The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [57]
“Simon, you have no facts—nothing even to prove that this girl is in fact Hayward’s daughter. No proof, even, of the affair. All you have are the ramblings of an old man whose memory came and went from one day to the next. And that man is no longer with us, Simon. So even if you decided to try to print this story of yours, without corroboration it’s your word against history.”
“Maybe no one would believe me.” Simon shrugged. “But since every word that Kendall had to say about the matter is on tape—”
“What?!”
“—you might be able to discredit me, but you won’t be able to argue that the story came from anyone other than Miles Kendall. And incidentally, Miles knew who killed Blythe. I’m utterly convinced of it.”
Norton ran his fingers through his hair, as if frustrated. “Did he say who it was?”
“No. By the time I began to suspect that he knew, he had slipped away again, and I wasn’t able to question him further. But someone knew I was there that day, knew that I’d spoken with Miles, and, I strongly suspect, killed him for what he might have told me. I’ve gone back to St. Margaret’s, I’ve checked the visitors’ log, but no one else signed in to see him on Monday other than me. As I said, some coincidence.”
“Simon, destroy the tape, and walk away from the story.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Please. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“I know exactly what I’m dealing with. I’m dealing with the biggest story of my career. A story you did your damnedest to hide.”
“Simon, you don’t understand. For the sake of the girl, leave it alone.” Norton backed away from Simon.
“You tried to manipulate me, Philip. If I hadn’t been so flattered that you’d be interested in my own book, I might have given more thought to the reason that you sought out me for this job.” Simon kept his voice level, in spite of his bitterness. “You never expected me to do much more than scratch the surface, did you? You figured I’d rush through this book to get to the carrot you were dangling in front of me. Your promise to publish Lethal Deceptions after the Hayward book was finished would have been incentive enough. Were you counting on me to simply use the materials you sent me for background, do a few cursory interviews, put the book together, hand it in, and get on with my own agenda?”
Norton appeared to want to speak, but no words came forth.
“I trusted you. I’ve respected and admired you for years. How could you have set me up like this?”
“Simon, I admit that I was not totally honest with you. I did not give you all the facts.” Norton met Simon’s eyes and sighed heavily. “But it is true that there was an interest in a new Hayward biography. I wanted to be the one to do the book—”
“So that you could handpick the biographer and could control the content.”
“Yes. No. You simply do not understand the situation.”
“I think I understand plenty. I’ll be writing the book, Philip, but it isn’t going to be the one you were expecting.”
“Simon, don’t do this. People will be caught up in this who don’t deserve what will inevitably happen if this is made public.”
“This is the biggest story that will ever come my way. I can’t think of one good reason to turn my back on it. Even if you refuse to publish it, I’m betting that someone else will.”
“I admit that I wanted you—specifically you—to write this book. Yes, I thought you’d do a good job; you’re a good writer—”
“Don’t flatter me now.”
“—but yes, there was more to the motive, though not exactly what you think.” Norton suddenly looked weary. “I did think there was a chance—a small chance—that someone might stumble onto the story about Blythe. A smaller chance still that Blythe’s daughter might be discovered. I believed, however, that if you were the one to find her, you’d come to me with the information.”
“So that you could talk me out of using the story and Saint Graham’s secret would be safe.”
“No, not to protect his reputation.” Norton shook his head slowly. “To protect the girl. Simon, there’s so much more that you don’t know.”
“Well, don’t worry. I’ll find out what that more