by Sandy Barker
“It’s incredible, Chloe!” said Lucy, her enthusiastic voice at full volume.
“Yes, totally. That’s amazing, Chlo.” Added Jules.
There was a murmur from Lucy’s end of the call. She looked off screen and, eyes wide and lips pressed together, looked back at Chloe and Jules. “Um, someone wants to say hello.”
Her screen blurred and a sleepy looking Will replaced Lucy. “Hey, Jules. Hi Chloe.”
“William, hellooo there,” said Chloe, her voice loaded with inuendo. Jules could tell from her expression that she was chanting, “Go, Lucy,” in her head. Jules wasn’t quite that onboard with the “Lucy and Will” thing, but she smiled at her brother.
“Hey, Will. How’s it going?”
Will turned to his left and grinned. “It’s going great, actually.” Okay, that was enough. Jules didn’t want any details of her brother’s sex life, especially now that it included Lucy. He must have caught her expression. “Hey, since we’re up, I’m going to, uh … go make tea or something. Here.” He handed the phone back to Lucy and Jules saw lights come on in the cabin and heard a kettle starting to boil.
Lucy looked off camera, then back at her and Chloe. She flashed a huge grin, her shoulders lifting in a silent “Squee!”
“Lucy, you are adorable,” said Chloe.
As Lucy and Chloe chatted about Penham, Jules watched her friends closely. She had loved these women as sisters for as long as she could remember, and she missed them immensely. They were as important to her as her parents, as Will, as …
Did Matt belong on that list? Perhaps …
“Hey, guys?” she said, interrupting Chloe’s lengthy account of all the delicious food she’d been eating. Two pairs of eyes looked at her expectantly. “Sorry, no big announcement, or anything, just … I miss you guys like crazy.”
“Yeah, me too,” said Chloe.
“Me three,” added Lucy.
“So, next time we travel, it’s together, right?”
“For sure.”
“Absolutely!” declared Lucy.
Chapter 32
Chloe
“I’ve been ruminating,” Archer said, his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel of his vintage MG.
“About?”
“Well, lots of things, actually, but this one in particular is related to the film.”
“Ohhh, the Capels’s love story. I love the Capels’s love story.” Chloe had once made fun of the giddy lovestruck fools who loved everyone and everything. Now she was one of them. She thought back over the conversation with the girls that morning and giggled quietly to herself. She was surprised they hadn’t asked if she’d been body-snatched. Who are you and what have you done with our friend?
“Yes, I know you do,” replied Archer as he lifted the hand at ten o’clock to capture hers and bring it to his lips.
She threw him a coy look over one shoulder, then turned to watch the passing scenery outside her passenger window. She was amazed that only minutes after turning off the M25, one of the largest ring roads in the world, encircling one of the largest cities in the world, they were already surrounded by pastoral scenes, with mist settling into valleys and flocks of grazing sheep oblivious to the wet weather.
“So, you’ve been ruminating,” she prodded.
“I’m thinking of a dual narrative, perhaps one of the characters as an older person, having just lost the other and coming to terms with that loss …” Chloe sucked in a sharp breath. “What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing across at her. “You don’t like that approach?”
“No, it’s not that. I think it would be a great way to tell the story. I’m guessing the other timeline is them meeting and falling in love?”
“Right, exactly, but going back to you … Why that reaction to the modern timeline?”
“It’s just … it breaks my heart to think of them like that and, very soon, that could be one of them. Imagine if Mrs Capel is the one left behind, especially with her dementia; she’ll be beside herself. She won’t understand why he’s not there for her, and then she’ll just stop remembering him at all, and …”
Chloe was letting herself get far more worked up than she’d anticipated and sniffled softly. Archer’s hand rested on her leg and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“You’re absolutely right. It is heart-breaking to think about and I hope this doesn’t come across as callous, but for her sake, I hope she goes first.”
