The Perfect Hero (9 page)

‘It’s impossible!’ Beth shouted above the wind. ‘I can hardly get my breath.’

Sophie and Gemma linked arms and struggled along behind Beth as they approached the Cobb. The sea was whipping up some alarming waves now and they were hitting the Cobb on the far side and spraying over the top, soaking anyone who dared to stand nearby.

Teresa was shaking her head. ‘It’s no good,’ she bellowed. ‘We can’t shoot in this.’

‘I told you!’ Beth bellowed back. ‘We should have had that lie-in!’

‘Best hangover cure, though!’ Oli said with a laugh. He was wearing an enormous coat over his Captain Wentworth clothes and his face was damp with sea spray. The other actors who were part of the Cobb scene were similarly attired and most were bent double to try to cope with the ever-increasing wind.

And then the rain came. There was no build-up – no hesitant drops to warn of an impending downpour – the heavens just opened and dumped their load on to the poor unfortunates below.

Adam pulled the hood of his coat up and ran towards the nearest van for cover, as did everyone else. Bonnets and hair were flattened in an instant and make-up rivered down each actor’s face. Dampened dresses clung to the actresses’ legs and everyone’s face was now as glum as Les Miserable’s.

Towels were quickly passed around and the make-up girls went into standby to repair the damage but Teresa was shaking her head.

‘Get out of those wet things,’ she was shouting. ‘Get dried and then we’re heading out to do the Uppercross scenes.’

Adam saw Gemma’s face fall and he could guess why. She’d psyched herself up for the Cobb scene and now the weather had put paid to that.

‘Hey,’ he said, sidling up to her, ‘you’ll be fine.’

She looked up at him with wide eyes, reminding him of a traffic-startled deer. But then she nodded.

‘Come on, everyone,’ Teresa suddenly bellowed. ‘Get moving!’

Adam knew that they’d hired a minibus and it wasn’t long before the cast were battling their way along the windy Cobb and boarding it. Nobody asked him if he wanted to join them, but he hadn’t expected that they would and he didn’t mind. He had his own wheels and he also had an idea brewing.

‘Kay,’ he said quietly to himself as he left the Cobb. Kay could go with him. She was reading
Persuasion
. She was bound to want to see it being filmed and it would be the perfect opportunity to get to know her.

Bowing his head against the wind, he walked along Marine Parade towards Wentworth House, making a couple of quick calls to the production team first so that he couldn’t be accused of skiving.

This is a good idea, isn’t it?
a little voice inside him said as he approached Kay’s. He cleared his throat and pulled down his hood, raking a hand through his hair which, he feared, was even more tousled than usual with the wind he’d been battling. Then, before he could change his mind, he knocked on the door.

And waited.

He knocked again, rapping the knocker as loudly as he could.

And then he waited some more. Lucky there was a porch, he thought, otherwise he would have been soaked to the skin by now.

Finally, the door opened. ‘Oh!’ Kay said.

‘Hello,’ Adam said, noticing her face was flushed and her long toffee-coloured hair had been piled on top of her head in a funny sort of bun.

‘I was under the bed,’ she said.

He gave her a quizzical look.

‘Vacuuming,’ she explained. ‘Did you forget something?’

‘No. Can I come in?’ he asked, knowing he was the kind of guy who girls didn’t automatically invite into their homes. ‘It’s a bit blustery out here.’

‘Oh, right,’ Kay said.

‘There’s something I want to ask you,’ he said as he walked inside, waiting for her to close the door behind them. ‘They’ve broken off filming at the Cobb. The weather’s too bad. They’re going to do some of the Uppercross scenes – up in the Marshwood Vale.’

‘Where you live?’

‘Nearby, yes. I was going to drive up there and wondered if you wanted to come along.’ He paused, his heart thudding in his chest.
This isn’t a date,
he told himself.
There’s no need to get tied up into nervous knots about it.

‘Right now?’ she asked, her bright eyes widening.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Kay said. ‘There’s so much to do here. I’ve got beds to make and towels to wash and carpets to vacuum and sinks to clean. And I’ve got to prepare a meal for tonight.’

Adam watched as she puffed her cheeks out.

‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Maybe another time?’

