Dreaming of Mr. Darcy (6 page)

Gemma couldn't believe that they might be shooting the Uppercross scenes that day. She'd thought they were doing the ones on the Cobb. She was
ready
for the Cobb.

How could film companies do that? It seemed perverse to her, like reading a book out of order. Of course, she knew what it was all about—making the most of the weather conditions and making sure the locations worked for you, but for actors, it was always difficult. Take her first job on
Into
the
Night
for example. She arrived on set that first day and had to shoot the final scene. It was a topsy-turvy sort of a world, and such things could easily unbalance an insecure actress.

Gemma sank onto her bed and picked up her script. She was quite sure her mother had never had such a problem learning her lines. Gemma could remember her with her scripts throughout Gemma's childhood.

‘Mum,' Gemma would say, ‘can you help me with my homework?'

‘Darling, I have homework of my own,' her mum would say, flicking her long, dark hair over her shoulder and then sitting herself on the floor in a strange yoga position, her script in front of her and her back to her daughter.

Gemma would go upstairs to her room, and about an hour later, there'd be a knock at the door.

‘Did you still want some help?' her mum would ask. Gemma would shake her head. She'd have done her homework by then.

Thinking back to those times now, Gemma knew her mother had never needed more than one read through a script, and she had it down. Maybe she had a photographic memory, or maybe her crime-caper lines had been easier to learn than a Jane Austen adaptation, but one thing was for sure: her mother never got nervous. She thrived on the adrenaline that filming produced. There was a permanent buzz about her. She oozed energy and was always the life and soul of the party—and there had been quite a few at the height of her success in
Bandits
. Gemma remembered them well. She'd be trying to sleep upstairs, when downstairs, dozens of guests were dancing and shouting in the living room. And the dining room, kitchen, and garden. Even Gemma's bedroom hadn't escaped, with one amorous couple once falling onto her bed in a lusty heap, the woman screaming to high heavens when she realised there was somebody already in it.

‘Come on! It's time to go home,' Kim Reilly would yell several hours later. ‘It
is
a school night, after all.' There'd be ripples of laughter, and Gemma would check the little light on her bedside clock. Her mother's idea of ending a party early would be somewhere around three o'clock. Because she didn't like to shirk her motherly duties, she'd then come into Gemma's room and squeeze her shoulder. ‘I didn't wake you, darling, did I?'

‘No, Mummy,' Gemma would say.

‘We were nice and quiet, weren't we?'

Gemma would nod, the shrieking of the guests still ringing in her ears.

She lost count of the number of night's sleep she lost over the years and the number of tests she failed because she'd been too tired the next day in class.

Gosh, Gemma thought, is that who I'll turn into in a few years' time? The thought terrified her, because more than anything else, Gemma wanted to settle down with the perfect man and have lots of perfect babies. What if she turned into her mother, though, putting her career as an actress first and partying hard into the night? She shook her head. She was never going to allow that to happen. It just wasn't her. She was more of your sit-at-home-with-a-good-book-and-a-cup-of-tea sort of girl. And then there was the knitting. Gemma really wasn't your typical young actress courting the press by spilling out of taxis wearing the latest fashions and schmoozing with her fellow celebrities at every red carpet event. Getting drunk in the newest bar or dancing at the trendiest nightclub wasn't her style. She'd rather get comfortable in the big old armchair she inherited from a maiden aunt and pick up her beloved basket of wool.

Beth had already sussed Gemma's little knitting quirk.

‘Oh, it's so wonderfully mumsy!' she said, making the word
mumsy
sound like the foulest of insults, whilst also insinuating that Gemma didn't have a sexy bone in her body. Everyone in rehearsal had turned to stare at Gemma and the ball of lilac wool she was clutching, and there had been a few sniggers, which had cut her to the quick, but Gemma needed her knitting. Not only was it her passion, but it also calmed her down. The click clack of the needles was mesmeric, and her work in progress took her mind off things when she wasn't needed on set. At least she didn't spend her spare time bitching about people behind their backs, she thought, remembering the vitriol that had spilled from Beth's mouth in between takes in the studio. That woman might have a face that could grace any magazine cover in the world, but her language was as foul as a cesspit.

