Secret Surrender. Laura Martin

been wearing it that night; the smell had become a part of her as their bodies had entwined together…

      ‘Time I was out of here,’ Christy murmured, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘Five minutes before transmission. I’ll see you after the show, OK?’

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘AND that, I’m afraid, is just about it for this series. I’d like to thank my guests this evening—the Right Honourable…’

      Christy’s mouth smiled effortlessly as she delivered her closing lines into the television camera, her startling violet-blue eyes skimming the autocue with practised ease. One final heart-stopping curve of her scarlet lips, a slight pause and then her husky, ‘Goodnight,’ and she was swivelling casually back in her by now famous leather chair to chat to her guests as the studio lights dimmed and the credits rolled and the audience clapped their usual enthusiastic response.

      She heard the voice of Jeff, the director, in the radio earpiece she wore, telling her that they were off air and that she had just completed yet another great hour of live television, and with an inward sigh of relief she stood up, smiling, to shake hands once again with her guests who had spent the last hour discussing themselves and revealing their innermost thoughts with the viewing nation.

      A quick smile and a wave to the studio audience, and then she was disappearing around the back of the elegant set and along the maze of corridors that lead to her dressing-room.

      ‘How did it go?’ Lizzie, lounging comfortably in one of the two armchairs with a sheaf of papers, looked up and pulled a face. ‘Was it that bad?’

      ‘Are you kidding?’ Christy flopped down into the other and stretched her slim golden arms far above her head. ‘I thought that final thirty minutes was never going to end. Did you see it on the set in here? That last old fool hardly let me get a word in edgeways!’

      ‘Better than having someone who clams up completely like earlier this month,’ Lizzie reminded her lightly. ‘You were nearly at your wits’ end then, remember?’

      Christy shook her head and gave a tired smile. ‘Don’t remind me! The only trouble was tonight’s guest didn’t say a thing that was worth listening to! I told them I had doubts about him as a guest, but as usual nobody took any notice.’

      She rose from the chair in one graceful movement and crossed to the brightly lit dressing-table, slipping off her elegantly styled flame-coloured dress. ‘Still, why am I complaining? It’s over, another series completed.’ She turned, pausing in her task of removing the heavy make-up that was needed for the television cameras, as glamorous and beautiful as any highly paid model with her tumbling blonde hair and perfectly formed features, and produced a smile that shone.

      She had been a fool to allow the old stupid memories to intrude, especially tonight of all nights. She had been looking forward to this moment for days, weeks. ‘Well, I’m free, Lizzie! I’m free!’

      ‘Not exactly free,’ her friend reminded her seriously. ‘You’re straight into the work for this new series of radio interviews; you haven’t forgotten, have you?’

      ‘Don’t look so worried! Of course I haven’t forgotten,’ Christy replied lightly. ‘I meant I’m free from the restrictions of working three nights a week in this hell-hole.’ She threw back her head and began to brush vigorously at her hair until it shone. ‘God, how I’m sick of the routine.’ She paused, hairbrush in hand, and glanced across at Lizzie, her large violet eyes instantly assessing her friend’s thoughts. ‘Now don’t look at me like that. I know you think I’m an ungrateful devil, Lizzie—that there are a hundred thousand women out there who would give their eyeteeth to do what I do, but any job becomes boring if you do it long enough and you must admit I’ve done more shows here than I can remember.’

      ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Lizzie asked, in her usual earnest manner. ‘You’re outstanding at what you do, Christy. The ratings keep on going up, they offer you more money each time your contract is due for renewal just to make sure you stay—what more do you want for goodness’ sakes?’

      Christy breathed a sigh and gazed at her reflection in thoughtful contemplation. How could she explain? A great chunk of her felt guilty for even thinking about wanting more. It wasn’t wealth—Lizzie was right, the company did keep throwing money at her just so that she would stay. Goodness knew she earned more now than she knew what to do with. Such a mind-blowing contrast from the hateful years at the children’s home, when personal possessions had been practically non-existent, and bright, glamorous futures, such as the one Christy had found, had been merely dreams.

      She released a sigh, thrusting away the old images that still had the ability to depress her a little if she dwelt too long on them. ‘Life’s good, Lizzie, I know that. I’ve come a long way—further than I ever would have dreamed,’ Christy replied with unusual urgency, ‘but there are still things to do, avenues to explore…’ She paused, frowning as she tried to form her thoughts and feelings into satisfactory sentences, ones that would enable her friend to understand. ‘I want…well, I suppose personal satisfaction describes it best. An inner contentment.’ She shook her head and smiled self-consciously. ‘Listen to me! Don’t I sound serious? Oh, take no notice, Lizzie, I’ve had one of those days; I just need a change, that’s all.’ She pulled a comical grimace in the mirror at her own reflection. ‘I know you think I’m mad——’

      ‘Well, I didn’t say that exactly——’ Lizzie replied hastily.

      Christy smiled teasingly. ‘Now don’t bother trying to hide that expression; it’s too late.’ She turned back to the mirror and added moisturiser to her smooth face with a careful sweep of her fingers. ‘Perhaps it’s just ambition burning through me, like one of those joke candles that refuses to be extinguished. Only on my particular cake,’ Christy smiled, ‘there isn’t just one, there’s a whole blazing inferno driving me on, pushing me relentlessly forward. Anyway,’ she added with determined brightness, vowing silently that she must stop indulging in this dreadful self-analysis, ‘let’s look ahead. Have you got the rest of the information on the King series?’

      Lizzie delved into her large briefcase and rummaged around for a few seconds before handing over some papers. ‘That’s the confirmed list of interviewees,’ she explained. ‘Eight in total, from every walk of life imaginable. Everything’s been arranged. All you have to do is get to work on your questions and then record.’

      Christy’s long slim fingers flicked through the papers, her eyes skimming over the details, most of which were known to her already. The whole idea for a series of radio interviews set in the subject’s own chosen surroundings had been her idea in the first place. ‘Mmm, looks fine. They’ve stuck with most of my suggestions too. Good.’ She lifted her head and gave a satisfied nod.

      ‘Er…I believe they had trouble with a couple of choices and I don’t know if you noticed but at the end there—er—they added one.’

      ‘Oh?’ Christy bent her head once again, her hair falling like a curtain around her face as she scanned the list, vaguely intrigued because suddenly Lizzie sounded hesitant, and that wasn’t like her at all.

      ‘Oh, no!’ Her tone was softly incredulous, totally disbelieving. She flung back her head in an angry movement and then reread that certain name that always, always made her blood boil. ‘Lizzie, why is this man’s name here?’ she demanded in shaky tones. ‘Is…is this some kind of joke?’ She leant forward and stabbed at the paper with a long shiny red fingernail. ‘Look, here!’

      She knew it wasn’t. Lizzie would never do such a thing to her. She didn’t know about…Christy swiftly averted her thoughts…but she knew how much she detested the man, didn’t she? ‘Lizzie, there is no way in the world I am interviewing him ever again—not after last time, not after the way he treated me! How long have you known?’ She pushed back the swivel chair and paced the room, almost frantically,