Playing the Game

( 44 )

Overview

Barbara Taylor Bradford, the blockbuster New York Times bestselling author of A Woman of Substance and The Ravenscar Dynasty, has written an explosive new novel about one woman’s remarkable journey to success.

Annette Remmington is a London art consultant and private dealer. With a roster of wealthy clients who trust her good eye and judgment, she is at the top of her game. Annette is married to her mentor and personal champion, the much older Marius. For twenty years,...

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Playing the Game

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Overview

Barbara Taylor Bradford, the blockbuster New York Times bestselling author of A Woman of Substance and The Ravenscar Dynasty, has written an explosive new novel about one woman’s remarkable journey to success.

Annette Remmington is a London art consultant and private dealer. With a roster of wealthy clients who trust her good eye and judgment, she is at the top of her game. Annette is married to her mentor and personal champion, the much older Marius. For twenty years, he has groomed her into the success that she has become, not to mention saving her from a dark and gritty past. Annette is Marius’s pride and joy, and as her best advisor, he has handpicked Jack Chalmers to do Annette’s profile in a popular newspaper. Marius believes only Jack—one of London’s most esteemed journalists—will be able to capture the true brilliance of his beloved wife. But Marius never intends to put his marriage in jeopardy….How could he have known that the connection between Jack and Annette would ignite so many secrets? And how could he know that Jack would uncover a scandal that could ultimately destroy them all?

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In her 26th book Bradford (Breaking the Rules) embraces all the tropes of the rags-to-riches story. Although London art consultant and dealer Annette Remmington has been thoroughly educated about art by her controlling, much older husband, Marius, it's the sale of a long-lost Rembrandt for the staggeringly high sum of million pounds that ultimately brings her fame. When other paintings in the seller's collection are found to be fakes, however, and Annette's newly minted rep is seriously threatened, she enlists gallery owner Malcolm Stevens, a protégé of her husband, for advice. When Marius persuades a reluctant Annette to be interviewed by a rising young journalist in order to create interest in her next auction, the decision reveals a tortured childhood for Annette and a serious criminal past for Marius. A contrived denouement, trite prose, heavy-handed foreshadowing, and too many subplot tentacles will deter all but the most loyal Bradford fan. (Oct.)
From the Publisher
“Catherine Harvey delivers an outstanding reading with a beautiful British accent that establishes the setting… [Bradford] has a genuine talent for creating believable, likeable characters.” – SoundCommentary.com

“British actress Catherine Harvey superbly narrates this grand tale of romance, scandal, and international intrigue that will appeal to fans of Bradford and romance novels alike.” – Library Journal, Starred Review

Library Journal
Bradford (www.barbarataylorbradford.com) creates another strong female character in 39-year-old art consultant Annette Remmington, a darling of the London art world, in this follow-up to Breaking the Rules (2009), also available from Macmillan Audio/AudioGO. Annette's husband and mentor, Marius, arranges for her to be profiled by top journalist Jake Chalmers. But when the very popular and attractive Chalmers connects with Annette during their interview, a secret from her past threatens to resurface that could end her marriage and destroy her career. British actress Catherine Harvey superbly narrates this grand tale of romance, scandal, and international intrigue that will appeal to fans of Bradford and romance novels alike.—Denise A. Garofalo, Mount Saint Mary Coll. Lib., Newburgh, NY
Kirkus Reviews

Bradford's latest rags-to-riches heroine is a London fine-art consultant with a dark secret—several of them, in fact.

Annette Remmington is still plagued by nightmares of the childhood sexual abuse she suffered. Rescued by a kindly aunt who paid for her education, Annette had a brief career as a painter before her marriage to dashing gallery impresario Marius Remmington, 20 years her senior. Only Marius knows of Annette's other dark secret, which gives him leverage to keep her complacent and docile. When inquiries are made about a certain Hilda Crump, Annette fears that if the truth were known, she could land in jail for murder. Now 40, Annette has scored a coup. A new client, Christopher, has inherited a cache of art from his eccentric Uncle Alec, including a Rembrandt, which Annette has just auctioned for several million pounds. There are plenty more canvases lurking at the gloomy old castle formerly owned by Uncle Alec, who, everyone agrees, went a little dotty after his fiancée, clad in her wedding gown, hanged herself in the bedroom. Annette is planning another auction for Christopher, which will include a previously unknown cast of Degas' sculptureThe Little Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer, and paintings by other Impressionist masters. However, Annette and her advisors have discovered that several pieces in Uncle Alec's collection are forgeries. When Marius insists she promote her upcoming auction, she agrees to talk to Jack Chalmers, a reporter Marius has handpicked. Little does Marius suspect that Annette and Jack will immediately recognize each other as soul mates. And little does Annette know that when Marius is in Barcelona supposedly working on a book about Picasso, he's actually emulating Picasso's philandering behavior. The plotlines proliferate until we realize that secrets from Jack's childhood are the key to unlocking the dilemmas keeping him and Annette apart.

Vintage Bradford, with lavish descriptions of the pleasures of palate and palette, victims as virtuous as they are gorgeous, cruel lotharios and a satisfying if somewhat far-fetched resolution.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780312578091
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 1/3/2012
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 437
  • Sales rank: 398,923
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 6.80 (h) x 1.12 (d)

Meet the Author

Barbara Taylor Bradford

Barbara Taylor Bradford is the author of 25 bestselling novels, including Being Elizabeth, Breaking the Rules, and The Ravenscar Dynasty. She was born in Leeds, England, and from an early age, she was a voracious reader: at age 12, she had already read all of Dickens and the Brontë sisters. By the age of twenty, she was an editor and columnist on Fleet Street. She published her first novel, A Woman of Substance, in 1979, and it has become an enduring bestseller.

