Fame (30 page)

‘Personally, I don’t see what the big deal’s about with Jago Crewe,’ he complained to the odious Jamie Duggan, who played Edgar Linton, Sabrina’s on-set husband. Normally, Viorel wouldn’t have stooped to chat with Jamie, who was a crashing bore, but he was fast running out of friends on set. Sabrina and Tish were both still barely speaking to him, and he avoided Dorian’s company for obvious reasons.

‘I agree,’ said Jamie Duggan, tongue in cheek. ‘A rich, landed aristocrat who looks like a Calvin Klein model … they’re ten a penny, aren’t they?’

‘That’s what I told Debbie,’ chipped in Rhys Evans. ‘“It’s a Welshman you want,” I says to her. “Size isn’t everything, you know.” But does she listen?’

Vio frowned. ‘He isn’t that attractive.’

‘Oh, come
on
.’ Rhys nudged him in the ribs. He liked Vio, but he found his vanity hilarious. ‘He’s not exactly Quasimido, is he? Anyway, look on the bright side. Lizzie Bayer’s so smitten with Lord Jago she’s finally stopped boring everybody’s tits off about her bloody career.’

‘That’s true,’ Vio smiled thinly. Any relief he felt that Jago had captured Lizzie’s vacuous attentions was more than counterbalanced by the effect he seemed to be having on Sabrina.

The morning after Jago arrived, he strode onto the set in the middle of a take and, completely ignoring everybody else, including Viorel and a furiously gesticulating Dorian, introduced himself to Sabrina.

‘I loved
Destroyers
,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it. Sabrina was so taken aback, she actually blushed.

‘Thank you.’

‘You were so beautiful on screen, I didn’t think it was possible you could be any lovelier in the flesh. But here you are. Jago Crewe.’ He released her hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Miss Leon.’

‘Likewise,’ said Sabrina, smiling broadly, ignoring the death stares from everybody else on set. ‘And please, call me Sabrina.’

‘Er, excuse me!’ shouted Dorian irritably through his loud-hailer. ‘We’re in the middle of a scene here.’

Jago ignored him. ‘I understand you’ve been here for some weeks already, Sabrina. But if you were interested, I’d adore to give you a full tour of Loxley and her grounds.’

‘I’d love that,’ said Sabrina.

‘Great.’ Jago’s face lit up. ‘I need to reconnect with the place myself. I’ve been doing a lot of inner work recently, you know, following the call of the Spirit? But hopefully, I can bring a more centred energy now that I’m back.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Sabrina, trying to keep her focus on Jago’s chiselled bone structure and not the unadulterated drivel coming out of his sensuous, full-lipped mouth.

It was all getting too much for Vio. ‘For God’s sake,’ he snapped. ‘Can we get on with the fucking take?’

Delighted to have finally made him jealous, Sabrina deliberately reoffered Jago her hand for another lingering kiss.

‘Till next time,’ Jago murmured flirtatiously.

Sabrina was elated.
Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Viorel Hudson. Looks like you’re no longer the only show in town.

As the days passed, Sabrina’s flirtation with Jago intensified. Apart from being a diverting way to pass the long, boring hours at Loxley, it had the added advantage of irritating both Viorel and Tish, who was annoying Sabrina at the moment more than ever. Her cliquey little friendship with Viorel now appeared to be well and truly over, thank heavens. But Tish’s bossy, head-girl wholesomeness continued to rub Sabrina up the wrong way. She got particularly irritated by the way that Dorian continually leaped to Tish’s defence.

‘Give her a break,’ he’d say, whenever Sabrina made some cutting remark or joke at Tish’s expense. ‘She’s a nice girl, and a great mom. At least she’s trying to make a difference.’

‘So am I,’ said Sabrina indignantly. ‘You don’t have to open a frikking Romanian orphanage to do good in this world, you know. I’m making
art
.’

She tried not to be put out by Dorian’s hearty guffaw.

Since Manchester, Sabrina had grown closer to Dorian. The kiss was never mentioned and never would be. But the communication barrier between them finally seemed to have been broken. If only Tish Crewe weren’t always around him like a bad smell, laughing and joking and talking about things that made Sabrina feel excluded, like politics and Romania and literature, intellectual things, Sabrina and Dorian might have really connected. As it was, Sabrina felt yet again as though she were playing second fiddle.

