Merlyn's Magic

by Carole Mortimer

He shrugged. 'You didn't look as if you were fighting too much to me.'

  'Because he's a foot taller than me and weighs twice as much as I do!' she shouted.

  'Calm down,' Christopher said softly. 'There's no need to get excited.'

  'I don't want to calm down,' she told him agitatedly. 'Mark Hillier makes my skin crawl—'

  'I'm sorry if I misjudged the situation between the two of you.' Christopher held her in his arms until the stiff indignation left her body. 'I don't think you realise how desirable you are.' He lightly kissed her hair and then down her cheek, his body tensing with desire.

  Merlyn pulled away from him as he would have claimed her mouth. 'Really, Christopher,' she snapped. 'I've just had to fight off the attentions of one man I don't want!'

  For a moment his eyes remained glazed with passion, and then he was smiling. 'Twice in one day would be too much, hm?' he said ruefully.

  'Twice too much,' she agreed with a grimace; she had to give him credit, he did keep trying.

  He nodded. 'I'll try and keep Hillier away from you in future. Maybe Liza will attract his interest—'

  'I wouldn't wish him on my worst enemy— and Liza happens to be one of my best friends!'

  'Oh well, I'll see if I can find something else to keep him busy. In the meantime, have dinner with me tonight—' He broke off as her telephone began to ring. 'You had better get that.' He turned away to look out of the window at the overcast day, his hands in his trouser pockets.

  'Merlyn.' Anne sounded relieved to speak to her. 'I've been trying to find you all afternoon. I forgot to invite you over for dinner this evening in the excitement of being called away so suddenly.'

  Merlyn glanced at Christopher's profile as he stared out of the window, sure that he wasn't seeing the view at all but was lost in some inner thought about the film. 'Actually, I was just about to accept Christopher's invitation for tonight—'

  'Bring him along,' Anne said instantly. 'You have to come, Merlyn,' she persuaded as Merlyn hesitated. 'James and I have invited a few close friends over for the evening, and I count you as one of them.'

  'Thank you,' she accepted huskily. 'I— Will Rand be there?' The thought suddenly occurred to her.

  'I've invited him.' The grimace could be heard in Anne's voice. 'Only he knows whether or not he'll be here. Oh, please come, Merlyn.'

  Merlyn laughed softly. 'I'll just ask Christopher.' She put her hand over the mouthpiece as she turned to look at him. 'The Bentons would like us to go over for dinner.'

  'Why not?' he shrugged. 'We should try and keep our host and hostess happy.'

  She smiled ruefully at his cynicism before answering Anne. 'We should love to come.' She pulled a face at Christopher as he raised his brows at her enthusiasm. 'There is just one thing…' There was a pause.

  'Yes?' Anne sounded worried.

  'Well, you see, I've—I've had to have certain —changes, made to my appearance for the film,' she said in a rush. 'Not very big changes, but—I had my hair coloured brown this afternoon.'

  For a moment there was silence, and then Anne gave a tremulous sigh. 'I'm glad you told me. Does Brandon— Has he seen you yet?'

  'No.' Merlyn chewed on her inner lip, knowing it was his reaction to her appearance that she feared the most.

  'If he does turn up tonight I'll try and forewarn him,' Anne told her practically. 'You know, I'm beginning to wish I'd never written the book or agreed to the film,' she sighed. 'It seems to be causing nothing but trouble. But I was so proud of the way Suzie battled with cancer and won that I wanted the whole world to know about it too.'

  'You should be proud,' Merlyn assured her. 'And so should Rand.'

  'Proud of what?' Christopher questioned once she had rung off after arranging for the two of them to be at the Bentons' by eight o'clock.

  'The way her sister fought against her illness,' she shrugged.

  He nodded. 'It's a great story—'

  'It isn't just a story, Christopher,' protested Merlyn. 'It happened to a real person!'

  'I know that,' he accepted tersely. 'And as far as it goes it will make a good film. But I've been trying to do a little rewriting to the end; it isn't dramatic enough.'

