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  “Welcome home, Lieutenant.”

  He saluted smartly, as he had so long before, and did a little bow, the mischief slowly returning to his eyes. “Major, now, thank you.”

  “I apologize.” She was relieved that he was still alive. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course I am.” He answered her so quickly that she wondered if indeed he was, but he looked well enough, in fact he looked fabulous as she looked up at him, and then she remembered where they were, and the movie that was about to begin, if her co-star ever arrived.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I live in Los Angeles. Remember? I told you that …” He smiled. “I also told you I'd drop in on you at the studio one day.” She smiled in answer. “I usually keep my promises, Miss Price.” It was easy to believe that about him. He was better-looking than she remembered. And there was something very dashing about him, and yet restrained, like a magnificent stallion held in on a tight rein. She knew he would be twenty-eight by now, and he had lost his boyish look. He looked every inch a man. But she had other things on her mind … like the star who hadn't yet arrived. It was awkward seeing him here again for the first time.

  “How on earth did you get in here, Ward?” She still remembered his name. She smiled gently at him as she asked the question.

  Suddenly the mischief in his eyes came back again and he grinned happily. “I greased a few palms, told them I was an old friend of yours … the war … Purple Heart… medals … Guadalcanal … you know, the usual.” She was laughing at him now. He had bribed his way in, but why? “I told you I'd like to see you again.” But he didn't tell her how often he had thought of her in the past two years. A thousand times he had wanted to write to her, but he hadn't dared.

  What if they threw her “fan mail” away, and where would he send the letter to anyway? Faye Price, Hollywood, U.S.A.? He had decided to wait until he came home, if he ever did, and there were times when he doubted that. Many, many times. And now here he was. It was like a dream, standing there, looking at her, listening to her talk to him. He had remembered her voice in all his dreams, that deep, sensual voice that had lingered in his head for two years.

  “When did you get back?”

  He grinned again. He decided to be honest with her. “Yesterday. I would have come by then, but I had a few things to take care of first.” His lawyers to see, papers to fill out, the house that still seemed too big to him. He was staying in a hotel.

  “It's perfectly all right, I understand.” But suddenly she was glad he was here now, glad he had lived, glad he'd come home. He was like the one living example of all the men she had met on tour. He stood before her like someone in a distant dream, someone she had met in a jungle two years ago … and now here he was, smiling down at her, out of uniform, just like everyone else, except that there was something special about him, in a way she'd never run into before.

  And then suddenly her co-star arrived and everything exploded on the set, and the director began roaring at everyone and she had to do her first scene with her leading man. “You'd better go, Ward. I've got to go to work.” She felt pulled suddenly, for the first time in her life, between work and a man.

  “Can't I watch?” He looked like a disappointed child and she shook her head.

  “Not this time. First day is kind of tough for all of us. In a few weeks, when we've all relaxed.” He liked the sound of that. They both did … “in a few weeks” … as though they had all the time in the world, and a future to share. Who was this man, she suddenly asked herself as he looked intently at her? He was only a stranger after all.

  “Dinner tonight?” He whispered the words on the darkening set and she started to say something to him and shake her head, and then the director roared again and Ward tried to speak to her but she held up her hand. Her eyes met his and she could feel the man's strength. He had fought a war, he had come home, he had lost his first wife, and he had come to see her. Maybe that was all she needed to know about him. For now anyway.

  “All right,” she whispered back, and he asked her where she lived. She smiled, and scribbled her address for him, embarrassed that he would see how grandly she lived. It wasn't nearly as lavish as it could have been, but surely by his standards, he would be somewhat awed. But there was no time to arrange another meeting place. She just handed the slip of paper to him, and waved him off the set with a grin, and five minutes later, she was getting directions and an introduction to her leading man. He was a powerful, intriguing, and very handsome man. But Faye realized as they worked together for several hours that there was something lacking from him, something. Warmth … charm … she tried to define it to Pearl in the privacy of her dressing room later on.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, Miz Price. There's two things he ain't got. Heart and brains.” And suddenly, with a burst of laughter, Faye knew she was right. That was what was wrong with him, he wasn't bright. He was also terribly full of himself, which was tiresome after all. There was a fleet of valets, secretaries, and go-fers to attend to his every need on the set, from cigarettes to gin. And when they had finished work for the day, Faye saw him undressing her with his eyes. And then he asked her to dinner that night.

  “Sorry, Vance. I've already got a date for tonight.” His eyes lit up like Christmas trees and she could have kicked herself. It wouldn't have mattered if she didn't have a date for the next ten years, she would never have gone out with him.

  “Tomorrow night?”

  She shook her head, and quietly walked away from him. It wasn't going to be easy working with Vance Saint George, but there were moments when she had thought his performance was actually very good.

  And it actually wasn't Vance she was thinking of as she hurried back to her dressing room that night. It was already six o'clock, and she had been on the set for twelve hours, but she was used to that. After she changed her clothes she bid Pearl goodnight, and hurried out to where she had parked her car. She drove toward Beverly Hills as quickly as she could. Bob was still at the gate when she arrived, he let her in and she raced through, leaving the car out front, and not even taking the time to put up the top. She glanced at her watch again. He had whispered eight o'clock, and it was a quarter to seven now.

