Dreaming of Mr. Darcy (8 page)

There followed a mad frenzy of vacuuming, dusting, and scrubbing as Adam and Kay worked their way around the bedrooms of Wentworth House. Bed sheets were straightened and tucked, pillows and duvets were shaken and fluffed, towels were swapped and washed, and everything else was cleaned until it shone.

Finally, when Kay was quite sure everything looked perfect, she turned to Adam. He was ready with a smile for her.

‘I think we deserve the rest of the day off, don't you?'

Kay nodded. ‘That's certainly a job well done,' she said. ‘Thanks so much for helping. If you ever give up the film world, there's a job for you right here.'

‘I might take you up on that,' he said, thinking how wonderful it would be to work alongside Kay all day. How distracting it would be too. No, he decided, he probably wouldn't get any work done at all, if he knew she was just in the next room, because the temptation to down tools and take her in his arms and—well, it just wouldn't be viable, would it?

‘Let's get going, shall we?'

‘I'll just get changed,' Kay said.

Adam nodded and decided to take himself downstairs to the living room. Being on the same floor as Kay getting changed was more than any sane man could bear.

It was a funny little room with its nicotine-coloured wallpaper and flowery carpet, but Kay had made it wonderfully homey. There was a glass vase of freesias on the windowsill, and two big lamps promised a warm glow once evening set in. She'd also filled the shelves in the alcoves with books, and he couldn't resist looking at them as he waited for her. He smiled to himself as he saw a row of jewel-bright Regency romances by Lorna Warwick. Hadn't the author recently been revealed to be a man? Adam was sure he'd read something somewhere.

Nestling alongside the Lorna Warwick titles were the obligatory Jane Austen novels—an impressive three copies of each title, all with different covers. Then there was the nonfiction associated with the great woman—the biographies, the histories of England in the time of the writer, collections of her letters, and new critical studies of her work. It was a collection worthy of any Janeite, he thought as he pulled out one of the collections of her letters.

‘They're wonderful, aren't they?' Kay asked.

Adam spun around and saw Kay standing in the doorway. She'd untied her hair, and it cascaded around her shoulders in light waves, making Adam want to reach out and touch it. She'd changed out of her jeans too and was wearing a long pink dress with a berry-red jacket over it.

‘I love Jane Austen's letters,' she said. ‘Her humour is wonderful. She's so naughty—just what a younger sister should be.'

Adam nodded, realising he was staring like a mad man. ‘Do you have any younger sisters?'

‘No,' Kay said, and her smile instantly vanished. ‘No brothers and no sisters. Just me.'

‘That must have been a bit lonely growing up,' he said.

‘Oh, I had my books,' she said. ‘My fictional families.'

‘Me too.'

‘You're an only child?'

‘Perhaps that's why I'm a writer. I was always creating fictional families.'

Kay smiled. ‘I think onlys have a tendency to hide within their imaginations.'

‘I think so too,' he said, ‘but it's not a bad place to be.'

‘No,' Kay said, ‘especially when things get to be too much.' She bit her lip. She hadn't meant to say so much, but there was something about Adam that made it easy for her to talk. ‘So are we going to Uppercross?' she added, quickly changing the subject before she inflicted her whole past on the poor man.

‘Absolutely,' Adam said, grabbing his coat from the hallway.

The rain had stopped by the time they left the bed and breakfast, but the sky was still a deep bruised purple and the waves looked angry and threatening, as if they were plotting something.

‘Wow,' Kay said. ‘I've never seen it like this.'

‘Get used to it,' Adam said. ‘Winters can be pretty tough on the coast.'

‘I guess we only think of these places as being filled with summer sunshine and tourists.'

‘But that's one of the benefits of winter,' Adam said. ‘The tourists go home, and you have it to yourself.'

‘Don't you like tourists?' Kay said. They reached the end of Marine Parade and crossed the road towards the parking lot. ‘Jane Austen was a tourist, and you wouldn't have a film being made of your screenplay if she hadn't visited Lyme.'

Adam grinned. ‘Of course, but there are tourists and there are tourists. I object only to the ones who come to Lyme and aren't inspired to write great literature.'

They walked on, and Adam finally pointed to his car and unlocked it. It was an old Volvo that had a pair of wellingtons on the back seat that had seen better days. The Volvo had seen better days too, and Adam knew it.

‘Sorry about the dog hair,' he said, getting in beside her. ‘I was looking after somebody's German shepherd, and he seemed to be moulting. He was even worse than my cat.'

‘You have a cat?' Kay asked.

