Shadows in the Limelight Page 10

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean...’ she hesitated, taking a deep breath, ‘I mean, your father doesn’t like me. It might be better if I just went home, took the ferry back to Vancouver in the morning.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, Cat. I’m not going to let you run away. My father doesn’t run my life. There’s been a lot of tension between us over the last few years because he won’t accept that. I don’t want you to feel that you’re creating dissension where none existed before. I invited you here, I’m not going to let him drive you away.’

  Catherine hesitated, torn. Perhaps what Kent said was true. That his relationship with his father was strained long before her advent into his life—but there was no getting around the fact that she was the cause of the current animosity between them. She didn’t really want to go home, yet she didn’t want to be the central figure in a dispute between the Latimers either. Going over what James had said to her earlier, she suddenly asked, ‘Do you really think I could help your career, Kent? Be a political asset?’

  She saw surprise flicker in Kent’s blue eyes, then he smiled. ‘Without doubt, Cat. Tonight your singing, the way you got along with the guests, was fabulous. I was very proud of you. You can help me in a way no one else can. It’s not just that you’re a beautiful woman and you’re talented. You have an image, a reputation that is untarnished. People admire you because you’re Cat Devlin, and that admiration rubs off on me when they know I’m the man in your life.’

  He hesitated, then continued: ‘I’ve always been interested in government, in politics. When I first started out I thought to be a good politician all you needed were sound ideas and the energy and ambition to see them put into practice. But it doesn’t work that way.’ His voice dropped to a low intense pitch. ‘There are responsible voters, those who know the issues and cast their vote for the man they agree with. But there are an awful lot of people out there who vote on a man’s looks, or his speech-making abilities, or maybe just because he has the support of someone they admire ... like Cat Devlin.’ He paused for an instant to let his words sink in. When he continued, his voice was rich with sincerity. He held her eyes, his own fired with the depth of his ambition. ‘I still have good ideas, Cat. There’s so much I would like to see done in this country. I would like to work for Canada, not as a Westerner or an anglophile but as a Canadian. I think I have a lot to offer, but I have to get elected before I can do anything—and that means votes. You can help me get those.’

  Catherine bit her lip. ‘I don’t know,’ she said helplessly. She wanted to help Kent, she realised. Her original agreement to help had come simply because she knew if she didn’t, he would stop seeing her. There was more to it now. She knew she was influenced by his father’s opinion of her, the near-challenge he had thrown down to her. Partly, it was just loving him and wanting to be with him. But more than that, she believed in him, in his ideas, in his ability to contribute, and she wanted to be a part of it. But if Rick found her...

  ‘Don’t worry about my father, Cat,’ Kent interrupted. ‘I can handle him. Your being here for a few days will help. I’m sure once he gets to know you a little better, realises how important you are to me, he’ll change his attitude.’

  Still she hesitated.

  ‘Listen, Cat, don’t make a decision right now, OK? I’ll have a talk with my dad. Peter’s staying here and we were planning to discuss a game plan for the next few months over the holiday. There’s a seat open and we’re expecting the Prime Minister to call the by-election for the late spring. My father is going to be joining our sessions. I’d like you to be there too. It will show you both just what Cat Devlin can do for my campaign.’ He stepped nearer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and peering down into her face.

  She looked up at him, doubt on her face. She could do a lot for his campaign. But she could also ruin it. If the press ever found out about the real reason for Casey’s death, or if someone discovered her ‘untarnished image’ was a lie, it would do Kent irreparable damage. She should tell him now, before it was too late. And have him walk out of her life. She couldn’t face that—not now he had come back.

  ‘Give it a try, Cat. Please!’

  Slowly, Catherine nodded. After all, if no one had uncovered the truth in Las Vegas, where reputations were shredded every day, it wasn’t likely to happen now.

  Kent squeezed her shoulder encouragingly, smiling down at her. ‘Good girl!’ He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead, then said, ‘I should get back downstairs. You get some sleep. Goodnight, Cat.’ His hands dropped from her and he walked away.