 

Barbara Taylor Bradford’s books are published in over 90 countries in 40 languages, with sales figures in excess of 82 million. Ten of her novels have been adapted into television mini-series starring actors including Sir Anthony Hopkins, Liam Neeson, Deborah Kerr and Elizabeth Hurley. She has been inducted into the Writers Hall of Fame of America, and in June of 2007, Barbara was awarded an OBE (Order of the British Empire) by Queen Elizabeth II for her contributions to Literature.

She lives in New York City with her husband, television producer Robert Bradford, to whom all her novels are dedicated, and their Bichon Frise dogs, who sit under her desk while she writes.

Biography

Barbara Taylor Bradford was born and raised in Yorkshire, England. A voracious reader since childhood, she took her first job at the age of 15 with the Yorkshire Evening Post and by the age of 18 was the newspaper's women's page editor. Two years later, she headed for London and became a reporter for the London Evening News, Today Magazine, and other publications.

After meeting her husband-to-be, Robert Bradford, in 1961, she relocated to the United States. Continuing in journalism, Barbara created the syndicated column "Designing Woman," which ran nationwide for 12 years. Children's books and 8 works on decorating followed.

In 1979, Bradford published her first novel, A Woman of Substance, introducing the Emma Harte saga and beginning an almost uninterrupted string of bestsellers. Her work has been published in more than 90 countries in 40 languages, and total sales of her books now surpass 75 million.

Barbara now lives and writes in New York City with her husband, Robert. In addition to her work as a writer, she is active in a number of major charitable organizations, including the Police Athletic League, Girls Inc., City-Meals-on-Wheels, and the Susan G. Koman Breast Cancer Foundation.

Good To Know

Queen Elizabeth bestowed the Order of the British Empire on Barbara in October, 2007. The news was announced on the author's website with the following headline: "BTB Gets Her OBE from QEII."

Some interesting outtakes from our interview with Bradford:

"All 20 of my original manuscripts are stored by the prestigious Brotherton Library at Leeds University in England, next to the works of the Brontë sisters."

"My first job was working as a typist for the Yorkshire Evening Post at the age of 15."

"When I'm not writing, (which isn't often) I love to read. Biographies are my favorite genre, though I do like to read fiction to see what others are putting out on the market. Authors whose books I always make time for are Patricia Cornwell, Mary Higgins Clark, and Bernard Cornwell."

"I love to travel whenever possible. Paris is my favorite city to visit, though some of my favorite holidays are spent back in England."

"My husband, Bob, has a vote for the Academy Awards, so I get to see a lot of movie screenings."

"I'm involved in a number of charity organizations on both sides of the Atlantic. From the Police Athletic League and the Literary Guild in America to PACT (Parents and Children Together Again) in the U.K., I devote a fair amount of time to these causes. And as an advocate for world literacy, I am a member of the Madison Council to the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C."

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    1. Hometown:
      New York, New York
    1. Education:
      Christ Church Elementary School and Northcote Private School for Girls in Yorkshire, England
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

Part One

A REMARKABLE

WOMAN

There is that law of life, so cruel

and so just—that one must grow,

or else pay more for remaining the same.

Norman Mailer, The Deer Park (1955)

This page intentionally left blank

One

Much later that same day, Annette Remmington stood in front of the long mirrored door in her dressing room, staring at her reflection but not seeing herself.

She was not focused on her image at this moment but on the small knot of anxiety which had settled in her stomach since she had returned home. She could visualize it quite easily. . . . It was the size of a pea but as heavy as a lead pellet.

Unexpectedly, she felt slightly dizzy and reached out a hand, steadied herself against the dressing table. After taking several deep breaths, she managed to get her suddenly swimming senses under control. Now she looked at her full image objectively, nodded approvingly at what she saw, and chided herself for being so ridiculous.

The mention of Hilda Crump had unsettled her earlier in the day, and the call from Malcolm had been nagging at her all afternoon. But her troubles with Hilda Crump had happened long ago, and Hilda had moved on, and out of her life. The past was the past and she mustn’t let it come back to haunt her in this silly way.

I must put her out of my mind. And the past. It’s gone. I must focus on now. The present. And the future. I’ve always pigeonholed things and I have to do that again. Immediately. Hilda must go back into her pigeonhole and remain there. She is no longer part of my life and therefore unimportant. She can’t hurt me. No one can hurt me. And I can’t afford to waste time like this, reflecting on the past, a past I cannot change.

I’ve started a new phase of my life with the success of the auction. I pulled it off and I can pull it off again. Christopher Delaware doesn’t have another Rembrandt, but he does have some fine paintings and I can auction them off the same way. Marius told me the sky’s the limit, and he’s right, but will he let me go to the limit? He always wants to be in control of everything. And me. I know how to handle him now after all these years. So I’ll manage. I always have. I think I’ll do my next auction in New York. It would be profitable. I’ve got good clients there—

“Are you ready, darling?”

She swung around. “Yes, I am,” she answered at once, forcing a smile for her husband, who was walking across the dressing room. Surreptitiously, she glanced at the clock on the dressing table. It was just five-thirty. And of course he was ready on time, punctual as always.