‘Sir Walter. After Anne Elliot's father, because he's a terrible snob who's forever looking down his little pink nose at me.'

Kay laughed. ‘I'd like to meet him.'

Adam swallowed. Things didn't normally happen that easily for him. Women didn't usually just invite themselves to his house. If he'd known that all he had to do to get a woman to come home with him was mention his cat, he would have done it years before. Who would have thought that dear old Sir Walter would earn his keep?

‘But first, Uppercross.'

***

It had been a pleasant enough drive from Lyme Regis into the Marshwood Vale. The film crew left the worst of the weather behind them at the coast, but Teresa was still looking anxious about things. Gemma had been watching her closely, wondering which scenes they would be filming in the course of the day. The sky was still dark, and large clouds scuddied their way across it like malevolent phantoms. It was very unlikely that they'd be filming anything outdoors that day.

Gemma stole a glance at Beth and Sophie. They were both joking about something, and Sophie was laughing. Gemma adored Sophie. She was always happy. Nothing seemed to faze her.
If
only
I
could
be
like
that
, Gemma thought.
Why
do
I
have
to
worry
so
much?
Why
can't I just look out of the window and enjoy the day or be able to tell silly jokes? Why does my stomach always have to be doing the cancan?

For a moment she wondered whether she could get her knitting out and try to settle her nerves, but the twisting country lanes would turn her needles into instruments of danger, and she didn't want to risk injuring anyone, not even Beth.

Teresa was on her phone, barking a list of instructions to some poor soul at the other end. Gemma bit her lip. She was glad she wasn't a member of the crew. Teresa seemed to handle the actors with kid gloves in comparison to how she handled the crew, although she seemed to take exception with Oli. For some reason, he seemed to wind her up constantly. Gemma knew that they had worked together before and often wondered why they agreed to work together again, if that was the way they felt about each other. Maybe it was one of those funny relationships where their passion for the art they were creating overruled anything personal. They knew that what they were producing would be a little bit of screen magic, and they were willing to put up with all the irritation that went with it.

When she was quite sure nobody was looking, Gemma surreptitiously opened her bag and fished out her copy of the script. It was getting battered, with its curling pages and bashed-in spine, but it still served its purpose well, and Gemma soon found the scenes she needed for the day ahead. Anxiously her eyes cast over the lines that weren't completely new to her but seemed like a memory of a distant dream, and her heart beat faster. She didn't feel ready. She wanted more time,
needed
more time, but before she had time to read more than three pages, the minibus slowed down to turn into a long tree-lined driveway.

Beyond the trees, there was a field full of sheep, and then the countryside rolled away into the distance. As the bus made a final turn, the house was revealed to them.

Marlcombe Manor was a Grade I Jacobean house that sprawled across an immaculate lawn like a sleeping dragon. It was built in glorious honey-coloured stone and looked as if it housed at least three ghosts, with its enormous mullioned windows and barley-twist chimneys. Swallows swooped across the lawn, and a po-faced peacock made its sedate way up the driveway.

‘Here we are,' Oli announced. ‘Home sweet home.'

***

Adam's phone beeped as they were at a quiet junction by a village pub, and he took the opportunity to read the text.

‘It's from Gemma, my spy,' he said. ‘They've reached Marlcombe Manor.'

‘Is it far?'

‘No,' Adam said. ‘Just a couple of miles.' His phone beeped again. ‘Right,' he said as he read the text.

‘Everything okay?'

He sighed. ‘Just something else to worry about, I'm afraid.'

‘The life of a producer?'

‘Yes,' Adam said. ‘Nobody seems to know what a producer does, but if I didn't do it, the whole film would fall apart.'

Kay nodded and then rooted around in her handbag.

‘You okay?' Adam asked.

‘Just checking that I've got my camera. I'm sure I put it in, and I'd hate to be without it.'

They followed a high hedgerow along a country lane that seemed to stretch for miles without any traffic on it at all.

‘This is all so beautiful,' Kay said.

Adam glanced quickly at her as she gazed out of the window. ‘I couldn't live anywhere else,' he said.

‘Doesn't Jane Austen mention this countryside in
Persuasion
?'

‘She certainly does,' Adam said. ‘She says, “a very strange stranger it must be, who does not see charms in the immediate environs of Lyme, to make him wish to know it better”.'

‘Maybe I should take up hiking or something,' Kay said. ‘You know—really get to know the area.'

‘Well, it is the best way to see the countryside.'

‘Maybe we could go together,' Kay said. ‘You could show me around.'

