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  But, in the world of the theatre, only one voice mattered. And Max Anderson had given the play his personal thumbs-down, viciously savaging author, director and cast, but reserving the bulk of his sarcastic comments for Vanessa's performance in particular. It had been a brutal attack, even for him, prompting a couple of her friends to ask what on earth she had done to offend the great man.

  'Nothing, as far as I know,' she told them bitterly. 'Except, of course, that I dared to set foot on a stage when, according to him, J should have taken up almost any other career in the world.'

  She wept when she read what he had to say about her, the hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she alternately raged and acknowledged the truth of his words.

  Her sister Jill whose flat she had shared since her return to London to prepare for the play, offered a sympathy based on a total lack of understanding of anything theatrical and a violent partisanship of Vanessa. In an effort to soothe, she pointed out brac-ingly, if tactlessly, 'It's only one play, love. Don't take it to heart. There'll be others.'

  "That's what you think! They don't give you a second chance—not ever. And particularly not when Max Anderson's just wiped the floor with you.'

  'Rubbish! Just because one man doesn't like it, it doesn't mean the play's finished.''

  Vanessa gave a watery sniff and explained patiently, 'I'm afraid it does, Jill. You just don't realise what power that man wields. If he sees a play and decides that he doesn't like it, they tend to put up the shuttersat the theatre the very next day.' She studied the newspaper for the umpteenth time and read again the cruel, bitingly dismissive words, unable to drag her eyes from the column that had killed her, hopes for the play and her part in it. 'Look at it yourself, Jill. After that we'll be lucky to last the1 week out.'

  'No man has that much power.'

  'Oh, doesn't he? You don't know him.'

  'Neither do you,' her sister pointed out reasonably enough.

  'By reputation, only too well.' Vanessa pulled a face. 'He can't resist playing God and cutting us all down to size when he sees fit. And yet everyone grovels to him, hanging on his every word. It makes me sick!'

  'Be fair. If he'd liked your play, you'd have been the first to praise his good taste.'

  'Catch me praising anything about him!' Vanessa glowered at the small inset photograph at the head of the column that proclaimed Max Anderson at last night's play. Even in the poor newspaper reproduction she could recognise the insolent assurance in his face and the cynicism in the cruel, sensual mouth. 'He looks what he is, an arrogant swine.'

  Jill considered the picture in her turn. 'I'd say he was rather good-looking.'

  'Tall, dark and handsome. Just your type,' Vanessa jeered harshly. 'And he's stinking rich too. The media people are falling over each other in an effort to win his services for every feature they do on the arts. And they're welcome to him as far as I'm concerned. So are you.'

  Her sister laughed. 'Out of my league, I should think. And out of yours, too, Van. If he's as influential as you say there's nothing you can do about it.'

  'Do you think I don't know that? Mere mortals can't aspire to the dizzy heights that Mr Max Anderson inhabits.'

  'If that's true he must lead a very lonely life.'

  'There's admission to his circle for a chosen few,' Vanessa conceded. 'And there are always attractive women. He's any amount of time for them, by all accounts,' she said sourly.

  'Women?'Jill was intrigued now.

  'Do you never read the gossip columns? A new one every fortnight on average. They queue up for the privilege of being able to. tell the world what a wonderful man he is when he chucks them over. He goes for beauty rather than brains. Predictably, I suppose. I expect his ego can't cope with intelligent women. Men like that can't bear to have their superiority challenged. It might make them insecure, and that would never do.'

  'He sounds the least likely candidate for an inferiority complex of anyone that I've ever heard of.'

  'As you said, not in our league,' Vanessa admitted, half envying the man his self-confidence. She could do with even a quarter of his arrogant self-conceit at the moment.

  'It's just as well that you never had to tangle with him in person,' commented Jill. 'He sounds like the thinking girl's Bluebeard.'

  'I'd give him a piece of my mind if I ever did meet him,' Vanessa vowed. 'He deserves to be brought to his knees by someone. And when I'd got him there I'd slap him down even further.'

