Dreaming of Mr. Darcy (11 page)

Adam would never forget the evening for as long as he lived. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought that Kay would have liked him enough to invite him to dinner? She had only been interested in matchmaking him. That was all that he was good for—to play some role that she defined for him. She wasn't interested in him—she was interested in what she could do with him. He was her toy, her pawn, her plaything. That was all.

It was the story of his life. He had a long history of being either overlooked or used by women who were on their way to something better. He was also very good at getting stuck in the role of the best friend or advisor.

‘You're too nice,' Nana Craig once told him. ‘Girls don't like the nice guys.'

It had sounded perverse to him. ‘What, they want me to break their hearts?'

Nana Craig nodded with a big smile on her face.

Adam would never understand women. Just look at the Jane Austen novels and their fixation with the snobbish, insulting Mr Darcy. Okay, so he comes good in the end—big deal! Who really wants to hang around on the off chance that you've misunderstood somebody? If Adam were a woman, he'd have gone for someone like Mr Bingley—nice and uncomplicated. What you saw was what you got. No messing around.

As he drove home through the darkened Marshwood Vale, he thought about the bizarre evening. The situation was awful, and it wasn't exactly going to further his relationship with Kay, was it?

He thought back to the gorgeous tiramisu Kay brought in, her eyes flashing from him to Gemma, and he could only imagine what she was thinking.

‘Having a nice evening?' she said.

‘Lovely!' Gemma gushed.

Adam cringed.

‘I thought it would be,' Kay said. ‘I mean, I guess film sets can be busy places, and it must be difficult to really get to know people—people you care about.'

Adam's left fist balled up under the table. How on earth was he going to sort out this terrible muddle?

***

Kay lay in bed that night with a smile of satisfaction on her face at a job well done. She had a natural talent for this matchmaking lark, didn't she? She'd been a bit nervous at first at the thought that Gemma might not turn up or that the whole cast and crew would come traipsing in with her, but it all went according to plan. If only she could shake from her mind the memory of Adam and the red rose. But it was no good. A niggling little voice kept whispering,
He
bought
it
for
you
.
That
red
rose
was
for
you—not Gemma
. But a red rose could mean anything, couldn't it? Adam was nothing more than a gentleman, and a true gentleman bought flowers when invited to dinner, and maybe he just happened to like red roses. Or maybe the florist didn't have anything else. There could be any number of explanations.

Kay shook her head while she did her best to deny it, but Adam had turned up expecting to have dinner with her. She had invited him. She had said nothing about any third party.

‘But I did it for him,' she whispered into the stillness of her bedroom.
He
might
not
know
it
yet, but Gemma's so right for him
, she thought.
He's not interested in me, and if he is, he'll soon see how silly that is.

She thought of the two of them sitting in her dining room together. They looked so cute. The candlelight made Gemma's skin glow, and Adam's eyes looked soft and adoring. And they'd chattered away like old friends. She was proud of herself.

The proof had been there too, when Adam had got up to leave. Gemma escorted him to the door, and as tempting as it was to make her presence known, Kay left them to it, hiding behind the kitchen door, where she could glimpse a thin sliver of them as they said their good-byes.

‘It's been really lovely,' Gemma said.

‘Yes,' Adam replied. ‘I had a great evening.'

Kay scrunched up her apron in excited hands as she listened. Would it happen? Would there be a good-night kiss? She pushed her nose closer to the crack in the door and almost gave her presence away by the gasp that left her when Adam inclined his head towards Gemma and kissed her. Okay, so it was on the cheek, but it was a move in the right direction. Lips followed cheeks, didn't they?

Gemma had knocked tentatively on the kitchen door, and Kay grabbed a pot and a tea towel, to look as if she'd been preoccupied and hadn't had a moment to hang around in gooseberry mode.

‘Thank you so much,' Gemma said.

Kay turned around and feigned a look of surprise. ‘Did you have a nice evening?'

‘It was lovely.'