  Merlyn stared at him incredulously. 'A woman overcoming an illness that was diagnosed as terminal and then dying in a car crash isn't dramatic enough for you?'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Merlyn was still smarting at his insensitivity as she prepared for their dinner engagement that evening. God, insensitive didn't even begin to describe his callous attitude. She had known from the moment she met him that Christopher's work and the success of the finished production meant everything to him, but to dismiss the real-life tragedy of Suzie Forrester's death as 'not dramatic enough' seemed inhuman to her. The man was a machine, a total machine, and nothing must interfere with his making the best film that he could.

  She had told him all of that earlier and he had shruggingly agreed.

  Inhuman was too light a description too, she had ranted at him, and he had only laughed.

  Grudgingly she had had to accept that Christopher couldn't help the way he was, that his near-genius prevented him from seeing the Suzie Forrester story as any more than another vehicle for his talent. She didn't like it, but she had to accept it.

  She couldn't see Suzie that objectively herself, had lived every moment of Suzie's pain as she read Anne's book, had shared the family's utter despair when the police came to tell them that Suzie's car had gone off the road, killing her instantly as it struck a tree, her beautiful neck broken. How could Christopher say that cruelty of real life wasn't dramatic enough for him!

  'Still angry with me?' he grimaced at her stony expression as they walked together to the Bentons' house nestled among the trees.

  'No,' she answered shortly.

  'You are,' he drawled, his arm moving easily about her shoulders. 'I was only speaking from a director's point of view earlier.'

  Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. 'I realise that,' she bit out.

  'And you didn't like it,' he acknowledged. 'Let's just forget I said it, okay?'

  'And how are we supposed to do that?' The heels of her sandals clicked angrily against the tarmacked road as she walked.

  'Well… I could tell you how beautiful you look tonight, and you could—'

  'Tell you that a redhead's wardrobe is vastly different from that of a brunette's,' she complained. 'And that although black is usually my favourite colour in clothes, it doesn't suit me at all now!' She hadn't realised how attached she was to the red hair that had been the bane of her childhood until it was no longer there. She liked being a redhead. ,

  Christopher whistled softly. 'You are in a mood, aren't you,' he taunted.

  'Yes!'

  It wasn't all Christopher's fault that she was so irritable—although he was responsible for most of it. But she was also nervous about this dinner party tonight, was dreading the fact that Rand might be there too. Just appearing as his wife's look-alike wasn't the way she would have approached this given the choice.

  'I see what you mean.' Anne's eyes widened incredulously as she looked Merlyn up and down. 'It's quite remarkable,' she frowned.

  'I think the hair in the front is still a little long, but—'

  'Christopher!' Merlyn bit out warningly.

  'What?' He frowned his puzzlement, his brow suddenly clearing as he realised to whom he had been talking with such professional detachment. 'Not too much of a shock for you, I hope, Anne.' He infused friendly warmth into his voice.

  If they hadn't suddenly become the centre of attention as people became aware of their presence Merlyn would have kicked him, brilliant director or not. But the half a dozen other guests in the lounge were openly staring at them now, and she knew it had to be because of her appearance. Her eyes widened apprehensively as the dark haired man stepped from the window alcove into the light. Rand…

  Everyone seemed to be waiting for his reaction to this phenomenon before showing s
ome of their own, every person's breathing in the room coming to a hushed stop as he moved towards Merlyn. Except Christopher, of course, who viewed the scene with clinical interest.

  Rand stood in front of her, darkly handsome in the black evening suit and snowy-white shirt, the glossy blackness of his hair lightly brushing against the collar of the latter.

  He continued to look at her wordlessly, and Merlyn felt as if her chest were about to explode from the intake of air that had caught in her throat and stayed there. Why didn't he say something, anything, even if it were only to tell her to get out!

  'I think I preferred you as a redhead,' he finally drawled.

  The air was expelled from her lungs in a ragged sigh, and she could almost have hugged him for the normality of his comment. Almost. Two things stopped her. They had an audience. And she remembered too well his threat of this afternoon.

  'With make-up and the contact lenses Merlyn's had fitted you won't be able to tell the difference,' Christopher was the one to answer him.

  Grey eyes chilling over like ice were turned on him. 'I would know the difference,' Rand told him, dangerously soft.

