decidedly aggressive when he chose, and this was one of those times. ‘Well, perhaps she should be sitting in this chair instead of me,’ he added. ‘Or perhaps you think you should. It wouldn’t be the first time a pushy assistant producer thought he knew better than the rest.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Quinn sighed. Hector had been good to him, and he had no desire to ruin their relationship. ‘I just think we—need a new angle. Investigating the private lives of people who by your own admission are has-beens simply doesn’t pull an audience.’
‘I disagree.’ To Quinn’s dismay, Hector wasn’t prepared to give in that easily. ‘Oh—I admit the faces we’ve used to date haven’t captured the public’s imagination. Like I said, they were all losers of one sort or another. The second series is going to be different. You’re not telling me people wouldn’t want to know about Marilyn Monroe if she were still alive today?’
‘No.’ Quinn conceded the point. ‘But Marilyn Monroe is dead.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Hector was sarcastic, but Quinn didn’t look perturbed.
‘That’s why she’s still newsworthy,’ he appended smoothly. ‘If she’d grown old, gracefully or ungracefully, I doubt the public would still be interested. It was the shortness of her life and the circumstances of her death that still make news.’
Hector sniffed. ‘Well—OK. Maybe Monroe wasn’t a suitable choice. She was a special case, I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean the idea sucks. I bet you could give us a few juicy names if you wanted to.’ Hector’s eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t just hire you for your impeccable pedigree, you know.’
‘I thought you employed me because I was good at my job,’ said Quinn thinly, with a trace of contempt in his tone. ‘Don’t tell me you were blinded by my breeding. I’ll be disappointed if you just want to drink my blood!’
Hector huffed. ‘I’m not a vampire, Quinn,’ he said peevishly.
‘And I’m not your entry to the social register,’ retorted the younger man harshly. ‘For God’s sake, Hector, you surely didn’t expect me to give you confidential information about my friends?’
‘No.’ Hector paused. ‘I just want you to go and see Julia Harvey.’
Julia Harvey...
Quinn squared his shoulders. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘She’s—she was—my mother’s friend.’
‘But not a close friend. Not a member of your family. I wouldn’t ask you to tell tales about your close friends, Quinn.’ He paused. ‘And Julia Harvey has been out of circulation for so long she can’t be a threat, either to you or your mother.’
‘No.’ Quinn’s denial was harsh. And then, at Hector’s look of victory, ‘I mean no. I won’t do it. Find somebody else. I don’t want to be involved.’
‘But you are involved,’ declared Hector angrily. ‘And, dammit, I don’t have time to find anybody else. For all I know, she may have taken fright already. She’s out there, Quinn, I know it. And if you make me lose this chance, I may never forgive you.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Quinn stared at him. ‘You said someone had found her. Why do you need me?’
Hector bunched his shoulders. ‘I said I knew where she was,’ he amended gruffly. ‘I do. At least—’ he waved an impatient hand ‘—I know where she’s supposed to be. Neville didn’t meet her. But that doesn’t mean she’s not there. It just means he wouldn’t know the woman if he saw her.’
Quinn stared at him. ‘You’ve actually attempted to get an interview with her already?’
‘Didn’t I just say so?’ Hector was defensive. ‘Why shouldn’t I give it my best shot?’ He lifted his shoulders in a vaguely dismissive gesture. ‘Hey, listen, anyone with that lady’s reputation couldn’t possibly expect to stay hidden forever.’
‘Look, Hector—’
‘No, you look, Quinn.’ He gazed up at the younger man aggressively. ‘You’ve got a declared interest here. I can understand that. And you may feel because she and your mother were once buddies that you owe her some loyalty because of it.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, let me tell you, you don’t. This is a cut-throat world, Quinn. And women like Julia Harvey—women who’ve been legends in their own lifetime, so to speak—can’t expect to find total anonymity. She was happy enough to accept the public’s support—their adulation—when she needed it. Why should she think she can give it all up without even a bloody explanation?’
Quinn could feel his own temper rising. ‘And you think that gives you the right to go looking for her? You think because her work was public her life is public property, too?’
‘Save the bleeding heart, Quinn. It doesn’t become you. And if you want my honest opinion, then yes, I think she forfeited any right to anonymity when she stepped on to her first sound-stage. We’re talking money here, Quinn, big money. So why would a woman earning those kind of bucks throw it all up for no good reason?’
‘Perhaps she had a reason.’ But Quinn couldn’t think of one offhand. For years he’d tried to find a reason, until time—and his own disillusionment—had cured him.
‘Like what?’ Hector asked now. ‘Some terminal illness, perhaps?’ He gave a scornful snort. ‘She’s still alive.’
‘Even so—’
‘Disfigurement, perhaps?’ Hector was persistent. ‘Don’t you think something like that would have made the tabloids? These people are under permanent scrutiny. I can’t believe it wouldn’t have come out.’
Quinn took a deep breath. ‘So, what’s your explanation, then?’
Hector shrugged. ‘I don’t have one. That’s the most intriguing thing about it. Here we have a woman who’s acted with every major star in the film industry, and she just disappears. For over ten years she was one of the highest-paid actresses of all time. Right into the eighties she was winning every award in sight. She could pick her roles—pick her leading men. Then what happens? She has that big row with Intercontinental—only God knows why—and she ducks out of the limelight.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Just like that. One moment she was there and the next she was gone. Don’t you think her fans deserve to know the truth behind that disappearance? You may not give a damn, Quinn, but us lesser mortals surely do.’
Quinn’s teeth ground together. Hector had a point, of course. Even if one of the main television stations hadn’t been planning on screening a re-run of all her movies, people were always interested in a mystery. And starting the new series of Timeslip with a name like Julia Harvey’s was a sure way of bucking the ratings. Apart from anything else, rumours that she was dead had been circulating for years. It would be a real coup to prove that she wasn’t. And—
Quinn’s ruminations came to an abrupt halt. And—what? He frowned. Dammit, what had she been doing all these years? He had used to think she owed him an explanation, too. But, like everybody else, he’d drawn a blank.
‘Interested?’ Hector seemed to sense that Quinn was weakening, and his knowing grin did nothing to assuage the younger man’s temper. But the truth was, his curiosity was stirring. Did Hector really know where she was living? Or had the mention of Neville Hager’s trip been just a sprat to catch a mackerel?
He pushed his hands into the back pockets of his corded trousers and took a steadying breath. The action disposed of the dampness that had gathered on his palms, and he dismissed the unworthy thought that he might be afraid to accept this assignment. For God’s sake, it was ten years since he had seen the woman. Ten years since she had played her games with him. Why should he hesitate about exposing her? He wasn’t a callow youth any more. And he surely didn’t owe her any favours.
‘Well?’