Adam almost choked in surprise.

‘I mean, when you're not too busy.'

‘I'd be very happy to show you around,' Adam said.

Kay smiled, and her face lit up. Adam did his best to focus on the road ahead. He wasn't going to think of romantic footpaths that led far from the madding crowd. He wasn't going to think of getting Kay alone on the side of some windswept hill or in the seclusion of a glorious beech wood full of bluebells. He must keep his eyes on the road and remain in the present.

He was driving down a hill into a sweep of valley when he heard Kay gasp. Ahead of them, a little ford had turned into a swollen river.

‘I didn't realise there'd been so much rain,' Kay said.

‘Mostly in the night,' Adam said. ‘The last few have been very wet, and it doesn't take much to flood these lanes.'

‘Will we be able to get through?'

‘This car's older than the Jurassic coast, but it's got me through worse than that before.' Adam slowed down and wound down his window as he approached the flood. ‘It's not too bad,' he said.

‘Famous last words,' Kay said as the car neared the water. Kay held her breath as they approached, anxious as to how deep it was. The last thing she wanted was to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, when she could be in Oli's company on the film set.

‘Here we go,' Adam said, and the car splashed through the water. Kay closed her eyes for a moment, but she needn't have worried, because they made it safely through to the other side.

Kay smiled in relief.

‘Soon be there,' Adam said. Kay nodded, and he watched as she opened her handbag and took out a lipstick, unfolding the car mirror and applying a thick slick of pink gloss. Adam sighed. He had the feeling that she wasn't doing it for his benefit.

Gemma was beginning to think that her wishing for a delay actually worked, because something mysterious was happening with the lighting department. It had been decided that they would shoot one of the indoor scenes with Sir Walter Elliot, and it was to take place in one of the upstairs rooms, as agreed with the owners. It was a beautiful room overlooking the gardens, but the stormy skies made it almost pitch black.

‘Are they ever going to need us today?' Beth complained as she mooched about on the lawn, moaning to anyone who would listen. Gemma had done her best to avoid her, managed to fit in a bit of private time with her script, and was feeling a little bit more confident about her Uppercross scenes.

Walking across the lawn, she took some deep breaths, inhaling the sweet rain-washed air. She saw one of the technicians had set up a laptop at the back of one of the vans, and a crowd gathered around him.

‘What are you watching?' Gemma asked, daring to squeeze in next to Oli to see what was going on.

‘
Killer
Zombies
Take
Manhattan
,' Sophie said. ‘It's horrible blood-spurting, mind-numbing violence.'

‘It's brilliant,' Oli said, obviously engrossed.

Gemma looked up at him. How could he go from zombie fan to sophisticated hero in just a few minutes? He really was a great actor, wasn't he? If only his fans could see him with his smile as wide as a child's as he watched a zombie ripping the arm off a poor taxi driver in Times Square.

‘Gross!' Sophie shouted.

‘There's that book out, isn't there?' Gemma said. ‘
Pride
and
Prejudice
and
Zombies
.'

‘Cool!' Oli said.

Gemma grimaced, her romantic allusions of Oli fast disintegrating.

***

Kay didn't like to keep checking her reflection in Adam's mirror, but she wanted to make quite sure that her hair hadn't gone flyaway and that nothing had smudged. It was strange. She had already spent a whole night under the same roof as Oli and shared breakfast with him. Well, she
served
him breakfast, anyway, yet this trip to see him filming was beginning to feel more and more like a first date.

As Adam turned into a long driveway lined with trees, the anticipation was almost too much for Kay as she unwound her window and peered out, desperate for the first glimpse of the house and the actors.

‘It's one of the loveliest houses in Dorset,' Adam said.

Kay nodded. She liked a beautiful house as much as the next Jane Austen fan, but she was far more interested in seeing Oli again. As the car drove around the final bend and came to a standstill alongside the actors' minibus, she caught sight of them all across the lawn.

Leaving Adam to lock up, she got out of the car, walked across the driveway, and stared at the group of actors. They hadn't seen her, and she took advantage to sneak a hand into her bag and find her camera.

It was thoughtful of Adam to bring her. She turned around to smile at him and saw that he was looking at Gemma, and Kay realised
that
was why he had been so keen to come out to the Uppercross shoot. He wanted to see Gemma, just as she had wanted to see Oli. They did make a lovely couple too—or rather, they
would
, once things were sorted out between them. The trouble was that they were both shy, and Kay doubted that either of them would dare to make the first move.