  'Well of course you would,' Christopher dismissed. 'But—Ouch!' He glared at Merlyn as she trod on his foot as she moved further into the room.

  'Sorry, was that your foot?' she said carelessly over her shoulder.

  'You know damn well it—'

  'I said I was sorry, Christopher.' She looked at him challengingly.

  'Can I get you a drink, Miss Summers?' Rand offered smoothly as it seemed no one was about to win the battle of wills taking place between Merlyn and Christopher.

  'Thank you, a small sherry would be nice.' They were acting like polite strangers when this afternoon they had been feverish lovers. But if he could act the part, she certainly could.

  'I'll have a whisky, thanks. A large one,' Christopher told the other man without being asked, turning on Merlyn as soon as they were alone. 'You did that on purpose,' he complained as he balanced on one foot to rub the painful bruise she had made on the other one.

  'Yes, I did,' she nodded impatiently. 'And I'll do it again if you don't learn some tact.'

  'But I only—Oh.' He broke off, grimacing. 'I got a little carried away with the professional satisfaction of knowing we've been able to make you almost Suzie's double,' he acknowledged.

  She didn't want to be any woman's double, not even one she respected and admired as much as Suzie Forrester.

  She accepted the drink Rand handed her with constrained anger, avoiding his gaze as she sensed he was watching her, her impatience with Christopher increasing as he was lured away with compliments on the films he had directed in the past, soon the centre of attention across the room from them.

  Now Merlyn had no choice but to look at Rand. I'm sorry,' she apologised awkwardly.

  He shrugged. 'I've met people like Drake before; he didn't bother me.'

  'Oh, I didn't mean because of Christopher —although goodness knows he has a skin as thick as a rhinoceros's!' She sighed. 'I meant because of what they've done to my hair.' She looked up at him uncertainly.

  'I won't be able to see the colour of it in the dark,' Rand said softly.

  Merlyn swallowed convulsively. 'I meant because it's now like Suzie's,' she croaked, too disturbed to dwell on what he meant.

  Rand shook his head. 'It's nothing like Suzie's was before she died,' he rasped. 'When she became so ill she had her hair cut as short as a boy's and took to wearing a wig styled in her original way; I think she was frightened of her own hair dropping out from the initial treatment they gave her—before she told them she would find a cure that didn't make her feel more ill than her illness! When she died it was about two inches long all over. It was as soft as a baby's curls,' he added gruffly.

  'I didn't know…' And Christopher had made her have her own hair coloured so that it looked more natural than a wig!

  Rand's mouth twisted. 'Maybe you had better tell Drake so that he can put it in the script!' He looked at her coldly before turning and going back to the array of drinks on a side-table.

  'I hope the supplies last,' James murmured at Merlyn's side as he joined her. 'The way he's been knocking the stuff back since he arrived we could run out before dinner is even served,' he explained grimly at Merlyn's questioning look.

  'Can't you do anything to stop him?' She watched Rand worriedly as he drank the fiery alcohol as if it were water.

  'Can you?' James sighed, obviously not meaning the remark to be taken seriously.

  No matter what her feelings were for Rand —confusing as they were, wanting him and yet hating him at the same time—she couldn't stand by and watch him drink himself to death. 'I can try,' she said determinedly.

  'Hey, I was only joking—'

  'I wasn't,' she told James firmly.

  'Then I wish you luck,' he grimaced. 'Anne's planned this dinner party for such a long time, and I don't want her upset,' he frowned. 'Not now.'

  Her eyes widened. 'James, is she—?'

  'Don't spoil her fun,' he warned. 'She's going to make the announcement during dinner,' he told her conspiratorially.

  'Oh, James, that's wonderful!' She realised hugging him was the wrong thing to do about two seconds after she had done it. She had arrived with one man, argued with another, publically hugged her host—and all within about ten minutes of her arrival! These people were going to think that every scandalous thing they had ever heard or read about actresses was true.

  'Now that's more like it.' A grinning Anne joined them. 'I didn't marry "the handsomest man for three counties" not to be envied by every woman I meet!'

