Shadows in the Limelight Read online

  For a long moment Catherine stared at him in confusion, then turned and went into the bedroom. A quick shower and change of clothes revived her a little. Physically she was feeling much better when she rejoined Kent in the sitting-room a few minutes later. She was wearing a silky burgundy nightgown with matching neglige, yet curiously she didn’t feel any embarrassment at appearing in front of Kent dressed for bed.

  Room service had brought up the meal in her absence, and Kent silently handed her a cup of coffee, then indicated she should sit down. A tray of sandwiches was set out on the coffee-table and Catherine helped herself to one after sampling her coffee.

  Although he had ordered the sandwiches, Kent did not join her in the meal, seemingly content to sip his coffee while she ate. He didn’t look at her either, but sat staring at the floor. The tension between them grew and consequently Catherine jumped when he asked, ‘Who was that man I saw you talking to at the airport?’

  She cleared her throat. ‘Rick Moss.’

  ‘Your ex-business manager?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Kent grew thoughtful. ‘So he’s in Las Vegas, is he? Maybe that’s a good thing. I’d like to see him. See if we can come up with some way of getting you out of your contract with him.’ He looked at her and seeing her expression, said reassuringly, ‘Don’t be alarmed, Cat. I realise that you don’t want to resume your career. I just don’t like the idea of you being tied to him in that way.’

  Catherine didn’t like the idea either, but she liked the idea of Kent’s talking to Rick even less. Who knew what her business manager might say to him? ‘I don’t think you should see him. As you say, I don’t want to resume my career, so it doesn’t make any difference whether I’m under contract to him or not and ... I just don’t want to have anything to do with him if I can help it.’

  ‘I can understand that, Cat,’ Kent assured her, ‘but I can handle this for you without you even having to see him. After all, I’m going to be your husband. It may be an outdated attitude, but I believe a man should take care of his wife, act as a barrier between her and unpleasant situations if the need arises.’ He smiled gently at her. ‘You needn’t worry, I’ll deal with Moss for you.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t bother.’

  ‘I think I should. I mean, that contract gives him a lot of control. He practically owns you as a singer.’

  Catherine stood up and walked to the window, keeping her back to Kent. She swallowed with difficulty, then took a deep breath. ‘I know he owns Cat Devlin, but then perhaps he has the right. He created her.’

  ‘What do you mean—created?’

  Catherine pressed her forehead against the windowpane. ‘Most of what was written about the Devlins was fabrication, the result of Rick’s imagination. He wanted us to have a certain image, so he invented the background to fit the image. The truth wasn’t nearly as attractive.’

  ‘And are you going to tell me the truth now?’ Kent asked. Though the question was blandly spoken, Catherine sensed his quickening interest.

  ‘I’ll try. Casey and I grew up in Toronto. Our father wasn’t a minister, we didn’t even have a father.’ Catherine shrugged. ‘Our mother wasn’t the type of woman men marry, if you know what I mean. Mostly she collected welfare, though sometimes she would get a job, maybe working in a bar. I didn’t understand it at the time, but—she had a lot of men friends.’ Catherine paused a moment, clearing her throat. ‘Anyway, she walked out on us when I was thirteen and Casey was fifteen. I never missed her. Casey was always more of a parent to me than she was. After she left, we more or less brought ourselves up.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Kent when Catherine remained silent. ‘What about the social service people? Why didn’t you go to foster-homes?’

  Catherine laughed softly. ‘They could never catch us! We didn’t want to be split up, so...’ She lifted her shoulders.

  ‘How did you live?’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t bad. We had a room, the landlord didn’t care how old we were as long as we paid the rent. One of Mom’s boy-friends had left a guitar behind when he moved out, and Casey taught himself to play it. We’d sing on street corners and people gave us money.’

  ‘I can’t see how the authorities didn’t catch up with you. What about school?’

  Catherine smiled faintly at the question. She could detect the incomprehension in his tone. Kent’s own childhood had been so very different, filled with all the advantages his doting parents could give him.