  'He'd be trembling in his hand-made shoes if he could hear you!'

  And, reluctantly, she had seen the funny side of her tiny spear of defiance raised against the mighty Max Anderson and had joined in the laugh against herself.

  It was small consolation to be proved right about the fate of Pontoon. Barely a week after the play had opened in such an atmosphere of hope and cheerfulness the cast was assembled and given notice to quit. Mosttook it philosophically. They had seen the writing on the wall with a theatre of half-empty seats and a depressing lack of advance bookings. The old hands survived flops before and came back fighting. Only Vanessa, rejected after her first real chance in the West End, found it hard to adjust, despite the good advice that she received from all around her.

  'Cheer up, love, it's not the end of the world.' An elderly character actress, who had found no particular difficulty in getting another part lined up, offered consolation.

  Vanessa forced herself to smile. "That's what my sister says. But it was my big chance, that I'd spent years waiting for. And now it's come and gone so quickly that I hardly noticed it.'

  'You'll get over it. You're young, there'll be other chances. Wait until you're my age and casting directors start to wonder if you'll last the distance. Then you can start to worry.'

  She laughed, as she was meant to do, but went away quite unconvinced. Yes, she was young. And she had thought she was talented. But what use was that when the authoritative voice of Max Anderson had written, 'She attacks the part with an excess of amateurish enthu-siasm, which, nevertheless, fails to disguise her lack of talent.' How could anyone be expected to pick up the pieces after that?

  She had cowered indoors, refusing even to look for another job, living on her meagre savings and then on Jill's charity. She despised herself for doing it, for she had no intention of being a burden on her sister, but somehow she lacked the confidence to bounce back at the world. It had taken Jonathan days of pleading, reasoning, arguing and finally raging to make her take the first step back to normality.

  And who did she see when she made that supreme

  effort and dragged herself here tonight? Only the man responsible for the whole mess! She studied him dispassionately, secure that she was unobserved. He was far too busy with the blonde by his side, whose generous curves were spilling out of the tight silk dress in which she had encased them. Her vacant, rather doll-like features were turned adoringly towards her escort, as he bent towards her.

  'Poor little sucker! Don't you know he's only got one use for you, and it's certainly not anything to do with your brilliant conversation.' Vanessa did not voice the thought, but, almost as if reacting to it, Max Ander-son's head jerked upright and swung in her direction, his glance first casual, then with a sudden intentness that scared her, although she did not know exactly why.

  Did every woman who caught his eye have to suffer that penetrating look as if he were stripping her, body and soul, making a ten second survey and instant judgment? Or was he just registering liis annoyance that Vanessa Herbert, actress, already inspected and found wanting, should have the nerve to present herself before him for reassessment? Her chin went up in a conscious gesture of defiance and she gave him back stare for stare. A quizzical dark -brow registered the fact and then, as the woman by his side claimed his attention again by tugging at his sleeve, he turned away.

  Vanessa caught her breath, half relieved and half disappointed that he had been so easily distracted. For a moment it had seemed- that the obvious antagonism in her expression ha
d intrigued him in some way and would prompt him to some kind of action. Max Anderson certainly did not look the sort of man to resist a challenge, and he had acknowledged her reaction to him as just that.

  She caught Jonathan's eye across the room and he gave her a look of pointed disapproval. He had obvi-ously noted that she had been standing, as if rooted to the spot, for a good quarter of an hour, instead of circulating in search of useful contacts as he expected her to do. Please heaven he hadn't seen her trading silent insults with Max Anderson. She smiled placatingly at him.

  Quickly she drained her glass and turned in search of more champagne to bolster her morale. Although not normally much of a drinker she had a definite feeling that tonight some Dutch courage was in. order if she was to get through the evening ahead. At least the worst was over—she had survived Max Anderson's blistering look without too much trauma. Feeling slightly more human, Vanessa moved towards the bar. First a drink, then perhaps a circuit of the room. There must be someone here that she Knew, even if most of her friends were scattered throughout England, acting at small provincial theatres and awaiting their call to the big time as eagerly as she had done.