  Tucking the magazine she had just purchased from the news-stand under her arm, Catherine went to rejoin Kent and Peter. As she approached their seats, she saw that the two men were deep in conversation. On impulse, she changed direction and slipped through one of the heavy doors out on to the deck of the ferry.

  A sharp wind whipped at her hair and she pulled her coat more closely around her throat. The deck was deserted and she moved to find a place protected from the wind. Given that it was only two days past Christmas, the weather was fine despite the bite in the air. The sky over the Gulf Islands was clear blue with only a few high clouds scudding before the breeze.

  Catherine leaned against a pillar, her eyes on the islands they passed as the big white car-ferry threaded its way through them on the journey back to Vancouver. It had been an eventful holiday, yet she found she didn’t want to think of the recent past now, or the future for that matter—a future tied to the past. A future where she would be Cat Devlin again. She had committed herself to doing all she could for Kent. During long hours spent in his father’s study, she had been caught up in Kent’s enthusiasm, ensnared by his dreams. If only she would be able to go through with it.

  Her thoughts drifted to Casey as she suppressed her uncertainties about being Cat Devlin again. She had thought of him often in these last few days. In odd moments glimpses of him would come to mind: his face; the sound of his laughter the expression in his eyes when he would tease her into losing her temper, then stand back and watch the sparks fly.

  She had not really thought about him since his death, had tried to block his image from her mind, but lately she had found herself pondering those last months of his life. Had they really grown so far apart? They had no longer lived together, each having their own apartment, their own friends, but had they truly been estranged? They had seen each other daily, at rehearsals, on stage. Frequently, they had shared meals and outings.

  Catherine had known Casey had something on his mind, had sensed his preoccupation. But had it been drugs? She chewed her lip. Her grief, the overwhelming hurt she had experienced at what she felt was Casey’s betrayal of her, had shut a door in her mind on her brother’s memory. She hadn’t let herself think about him. But recently, with the past thrust upon her again...

  Unconsciously, Catherine shook her head. One could not dispute the evidence. He must have been on drugs, for how else could he have overdosed? As always, her thoughts had led her along the same path, to the same journey’s end.

  She saw Kent walking along the deck towards her and looked at him with a sense of relief, storing away her memories again. How handsome he was! The wind was ruffling his dark hair and had heightened the colour in his tanned face, giving him a piratical look. He wore a heavy topcoat that did nothing to detract from his lean, muscular build, its dark fur collar turned up to frame his well-formed features. He drew closer and his bright blue eyes lit up as he spied her standing behind the pillar and he quickly came over to her.

  ‘It’s freezing out here! What are you doing?’

  Catherine smiled up at him. ‘It’s not bad once you’re out of the wind.’

  A disbelieving look crossed his face, but none the less he turned down the collar of his coat as he joined her on the leeward side of the pillar. ‘This is why I never learned how to ski. I hate being cold!’

  Over the last few days, Catherine had been seeing a new side of
Kent. She was beginning to discover that beneath the urbane facade he had always presented to her previously, he had some rather endearing human failings. Like a prospector collecting nuggets of gold, she hoarded the little bits and pieces of his personality he revealed to her, warmed by the knowledge that he was showing her a side of him that few people ever saw. ‘Don’t be such a baby, Kent,’ she admonished him, her brown eyes teasing him. ‘How are you going to stand living in Ottawa if you can’t even take the almost tropical weather of British Columbia?’

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. ‘I guess I’ll just have to take someone along to keep me warm, won’t I?’ He rubbed his cheek against hers and the clean male scent of him mingled with the sea air to tease her nostrils. ‘Interested in the job?'

  Unsure how to reply to his teasing question, Catherine leaned away from him and said, ‘I never thanked you properly for inviting me to your parents’. Thank you.’

