Twist of Fate (51 page)

The rigid set of her shoulders showed how much it was costing her to ask for his help. "Who else is involved?" he asked.

"Marcus Gordon will be the executive producer."

"Impressive. If he's on board, you shouldn't have any trouble with financing."

Her hands clenched. "He's always had a soft spot for me, but he's a businessman first Even though he thinks the script is terrific and that I can probably do a decent job of directing, he wants a bankable star like you to ensure that the movie at least breaks even."

He studied her slim silhouette against the window, alarm bells going off in his head. Agreeing to this project would be a very, very bad idea. They'd rub against each other painfully every minute of every day. The odds were high that they'd end up in bed together again, which would mean another excruciating separation when shooting ended. He'd be tempted to forget common sense and try to get her back, while she'd probably want to strangle him, especially when he was making cinematic love to the toothsome young Sarah.

But he couldn't resist Rainey. The fierce clarity of her will had attracted him from the moment he first saw her screen image. She had dreams and passions and the willingness to work to achieve them.

He'd also worked hard, achieving great success in worldly terms, but he hadn't been building toward a goal like Rainey. He'd been running from life. He flowed while she burned. They were complementary personalities, and together they'd produced blistering, dangerous steam. He knew in his bones that they were better off apart, but that didn't prevent him from missing her like an amputated limb.

The rationalizing part of his brain pointed out that even though making this movie was a terrible idea, there was no risk it would change their situation, since Rainey was resolved on divorce and nothing would change her mind. He'd be able to do one last project with her, and in the process help her achieve her dream of directing. If at the end he was crippled by sorrow--it wouldn't be that different from how he felt now. "Very well. I'll make your movie."

She whirled to face him, startled. "Without even reading the script?'

"I'm willing to trust you and Marcus Gordon that it's good." Wryly he paraphrased the words English judges had used when pronouncing the death sentence: "And may God have mercy on our souls."

Excerpt

from

A Holiday Fling

Novella in the Circle of Friends Word

(A spin-off of
The Spiral Path
.)

My full-length contemporary romance The Spiral Path had a couple of appealing secondary characters who were single and a little lonely, so they immediately popped into my mind when I decided to do a contemporary Christmas story for this collection. Greg Marino and Jenny Lyme are both in show business, and they're both genuinely nice people who love their work. But he's American and she's English, he's behind the camera while she's in front, and when their paths had crossed a dozen years before, their careers swiftly took them away from each other. Can this time be different?

Chapter 1

The Tithe Barn Community Center

Upper Bassett

Gloucestershire, England

"The Carthage Corporation wants
how
much?" Jenny Lyme blinked, thinking she must have misheard.

The head of the community center council, who happened to be her mother, Alice Lyme, repeated the figure. There were far too many zeros.

"Property costs the earth here in the Cotswolds, even in an out-of-the-way comer like Upper Bassett. Throw in the barn's age, and the price goes even higher." Patricia Holmes, third member of the council present--and Jenny's big sister--scribbled figures on a tablet. "Even if we sell every seat to every performance of the Revels, there is no possible way we can raise enough." She pushed the tablet away with a frown. "Resign yourself to the fact that some rich London stockbroker will buy the place and tart it up for use three or four weekends a year."

"No!" Jenny said vehemently. "The tithe barn is the heart and soul of Upper Bassett. Without it, our village identity will wither away."

"You're right. Many of my fondest memories occurred here." Her mother sighed. "But the lease is expiring, Carthage is determined to sell, and we simply don't have the money to meet their price."

"Do you think a bank would give us a loan using the property as collateral?" Jenny suggested without much hope.

"That might buy us some time, but even in a good year, the center only breaks even." Patricia pushed her glasses higher on her nose. She was a schoolteacher, and the gesture was very effective at convincing her classes that she meant business. "We will never be able to make enough money to pay off a loan, even assuming some bank officer is demented enough to give us one."

Jenny rose from the battered chair and crossed to the door of the small office. The ancient music ensemble was practicing on the stage at the far end of the bam. She had discovered her passion for acting on that stage, and she couldn't bear thinking that soon no more local children would have such an opportunity to perform, play, and build lifelong friendships. "If my career were in better shape, I'd donate the money myself."

"Your career is fine," Patricia said loyally. "You can't expect to go from one smashing series right to another, but you're still working."

"Even if you could afford it, that might not be the best thing for the village," Alice added. "This is a community center--it needs to be saved through collective action, not by one successful woman raiding her retirement savings."

Jenny supposed they were both right. Her career was having a slow spell but it wasn't dead yet, and her mother made a good point that the center belonged to all of them and should be saved by joint efforts. That was why Jenny had stepped in to produce and direct the upcoming Revels, combining the considerable local talent with her own skills and connections to create a professional-quality show. She was even performing as Lady Molly, the female lead.

But it wasn't enough. "The Revels are going to be marvelous. If only there was a way to use the production to generate more money--" She stopped as an idea struck.

"You've got that dangerous look in your eyes, Jennifer," Alice said warily. "Care to enlighten us?"

Jenny turned back to the office and leaned against the door frame as two identical pairs of blue eyes regarded her. The women of the Lyme family looked ridiculously alike, with dark hair, pale, flawless Welsh complexions, and deep blue eyes. She hoped that she and Patricia would age as gracefully as their mother was doing. "This isn't dangerous. It just occurred to me that we could film the Revels and sell videotapes of the performance. Get it reviewed or mentioned in some of the London papers. If we do a really good job, maybe we could sell broadcast rights to the BBC for next Christmas."

There was a thoughtful silence while her mother and sister considered the suggestion. "We could set up a website and link with folklore and performing groups, but we'd have to sell a huge number of tapes to raise the kind of money we need, and we only have a few months," Patricia observed. "Selling broadcast rights would give us a larger chunk of money, but the production would have to be high quality, not just someone's husband with his video camera."

Alice said, "Perhaps Jenny has cameramen friends who could be persuaded to contribute their time to a good cause."

"It's very short notice." Jenny ran down the list of camera operators she knew well enough to impose on. Patricia was right that they needed someone who was first rate. Someone whose name would add value to the production.

Greg Marino.

With some reluctance, she accepted that he was far and away the best choice. Winner of the previous year's Oscar for best cinematography, he was a brilliant director of photography who brought texture and nuance into every film he shot. "I worked with Greg Marino once. He would be perfect, but he's an American and insanely busy. I doubt I'd be able to even locate him, much less persuade him to drop everything and come to England on a moment's notice."

"He shot
The Centurion
, didn't he? And that big fantasy movie that was such a hit last year?" With a sister in the film business, Patricia kept up with such things. "His work is wonderful. If he's a friend of yours, it's certainly worth asking."

Not a friend; a former lover. Would that be a plus or a minus? They hadn't seen each other in years, but they'd parted amiably and kept in touch, in a casual kind of way.

She pictured Greg, with his rangy American build and a smile that always made her smile in return. He'd helped her through a very bad time. If he could be persuaded to shoot their performance, he could transform the Revels from fun into Art, and maybe save the community center in the process. "I'll try to run him down when I return to London, but don't get your hopes up. He's very much in demand."

But her pulse quickened at the thought of having a reason to call him.

∗ ∗ ∗

Chapter 2