The Midnight Rose (30 page)

“Would you have any advice for me? Any ways I can improve as an actress?” Rebecca asked.

The old lady’s famous violet eyes turned to her. “Yes, darling, simply
live
. Gather experiences and know yourself. Understanding of the human psyche brings gravitas and emotional substance to a performance that technique can’t replicate. Act from your soul as much as your brain,” she said, clasping her hands to her considerable chest.

Part of Rebecca wanted to giggle, but she agreed solemnly. “Thank you, Marion. I’ll try to do exactly that.”

“How I wish I was you, just starting out, with a whole host of wonderful parts in front of me. However, I’m a far better actress these days than I ever was at your age. We must have dinner together one evening before the shoot ends. Now, I’ll take my leave,” she said, rising. “The sun is playing havoc with my makeup.”

Rebecca sat where she was, relishing the praise, the warmth of the day and her current headache-free state. James appeared and sat next to her in the chair Marion had vacated a few seconds earlier.

“Feeling better?” he asked. “You certainly look it.”

“Yes, I am, thank you.”

“Well enough to join me for dinner tonight? We could drive out to that great pub you told me about.”

“Why not?” Rebecca replied, feeling that perhaps she did need a break from the confines of Astbury Hall.

“Great, we’ll have to be there by eight, mind you. Everything closes so early out here in the hinterlands.”

“Spoken like a real city boy,” teased Rebecca.

“Yup, not really cut out for the country—more of a smoky-nightclub-at-two-a.m. sort of chap myself. But when in Rome . . .” With that, James strolled off.

•  •  •

“Where are you off to this evening?” asked Mrs. Trevathan as Rebecca let her into her room. “You’re all dressed up.”

“Not really, this is just a new shirt I bought on Saturday. I’m going out to the pub with one of the actors.”

“So, you’re not in for supper tonight?”

“No, not tonight.” Rebecca was tempted to add, “As long as I have your permission, that is,” but she held her tongue.

“Lord Astbury was hoping you’d join him. He wanted to speak to you about that story the Indian gentleman gave him and he’s invited him here again for dinner tomorrow night. You will be available then, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Please send my apologies and tell him I look forward to seeing him tomorrow.”

“Right then, I’ll see you later, dear. I’ll be waiting up until you’re safely home. His lordship always likes me to lock and bolt the house before I go to bed.”

“There’s no need, I don’t want to keep you up. Perhaps I could borrow a key just for tonight?”

“That really won’t be necessary,” Mrs. Trevathan said firmly.

“Okay,” Rebecca conceded. “I won’t be very late, I’m sure. By the way, I have a rather strange question to ask you. What part of the house is his lordship’s bedroom in?”

“In the west wing corridor, on the other side of the main staircase. Why do you ask?” Mrs. Trevathan looked both surprised and defensive at Rebecca’s question.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just thought I heard someone talking outside my door last night, but I was probably dreaming.”

“Yes, I’m sure that was the case. Have a nice evening, dear.”

As Rebecca walked across the drive toward James, who was waiting for her in Graham’s car, her mind was awhirl. If Anthony slept at the other end of the house, he couldn’t possibly have heard her cry out last night. So what had he been doing standing outside her bedroom door?

James jumped out to open the passenger-side door for her. “Darling, you look so—modern!” he joked.

They gossiped about the shoot on the drive to the Rugglestone Inn. On arrival, they were seated in a discreet corner.

James went to the bar and returned with a bottle of wine. He sat down and poured some into the glass in front of Rebecca.

“That’s enough!” she said when her glass was half-full. “After my terrible migraine, I don’t want to risk doing anything to bring it back.”

“Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Of course not. When I went to Hollywood I noticed all the
American actors seemed to be teetotalers. Whereas the British are a bunch of raging alcoholics. Cheers.” James clinked his glass against hers. “Here’s to celebrating one’s vices. So,” he continued with a smile, “how’s life at Astbury Hall?”

“Well, between you and me, the longer I stay there, the weirder it seems to me. For example, the housekeeper, Mrs. Trevathan, is so protective of Lord Astbury it borders on obsessive.”

