Dreaming of Mr. Darcy (16 page)

‘Yes,' Kay said. ‘And I was so sorry to hear about your husband. How he treated you was unforgivable, but Gemma's not like that. And Oli isn't either. They're different people.'

Nana Craig shook her head. ‘I think you'll find they're all the same.'

Kay watched as she moved through to the living room with the tray of tea things, bringing the conversation to a halt. Kay followed the woman through. Oli was standing by the window and had taken his shirt and trousers off and was wearing the primrose towel around his waist like a funny kind of kilt. Nana Craig almost dropped the tray when she saw him, and Kay came rushing forward to relieve her of it.

‘Just trying to dry off,' he said, his wet clothes in a pile on the colourful carpet.

‘I'll hang them up in the kitchen,' Nana Craig said, a blush creeping over her face as she hurried out of the room with the wet clothes.

‘Oli!' Kay said.

‘Sorry,' he said, ‘but what was I meant to do?'

‘She probably hasn't seen a naked man for over fifty years!'

‘I had to get dry,' Oli said.

‘I know, but couldn't you—'

‘What?'

‘I don't know—not be so naked?'

‘This isn't how I imagined today would pan out,' Oli said, shaking his head.

‘No,' Kay said, ‘me either.' Their eyes met.

‘How did you think it would pan out?' he asked.

Kay didn't know what to say, but he held her gaze, and something seemed to soften in his eyes, as if he wanted to say something to her.

Kay didn't get a chance to find out what it might be, though, because Nana Craig came bustling into the room with a T-shirt and a raincoat. ‘I found these,' she said, breaking the spell between them. ‘They're Adam's, so he'll want them returned.'

‘Thank you,' Oli said taking them from her. ‘No trousers?'

Nana Craig shook her head. ‘We weren't expecting a naked man to call by, or we might have had a pair for you.'

Nana Craig and Kay turned their backs to allow Oli to get changed.

‘I hope nobody sees me like this,' he said a moment later.

The women turned around and stared at the vision before them, and Kay burst into laughter. ‘Oh, Oli, if the tabloids could see you now!'

‘I hope they don't,' he said. ‘And you'd better get that hairpiece back on.'

‘I can't—it's soaked,' she said. ‘You don't have a hat I could borrow, do you, Nana Craig?'

‘I'll see what I've got,' she said and left the room.

‘I rather like this cardigan of yours,' Oli said, taking a step towards her and placing his hand on the bobbly green sleeve.

‘Oh, don't tease!'

Oli grinned, and his hand travelled down the length of the sleeve until his fingers caressed hers.

‘I've only got this,' Nana Craig said, entering the room and causing Kay to spring apart from Oli.

Kay's eyes widened as she saw the canary yellow rain hat, and she silently prayed that Oli wasn't going to make her wear it.

‘Perfect,' Oli said, taking it from Nana Craig and squashing it onto her head. ‘Glasses,' he said.

Kay retrieved the glasses from her handbag. ‘I'm going to look hideous,' she said.

‘You look fine,' Oli said. ‘Nobody will guess who you are under all this.'

Kay sighed. This wasn't the date she'd imagined at all.

‘Shit! I've got to get back,' Oli said as he saw the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I'd better ring for a taxi.'

Nana Craig's mouth dropped open. ‘Your language is diabolical, young man!'

Oli smiled, and his blue eyes crinkled at the edges. ‘I know,' he said. ‘I'm so sorry.' His adorable expression was enough to win over ninety-nine percent of the women in the UK but it didn't seem to be working with Nana Craig.

‘The phone's through there,' she said. ‘You'd better be on your way.'

He nodded and left the room, and a frosty silence descended. Kay bit her lip and tried to think of something to say, but her mind went blank.

Oli returned a moment later. ‘I've rung for a taxi. It'll be here in twenty minutes. They have to come the long way round, to avoid the flooding.'

‘As any sensible driver would,' Nana Craig said, picking up the tea tray and taking it back through to the kitchen.

‘Oh, dear,' Kay said. ‘I don't think it was such a good idea coming here after all. Poor Nana Craig! I think we've really upset her.'

Oli grinned. ‘She loves me, really.'

‘Yes, you've really managed to work your charm on her, haven't you?'