  ‘We didn’t go to school. It’s hard for someone with your background to understand. In a big city like Toronto, or Vancouver, there are hundreds of kids on their own. Runaways, or like us, abandoned.’

  Kent was silent for a moment. ‘Is that why you never talk about it? Because it was such an unhappy time in your life?’

  He came to stand behind her and she could see his reflection in the window. She didn’t want to probe the blurred features too closely, not wanting to see the pity she suspected she would find. The facts standing on their own looked bleak and stark, yet when Catherine looked back on her childhood, she remembered mainly the days spent with her brother, the bond between them.

  ‘No, don’t misunderstand,’ $he protested, her voice heavy with emotion. ‘In many ways, I was happier then than I’ve ever been since. Casey and I were very close then. He ... sheltered me, took care of me. Kids younger than I was were out there turning tricks just to get a meal, but Casey protected me from that sort of life.’

  ‘So, where did Rick Moss come in?’

  ‘He heard us sing and offered us the moon, so to speak. Casey ... he was street-wise, he didn’t trust Rick, but I was keen to hook up with him. Finally, Casey gave in. It was about six months before we went to Las Vegas. Rick had us take lessons in singing, dance, diction, even the Bible. He planned an act, put it together, did everything.’ Catherine turned to look at Kent, a wry smile on her lips. ‘He created the Devlins.’

  Kent’s arms went around her and he pulled her to him. ‘Why were you afraid to tell me this before? It isn’t the idyllic childhood your publicity said, but it only makes me admire your brother and you far more for putting all that behind you and building decent lives for yourselves after hearing about it.’

  He wasn’t upset! Catherine stared up at him. ‘But—what about your career? You said you needed my “untarnished image”.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘I still have it. No one’s going to dig up the truth now.’

  Gently, she eased herself from him and went to stand away from him. He only knew a part of it, a very small part. She should tell him the whole thing, but she couldn’t! ‘Kent, I’m tired. Would you mind if I went to bed now?’

  Immediately he was solicitous. ‘Of course I wouldn’t mind. It’s been a long night.’ Going to her, he slipped his arm around her waist and walked with her to the door of the bedroom where she had changed earlier. ‘There’s another bedroom in the suite. I’ll use that one tonight so you won’t be disturbed. Goodnight, Cat.’ He dropped a light kiss on her temple, then held the door open for her to go inside.

  Wearily, Catherine shed her robe and turned down the damask spread that covered the bed. She was bewildered by Kent’s reaction. He didn’t seem to mind that her image was a lie. She suspected he was pitying her after hearing about her childhood. He probably hadn’t believed her when she had told him she had been happy then. But it had been the truth. Later, when their career had started to take off, the bond between her and Casey had weakened.

  Catherine turned her head into the pillow, her eyes damp. How could she and Casey have drifted so far apart that she had never even suspected that he was taking drugs until it was too late? And why hadn’t Rick told her? There should have been some way of getting help for Casey without incurring publicity. And even if there hadn’t been, wasn’t his life worth more than a career?

  The next day they lunched at a pleasant cafe located in one of the large hotels along the Strip, and afterwards Kent drove them to the c
ounty clerk’s office where the wedding was to be performed. Catherine wore a lightweight woollen suit, the colour of Devonshire cream, with a crepe-de-chine blouse in pastel yellow. Unexpectedly, Kent had provided her with a corsage of baby roses in an unusual shade of lavender that matched the amethyst jewellery she wore.

  There was a certain starkness about the wedding ceremony performed in the officious room with two rather bored-looking secretaries pressed into service as witnesses. Even when Kent slipped the heavy gold band on to her finger at the appropriate moment in the proceedings and pecked her on the cheek at the end, Catherine found it difficult to accept that they were actually getting married. They could have been transferring property or arranging for a title search in the shabby office. Nevertheless, she was relieved that he hadn’t wanted to be married in one of the chapels along the Strip. While a civil ceremony might be prosaic, at least it wasn’t a circus.

  But she was wrong.