“You’re upset,” he said, drawing to a standstill next to her, peering into her face.

“No, I’m not, not at all,” she answered, and immediately wished she hadn’t sounded so defensive.

“Yes, you are, Annette,” he insisted in his usual firm manner. “Look at yourself in the mirror. You’re only wearing one earring.”

Startled, she immediately swung to the mirror. Surprise flickered. God, he was right! As usual. Where was the other one? She spotted it on the dressing table, snatched it up, quickly put it on. “I went to get my wedding ring from the bedside table, where I’d left it. I just became distracted, that’s all, really.” She felt flustered all of a sudden. He stood staring at her intently and she found his penetrating stare unnerving. Damn, she thought, he’s going to pick on me all night, but she took hold of herself firmly, not wanting to be rattled.

Annette now offered him a warm smile. “You look very handsome tonight, Marius, and the new dinner jacket is fabulous.” Stepping closer to him, she stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday again, darling, and I do hope you’re going to enjoy your party.”

Relaxing his rigid stance, smiling in return, he said in a lighter tone, “I know I will, and let us not forget it’s your party, too, my darling girl. We’re celebrating your amazing success.” His black eyes sparkled as they rested on her, and approvingly so.

Annette laughed.

Taking hold of her arm possessively, he brought her closer to him, wrapped his arms around her. “I love you very much, you know, darling,” he said before releasing her. Holding her at arm’s length, he added, as his eyes swept over her, “You look very beautiful, you really do.”

“Well, thank you, but I think I’ve looked better,” she murmured, meaning this.

Shaking his head, half smiling, he led her out into the corridor, wondering why she constantly found it hard to accept a compliment gracefully. He said, “We’d better go. I don’t want any of our guests to arrive before we do. We can’t be late.”

Stay calm, she told herself. And keep cool.

“Wow!” Malcolm Stevens exclaimed, literally gaping at Annette, astonishment mingled with admiration flashing across his face. “Oh, wow!” he said again, more emphatically, in genuine awe. “You look fantastic, absolutely bloody marvelous.” It was quite apparent he meant every word.

Her blue eyes sparkling, filling with laughter, Annette looked both pleased and amused by Malcolm’s reaction to her appearance.

She stood with Marius in the long reception room which adjoined the Dorchester ballroom, and she leaned forward, kissed Malcolm on the cheek, and thanked him.

As she stepped back, his glance swept over her once more, taking in the stunning ice-blue strapless gown, worn with a matching satin stole lined with scarlet silk. That was the surprising touch, the brilliant red against the cool blue, plus the huge cabochon ruby earrings hanging from her ears, echoing the vibrant color of the silk.

Annette Remmington was elegance personified. Her blond hair, usually worn loose, was swept back from her face, wound up into a chignon at the back of her head. It suddenly struck him that her eyes looked bluer than ever tonight; perhaps it was the evening gown that heightened their color.

Gripping Marius’s outstretched hand, Malcolm went on, “And you don’t look half bad yourself! In fact, the two of you are so glamorous you’ll put all your guests to shame.”

Marius chuckled. “I’m afraid you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until the show business crowd arrive. They’re much more glamorous than we are. But thanks for the compliments, Malcolm. And welcome. We’re very glad you’re here.”

Now turning to his wife, Marius shook his head and chided lightly, “I told you how beautiful you looked, but you didn’t believe me. Now that you’ve just witnessed Malcolm’s stunned reaction, you must know I’m right.”

“I did believe you,” she protested, slipping her arm through his, leaning against him. “You’re always right.”

Clearing his throat, Malcolm interjected, “It’s great to be here, and thanks for having me, but now I think I’d better move on, so you can greet your other guests. See you later.”

Marius nodded, immediately turned around, and stretched out his hand to welcome some of the newly arriving guests streaming through the door.

Malcolm slipped away.

Moving down the room, he took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and walked around, mingling with the crowd. He spoke to a few people he knew, then positioned himself near a pillar, leaning against it and watching the show unfold.

And quite a show it was. He spotted two beautiful American movie stars with their husbands, done up to the nines and dripping diamonds from every pore; a famous, recently knighted writer of literary fiction; a controversial politician with his busty wife; a duchess renowned for her young lovers; and quite a few old friends and acquaintances, as well as a number of other art dealers.

The world and his wife, he thought. Everyone’s here. And why not? When Marius gives a party on this scale, he usually pulls out all the stops. That is why everybody wants to be invited.

Actually it was Annette’s party this evening. She had long planned it for Marius’s sixtieth, and she had put a lot of time and effort into it. Just the way Marius had taught her. That was his way. He tended to be a teacher by nature.

Certainly Marius had been his teacher, and mentor, friend, and colleague as well. Their association had lasted a long time, and yet Marius didn’t seem a day older than when they had met fifteen years ago. He stared down the length of the room, focused on him, thinking that he looked especially well this evening. Tall, slender, as immaculately dressed as ever, wearing an impeccably tailored dinner jacket no doubt from his favorite Savile Row tailor. His mane of silver hair gleamed above his lightly tanned face; Marius was forever popping off somewhere to catch the sun, and the tan gave him a youthful look. But it was his hair that Malcolm envied, and it was his hair, of course, that had inspired his nickname: the Silver Fox, they called him. Although he and a few others knew that it also referred to Marius’s nature. He was considered to be decidedly foxy by some friends, so-called.