“Maybe she’s in love with him; female servants often fall head over heels for their employers. It’s a cliché, but it happens.”

“Possibly, but also, she’s constantly in my room, fussing over me, bringing me things to eat and drink.”

“Sounds like heaven to me. I rather enjoy an attentive woman fussing over me,” James said, grinning.

“I know she’s only trying to be kind, but I feel like she never leaves me alone.”

“I would have thought it was rather wonderful living like a princess in a palace and being waited on hand and foot. We don’t even have room service past ten o’clock at our hotel.” James raised his eyebrows. “Anyway, surely it’s done you good to have some peace for a while, given the circumstances?”

“Yes, that part has been wonderful. Sorry if I’m sounding like a brat. I guess I just haven’t been feeling very well.”

“And what about the enigmatic Lord Astbury? He hasn’t tried to jump you yet, has he?”

“God no! I get the feeling he isn’t very interested in girls—or boys, or any relationship really.”

“Well, I can’t make him out at all,” said James in agreement. “Living in that great house alone for all these years, no Internet or modern conveniences—he’s a strange one, that’s for sure.”

“I like him. I agree, he’s unusual, but there’s something so sad about him. I sometimes just want to throw my arms around him and give him a hug,” Rebecca admitted.

“So you
are
falling for him?”

“Absolutely not! I just feel kind of protective of him, that’s all. It’s like he doesn’t really understand the modern world. Oh God, I’m sounding just like Mrs. Trevathan!” She groaned.

“Well, given what you say, it’s a good thing that he has the unnaturally devoted Mrs. Trevathan to care for him,” said James equably.

“I’m beginning to wonder if that isn’t half the problem. Even if he
did meet somebody, I doubt they’d stand a chance with her watching their every move.”

“From everything you say, she
is
obviously in love with him. Perhaps they’ve been secretly shagging for years. I’m picturing clandestine rendezvous in the linen cupboard or behind the potting shed.”

“Stop it!” she begged, squirming at the thought. “Anyway, it’s none of my business, is it?”

“No, but it’s always interesting to imagine other people’s lives. And we
are
actors after all, darling, so analyzing human behavior is a big part of our job.”

“Another thing that bothers me is the way Anthony keeps telling me how much I look like his grandmother Violet. It’s very unsettling.”

“Do you?” asked James.

“I’ve seen her portrait, and yes, especially with my hair dyed this color.”

“Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice once said. You’re not related to this Violet, are you, by any chance?”

“No. My relatives were certainly not connected to the English aristocracy at all, I’m sure.” Rebecca took a sip of her wine. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Well, from the sounds of things, the goings-on at Astbury Hall are the basis for a much more interesting plot than the one we’re currently filming.” James grinned at her.

“You know, sometimes, when I’m in costume, I have this weird sensation that I really
am
Violet, the woman I look like, living her life at Astbury back in the twenties. It’s all rather surreal.”

“Well, try not to lose your marbles just yet, darling, it isn’t a good idea to start getting fantasy and reality confused. Any time you require bringing back to the real world, I’m your man. Now, shall we order?”

A middle-aged woman appeared shyly by their table. “Excuse me for interrupting, but aren’t you James Waugh and . . . Oh my god! You’re Rebecca Bradley! I didn’t recognize you with the different hair color.”

“Well spotted,” said James, smiling at the woman. “What can we do for you?”

“Well, I’d love both your autographs, and a photo, if possible.”

“Of course.” James took the proffered napkin and pen and wrote his signature on it. He was just passing the napkin to Rebecca when a flash went off in their faces.

“Thank you so much. Sorry to bother you both, and I hope you enjoy your time in England, Miss Bradley.”

As the woman left their table, Rebecca looked at James in horror. “You let her take a photo? I never allow a fan to do that without signing a release stating it won’t be for public use and will only be for their private album!”

“Calm down, Rebecca, I doubt very much whether she’s going to send it off immediately to the nearest tabloid newspaper.”

“Well, that’s what usually happens to me when someone takes a photo without signing anything,” Rebecca retorted, feeling sick.

“I suppose you’re far more newsworthy than I am,” James shrugged. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed that she doesn’t.”