‘Oh, I could if I wanted to,' he said, the light gleaming in his eyes. ‘Except I don't want to. At least not with her.' He held her gaze again, and Kay felt something alarming in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the length of time since breakfast. ‘Kay, there's something I've been wanting to ask you.' He took a step closer to her. ‘You're so lovely,' he said, and she felt his hand caress her cheek. ‘And I really like you, Kay.'

‘I like you too, Oli.'

‘I know you do,' he said. ‘But we shouldn't really be doing this.'

Kay's eyes widened a fraction. ‘Doing what? Not having lunch?'

He smiled. ‘It's—I don't want to use this word, because it's become such a cliché but it's
complicated
.'

‘What is?'

‘Me.'

Kay nodded. ‘I know.'

‘You do?' he asked, looking surprised. ‘What do you know?'

‘I know that actors can't tie themselves to the people they meet when they're filming.'

Oli nodded, looking relieved. ‘We live strange lives,' he said. ‘Never in one place for long.'

Kay bit her lip, wondering if she dare say what she wanted to say. ‘But,' she began, ‘that doesn't mean you can't have fun whilst you're around, does it?'

Oli stared at her for a moment. ‘No, it doesn't mean that.'

Kay smiled at him, her heart thumping wildly. ‘Good,' she said.

Nana Craig came into the room. ‘Your taxi's here,' she said, frowning at the pair of them.

‘Right,' Kay said, turning around and doing her best to hide her blushing face under the enormous yellow hat. ‘Thanks so much for taking care of us.'

Nana Craig nodded. ‘I'll be wanting those clothes back,' she said.

‘Of course,' Kay said.

‘I was talking to him,' the older woman said, nodding to Oli.

‘I'll get them back to you as soon as possible,' Oli said, walking towards Nana Craig and bending to kiss her cheek. She batted him away.

Kay grinned. He hadn't won Nana Craig over at all, had he? But he'd certainly won Kay.

Gemma's scene with the actress playing Lady Russell was cut short several times by the heavy showers. They'd been shooting in the beautiful knot garden behind Marlcombe Manor, and Teresa—for once—had been pleased with how the scene was progressing. Gemma, too, had thought it was going well. She got on well with the older actress, and they found that they could portray Anne Elliot's and Lady Russell's intimacy easily.

But not everybody was as pleased with their performances. Sheltering in the orangery, which was stuffed with extraordinary palms, Kim Reilly sidled up to her daughter.

‘She's not very good, is she?' Kim said in a sort of stage whisper.

‘Shush!' Gemma hushed. ‘She'll hear you.'

‘I don't care if she does,' Kim said, sniffing unrepentantly. ‘That sort of acting shouldn't be tolerated.'

‘She used to act with the Royal Shakespeare Company,' Gemma pointed out. ‘And they think very highly of her.'

‘The Royal Shakespeare Company!' Kim made a tutting sound. ‘Call that acting? That's just standing on stage spouting poetry.'

Gemma rolled her eyes. ‘And she's very well respected as a television actress. You should see her CV.'

‘I don't need to,' Kim said. ‘I bet she's ruined every role she ever touched. I don't know what Teresa's thinking. I would have done a much better job, and I'm your mother, too.'

‘What's that got to do with anything?'

‘That scene you were shooting—it's between mother and daughter.'

‘Lady Russell isn't Anne's mother.'

‘Isn't she?'

‘No,' Gemma said. ‘You really should read the book, Mum.'

‘The only things I read these days are the glossies and
Vive!
I can't be doing with any Austen or Shakespeare.'

Gemma knew she wasn't joking. Even when she was growing up, there had been a shocking dearth of books in their house.

‘I'll wait for the script, my dear,' she'd told her agent.

Gemma wished she could operate like her mother, but she always had to read the source material and anything else she could get her hands on, anything to help. It was exhausting, but worth it, she hoped.

‘So many interruptions,' Kim said, looking out of the orangery as the rain slowly waned. It had been drumming on the glass roof like a thousand tiny tap dancers when the actors rushed inside, but now it was a gentle patter.

‘I expect we'll be back to it soon,' Gemma said, tidying a stray strand of hair.

Kim nodded. ‘Yes,' she said thoughtfully, dragging the single syllable out.

Gemma was on immediate alert. ‘What?' she said.

Kim's mouth narrowed into a nasty little line, and Gemma knew what was coming: criticism.

‘No,' Kim said, shaking her head. ‘You won't want to hear. You never do. You know what you're like when I have some advice to give you—you get all upset and uptight.'

