"I called down to the florist in the lobby earlier," he said, as he handed her the box. "I was hoping they'd come sooner so I could present them in a bit more romantic setting."
Her face lit up and her violet eyes blazed radiantly with the hope his words inspired. She put the box on the kitchen table and opened it with shaking hands.
Camellias. Dozens of perfect, deliciously scented, white camellias in their bed of shining, dark green leaves. A splendidly lavish offering that would make any woman ecstatic. Not red roses.
She could feel a deadly lassitude wash over her, banishing the euphoria that had possessed her. Why couldn't it have been red roses, she wondered dully.
"What's the matter? Don't you like them?" Rex asked sharply, his eyes on her face.
"I love them," she said huskily, staring down at the flowers blindly. "I've always liked camellias." She turned away so he wouldn't see the tears brimming in her eyes. "Would you like a cup of coffee before you leave?" She walked back to the counter.
"I don't have time. Scotty will be here to pick me up any minute," he said absently, gazing at her slender, tense back in angry puzzlement. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, adding cream to one of the coffees. With a supreme effort of will, she steadied her shaking hands, picked up the cup, and turned to face him. "I guess I won't see you until the performance tonight," she said, smiling brightly.
"That's right." He stared at her pale face and wide, empty eyes. "Damn it, Tamara, you look like I've dealt you a mortal wound. Will you tell me what's wrong, for God's sake?"
"You're imagining things. Everything is just splendid."
He gave a snort of exasperation and ran a distracted hand through his hair. "Tamara…" The doorbell rang and he muttered a very explicit curse. "Look, Tamara, I don't know what the hell is wrong, but I know there's something. I'll get to the bottom of it tonight."
He strode out of the room and with relief Tamara sagged weakly against the counter. She didn't think she could have stood it one more minute without breaking down if Rex had continued that ruthless probing.
She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. How foolish to let it hurt her so. She'd known that he didn't love her. Nothing had changed because of two passionate nights that had given them both fantastic pleasure. Even while he'd raised her to magnificent physical heights with his love- making, he'd never spoken one word of love. She wrapped her arms around her body as a painful shudder shook her. But she loved him so much. Why couldn't he love her just a little?
She walked numbly into the hall and sat down on the wine-colored, cushioned phone bench and picked up the phone. Aunt Elizabeth. She must call Aunt Elizabeth. Her fingers automatically dialed the number, and she leaned her head back wearily against the wall while the phone rang.
When Aunt Elizabeth picked up the receiver, Tamara straightened in the chair with a shock of relief. "Aunt Elizabeth? Thank heavens! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday."
"Tamara, darling, how wonderful to hear your voice," her aunt said placidly. "Lawrence and I were out in the woods yesterday, gathering specimens he wants to use in his next paper. We didn't get home until nearly ten."
Lawrence? Oh yes. Professor Billings. Tamara relaxed infinitesimally as she realized Aunt Elizabeth sounded her usual, cheerful self. Perhaps she hadn't even read that dreadful paper.
"I wondered if perhaps you'd read anything about me in the newspapers?" she asked carefully.
"Oh yes, love. Lawrence and I have been cutting out all the stories about you and Rex and putting them in a scrapbook. Did you see that amusing one claiming you're a witch?"
Amusing? Tamara let out a sigh of relief. She should have known that sane, wise Aunt Elizabeth would never take that rubbish seriously. "You didn't mind that they mentioned you?"
"Of course not, dear. Why should I?"
"No reason," Tamara answered. "How are you. Aunt Elizabeth? What have you been doing?"
"The same old things," her aunt said vaguely. There was a short pause and then she went on briskly, "I was going to call you tomorrow anyway, darling."
"Something wrong?" Tamara asked anxiously.
"No, everything is fine, dear," Aunt Elizabeth said comfortingly. "It's just that it came in much clearer about the blood last night."
"The blood?"
"You remember, Tamara," her aunt said patiently. "I told you there was a disturbance about the blood. Well, it's the little boy's blood that's the problem.
Your blood type is Rh-negative and so Rex must be Rh-positive. You must tell the doctor right away so he can rectify the problem immediately after the birth."
"What birth?"
"Your little boy's, of course. Tamara, do pay attention," her aunt chided.
A little boy. Rex's baby. Tamara felt a warm glow run over her, momentarily banishing the chilly lassitude of an instant before. How wonderful to have a little boy with Rex's mischievous dark eyes and sweet, loving ways.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Elizabeth," Tamara said dreamily. "I'm a little slow this morning, I guess."
"I really must hang up now, Tamara. Lawrence is waiting in the car. We're going to try the woods north of town today." There was a brief pause and then her aunt spoke again, her tone threaded with gentle raillery. "And the music, darling?"
Tamara leaned her head against the wall again and closed her eyes while two tears brimmed over and ran down her cheeks. "The music?" she echoed huskily, over the lump in her throat. "The music was utterly magnificent, Aunt Elizabeth."
"I knew it would be," her aunt said contentedly. "I really have to go now. Good-bye, Tamara."
Tamara carefully put the telephone down and walked dazedly into the living room. According to Aunt Elizabeth, she was going to have Rex's baby at some time in the future. When Rex grew tired of her, at least she would have his son. The knowledge didn't lessen her depression, but it was a light at the end of the tunnel.
She was purposely late for Rex's show that evening. She felt, in her present depressed state, that it would be more than she could endure to see him onstage when he was consciously exerting that explosive magnetism. He was lethal enough offstage.
She'd chosen a violet gown that had a romantic regency look to it. The delicate chiffon was beautifully cut to fall gracefully from an empire waist and bare her golden shoulders and upper breasts voluptuously. She had piled most of her hair in a high knot on top of her head, then brought one shining swatch forward to rest against the curve of her breast. She knew she looked well as she entered the Pagan Room and was shown to her ringside table, only a few feet from the stage.
Rex was on his last number and as usual held the audience spellbound. When he finished, everyone was standing and the applause was deafening. The house lights came up and he caught sight of her. Relief, anger, and frustration chased across his face.
He raised his hand to quiet the audience. "Just one more," he said with a flashing smile. "This one's for my lady.”.
Oh no, he couldn't! She wouldn't be able to stand it tonight. Not now with her emotions so raw and bleeding. She closed her eyes in pain as the room darkened and the words came as soft and intimate as a kiss.
Sweet my lady, come weave your magic spell.
She wished now she hadn't come at all. This was as bad as being on a torture rack. But it got worse. Rex stood lazily and strolled across the stage until he was directly in front of her table. The spotlight that followed him now included her in its revealing glare as he knelt and sang directly to her. She couldn't bear it. By the time the last, throbbing notes were sounding, the tears were running freely down her face. She was making a perfect fool of herself in front of hundreds of people, she thought miserably. If she didn't get out of here, she was going to fall apart completely.