  He eased his hold, leaning back against the pillar but keeping her in the circle of his arms. ‘Don’t thank me. Cat,’ he said grimly. ‘It was a disaster and you know it.’ His features hardened with anger. ‘I thought we would have a few days to spend some time together, enjoy each other’s company. I don’t think I spent five minutes alone with you after that first night. Damn my father! I never imagined he could be so bloody unreasonable.’

  ‘Please, Kent, don’t...’ Catherine shifted uncomfortably. ‘I mean, after that first night, he never said anything to me.’

  ‘Don’t defend him, Cat,’ he countered. ‘He didn’t have to say anything.’

  Catherine looked up at him unhappily. The problem was that neither Kent nor his father was used to not having things go the way they wanted them to. Both were stubborn, arrogant men who weren’t prepared to give an inch. Kent expected his father to welcome her with open arms and when he hadn’t, Kent had become all the more determined that he should.

  Finally Catherine said, ‘Can’t we talk about something else? It’s not as though I’m likely ever to even see your father again, so can’t you forget about it? Sometimes people just don’t hit it off. I don’t like feeling that I’m the cause of a quarrel between you and your father.’

  Kent’s mouth was set into a firm line. ‘It’s not your fault. I’ve tried to be diplomatic with him in the past, asking his opinion, his advice. I realise it’s hard for him to accept that I’m thirty-three years old and no longer a child who is under his authority—but he’s going to have to.’ His voice grew harsh with angry emotion. ‘No one dictates to me!’

  His arms dropped from around her and, shoving his clenched fists into his coat pockets, Kent stalked over to the railing and stared out at the water. Catherine watched him thoughtfully. Under Kent’s anger, she sensed he was hurt and a little bewildered by his father’s attitude. Seeing him with his parents over the last few days, she had realised that both of them had spoiled their son. His father’s money and his mother’s doting attitude had combined to pave the path of his life. Whatever he wanted, he had always had, with his parents’ wholehearted approval and assistance.

  Catherine sighed faintly. For some reason, he had decided he wanted her, and couldn’t understand why that fact alone wasn’t enough to gain his father’s approval. It seemed odd to think of someone like Kent having led a sheltered existence, yet in some ways he had. Disappointment, deprivation, failure—all were unknown to him. His parents, his own inherent talents and abilities, had given him a charmed life where all his desires were fulfilled, his needs met, his whims catered to.

  He turned suddenly and their eyes met. ‘Don’t worry about him, Cat,’ he said. ‘I have enough faith in his integrity to believe he will eventually admit that he is wrong. He might not understand now, but once he sees how valuable you are to me, he’ll come round.’ A slow smile curved his lips and he held out his hand to her. ‘Come on, let’s go back inside where it’s warm. We’ll find Peter and get a cup of coffee.’

  Catherine nodded her agreement; going to him and slipping her hand in his, she let him lead her back inside. She felt that Kent was being over-optimistic in his expectation that his father would have a change of heart, but she refrained from saying anything. That was the way Kent saw life; problems were made to be solved, challenges to be met. Glancing up at him, she envied his self-confidence. Too often, she knew, she retreated from the problems in her life, hiding from them instead of meeting them head on. As she was doing now. She shook that thought from her.

  Peter was already in the cafeteria when they arrived and Catherine went to sit with him while Kent bought their coffee. He greeted her with a warm smile as she slid into the seat across from him.

  ‘Was it cold out there?’ he asked, his eyes appreciative as he took in her wind-flushed cheeks, the charming disarray of her hair.

  ‘Not bad!’

  Peter glanced over to where Kent was paying for the coffee. ‘He still upset about his father?’

  Catherine shrugged, toying with the pages of her magazine. ‘I’m not sure. He said he thought he would come round later.’

  ‘And you don’t agree?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just ... what if he doesn’t?’

  ‘What if?’ Peter returned. Seeing her expression he reached across the table and, taking her hand, gave it an encouraging squeeze. ‘These things have a way of sorting themselves out, don’t let it upset you.’

