Merlyn's Magic. Кэрол Мортимер

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘HE says he doesn't want you to be his wife, Merlyn,’ the man seated across the restaurant table told her with barely concealed anger.

      She had known when Christopher Drake took time away from the film he had almost finished directing to take her out for lunch that something had gone wrong with their plan to work together in six weeks’ time. Christopher was already way behind deadline, a fact that was reputedly making him harder to work with—and for, according to the cast and crew. He was a veritable demon, and as both producer and director, who demanded nothing less than perfection one hundred per cent of the time from those who worked for him, he must have been hell to be with these last few weeks of production.

      Merlyn knew a lot of people considered her insane to feel this way, but she was actually looking forward to working with him. She had no doubt that he would live up to his reputation, but she had taken on difficult directors before and lived to tell the tale, and she had liked Christopher's looks from the first. He was tall and slim, the latter maintained by his barely leashed energy, with over-long blond hair that he constantly pushed off his forehead in impatient movements. It was an endearing habit, and Merlyn found herself resisting the impulse to smooth back those wayward locks herself.

      But if what he said was true, then she wasn't going to get the chance to know him better, the prospect of working with him apparently in jeopardy. And knowing who ‘he’ was, she knew why.

      ‘Don't feel bad about it, Merlyn.’ Christopher scowled, obviously not pleased with the development at all. ‘You're the fourth he's turned down in almost a year.'

      Tact and diplomacy didn't appear to be part of Christopher Drake's personality either, but after years of living and working with people in a profession full of affectations and insincerity, it was a refreshing change to meet someone so bluntly honest.

      ‘Who was my competition?’ she asked in an amused voice.

      ‘Not competition,’ Christopher dismissed disgustedly. ‘Just your predecessors. None of them got any further than this stage either.'

      ‘This stage?’ she prompted, toying with the scampi on her plate.

      ‘The film studio bought the screen rights to the book from the author but, unfortunately, she made the stipulation in the contract that her brother-in-law had to approve of the actress chosen to play the part of his wife.’ Christopher's disparaging tone told her exactly what he thought of that clause.

      Merlyn shrugged, the long swathe of her shimmering red hair rippling halfway down her spine to her waist. ‘That seems only fair.'

      Christopher's slender fingers tightened about his wineglass. ‘Not when he doesn't want the film made!’ Blue eyes glowered his displeasure. ‘Anne Benton forgot to mention that little fact when she signed the contract.'

      Merlyn had read the book Anne Benton had written about her sister's short but eventful life, had been touched by the affectionate admiration the younger sister had for the elder. The book was poignantly tender, a fitting tribute to a warm and beautiful woman who had died too young. It must also be a heart-breaking reminder to Suzie Forrester's husband of his tragic loss.

      ‘That's that, then,’ she sighed, sitting back, her disappointment reflecting in the deep green of her slightly uptilting eyes. She had never met Suzie Forrester, but she had been attracted to portraying her as soon as she read the script, even more so since reading the book.

      ‘Not necessarily,’ Christopher said slowly.

      She looked at him sharply. ‘If Brandon Carmichael doesn't want me in the part—–'

      ‘How does he know what he wants?’ the man opposite her dismissed impatiently. ‘He's never seen you! He didn't see any of your predecessors either, he just turned them down flat. Now if he could just meet you, and we could convince him—–'

      ‘Don't you mean I could convince him?’ Merlyn cut in hardly, easily able to guess the way his mind was working; he was far from the first completely ruthless man she had met in this profession. And she doubted he would be the last, either.

      ‘Why not?’ Christopher wasn't in the least abashed at the admission.

      Merlyn gave him a pitying look. ‘Brandon Carmichael hardly sounds the type to be swayed by a pretty face!'

      ‘You aren't merely pretty, you're beautiful,’ Christopher stated, as a man used to dealing in nameless beautiful faces rather than personalities. ‘You're also a damned good actress,’ he added, just as practically. ‘Besides, there's only six weeks left until production starts, and I'm beginning to feel like Selznick looking for his Scarlett!'

      Merlyn didn't like to disillusion him, was sure he believed that every film he made was a masterpiece, but she knew that however poignantly moving the film on Suzie Forrester was going to be, it was only Christopher's conceit that allowed him to in any way compare it to the legendary Gone With the Wind. He was hardly the enthralled producer David O. Selznick, and she certainly wasn't Vivian Leigh!

      Christopher scowled at her sceptical expression. ‘For God's sake, I'm not asking you to sleep with the man, just convince him that we aren't all “ghoulish bastards”!'

      She