The Promise of Change (19 page)

Michael was saying something about his experience with creating the perfect on-screen couple, but Sarah wasn’t paying attention. She was trying to decipher the meaning behind Alex’s unapproachable demeanor. It was so unlike the Alex she knew. Isn’t it obvious, she thought, he hates me. But even if it was her he hated, he was cool to Michael and Brooke as well.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Alex excused himself, leaving no doubt that she was the reason. He walked across the room to a bar set up in the corner, ordering something from the bartender. The bees fled, leaving only an empty ache in her stomach.

“I think it is time to formally introduce you to everyone,” Michael said as he led her over to stand in front of the empty fireplace, the room’s focal point.

“I wish you wouldn’t . . .” But before she could finish, he clinked his ring against his wine glass.

Once he had everyone’s attention he announced in a theatrical voice, “Ladies and gentleman, I am pleased to introduce the charming, talented and very beautiful Sarah Edwards.” He wrapped his arm around her waist again, pulling her close. “She is the reason we are here engaged in this worthy endeavor.”

There was a round of applause and raised wine glasses. Sarah could feel the heat rising to her face for more reasons than her aversion to being the center of attention. For one, Michael’s arm felt like he was staking a claim. For another, from his taut expression, Alex had witnessed that claim. He turned on his heel, leaving the room.

Distractedly, Sarah said her thank yous to the crowd, was inundated by people coming forward to introduce themselves and shake her hand. The only names she managed to remember were those of the actors whose photographs she saw yesterday. The rest were a blur as she tried to monitor the room for Alex’s return.

The introductions seemed interminable. She thought she’d never be able to escape to look for Alex. He hadn’t come back to the party. Had he left?

Slipping out the door, she searched the unfamiliar rooms, hoping to find him alone. She was about to give up when she found him standing in the dimly lit study with his back to the door.

“Alex,” she said so softly that she didn’t think he’d heard her at first.

He turned, and for an instant, she saw something in his eyes before they were shuttered again. Anger? Warmth? Longing? She wasn’t sure. He took a sip from the whiskey glass he held, but he didn’t speak. She approached him slowly, stopping with a few tense feet separating them.

“It’s so good to see you.” She hesitated when that didn’t elicit a response from him. “I want to apologize . . . what I did, leaving like that, must have seemed . . . cowardly to you.” That was eloquent, she thought castigating herself.

“Don’t give it another thought, Sarah. I haven’t.” His voice was flat, but the meaning behind his words made her flinch. She’d wondered if he thought of her with derision. She had her answer: apparently he hadn’t thought of her at all.

“Well, I’m very sorry,” she finished quietly.

“It’s late, and I have an early call. I’ll see you on the set.” He placed his glass on the table and stalked past her.

She stood in the study rooted to the spot. He left no doubt as to his feelings toward her, but why? Why was he so angry? So distant?

Being on the set together was clearly going to be awkward, but maybe they could reach some kind of detente over the next few weeks. It was obvious a truce was all she could hope for at this point. If that.

“Sarah.” She jumped at the sound of her name. It was Michael. “I wondered where you’d disappeared to. Are you okay? Did the crush get to you?” he asked in concern, wrapping his hands around her shoulders. She wanted to shrug them off.

“I’m fine. I was a little overwhelmed by all the attention, and needed some time to myself.”

“You’re tired. I’ll take you home.”

The ride back to the apartment was quiet. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but hopefully Michael attributed it to fatigue.

Michael got out of the car and walked her to the door of the building. “Thank you, Michael. I enjoyed the evening, and I’m eager to see the first scene tomorrow.” Before she could turn to enter the building, he leaned down to kiss her.

“Michael.” She put her hand against his chest and lowering her face, stopped him from coming any closer. “I think we just need to keep this professional. I don’t know about the movie industry, but where I come from office romances are frowned upon.” She smiled to soften the edge in her voice.

He pulled back reluctantly, and taking her hand from his chest, he kissed it instead. “Good night then. I’ll send a car for you in the morning. Seven-thirty.”