Malcolm had gone to work for Marius fifteen years ago, when he was twenty-seven, had been thrilled to be one of the team at the Remmington Gallery in St. James’s. When Marius decided to sell the gallery ten years ago, Malcolm had borrowed the money from his father in order to buy it. He had kept up its fine reputation and garnered many new clients, and Marius said he was proud of him, was forever praising him for upholding the great tradition of the Remmington.

Wanting a less hectic life, Marius had taken offices in Mayfair and become an art consultant and private dealer with only a handful of steady and very rich clients. They had remained close, and Malcolm was an admirer of the older man.

Not everyone felt the same way he did. There were those who bad-mouthed Marius Remmington. They said he was arrogant, mercurial, temperamental, driven, and something of a manipulator. But there were lots of people in this world who loved to carp. Malcolm knew that only too well.

There had been gossip about the Remmingtons for as long as he could remember. In his opinion it was because they attracted attention, caused resentment and jealousy. Talented, socially acceptable, upwardly mobile, and highly successful, they were quite a remarkable couple. Reasons enough for tongues to wag. And wag they did.

Then there was the difference in their ages. Marius was twenty years older than Annette . . . sixty to her thirty-nine. But she would be forty in June, and the twenty-year gap between them didn’t seem so startling now. But once it had, when she was eighteen and he was thirty-eight, and something of a man about town, considered a bit of a roué. Cradle-snatcher, he had been called, and worse.

There was mystery, so-called, surrounding Annette’s background. No one really knew where she had sprung from. Except, of course, for the Marius Mafia, who bragged they knew. His mafia, so-called, was a cadre of young men who constantly surrounded him, whom he called his protégés, which is exactly what they were. Young men who’d been singled out for their talent, who had worked for Marius at some time, or still did, who were loyal, devoted, and forever at his beck and call. They enjoyed being around him because something was always happening. It seemed to Malcolm that there was a constant show going on. . . . Famous people, people in the know and in the news, gravitated to Marius. That was an essential part of his success as an art dealer, that charisma of his, the gregariousness, the bucketsful of charm and the clever way he had of pulling everyone into his orbit.

Malcolm was one of Marius’s favorites and he had received special treatment from the very beginning. And he knew all about Annette, or at least he thought he did. The Marius Mafia had told him about Annette.

Seemingly she had come to London from some Northern city, he wasn’t sure which, to study art. But there was not enough talent to lift her up into the stratosphere of genius which equaled eventual fame. Good-looking. But the looks were obscured by her hesitant manner, according to some of the Marius Mafia; it was a sort of diffidence, they said. Blond, blue-eyed, slender as a reed, and exceedingly bright. But ordinary. That was the way they had described her to him. He himself had not known her then.

Not so ordinary now, though, Malcolm thought, his eyes settling on her. It was an elegant creature who stood there. Not the most beautiful woman in the world, but good-looking, well put together whatever the occasion, and the current golden girl in the art world. Her auction of the Rembrandt had assured her a place in the front row, had given her art consultancy business a big boost. . . .

“What are you doing here all alone, Malcolm?” a familiar voice exclaimed.

Swinging around, Malcolm grinned. “Watching the show and having a bit of the old bubbly. How about you, David? And where’s Meg?”

His old friend David Oldfield shook his head. “Still in New York. On business. I’m solo tonight.” Reaching into his pocket, David pulled out a small envelope, looked inside, and said, “I’m at table ten. What about you?”

“The same. I have a feeling it’s Marius’s table. Come on, let’s try and get to the bar. I’d like a vodka.”

“Good idea,” David responded, and together they struggled through the throng. Once they had each secured a Grey Goose on the rocks, they went off into a quiet corner. Clinking glasses, they both said cheers in unison, and David asked, “Is it true that Christopher Delaware inherited a lot of really great art from that uncle of his? And that Annette’s going to be representing him?”

Malcolm said in an even tone, “I haven’t heard about any great art, other than the Rembrandt. But I know he’s Annette’s client. Oh, look, there’s Johnny Davenport. He’s bound to know. Let’s go and talk to him.”

“Malcolm! Malcolm!”

He heard a woman’s voice calling his name. Trying to be heard above the clamor. Swinging his head, he spotted her at once. An old friend. It was Margaret Mellor, the editor of the best art magazine in Europe called, very simply, ART. She was waving to him.

Catching hold of David’s arm, he said, “Will you excuse me for a moment? Margaret Mellor’s beckoning to me. Go ahead, chat with Johnny. I’ll join you both shortly.”

“No problem.” David pushed ahead, moving adroitly between people, edging his way through.

Malcolm went in the opposite direction, toward his friend. When he finally reached her he grinned. “I almost didn’t hear you above the din.”

“It’s bedlam. I was just with Annette. She wants us to go and see the ballroom before it fills up with guests. She says it’s charming.”

“Then let’s go now, before we get trapped in this corner. The place is suddenly milling with old friends and colleagues. Plus loads of photographers, I notice.” He frowned.

“Don’t tell me! The press is swarming all over the place!”

Malcolm sighed. “That’s Marius. He never does things by half and he does love the media. As far as he’s concerned, the more the merrier.”

“He’s a glutton for punishment.” She sounded sarcastic.

Malcolm laughed. That was Margaret. Spot on with her comments. He put an arm around her shoulders, guided her through the crush. Behind them, flashbulbs were already popping; it seemed to him that the crowd was swelling, getting bigger by the second. How many people had they invited? The whole world, he decided, and hoped the huge crowd wouldn’t ultimately spoil the event. Why do I worry? She knows what she’s doing, even if he doesn’t, sometimes. Marius. Such an enigma.

