Читать книгу Husband Not Included - Mary Lyons - Страница 6

PROLOGUE

‘IT’S BEEN really great talking to you, Brad. Good luck with your next film—I hear it’s going to be a smash hit!’

The auburn-haired reporter gave the young film star a brilliant smile before swirling around to face the TV camera.

‘Wow! It’s certainly a fantastic party going on here, following the Oscar ceremony,’ she continued, her voice almost breathless with excitement. ‘I’m hoping to have a word later with some of the really fantastic, mega, mega film stars here tonight. But first I’d like you to meet the man who gets my own personal vote for “hunk of the month”. Yes, folks, it’s the winner of the Oscar for Best Screenplay...Duncan Ross!’

The camera swung around to focus on a tall, broad-shouldered figure as the reporter hurried to his side, quickly thrusting a microphone up towards his tanned face.

‘Of course, just about everyone has read your exciting, action-packed novels. Which is why I’m so thrilled to meet you tonight,’ she gushed, an eager smile on her lips as she gazed up at the handsome features of the dark-haired man towering over her diminutive figure. ‘I’m definitely one of your greatest fans!’

‘Er...thank you,’ he muttered, clearly uncomfortable at suddenly finding himself in the spotlight.

‘I’m told your latest book, A Time to Live—A Time to Die, has been on the New York bestseller list for the past twelve weeks?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you must be over the moon at having won an Oscar tonight... right?’

He shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘But, I bet you never imagined that the film of your book, Fear No Evil, would completely sweep the board?’

‘No...er...no, I didn’t,’ he muttered tersely.

‘Hey, come on! I’ve heard all about the famous British reserve, and I can see that you’re definitely a modest kinda guy. But, let’s try and loosen up here, OK?’ the reporter urged, clearly struggling to inject some pizzazz into her interview with such an obviously taciturn and tight-lipped man. ‘I mean, it’s definitely unusual for a film to win so many Oscars, right?’

He raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow before giving a brief shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘I know virtually nothing about the past history of these awards.’

‘OK...’ She sighed, quickly glancing down at the clipboard in her hand. ‘Well, how do you feel about the prize for Best Actress going to the lovely Lois Shelton? I hear that the two of you spent quite some time together on location!’

‘Oh, really...?’ he drawled coldly. ‘Maybe you should find better things to do with your time other than listening to idle, foolish gossip.’

‘Whoops! I guess that’s put me in my place!’ The reporter gave a shrill peal of hollow laughter as he gazed stonily down at her. ‘Well—it’s been a real pleasure talking to you,’ she cooed through gritted teeth, before turning to give the camera a wide smile. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s meet some more of the wonderful, wonderful people here tonight. But first, a word from our sponsor...’

With a deft flick of the remote control, Marty Goldberg switched off the video recording.

‘Quite frankly, I’ve seen better interviews in pitch-dark, under water!’ he announced, swivelling around in his chair to face the man sitting on the other side of the desk. ‘You’re going to have to do a lot better than that in the future, Ross. A whole lot better!’

Ross Duncan Whitney gazed silently at his literary agent for a moment, before giving a dismissive shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘You know how I loathe all that Hollywood razzmatazz. And I can’t stand stupid, empty-headed women. Especially ones asking impertinent questions about my private life,’ he added grimly.

‘So, who cares about the girl’s IQ?’ Marty demanded in exasperated tones. ‘That reporter was only doing her job. And, besides, she’s quite right. You’re going to have to learn to loosen up a little and face the fact that you no longer have much of a private life. Because winning the Oscar has made you “News”—whether you like it or not.’

‘OK...OK, I’ve got the message.’ Ross sighed, rising to his feet and strolling over to gaze out of the large plate glass window at the skyline of New York city. “So, where do we go from here?’

‘Well, your “Duncan Ross” books are continuing to sell like hot cakes. What’s more—thanks to the Oscar—we can add another zero to the sum offered by the publishers for your next contract So, all in all, I’d say that you’re now a very rich man!’

Ross turned to grin at his agent. ‘I’m not likely to complain about that.’

‘I should hope not!’ Marty laughed. ‘And definitely not when you see the terms I’ve managed to screw out of the film company for the rights on your latest book,’ he added, tossing a thick, heavy contract onto the desk in front of him.

‘They’ll have to find some other writer to do the adaptation, because I’m never going to write another screenplay,’ Ross announced grimly. ‘In fact, rather than have to put up with any more of those neurotic Hollywood filmmakers, I’d prefer to spend the rest of my life working down a Siberian salt mine!’