‘My pleasure,' Kay said. ‘You got on all right?' She tried to make the question sound casual as she picked up a glass and dried it.

Gemma nodded.

‘He's a very special person, isn't he?' Kay said and was answered with a look of the tenderest affection, and she knew that all her instincts had been right.

***

One of the things Kay hadn't thought about when she decided to open a bed and breakfast was how very early in the morning she would have to get up—especially when she had a film crew staying. The office job she held for years had been a short walk away from her home, and she never had to get up early. The early morning views out over the harbour and sea were worth it, though. The Cobb wall was in morning shadow, and the gulls hovered around the harbour, their white wings bright in the morning light.

As she stood yawning in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl before scrambling them, she smiled at the thought of Oli Wade Owen sitting in her dining room. When Kay had taken the coffee through, she noticed how dishevelled his blond hair looked and how heavy his eyelids were. He looked half asleep and didn't look a bit like a hero.

She stirred the eggs around the pan, the creamy yellowness making her smile.

‘Good morning!' a voice suddenly said from the doorway.

Kay jumped and spun around. It was Oli.

‘Hi,' she said. ‘You—erm—startled me.'

‘Just wondered how you were getting on.'

‘Me?'

He nodded. ‘Need a hand? I'm pretty good in the kitchen,' he said. ‘I can open a mean can.'

Kay grinned. ‘It's all under control,' she said, her scrambling spoon in her hand.

‘I was thinking about you last night,' Oli said.

Kay's mouth dropped open. ‘Really?'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Wondering about what you said—about the portrait.'

‘Oh! The portrait.'

‘I mean, I'm happy to sit for you—if you'd like that.'

‘I'd
love
that,' Kay said, perhaps with a little too much enthusiasm. ‘I mean, great.'

‘How's about tonight, then? I'll give the pub a miss; how's that?'

Kay smiled and nodded and stared into the blue eyes that were crinkling with merriment at the edges.

‘What's that smell?' he asked, his nose wrinkling.

‘Oh, no!' Kay screamed, turning around. She had left the heat on, and the scrambled eggs were a shrivelled, dry mass of black at the bottom of the pan.

‘I'd better leave you to it,' Oli said, holding his hands up as he sneaked out of the kitchen.

Kay turned the gas off and stared at the blackened contents, but she smiled. She was going to sketch Oli. He was going to sit for her. That meant he would be alone with her.

For absolutely ages.

***

‘It looks like another wet day,' Teresa said at the breakfast table, ‘although we should get a morning's sunshine first.'

Gemma poured herself another coffee to help her get through the day ahead.

‘The light should be right for the big Cobb scene, at least.'

Beth nodded. It was going to be her big day, and she was ready for it. She had been going on about it all morning. ‘If it weren't for Louisa Musgrove, the story of
Persuasion
just wouldn't exist,' she had told Gemma as they came downstairs together. ‘She really is the pivotal character in the whole plot and far more appealing than dreary Anne, who never has anything remotely interesting to say. No, I think Captain Wentworth should have stayed in Lyme and married Louisa. You know he wants to. She throws herself into everything with such—such—'

‘Lack of thought,' Gemma said quietly.

‘Pardon?'

‘Nothing.'

Beth sighed. ‘Louisa is the forgotten heroine of English literature,' she went on. ‘I'm really very surprised that she hasn't got more lines. I must have a word with that screenwriter person. What's his name?'

‘Adam.'

‘Right. I think he'll see sense when I explain things to him. I was thinking there should be a scene between Louisa and Wentworth when she's recovering in bed. It could be very romantic. I think it would work really well.'

Gemma hadn't bothered to reply. Whatever she said would have been ignored unless it fanned Beth's own opinion, but how ridiculous she was to think that she could rewrite Jane Austen to suit her selfish needs.

Beth clearly wasn't going to let the subject drop, though. At the breakfast table, Gemma watched as Beth whispered in Teresa's ear, and she couldn't stop a tiny smile from playing around her lips at Teresa's expression.