‘No, I don't,' Gemma said.

‘Yes, you do. You know you do.'

‘Just tell me, Mum!' she said, knowing she wouldn't get any peace until she had her say.

‘You want my advice?'

‘Yes.'

‘You're sure?'

‘Mum! Just tell me.'

‘Okay,' Kim said, taking in a deep breath before sighing out slowly and dramatically, as if she were about to give a long-awaited speech on the world's stage. ‘That scene you were doing with that woman who wasn't your mother.'

‘What about it?'

‘There are just a couple of things I would've done differently.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like the dialogue and the actions.'

Gemma closed her eyes for a moment, refusing to respond. Instead, she walked towards the door at the end of the orangery and headed back outside, not caring if it was still raining. Anywhere—even the middle of a storm—was preferable to being in her mother's company.

***

Rain didn't affect you much when you were a screenwriter, and Adam was in screenwriting mode that afternoon, his laptop open on his knee in his study up in the eaves of his nineteenth-century cottage. He was going to join the film crew later that day, but there was no point heading out to Marlcombe Manor now. He stopped writing for a moment and stood up, stretching his arms above his head and cricking his neck. He wished it would stop raining. The garden was glad of it, but any more and he would be worried the whole plot would be washed away.

The garden was the main reason that Adam had bought Willow Cottage. It had come up for sale three years ago, and he'd driven by it on a balmy autumn day when everything was golden and glowing. He had been renting a small flat above a shop in Lyme Regis before that, splitting his time between there and a nasty little flat in Shepherd's Bush whilst he decided where he wanted to base himself permanently.

Nana Craig had then taken a nasty fall and had been laid up for weeks, and Adam knew he had to spend more time in Dorset. Besides, that's where he was happiest, and the train service to London wasn't bad. There was nothing really stopping him from putting down some roots.

The evening he saw Willow Cottage, he pulled over at the side of the road and opened the little gate into an overgrown front garden. It looked as if the place was empty, and looking across at one of the downstairs windows, he noticed there was more cobweb than curtain.

A side gate led around the old house to a back garden, and it was that which sold the place to him, although it had really been more of a plot of land when he first saw it and had been in no state to be called a garden for some time. It was just a very long stretch of overgrown grass interspersed with nettles, brambles, and thistles, but it was surrounded by peaceful fields and backed onto a tiny stream flanked by willows, and Adam could see its potential immediately, planning out the borders and vegetable patches in his mind's eye.

He made an offer the very next day, not batting an eyelid at the state of the old place. He would get around to sorting it all out. The rotting kitchen cupboards could be ripped out and replaced, as could the carpets. Wallpaper could be stripped, and the damp problem wasn't insurmountable.

For the first few months, he concentrated on the garden, cutting, clearing, and digging until his limbs were tanned, toned, and exhausted. Growing up with Nana Craig, he had always been encouraged to garden, but with flats in Lyme Regis and London, he hadn't had much of a chance over the years. Willow Cottage was his very first garden.

Nana Craig had been very impressed when she visited him. ‘What are you going to grow?' she asked.

‘Happy,' he said. ‘I'm going to grow happy.'

She chuckled at that. ‘As long as there are a few tomatoes and courgettes too.'

Looking out of the upstairs window now, he surveyed his little kingdom with pride. There was still a lot to do. He wanted to create some new borders and plant an orchard too. A garden was never static, but he liked it that way. He had grown lazy living in town, but the garden got him away from his desk and kept him fit.

A sudden flash of ginger caught his eye, and a very hairy cat leapt up onto the windowsill, purring noisily.

‘Hello, Sir Walter,' Adam said, his hand stroking the downy fur, sending a little ginger cloud into the air. ‘Don't fancy the garden today, then?'

Sir Walter stuck his little pink nose up in the air as if such things as wet gardens shouldn't even be discussed. Adam grinned.

He met Sir Walter the first week he moved into Willow Cottage. The back door had been open, and the scrawny ginger tom stalked into the place as if he owned it, meowing loudly. Adam gave him a saucer of milk and a share of his fish and chip supper, which seemed to go down well. The poor thing was all skin and bone and seemed happy to bed down on an old cushion in the front room. They had been housemates ever since.

