Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) Read Free Page A

held it up.
    “She wants to talk to me?” His tongue felt thick and he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to feel. There were things to do, projects to conquer. And he was equal to all of it!
    Damn, Johanna was always interfering with his life, his space. Johanna had left in tears this morning. She was always leaving in tears these days. Woman was all water, no substance.
    “No,” Paul covered the receiver, instinctively feeling that Johanna wasn’t going to want to hear this, “she wants her charge card.”
    “Why, is London for sale?”
    Harold laughed hysterically at his own joke, his voice cracking. The sound of his laughter filled his head and reverberated back. The room sounded as if it were full of laughter.
    Laughter at him.
    No, damn it, they wouldn’t laugh at him. He’d pull this off. He had to pull this off. And then they’d all come crawling back to him. As they should.
    Paul shook his head. “She’s at a boutique on Regent Street and she forgot her wallet.”
    “So? What does she want from me? I’m not her errand boy.”
    You’re not her husband lately, either , Paul was tempted to say, but let it pass. He had been with Harold’s production company for eleven years now, coming in when Harold had been riding the high, heady crest of success and adulation. He had seen the man once thought of as a boy genius descend into his own private hell, dragging his family with him. The fawning cheers had turned to ill-concealed smirks and Harold had sought inspiration and solace in drugs, in starlets eager for attention, giving him the attention he sought so desperately. He sought support in everything except the right things.
    Paul gave up. He turned from the pathetic sight on the sofa and spoke quietly into the receiver. “I don’t think he can talk right now, Johanna.”
    She kept her smile in place. She knew that the boutique owner was straining to hear. People loved gossip the world over. She shielded the phone with her hand and turned her back.
    “Is he stoned, Paul?” The question was whispered.
    Paul felt for her. “He’s his usual self.” Though silence met his statement, he heard the pain, the defeat. “Look, exactly where are you? I can bring the card over to you.”
    “You don’t have to—“
    “Look, I want to get out of this hotel room.”
    He looked over to where Harold sat, nodding and humming to himself. His legs were moving up and down, as if some unseen puppeteer was pulling strings.
    Poor damn fool, he thought. Harold was humming the theme from his first picture, the one that had been such a rousing success. The one he could never match.
    “I don’t know of anywhere where I can find a beautiful woman to talk to me for a few minutes. Have a little pity, fair lady.”
    Johanna laughed. Paul could always make her laugh and she was grateful to him. “I left my wallet in my room on the bureau. The shop’s on Regent Street, near Piccadilly Circus.”
    “I’ll be right there,” Paul promised.
    “And Paul?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it.” He rang off and went to get her wallet.
    Harold raised his bleary eyes in Paul’s direction when Paul walked out of the second bedroom. “So, she’s made you into her errand boy instead, huh?”
    Paul didn’t miss the trace of jealousy in Harold’s voice. He made light of the situation. “Can’t leave her stranded.”
    “Why not? You’re leaving me stranded. Everyone leaves me stranded.”
    He had heard this refrain before. There was no point in commenting. Harold was beyond hearing anyway. Paul pocketed Johanna’s wallet and crossed to the door.
    “You don’t want her to be embarrassed in public, Harry. Think of what it would look like in the press, the wife of Harold Whitney without funds.”
    Harold sank back in the sofa. “She’s always buying things.”
    Paul was tempted to keep walking, but he had never run off from confrontations. “Women who feel neglected buy things, Harry.”
    Harold smirked at