Gemma closed her eyes. It was people like Beth that really made working in this industry difficult. For some reason, the world of acting seemed to attract some of the nastiest examples of humankind, and it pained Gemma that she had to spend hours of her life doing her best to dodge them.

‘You ready to rock?' a voice said, startling Gemma from her thoughts. She looked up to see Sophie enter the room. At least there was one ally on this film set, she thought, thanking her lucky stars that she'd bonded so quickly with Sophie. ‘Time we were out of here.'

Gemma nodded and got up off the bed, her script in her hand.

‘You don't need that, do you?' Sophie said lightheartedly.

‘Oh, you know,' Gemma said, ‘it's just in case. I like to have it with me.' She turned around and grabbed her oversized bag, her knitting needles poking out of the opening.

‘Are they yours?' Sophie asked in bemusement.

Gemma nodded.

‘I didn't know Anne Elliot knitted. Can I see?'

‘It's just a little something. It's not really fin—'

Sophie had already pulled it out of her bag and was inspecting it. ‘Oh, it's adorable!' she said, holding up a little baby jacket in pearly pink wool.

‘My sister-in-law's just had a little girl—Harriet.'

‘This is gorgeous,' Sophie said. ‘Really gorgeous. Could you make one in a size ten for me?'

Gemma grinned, delighted at the praise.

Sophie returned the little jacket to her. ‘Into the fray,' she said, and as they closed the bedroom door behind them, Gemma wished, with all her heart, that she could stay on the other side of that door with her knitting needles.

***

Kay watched as everybody congregated in the hallway. She'd never heard a small group of people make so much noise.

‘We've just had the latest weather report,' Teresa announced, ‘and we might be able to get a couple of shots in on the Cobb before the heavens open. Anyway, into makeup and costume first, and we'll take things from there.'

Les opened the door, and everybody spilled out into the early morning.

‘'Bye, Kay,' Sophie said.

Kay beamed her a smile. It was nice of at least one of them to remember her. Oli then turned around and winked at her. Kay's mouth dropped open but then clamped shut again, as Teresa glared at him and pushed him out the door. Kay turned away in embarrassment. She should be getting on with tidying up, not standing in the hallway flirting with film stars.

Flirting! He
had
been flirting with her, hadn't he? Teresa had said they'd all be wanting an evening meal that night and Kay had quite enough on her plate, preparing to fill theirs, without the distraction of flirting.

As the door finally closed, silence filled Wentworth House. It was funny. They'd only been there one night, but the bed and breakfast felt strangely empty once they left. Kay looked at the enormous pile of dirty bowls, plates, and cups, knowing she had plenty to get on with, but she had a better idea. Flinging her tea towel over a chair, she took the stairs two at a time, rushing into her bedroom and staring out the window. Her guests had reached the Cobb where several vans were already in position. It was too early yet for tourists to get in the way, but Kay could see that the area had been roped off.

She looked around her bedroom. Now, where had she put them? She hunted through her wardrobe and the drawers of her bedside table. They were there somewhere; she was quite sure of it. Ah, there they were! Tucked away at the back of the second drawer, behind a notebook featuring the face of Mr Darcy, was a pair of miniature binoculars. Kay pulled them out, grabbed a drawing pad and pencil, and ran downstairs, pulling on a pair of boots and heading along Marine Parade in the direction of the Cobb. She didn't want to make a nuisance of herself, so she found a quiet stretch of wall along the beach and sat down.

‘That's better,' she said to herself as she brought the binoculars into focus and settled on the little crowd of people who had joined her guests on the Cobb. There was a lot of pointing going on, and everyone looked out to sea, where a heap of bruised clouds was looming over the horizon. Teresa nodded, and Les looked as miserable as ever. And Oli was looking handsome. He had a great profile, just the sort of profile a heroine would sketch as a silhouette. Kay smiled. What a great idea that would be! She could get him sitting for her one evening and make one of those fabulous Austenesque silhouettes, just like the one Marianne made of Willoughby in the film adaptation of
Sense
and
Sensibility
.