What did she mean waltzing into the party with Michael draped all over her? Alex slammed the door of his rented flat. The happy reunion he’d hoped for had been shot all to hell.

She’d clearly gotten over him, and Michael apparently worked fast. Weeks of leaning over storyboards and locations shots, dinners afterward to discuss ‘business,’ being thrown together on an almost daily basis. What had he expected? Michael had a reputation for this sort of fraternization, didn’t he? But he was also a great director, and Alex wanted him for the film.

Striding to the kitchen, he pulled down the bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers into a glass. Tossing it back, he let the warmth slide down his throat, flooding his stomach, before scrubbing a hand through his hair.

He’d have to find a subtle way to warn Michael off without seeming like the jealous spurned boyfriend. His breath left him in a rush. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Jealousy. Sarah had a way of bringing out never-before felt emotions. Love, despair, jealousy. What was next?

Well, he wasn’t over Sarah Edwards, and he be damned if he’d let her get over him.

The first two weeks of filming have been a learning experience for me, but to my inexperienced eye, it seemed to go smoothly,
she wrote in an e-mail to Ann and Becca.

It was almost midnight, but she’d been so busy that she’d been unable to do anything more than text Ann and Becca now and then. With BBC News on the TV for company, she finally sat down on the sofa to fill them in on her daily activities.

I’m amazed how many takes are required to shoot one short scene. Filming more than a few scenes makes for a very long day. In the evenings, we watch the dailies, the raw, unedited footage shot that day. Anyone who thinks actors have it easy never saw the hours of work it takes to shoot a movie.

I sit quietly in my chair next to Michael. He occasionally leans in close to explain some point or another to me. Although after his second unwelcome attempt to kiss me the other night, I can’t help but wonder if he’s using his whispered explanations as an excuse.

Alex had witnessed more than one of these little conferences, which only added to her discomfort. She’d learned that Michael had a reputation for pursuing his leading ladies, but had now apparently turned his attentions to her.

I am thankful for one thing: other than the occasional glare at Michael between takes, Alex has been too busy to do more than briefly acknowledge my presence, but at least those acknowledgements have been getting progressively less severe. He actually smiled at me today, evidently before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be nice to me. Nevertheless, it is getting a little easier to be around him.

Overall, I’ve been pleased with Michael’s direction and the actors, especially Brooke and Alex. In keeping with the book, the friction and intensity between Christen and Amelia has been palpable.

We leave for Oxfordshire in two weeks. Some of us will be staying in a wing of the country house that serves as Wilcox Manor, Christen’s estate. The house is a sprawling 18
th
century Palladian structure whose owners have turned it into a luxury hotel, but we’ve taken over the entire place for the duration of the filming. Although I’ve seen the photos taken by the locations manager, I’m looking forward to seeing the real thing.

Tomorrow we skip ahead to Chapter Thirty-Five, where Christen returns to London in search of Amelia. I realize filmmaking is not a linear process–neither was my writing for that matter–but it is a little disconcerting to jump around the story. I’m not sure how the actors manage to get into the mood for such disparate scenes.

Before she could finish her e-mail, a news story caught her ear. She heard the name ‘Fraser.’ Robert, Alex’s brother, was apparently giving a campaign speech. She recalled what Lady Clara said about Alex not irritating his brother. Likely by avoiding the tabloids.

Turning off the TV, she finished up her e-mail and headed off to bed. It was another early call in the morning.

Christen:
“Ms. Hampton, what you consider hauteur is merely my abhorrence for any actions remotely beneath my dignity to acknowledge.”

Amelia:
“Lord Hare, your perfection continues to be an inspiration to me.”
Brooke’s tone was teasing, not serious as Sarah had intended.

They were in the middle of shooting one of Christen’s and Amelia’s many sexually-charged disagreements, when Michael’s “Cut,” startled her. She was not happy with Brooke’s interpretation of the line, but she hoped that Michael would say something.

“Brooke, Amelia’s response isn’t intended to be flirtatious. It is intended to be a scathing rebuke of Christen’s self-righteous attitude, an attitude he seems to reserve only for her.”

