The Midnight Rose

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Such as?’ Ari prompted her.

  Rebecca took a deep breath. ‘Between you and me, I’ve decided I don’t want to be married just yet.’

  ‘I see. Isn’t that going to cause a problem or two? From what I read the other day in the newspapers, the world is already planning your wedding.’

  ‘Yes, but I’d prefer to have that problem now than that of a messy divorce in five years’ time. Perhaps Jack and I can just stay engaged for a while, but’ – Rebecca rolled over onto her front and picked at the rough grass – ‘I’m not sure that’s the answer either.’

  ‘Do you love him?’ Ari asked bluntly.

  ‘I . . . don’t know any more.’

  ‘Well, find out for sure before you decide.’ Ari turned onto his back, closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head. Looking at him, Rebecca thought again how attractive he was. She was at the same time relieved and a little disappointed that he had made it clear that he was mourning the loss of someone he had loved. He wasn’t interested in her, that was obvious. She too turned over to lie on her back and closed her eyes, mulling over this unusual state of affairs. After years of men hitting on her at the first opportunity, it was refreshing that Ari seemed content just to talk.

  ‘You’re smiling,’ he said suddenly. ‘Why?’

  She opened her eyes and saw Ari staring down at her. ‘I’m feeling calm and happy.’

  ‘Enjoying the moment, as all the gurus will tell you, is the key to a happy life. So, are you up for more riding? I’d like to explore a little further.’

  ‘Sure,’ she agreed and they remounted the horses.

  ‘Now –’ Ari’s eyes swept the horizon – ‘if this is the brook my great-grandmother describes in her story, I’m sure there’s a cottage somewhere close by. Let’s look around and see if we can spot it.’

  Rebecca followed Ari off the bridle path and onto the moor itself. Something seemed to be guiding him, for after a few minutes of searching, they saw the chimney tops of a building, half hidden in a dip by the rugged surroundings.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Ari, ‘I know it is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The cottage where Anahita lived. Come on!’

  ‘But I thought she lived up at the Hall. You can’t say something like that and then not tell me what you mean!’ she called as Ari set off.

  ‘All in good time,’ he shouted back over his shoulder. Rebecca trotted after him, making her way down the slope and round to the front of the cottage.

  ‘This has to be the one,’ Ari said as he jumped off his horse. ‘Let’s take a look around.’ Helping Rebecca dismount, he walked with her up to the gate. The garden beyond it had long ago been overtaken by the moorland grass and wild plants.

  ‘It’s almost as if the moors have reclaimed it,’ he commented as he forced the gate open with all his strength. ‘Looks like this place hasn’t been lived in for years. Maybe not since Anahita was here ninety years ago,’ he mused as he trampled down the grass to make a path for them to the front door.

  Every inch of the cottage was covered in thick ivy, so he used his hands to try to tear it away from the windows, but it was impenetrable. Then he attempted the door, using all his weight to punch it open through the ivy, but that also failed.

  As Rebecca waited, waist-deep in brambles and grass, a sudden deep colour caught her eye amidst the tangle. Parting the weeds, Rebecca gasped as she saw a small, perfect rose, identical in colour to the one Anthony had given her when she’d first arrived at Astbury. As she bent to take a closer look, she realised there were other tiny buds on the plant, desperate to blossom, and felt a sudden sense of sadness that something so beautiful could still be blooming in the choking chaos surrounding it.

  ‘Maybe we should smash a window pane?’ he suggested. ‘Or perhaps there’s another door at the back?’

  ‘I don’t think we should be breaking and entering,’ said Rebecca nervously. ‘Someone must own this.’

  ‘Yes, Anthony,’ Ari confirmed.

  ‘Then let’s ask him for a key,’ Rebecca suggested, eager to leave. There was something about this place that made her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘I’m going round to the back to see if there’s another way in.’ Ari turned tail and walked past her towards the gate.

  ‘We ought to ride home now,’ she said, ‘it’s past six already and we promised Debbie we’d be back by then.’

  Ari checked his watch. ‘Yes, you’re right. At least now I know where the cottage is. Perhaps I can ask Anthony’s permission to come back and investigate.’

