The Talk of Hollywood

‘I don’t know you well enough as yet to have decided exactly what you are, Mr Wilder,’ Stazy Bromley assured him distantly.

But she obviously didn’t number his ‘charm’ as one of his more obvious attributes, Jaxon recognised ruefully. That was a pity, because her physical similarities to her grandmother were already enough to have him intrigued. Similarities that she seemed to deliberately downplay with her lack of make-up and the confinement of her riotous red-gold hair.

If that really was Stazy’s intention then she had failed miserably. As if those sultry green eyes and that poutingly sensuous mouth weren’t enough of an attraction, her curvaceous figure in that fitted black dress certainly was!

Stazy had only ever seen Jaxon Wilder on the big screen before today, where he invariably appeared tall and dark and very powerful. It was an image she had believed to be magnified by the size of that screen. She had been wrong. Even dressed formally, in a tailored black suit, snowy-white silk shirt and silver tie, Jaxon Wilder was just as powerfully charismatic in the flesh.

‘That really is enough, darling,’ her grandfather rebuked. ‘And I have no doubt that Mr Wilder and I will manage perfectly well for the short time you’re gone,’ he added pointedly.

‘I have no doubt you will, Grandfather.’ Her voice softened as she smiled affectionately at her aged grandparent before leaving.

Her grandfather was now the only family Stazy had, her parents having both died fifteen years ago, when their light aeroplane had crashed into the sea off the coast of Cornwall.

Despite already being aged in their early eighties, Anastasia and Geoffrey had been wonderful to their traumatised granddaughter, taking fourteen-year-old Stazy into their home and their lives without a second thought. As a result Stazy’s protectiveness where they were both concerned was much stronger than it might otherwise have been.

To the point where she now saw Jaxon Wilder’s plans to make a film about her deceased grandmother as nothing more than Hollywood sensationalism—no doubt inspired by that dreadful biography, in which her grandmother had been portrayed as the equivalent of a Russian Mata Hari working for British Intelligence!

No doubt Jaxon Wilder also saw the project as a means of earning himself yet another shelf of awards to add to his already considerable collection. That was a pity—for him!—because Stazy saw it as her mission in life to ensure that film was never made!

‘I’m afraid Stazy doesn’t approve of your making a film of my late wife’s life, Jaxon,’ Sir Geoffrey murmured wryly.

He gave a rueful smile. ‘One would never have guessed!’

The older man smiled slightly. ‘Please, sit down and tell me exactly what it is you want from me,’ he invited smoothly as he resumed his seat in the armchair beside the unlit fireplace.

‘Shouldn’t we wait for your granddaughter to return before we discuss this any further?’ Jaxon grimaced as he lowered his lean length down on to the chair opposite, already knowing that Stazy Bromley’s attitude was going to be a problem he hadn’t envisaged when he had flown over to England yesterday with the express purpose of discussing the details of the film with Geoffrey Bromley.

Jaxon had first written to the older man several months ago—a letter in which he had outlined his idea for the film. The letter he had received back from Geoffrey Bromley two weeks later had been cautiously encouraging. The two men had spoken several times on the telephone before Jaxon had suggested they meet in person and discuss the idea more extensively.

In none of those exchanges had Sir Geoffrey so much as hinted at his granddaughter’s antagonism to the film being made!

Sir Geoffrey smiled confidently. ‘I assure you that ultimately Stazy will go along with whatever I decide.’

Jaxon had no doubt that when necessary the older man could be as persuasive as his wife was reputed to have been, but in a totally different way—the part Geoffrey Bromley had played in the events of the previous century were even more shrouded in mystery than those of his now deceased wife. But from the little Jaxon knew the other man had held a very high position of authority in England’s security at the time of his retirement twenty-five years ago.

Was it any wonder that Stazy Bromley had the same forceful determination as both her grandparents?

Or that his own visit here today promised to be a battle of wills between the two of them!

A battle Jaxon ultimately had every intention of winning …

‘I trust the two of you didn’t discuss anything of importance during my absence …?’ Stazy said softly as she came back into the room, closely followed by the butler. He was carrying a heavily laden silver tray, the contents of which he proceeded to place on the low coffee table in front of the sofa where Stazy now sat, looking enquiringly at the two men seated opposite.

Her grandfather gave her another of those censorious glances as Jaxon Wilder answered. ‘I’m sure that neither of us would have dared to do that, Dr Bromley …’ he said dryly.

Stazy was just as sure that the forceful Jaxon Wilder would pretty much dare to do anything he damn well pleased! ‘Do you care for milk and sugar in your tea, Mr Wilder?’ she prompted lightly as she held the sugar bowl poised over the three delicate china cups.

