The Final Act (#4 Bestselling Spotlight Series) (3 page)

BOOK: The Final Act (#4 Bestselling Spotlight Series)
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Chapter 4

 

James refuses to let me walk alone to the pub. It’s only a half mile, down a quiet country lane, but he won’t hear of it.

“It’s getting dark, Isabella,” he says, his voice stern. “Do not think for a moment I’ll have you walking alone.”

I open my mouth to disagree, but the look on his face makes me shut it again.

Maybe it’s better to let Mr Old-Fashioned take the lead.
This time.

I come to regr
et my decision, however, when James insists on a suited driver to ferry me the tiny distance to the local pub.

On the small lane, the shiny BMW stands out a mile off.
And as we arrive, I can see the pub itself is a typical country venue. It’s tiny, crookedly built with black half-timbered beams and rickety little windows. The swinging sign announces the name to be the Fox and Hounds and is painted with a pack of dogs chasing a frightened fox.

Uggh. I hate fox hunting.

I find myself wondering if James’s family indulges in the sport. It’s not uncommon for landed aristocrats in England.

As the car slides to a halt, I realise I’m about make a more noticeable entrance than I’d like. There’s a bench outside the pub with two local men sat drinking and smoking. Their eyes widen as the shiny car stops.

As if my transport wasn’t showy enough, I haven’t had time to dress for the pub either, since my clothes are in storage. So, apart from a quick shower and change of underwear, I’m still wearing the fashionable pencil skirt and low cut blouse which my character Grace wears in the newsroom.

The
high speed shower has taken off some of my screen make-up. But I’ve still got enough mascara and foundation on my face to look as though I’m deliberately preened for a big night out.

I
t’s as much as I can do not to face-palm in embarrassment as one of the local pub goers wolf-whistles at my exit from the car.

To my relief
, I spot Callum inside through the window. So I stride quickly past the benches and push open the creaky wooden door.

Inside, the ceilings are so low I have to duck my head, and the summer heat has made the inside a little stuffy.
The small interior has a well-worn red carpet, a slew of mismatched dark wood tables and chairs, and the familiar beery smell which village pubs foster.

“Issy!” Callum waves me over. He
is ringed by a small cluster of drinkers who, doubtless, spotted the famous Mr Reed and came for an autograph.

Typical Callum, I think
, to make time to hang out with them. He is a star through and through. I wonder if I’ll ever be approached by fans, and how I’d handle it. I don’t think I’d enjoy being approached by strangers, the way Callum and Natalie seem to. I guess it’s something I might have to work on.

T
he rest of the cast and crew are arranged around various tables. And most are well on their way to being tipsy. I spot Kristy, the pink haired make-up girl, and Camilla, both giggling with half pints of beer.

Good. Less likely they’ll notice that I’ve been gone for two hours and not managed to change my clothes.

Now so many people know about James and I, it’s not so much a closely guarded secret. But I’d still die of embarrassment if they knew what I’d spent the last few hours doing.

Natalie is sat with David
, the props handler. She is surprisingly low-key, dressed in tight jeans and a loose sweater top. Admittedly, her hot pink ballet flats have ‘Guess’ emblazoned across them. But she’s obviously trying to blend in.

Callum is rosy-cheeked from the heat of the pub. But true to his
clean status, he is clutching a pint of water, rather than a beer.

I head towards them
, taking the chance to type out a quick message to James.

 

Don’t work too hard baby. Love you. Xx

 

I arrive at the little cluster of tables and distribute hugs. Camilla gives a squeak of excitement.

She looks
ethereal at the best of times. But Camilla is even more fairy-like tonight, with her blonde hair pinned to fall in tendrils over her pretty face and her long figure clad in a floaty white dress. She looks like a model from a Calvin Klein ad.

“I didn’t think you’d come!” she cries. Then her brain catches up with her words, and she claps her hand over her mouth. “I mean… I thought… Well you know.” She’s bright red now.

Poor Camilla. She shouldn’t have to keep James and I’s secret. It’s too hard for her to lie.

“Siddown,” says Natalie,
patting a chair. I fight to keep the surprise from my face.

Natalie. Friendly.
Huh?

I take the chair slowly, wondering what’s prompted this bout of bonhomie. Surely she hasn’t actually learned her lesson?

“You should give me your phone number,” says Natalie, leaning close. “I’ve taken everyone else’s.” She waves her phone airily, in coral-coloured fingernails. “It means we can make arrangements. You know. To socialise.”

To socialise? With Natalie. Wow.

This coming from the girl who spent all her time with her entourage and couldn’t even remember Camilla’s name.

I catch Camilla’s eye, and she shrugs. Her expression says:
I guess miracles are possible after all.

“Ok,” I reply, smiling.
“Sure.”

If Natalie has decided to be a reasonable human being, I want to encourage her in every way.
Natalie hands me her phone and I tap out the number. She takes it back, looking pleased.

“This is great,” she decides. “I’ve got everyone’s contact now. We can arrange things and prank each other. This will be fun.”

I stare at her. “Prank each other?” I’m one step away from snatching her phone back and deleting my number.

“Yeah,” beams Natalie. “We used to do it on movie
s when I was younger. It was great.” She catches my expression. “Not like,
bad
pranking,” she clarifies. “Just, you know, fun stuff. Bonding.”

Hmmm. I
guess we’ll see about that.

I sudden
ly realise that James hasn’t texted back from my earlier message. Strange. He usually replies instantly. Probably he’s immersed in some directorial work and isn’t checking his phone.

I send him another quick message, whilst no
one’s looking.

