Shadows in the Limelight Read online

  SHADOWS IN THE LIMELIGHT

  Sandra K. Rhoades

  Why the sudden interest in her?

  It just didn’t fit—Kent Latimer, Canadian political hopeful, pursuing Catherine Delaney, small-time Vancouver florist. Until he introduced her to his friends as “Cat Devlin.”

  Then she was afraid she understood all too well. But if Kent wanted a famous face to boost his appeal, he’d picked the wrong woman. Cat hadn’t fallen into obscurity after her brother's death; she’d run away from the bright lights. And for good reason.

  Now her feelings for Kent made exposure an even greater threat—to both of them.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE familiar strains of an old Beatles’ tune came from the Muzak system and unconsciously Catherine sang along. She was arranging russet chrysanthemums and baby's breath, and as a finishing touch for Hallowe’en, she added a black plastic witch on a broomstick and an orange and black striped ribbon. As she stepped back to admire her handiwork, her voice rose as the song neared its end. She didn’t hear the door open as someone entered the store. The silence that followed the final stanza was a broken by an awed voice saying: ‘Lord, Cat, I’ll never understand how you could have given it all up!’

  Startled, Catherine turned to see her friend Nancy, staring at her with an idolising expression. Grimacing slightly, she said, ‘You scared me, I didn’t hear you come it. Is it six o’clock already?’ It was Friday and she was going out with Nancy after work for supper and a movie.

  ‘Almost,’ Nancy answered. ‘I cheated and closed the gift shop a bit early. I’d have quit even sooner if I had known you were giving a concert. Come on, sing another song for me!’ She came around the counter and perched on the stool Catherine kept there, her smile coaxing.

  Catherine shook her head. 'Don’t be silly, what if a customer comes in? They’ll think I’ve flipped!’ She removed the Hallowe’en arrangement to the refrigerator.

  ‘Are you kidding? Hearing Cat Devlin, live—it would make their day! You should never have quit.’ Nancy studied her curiously, shaking her head slightly. Even with the conservative hairstyle and light make-up her friend wore now, it was still easy to picture Catherine in the role of a star. She had an indefinable something about her. It wasn’t simply beauty, though she certainly was beautiful—with glorious auburn hair surrounding a classic oval face set with large, long-lashed, sherry-brown eyes. There was more to Catherine than simple good looks: an aura, a charisma, that attracted attention in a way mere beauty never could.

  Impulsively, Nancy blurted out, ‘You could have been a superstar by now.’

  Catherine shrugged noncommittally, clearing away the remnants of leaves and blossoms so she wouldn’t have to look at her friend. Nancy’s curiosity about Cat Devlin was irritating and Catherine wished she had never given in to the impulse to confide in her. Ever since she had found out about her career as an entertainer, Nancy had plagued her with questions about her previous life. Though she knew Nancy was hurt by her refusal to discuss it, Catherine had no intention of doing so. It was the past, dead and buried as far as she was concerned, and she wasn’t going to dig it up simply to satisfy her friend’s curiosity.

  Nonetheless she felt slightly guilty about her reticence and finally gave in to Nancy’s coaxing to sing for her. When the Muzak tape clicked into another song, she started to sing. After a few bars, Catherine turned away slightly, so the other girl couldn’t see her face. She had sung the ballad a hundred times before, it had been a standard in their act. In her mind, she could hear her brother Casey’s baritone accompanying her, and her eyes suddenly misted over. He had been dead over five years now, and Catherine wondered if she would ever stop missing him.

  As the last note died away, Catherine blinked the moisture from her eyes and turned to look at Nancy. It wasn’t her friend’s face that held her attention, though, but that of the man standing behind her. For a long moment, she could only stare into his keen blue eyes, still caught up in the spell of the past. Then he lifted one dark brow quizzically, the handsome planes of his face expressing his amusement.

  Catherine’s face flamed. Maybe in old musicals people burst into song regardless of their environment, but she felt terribly embarrassed at having a stranger find her belting one out in a flower shop. Her colour deepening, she mumbled an apology. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.’