“Mmm,” Chloe murmured. The thought of Mr Capel losing his beloved wife was almost as dreadful as the alternative and Chloe realised that her lovestruck state was wending its way towards melancholy.
“Sorry, I didn’t bring this up so we would get mired down in the sadness of what’s to come. I want to honour them, to tell the story of an extraordinary love and an extraordinary woman. Actually, I was thinking Cate would be brilliant for the role of Eloise. She could play her from forty onwards and maybe Jen for the younger version.”
“Sorry, do you mean Cate as in Blanchett and Jen as in …”
“Jen Lawrence, yes.” Again, Chloe was reminded that Archer’s world was vastly different from her own. How will our lives dovetail now that we’re in love? She wondered, not for the first time. “They look enough alike and they’re both brilliant, of course.” Archer’s observation about the two Oscar-winning actresses pulled Chloe from her thoughts.
“Oh, for sure,” she responded, as though it was just a normal everyday conversation. “Have you thought of who would play Mr Capel? You’d play him, right?”
“Actually, I was thinking I might like to direct this one.”
Chloe regarded him across the interior of the compact car. “Wow, yes, I could see that. You would be amazing, Archer. You’d be great.”
“Really?” Archer flicked another glance towards her and in that second, she saw his self-doubt, his humility. His eyes returned to the road. “I’ve never directed before … well, not since plays at drama school. I mean, I’ve wanted to for a long time. I’ve never been that actor who goes straight to his trailer as soon as they call ‘cut’.
“I’m the annoying one who sticks around and wants to talk about shot set-ups, the one who watches the dailies meticulously—and not to swoon over my own performance, nothing like that—but to see how the director is playing out their vision, how what they say to us, the actors, gets translated by the DOP, the production designer, the lighting designer … everyone. I’m fascinated by all of it.”
Chloe grinned, her wonder at him growing by the moment. “I love how passionate you are about all this.”
His mouth pulled into a shy smile. “Thank you, my love. Now I just need to convince someone to let me write and direct my own film and find the perfect actor for Richard Capel. Tom perhaps …” he mused.
Chloe had no idea which Tom he meant, but she was still pondering the idea of Archer writing and directing. She had no doubt he’d be brilliant, and surely some film executive somewhere would leap at the idea. He was Archer Frigging Tate, for crying out loud.
“Oh, and there is something else … about the film, I mean,” Archer said, his tone laced with mystery.
“What’s that?”
“Have you ever thought of producing?”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “A film?”
He laughed. “Yes, a film.”
“Uh, no. I can honestly say that the thought has never crossed my mind. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Well, I think you’d be smashing at it, with all your experience in event management and PR. And you did say you were thinking about a career shift. This could be a wonderful segue into something new. I mean, producing is ultimately about logistics and building relationships—both of which I think you’d excel at—particularly with how quickly you got my mother on side. She is a bit of a tough nut, I’ll admit.” Understatement of the century, thought Chloe.
“But you should hardly take my word for it. I was thinking,” he continued excitedly, “that I could connect you with a
good friend of mine, Fiona. She’s a producer and she can tell you everything you need to know—share her insights, that sort of thing. So, what do you say? Will you talk to Fi?” It had all tumbled out so quickly that Chloe was momentarily speechless.
“Uh, yeah, of course, that sounds amazing. Thank you.”
Being part of a film production! There was no way Chloe could ever have imagined how things would turn out when she’d planned a quiet Christmas in a tiny town in England. She snorted a little laugh at the thought, leant her head against the headrest and imagined herself on a film set, clipboard in hand and … producing—whatever that entailed.
Chloe’s contemplation was interrupted by the sound of Archer’s phone ringing. He gave a voice command to answer it and put it on speakerphone.
“Hello.”
“Archer, thank god I’ve caught you. Are you free? Do you have a moment?” asked a very posh English accent.
“George! Absolutely. We’re just on the M40, heading back to Penham. I’m with Chloe and you’re on speakerphone, so behave.” He glanced at Chloe. “George is my publicity manager,” he told her. She nodded.