None of the residents in the tiny village seemed to know anything about the cat, and the notice Adam put up in the local shop went unanswered. They were stuck with each other. Adam had never owned a pet before. His lifestyle hadn't permitted it, but if he really was putting down roots, a pet seemed as good an idea as any. And Nana Craig loved taking care of Sir Walter whenever Adam had to be away from home, although his habit of sleeping on her favourite candy-striped cardigan and adding a thick layer of ginger to it didn't go down too well.

He had been writing the first draft of his screenplay for
Persuasion
when he moved into Willow Cottage and met the cat, and the name Sir Walter seemed to fit perfectly. He had such an air about him, as if the whole world was quite beneath him, but Adam loved him to bits.

Perhaps one of his favourite things about Sir Walter was the way he followed Adam whenever he set out to walk to Nana Craig's. That had been another deal clincher for Adam—Willow Cottage was just two miles from his nana's cottage, and he could get to it by way of a lacework of footpaths that crisscrossed the Marshwood Vale.

‘Maybe I'll saunter over there as soon as this rain stops,' he said to Sir Walter. ‘What do you think?'

Sir Walter didn't think much of the suggestion, choosing to lick a front paw instead.

Adam was about to return to his laptop when the phone rang.

‘Hello?'

‘Adam!'

‘Nana! Are you okay?' She sounded breathless.

‘I've just seen Kay.'

‘Where?'

‘She was round here,' Nana Craig said, ‘with that actor bloke.'

‘What actor bloke?'

‘That tall one. Great strapping fellow with too much blond hair.'

‘Oli? Oli Wade Owen?'

‘That's the one.'

‘What were they doing at yours?'

‘He was taking her to lunch. That was his story, anyway.'

‘Lunch at yours?'

‘No!' Nana Craig said. ‘He'd driven his flash car through some flooded lane. Probably racing it around like an idiot. Anyway, it's stuck there, and he and Kay walked to mine to dry off. He's got your T-shirt and raincoat, by the way. I told him you'd be wanting them back.'

Adam shook his head in confusion. ‘Where are they now?'

‘Oh, they've gone. Got a taxi back to Lyme Regis. And what's all this about some Gemma woman?' Nana Craig asked. ‘Kay seemed to think you're going out with her.'

Adam sighed. ‘That's just some misunderstanding.'

‘Are you sure? She seemed quite convinced.'

‘Nana, believe me, nothing is going on with Gemma and me.'

‘Because you know what these actor types are like, don't you? I don't need to tell you again.'

‘No, you don't need to tell me again,' Adam said, rolling his eyes at Sir Walter, who had left the windowsill for the comfort of Adam's armchair.

‘So you've not made a move on Kay, I take it?'

‘Nana!'

‘Don't
Nana
me! If you like this girl, you should tell her. I don't know why you haven't yet.'

‘I've only just met her.'

‘Yes, and she's only just met this actor too, but she's having lunch and flirting with him all over Dorset already.'

‘She was flirting with him?' Adam said.

‘In my front room. Disgusting! And he didn't even have his trousers on.'

‘What?'

‘That actor bloke—his trousers were soaked. He had to take them off, and I didn't have any spare to lend him.'

‘Right,' Adam said, thankful, at least, that Oli hadn't been making a move on Kay in his nana's front room.

‘You've got to tell her, Adam,' Nana Craig said. ‘You do like her, don't you?'

Adam raked a hand through his hair. ‘Yes, I do like her.'

‘Well, then?'

Adam groaned. He knew his nana meant well, but he did often wish she would let him do things in his own time.

‘You're not still put off by what happened with Heidi, are you?'

There was a moment's silence.

‘Adam? That was just one unlucky—'

‘I know,' he interrupted.

‘And you can't let it stop you from meeting other women.'

‘Nana, I've got to get back to my work,' he said, hoping she'd take the hint.

‘All I'm saying is that you'd better make your move if you want to stand a chance with that girl. I saw the way she was looking at that Oli, and believe me, I know that look.'

‘All right!' Adam said. ‘I'll tell her.'

‘You will?'

‘I will,' he said, knowing it was the only way he was going to get any peace.

‘When?'

‘What do you mean,
when
? You want written notification?'

‘I know you, Adam Craig. You're a procrastinator.'

‘No I'm not.'

‘You jolly well are, but let me tell you, this one isn't going to hang around and wait. You've got to make your move.'

‘I've said I will.'

There was a pause. ‘Adam?'

‘Yes?'

‘Give me a call as soon as you tell her.'

‘Good-bye, Nana.'