  He ignored her embarrassment, and continued to study her, an appreciative expression in his eyes. As his gaze made a leisurely journey over her body, taking in the feminine curves only partially concealed by the denim coverall she wore, Catherine felt her face growing even hotter. ‘Is there something I can help you with? I was just about to close.’

  ‘You’re very good,’ he, said enigmatically, and Catherine frowned. She didn’t think he was talking about her voice.

  ‘Well, she should be.’ Nancy jumped into the conversation enthusiastically, flashing him a brilliant smile. ‘Don’t you recognise her?’

  He turned back to Catherine, giving her a faint smile. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t.’

  Catherine shot Nancy a quelling glance, which her friend promptly ignored.

  ‘Surely you’ve heard of Cat Devlin?’ asked Nancy disregarding the furious expression in Catherine’s eyes.

  ‘Sorry, it doesn’t ring a bell.’

  ‘I’m sure this gentleman is in a hurry, Nancy,’ Catherine interposed swiftly when it looked as though Nancy would continue. ‘You wanted flowers?’ She stepped away from the counter towards one of the display cases.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t take the hint and follow, but remained where he was, eyeing her curiously. ‘You’re Cat Devlin?’

  ‘I was,’ Catherine said curtly, then, remembering he was a customer, felt obliged to add, ‘It was my stage name, I used to sing professionally. The flowers...?’

  ‘Locally?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Did you sing locally?’

  ‘Cat and her brother were headliners in Las Vegas,’ Nancy pushed her way back into the conversation. ‘They were very successful. I can’t imagine how you never heard of them. They were a tradition—like Wayne Newton. Haven’t you ever heard Stardust Magic? That was their big hit. It was in the charts for ages.’

  Someday I’ll murder that girl! Catherine thought, glaring at her. She knows I don’t like discussing my singing career. When it appeared that Nancy was going to continue regaling her customer with details of the Devlins, Catherine interrupted rudely by saying, ‘As I said, I was about to close. If you’d tell me what you’d like...?’

  ‘So, you and your brother sang Stardust Magic?’ he asked curiously instead of answering her request.

  ‘That’s right,’ Catherine said tersely. ‘We were a one-hit wonder. Now, if you don’t mind...’

  He studied her a moment, his expression considering, then his gaze swept the room, alighting on an arrangement of carnations. ‘That will do.’ He gestured to the small bowl of flowers.

  Catherine could feel his eyes following her as she walked over to the display cabinet to remove the flowers. When she turned back he was still watching her, a pensive light in his eyes. ‘How long has it been since you sang professionally?’ he questioned as she brought the flowers over to the counter.

  ‘Did you want a card?’ Catherine asked curtly, ignoring his question. Her brown eyes met his in a cold stare.

  For several seconds he held her gaze, the temperature in his own eyes dropping radically. ‘I think not, just the flowers.’ The coldness in his voice matched her own. Taking his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he withdrew a rectangular plastic charge card and laid it on the counter. As Catherine slipped some tissue paper rou
nd the arrangement, she surreptitiously eyed the card. Kent Latimer—she covertly read the name and recognised it immediately. No wonder he had looked vaguely familiar! He had his law offices on the upper floors of this building and probably passed by the store almost every day. Besides, his picture appeared frequently in the paper as he was one of Vancouver’s aldermen.

  His name told her one more thing about him, and Catherine felt her heart sink. Though he had never entered the shop before today he was one of her best customers. His secretary had placed hundreds of phone orders in his name during the three years that Catherine had been in business—and now that he had finally come in person, she had been horribly rude to him.

  Feeling chagrined, she set the arrangement on the counter in front of him, bestowing a warm smile on him as she did so by way of a peace offering. Unfortunately, she wasn’t allowed to discover whether the smile would have been returned because as she moved her hands away from the flowers, she accidentally knocked the container of water that had earlier held chrysanthemums and sent the icy liquid cascading straight down the front of Kent Latimer’s previously immaculate trousers.

  ‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed, staring in paralysed horror at the water dripping from his slacks on to what were obviously hand-made shoes. He had already taken out his handkerchief and was rubbing at the dark stain on the light grey slacks before Catherine gathered enough of her wits to say more.