In the meantime, the artist in her got the better of her, and she opened her pad and began sketching. That beautiful slope of his forehead, that perfect nose and strong jaw, the sensual curve of his smile, and the buttery floppiness of that hair. Kay quickly sketched, her eyes focussing through the binoculars and then down on her pad, capturing the magic of the man as quickly as she could. She was just putting the finishing touches to it when she looked through the binoculars again. Oli had turned around, and he was waving. Kay moved the binoculars to the right, trying to see at whom he was waving, and something odd happened. Oli pointed towards her, a big grin on his face.

Kay gasped. He was waving at her. She bit her lip and quickly got up to leave, but it was too late. She'd been well and truly rumbled. She closed her eyes for a moment and allowed herself a good old cringe. What on earth would Oli think of her now? He'd think she was some ogling starstruck fan. It was awful! She'd just have to try to explain what she was doing.

You
were
ogling
him
, a little voice inside her said as she quickly headed back home.

‘No, I wasn't. I was sketching him as part of my work. He is playing Captain Wentworth, after all.'

You
were
ogling
him! You know you were!

Kay groaned. She had better things to do than stand around arguing with herself. There was the dishwasher to load, for a start. She was piling in the dishes and thanking her lucky stars that she had the foresight to buy one, when there was a knock at the door. For a moment, her heart raced. Maybe it was Oli. He'd raced back to the B&B after seeing her ogling him—
watching
him. It had suddenly dawned on him that she was the girl for him. How hadn't he seen it sooner? He should have realised it when she was serving him breakfast. Oh, all the time they'd wasted!

Kay opened the door. It was a man, all right, but it wasn't Oli.

‘Hello,' he said.

‘Hello,' Kay said, her heartbeat returning to something approaching normality again.

‘I'm Adam. Adam Craig.'

‘I'm afraid we're full at the moment. If you're looking for a room,' Kay said.

‘Oh, I'm not,' he said. ‘I'm looking for Teresa. I believe she's staying here.'

‘She's down at the Cobb,' Kay said. ‘They left about ten minutes ago. You can't miss them—they've practically taken over the whole of that part of town.'

Adam turned to look in the direction of the Cobb. ‘Ah, yes. I should have thought to go there first.'

‘You're with the film people?' Kay asked.

He nodded. ‘I'm the screenwriter and producer.'

‘Oh,' Kay said.

‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘Nobody ever knows what a producer does, and nobody ever cares what a writer does.'

‘I didn't mean—'

‘It's okay.'

‘Would you like to come in?' Kay asked, not quite sure what she was going to do with a screenwriter/producer but feeling it was the polite thing to ask.

‘This place was empty for a while, wasn't it?' Adam stepped inside and looked around. ‘It's good to see you're breathing new life into it,' he said with a smile.

‘I've just had all the bedrooms redecorated and the dining room. The rest will have to wait, I'm afraid,' she said, leading him into the living room.

‘Ah, yes. I see what you mean.'

Kay nodded as Adam took in the nicotine-coloured wallpaper and swirly patterned carpet.

‘An acquired taste, perhaps,' Kay said. ‘And one I have no intention of acquiring. Oh,' she suddenly added, ‘I'm Kay.'

Adam smiled and stretched out a hand to shake hers. His sight caught the book she'd left open over the arm of a chair.

‘You're reading
Persuasion
?' he asked.

‘It's one of the reasons I'm here in Lyme. I was reading it when Teresa arrived and told me she was filming it right here in Lyme.' Something occurred to Kay. ‘You must be staying somewhere else.'

‘In a way. I've got a little place a few miles away.'

‘Oh, you're local?'

‘Born and bred,' he said. ‘I've got a few acres of land in the Marshwood Vale.'

‘What do you use the land for?' Kay asked.

‘To walk on, mostly,' he said with a smile. ‘Although I've been thinking of getting a horse. What do you think?'