  Arthur opened the door to her, and she raced upstairs. “A glass of sherry, miss?” He called after her, and she stopped on the stairs for a moment with the smile that always warmed his heart. He was crazy about her, more so than he would ever have admitted to Elizabeth.

  “There's someone coming for drinks at eight o'clock.”

  “Very well, miss. Shall I send Elizabeth up to draw your bath? She could bring a glass of sherry to you now.” He knew how exhausted she got on the set sometimes, but she didn't even look tired tonight.

  “No, thank you, I';ll be fine.”

  “Do you wish your guest in the living room, miss?” It was a rhetorical question, he knew she would, and was surprised when she shook her head.

  “My study, please, Arthur.” She smiled once more at him, and vanished, cursing herself for not arranging to meet Ward somewhere downtown. How ridiculous to play movie star with him, poor kid. Well, at least he'd survived the war. That was the important thing, she told herself, as she ran into her dressing room, pulling open all the closet doors, and then dashing into the white marble bathroom to turn on the bath. She pulled out a plain white silk dress that suited her perfectly, and wasn't too showy. It had a gray silk coat that went over it, and she selected a pair of gray pearl earrings from her jewelry box, gray silk pumps, and a gray and white silk bag. All put together, it looked a little dressier than she thought, but she didn't want to insult him either by being too casual. He knew who she was after all. The only problem was that it was she who knew nothing about him. She stopped for a minute, staring into space, remembering him, as she turned off her bath. It was a good question. Who was Ward Thayer after all?

  CHAPTER 3

  At exactly five minutes to eight, Faye was downstairs in her study wa
iting for Ward. She was wearing the white silk dress, and the matching gray coat was tossed over the back of a chair. She paced nervously once or twice, regretting again that she hadn't arranged to meet him elsewhere, but it had been such a shock, his turning up on the set like that, after their brief meeting in Guadalcanal two years before. How strange life was. Here he was again, and she was having dinner with him, her heart was pounding, and she had to admit, she was excited about it. He was a very attractive man and there was something a little mysterious about him.

  The doorbell broke into her reverie and as Arthur went to answer it, Faye took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, and then suddenly she was looking into the deep sapphire eyes again, and she felt an exhilaration she hadn't felt in years. It was like riding a roller coaster just looking at him. She tried to sound cool as she offered him a drink, and noticed how well he looked in civilian clothes. He wore a simple pinstriped gray suit but it molded his shoulders to perfection, and he seemed even taller than he had before. She still felt a little strange being here with him, this soldier from a war that was finally over. But it was a nice gesture after all, and if they had nothing in common, she wouldn't have to see him again. She was still impressed with the fact that he had bribed his way into the studio to see her, and there was a definite charm about the man. But she had felt that long before when she had met him in Guadalcanal.

  “Please sit down.” The silence between them was awkward and she was struggling for something to say to him when she saw him smile. He was looking around with obvious pleasure, and he seemed to notice all the little details of the room, the small sculptures, the Aubusson rug, he even stood up to glance at the collection of rare books she had bought at auction long since, and she noticed a sparkle in his eye.

  “Where did you get these, Faye?”

  “At auction several years ago. That particular set is all first editions and I'm very proud of them.” In fact, she was proud of almost everything she had. It had all been hard earned and meant more to her because of that.

  “Mind if I take them down?” He glanced at her over his shoulder and he looked more at ease, as Arthur walked into the room with a silver tray and their drinks. A gin and tonic for Faye and scotch on the rocks for Ward, in her pretty crystal glasses from Tiffany in New York.

  “Of course, take a look at them.” Faye watched him from where she sat, as he gingerly removed two books, put one down, and opened the other, examining the fly leaf, and then the back pages of the old leather-bound edition. She saw him smile and then he looked at her with an amused expression.

  “That's what I thought. These were my grandfather's. I would have known them anywhere.” He grinned, and handed her one of the books, pointing to an interesting handstamped logo on the back page. “He put that in all his books. I have a number of them myself.” His words reminded her of how little she knew about him, and she attempted to draw him out over drinks as they chatted. But somehow Ward remained vague, he talked about his grandfather's interest in ships, summers spent in Hawaii, and she learned only that his mother had been born there. He didn't say much about his father, and she was unable to learn more. “And you, you're from the East, aren't you, Faye?” He always seemed to turn the conversation back to her, as though he thought the details of his life were unimportant. He almost seemed determined to remain a mystery to her. Handsome, poised, there was something terribly worldly about him and she was suddenly dying to know more. She would have to draw him out over dinner. He was watching her quietly, with an appreciative look in his eyes.

  'I'm from Pennsylvania, but I feel like I've been out here forever.”

  He laughed. “Hollywood does that I think. It's hard to imagine having another life.” He declined a second drink, glanced at his watch, and stood up, reaching for her coat. “I think we'd better go. I made reservations at nine.” She was dying to ask him where, but she didn't want to push, and let him help her on with her coat, as they walked slowly into the hall and once again he looked around. “You have lovely things, Faye.” He seemed to understand the beauty and history of all that he saw and easily recognized a fine English table she had near the door. What he didn't know was the reason why her home meant so much to her, because of the poverty that had come before.

