âAngel,â Vittorio whispered. âAngel, what are you trying to do?â
She shook her head. She didnât know.
He released her carefully, half expecting her to fall, but she stepped back and looked at him with the bleakest expression he had ever seen. He couldnât bear to look at her.
âWhy do you want me to think badly of you?â he asked.
âYou will anyway, whatever I do,â Angel said sadly. âItâs safer this way. Go on thinking the worst of me, Vittorio. Itâs probably true.â
She walked out of the room, leaving him stunned.
He tried to tell himself that everything was very simple. Sheâd just confirmed his worst suspicions. But he couldnât make himself believe it.
âLADIES AND GENTLEMEN, here we are again with your favourite TV programme, Star On My Team, when the famousâand sometimes the infamousâha-ha!âteam up with you to win fabulous prizesâ¦â
Sitting backstage, Angel prayed for the burbling introduction to be over soon. In fact, she thought, please let the whole mindless business be over. Just as her marriage was over, and only awaited a decent burial.
The presenter was getting into his stride.
âOn my right, Mr and Mrs Barker, and their famous team memberââHe named the star of a minor soap opera. Watching the backstage screen, Angel saw him enter, flashing his teeth and grandstanding to the audience.
Nina, her personal assistant, surveyed her with critical approval.
âYou look perfect,â she said.
Of course she did. Angel always looked perfect. That was her function. Long blonde hair, large, dark-blue eyes, slender figure encased in a tight gold dress, cut teasingly low. Masses of glittering, tasteless jewellery. Bling, bling!
âAnd now, the lady I know youâre impatient to seeââ
Not as impatient as I am to finish this, she thought wryly, while trying to remain good-tempered. Time to get out there. Big smile!
âThe one weâve all been waiting forâ¦â
Especially since my husband plastered my face all over the front pages, trying to divorce me on the cheap. Never mind. Smile!
A look in the mirror, a final adjustment of her dress to ensure that her assets were displayed to advantage, mouth widened just so far, no further. And now for the last walk to where the lights beckoned and the cameras preyed on her. It felt like a walk to the guillotine.
âHere she is. The beautiful, the fabulousâAngel!â
Sheâd done this a hundred times before, and it should have been easy, but as she emerged and the applause washed over her, something terrible happened. The lights seemed to dim, and suddenly her mind was filled with darkness and panic.
Please, not now! I thought those attacks were over!
Mercifully, the dreadful moment passed swiftly. She could cope again, just.
She advanced on the suicidally high heels, hands outstretched, voice tuned to a note of artificial ecstasy to greet the presenter.
Her fellow contestants were Mr and Mrs Strobes. Sheâd met them in the hospitality room before the show and it had been an endurance test.
âWeâre so sorry about your divorce,â Mrs Strobes had said. âWe think itâs just terrible the way he threw you out.â
âParting was a mutual decision,â Angel had hastened to say.
But what was the point, with Joe flaunting his new companion at every party and nightclub?
The audience was agog to see her, so she smiled and waved, turning this way and that so that they shouldnât be disappointed. She could almost hear the comments.
âA right sexy little pieceâa bit of all right.â
That was what her husband had wanted from her. For him sheâd been a âright sexy little pieceâ for eight years, and suddenly eight years felt like a very long time.
The show started. The questions were ridiculously easy, but even so she gave a performance of racking her brains, giggling at her own âignoranceâ. They wanted âdumb blondeâ so that was what she would give them.