  'Let me get you another drink.' A firm hand closed over hers and an attractive* low-pitched voice sounded in her ears.

  'Why, thank you——' Startled, she looked up and broke off suddenly as she registered Max Anderson's presence at her side.

  CHAPTER TWO

  VANESSA stared blankly at him.

  'It was champagne, wasn't it?'

  'I—oh, yes,' she managed.

  He removed the empty glass from her nerveless hand and deftly exchanged it for a full one as a waiter passed by with a laden tray. He took a glass for himself at the same time.

  If it had been left to Vanessa they would have stood there in total silence while she fought for control of her whirling thoughts. Had he recognised her? Surely the great Max Anderson hadn't come over to -offer his apologies to her for doubting her acting abilities?

  His next words quickly dispelled that illusion. 'You seemed surprised to see me. Didn't you think I'd respond to an invitation from the most attractive woman in the room?'

  She suppressed the urge to slap his face there and then. So he had not recognised her. Not even Max Anderson would have the gall to try that gambit so confidently if he remembered how he had poured such scorn on her only a month ago. A woman slighted professionally would hardly be one to approach socially without expecting some kind of trouble. She gave an involuntary smile. Trouble, she decided, was exactly what he would get, whether he was expecting it or not.

  'Invitation?' she echoed blankly, playing for time.

  He laughed, the casual, assured laugh of a man who knows his way around. 'I thought I knew all the little tricks that women use to arouse a man's interest, butyou certainly have a new approach.'

  'Thank you,' she said demurely. There was no point in denying it. He would not believe her. And he was right, of course. Consciously or not she had wanted to intrigue him and she had succeeded all too well. But how on earth did she play it from here?

  That look was guaranteed to entice any man to your side in thirty seconds flat.'

  'You think that was what I wanted—to entice you over?'

  'Didn't you? It's as good a way of securing an introduction as any. And using more conventional methods you could well have waited all evening.'

  Conceited devil! she thought angrily, but forced herself to be pleasant. 'Possibly. You're a very popular man, Mr Anderson.'

  'You know who I am, then?'

  As if he was in any doubt. 'The admiring throng alerted me to the fact. Your face is quite well known.'

  He threw her a wry look.' 'Television brings instant celebrity these days. Appear on the box a couple of times in whatever capacity and you're mobbed every time you venture out.'

  'That must be terrible for you,' Vanessa cooed sympathetically, and wondered if she had overdone it when he shot her a quick, suspicious glance as if detecting another meaning. 'But there must be some advantages, surely?'

  'A few. I get better service in restaurants nowadays,

  . although I know what the animals in the zoo must

  suffer at feeding time. The great British public finds the

  sight of someone famous champing his way through a

  meal of all-absorbing interest.'

  He meant her to laugh, and she obliged him. 'No other pluses?' 'Oh, the way beautiful women throw themselves at

  me at parties and give every appearance of delight in my company. That's a compensation, if you like.'

  'And, being an opportunist, you naturally make the most of it?'

  'Wouldn't you, in the same position?'

  'Probably,' she acknowledged. 'But, as I'll never reach the giddy heights you occupy, it's hardly likely that I'll have a chance to find out.' She took another sip of champagne and asked him, 'Does it not bother you when a woman takes the initiative?'

  'Offend my male pride, you mean? Not when she's as lovely as you are.' -His eyes lingered appreciatively over the curves that her dress emphasised rather than concealed.

  'Most men like to have control of a situation.'

  'Who says I don't?' he queried. 'Most women prefer a man to take charge.'

  'Only after a woman's shown herself willing to play along.'

  'If you like. It's all part of the game.'

  'And do you enjoy playing games, Mr Anderson?' Vanessa asked boldly.

  'That depends on who my partner is.'

  'I wouldn't have thought that mattered too much. If the gossip columns are anything to go by, you change your women the way most men change their shirts.'

  There was a faintly cynical look to his well-shaped mouth. 'Variety is the spice of life, or so they say.'