“Right, well, I’ll keep this brief—and I want you to know that I’m on top of it. I’m already penning a press release as we speak—”
“George, what’s going on?”
“Well, if you’re asking, then I take it you haven’t been on Twitter in the past couple of hours?”
Chloe and Archer shared a look across the car and Chloe reached for her handbag to retrieve her phone. “Uh, no, we haven’t. Why?” Archer replied.
Chloe’s stomach clenched into a tight little knot as she navigated to Twitter and typed “Archer Tate” into the search field. She gasped, just as George responded. “It’s Madison, Archer. She’s gone on a bit of a tweeting rampage.”
“How bad is it?” asked Archer.
“Bad,” replied George and Chloe at the same time. Chloe could hardly tear her eyes away from the feed. Accusations and vile, spiteful, nasty words, many of them about “that skank”. About her. Chloe felt the bile rising and swallowed repeatedly to keep from vomiting.
“As I said, I’m penning the press release now and as soon as you get to your parents’ house, read over it, so we can get it out as soon as possible.”
Chloe tore her gaze away from her phone and looked at Archer. His jaw was tense, and she’d only seen him scowl that intensely on film. “Will do. Thank you, George. Oh, and you took care of that other matter, I expect?” Chloe figured that the “other matter” was sacking the person on the publicity team who had leaked to Madison where Archer was.
“Of course. I sorted that out yesterday and I assure you, that will not happen again. Anyway, I shall wait to hear from you. And Chloe?” Chloe realised with a start that George was addressing her.
“Uh, yeah?”
“I’m so very sorry about all of this and to be meeting you, so to speak, under such terrible circumstances.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, no worries.”
“We’ll get it sorted, all right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Archer, I’ll speak to you later. Bye.”
The call ended and Archer reached across to take her hand again. He lifted it to his mouth and gave it a soft kiss that Chloe barely registered.
This was real. This was her life now. Being in love with the world’s biggest film star came at a price—a massively huge and ugly price. As she took a long, steadying breath to quell the nausea, Chloe stared out the window at those poor wet sheep.
If only the girls were here.
*
“Right, can I get you some tea? Sherry? I think Max has some whisky somewhere.” Susan peered at Chloe, worry etched onto her usually smooth features.
“Well, I do, love, but it’s not even noon yet,” replied Max.
“Oh, right, of course.”
“Um, tea, please,” Chloe said. Archer had dropped her off, depositing her carry-on and handbag in the Browning’s entry, and giving Max and Susan a digest version of what had occurred. He’d left with a promise to return as soon as he could and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Chloe, who had watched the exchange like some sort of out-of-body experience, was now bundled up on the couch under one of Susan’s mother’s crocheted blankets, as though she was seven years old and off from school with a cold.
Susan disappeared from the front room, presumably to make the requested tea and Max, who sat across from her in his favourite chair, cleared his throat far more than was normal and glanced across at her intermittently over the top of his book. Chloe suspected that he wished he were anywhere else and felt terrible that she’d brought so much drama into the Browning’s home.
“That skank Australian snuck into his hotel room and stole my boyfriend!” The words played over in Chloe’s mind like a 1940s newsreel, as she stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace. Skank-y, Chloe thought. It was supposed to be an adjective. “That skanky Australian …” Somehow, focusing on Madison’s poor grammar was easier than delving into the implications of the predicament.
George had said he’d written a press release, but what on earth would it say? She’d written press releases—dozens of them—but never once had she needed to refute the skankiness of one of her clients.
Archer Tate would like to say that Ms Madison Strumpet is gravely mistaken. Ms Chloe Sims is not a skank. She is, however, the love of Mr Tate’s life and, as well as enjoying a rigorous and highly satisfying physical relationship with Ms Sims, Mr Tate finds her to be delightful company, extremely funny and capable, and very, very pretty. She is also highly respected by Mr Tate’s rather formidable mother, who reportedly was impressed by Ms Sims’s efforts as a last-minute addition to the planning committee for the Penham Christmas Fair.