  Merlyn laughed self-consciously. ' "The handsomest man for three counties" can't be trusted to keep a secret, I'm afraid,' she confided in her friend. 'I was just congratulating him on the prospect of becoming a father.'

  Anne punched her husband lightly on the arm. 'By the time I make the announcement it will be unnecessary because everyone will already know!'

  James rubbed his arm, his expression one of wounded indignation. 'Can I help it if I'm the original blabbermouth?'

  'No.' His wife glared at him with feigned anger, her eyes as warm and loving as ever.

  'I am pleased for you both.' Merlyn hugged the woman who had become such a good friend in such a short time. 'Practice time is over, hm?' she teased.

  Anne blushed prettily as she looked at her husband. 'I hope not!'

  'Would someone like to let me in on that secret?' James looked at the two of them curiously.

  Merlyn shrugged dismissively, enjoying sharing the joke with Anne. 'Just women's talk. You know how it is.'

  'No—but I'm about to put the thumbscrews on my wife and find out!'

  'Ooh, I love it when he becomes a caveman!' Anne giggled.

  'I think that's one of the things we have to talk about,' James growled. 'And you,' he turned to Merlyn, 'were about to stop one of my guests drowning himself.'

  'What—Oh.' Anne followed her husband's gaze across the room to where Rand stood holding a glass of whisky. 'Oh dear…' She looked distressed.

  'You shouldn't be upset just now.' Merlyn squeezed her arm reassuringly. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of Rand.' She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt; Rand looked about as malleable as a tiger being held by the tail.

  Anne still looked worried. 'I wasn't sure he would come, and as he started drinking as soon as he got here I didn't even like to warn him about your appearance—although he took that very well. Better than I hoped.' She chewed on her bottom lip, looking up at James. 'Perhaps we shouldn't have—'

  'He didn't have to come, darling,' her husband soothed, his arm about her shoulders protectively. 'And we're entitled to live our own lives.'

  'Yes, but—'

  'It's been two years, Anne, and he'll have to accept, as we have, that life goes on.'

  'You're right,' his wife nodded. 'But I can't help wishing that—'

  'Will you enjoy your party and stop
worrying,' Merlyn instructed lightly. 'I told you, I'll handle Rand, and I will.' Her expression was set determinedly as she crossed the room to his side. His gaze flicked over her disinterestedly before he turned away again. 'Leave some of that for the rest of us, won't you,' she snapped, stung by his dismissal.

  His gaze was cold now. 'Help yourself,' he invited in a bored voice.

  She drew in a ragged breath. 'Why did you come here tonight, Rand?'

  His eyes narrowed at the question. 'Because I was invited,' he shrugged.

  Merlyn nodded. 'To share in a happy occasion with Anne and James, not to get drunk!'

  'I'm not drunk,' he bit out raspingly.

  No, he wasn't. Strangely enough, with each sip of the whisky he seemed to become even more controlled rather than less inhibited as most people did. 'You are upsetting our hostess,' she said abruptly.

  A slight flush darkened his cheeks as he turned to look at Anne, putting his still half-full glass down on the table beside him with a thud as he saw how pale his sister-in-law was as she made an effort to converse with some of her guests while watching him covertly at the same time.

  'You're right,' he agreed as he turned back to Merlyn. 'I should never have come here tonight—'

  'I didn't say that.' She shook her head. 'I only wondered why you had.'

  'Because Anne and James are the nearest thing to a family that I have,' he grated.

  'Rand—'

  'Why don't we give the gossips something to really think about and get out of here?' His eyes glittered recklessly at the suggestion.

  Merlyn wasn't naive enough to accept the statement at face value as she could have with most other men; Rand wasn't like 'most other men', and he wanted their relationship to continue in a way she couldn't accept.

  His mouth twisted as he saw she was about to refuse. 'We could sit in one of the hotel lounges and talk,' he derided.

  Talking wasn't something she and Rand had ever done much of, and while the idea appealed to her she couldn't let Anne and James down in that way. Although maybe she would have been doing them a favour by removing Rand from their party.

  'Maybe not,' Rand drawled before she could formulate an answer. 'Talking seems to be the last thing on my mind when I'm alone with you!'