‘What?' the director said, almost choking on her coffee.

‘Don't you think that would make more sense?' Beth said, fluttering her eyelashes.

‘That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,' Teresa said, scraping her chair back and standing up. ‘If you're not happy with the role as it is—' Teresa continued threateningly.

‘Oh, I'm happy,' Beth said, knowing when she was defeated.

‘Good,' Teresa said. ‘Then I'll see everyone at the Cobb in twenty minutes.'

Once Teresa left the room, Beth tutted. ‘You have to wonder with some directors,' she said. ‘They really have no insight at all.'

It was time, Gemma thought, time for, perhaps, the most famous scene in
Persuasion
: the scene where Louisa Musgrove insists on being ‘jumped' from the steps on the Cobb into the arms of Captain Wentworth but flings herself from its heights before he is ready and lands on the hard ground beneath. Everyone knew it was a key scene to get right and that the fans would be watching very carefully. All the main actors were there, and Beth Jenkins knew that the scene was all about her and was prancing around like a prima donna.

‘This dress is too tight,' she complained. ‘How am I meant to launch myself into Oli's arms when I can barely breathe?'

The costume girl rushed forward and disappeared behind Beth.

‘And my hair?'

‘What's wrong with your hair?' the girl dared to ask.

‘I don't know—it feels uncomfortable. Fix it.'

The girl, when finished fiddling with Beth's dress, examined Beth's wig. ‘It's the same as it's always been,' the girl said.

‘Then it's always been on wrong. Do something!' Beth all but screamed. ‘I can't have wrong hair, can I?'

Gemma caught Oli's eye, and he winked at her before rolling his eyes at Beth's performance. Gemma smiled back. If only she had the courage to go up and speak to him, but what would she say? He didn't want to talk to her. No matter how tender and intimate the scenes they would share as Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth, the two weren't at all likely to make the same connection as Gemma and Oli.

If only it were as easy with Oli as it was with Adam, Gemma thought. Why did things never work out like that? Why did we always fall for the one who wouldn't even notice if we stopped breathing?

Deciding to make the most of her surroundings, Gemma walked a little along the Cobb as everybody fussed around Beth. Lyme Regis really was a pretty town, and it was easy to see why it had been attracting tourists since Jane Austen's time. Its harbour was full of colourful boats; its rows of bay-fronted cottages and candy-coloured beach huts looked jolly and welcoming, even in the most unpromising of weather, and she loved the wooded cliff that rose up behind the town. She wished she could pack a rucksack and lose herself in the famous Undercliff.

One of the curses of filming was that you never had much time to see anything—not if you were in most of the scenes, as Gemma was. There was usually a lot of hanging around, but never quite enough time to go off and see something interesting. That's why Gemma always had her knitting nearby. She hated wasting time, and her knitting projects filled it beautifully.

Gemma stopped walking and looked out at a stretch of grey blue sea towards the hills that lined the coast. Somebody had told her the name of the big one—Golden Cap—and it was pyramidal in shape. The rest of the cliffs undulated along the coast like sleeping dinosaurs, making Gemma remember that it was known as the Jurassic Coast. She would have loved to walk along them with the sea-tossed wind in her hair and no thoughts about scripts and lines, but she wasn't being paid to take off into the hills, was she? What would her mother say if she knew how often her daughter thought about running away? She was lucky to get this role—she'd worked damned hard to get it, so why wasn't she happy now she was here? Why did she keep thinking about abandoning it all? Many of her friends from drama school would kill to get this role, yet it seemed only to fill her with dread.

‘I'm in the wrong job,' she said to herself. It wasn't the first time she thought it, but it seemed to be dawning on her only now. Here she was, the lead character in an adaptation of a book she adored, starring opposite a man on whom she'd had a crush for years, and she still wasn't happy.