  ‘Oh, Mr. Latimer, I’m terribly sorry,’ she apologised starting around the counter to go to his assistance.

  He held up his hand, forestalling her. ‘Please, don’t bother,’ he enjoined in a frigid voice. Giving his trousers a final scrub with the handkerchief, he straightened. He stared at her for a moment, his attractive face set in harsh lines, then carefully picked up his credit card and slipped it into his pocket. ‘I’ve changed my mind about the flowers. Please forgive me for having prevented you from closing on time.’ When he turned to stalk away, Catherine hastily grabbed up the arrangement and rushed after him. ‘Please, Mr. Latimer, take the flowers ... they’re on the house. I mean, it’s the least I can do ... and you must send me the bill for having your trousers cleaned. I really am very sorry.’

  He turned to look at her, his expression impassive, but she knew he was still furious with her. However, he held out his hand for the bowl of carnations.

  ‘Thank you, I will take the flowers,’ he said in a clipped voice. ‘Unfortunately, it’s late and I really don’t have time to pick any up elsewhere.’ Catherine’s relief that he was accepting her olive branch died a swift death as he added, ‘Especially as I’ll obviously have to change now.’ Swinging around, he stalked out of the shop with the door banging shut behind him.

  Mortified, Catherine stood there staring after him, until Nancy said from behind her, ‘Catherine, how could you? I know you don’t like talking about when you were a singer, but did you have to dump water all over that poor man?’

  The reproach she had been flogging herself with suddenly had an outlet. As she swung around to face the other girl Catherine’s eyes were blazing. ‘It was an accident! And as for the other, since you know I hate talking about having been a singer, why did you tell him? I’m thoroughly sick of you. Ever since you found out I used to be Cat Devlin, you moon around me like some damned groupie! And now you’ve decided to shoot your mouth off to every Tom, Dick, and Harry you meet that you know the great Cat Devlin. Well, get this through your head: Cat Devlin doesn’t exist any more. She’s dead, right along with Casey Devlin. So quit trying to dig her up!’

  ‘I thought we were friends,’ Nancy remonstrated. Her bosom heaving, Catherine simply glared at her, unmoved by the tears streaking the other girl’s cheeks. After a tense silence, Nancy said, ‘I suppose it was a bit much to expect a big star to want to be friends with an ordinary person like me. I imagine you’re ashamed for people to know what kind of company you’re keeping these days.’

  The unmistakable hurt in the younger girl’s voice swept Catherine’s anger away on a tide of contrition.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nancy,’ she said wearily. ‘We are friends, and I had no right to say those things to you.’

  ‘But you meant them, didn’t you?’

  Catherine hesitated. ‘Well ... not the way it came out. You’re my best friend, but I wish you wouldn’t keep harping on the fact that I used to be Cat Devlin. That part of my life is over, I don’t want to even think about it any more.’

  The other girl was unmollified. Catherine took a step towards her, but Nancy retreated. ‘Oh, for crying out loud, Nancy! I don’t want to argue with you, it’s just ... couldn’t you forget what I used to be? Who I used to be? Can’t I be your friend Catherine Delaney, who runs a florist’s?’

  There was a stubborn expression on the other girl’s face, but also a faint gleam in her eye. ‘OK, but only if you tell me why you won’t talk about it. If we’re friends, then we shouldn't have secrets from one another. If you explain to me why, I’ll never say another thing about you being Cat Devlin.’

  Catherine looked at her, then shook her head slightly. Nancy was five years younger than she was and naturally it had influenced their relationship. Never before, though, had Catherine been so acutely aware of the gap, not just in years but in the experience that yawned between them. ‘Nancy,’ she said gently, ‘there are some things that even best friends can’t talk to each other about.’

  ‘You're not going to tell me?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Then I don't think we’re friends.’

  Catherine lowered her head a moment, rubbing the nape of her neck ruefully. Her next words didn’t come easily. ‘If that’s the way you feel about it, then I guess we aren’t.’