‘No. I mean – okay, I’ll help you,’ he said. ‘I’ll make the beds and wash the towels and vacuum anything that needs vacuuming.’

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘Why?’

‘Because I think you should come and see
Persuasion
being filmed and I want to show you the Marshwood Vale.’

Kay looked thoughtful for a moment.

‘All the cast will be there. I’m sure they’d be happy to see you,’ he added and he watched as Kay’s expression changed.

‘You’ll really help out here?’ she asked.

‘Of course. Just point me to the nearest sink that needs scrubbing.’

A smile broke across Kay’s face and Adam found himself mirroring it. He’d known this would be a good idea.

Chapter Twelve

There followed a mad frenzy of vacuuming, dusting and scrubbing as Adam and Kay worked their way around the bedrooms of Wentworth House. Bed sheets were straightened and tucked, pillows and duvets were shaken and fluffed, towels were swapped and washed and everything else was cleaned until it shone.

Finally, when Kay was quite sure everything looked perfect, she turned to Adam. He was ready with a smile for her.

‘I think we deserve the rest of the day off, don’t you?’

Kay nodded. ‘That’s certainly a job well done,’ she said. ‘Thanks so much for helping. If you ever give up the film world, there’s a job for you right here.’

‘I might take you up on that,’ he said, thinking how wonderful it would be to work alongside Kay all day. But how distracting it would be too. No, he decided, he probably wouldn’t get any work done at all if he knew she was just in the next room because the temptation to down tools and take her in his arms and – well, it just wouldn’t be viable, would it?

‘Let’s get going, shall we?’

‘I’ll just get changed,’ Kay said.

Adam nodded and decided to take himself downstairs to the living room. Being on the same floor as Kay getting changed was more than any sane man could bear.

It was a funny little room with its nicotine-coloured wallpaper and flowery carpet but Kay had made it wonderfully homely. There was a glass vase of freesias on the window sill and two big lamps promised a warm glow once evening set in. She’d also filled the shelves in the alcoves with books and he couldn’t resist looking at them as he waited for her. He smiled to himself as he saw a row of jewel-bright Regency romances by Lorna Warwick. Hadn’t the author recently been revealed to be a man? Adam was sure he’d read something somewhere.

Nestling alongside the Lorna Warwick titles were the obligatory Jane Austen novels – an impressive three copies of each title, all with different covers. Then there was the non-fiction associated with the great woman – the bio graphies, the histories of England in the time of the writer, collections of her letters, and new critical studies of her work. It was a collection worthy of any Janeite, he thought as he pulled out one of the collections of her letters.

‘They’re wonderful, aren’t they?’ Kay said.

Adam spun round and saw Kay standing in the doorway. She’d untied her hair and it cascaded around her shoulders in light waves, making Adam want to reach out and touch it. She’d changed out of her jeans too and was now wearing a long pink dress with a berry-red jacket over it.

‘I love Jane Austen’s letters,’ she said. ‘Her humour is wonderful. She’s so naughty – just what a younger sister should be.’

Adam nodded, realising he was staring like a madman. ‘Do you have any younger sisters?’

‘No,’ Kay said and her smile instantly vanished. ‘No brothers and no sisters. Just me.’

‘That must have been a bit lonely growing up,’ he said.

‘Oh, I had my books,’ she said. ‘My fictional families.’

‘Me too.’

‘You’re an only child?’

‘Perhaps that’s why I’m a writer. I was always creating fictional families.’

Kay smiled. ‘I think onlys have a tendency to hide within their imaginations.’

‘I think so too,’ he said. ‘But it’s not a bad place to be.’

‘No,’ Kay said, ‘especially when things get too much.’ She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say so much but there was something about Adam that made it easy for her to talk. ‘So, are we going to Uppercross?’ she added, quickly changing the subject before she inflicted her whole past on the poor man.

‘Absolutely,’ Adam said, grabbing his coat from the hallway.

The rain had stopped by the time they left the bed and breakfast but the sky was still a deep bruised purple and the waves looked angry and threatening as if they were plotting something.

‘Wow,’ Kay said. ‘I’ve never seen it like this.’

‘Get used to it,’ Adam said. ‘Winters can be pretty tough on the coast.’