  Catherine stopped walking, stunned, when they stepped through the front door of the courthouse. Why hadn’t Kent warned her? The front steps leading to the building were crowded with people—people carrying cameras and microphones and video cameras. In other words, the press had arrived. And any chance that it was purely coincidence and that they were waiting for someone else disappeared as the air filled with shouts of ‘Miss Devlin, is there any truth to the rumour ... Why did you choose Las Vegas ... Where ... The honeymoon ... Cat, are you going to be making a comeback...?’

  She felt Kent’s arm go around her waist, and she looked up at him angrily. His arm tightened and he leaned his head closer to her, saying in a low undertone, ‘Don’t look like that, Cat. I didn’t call them, but since they’re here, we have to face them. Come on, smile!'

  Fitting his own actions to the words, he looked out at the crush of reporters, a practised smile on his face. Catherine had no choice but to follow suit, wincing slightly as flashbulbs exploded in front of her. Then Kent was urging her down the steps, his patient smile never faltering as he repeated with the monotony of a broken record. ‘No comment, my wife will be issuing a statement later,’ in answer to the bombarding questions.

  Fortunately, the car was parked nearby and though the press followed after them like the train of a bridal gown, Kent managed to install her in the passenger seat and take his own place behind the wheel without her having to say one word to the reporters.

  Catherine sat huddled in her seat, staring mutinously out of the window as Kent drove them towards the hotel. For a few moments he negotiated the traffic in silence, then finally he said impatiently, ‘Stop blaming me, I didn’t call them. At least give me credit for being sensitive enough not to spring something like that on you without warning.’

  ‘Well then, how did they find out?’

  ‘How should I know?’ Kent snapped. ‘Look, Cat, stop getting yourself in a stew about it. They were going to find out eventually. Sure, it would have been nice if we could have planned it, been prepared, but it hasn’t worked out that way so there’s no point working yourself up.’

  ‘I just wish we could have avoided them,’ Catherine said sulkily. She knew she was being childish in taking her anger out on Kent, but the reporters had shaken her. Now that she thought about it, she had a pretty good idea who had informed the press. She wasn’t sure how Rick had found out about the wedding, but he knew she was in town. Besides, just the number of reporters who seemed to think she was contemplating a comeback suggested that someone had given them the idea. Damn Rick! If he thought he could use public pressure to force her back into working for him, he could think again.

  Catherine sent Kent a surreptitious glance. In profile, his features looked set and she knew he was annoyed with her. He had a right to be. When she had seen all those reporters she had almost panicked. He had got her out of a tricky situation and all she had done was snipe at him. ‘I’m sorry, Kent,’ she said softly. ‘I know you didn’t call them. It was probably Rick. The way his mind works, he probably figured he could get me to do a performance if the press applied some pressure.’

  Kent glanced at her and quickly turned off the main thoroughfare on to a side-street. Pulling the car to the side of the road, he turned to face her, drawing her into his arms. ‘Don’t take this so hard, Cat. Rick’s not going to be able to force you back to work. I’ll handle him. As for the press ...’ He paused, his arms tightening around her. ‘I wish I could tell you that you’d never have to face them again, but I can’t. I’ve worked too long and too many people depend on me to throw away my career now. The public is always going to be curious about us: me, because I’m a politician, you, because you’re Cat Devlin. But I can promise you this, Cat.’ He eased her away from him and stared intently into her eyes. ‘I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. We’ll play down your life as an entertainer, we’ll let them know that you’re Mrs. Kent Latimer now, my wife, and that the past is dead. I won’t let them probe those old wounds, darling.’

  Suddenly she could no longer meet his eyes, and buried her face in his shoulder. He made her feel safe and protected, and she hadn’t told him everything. ‘Kent,’ she whispered in a muffled voice, ‘you should know that—’

  ‘No, Cat,’ he interrupted her gently. His hand under her chin, he lifted her face to his. Briefly his lips touched hers. ‘Some day, maybe, we’ll talk more about it. Not today, though, not on our wedding day. Today is a day for the future, not the past.’ Once more he kissed her tenderly, a gesture of reassurance, then he released her to make the drive back to the hotel.