Tish acts like she owns him
, she thought bitterly.
Like she’s the only one who gets him. She’s not even in the movie business. What does she know about his life?
It bothered Sabrina hugely that Dorian seemed so impressed by Tish, in awe of her even, because it played on her own deep insecurities and feelings of inadequacy. Around Tish Crewe, Sabrina felt like the little girl from Fresno again. She hated it. But Jago’s arrival was a gift. Correctly surmising that by flirting with Jago she could strike back at Tish where it hurt, Sabrina wasted no time returning Jago’s interest.

You try and take over my world, honey, and I’ll try and take over yours. See how you like it.

Not that flirting with Jago Crewe was too difficult a sacrifice. True, he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Sabrina heard enough of all that New Age, spiritualist bullshit in California, but somehow it seemed even more vacuous delivered in a posh British accent. And true, he lacked sex appeal. Despite his undeniable good looks, there was something deeply vanilla about Jago. Like Viorel, he was vain, but Jago’s vanity had none of the sharp, predatory edge of Vio’s. However, one shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, particularly after so many months in a parched sexual wasteland. Jago was handsome, rich and quite openly smitten with Sabrina. In the wake of Viorel’s rejection, his lust alone was enough to draw Sabrina to him like a junkie to a needle.

Five days after Jago’s return, he invited all the actors out to dinner at the new French restaurant in Castleton, Fait Maison.

‘I see you’ve got over your moral objections to capitalist film-makers, then.’ Tish looked up from behind a giant stack of filing on Henry’s desk. Even now, with her return to Romania imminent, there was a lot to be done.

‘You invited them, so they’re here now. It’d be churlish not to behave graciously,’ said Jago sanctimoniously. ‘Besides, poor Sabrina’s been cooped up at Loxley like a chicken for the last God-knows-how-many weeks. Rasmirez sounds like a total bastard, locking her up like Lord Capulet or something. I can’t think why she puts up with it.’

Dorian had flown out to LA that morning on a suddenly scheduled three-day trip. The rumour on set was that he was in Hollywood doing some early scouting around for a distribution deal. But, as always with Dorian, information was thin on the ground.

‘Dorian’s lovely,’ said Tish loyally. ‘Trust me, “poor” Sabrina would try anybody’s patience. Anyway, I thought you and I were going to sit down tonight and go over the finances?’

Jago sighed dramatically.

‘You’ve been putting it off ever since you got home,’ said Tish, ‘but we have to talk. It’s not my idea of fun either, you know.’

‘Fine,’ said Jago with a shrug. ‘Come to the dinner. You can show me your precious pie charts while we eat.’

Now it was Tish’s turn to sigh. Dorian and Rhys were both away, reducing the prospects for a jolly evening to nil. Jamie Duggan and Lizzie Bayer, temporarily reunited since Jago had fixed his sexual attentions so firmly on Sabrina, would have eyes only for each other. Which meant that Tish would be left making small talk with Viorel while her brother drooled over Sabrina like a starving puppy.

On the other hand, she had to pin Jago down about Loxley. She hoped to convince him to hire a full-time financial manager after she’d gone. Soon she’d be back in Romania, and the thought of all her hard work going to waste – of Jago letting the estate slip back into the abyss – was enough to bring her out in hives. A least at a restaurant, he’d be trapped. She could force him to look at the numbers.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there. But I’m bringing the files with me. And you
must
look at them.’

‘Give it a rest,’ grumbled Jago. ‘I said I would, didn’t I?’

Tucked into what had once been a medieval millworker’s cottage, Fait Maison was a cosy, candlelit gem of a restaurant, but very much designed for romantic dinners for two. The ‘table for six’ to which the owner proudly led Jago was tucked under the eaves and looked as if it had been made by elves.

‘We’re six people,’ said Viorel. ‘Not six eggs. There’s barely room to breathe, never mind eat.’ Happily, while he was still remonstrating with the owner, Jamie Duggan texted Sabrina to say that he and Lizzie had decided to stay at home and ‘rest up’ before shooting tomorrow.

‘There, you see?’ said Jago brightly. ‘It’s yin and yang, man. Everything balances out in the end. Now let’s stop with all the negativity and have a beautiful evening, shall we?’

The quaint elfin table had benches on either side rather than chairs, upholstered in the same cheerful red gingham as the tablecloth. Viorel squeezed his six-foot-plus frame into one of the benches, narrowly missing whacking his head on a low beam as he sat down. Tish quickly made a beeline for the opposite bench, sitting as far away from him as possible, but she was still so close she could have held his hand across the table. She didn’t understand why part of her still wanted to. To her right, Jago was pressed against her like a giant sardine in a tin.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked Sabrina. ‘Not too squashed?’