 

I guess from your silence that you ARE working too hard ;) love you. Xx

 

It’s so hard to stop thinking about him. He’s like a drug. Every moment I’m away, I just want more. Maybe this is what addicts feel like. If so, I can understand why it’s so hard to kick the habit. Living without Mr Berkley doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Hey Issy,” calls Callum from the next table. “These
local guys here know James. Knew him from a young boy. Want to hear some stories about our director?”

Do I ever.
I smile to myself. If only Callum knew just how much I wanted to know about James’s past.

The
local sat by Callum is in his fifties, and judging by his lean body and sun-spotted face, works as a farmer.


I saw little Lord Berkeley a few times when he was growing up,” says the farmer obligingly. “Very good-natured little soul he was. But quiet, with a sadness about him, even for a young boy.”

Callum raises his eyebrows at me, as if to suggest that not much has changed.

The farmer takes a long sip of his beer.

“It’s the other one that was bad news,” he added. “The
stepbrother. Ben.”

Ben Gracey.

“That one was like a dog on heat,” adds the man with a loud sniff. “Many a young woman with a broken heart and worse, over that one.”

I realise that Camilla has stiffened beside me. Her face is rigid, as though she’s trying not to cry.

Poor Camilla. She’s still not over Ben.

I feel a flash of helpless rage. Ben preyed on Camilla when she was young and vulnerable, imagining her to be wealthy. Then when he discovered she didn’t have money, he ditched her.

Now Lorna is caught up in his spell. And there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.

Ben is
such a scumbag.

“Tell us more about James,” I say, to change the subject. I realise suddenly that all eyes are on me. And that what I’ve said might be misconstrued.

“Are you the leading lady then?” asks the man. He leans forward on his chair, openly staring. I look away, disconcerted by his intent gaze.

Suddenly my phone rings, and I reach for it gratefully, glad of the distraction.

“Um, excuse me for a moment,” I say, scrabbling for it.

“We think Isabella will be a very big star,” I hear
Callum saying as I locate my phone and pull it out.

I expect to see James’s name on the display. But to my puzzlement, it’s a private number. From a dialling code I don’t recognise. I check the time.

Who would be calling me at 9pm in the evening from a private number?

I stand
to take the call, heading outside.

“Hello?” I
push open the door and step out into the warm night air as the call connects. Luckily, my earlier admirers have headed home, and it’s just me out here now.

“Isabella?
” The voice sounds faintly foreign.

“Yes?”

“It’s
Eliza.”

I take a moment to compute. “Lady Berkeley,”
she adds.

I feel a surge of unease. Why is Lady Berkeley calling me?

“Is everything alright?” I blurt.

“Oh. Yes
, yes,” she says quickly. “So sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Calling so late. But I wondered if you knew where James was? I can’t seem to find him, and I wanted to check which part of the grounds you’d all be leaving from tomorrow. We’ve just been told there’ll be some migrating birds arriving, and I wanted to make sure they’re not disturbed.”

“Oh.” I let out a breath, trying not to laugh in relief. Migrating birds. I guess that’s the kind of issues which arise on a country estate. “Um. Well
, he’ll be in his temporary studio,” I say. “In the west wing of the house.”

There’s a pause.

“No, I checked there already,” says Lady Berkley, sounding confused. “James is not in his studio.”

“He is,” I insist. “He told me he’d be working late in th
e studio.”

If he’s not there, why is he not answering my
texts?

Lady Berkeley hesitates again, and I can tell she’s trying to be tactful. “I checked every room,” she says. “Perhaps he’s working in some other part of the house.”

But we both know that’s impossible. On Berkeley Estate, James’s facilities are limited. If he was working on the movie, like he said, he could only be there.

“Oh, ok,” I say, and now we’re both playing along,
pretending that James hasn’t lied to me about where he was. “Well, I hope you find him.”

“Thank you
, dear,” says Lady Berkeley. “It’s not urgent. I’ll try and send him a text message. I never was very good at those things,” she adds.

This reminds me of my M
ami. And I smile, resolving to help Lady Berkeley master text messages, if I get the chance.

“I guess I’ll see you soon,” I say.

“Oh yes, I hope so dear. It’s a shame you all go so early tomorrow. We’ll have to have another meet up soon.”

I hang up,
feeling a wave of anger boil up. I knew James wasn’t telling me the truth earlier. I
knew
it. He didn’t want to come hang out with the cast with me there.

I am gripped with unreasonable paranoia. We got close, before, to talking about his past. Did we get too close? Does he want some distance?

The thought is inexplicably painful.

Steady Isabella. All men need time alone. Don’t take it personally.

He shouldn’t lie to me about where he is though. I need to talk to him about that.

I
f he needs alone time, that’s fine with me. But I don’t like being lied to.

Another ugly thought arises. Wh
at if he’s seeing another woman? Some ex-flame who lives nearby? We are in his old childhood home, after all. He must have socialised near here. Just like Ben did.

Stop it
, Issy. You’re being ridiculous.

I know I am being completely unreasonable. But a sudden sickening image of James with another woman rises up. The pain is so bad
, I shut my eyes. How would I cope if anything like that happened? I just couldn’t bear it.

I breathe out, forcing rational Issy to take the driver’s seat again. I love James. He loves me. And he’s entitled to some time by himself.

I do have a nagging fear though. What if something has happened? What if he was… injured somehow, or there’s been an accident? I know it’s unlikely. But it’s so out of character for James not to reply to my texts. And I would never forgive myself if he needed help and I ignored his silence.

BOOK: The Final Act (#4 Bestselling Spotlight Series)
8.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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