Maybe that's where she could help. Perhaps
she
could get them together. She smiled as her mind wandered over the possibilities. Gemma was staying at the B&B, and Adam was forever dropping by. Maybe she could make them a meal. The next time the cast went out to the pub, she could ask Gemma if she'd like to join her for dinner. She wouldn't be joining Gemma, of course—Adam would, because she would invite him too.

She'd buy some candles—pretty red ones. Flowers too. She'd transform the dining room so that it became the perfect setting for romance. It would be wonderful. She'd serve them dinner, and they'd have no choice but to talk to each other. Their shyness would fall away, and they'd discover how much they had in common and fall madly in love.

A summer wedding wouldn't be out of the question if they got a move on too, Kay thought. How beautiful Gemma would look in a frothy lace dress, and Adam would wear something smart and understated, his hair newly cut and not quite as tousled as normal. Kay would have to buy herself a new dress for the occasion, and how wonderful it would be to sit at the front of the church, knowing that the bride and groom were there because of her. They'd thank her in the speeches too, and Kay would blush at the top table, saying that it was nothing, really—that you can't stop romance.

There would be dancing—just like in Jane Austen's time. Oli would be there, of course, and he'd lead Kay onto the dance floor, telling her how beautiful she looked and how he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her since filming had stopped. He had been mad to leave her behind in Lyme. What had he been thinking? Could she forgive him?

‘Of course I can, Oli,' Kay said, except she said it out loud in the here and now, and Oli heard his name and turned around. He'd been half hidden amongst the group crowding around the back of one of the vans, but suddenly the group dispersed, and there he was.

‘Hey, you!' he said as he strode across the lawn towards her. Kay gulped. He did it so well. Maybe it was the boots he wore. Maybe they had the effect of making him stride like a fine pair of heels will add that extra little something to the way a woman walks.

‘Hello,' she squeaked. She swallowed. What happened to her voice?

He smiled. ‘You come out to see us lot, then?'

‘Yes,' she said, her voice seeming to return to normal. ‘Adam brought me.'

‘Adam?'

Kay pointed to where Adam was standing with a polystyrene mug in his hands.

‘Oh!' Oli said. ‘Him.'

‘He's the writer and producer,' Kay explained.

‘Yes, I know. Doesn't have much to say, does he?'

Kay thought that comment was a little unkind. Maybe poor Adam didn't get a chance to say much when surrounded by verbose actors.

‘Coming out here was his idea,' she said. ‘It was kind of him to bring me.'

‘I'm glad he did,' Oli said. ‘Fancy a walk?'

‘Aren't you needed on set?' Kay asked.

‘Nah. Not for ages. They're about to film the retrenching scene—you know the one with Sir Walter Elliot?'

Kay nodded, remembering the scene from the book.

‘Come on,' he said.

They left the noise of the cast and crew behind them and skirted around the side of the house, through two tall hedgerows that led into a secluded knot garden.

‘It's lovely,' Kay said, reaching out and pinching a lemon balm leaf between her fingers before sniffing it appreciatively. ‘How old's the house?' she asked him.

‘Marlcombe Manor?' Oli said, seeming surprised by her question. ‘Oh, it's old. Very old. Stone Age or Roman or something like that.'

Kay laughed.

‘And these gardens,' he continued. ‘Very fine gardens, I'm led to believe. They were designed and everything.'

She laughed again. ‘You don't know very much about Marlcombe, do you?'

‘Nope,' he said. ‘I'm just an actor. I go where they tell me, and I attach myself to the locations with great aptitude, but I rarely get to know them at all.'

‘That's a shame.'

‘That's the life of an actor. You can't get too attached to anything, because you're always moving on.'

Kay wondered if his comment was a veiled warning to her.
You
can't get too attached to anything
, but maybe she was reading too much into it. Anyway, who was to say that he had any notion of attaching himself to her? She must stop thinking like that.

‘So what's it been like for you, with us all invading?' he asked.

‘Wonderful,' Kay said, the word slipping out before she had a chance to rein herself in and appear cool and aloof. ‘I mean, I've just opened, so it's wonderful to have all the rooms full.'

They walked in silence for a moment, their feet crunching lightly on the gravel pathways. Kay could hardly believe it. She was walking in a beautiful English country garden with the most handsome actor in the world, and he was dressed as one of her favourite heroes from literature.

‘You look happy,' Oli suddenly said.

Kay looked up, and for a moment, she really did see Frederick Wentworth standing there.

‘What were you thinking of?' he asked.

She looked away, distracting herself by plucking a leaf from a peppermint plant. ‘Just thinking,' she said.