‘I’m fine, thank you. Very comfortable.’

Perched opposite Jago on the end of the bench, next to Viorel, Sabrina was so slim and tiny she had somehow contrived to surround herself with space.
She and Vio look like two magnets repelling each other
, thought Tish. Vio was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt and hadn’t bothered to shave, but Sabrina had clearly made an effort in a white lace Marc Jacobs sundress and a pair of delicate Louboutin sandals in palest coral pink. Unusually for her, her long hair was tied up in a ponytail and she wore a simple single-pearl pendant at her neck, enhancing the youthful innocence. Even Tish had to admit she looked stunning.

Viorel, on the other hand, looked tired and irritable, and as if he wanted to be there even less than Tish did, if that were possible. His arms were folded defensively, and his face set into a petulant scowl as he glared at the menu.

As Jago and Sabrina chattered away, focusing wholly on each other, the silence on Tish and Vio’s end of the table was becoming oppressive.

‘The food’s supposed to be good here,’ said Tish, forcing herself to at least be polite.

‘I hate French cuisine,’ said Viorel.

Oh, fuck you
, thought Tish. Out loud she said, ‘That’s a bit sweeping, isn’t it?’

‘No.’ Viorel looked sullenly up from his menu. ‘It’s fussy and pretentious. It’s up its own arse. I hate all that classist, snobby crap. It’s one of the many reasons I prefer America to Europe.’

‘Really?’ said Tish. Clearly, they were no longer talking about the food. ‘Well, of course I can imagine that snobbery must feel totally alien to you, coming as you do from such a simple background.’

Viorel’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The son of a minister, Eton, Cambridge, Hollywood …’ mused Tish. ‘I’m not surprised you’re overwhelmed by the pretensions of Castleton.’

Viorel looked furious. That was definitely fifteen-love to Tish.

‘Should I ask Henri to make you up a plate of egg and chips? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.’

‘Don’t be childish,’ snapped Viorel. ‘Must you make an argument out of everything?’

Tish was too gobsmacked by the hypocrisy of this to say anything at all. Silence resumed until the first course arrived, a giant pot of moules marinières to share between the table. Viorel picked at his helping, but managed to sink two large glasses of wine. Meanwhile, Jago made a token effort to include him in conversation, asking him some dull questions about playing Heathcliff and whether he was looking forward to the last leg of filming in Romania.

‘I know you’re itching to get back there, aren’t you, Tishy? My sister’s an honorary Romanian,’ he stage-whispered to Sabrina. ‘Can’t get enough of the place.’

‘I’m not there because I like it,’ said Tish, more defensively than she’d intended. ‘I’m there because I’m needed.’

Vio, whose head was becoming distinctly fuzzy, thought back to the countless interviews his cold and distant mother had given to the
Daily Mail
when he was a boy, about how Europe’s orphan children ‘needed’ her. Never mind that her
own
child needed her. He looked at Tish with renewed bitterness.

‘Of course. Where would all the poor abandoned kids be without you? Saint Letitia of Loxley.’

Sabrina and Jago both sniggered. Tish gripped her fork more tightly. God, she hated him.

‘Well,
I’m
not looking forward to going to Romania, that’s for sure,’ said Sabrina. ‘The only reason we’re doing the interior shots there is to save Dorian money. There’ll be nothing to do.’

‘There’s nothing to do here,’ mumbled Viorel. ‘But I agree, Romania’s a drag. The sooner we get back to LA, the better as far as I’m concerned.’

‘I hear Rasmirez’s wife is a bit of a cow,’ said Jago, trying to lighten the mood.

‘That’s an understatement,’ said Sabrina. ‘She was here for a week before you showed up and I swear we all wanted to top ourselves. She’s got a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp. God knows how Dorian can sleep with her. It must be like sticking your dick in sandpaper.’

Despite himself, Vio laughed. He instantly regretted it.

‘I’m surprised you find that funny.’ Tish’s voice was like ice. ‘I got the
distinct
impression you and Chrissie rather liked each other when I came home last Monday.’

Sabrina’s ears pricked up. You could have cut the tension round the table with a knife. She looked at Vio accusingly. ‘What’s she talking about? I thought you hated Chrissie.’