The older man gave a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘OK—I reckon it’s now my turn to say that I’ve got the message. So, what are your plans for the next six months? Will you be returning to that Caribbean island of yours?’

‘Yes, I think so. Especially since I want to get the next book to you as soon as possible.’

‘OK, that sounds fine. There is just one thing...’ The agent paused for a moment, gazing at the tall, dark figure of the man once again clearly buried in thought as he stared out of the window.

Powerfully built, his body all lean muscle and sinew with a mind to match his physical perfection, Ross was certainly nobody’s fool. And Marty wasn’t looking forward to getting the brush-off from such a very hard, tough man—who was perfectly capable of annihilating a guy with just one scathing glance from those deep blue eyes beneath their heavy lids. There was no way, for instance, that he would have made the mistake of asking Ross about his romance with Lois Shelton—a subject which was clearly off-limits as far as his client was concerned.

‘I wonder...’ Marty cleared his throat. ‘I wonder if you’d do me a favour?’

‘Sure. What is it?’

‘Well, I’m really asking for your help on behalf of my wife. I like to try and keep her happy, and...’

‘Oh, Marty!’ Ross grinned and shook his dark head. After twenty-five years of marriage, and despite all his friends’ dire warnings, the small, tubby agent had insisted on divorcing his wife to marry a blonde bimbo young enough to be his own daughter. ‘Is she giving you a hard time?’

‘Yeah, you could say that,’ the agent muttered, wondering—as he’d done so often lately—whether possessing a ‘trophy wife’ was all it was cracked up to be. ‘But the favour is really for my wife’s brother, Bernie Schwartz. He’s a real whiz-kid, and earning piles of dough with that cosmetic company he joined a few years ago.’

‘So—what’s the problem?’

‘Well, it isn’t exactly a problem, as such. More the fact that Bernie has put together a spectacular advertising campaign which, so my wife tells me, is likely to get him a seat on the board. Unfortunately, with everything all set for “go”, there’s been some problem with the proposed location.’ Marty shrugged. ‘To put it in a nutshell, Bernie needs to find a small, virtually uninhabited island in the Caribbean—and as quickly as possible.’

‘Hold it!’ Ross gave a grim laugh. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that he uses Buccaneer Island?’

‘Aw...come on, Ross—it wouldn’t be for more than a week. And just think about all those sexy young model girls, skipping along the beach with hardly a stitch on. You’d love it!’

‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t!’ Ross growled, turning away from the window to pace up and down the room. ‘I was once married to a fashion model, so I know what I’m talking about. Believe me, a more vain, egotistical, selfish bunch of people would be hard to find.’

‘Hey—wait until you see the girl who’s been chosen to promote the new line of cosmetics.’ Marty grinned, ignoring his client’s rough words as he spread some large photographs on the desk. ‘Bernie says that she’s absolutely gorgeous. According to him, she looks just like a Botticelli angel! What do you think?’

Ross gave a heavy sigh as he stopped pacing and strode towards the desk. ‘I think both you and your brother-in-law need your heads examined,’ he muttered, picking up one of the pictures. ‘And why you should imagine I’d want my quiet, peaceful island turned into a damned circus, or have to—’ He broke off, his brows drawing together in a sharp frown as he gazed down at the glossy print.

‘Nice, huh...?’ The older man gave a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘I wouldn’t mind spending a few days on a desert island with that particular girl!’

‘What’s her name?’ Ross demanded curtly, carrying the photograph over to the window to study it more closely.

Marty shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything about her, except that, like you, she’s British—and Bernie clearly thinks she’s the best thing since sliced bread!’

There was a long silence as Ross continued to study the picture in his hand. ‘You say that your brother-in-law only wants to use my island for a week?’ he said at last.

‘Yeah—maybe even less,’ Marty assured him quickly. ‘On top of which, he’s more than willing to pay a large fee.’

‘Well...if it’s only going to be for a few days, I suppose I could probably help him out...’ Ross drawled slowly.

‘Great! And, there’s no reason for you to get involved with all the shenanigans if you don’t want to. All you have to do is to take off on your yacht, or whatever, and leave them to it.’

‘No.’ Ross shook his dark head. ‘Unfortunately, the small number of staff on the island would never be able to cope on their own. Besides,’ he added with a grim bark of sardonic laughter, before abruptly tossing the photograph back down onto the desk, ‘I’m beginning to think that this little idea of Bernie’s might prove to be very interesting, after all. Very interesting indeed!’