  “Thank you, I collected them all myself.”

  “That must be fun.” But it had been more than fun. At the time, it had meant everything to her. Now the objects in her life seemed less important, less real. She was more secure now.

  His eyes met hers, and he reached the door and opened it for her before Arthur could help them. He smiled at the English butler and seemed unperturbed by his disapproving stare. Arthur felt it was not proper for the young man to open the door himself, but Ward looked happy and carefree as they stepped outside. The night was warm and balmy, and he ran lightly down the marble steps to the car he'd parked out front. It was a bright red Ford convertible, with more than a few dents, but it had a certain rakish look to it, which amused her. “What a great car, Ward.”

  “Thanks. I borrowed it for tonight.” Which was true, he had. “Mine is still up on blocks. I just hope I can get it running again.”

  She didn't ask him what he had, and slipped into the little Ford as he held the door open for her. The car started easily and rumbled off toward the gate which Arthur had gone ahead to open for them, and Ward sped through with a friendly wave. “Awfully serious houseman you've got, madam.” He grinned at her and she smiled. Arthur and Elizabeth were so good to her she wouldn't have given them up for anything in the world.

  “I'm spoiled, I guess.” She looked faintly embarrassed and he smiled at her.

  'There's no harm in that, Faye. You should enjoy it.”

  “I do.” She blurted the words out and then blushed as the wind whipped her thick blond hair into a froth about her shoulders and they both laughed as she attempted to keep it down.

  “Do you want me to put the top up?” he asked her as they sped downtown.

  “No, no … I'm fine …” And she was. She enjoyed racing along beside him. There was something wonderfully old-fashioned about what they were doing. Like a Saturday night date back home in Grove City. She didn't feel at all like a movie star as she sat beside him. She just felt like a girl, and she liked it, even more than she had expected. The only thing that concerned her was that she had to get up at five the next morning, and she didn't want to stay out too late.

  He stopped the car at Ciro's on the strip, and hopped out with ease as the doorman approached him. He was a tall, handsome black man, and his face lit up when he saw Ward. “Mr. Thayer! You're home!”

  “I sure am, John, and believe me, it wasn't easy!” They exchanged a long fervent handshake and a warm smile, and then suddenly the older black man looked with horror at the car.

  “Mr. Thayer, what happened to your car?”

  “Up on blocks for the duration. I'll have it out again next week, I hope.”

  “Thank God … I thought you sold it for this pile of junk.” Faye was a little surprised at the rude remark about the car, and equally so that they seemed to know him so well at Ciro's, but it was more of the same when they went inside. The headwaiter almost cried as he shook Ward's hand, congratulating him on his return, and it seemed as though every waiter in the place knew him and came over to say hello. They were given the best table in the house, and after ordering drinks, he led her out on the floor to dance.

  “You're the prettiest girl here, Faye.” His voice was soft in her ear, and his arms felt powerful around her.

  She smiled up at him. “I don't need to ask you if you used to come here often.”

  He laughed at her remark and circled her expertly around the floor. He was the smoothest partner she had known, and she was growing more intrigued by the moment about who he really was. Just a young L.A. playboy? Someone important? An actor whose name she had never heard before the war? It was obvious that Ward Thayer was “someone,” and she was beginning to seriously wonder who he was.
Not because she wanted something from him, but it was strange to be out with someone she barely knew, and had met in such a far-off place, in such an anonymous way.

  “Something tells me you're keeping secrets from me, Mr. Thayer.”

  Her eyes sought his and he laughed and shook his head. “Not at all.”

  “All right, then. Who are you?”

  “You know that much already. I told you. Ward Thayer, from L.A.” He reeled off his rank and serial number and they laughed again.

  “That doesn't tell me a damn thing and you know it. And you know what else?” She pulled away slightly to look up at him again. “You're enjoying this, aren't you? Making a fool of me, playing mystery man. I suddenly get the feeling that everyone in town knows who you are except for me, Ward Thayer.”

  “No, just the waiters … that's it … I was a waiter…” But suddenly as he said it, there was a flurry in the doorway, and a woman in a skintight black dress walked into the room, her hair an explosion of fiery red. It was Rita Hayworth, and she had come here as she always did, with her handsome husband. She and Orson Welles would dance around the floor so he could show her off and it was easy to see why he was so proud of her. Faye thought instantly that she was the most spectacularly beautiful woman she had ever seen. She had seen her once or twice in the past, though only from a distance, and as she brushed past her now, Faye's breath caught she was so impressed. And then, as though the woman had heard her, she stopped, as though startled and quickly turned around. Faye blushed furiously beneath her own mane of peach-colored hair, and was about to apologize for being rude, when suddenly Rita Hayworth seemed to spring into her arms and the next thing she knew, Ward had been pulled from her, and he and Rita were hugging tight on the floor. Orson was standing a few paces away watching them with interest, and eyeing Faye, and Rita squealed with delight as she pulled away from Ward.