She leaned up against the cold Cobb wall and gazed out to sea. Her whole life had been invested in acting, from the age of three, when her mother took her to that audition for the soap commercial. She hadn't got it; she'd cried through the whole audition process. Maybe she should have taken that behavior as an omen, but her mother hadn't given up. There was a whole string of auditions after that, and Gemma had—at the age of six—been chosen as the face of Sparks Knighton, an upmarket version of Mothercare. She was photographed in denim, gingham, cords, and florals, and her image had been blown up larger than life and placed in stores and magazines and on the sides of buses. Her mother was proud, but Gemma had been mortified. People pointed at her, and she didn't like being pointed at. What on earth had propelled her towards acting? Her mother had encouraged her, of course, and she must have inherited some of her mother's acting genes, because she was accepted into drama school without any fuss at all and had done well, too. Always, however, there had been a niggling feeling that it wasn't quite right for her. She knew that stage fright and first-night nerves were the norm—they were what drove a performance and gave an actor that edge—but Gemma felt it all the time, even in the tiniest of groups, when she had nothing more to do than walk through a scene and say a couple of lines.

She asked her mother about it once.

Her mother shook her head. ‘You've just got to get on with it,' she said. ‘What else are you going to do?'

That was the crux of it. What else was there for Gemma to do? Acting was the only thing she ever knew, and it seemed too late to change things now.

She started walking back before Teresa sent a search party out for her, and when she neared the cast and crew again, she heard Beth's voice ringing out across the harbour.

‘It's still itching me!' she cried. ‘Honestly, what do you make these wigs out of, steel wool?'

Gemma rolled her eyes.

‘She's a case, is that one,' a male voice suddenly said.

Gemma turned to come face to face with a man with smiling eyes and thick dark hair. It was the same man who had been eyeing up her bosom the other day.

‘That Beth,' he said, nodding towards her.

‘Oh, yes,' Gemma said.

‘There's always one,' he said. ‘In my experience.'

‘One what?'

‘Case. On every film set, you can guarantee you'll always get one head case.'

Gemma grinned and then wondered if she should. Surely there should be some sort of solidarity among actresses, but she didn't feel any kinship with Beth and couldn't help agreeing with the man. ‘I think she just likes all the attention,' Gemma said.

‘Like most actresses?' the man asked. It was a question, but his eyes glittered as if it might be a naughty statement.

‘We're not all the same, you know.'

‘I hope not,' he said. ‘You're a quiet one, aren't you?'

Gemma's eyes narrowed, not sure how to respond to such a question.

‘I mean, I've seen a lot of quiet actors too. They're perfect to work with. They come on set, do their bit—no fuss, no grief.'

‘I hope I'm not the sort to cause grief,' Gemma said sincerely.

The man shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. Just the opposite, I'd say.'

She smiled at him and then wondered who on earth he was.

‘Oh,' he said, as if realising himself, ‘I'm Rob.'

‘Gemma,' she said.

‘I know.' He gave a little smile. ‘We keep missing each other, don't we?'

‘Do we?'

He nodded. ‘Our timing never seems quite right. I've been trying to speak to you.'

‘You have?' She remembered the times their eyes had met across the bar and their brief encounter by the Cobb wall the other day.

‘Yes. Did you know this is our second film together?'

‘Really? You were on
Into
the
Night
?'

‘Yep.'

‘I didn't know. I'm sorry.'

‘That's okay,' he said. ‘I tend to blend into the background.'

‘What is it you do?'

‘I help take care of the lights. You could say that—wherever I go—I light the place up.'

Gemma smiled, and as his eyes crinkled in merriment, she thought it was exactly what he did.

***

As Adam parked his car, he thought of what Nana Craig had told him before he left. He got up early to get her shopping done before heading into Lyme for the filming, dropping it off at her cottage. Like most retired people, Nana Craig was up at first light, even though she had nothing to get up for. When Adam arrived, she was out tending her garden, bending over her pots and plants in a manner that alarmed him.

‘Should you be doing that, Nana?' Adam asked as he walked up the little path.

‘I don't like the look of those black spots,' Nana Craig said. ‘Look!'

Adam bent to look. ‘What is it?'

