George

by Nancy Warren

  “Well, you’d give out the prizes at the local fete, be the hostess for several public events, but mainly we’d live like normal people.”

  “Except for the title and the huge estate.”

  “Apart, of course, from those.” He took her hand. “I can’t leave, you’re right. I can’t even manage a job in London. Even once I’ve hired another manager for the property, I’ll still have to spend a good deal of time here.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “But I’m not trapped here all the time. We could go on holidays and visit America. But,” he looked back at the great house looming over them, “this will have to be my home, I’m afraid. And, if you agreed to have me, I couldn’t put up with what my father did, or have my children miss their mother half the year.”

  “I have to keep working, George.”

  “Of course. And often you’ll be away. I understand that. But if you can’t face England, or the estate, then don’t have me.”

  “When a girl thinks of living in an honest to God castle, that’s usually a good thing. But all those fairy tales never mention the costs of heating, and that you have to live in a house with servants – which is weird when you’re not used to it – and you can’t someday decide to give it all up and move to Morocco.”

  “No. Those are decided drawbacks, you’re quite right.”

  “But then I think about walking away from you, and I’m not sure I can do that, either.”

  He took her face in his hands and she could see that he understood. “Well, that’s something. Because I can’t bear to think of it.” Then he kissed her, slow and sweet and tender, so that for a minute L.A. and her home, friends, career, itchy feet, none of it mattered.

  Except that it did matter, and when the kiss ended, everything she’d made of herself, all the choices and hard work and guts that made her a successful producer at thirty-one were still there. “I feel like you’re giving me the most precious gift, and I’m acting like I don’t want it, but I do.” She leaned her head against his chest, breathing him in, loving the feel of him, so solid against her.

  “I do understand, you know. I want so badly for you to say yes, but I won’t be shocked if you say no.”

  “Can I have some time to think about things?”

  “As long as you need.”

  She hesitated. “We’ll be finished shooting tomorrow.”

  He turned to her, alarm clear in his expression. “You’re not leaving? Surely. I understood you’d be staying on for a few months.”

  “I’m not leaving the country, but once the shooting’s done here, we move to our other locations. Then I’ll have to go back to L.A. to finish the scripts and edit the series.”

  “So, after tomorrow, you’re done here.”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t know it would be so soon.”

  She chuckled. “Admit it. When we first arrived you couldn’t wait to be rid of us.”

  “That was before I came to know you,” he said, with dignity.

  Oh, she thought, how could she ever leave him?

  And how could she ever stay?

  Chapter 10

  The final shooting scene would have to be the pub. Maxine and the cameraman started outside with the establishing shots. “Pan of outside of the pub, close in on the sign, and then the door,” she said.

  “Sure. Do you want the street?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe just this section, from the newsagent’s to that gift shop.”

  “You got it.”

  She left him to it and walked inside where the rest of the crew were setting up under the curious gazes of the pub patrons. They didn’t seem bothered one way or another. She’d dreaded finding the pub packed to overflowing with the curious and those who wanted their faces on TV, and she had a crowd control plan all ready, but it seemed she wouldn’t need it.

  The pub was about as crowded as it had been the first time she’d stormed in, irritated and looking for George. How different her feelings were now. She saw him, not as a slacker trying to evade his responsibilities, but the very opposite. A man who took his responsibilities so seriously that he’d threaten his own happiness.

  And hers.

  But, in his place, wouldn’t she do the same? You couldn’t turn your back on your destiny.

  “Maxine? Are you all right?”

  The voice belonged to Arthur Denby, the pub’s owner and one of George’s ‘mates.’ He was looking at her in some concern.

  “Sorry, yes. I’m fine. I was thinking of something else.”

  “Must have been something pretty bloody astonishing,” he said, the concern softening into teasing.

  “Hah, it was.” She glanced over at George. “Do you believe in destiny?”

  Arthur followed her gaze, then sent her a curious glance. “Do I believe in destiny?” He appeared to ponder the question, while Suz stuck down an electric cord with gaffer’s tape, to keep it out of the way, and her sound tech checked the ambient noise, and the pub patrons drank, and watched, and chatted among themselves.

  “Well, I’ve always thought a man – or woman,” he said, inclining his head to her, “makes his own destiny. But sometimes, sure, things happen and there’s no getting around the fact that they throw you off course.”

  “But you think the man or woman is still in control?”

  “Well, when destiny comes along, you can sit back and take what it dishes out or you can choose what you’re going to do about it, can’t you?”

  She sighed. Still looking at George, as though she could store him up for when she was gone. “And isn’t that the kicker? Figuring out what you’re going to do?”

  “George is a good bloke,” Arthur said. She could have protested that her discussion of destiny and George were unrelated, but she respected Arthur’s intelligence. “One of the best.” He shook his head. “If destiny is pushing you in that direction, you could do a lot worse.”

  “Have you ever been in love, Arthur?”

  “Sure. Lots of times.” He had a softened burr, an Irishman who’d lived in England a long time.

