'He is sexy,' Sancha said absently, but did not appear to be interested in Hal now; she seemed to have something else on her mind. Sighing she said, 'You know I'm beginning to wish I'd gone to film school instead of taking up photography. I might have been good. But it's too late now. You can't swap careers at my age.'
'Don't be so defeatist!' Zoe told her crossly. 'I hate the words "too late". It's never too late until you're dead. If you really want to be a cameraman, investigate the film schools, have an interview to see if they'll give you a place.'
Sancha shook her head wryly. 'You're forgetting—I have three children! I can't combine taking care of them with full-time training, especially as I would probably have to go to a city—London, probably—and live there while I was at college. I couldn't make that trip every day; I'd spend my life in the car or on trains.'
Zoe gave her a cynical smile. 'And, of course, Mark wouldn't hear of it!'
'I don't suppose he would, but even if he encouraged me I know I'd feel guilty about leaving the children with someone else day after day. They need me. Don't try to blame Mark, Zoe. I'm realistic about it. I can combine my local college training with looking after the kids, but if I had to travel a long way to college it would make my life quite impossible. I couldn't turn my back on them. And if I did it wouldn't make me
happier, because I'd always be worrying about them. No, I'll settle for running my own business. It's exciting for both Martha and me to be taking on new responsibilities, taking a gamble. Dreams are all very well, but it's better to enjoy what you can get rather than yearn after something out of reach.'
'I suppose you're right, put like that. But I'm glad I don't have any kids! Or a husband to tell me what he thinks I should do.'
She felt a movement behind her and saw Sancha's eyes flicker, her face startled before she pulled herself together and smiled brightly.
'Oh, hallo, Connel! What a lovely party. You have a very beautiful house, too—I was saying to Zoe how much I'd love to have a room like this. It's so serene and calming.'
'Zoe didn't seem to agree,' Connel said mockingly, and she felt his warm breath drift past her bare arm. He was bending over her, his mouth almost touching her skin; she prickled with awareness. Was he going to kiss her? In front of the whole room? Her skin burned.
Sancha was staring at her; she couldn't meet her sister's eyes and looked down. What on earth must Sancha be thinking?
'I want to talk to you,' Connel said. 'Excuse us, will you, Sancha? Your sister and I have a business matter to discuss.'
What business matter? Zoe tried to think clearly but he was standing far too close. She couldn't think at all, which was increasingly disturbing. She had always prided herself on having a cool head. Now she was beginning to wonder if she had a head at all.
'Right, of course,' Sancha answered, sounding bewildered, incredulous, curious, all at once. Zoe knew how she felt. She had been feeling like that whenever Connel was around for days. Weeks. It was beginning to feel like years. Time no longer had any meaning; her memory wouldn't stretch further back than the day she first met Connel.
He took her bare arm, his fingers firm and insistent, and guided her through the other guests, who watched them both with expressions rather like Sancha's. A faint buzz ran round the room; people were talking about them.
What were they saying? she wondered, flushed and self-conscious, and then, as they neared the door out into the hall, they were faced by the elegant blonde, whose long-lashed eyes swept over Zoe without warmth or friendliness.
'Problem, Connel?' she enquired, her thin, pencilled brows lifting. 'Have you got gatecrashers or something?'
He had to pause; she was blocking their way. Pretending to think her remark was a joke, which it certainly had not been—more an insult, Zoe was convinced—he laughed. 'I don't think you two know each other, do you?' he murmured. 'Bianca, this is Zoe Collins. You remember Mark? This is his sister-in-law— Sancha's sister. Zoe is a film director. You've probably seen some of her films, and she worked for TV for some time, making documentaries.'
He knew a lot about her, noted Zoe, faintly surprised because she was sure she hadn't told him much. Had he heard all this from Mark? Or from Hal Thaxford, who had given him such a critical picture of her before they ever met? What a terrifying thought—that people you had never met might have heard so much about you!
Bianca gave a graceful, chilly shrug, not even pretending an interest. 'Sorry, the name doesn't ring a bell. I'm not a big film buff and I never have time to watch television.'
Zoe wasn't surprised by any of that. People often felt they could put her down by pretending they knew nothing of films or television and cared less. As if her self-image depended on whether or not a total stranger had seen any of her work! The only people whose opinions mattered were her colleagues, her peers, who were the only people who knew what they were talking about.
There was no point in replying, though, so she laughed, instead, to make it plain she found Bianca funny; ludicrous, in fact.
Bianca didn't like that; her blue eyes iced over even more. In this undeclared war between them she had just lost a battle. So she looked Zoe over from head to toe again, stuck her nose in the air scornfully and turned away towards Connel. 'Darling, could I have a word in private before I leave? I must be off soon, and I need to tell you something. It is important.'
There was the briefest pause, then he said flatly, 'Of course. Excuse me, Zoe.' But before he walked away with Bianca he gave Zoe a hard, direct look. 'I'll talk to you later. Don't move from that spot.'
Who did he think he was? How dated he hand her orders as if she was a servant? That high-handed tone really put her back up. No way was she obeying him. It would only encourage him.
As soon as he and the blonde had left the room she hurried over to her sister and said, 'I need to get away, Sancha. I'll get a taxi. I don't want to ruin the party for you.'
Looking anxious, but not arguing, Sancha said, 'We brought you; we'll take you home. I just have to find Mark; he's talking to friends, who also work for Connel. Hang on here, I'll be back soon.'
She plunged into the crowd of guests like a ferret diving down a rabbit hole, but Zoe didn't wait Mark's job depended on Connel; she couldn't make trouble for him. As soon as her sister had vanished Zoe hurried out of the room and asked the middle-aged woman in black, whom she found coming out of a kitchen with a platter of delicate, delicious-looking canapés, for her velvet cape.
Putting the food down, the housekeeper vanished and came back with her cape a moment later.
'Do you have the number of a good local taxi firm?' asked Zoe.