‘I don't know, but it looks like trouble to me. I'll have to pull them up.'

‘You'll do no such thing,' he said. ‘Leave them for me. I've told you before to leave the gardening to me.'

Nana Craig tutted in annoyance. ‘If you stop me gardening, you might as well shoot me where I stand.'

‘Come on and get this shopping inside before the ice cream melts down my leg,' Adam said, not wanting to get into the whole gardening argument so early in the morning.

‘Raspberry ripple?' she asked as they walked into the kitchen.

‘No. Er, mint and chocolate.'

His nana pulled a face.

‘Of course raspberry ripple!'

Her smile returned. ‘Time for some now?'

‘It's not even nine o'clock!'

‘Oh, yes,' Nana Craig said.

‘Anyway, I've got to get to Lyme for today's shoot. They're trying for the Cobb scene today. Do you want to come along?'

Nana Craig shook her head. ‘Not for me, dear. Lyme's always so busy these days. Besides, I wouldn't want to get in the way.'

‘You won't get in the way,' Adam said.

‘But you'll be with that nice girl.'

Adam frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

Nana Craig flapped her hands. ‘You know—that nice girl who was here.'

‘Kay? She might be on the set.'

‘So you should be talking to her, not looking after your old nana.'

Adam shook his head. ‘She's not got eyes for me, I'm afraid. If she's on the set, there's only one person she'll be interested in.'

‘Then it's your job to make her interested in you, isn't it?' Nana Craig said.

Adam helped put the shopping away, packing the raspberry ripple ice cream into the tiny freezer and placing all the jars in the cupboards, loosening all the lids first, so his nana wouldn't struggle with them when he wasn't around. ‘And how am I going to do that?' Adam asked, leaping back as a bright red wave of beetroot juice flooded over a jar lid.

Nana Craig shoved her hands in the pockets of her primrose and violet cardigan. ‘Do you like her?'

‘Of course I like her.'

‘How much?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘How much do you like her?'

‘A lot,' Adam said. ‘I like her a lot.'

‘Well, then. You'll find a way. Men usually do, although you sometimes take your time about things, I have to say. Only don't take so long about it that somebody gets there before you do.'

Adam's eyes widened in surprise at her words.

‘I'm just saying,' Nana Craig said.

As he parked his car in Lyme, he thought of his nana's words of warning. She was right—he knew she was right—but what could he do, when he knew that Kay was besotted with Oli? Not only that, but Kay had it in her mind that he fancied Gemma. Honestly, you couldn't invent such a muddle, could you?

Walking towards the Cobb, he saw the crowd of cast and crew and a gathering of onlookers too. Word soon got around when Oli Wade Owen was in town, Adam thought as he pushed his way through a group of girls who were all squealing, holding up their mobiles to take photos.

He saw her. She was standing up against the Cobb, her long toffee-coloured hair streaming behind her in the wind, a big smile on her face as she watched the actors coming and going.

‘Don't take so long about it that somebody gets there before you do.'

The words of Nana Craig echoed in his head, and taking a deep breath, he walked up to Kay.

‘Hello,' he said.

She turned to face him. ‘Hi!' Her eyes darted away from him in an instant, and Adam didn't need to follow her gaze to know where she was looking.

‘Gosh, this is exciting,' she said, her eyes bright. ‘I can't believe this is happening. I mean, this is one of my favourite scenes.'

Adam looked at her. She was shivering. ‘You're cold,' he said, noticing that she was wearing a thin dress with insubstantial sleeves.

‘I'm okay. I didn't realise how chilly it was. There's a bit of a breeze about, isn't there?'

Without thinking, Adam took off his jacket. ‘Here,' he said.

Kay turned to look at him. ‘Oh,' she said, her face full of surprise. ‘I didn't think men still did that.'

‘I do.' He held her gaze with his own for a wondrous moment.

‘Thank you.' She shoved her arms quickly into his jacket and then returned her gaze to Oli.

How
am
I
doing, Nana?
Adam sighed to himself.