Today, though, it didn't work. Her mind was jumping like a cat on hot tiles. Then the phone rang, making her jump. She sat up and took the pads off her eyes, lifted the receiver.
'Hello?' she said warily; she sometimes got very odd calls, even though she no longer had herself listed in the phone book.
'Cherie, you sound distraite!' a French voice murmured. 'Was it tough? It didn't go well?'
She relaxed, smiling. 'Oh, hello, Jamie. No, it wasn't difficult; in fact I enjoyed it, when I'd stopped being scared stiff! More than I thought I would. Greg got me to interview him on camera, and I found it really interesting; he's a fascinating man.'
'Terrific! So, it went well? You think you got the job?' Jamie Colbert's accent remained intensely French, despite the years he had spent in London, but he spoke English fluently, colloquially.
'God knows!' she groaned. 'Greg was very poker- faced, didn't give a thing away. I'll just have to wait and see.'
'I think you will get it,' Jamie said firmly. 'When they rang your agent first of all I was certain. They wanted you. Remember what she said.. .Greg Erroll had seen you being interviewed on television several times, and thought you would make a good chat- show host yourself. When they come looking for you, baby, they are really interested.'
'I hope you're right.'
'I always am,' he said with his usual dazzling self- confidence. Jamie was not a tall man, but he behaved as if he was—dominating the company in which he found himself, insisting on his own views, his own beliefs, aggressive towards other men at times, charming to women. He was a thin live-wire of a man of just over thirty, with black eyes and hair, a tanned olive skin, a face full of nervous energy and fire, and very, very French.
Nadine told him so, laughing. 'You're so French!'
'Cherie, tu es tres gentille!' he said, gravely, then, dropping back into English, 'Nadine, you haven't forgotten we're having dinner tonight with the French ambassador?'
'Of course not! I'm really looking forward to it.' She was going as Jamie's guest, since Jamie was the guest of honour that night. One of France's most famous photographers, although he lived abroad, he had just won a highly coveted award with his latest book of photographs, which was to be presented to him tonight by the French ambassador, at a large dinner held in the French embassy in Knightsbridge.
'I thought you might be so excited after your audition that you had forgotten everything else!' Jamie said, a smile in his voice. 'OK, so I pick you up at seven. We have to be there at seven-thirty, for drinks before dinner at eight-fifteen. So be prompt, Nadine! We must not be late tonight.'
They weren't. They were early, and while they were waiting parked briefly outside a shop whose windows were full of televisions, all switched on, showing different channels.
'Oh, no! I don't believe it!' groaned Jamie and, startled, Nadine followed the direction of his gaze to find herself staring at Sean, his face filling a screen in a corner of the shop window. He was smiling faintly, but his eyes were shadowy and his facial muscles tight with tension.
Jamie said, 'What's the programme, I wonder? Film Night?'
Then the camera pulled back and Juno Harper came into view, laughing. 'It must be a repeat of the Juno Harper programme,' Nadine murmured. 'He was on it this morning; I bumped into him in the TV studios.'
Jamie shot her a look. 'I thought you looked rather harassed tonight. What happened?'
'Nothing—we were very polite to each other,' she said, then looked at her watch. 'Isn't it time we got going again? We don't want to be late.'
Jamie started the car again, his expression wry, but didn't say another word.
The ambassador already knew Jamie and greeted him like a friend before being introduced to Nadine and giving a Frenchman's approving glance at her figure. She was wearing a black silk and lace dress: a brief bodice which just cupped her breasts, leaving her white shoulders bare, tantalising with glimpses of the deep valley between her breasts; a stiffly layered skirt fell to her calf, flaring whenever she moved.
'St Laurent?' asked the ambassador's wife knowledgeably. 'Very chic.'
Tonight, though, Jamie was the centre of attention, the star of the evening; everyone wanted to talk to him, shake his hand, congratulate him, and Nadine left the limelight to him, rather relieved not to have to talk much, as they moved around the huge, chandelier-lit room. She smiled when introduced, replied if anyone spoke to her, but otherwise stayed in Jamie's shadow, finding it hard to follow the conversation because everyone spoke French, talking fast and furiously, their voices seeming to her English ear like the stuttering of machine-guns. Mostly she was silent, her mind elsewhere.
She was thinking about Sean, remembering the lines around eye and mouth, the weariness in his eyes, his pallor, wondering if Juno Harper had been right. Was his mini-series going to be a failure? But there were always disaster stories going around about projects like that; some people just loved to ill-wish anyone successful, and Sean's career had been one long success story.
On the way home, some hours later, Jamie gave her a frowning sideways look. 'You are very quiet, cherie. What is wrong?'
'Nothing,' she said, not willing to talk about what was on her mind. 'I'm just tired, I suppose.' A sigh wrenched her. 'This past month has been very hectic. I think I worked almost every day, except Sundays, and they were long days, some of them. I need a break, Jamie. I'm going to clear my diary and go away for a couple of weeks soon.'
She had been working hard for a year, in fact; ever since the divorce. It had been the only thing that saved her sanity; she had thrown herself into work to keep her mind busy and she had thought she had succeeded—she had been so sure that she was cured, that it was over. But seeing Sean again had thrown her back into the same old obsessed pattern; ever since this morning she had been thinking about nothing else, pretending to be speculating about his company, the mini-series, when she was constantly thinking about the way he looked: his brooding eyes, that sudden lop-sided smile which could charm or mock, th
e way his dark hair fell over his temples... Nadine broke off, biting her lip. There she went again.
Even when they were quarrelling bitterly, Sean had always been able to get a sensual response from her. Their chemistry, at least, had been a perfect match, but their marriage had been a battleground, and Nadine was terrified to find that she wasn't over him yet; he still had that effect on her, nerves like red-hot wires, pulses going crazy.
If she made a complete break, did nothing but lie on a beach and sunbathe for days, she might finally shut the door on the past and on Sean Carmichael.