an asset at a party with those famous looks and the glamour her background conferred. For a while she had been the flavour of the month on the international party circuit.
But that life, she found, had palled rapidly. Nadine wasn't the type for wild parties: they made it too hard to get up in the morning and they ruined your complexion, not to mention your health. So she had stopped dashing about from big party to big party, and got back to working hard while she looked around for inspiration for a new career as soon as her modelling had to stop.
It was an empty, lonely existence, in spite of all her friends and colleagues—but it was peaceful and the pain had slowly seeped away. Until a few weeks ago when she walked into Sean in the lobby of the TV studios. One look into those brooding blue eyes and excitement had flared dangerously inside her. Pain had kick-started back into existence; peace had fled. She had had to face the fact that she wasn't over him, and might never get over him. Even more disturbing, Sean knew it, and was ruthlessly prepared to use her weakness against her.
Restlessly she slid off the bed and began to dress for dinner. She put on a sleeveless, vivid yellow summer dress with a full calf-length skirt, a cutaway spider's web design in black and yellow making up the back and a low-cut plunging neckline in the front. Dangling black tassel earrings swung from her ears; she tied her chestnut hair back with a big black satin bow, lightly smoothed foundation over her skin and brushed a little warm coral pink lipstick on to her mouth, dusted her lids with a glittering green eyeshadow.
Her reflection stared back defiantly. She was not going to let Sean guess that she planned to run away from him. She wasn't going to let him monopolise her at dinner tonight, either, or over the days before she caught that plane to Miami. Somehow she would have to think of a way of keeping him at bay—but what?
She went down to dinner a little early, and met Luc Haines and his wife in the bar.
'Well, look at you!' Luc said, his eyes widening as he stared. 'That's a very striking dress!'
'Is it a designer label?' asked Clarrie Haines, and Nadine nodded.
'An English designer,' she said, and told them who had made it.
'Too expensive for you, my love,' Luc told his wife, who grimaced cheerfully.
'I know! I can dream, can't I?'
'Not necessarily,' said Nadine quickly. 'If you're ever in London go to his showroom; he usually has a half-price rack—either second-time-around clothes, brought in by customers who hate wearing the same thing more than a couple of times, or display clothes which have been knocked down in price to get rid of them.'
'Really? I'll certainly check that out next time we're in London,' said Clarrie. 'I really love your dress, though, especially the colours, I don't think I've ever seen that yellow paired up with black, and the full skirt is gorgeous.'
'Give us a twirl!' said Luc, and she laughed, and obeyed, her full skirts swirling around her long, slender legs.
'That back is extraordinary,' Clarrie said. 'Can I have a closer look?'
Nadine obligingly turned her back to Clarrie and found herself facing Sean, who must just have come down for dinner and was lounging against the door frame of the bar staring at her. He was wearing a white evening jacket with a red carnation in his buttonhole and a red silk cummerbund. They stared at each other. Neither smiled, neither spoke. Nadine felt the air between them vibrating with tense awareness.
'Wow!' Clarrie said, one finger tracing the spider's web pattern on Nadine's back. 'Almost sinister, isn't it? Luc, if you paint her, you must get her to wear this dress and try to paint the back view as well as the front—maybe you could have a reflection in a mirror?'
'Mirrors,' Luc said, almost dreamily. 'Yes. But lots of mirrors, I think...yes...Clarrie, you always give me such wonderful ideas, no wonder I adore you. Yes, that's it. I'll paint her in a room full of mirrors, reflections of her everywhere, from all angles, and in the mirrors eyes watching her, men's eyes...'
Nadine shivered and turned pale. 'What a horrible idea!' Across the room her eyes still held Sean's; she saw his narrow and darken.
Luc gave her a dry little smile. 'Well, that's the point, isn't it? Models and actresses are always on show, always being photographed, watched, by men, everywhere you go you're reflected in mirrors, and in men's eyes.' He was thinking aloud, his voice slow and serious. 'In another way, it applies to all women, too, doesn't it? Men watch women all the time and women are always conscious of men watching them; they dress for men, to get their attention—hence the spider's web...'
'I like it,' Clarrie said, eyes wide and shining, she put her arms around him, kissed him, gave him a hug. 'Brilliant, my darling. I always love your symbolist painting.'
'I know you do.'
For a moment they looked at each other with an intimate understanding that shut out Nadine, Sean, everyone else in the room, and Nadine watched them with envy and sadness because that was how her marriage to Sean should have been, a shared warmth, an understanding, a rich intimacy. Instead it had been warfare, because each of them had wanted to make the rules, had wanted the other to submit, she realised. Neither of them would compromise. Marriage couldn't work like that.
Clarrie suddenly looked over Luc's shoulder at the bar clock and gave a little scream.