Finally, Malcolm was pushing open the door into the ballroom. Instantly, a waiter confronted them. “I’m very sorry, but you can’t come in. Mrs. Remmington doesn’t want anyone in here for another half hour. She was very precise.” Polite but determined.

“Yes, we know. Mrs. Remmington sent us to see the ballroom before it fills up. I’m Margaret Mellor of ART magazine, and this is Mr. Stevens, a colleague and friend of Mrs. Remmington’s.”

The waiter inclined his head but didn’t budge, blocking their way. Still determined—to do his duty and keep them out.

“My chief photographer, Josh Brady, was here earlier,” Margaret added. “Taking pictures for the magazine. You must be Frank Lancel. Mrs. Remmington told me to speak to you.” Charm, a warm smile. Her tools.

“Yes, I’m Frank,” the waiter answered, relaxing, but only slightly. “And I did help Mr. Brady a while ago, when he was taking his shots. So please come in, look around. I have to stay here at the door. Stand guard. Mrs. Remmington’s instructions.” He sounded droll.

“She explained that,” Margaret answered. Taking hold of Malcolm’s hand, she led him forward. The two of them finally stood at the edge of the ballroom floor near the orchestra stand, their eyes sweeping around the room with interest and anticipation.

They were both taken aback by the unique beauty and magical effect Annette had created. The room was a sea of pale green, that peculiar pale green with a hint of gray so often found in the interiors of French châteaux, which seems to create a misty look. This pale-green silk rippled down the walls from the ceiling to the floor, and was repeated for the tablecloths, napkins, and chair seats.

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First Chapter

Playing the Game


By Barbara Taylor Bradford

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2010 Barbara Taylor Bradford
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780312578084