  ‘Kent thinks that once his father sees how much I can help with the campaign he will accept me. I’m not so sure. What if I’m not that much help? Or even if I am, that doesn’t mean Mr. Latimer is going to like me any better. Kent should never have brought me with him. I don’t like being the cause of a family quarrel. I think it would be better if I bowed out altogether.’

  ‘No.’ Peter was shaking his head. ‘Maybe Kent is being too optimistic in his assessment of his father, but you can’t walk out on him. He needs you, and not just for the campaign.’

  Before Catherine could ask him what he meant, Kent came back with the coffee. For several minutes they sat sipping it, chatting amicably. Peter seemed to be determined to get all their minds off James Latimer and soon had them laughing over a ludicrous incident that had occurred while he was on a road trip with the B.C. Lions.

  When the laughter ended, Catherine sat back in her chair, a faint smile still curving her lips. Even in the mundane setting of a B.C. ferry cafeteria, she was conscious of Kent, of his masculinity. His thigh was a few inches from hers, his arm across the back of her chair, tempting her to lean back against it so she could experience his touch.

  In a way, she was relieved they hadn’t spent any time alone together over the holiday. That first night ... what if his mother hadn’t come to find her? Would they have been lovers by now? Her heart seemed to beat a little more heavily in her chest. Instinctively, she sensed Kent would be an expert lover, tender yet demanding. It would be exciting, wonderful ... but how would she ever be able to walk away from him when he no longer wanted her? And yet might not the future heartbreak be worth it to feel his possession, just once?

  Kent touched her arm and she jumped. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ A blush inched up her cheeks as she became aware that both men were looking at her with some amusement. Thank God they couldn’t read her mind, though from the glint in Kent’s eyes, she wondered if maybe he could. Snatching at the threads of her composure, she said quickly, ‘I guess I wasn’t paying attention. I was ... thinking about the shop. You asked me something?’

  It was Peter who answered. ‘I was wondering about this telethon in February. Kent will be there, of course, answering phones, that sort of thing. If you could perform, it would give us great exposure. It would get your name back into the public consciousness again and that would help Kent immensely. There wouldn’t be any problem getting you on it. They’d love to have someone of your stature.’

  Catherine was already shaking her head. ‘I thought Kent explained to you, I don’t do professional engagements, even for charity. I’m sorry
, Peter, but I simply can’t do it.’

  Peter’s forehead knitted into a frown. ‘Why? Listen, Cat, I heard you sing at Kent’s parents’ party. You were great. With rehearsal, you’ll bowl them over. You’re quite capable of doing this.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t capable of doing it. I said I can’t,’ Catherine said sharply. This was not the first time a suggestion that she perform had been tendered in the last few days, and she was annoyed that Peter had brought it up yet again. In all other ways she would do what she could, but not singing. ‘We discussed how I could help and I said I would accompany Kent to functions and meetings, make speeches if I have to, but I thought you understood that I can’t sing professionally.’

  ‘You keep saying you “can’t”,’ Kent joined the conversation. ‘You’ve said that before, why can’t you?’

  She drew a deep breath and explained, ‘I’m still under contract.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, Rick Moss still holds my contract. I can’t agree to a professional appearance without his approval. It doesn’t matter whether I’m being paid for it or not, I can’t do it unless he says I can.’ And now Kent knew, knew that she wouldn’t appear professionally again and why.

  ‘Well, that shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Peter, the frown disappearing from his face. ‘Just get in touch with this Moss guy and ask him to let you do this.’

  ‘It’s not that simple, Peter,’ Catherine told him with a hint of exasperation. ‘Rick won’t let me do it without something in it for him. He didn’t want me to quit. The only way he would agree to something like this would be if I did something for him, and that means Las Vegas again. I don’t want to resume my singing career.’

  Deliberately, she picked up her coffee-cup and drained it, clearly indicating that the conversation had ended. Kent hadn’t said anything. Was he disappointed? Trying to find a way out now he knew she wouldn’t perform again?