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Catherine’s voice softened. ‘And you’re disappointed, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I thought he might have understood how much I wanted to see a face in the crowd who was there to support, not critique. I always regret that since I moved here neither my parents or Robert saw me modelling.’ She halted, forced herself to be truthful. ‘I guess in all honesty I want him there for more than that. I want him there so he’ll start to see me not as the beaten, battered woman I’ve become, but the woman I was before all that. Before the accident, before Charles. The model, doing what I do best.’
‘And I’m sure if you’d explained it like that, the man who hates the limelight, hates being out of his comfort zone, would have agreed to come without a second’s thought.’
Feeling immeasurably better, Lizzie smiled. ‘How did you get to be so wise?’
‘Age, my dear, just age. Now, my producer wants to meet you.’
Lizzie held a hand over her heart, feeling it thump. ‘He does?’
‘He does,’ Catherine confirmed. ‘He was thrilled to hear you were having acting lessons. Obviously there will be many other actresses he needs to consider, and you’d have to go through screening tests, but he did let slip he thought you’d be absolutely perfect for the role of Gretchen.’
It was a film Catherine was starring in. Gretchen was her daughter; a grieving widow who, wracked with guilt at surviving the accident her husband and child didn’t, had begun to embark on a series of increasingly dangerous one-night stands. It wasn’t hard to see why, at least on paper, she was perfect for it. ‘I appreciate your note of caution. I won’t get too excited,’ she said breathlessly, her pulse racing.
Catherine chuckled. ‘I hope you’re a better actress in front of the camera than you are down the phone.’
‘I’m a bloody awesome actress,’ Lizzie replied, laughing. ‘And I know that’s not very English of me, but I can’t help it. I think this is where my future lies.’
‘And isn’t it a wonderful coincidence that this film will be shot in England,’ Catherine added. ‘If you get the role, it might not just be your career this film will help to launch.’
As Lizzie ended the call, hope bloomed in her heart. Many months ago, after Sardinia, Nick had asked her to stay with him. Then, with Robert, with her modelling, she hadn’t been able to.
Perhaps, if this role came off, if she came back to live in the same country as him again. If he could stop seeing her as the emotionally shaky shell of a woman she’d turned into. If all that could happen, perhaps there was a chance they could rekindle what they had.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
To say he was bemused was an understatement. Nick couldn’t believe he was sitting amongst this predominantly female audience, watching the most incredible, and to his mind incredulous, creations slide down the runway on models too thin and gaunt for his liking. Did designers really think women were going to buy this stuff? It was increasingly hard for him to believe as yet another model sashayed down the catwalk, spinning around on impossibly high heels and wearing an outfit surely put together by a child?
He stiffened automatically as Hank made his entrance, glowering at the audience as he strutted down the runway. The tanned, beautifully chiselled muscles of his chest were amply displayed by the open silk shirt he was almost wearing. If looks could kill, Nick thought grimly, the bastard would be dead.
Not wanting to waste any more of his energy on the prick, Nick glanced to his side. Charlotte was like a child at Christmas, round-eyed and open-mouthed. Well, at least someone was enjoying herself.
Then Lizzie appeared on the catwalk, and immediately his eyes wanted to look nowhere else. Totally unaware he was doing it, Nick straightened on his chair, his neck craning to get a better view. Whereas with the other models he’d noticed the clothes more than them, this time it was the other way round. Oh, he noticed enough of the wisps of silk that hung over her body to realise there wasn’t much to them. Whatever she had on, it was the body beneath it that made it what it was. As she slowly glided down the catwalk, her hips swaying just a little, her head held high, her movements both graceful and sexy, he felt a burst of pride. He’d always known she was beautiful, with a face the camera adored. Only now did he realise how much more there was to what she did than simply smile. He wasn’t the only male with a tongue hanging out of his mouth as she reached the end of the walk with a sensuous jiggle of her hips. She was smoking hot, sexy as hell. She owned the catwalk and nobody, nobody in that room looked anywhere else but at her.
A split second later her gaze sought out his and for one glorious instant, he felt the connection. It was as if they were alone in the room, just the two of them. Her lips curved in a half-smile and her eyes . . . oh God, her eyes, what were they saying? But all too soon she was turning and moving away from him.
‘You look like you want to gobble her up.’
His focus remained on Lizzie’s retreating figure. He couldn’t look away. ‘She sure has a way of moving those long legs of hers.’
‘Yes, she does.’ Charlotte frowned. ‘Nick, is there still something going on between you both? I know you used to have this crush on her, and that you had a short fling.’
‘We did and it’s over,’ he replied shortly, the abruptness of his manner no doubt indicating to his highly perceptive sister that, for him, it was anything but over. Lizzie disappeared from the stage and he quickly changed the subject. ‘So what do you think of all the frocks?’
Charlotte took a moment to scrutinise his face, but thankfully seemed to think better of launching into a long interrogation on his love life. At least for now. ‘Frocks?’ she replied instead, her voice signalling that it was possible for someone to sound both incredulous and disgusted at the same time. ‘That’s a word out of the Dark Ages. What you’re looking at here, dear brother, is cutting edge design. Haute couture. If you’re going to be hanging round fashion shows, you really have to use the right language.’
Nick didn’t plan on ever going to another fashion show as long as he lived, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. All he wanted to do now was go home. Put some miles between him and Lizzie while he strapped his heart into some sort of order again. With distance, he could almost manage to forget her and what he’d lost. At least for some of the time.
After Lizzie had floated down the runway one last time, he turned to face his sister. Her eyes weren’t on the catwalk. They were fixed unblinkingly on him. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink,’ he muttered. ‘Do you want anything?’
Charlotte threaded her arm through his. ‘Actually, yes, there is something I want,’ she stated softly and very precisely. ‘Come with me.’
Leading the way, she propelled him, very firmly, out of the main auditorium and into a small side room. There she pushed him, none too gently, onto a plush velvet settee. ‘Does Lizzie know how you feel about her, Nick?’
He felt the blood drain from his face. Was he really that transparent? Please God let it only be his sister who was able to read him that closely, because if Lizzie knew it too . . . he shuddered. It might work if they both believed they’d had a sweet affair that was now over. It wouldn’t work if Lizzie thought he was still pining for her. Because then friendship would get confused with pity, and pity was something he couldn’t live with.
Avoiding Charlotte’s eyes, he looked down at his hands. ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ he tried.