Chloe imagined George reading it out at a press conference with her and Archer behind him, both wearing enormous dark sunglasses and waiting to take questions. It was a ludicrous image and a giggle bubbled up and took hold. When Susan arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits—milk chocolate Hobnobs—she found Chloe giggling quietly to herself.
Susan eyed Chloe with a mix of concern and confusion. “Are you all right, Chloe love?” She placed the tray on the coffee table and poured Chloe a large mug of tea, adding a generous dollop of milk.
Chloe stopped laughing and took the proffered tea. “Thank you and I guess so. It’s just all so ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Susan’s eyebrows knitted together, and she pursed her lips. “Mmm.” She didn’t seem wholly convinced of the ridiculousness of the situation and busied herself with pouring tea for her and Max. Chloe, riding the pendulum of emotion back towards dismay, reached for a biscuit and nearly upset her tea. Susan’s eyes widened and flew to the crocheted blanket, but Chloe recovered without spilling. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.
Susan shook her head, “No need, Chloe love. But I’ll just leave these here, shall I?” She placed the plate of biscuits on the end table next to Chloe. Max harrumphed—he probably wanted one—but Chloe could foresee comfort eating through the lot. She took a bite. Delicious.
Susan sat in her chair, closest to the fire, and retrieved a folded newspaper and pencil from the table next to her to resume her crossword. Like Max, she peered across at Chloe from time to time, but Chloe barely registered the curious looks. She just snuggled further under the blanket, systematically eating her Hobnob and sipping her tea, all while staring into the fire. She was just starting on her second biscuit when Susan piped up.
“So, Chloe love, what more can you tell us about what’s going on? You and Alan seem—”
“I’ve just thought of something I need to do upstairs,” said Max, standing abruptly. He was out of the room almost before he finished the sentence.
“Not one for gossip, my Max,” said Susan, taking a sip of tea. Max’s departure was enough to break Chloe from her reverie and she sighed. She could continue to wolf down biscuits and wallow in her thoughts�
�most of them unpleasant—or she could talk it out with Susan, who’d already proven to be a wise and willing confidant.
“Well, you see …” Chloe brushed some biscuit crumbs from the corner of her mouth and licked her lips. “Archer and I … well, we’ve fallen in love.” Susan’s head dropped to the side and one hand pressed to her chest. It was a gesture Chloe had seen Lucy make dozens of times—her coping mechanism when she was on the verge of an anxiety attack—but Susan seemed anything but anxious. On the contrary, she appeared to be quite taken by the romance of it all.
It was just the impetus Chloe needed to get out of her head and without going into too much detail, she explained what had transpired over the past few days, concluding with, “And now I’m of two minds. When it’s just me and Archer, it’s lovely and perfect, but to everyone else, he’s ‘Archer Tate’. Well, not to you, or the other people in the village. You know who he really is. I suppose, in a weird way, the man I love is Alan.” She stared down at the dregs of her now-cold tea, then leant forward to place the mug on the coffee table.
She looked up at Susan who was watching her intently. “But after today … how do I make a life with him? How’s that even going to work?”
Susan was about to answer her when there was a knock at the front door. “I expect that will be Alan, love. Shall I see him in? I can make myself scarce.”
“Thank you, yes,” Chloe replied quietly. She burrowed further under the blanket while she strained to hear the brief exchange in the entry. A moment later, Archer appeared in the doorway, his face stern.
As soon as she saw him, Chloe’s heart swelled and her breath caught in her throat. One mind. She was of one mind and no matter what, all she wanted was to be with him.
If that was what he wanted, that is. His expression was impossible to read. Was he still steaming about Madison, or …
“May I come in?” he asked. Chloe’s stomach lurched at the formality of the question. He’d come to end things with her, she just knew it. Oh god. Was it only that morning that she’d been riding high, spouting all about love to her best friends?