  'You mean that you don't like to be tied down.'

  'Perhaps. I can be led, but not coerced. When a woman starts making too many demands on me the parting of the ways usually comes sooner than she expects.'

  'And does the reverse never apply?'

  He laughed briefly. 'Not in my experience. When she thinks she's found a meal ticket the average woman isperfectly content to stick with him, whatever he hands out.'

  'That's rather a sweeping statement.'

  'But a true one, nevertheless.'

  Vanessa glanced across the room and met the scorching look directed at her by the over-ripe blonde that he had deserted to come over to her. 'Well, there's one dissatisfied lady, for a start.'

  'Karen? Oh, she's nothing serious and scarcely in the meal ticket class.' He looked indifferent. 'Yes, she's. annoyed with me for leaving her. But as she buttonholed me when I arrived and has stuck to me like a leech ever since I think she's had a fair innings, don't you?'

  'She thought she was getting somewhere, presumably?'

  'And she's just got the message that she hasn't managed it. I shouldn't waste any sympathy on her. The minute something better heaves into sight, you won't see her for dust. It's inevitable, I'm afraid.'

  'You're a conceited swine, aren't you?' she asked him pleasantly. 'You think you know it all.'

  'Accept it. I'm right, you know. I'm afraid when it comes to trying to outmanoeuvre us your sex is bor-ingly predictable.'

  Not this member of the female race, Vanessa thought viciously. This boringly predictable woman is going to give you the shock of your arrogant life any minute now if she can only achieve it.

  'Perhaps,' she acknowledged in her turn, giving him a charmingly rueful smile. This was the way to play it, she realised now. Flirt with the man and arouse his interest as she had been doing up till now, lure him on to false hopes of an easy conquest and then slap him down in the area where, despite his protests that he was invincible, it would clearly hurt him most: his male pride.

  He was trying his hand with her, assuming that she was just another empty-headed girl who wanted to meet the man of the hour. Well, she had prayed for a chance to get even with him, never expecting it" to come her wa
y. Now that it had she was going to enjoy it to the full. 'You're a shrewd judge,' she commented.

  'I've had a lot of experience.'

  'I can imagine, Mr Anderson.'

  He frowned. 'I'm Max to my friends.'

  'Do you have any?' The words were out before she could stop them.

  'A few.' He glanced with faint contempt at the crowd around them. "There aren't many here tonight.'

  She deliberately misinterpreted the remark. 'If you spend most of your time pointing out other people's failings in public places, you can't really complain if they dislike you.'

  'I'm a professional. I do a good job. If people don't like me they can do the other thing. I don't give a damn.'

  'Most people would in your situation.'

  'I'm not most people.'

  'So I'd gathered. You're very sure of yourself, aren't you?'

  He was finding her intriguing, she could tell. He wasn't used to a woman who answered back. He smiled down at her, that inviting, slightly world-weary smile that brought in the fan-mail by the sackful and increased the viewing figures for minority interest programmes by phenomenal amounts whenever he graced the television screens with his presence. 'It's part of my charm.'

  'Like your engaging lack of self-modesty?' she ventured sweetly.

  'Maybe. My virtues are many.'

  'That's not what I've heard.'

  'That would depend to whom you'd been talking. Or did you find that in the gossip columns too?'

  'I don't want to delve into your private life. It's of no interest to me.'

  'Really? Why the inquisition, then?'

  Vanessa shrugged. 'I wanted to know what made a man like you tick.'

  'Why? Who exactly are you? You've the advantage of me in the name stakes.' He sounded suddenly suspicious. 'You're not a journalist, are you?'

  She ignored the first question and answered the second. 'Are you scared of your fellow hacks? Do you think that one day one of them will break ranks and expose you for what you really are?'

  'And what am I?' he asked. She had his full attention now. She had supposed, without really considering the matter, that his eyes would be dark too. But the look he narrowed on her was tawny, green-flecked. The eyes of a predator, she thought irrelevantly. It occurred to her, rather late in the day, that Max Anderson was a dangerous man to provoke.