Free Wild and Wanton by Dorothy Vernon

what troubled her so deeply. He had preferred to put on blinkers rather than bear something that would make him uneasy.
    Was she in a position to blame him for that? she thought, repining over this second loss of the rose-tinted glasses she had been prone to wear. If only she could get them back. It wasn’t always good to see things too clearly, and the sad little ache in her heart told her that this was only the beginning of more such disillusionment.
    The Delmar car came for her before she’d made any clear-cut decision about her plans. The fact that she couldn’t go on working for Jim Bourne was the only certainty in her mind. In spite of the excuses she’d made for him, she had no respect for a man who would throw her to the lions to protect his own interests. She couldn’t give her loyalty to someone she felt was possibly unworthy of it. It was a good job, well-paying, and one she enjoyed doing, and she knew that many women would have carried on at it regardless. With a wry smile she realized that her painful honesty was getting in the way once again.
    Perhaps, she mused, she ought to quit London and go home to Yorkshire. But that would put too much distance between her and Cathy. She was worried about Cathy. It was over two years now since Phil’s death. It was time Cathy pulled herself together, got out, and made something of her life again.
    It had been an added sadness to Lindsay that Phil had died so tragically only a week before she got here. Cathy had been waiting for her when she arrived. She was not the warm and lovable woman of Phil’s letters, but a woman with a mechanical, frozen smile, despair-glazed eyes, and a heart filled with bitterness and hate. This was the Cathy whom Lindsay still knew.
    Phil’s demanding job had only permitted him to make rare weekend visits home. Although Cathy had accompanied him a couple of times, there hadn’t been enough time for Lindsay to get to know her well. Lindsay had wondered if her brother wrote so many letters to ease his conscience, or, and possibly this was nearer the mark, simply because he liked writing letters. At first he’d written reams about Cathy, about her sweetness and warmth and gaiety, until Lindsay felt that she knew her and come to love her as Phil did. But the birth of their daughter, Stephanie, had denied Cathy her status as sole object of Phil’s attention. For the last two years of his life, his dominant concern had been Stephanie’s growth and antics. He had doted on his daughter. So it wasn’t just for Cathy’s sake that Lindsay wanted to stay. She wanted to be on hand to see her niece grow up, as Phil no doubt would have wished.
*
*
*
    Jim Bourne’s defection had weakened Lindsay’s resolve. She needed to sit back and gather her resources in order to do battle. She was doing just that, she told herself, as she entered the sumptuous, air-conditioned luxury of the chauffeur-driven car that had been sent for her. For the time being it was easier to pretend that she would go along with Nick; she would do the tests. Perhaps she wouldn’t be any good and would be dismissed without much ado. How she hoped that would be so.
    She was taken to a studio and handed over to a fashion expert, who put her in a simple white dress that was virginal in its purity, but which in no way disguised her womanly allure. Then a makeup girl took over and set to work with amazing skill and dexterity. When she’d finished she gave Lindsay a hand-mirror. Lindsay hardly recognized the face that stared back at her.
    The cameraman had ginger-colored hair, light blue eyes, and a freckled, friendly face. His smile was infectious, tempting her own lips as he came forward to greet her. He walked with a limp.
    â€˜Hi! Bob Sheldon here. Sure glad to meet you.’
    The man himself was unfamiliar to her, but the name was not. At Jim’s request, she’d contacted him herself for photographic sessions, and