After that, the two of them were interrupted constantly by a stream of excited locals seeking their autographs.

“I think it’s time to remove ourselves, don’t you? I’m so sorry, Rebecca,” he said as he guided her out of the pub and into the waiting car. “I obviously underestimated the extent of your fame, even in a sleepy little village like this one.”

“Never mind,” said Rebecca shakily. “Forget every bad thing I said about life at Astbury earlier, I’m so glad to be going back there now, returning to the security of it. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like going out to eat in public.”

“God, your life must be hell.” James rolled his eyes. “How on earth do you cope?”

“I don’t—and I haven’t even agreed to marry Jack yet! It’s the media who’ve gone into a frenzy.” She bit her lip. “I’m not at all sure what I’m going to do.”

“I see,” murmured James as they drove through the majestic moors under a star-filled sky.

“Anyway, I’m sure I’ll sort it out when I get back to the States. I’m not saying things are over between us, I just don’t want to be rushed into a wedding.”

“Well, if you ever did decide to bin him, I’d be very willing to put myself forward as an alternative suitor.”

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” Rebecca replied lightly, “but I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“No, more’s the pity.” As they pulled up in front of Astbury Hall, he said, “I gather it’s probably not very appropriate to invite me in for a coffee or a nightcap at your place, so I’ll say good night here.”

“Good night, James, and thank you for supper.”

Rebecca opened the car door, but before she could get out, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward him to give her a warm hug.

“Remember, darling, I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“Thanks.” Releasing herself from his grasp, Rebecca climbed out, blew a kiss at him and waved as Graham and he drove away. Turning to walk up the steps and into the house, she did a double take as she recognized who was standing at the front door.

“Jack,” she said, faltering as she walked slowly up the steps toward him. “What in the world are you doing here?”

“I did try to contact you to tell you I was coming on over to see you, but you never got back to me. And I think I’ve just understood why. Who’s lover boy in the car?” he asked her in a furious tone.

“No, Jack”—Rebecca shook her head—“he’s not—I mean, really, I—”

“Well, at least it makes me understand why I’ve hardly heard a peep from you in the past two weeks. So, I guess the best thing is for me to leave right now.”

“Jack, please! It’s not what you think at all!”

“Then what the hell is it? If it’s not him, then tell me the reason why I haven’t spoken to you more than once since you left and we agreed to get married!”

“We didn’t! Look, please . . .” Rebecca was aware that they were standing with the front door wide open so anyone inside could hear the conversation. “Please, can we at least go somewhere private and I can explain?”

“Jesus Christ!” Jack gave her a sudden cold smile. “You sound just like me when I’ve been caught in a sticky situation.”

Mrs. Trevathan appeared at the doorway. “Perhaps it’s best if you come in. His lordship is asleep and I don’t want him disturbed.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Trevathan,” said Rebecca, “I didn’t know my . . . friend was arriving.”

“No, that’s because you were probably in the arms of your new lover and couldn’t be bothered to return my calls!”

“Please, sir, I’d be grateful if you could keep your voice down,” hissed Mrs. Trevathan.

“Would you prefer that we go to a hotel?” Rebecca asked her as they followed the housekeeper in. “My driver can take us there.”

“I doubt you’d find anywhere open at ten thirty at night,” she said tartly, leading them along a corridor and opening the door to a small sitting room right at the end of it. “I hope you can resolve your differences in here.” She pulled the door shut as she left.

“Is she out of Central Casting, or what? So”—Jack crossed his arms—“would you like to tell me what the hell is going on? Is it over between us, and you just haven’t had the balls to tell me?”

“I told you, Jack, I have no cell phone or Internet signal, and there’s only one telephone here, which I don’t like to use.”

“Well, from the looks of things, you weren’t lying about that. This place is like something out of a history book. However, even if it has been difficult to get through to me, when I’ve left message after message with the production office to tell you to call me, you either haven’t, or you’ve called at a moment you know I won’t pick up. I want to know why, Becks.”

Rebecca sank down onto a sofa, feeling shocked, exhausted and unprepared for this showdown. “I guess I just wanted some time to think.”