Part OneA REMARKABLE
WOMAN
There is that law of life, so cruel
and so just—that one must grow,
or else pay more for remaining the same.
Norman Mailer, The Deer Park (1955)
This page intentionally left blank
OneMuch later that same day, Annette Remmington stood in front of the long mirrored door in her dressing room, staring at her reflection but not seeing herself.
She was not focused on her image at this moment but on the small knot of anxiety which had settled in her stomach since she had returned home. She could visualize it quite easily. . . . It was the size of a pea but as heavy as a lead pellet.
Unexpectedly, she felt slightly dizzy and reached out a hand, steadied herself against the dressing table. After taking several deep breaths, she managed to get her suddenly swimming senses under control. Now she looked at her full image objectively, nodded approvingly at what she saw, and chided herself for being so ridiculous.
The mention of Hilda Crump had unsettled her earlier in the day, and the call from Malcolm had been nagging at her all afternoon. But her troubles with Hilda Crump had happened long ago, and Hilda had moved on, and out of her life. The past was the past and she mustn’t let it come back to haunt her in this silly way.
I must put her out of my mind. And the past. It’s gone. I must focus on now. The present. And the future. I’ve always pigeonholed things and I have to do that again. Immediately. Hilda must go back into her pigeonhole and remain there. She is no longer part of my life and therefore unimportant. She can’t hurt me. No one can hurt me. And I can’t afford to waste time like this, reflecting on the past, a past I cannot change.
I’ve started a new phase of my life with the success of the auction. I pulled it off and I can pull it off again. Christopher Delaware doesn’t have another Rembrandt, but he does have some fine paintings and I can auction them off the same way. Marius told me the sky’s the limit, and he’s right, but will he let me go to the limit? He always wants to be in control of everything. And me. I know how to handle him now after all these years. So I’ll manage. I always have. I think I’ll do my next auction in New York. It would be profitable. I’ve got good clients there—
“Are you ready, darling?”
She swung around. “Yes, I am,” she answered at once, forcing a smile for her husband, who was walking across the dressing room. Surreptitiously, she glanced at the clock on the dressing table. It was just five-thirty. And of course he was ready on time, punctual as always.
“You’re upset,” he said, drawing to a standstill next to her, peering into her face.
“No, I’m not, not at all,” she answered, and immediately wished she hadn’t sounded so defensive.
“Yes, you are, Annette,” he insisted in his usual firm manner. “Look at yourself in the mirror. You’re only wearing one earring.”
Startled, she immediately swung to the mirror. Surprise flickered. God, he was right! As usual. Where was the other one? She spotted it on the dressing table, snatched it up, quickly put it on. “I went to get my wedding ring from the bedside table, where I’d left it. I just became distracted, that’s all, really.” She felt flustered all of a sudden. He stood staring at her intently and she found his penetrating stare unnerving. Damn, she thought, he’s going to pick on me all night, but she took hold of herself firmly, not wanting to be rattled.
Annette now offered him a warm smile. “You look very handsome tonight, Marius, and the new dinner jacket is fabulous.” Stepping closer to him, she stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. “Happy birthday again, darling, and I do hope you’re going to enjoy your party.”
Relaxing his rigid stance, smiling in return, he said in a lighter tone, “I know I will, and let us not forget it’s your party, too, my darling girl. We’re celebrating your amazing success.” His black eyes sparkled as they rested on her, and approvingly so.
Annette laughed.
Taking hold of her arm possessively, he brought her closer to him, wrapped his arms around her. “I love you very much, you know, darling,” he said before releasing her. Holding her at arm’s length, he added, as his eyes swept over her, “You look very beautiful, you really do.”
“Well, thank you, but I think I’ve looked better,” she murmured, meaning this.
Shaking his head, half smiling, he led her out into the corridor, wondering why she constantly found it hard to accept a compliment gracefully. He said, “We’d better go. I don’t want any of our guests to arrive before we do. We can’t be late.”
Stay calm, she told herself. And keep cool.“Wow!” Malcolm Stevens exclaimed, literally gaping at Annette, astonishment mingled with admiration flashing across his face. “Oh, wow!” he said again, more emphatically, in genuine awe. “You look fantastic, absolutely bloody marvelous.” It was quite apparent he meant every word.
Her blue eyes sparkling, filling with laughter, Annette looked both pleased and amused by Malcolm’s reaction to her appearance.
She stood with Marius in the long reception room which adjoined the Dorchester ballroom, and she leaned forward, kissed Malcolm on the cheek, and thanked him.
As she stepped back, his glance swept over her once more, taking in the stunning ice-blue strapless gown, worn with a matching satin stole lined with scarlet silk. That was the surprising touch, the brilliant red against the cool blue, plus the huge cabochon ruby earrings hanging from her ears, echoing the vibrant color of the silk.
Annette Remmington was elegance personified. Her blond hair, usually worn loose, was swept back from her face, wound up into a chignon at the back of her head. It suddenly struck him that her eyes looked bluer than ever tonight; perhaps it was the evening gown that heightened their color.
Gripping Marius’s outstretched hand, Malcolm went on, “And you don’t look half bad yourself! In fact, the two of you are so glamorous you’ll put all your guests to shame.”
Marius chuckled. “I’m afraid you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait until the show business crowd arrive. They’re much more glamorous than we are. But thanks for the compliments, Malcolm. And welcome. We’re very glad you’re here.”
Now turning to his wife, Marius shook his head and chided lightly, “I told you how beautiful you looked, but you didn’t believe me. Now that you’ve just witnessed Malcolm’s stunned reaction, you must know I’m right.”
“I did believe you,” she protested, slipping her arm through his, leaning against him. “You’re always right.”
Clearing his throat, Malcolm interjected, “It’s great to be here, and thanks for having me, but now I think I’d better move on, so you can greet your other guests. See you later.”
Marius nodded, immediately turned around, and stretched out his hand to welcome some of the newly arriving guests streaming through the door.
Malcolm slipped away.
Moving down the room, he took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and walked around, mingling with the crowd. He spoke to a few people he knew, then positioned himself near a pillar, leaning against it and watching the show unfold.
And quite a show it was. He spotted two beautiful American movie stars with their husbands, done up to the nines and dripping diamonds from every pore; a famous, recently knighted writer of literary fiction; a controversial politician with his busty wife; a duchess renowned for her young lovers; and quite a few old friends and acquaintances, as well as a number of other art dealers.
The world and his wife, he thought. Everyone’s here. And why not? When Marius gives a party on this scale, he usually pulls out all the stops. That is why everybody wants to be invited.
Actually it was Annette’s party this evening. She had long planned it for Marius’s sixtieth, and she had put a lot of time and effort into it. Just the way Marius had taught her. That was his way. He tended to be a teacher by nature.
Certainly Marius had been his teacher, and mentor, friend, and colleague as well. Their association had lasted a long time, and yet Marius didn’t seem a day older than when they had met fifteen years ago. He stared down the length of the room, focused on him, thinking that he looked especially well this evening. Tall, slender, as immaculately dressed as ever, wearing an impeccably tailored dinner jacket no doubt from his favorite Savile Row tailor. His mane of silver hair gleamed above his lightly tanned face; Marius was forever popping off somewhere to catch the sun, and the tan gave him a youthful look. But it was his hair that Malcolm envied, and it was his hair, of course, that had inspired his nickname: the Silver Fox, they called him. Although he and a few others knew that it also referred to Marius’s nature. He was considered to be decidedly foxy by some friends, so-called.