‘Just milk, thanks.’

Stazy nodded as she added two spoonfuls of sugar to her grandfather’s cup before commencing to pour the tea. ‘No doubt it becomes more difficult, as you get older, to maintain the perfect bodyweight.’

‘Darling, I really don’t think this constant bickering with Jaxon is necessary,’ her grandfather admonished affectionately as she stood up to carry his cup and saucer over to him after handing Jaxon his own cup.

‘Perhaps not,’ Stazy allowed, her cheeks warming slightly at the rebuke. ‘But I’m sure Mr Wilder is equally capable of defending himself if he feels it necessary.’

Jaxon was fast losing his patience with Stazy Bromley’s snide comments. She might appear delicately beautiful in appearance, but as far as he could tell, where this particular woman was concerned, that was exactly where the delicacy ended.

‘Undoubtedly,’ he bit out abruptly. ‘Now, if we could perhaps return to discussing Butterfly …?’

‘“Butterfly” …?’ his adversary repeated slowly as she resumed her seat on the sofa before crossing one silkily elegant knee over the other.

‘It was your grandmother’s code name—’

‘I’m aware of what it was, Mr Wilder,’ she cut in crisply.

‘It’s also the working title of my film,’ Jaxon explained tersely.

‘Isn’t that rather presumptuous of you?’ She frowned. ‘As far as I’m aware,’ she continued warily, ‘there has been no agreement as yet to there even being a film, let alone it already having a working title!’ She turned enquiring eyes to her grandfather, her tension palpable.

Sir Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I don’t believe there is any way in which we can stop Mr Wilder from making his film, Stazy.’

‘But—’

‘With or without our co-operation,’ Sir Geoffrey added firmly. ‘And personally—after the publication of that dreadful biography!—I would rather be allowed to have some say in the content than none at all.’

Stazy Bromley’s eyes glittered with anger as she turned to look at Jaxon. ‘If you’ve dared to threaten my grandfather—’

‘Of course Jaxon hasn’t threatened me, darling—’

‘And Jaxon resents the hell—excuse my language, sir—’ Jaxon nodded briefly to the older man before turning his chilling gaze back to the bristling Stazy Bromley ‘—out of the implication that he might have done so!’

Stazy had the good sense to realise that she just might have been out of line with that last remark. It was really no excuse that she had been predisposed to dislike Jaxon Wilder before she had even met him, based purely on the things she had read about him. Especially when he had been charm itself since his arrival. To her grandfather, at least. Stazy was pretty sure, after her barely veiled remarks, that the antagonism now went both ways!

But exactly what had Jaxon Wilder expected to happen when he had arranged to come here? That he would meet alone with a man aged in his mid-nineties who had recently suffered a heart attack? That the two of them would exchange pleasantries before he walked away with Geoffrey’s complete co-operation? If that was what he’d thought was going to happen then he obviously didn’t know Stazy’s grandfather very well; even twenty-five years after his supposed retirement Geoffrey was a power to be reckoned with! And Stazy considered herself only one step behind him …

Not only was she a highly qualified London university lecturer, it had been hinted at by the powers that be that she was in line to become head of the department when her professor stepped down next year—and Stazy hadn’t put herself in that position at only twenty-nine by being shy and retiring.

‘I apologise if I was mistaken,’ she murmured softly. ‘Mr Wilder’s use of the term “working title” seemed to imply that things had already been settled between the two of you.’

‘Apology accepted,’ Jaxon Wilder grated, without even the slightest lessening of the tension in those broad shoulders. ‘Obviously I would rather proceed with your blessing, Sir Geoffrey.’ He nodded to the older man, at the same time managing to imply that he didn’t give a damn whether or not he had Stazy’s!

‘And his co-operation?’ she put in dryly.

Cool grey eyes turned back in her direction. ‘Of course.’

Stazy repressed the shiver that threatened to run the length of her spine—of alarm rather than the pleasure she imagined most women felt when Jaxon Wilder looked at them! As his icy gaze raked over her with slow criticism Stazy knew exactly what he would see: a woman who preferred a no-nonsense appearance. Her lashes were naturally long and dark, requiring no mascara, and in fact her face was completely bare of make-up apart from a pale peach lipgloss. Her hands, throat and ears were completely unadorned with jewellery.

Certainly Stazy knew herself to be nothing in the least like the beautiful and willowy actresses in whose company Jaxon Wilder had so often been seen, photographed for newspapers and magazines during the last dozen years or so. She doubted the man would even know what to do with an intelligent woman …