  She smiled, shaking her head. “One of these times it’s going to stick. And you may find it’s more complicated than it seems, this love business.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said, with a shrug and the slight insolence of a man who’s never had to choose between love and career. One day, darlin’, she thought to herself, I’d like to see you deeply in love and torn apart by it, then see if the superior smirk isn’t wiped off that dark, handsome face of yours. One day.

  The roar in the pub dimmed. The sound guy clipped a lapel mic on George, but they’d decided to go for a boom mic for the rest of the dart players.

  Simon was inside, now, his camera on his shoulder. “Arthur,” she said, “would you mind telling everyone to relax and not look at the camera. We want this as natural as possible. The instructions will be better coming from you.”

  “All right.”

  “Attention, everyone,” he boomed. The room silenced in an instant. Wow. Cool trick.

  “If you want to be on the telly, you have to act cool. Relax, don’t look at the camera, and have a good time.”

  She nodded. Pleased with him.

  Then he continued, sending her a wicked glance. “And, if you’re very good, these lovely people have offered to buy a round for everybody at the end of it.”

  A ragged cheer greeted his final words, and he turned to Max and winked at her. Oh, what the hell. If she couldn’t submit that invoice, she’d eat the cost.

  Since George had threatened to spank her in a very painful and not sexually fun way if she dared come near him in the pub with the pressed powder, she refrained. He was dressed as he always dressed for darts. Casual shirt, rolled at the cuffs, and today, a navy T-shirt underneath. He made aristocracy look sexier than any movie star she’d ever worked with.

  She backed out of the camera’s sight line. To her it was like being a studio audience or watching live tele
vision. She saw the scene before her, but it was apart from her. She was the viewer. A hyper critical one, of course, as she looked with an eye to editing, an overall impression of pace, energy, in-screen design, and overall entertainment.

  Simon glanced at her and she gave him a thumbs up. Then she found George also looking her way and she blew him a quick kiss. The glance she got in return was steamy enough to melt wax.

  “Okay, your lordship, go for the darts,” the cameraman said.

  “We’ve got sound, speed, we’re rolling.”

  She stepped back to watch the monitor.

  You had to be so careful with a documentary. People wanted to learn something, experience something foreign to them, but they also wanted to while away an hour or two in a pleasurable manner. So, she tried to inform and entertain.

  This portion of the program was definitely more in the entertainment category. There was the 19th Earl of Ponsford with a regular-guy shirt on, sleeves rolled up – she’d insisted on that. She liked the visual metaphor of him rolling up his sleeves and joining in the village darts game down at the local pub.

  You could tell a lot about a man from the way his friends treated him, and George seemed like a man with a lot of friends. He was perfect for her in every way but one huge one. How could she be so sure? She’d known him officially for a few months, spoken on the phone and by email, but only spent a week as lovers. How could she know she loved him? How could she even contemplate marrying the man?

  Well, you could learn a lot about a man when you spent a week with him, 24/7 under somewhat trying circumstances. Maybe they’d fallen in love with the fast forward button on.

  When the shoot was over and she’d bought everybody a round, it seemed perfectly natural to stay at the pub and enjoy fish and chips, or Cornish pasties, and a glass of lager or a pint of stout. Since it was the last day of shooting at Hart House, there was a convivial party atmosphere. Tomorrow, they’d be moving on to a new location, and chances were they wouldn’t be coming back this way again.

  As the evening progressed, she found herself glancing more and more often in George’s direction and worrying less and less about who might sniff out that something was going on between them.

  When he caught her gaze and held it with his own she read all the longing she felt reflected in his eyes. Why did this have to be so hard?

  The key crew members were staying at the castle – she thought that since she was staying there, George had felt honor-bound to invite Simon and the others. So, it was a noisy group who left the pub at eleven and walked back to the castle singing English pub songs that Arthur had insisted on teaching them.

  “Cor, what a mouth, what a North and South,” Simon bellowed as he tromped up that path.

  It was their last night, and she knew George felt it as keenly as she did. She didn’t even know when she was coming back or how long she could stay when she did.

  Well, for tonight she wasn’t going to think about that. George was here, she was here, and for this last night, she didn’t plan to get much sleep.

  Tomorrow, she could worry and fret and plan and maybe grieve the love that simply wasn’t meant to be. But for tonight, she was going to enjoy the man she loved. Every inch of him.

  When they returned to the castle, however, it turned out that Simon had purchased a fine bottle of Scotch from the pub, and insisted on toasting George for his “generosity and for being a stand-up guy.” Which was more than could be said for Simon, who was weaving and swaying, the bottle swinging like a conductor’s baton, punctuating his slurred speech.

  “Well, all right, then. Just a small one,” George said. “I’ll fetch some glasses.”

  Janine had the sense to take the bottle from Simon and do the pouring, thus saving the expensive rug and keeping the drink sizes moderate.

  Max could have kissed her.

  The six filmmakers settled in and Max, who usually enjoyed these impromptu parties as much as anyone, had never more wished to be spared.