“Michael,” she said, using her most flirtatious manner, “As a woman, I would respond to his comments in a teasing manner, hoping to take the edge off—”

Before she could finish, Michael said, “Amelia doesn’t want to take the edge off. She wants to impart the full measure of her contempt.”

Their argument went on in the same manner for another minute, before Alex interrupted. “Why don’t we ask Sarah what she intended? After all, she wrote it.”

Sarah’s head snapped up when Alex said her name. Other than the obligatory polite exchanges, he’d carefully avoided speaking to her directly. Everyone turned to look at her.

“Well, when I wrote it, the feeling I’d intended to convey was Amelia’s disdain for Christen’s superior attitude. I believe the adverb I’d use is acidly.”

Sarah was uncomfortable at first with giving her opinion, but she warmed to it in short order. “Amelia may be lively and witty, and in other circumstances, and perhaps with another kind of man, she might flirt, but at this juncture, Christen is the last man in the world with whom she would want to flirt.”

“OK, that settles it.” Michael said. “Let’s do it over–Sarah’s way.”

Brooke gave Sarah an irritated look. Good, Sarah thought, maybe she could channel that irritation into the appropriate delivery of her line.

After a few more takes, Michael called for a break. The caterer kept food and refreshments available in the kitchen at the back of the townhouse, and since Sarah had skipped breakfast, she headed in that direction. She was just placing a scone on her plate when Alex walked in. He walked over to the coffee pot with his back to her. So much for her appetite.

Alex wasn’t in the mood for coffee. He just wanted an excuse to follow her into the kitchen, and once there, he needed something to distract him while he worked out what he wanted to say. Tongue-tied. Another first for him.

His jealousy had cooled. Watching Michael’s excuses to touch her, his attempts to kiss her, were like taking a knife in the gut. But witnessing Sarah’s gentle rebuffs of those advances, and of course they would be gentle, as would be expected from one so gracious, he now thought there was still a chance.

Although after his abominable treatment of her these two weeks, he couldn’t blame her if she didn’t want anything to do with him.

Sarah couldn’t stand the cold shoulder anymore. “Alex, I want to thank you for asking my opinion on that last scene. I didn’t like the first take, but I didn’t want to butt in . . .” She trailed off, unsure what else to say.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to speak up. It is your book.”

“Well, thank you anyway.” She turned back to her now-undesirable scone, thinking that was the end of their conversation.

“Sarah.” He said her name so softly that she was startled when she turned and saw how close he was. “I want to apologize for my inexcusable behavior the night of the party, and well, these last two weeks. It was rude and uncalled for. Will you please forgive me?” His eyes were sincere, but guarded.

“You’re asking me to forgive you,” she asked in disbelief, “after I ran out last year?”

“Yes.” He gave slight shrug. “I suppose I am.”

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Don’t push it.” His teasing look took away any sting the words themselves might have inflicted. “But it’s safe to say I’d like to call a truce.” He extended his hand.

Sarah hesitated, not sure how she would react to his touch. “Truce then.” She shook his hand. His grip tightened when she tried to pull her hand back, causing her to look up into his eyes in confusion.

He wanted to lean in, to brush her lips with his.

“Oh. I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Brooke stood in the doorway wearing a disingenuous polite expression.

Sarah jerked her hand away as if it’d been burned. “No.” She grabbed her plate and returned to the sitting room for the next scene.

The beautiful Brooke Bellamy is starting to get on my nerves. She’s a good actress, I’ll give her that. No one who sees her portrayal of the quick-witted Amelia would ever know what a self-centered, insipid little creature she is.

She’d just finished her word-for-word e-mail account of the kitchen encounter with Alex when she began venting her frustration with Brooke to Ann and Becca.

I hate to admit it, but I’m jealous of her interactions with Alex. I know they are only acting, but she gets to spend time with him in rehearsals and be close to him on the set, while I sit back and pretend that we are only acquaintances. I don’t know what I’ll do the first time they kiss. I may have to absent myself from the set that day.

We leave tomorrow for Oxfordshire. I’ll write again from there. Hugs and kisses.

Your fickle friend and sister,

Sarah