Malcolm had gone to work for Marius fifteen years ago, when he was twenty-seven, had been thrilled to be one of the team at the Remmington Gallery in St. James’s. When Marius decided to sell the gallery ten years ago, Malcolm had borrowed the money from his father in order to buy it. He had kept up its fine reputation and garnered many new clients, and Marius said he was proud of him, was forever praising him for upholding the great tradition of the Remmington.
Wanting a less hectic life, Marius had taken offices in Mayfair and become an art consultant and private dealer with only a handful of steady and very rich clients. They had remained close, and Malcolm was an admirer of the older man.
Not everyone felt the same way he did. There were those who bad-mouthed Marius Remmington. They said he was arrogant, mercurial, temperamental, driven, and something of a manipulator. But there were lots of people in this world who loved to carp. Malcolm knew that only too well.
There had been gossip about the Remmingtons for as long as he could remember. In his opinion it was because they attracted attention, caused resentment and jealousy. Talented, socially acceptable, upwardly mobile, and highly successful, they were quite a remarkable couple. Reasons enough for tongues to wag. And wag they did.
Then there was the difference in their ages. Marius was twenty years older than Annette . . . sixty to her thirty-nine. But she would be forty in June, and the twenty-year gap between them didn’t seem so startling now. But once it had, when she was eighteen and he was thirty-eight, and something of a man about town, considered a bit of a roué. Cradle-snatcher, he had been called, and worse.
There was mystery, so-called, surrounding Annette’s background. No one really knew where she had sprung from. Except, of course, for the Marius Mafia, who bragged they knew. His mafia, so-called, was a cadre of young men who constantly surrounded him, whom he called his protégés, which is exactly what they were. Young men who’d been singled out for their talent, who had worked for Marius at some time, or still did, who were loyal, devoted, and forever at his beck and call. They enjoyed being around him because something was always happening. It seemed to Malcolm that there was a constant show going on. . . . Famous people, people in the know and in the news, gravitated to Marius. That was an essential part of his success as an art dealer, that charisma of his, the gregariousness, the bucketsful of charm and the clever way he had of pulling everyone into his orbit.
Malcolm was one of Marius’s favorites and he had received special treatment from the very beginning. And he knew all about Annette, or at least he thought he did. The Marius Mafia had told him about Annette.
Seemingly she had come to London from some Northern city, he wasn’t sure which, to study art. But there was not enough talent to lift her up into the stratosphere of genius which equaled eventual fame. Good-looking. But the looks were obscured by her hesitant manner, according to some of the Marius Mafia; it was a sort of diffidence, they said. Blond, blue-eyed, slender as a reed, and exceedingly bright. But ordinary. That was the way they had described her to him. He himself had not known her then.
Not so ordinary now, though, Malcolm thought, his eyes settling on her. It was an elegant creature who stood there. Not the most beautiful woman in the world, but good-looking, well put together whatever the occasion, and the current golden girl in the art world. Her auction of the Rembrandt had assured her a place in the front row, had given her art consultancy business a big boost. . . .
“What are you doing here all alone, Malcolm?” a familiar voice exclaimed.
Swinging around, Malcolm grinned. “Watching the show and having a bit of the old bubbly. How about you, David? And where’s Meg?”
His old friend David Oldfield shook his head. “Still in New York. On business. I’m solo tonight.” Reaching into his pocket, David pulled out a small envelope, looked inside, and said, “I’m at table ten. What about you?”
“The same. I have a feeling it’s Marius’s table. Come on, let’s try and get to the bar. I’d like a vodka.”
“Good idea,” David responded, and together they struggled through the throng. Once they had each secured a Grey Goose on the rocks, they went off into a quiet corner. Clinking glasses, they both said cheers in unison, and David asked, “Is it true that Christopher Delaware inherited a lot of really great art from that uncle of his? And that Annette’s going to be representing him?”
Malcolm said in an even tone, “I haven’t heard about any great art, other than the Rembrandt. But I know he’s Annette’s client. Oh, look, there’s Johnny Davenport. He’s bound to know. Let’s go and talk to him.”“Malcolm! Malcolm!”
He heard a woman’s voice calling his name. Trying to be heard above the clamor. Swinging his head, he spotted her at once. An old friend. It was Margaret Mellor, the editor of the best art magazine in Europe called, very simply, ART. She was waving to him.
Catching hold of David’s arm, he said, “Will you excuse me for a moment? Margaret Mellor’s beckoning to me. Go ahead, chat with Johnny. I’ll join you both shortly.”
“No problem.” David pushed ahead, moving adroitly between people, edging his way through.
Malcolm went in the opposite direction, toward his friend. When he finally reached her he grinned. “I almost didn’t hear you above the din.”
“It’s bedlam. I was just with Annette. She wants us to go and see the ballroom before it fills up with guests. She says it’s charming.”
“Then let’s go now, before we get trapped in this corner. The place is suddenly milling with old friends and colleagues. Plus loads of photographers, I notice.” He frowned.
“Don’t tell me! The press is swarming all over the place!”
Malcolm sighed. “That’s Marius. He never does things by half and he does love the media. As far as he’s concerned, the more the merrier.”
“He’s a glutton for punishment.” She sounded sarcastic.
Malcolm laughed. That was Margaret. Spot on with her comments. He put an arm around her shoulders, guided her through the crush. Behind them, flashbulbs were already popping; it seemed to him that the crowd was swelling, getting bigger by the second. How many people had they invited? The whole world, he decided, and hoped the huge crowd wouldn’t ultimately spoil the event. Why do I worry? She knows what she’s doing, even if he doesn’t, sometimes. Marius. Such an enigma.
Finally, Malcolm was pushing open the door into the ballroom. Instantly, a waiter confronted them. “I’m very sorry, but you can’t come in. Mrs. Remmington doesn’t want anyone in here for another half hour. She was very precise.” Polite but determined.
“Yes, we know. Mrs. Remmington sent us to see the ballroom before it fills up. I’m Margaret Mellor of ART magazine, and this is Mr. Stevens, a colleague and friend of Mrs. Remmington’s.”
The waiter inclined his head but didn’t budge, blocking their way. Still determined—to do his duty and keep them out.
“My chief photographer, Josh Brady, was here earlier,” Margaret added. “Taking pictures for the magazine. You must be Frank Lancel. Mrs. Remmington told me to speak to you.” Charm, a warm smile. Her tools.
“Yes, I’m Frank,” the waiter answered, relaxing, but only slightly. “And I did help Mr. Brady a while ago, when he was taking his shots. So please come in, look around. I have to stay here at the door. Stand guard. Mrs. Remmington’s instructions.” He sounded droll.
“She explained that,” Margaret answered. Taking hold of Malcolm’s hand, she led him forward. The two of them finally stood at the edge of the ballroom floor near the orchestra stand, their eyes sweeping around the room with interest and anticipation.
They were both taken aback by the unique beauty and magical effect Annette had created. The room was a sea of pale green, that peculiar pale green with a hint of gray so often found in the interiors of French châteaux, which seems to create a misty look. This pale-green silk rippled down the walls from the ceiling to the floor, and was repeated for the tablecloths, napkins, and chair seats.