  Another pack of news-hungry reporters was lying in wait for them in the lobby of their hotel, but once again Kent took charge and brought Catherine through the horde unscathed. A magnum of French Champagne and six dozen red roses waiting for them when they returned to their suite, courtesy of Rick Moss, confirmed Catherine’s suspicion that he had tipped off the press.

  The heavy scent of the flowers that filled the suite set off a surge of homesickness in Catherine. Rick probably thought it wouldn’t be long before he could afford his ostentatious gift.

  Kent went over to inspect the champagne, and lifting the bottle out of the ice bucket, he whistled softly as he read the label. ‘Very impressive!’ He turned to where Catherine had settled on the sofa. ‘He must want you to go back to work pretty badly.’

  She shrugged, then said, ‘He probably just has itchy feet.’

  ‘Has what?’

  ‘Itchy feet. Casey and I used to joke about Rick’s itchy feet. One of the little perks of being the Devlins’ manager was that he got to take a lot of trips. He was always jaunting off to Mexico or Montreal, supposedly to gather material for our act. He’d find songs for us written in Spanish or French and bring them back and have them translated for us to sing. Though the material wasn’t new, the melodies were unfamiliar to the English-speaking market. In theory I guess it was a good idea.’

  Kent eyed her interestedly. ‘By that last remark, I take it it didn’t work out that well in practice.’

  ‘Most of the stuff he brought back was garbage, songs we would never use or that sounded ridiculous when translated,’ Catherine told him.

  ‘I’m surprised he kept doing it if you couldn’t use the material.’

  ‘Like I said, itchy feet,’ she drawled. ‘The trips were a business expense, so they came out of our income.’

  Kent’s mouth firmed slightly and he glanced from the champagne to the roses. Finally he said. ‘I know you don’t want me to, but I think I ought to have a talk with him, find some way of getting you out of your contract with him?’

  He looked dissatisfied when she firmly shook her head, but nevertheless dropped the subject. He returned the champagne to the ice bucket and said, ‘I think it would be better for us to have dinner up here tonight—avoid our friends in the lobby. If you want to change, I have a couple of phone calls to make, then we’ll try out friend Rick’s champagne. I was supposed to meet my dad in Victoria today and I’m afraid I forgot all about it. B
esides, I want to let him know what’s going on so he’ll be prepared for when the news breaks.’

  Somehow Catherine had managed to forget all about James Latimer in the last twenty-four hours. He hadn’t liked her as Kent’s girl-friend, how was he going to react when he found out she was now his son’s wife? At the contemplation of yet another problem, Catherine felt inordinately weary. She stood up slowly to go into the bedroom to change. Kent was already at the phone and he smiled encouragingly as she walked out of the room. If she didn’t know better, she would almost be tempted to think he was glad about their sudden marriage.

  In the bedroom, she slipped off her suit jacket and carefully hung it in the wardrobe. Next, she removed the amethyst clip earrings she had worn for the wedding and started to unclasp the gold chain from around her neck that supported the matching pendant. The clasp was stiff and after fumbling with it for a moment, she tried to pull it around to the front to get a better view of it. Unfortunately, it had become tangled in a loose thread from her blouse and wouldn’t move. She would have to get Kent to help her.

  Her footsteps were muffled by the deep carpeting and as she had neglected to pull the door completely shut, she entered the sitting-room without Kent’s being aware of her presence. He was still on the phone, his back to her, and not wanting to interrupt, Catherine remained by the bedroom door until he was finished.

  Though not intentionally eavesdropping, she couldn’t help overhearing his side of the conversation. She heard him struggling to describe the outfit she had worn to get married in, then almost laughed out loud when he finally said in exasperation, ‘Mom, I don’t know what kind of material it was! It was yellow and it was soft. Now, let me talk to Dad.’

  The conversation with his father was less entertaining, mainly because Kent said very little and Catherine was too far away to hear the other side of it. Suddenly, though, Kent tensed, then said harshly, ‘I am well aware of the benefit to my career of choosing the “right” woman for my wife.’