  ‘Fine,’ snapped Nancy, and stepped briskly around Catherine and out of the shop.

  For several minutes, she remained motionless. Nancy wasn’t going to be back. She knew the girl well enough to know that unless she gave in to Nancy and explained all about Cat Devlin, Nancy wouldn’t forgive her. And even to preserve their friendship, she wouldn’t do that.

  Finally, Catherine crossed to the door and after locking it, turned the sign to Closed. ‘I’m batting a thousand today,’ she said to the umbrella tree positioned by the entrance. ‘I just managed to lose a friend and my best customer in less than half an hour,’ and promptly burst into tears.

  Kent Latimer grimaced at the bulging scrapbook his secretary had just deposited on his desk, wondering how he was going to avoid looking at it without hurting the woman’s feelings. He was now regretting his impulsive decision last Friday to treat Miss Hamilton to dinner, but at the time it had seemed a good idea. That day had been the middle-aged spinster’s birthday and she had appeared to have no one else with whom to celebrate the occasion.

  At first, conversation had been awkward. They had little in common outside their relationship as employer-employee, and business did not seem to be an appropriate topic for a celebratory dinner. Almost in desperation, Kent had related the incident at the florist’s where he had obtained her birthday flowers. He had certainly hit on a topic dear to Miss Hamilton’s heart, he thought wryly.

  Miss Hamilton had been enthralled by the fact that her idol, Cat Devlin, was the woman from whom she had ordered so many flowers over the years—and disbelieving that her boss had never heard of the star. Over the next hour, she had proceeded to remedy that. She had, it appeared, read everything ever written about the Devlins and, Kent thought drily, eyeing the scrapbook, saved it all.

  Nevertheless, Kent admitted it had been an entertaining evening. Until then, he had suspected that the other girl in the shop had been exaggerating her friend’s former popularity as an entertainer. She had understated the case, he thought, skimming through a newspaper clipping that had fallen from the scrapbook. The Devlins had had both fame and fortune during their career and from all accounts had been two of the best-loved stars ever to perform on the Las Vegas stage.

  The intercom on his desk signalled just as he ha
d decided he would waste a little time perusing Miss Hamilton’s memorabilia on the Devlins. ‘Yes?’ he asked, having pushed down the call button.

  ‘Your father is on line three. Shall I put him through, Mr. Latimer?’

  Kent made a face, then said, ‘Go ahead ... good morning, Dad.’

  ‘Kent, glad I caught you in,’ said James Latimer, then without further preamble, got to the point of the call. ‘I had lunch with Charlie Ames yesterday. He says it looks like McKeiman is definitely going to step down. He thinks the Prime Minister will call the by-election to fill the seat this spring. It looks like this could be your chance. I—’

  ‘I know about the seat, Dad,’ Kent interrupted, trying to keep the edge from his voice. ‘Peter and I are on top of it. We’re going to go for it, but everything is still in the planning stages.’

  ‘Well, what plans have you made so far?’ his father demanded. ‘Have you met Penrod yet? You’re going to have to have him on your side to swing this.’

  Kent’s lips pressed together. ‘We’re kicking around several ideas. The main thing we need right now is to get me more exposure.’

  ‘Exposure!?!’ James Latimer exclaimed. ‘Nonsense! What you need is the backing of the right people, like Penrod. Do you want me to invite him over to the house? Maybe make a weekend of it?’

  ‘No, Dad, I don’t,’ Kent said evenly. ‘To be honest with you, I don’t think I want Penrod’s support. He and I are at opposite ends of the political spectrum and I know that to have his backing, I would have to go along with him on some things I just couldn’t agree with.’ Before his father could respond, Kent continued quickly, ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not without a few back-room boys of my own. Right now, what we are going to concentrate on is getting some publicity.’

  ‘Publicity!' his father scorned, then launched into a long discourse on the political clout possessed by Mr. Earl Penrod, which his son listened to with only half an ear. While he knew his father was only trying to help, Kent was annoyed nonetheless that James Latimer refused to accept that his son was perfectly capable of making his own decisions regarding his political career—and his life, for that matter.