Continues...

Excerpted from Playing the Game by Barbara Taylor Bradford Copyright © 2010 by Barbara Taylor Bradford. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 44 Customer Reviews
  • Posted September 14, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Barbara Taylor Bradford writes a fresh engaging epic

    In London, art dealer and restorer Annette Remmington successfully hosts her first major auction of a lost Rembrandt she recovered, saved and sold. Her much older spouse of two decades, Marius demands she allow a media interview to push her fame beyond fifteen minutes as he believes the right journalist will recognize his wife's art genius.

    Always obeying her mentor who she feels gratitude towards, Annette meets with Marius' hand-picked reporter Jack Chalmers. While working on her article, Jack and Annette are attracted to one another. She is caught between her desire for the man her own age and the older man who taught her everything she knows. However, the reporter soon uncovers a scandalous dark secret that if revealed could destroy Annette, Marius and even Jack.

    Although an older man marrying and mentoring a younger woman with a hunk her age forging a dysfunctional triangle has been done many times (see Control by Kayla Perrin), Barbara Taylor Bradford writes a fresh engaging epic due mostly to the glitzy ultra rich art world. The lead trio is fully developed so the readers understand what drives each of them. Readers know what to expect from Ms. Bradford and with Playing the Game she provides it to her fans.

    Harriet Klausner

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted January 12, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    The setting elevates this novel

    I can vividly remember reading Barbara Taylor Bradford's first novel, A Woman of Substance, back when I was in high school. Her heroine, Emma Harte, was a brave, strong protagonist, a woman who could overcome anything and run a huge department store, while navigating the tricky waters of romance. I read many of Bradford's subsequent books, but I haven't read one in awhile. Bradford has been a successful author for over 30 years, mostly by sticking to her formula of strong female characters overcoming the odds through hard work and strength of character, and adding in a forbidden romance. Her latest novel, Playing the Game, sticks to the formula. Annette Remington is a successful art dealer in London, married to a much older man. She becomes famous for selling a long-lost Rembrandt painting at auction, and soon the entire art world knows who she is. But Annette has a secret from her past, one that her husband knows of and has used to keep control of her. Bradford weaves tidbits of Annette's disturbing past, expertly piquing the reader's curiosity about the truth. We know that Annette and her sister Laurie were the victims of violence in their childhood, and that Laurie is now in a wheelchair. Is the secret related to their childhood? And why does Annette panic when someone comes looking for a woman named Hilda Crump? All these questions keep the reader turning the page. While I found the novel to feature typical characters in a familiar plot, with a beautiful woman keeping a secret while falling into forbidden romance, it is the setting that elevates this novel. I found the art world totally fascinating, and Bradford does a marvelous job immersing the reader into that world. One of the most compelling reasons that I read is that I can learn about something I never knew before, and this book is filled with interesting facts about fine art, art restoration and art forgery. I learned that a priest hole is a small room in old homes where, during the Stuart period in England, aristocratic Catholic families hid their priests when the soldiers came to search the houses. I never knew that before, and now I have new cocktail party conversation. Playing the Game comes at a good time; many people are talking about Steve Martin's novel, An Object of Beauty, and this is a good companion book for those looking to continue their immersion into the world of fine art.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 1, 2010

    Slow Start but Good Read

    This is the first book that I have read of Ms. Bradford's and I was excited to be peeking in the world of an author that I am not familiar with. Playing the Game is centered around the life of Annette Remmington, a rising star in the art world, and her struggles to succeed in not only her art consultant business but in her personal life as well. Married to the controlling, manipulative Marius, Annette's life is turned upside down when she starts to fall for the young journalist, Jack Chalmers, who confesses his love for her. As the story progresses, we start to learn the truths about Annette's past and why it continues to haunt her in her present life. For me, this book was a little difficult to get into as it moved rather slowly in the beginning and seemed to drag out in places that could easily have been avoided. Once I got to the middle of the book, it started moving much more quickly and kept me intrigued for the remaining pages. There are some brief flashbacks brought to life in the book about Annette's childhood that some may find disturbing, but other than that it would be a good read for mature audiences. Overall, I give this book 4 stars as it is a nice quick read, once you get past the beginning, and the characters are well written and can easily be related too.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 23, 2014

    Tap here

    It looks like a good book

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 31, 2012

    love all she writes

    All her books are winners, nice relaxing read. I am always waiting for the next one.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2012

    SLOWEST SHIPMENT EVER!!

    I can't review the book because I have waited over a month for the order to be shipped!!!!

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 28, 2011

    Fair

    Kind of slow. Too much time was spent on art descriptions. Just not my kind of book.

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  • Posted October 10, 2011

    Highly recommended

    Very interesting mainly because of the Art «notion» which is very well explained.

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  • Posted September 6, 2011

    fair

    her first book Woman of Substance was her best Now they are simplistic
    won't buy again

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  • Posted July 21, 2011

    This is a must to read.

    I just wish she would write more books! a fabulous read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 26, 2011

    By Barbara Toylar

    Barbara has a game in the book she made or she wrote and I like the book because it has a game in the book!!!!!!!!

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    Posted June 23, 2011

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