Hide & Seek - James Patterson [53]
He shouted in my face. “You know fucking well what I mean!”
“You think I killed him?”
“I think his death was convenient for you. Let's leave it at that. Let everyone draw their own conclusions. I know I have, and I'm not alone.”
“He died of a heart attack, Peter. Please leave. You're drunk.”
“A heart attack induced by who? What did you do to him, Maggie? Fuck his heart out?”
I pulled my right arm from his grasp and hit Peter as hard as I could. An open-hand slap. A wake-up call.
His dark eyes blazed in thin slits. “Quite the little bitch, aren't you?” He suddenly let go of my arm. “You're nothing but a whore! Then you're probably used to this!”
Red wine from a crystal goblet sprayed my face, blinding me momentarily. “And Shepherd's nothing but a stud. The whole world knows it.” I heard Will's roar of rage, but I didn't see him throw himself at Peter, knocking him to the ground. He punched Peter again and again. Will was all over my tormentor.
Winnie Lawrence finally pulled him off, separated the two interlocking bodies like a referee.
“Maggie! Oh Christ, poor Maggie!” Will cried. “Are you all right?”
Peter was struggling to his feet. His face was coated with blood, one eye already half-closed. “You took my father's money. His hotels. Everything! He was my father, and you killed him,” he yelled.
Two security men finally led him from the tent. Peter went unprotestingly, too weak to fight back. I could already imagine tomorrow's news headlines. Damn.
Will took me in his arms, and gently wiped my face with his handkerchief. “Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “Forget about Peter O'Malley. We have a life that's just beginning. I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, Will.”
I really did.
CHAPTER 60
WILL? IS IT you? The old married man? The reformed ex-bachelor?”
“ ‘Tis indeed, Winnie. What's the good news from the Left Coast? Do I have an acting career or not?”
“You're not going to believe this, but Michael Caputo said yes. He loves your ass, and your mind. He thinks you're a natural.”
The Thrill. It returned in an exhilarating rush for Will. He sprang from his chair with a loud whoop, though there was no one home to hear it.
“Tell me everything,” he said.
“Well, for starters, it's the lead in Primrose. That's right, the lead. The character's named North Downing, but despite that it's an okay script. More important, it'll be a huge hit at the box office.”
Primrose was the country's number one best-seller, a hundred plus weeks on the Times list, a saga of passionate love set in the early part of the century. Michael Lenox Caputo was the director who had bought it for a small fortune; he was producing it himself. As Selznick did with Gone with the Wind, he had instituted a very noisy, nationwide search for an unknown to play the lead, this time a male. Box-office draw was guaranteed by the novel's phenomenal popularity and also its female star, Suzanne Purcell, a tempestuous actress whose on-screen fire was reportedly matched in her private life.
“Good going. Jesus,” Will said. “I didn't think we had a chance. Maybe I am an actor, after all.”
“It was you. You look hot on film, and you can act. Caputo saw it instantly. Even the novel's asshole author likes you.”
“Still, if you hadn't pushed me, I'd never have had the nerve to screen-test for the great Caputo. When does the damn thing shoot? Where? I'm stir-crazy anyway.”
“Australia. And it starts soon, very soon.”
“Australia? For an American epic? What's that all about?”
“It's winter in Australia when it's summer here,” Winnie said, as though that explained anything.
“So what?” Will asked.
“So … welcome to Hollywood!”
CHAPTER 61
THE CAST OF Primrose had been assembled, all except for Suzanne Purcell, who was not to appear in the first scene and would make her own entrance, in her own style, on her own time schedule. She was, after all, the star. It was 5:30 a.m. on the gentle, rolling plains of Perth.
This was the start of principal photography: scene one,