‘Tell me.'

‘You'll laugh.'

‘No, I won't.'

Kay took a deep breath and turned to look at him. ‘I was just wondering what it would be like to be Anne Elliot and live in a place like this with—with Captain Wentworth.'

‘Ah,' Oli said.

‘What?'

‘You have Captain Wentworth fever?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘It's like Mr Darcy fever, only slightly less acute, and that's only because poor old Wentworth's never had a wet-shirt moment. Not yet, anyway.'

‘You're teasing me,' Kay said.

Oli nodded. ‘I'm merely making an observation. As an actor, one has to be aware that some roles come loaded with expectation, and I think all the Austen heroes fall into that category.'

‘But you weren't put off by that?'

‘Are you kidding? It's a dream come true,' Oli said. ‘Think about it—I'll be forever associated with one of the sexiest heroes of all time. Women will throw themselves at me, even when I'm an old man and have lost all my hair. What actor could possibly say no to such a role?'

Kay grinned.

‘I mean, I know I'll never reach the heights of Colin Firth, but I like to think that I'll earn my place in the hero hall of fame. I mean, I might not have the wet shirt, but Wentworth does have the advantage of a uniform, doesn't he?'

Kay nodded, eyeing up the handsome uniform before her. ‘I'm illustrating all of Austen's stories,' she told him.

Oli's eyebrows rose. ‘Really? You're published?'

‘Oh, no!' she said. ‘Not yet. I'd like to be, but it's just something I do for myself at the moment.'

‘And is that what you were doing this morning—drawing me?'

Kay nodded. She could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. ‘I didn't mean to stare. Except, well, I suppose I was, wasn't I?'

‘Looking at a person through binoculars is usually construed as staring,' Oli said.

Kay hid her hands in her face for a moment. ‘I'm so sorry. You must have thought I was rude.'

‘Not at all,' he said. ‘I'm used to being stared at. Comes with the territory.'

‘Of being handsome?' she said and then bit her lip. What a thing to say!

‘Of being an actor,' he said with a little smile. ‘And I suppose there's a certain amount of staring to be done in your line of work.'

‘Running a bed and breakfast?' Kay said.

‘No,' he said with a laugh. ‘
Illustrating!
'

Kay laughed too. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I mean, it's what I have to do—if I want to capture a face.'

Oli looked at her. It felt strange having those piercing blue eyes fixed on her. How many times had she gazed at them within the safe confines of her television set? And now here they were—just a couple of feet away—staring at her.

‘I've never been drawn before,' he said. ‘It must be a rather intimate experience.' He held her gaze, and Kay felt riveted to the spot, believing that a tornado wouldn't have the power to move her if it struck at that moment.

‘Intimate,' she said, and the whole world seemed focussed on that one word, its three syllables vibrating on her lips.

Oli nodded and took a step towards her. ‘Perhaps I could sit for you sometime.'

Kay frowned. Had she heard him right? ‘Really? You would? I mean, would you?'

‘I would be honoured,' he said.

She smiled and felt as if her face would break in two from the very width of it.

‘Oli!' a voice suddenly called from the other side of the hedge. It was Beth, and she did not look happy as she entered the knot garden and saw them standing there. ‘
There
you are,' she said as she approached them, looking down her perfect nose at Kay, but speaking to Oli. ‘You're wanted.'

‘Already?'

‘Not by Teresa—by us,' Beth said, slipping an arm through his. ‘We want your opinion on a scene from the zombie film.'

Oli turned to look at Kay as he was marched away and gave her a wink. Kay blushed and smiled as Beth turned around to give her a Medusa-like glare. Kay's moment of magic was over, but she felt as if she could feed off it for decades. She had walked in a beautiful garden with Oli Wade Owen, and they talked about heroes and he promised to sit for her. And he had looked at her. He had really
looked
at her.

She wrapped her arms around her body and glanced up into the sky. The darkest of the clouds had passed, and patches of blue promised kinder weather. Kay inhaled deeply, and all seemed well with the world. Oli Wade Owen was going to sit for her.

But
you
mustn't think any more of it
, a little voice told herself.
You
know
what
you're like—you always get carried away.

‘I'm not going to get carried away,' she said. ‘He just wants his portrait drawn—that's all. How can anyone possibly read more into it than that?'

But Kay was already imagining. She would be sitting there drawing him. He'd be wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, his blond hair flopping over his face. They'd have been sitting together in silence for a few minutes when suddenly Oli would get up and stride across the room.