  George sat down and appeared a man at his ease, but she could see the tiny movement of his foot tapping. She picked up the rhythm and found her fingernails tapping her knee in synchronization.

  God, would Simon never shut up? And did Janine have to encourage him to launch into his stories about his days shooting soap operas? Okay, they were funny stories, and she loved Simon, but not now.

  She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes. Then she’d slip away.

  When she lowered her wrist, George was looking at her with slightly raised brows. She stretched out the fingers of both hands and he gave a tiny nod. He could wait that long. Well, he’d have to. He’d wait another five minutes or so for form’s sake, but she anticipated that within twenty minutes they’d be naked, in his bed, and everything else could be put away until morning.

  Her body stirred as she tried to decide what she’d like to do to him first.

  She made it to nine minutes. Close enough. She rose, putting aside the heavy crystal glass and yawned. “Well, I think I’ll turn in. We’ve got a travel day tomorrow. I need my sleep.”

  Simon, in the most un-Simonlike manner, suddenly rose too. “Yaknow, that’s an excellent idea,” he said. Then he blinked. “And Max, before morning, I need to talk to you. Got a problem.”

  Frustration boiled in her stomach. No, no, no. She did not have time for this. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

  Simon shook his head violently. “Think we need to make a personnel change. Ted’s mother’s sick. He wants to go home.”

  Even though lust was lapping at her nerve endings, she knew this couldn’t wait until morning. She’d have to make some calls and try and replace Ted. “I’m so sorry about his mother. Of course. We’ll work something out.”

  “Ted?” George said. “The lighting man?”

  “Yes. Crucial member of our team,” Simon informed him.

  “Will Ted stay on until we find a replacement?”

  “You know he will. But she had a heart attack. She’s okay, but he wants to get back.” Simon knew the guys, but she was the one who got stuck with problems like this. She felt sorry for Ted, sorry that his mother had suffered a heart attack, but also sorry for herself. The timing was bad in every way.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll get onto it.”

  She sat down again, and Simon sat with her. They were deeply into a save-their-butts strategy session when George crossed the room to where they were sitting. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I’m off to bed now. Wanted to say goodbye.” Simon rose and the men shook hands.

  When Max put out her hand to shake, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Pleasure,” he said, and gave her the ghost of a wink.

  As he was leaving, and she was thinking she’d be better able to solve their problems in the morning, Wiggins walked and said, “Sorry to disturb, sir. There’s a small matter I think you should be aware of.”

  With one panicked glance at her, George said, “I suppose it can’t wait until morning?”

  “I think not, sir. If you’d step into the library.”

  “Right. Okay.” And off he went.

  Oh, great. Just great. Their last night and it was like a warped game of Clue. The earl was in the library with the butler. The producer, in the sitting room, with the cameraman and the scotch.

  Finally, she got away from Simon and made her way up the stairs. The library door was closed, she noted, and the lights on.

  When she got to her room, she calculated that it was afternoon right now in L.A. Let them get started on the problem. She grabbed her cell phone and called the studio. It was weird to talk to Hank, her boss, and picture him at his desk so far away.

  Suddenly, she felt very far from home, from her own life. He sounded delighted to hear from her. “How’s it going over there?”

  “Well...” She was about to tell him about Ted and the need to replace him asap, when Hank spoke.

  “Listen, I’ve been thinking. While you’re over there, why don’t we go to Europe and
do some castles? Same concept.”

  Max rubbed her forehead. Lust was interfering with her ability to think. “Um, the title part would be a problem. Not many European nations still have titled families living in castles,” she reminded Hank.

  “Right. But that’s what makes it work for us. Loads of those deposed royals and all live Stateside, right? We could have a whole subseries on kings without thrones. Talk to those guys who are royalty from Russia and places, but work as doormen in Manhattan and car salesmen in Cleveland. Go with them and tour the old estates. What do you think?”

  “Honestly? I can’t think. It’s been a long day and all I can think about is bed.” And how.

  “Right, sorry. I’m forgetting. So, why are you calling so late?”

  She explained the problem with Ted. Hank was a take charge kind of guy, which she liked about him. And he immediately said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the ticket changed and get the kid home, and I’ll find somebody else. In two days you’ll have a new sound tech. I promise.”

  She laughed softly. “You are the best.”

  “Of course. That’s why you work for me. Now get some sleep.”

  “I’m going to bed right now,” she promised him, and that wasn’t a lie, she thought as she clicked her phone off. Though there’d be little sleep involved.

  She washed up and then slipped into the ridiculously sexy nightgown she’d bought at the lingerie shop in town. It was the color of antique gold, and looked fantastic on her. She’d probably bought it because it reminded her of the décor.

  Since she’d freeze on the way down that passage, she threw on her cotton robe.

  Half an hour had passed since she’d come upstairs. She sure as hell hoped the Wiggins business was taken care of.

  She turned the acorn knob with the ease of practice, and entered the dark passageway. She’d pushed the flashlight into her pocket, but she didn’t switch it on. She sort of liked the secrecy and the sense of adventure of going through a dark, secret passageway to meet her lover.