‘I guess I only ever think of these places as being filled with summer sunshine and tourists.’

‘But that’s one of the benefits of winter,’ Adam said. ‘The tourists go home and you have it to yourself.’

‘Don’t you like tourists?’ Kay said. They’d reached the end of Marine Parade and crossed the road towards the car park. ‘Jane Austen was a tourist and you wouldn’t have a film being made of your screenplay if she hadn’t visited Lyme.’

Adam grinned. ‘Of course, but there are tourists and there are
tourists
. I only object to the ones who come to Lyme and aren’t inspired to write great literature.’

Kay looked at the crowd of people who’d pushed as far forward as the ropes would allow, desperate for a glimpse of what was going on. The film trucks were lining the length of the Cobb.

‘Everything’s on such a huge scale!’

‘We do tend to take over whenever we land,’ Adam said.

They walked on and Adam finally pointed to his car, unlocking it. It was an old Volvo that had a pair of wellingtons on the back seat that had seen better days. The Volvo had seen better days too and Adam knew this.

‘Sorry about the dog hair,’ he said, getting in beside her. ‘I was looking after somebody’s German Shepherd and he seemed to be moulting. He was even worse than my cat.’

‘You have a cat?’ Kay asked.

‘Sir Walter. After Anne Elliot’s father because he’s a terrible snob who’s forever looking down his little pink nose at me.’

Kay laughed. ‘I’d like to meet him.’

Adam swallowed. Things didn’t normally happen that easily for him. Women didn’t usually just invite themselves to his house. If he’d known that all he had to do to get a woman to come home with him was mention his cat, he would have done it years ago. Who would have thought that dear old Sir Walter would earn his keep?

‘But first, Uppercross.’

*

It had been a pleasant enough drive from Lyme Regis into the Marshwood Vale. The film crew had left the worst of the weather behind them at the coast but Teresa was still looking anxious about things. Gemma had been watching her closely, wondering which scenes they would be filming in the course of the day. The sky was still dark and large clouds were scudding their way across it like malevolent phantoms. It was very unlikely that they’d be filming anything outdoors today.

Gemma stole a glance at Beth and Sophie. They were both joking about something and Sophie was laughing. Gemma adored Sophie. She was always so happy. Nothing seemed to faze her. If only I could be like that, Gemma thought. Why do I have to worry so much? Why can’t I just look out of the window and enjoy the day or be able to tell silly jokes? Why does my stomach always have to be doing the cancan?

For a moment, she wondered whether she could get her knitting out and try to settle her nerves but the twisting country lanes would turn her needles into instruments of danger and she didn’t want to risk injuring anyone, not even Beth.

Teresa was on her phone, barking a list of instructions to some poor soul at the other end. Gemma bit her lip. She was glad she wasn’t a member of the crew. Teresa seemed to handle the actors with kid gloves in comparison to how she handled the crew, although she seemed to take exception with Oli. For some reason, he seemed to wind her up constantly. Gemma knew that they’d worked together before and often wondered why they’d agreed to work together again if that was the way they felt about each other. But maybe it was one of those funny relationships where their passion for the art they were creating overruled anything personal. They knew that what they were producing would be a little bit of screen magic and they were willing to put up with all the aggravation that went with it.

When she was quite sure nobody was looking, Gemma surreptitiously opened her bag and fished out her copy of the script. It was getting pretty battered now with its curling pages and bashed-in spine but it still served its purpose well and Gemma soon found the scenes she needed for the day ahead. Anxiously, her eyes cast over the lines that weren’t completely new to her but seemed like a memory of a distant dream and her heart started beating faster. She didn’t feel ready for this. She wanted more time,
needed
more time. But, before she had time to read more than three pages, the minibus had slowed down to turn into a long tree-lined driveway.

Beyond the trees, there was a field full of sheep and then the countryside rolled away into the distance. Then, as the bus made a final turn, the house was revealed to them.

Marlcombe Manor was a Grade I listed Jacobean house which sprawled across an immaculate lawn like a sleeping dragon. It was built in glorious honey-coloured stone and looked as if it housed at least three ghosts with its enormous mullioned windows and barley-twist chimneys. There were swallows swooping across the lawn and a po-faced peacock was making its sedate way up the driveway.