  ‘What is it you want to see?’ she asked him as they climbed back onto their horses, feeling a palpable sense of relief as they trotted away.

  ‘If there’s anything left inside to indicate the presence of my great-grandmother.’

  ‘Surely if it was ninety years ago, there won’t be?’

  ‘You’re probably right, but I’d like to satisfy my curiosity anyway.’

  Arriving at the stables, they turned the horses over to Debbie with profuse apologies for having kept her waiting and walked back towards the Hall. As they took the steps to the terrace, Rebecca saw that Anthony was working in the walled garden. He waved them over.

  ‘Good hack?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Thank you for the loan of the horses,’ said Ari.

  ‘No problem. The poor nags see so little action these days. Feel free to take one out whenever you wish. How long are you staying for?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Ari.

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking as I’ve been out here digging, that I really shouldn’t shy away from my family’s past. So I’ll continue reading your great-grandmother’s story. And when I have we’ll speak again.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m so glad. Then I’ll wait to hear from you.’

  ‘And by all means, feel free to wander Astbury’s grounds in the meantime. They really are at their best this time of year. Goodbye for now.’ Anthony retreated back down the steps to the garden.

  Rebecca grinned at Ari. ‘Be careful. If you come by here tomorrow, you might end up in the film.’

  ‘Hardly, unless there’s a walk-on part for an Indian manservant. Right, I’ll be off. And thanks, Rebecca. It’s entirely down to you that Anthony saw me at all.’

  ‘No problem. See you, Ari.’

  ‘Yes, I hope so.’ He smiled as he walked away.

  19

  ‘Are you okay, Rebecca?’ asked James as they stood on set early Monday morning. ‘You don’t seem your usual cheery self.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Rebecca glanced down at her shaking hands and knew the tremor was not from nerves about the scene they were about to shoot. ‘I do feel kind of weird, even though I’ve had a couple of days off.’

  ‘Probably caught a bug, or maybe our heavy British food isn’t suiting your delicate constitution. We can ask Steve to call a doctor if you need one.’

  ‘It’s this headache I can’t seem to shake. I thought it had gone yesterday, but today it’s back. Maybe it’s a migraine, but I’ve never had one before. Thanks, I guess I’ll just see how I go,’ she said, smiling weakly at him.

  ‘Thirty seconds, everyone!’

  Rebecca was glad she was sitting down for the scene. As well as the headache, she felt nauseous and dizzy. She’d have to take some more ibuprofen when they broke for lunch.

  An hour later, as Rebecca was hurrying towards her bedroom to find the pills, Steve waylaid her.

  ‘The production office had another call earlier this morning from your fiancé. He sounded pretty concerned, as apparently you said you’d contact him over the weekend and you didn’t.’

  ‘It’s impossible to get a cellphone signal here and I don’t like to use the house phone,’ Rebecca explained.

  ‘Look, I understand completely, but obviously your fiancé doesn’t. I’ve told you, the company is paying all the bills, so go ahead and use the landline in Lord Astbury’s study.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll call him lat
er. I’m sorry if he’s being a bother.’ She turned away from Steve and made her way wearily up the stairs.

  Luckily, Rebecca wasn’t needed on set that evening. Having felt no better during the day, she returned to her room and sank down gratefully on the bed.

  Mrs Trevathan appeared a few minutes later, her face full of concern.

  ‘Are you not well, my love?’ she said as she bustled over and put her hand on Rebecca’s forehead.

  ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve just got a bad headache, that’s all.’

  ‘You don’t feel as if you’ve got a temperature. Why don’t I bring you up some nice soup in a bit and then you can have an early night?’

  ‘Thanks, but I really couldn’t eat anything,’ she said, wishing Mrs Trevathan would leave the room so that she could close her eyes.

  ‘All right, dear, but I’ll come up and check on you later.’

  ‘That really won’t be necessary.’

  ‘You want some peace and quiet,’ Mrs Trevathan said, lowering her voice to almost a whisper. ‘I understand. Goodnight then, dear.’

  As she left the room, Rebecca wondered if those who’d lived at Astbury in the past had ever felt smothered by the cloying attentions of their servants. There was simply no privacy. She sighed as she removed her clothes and slipped between the sheets. She hadn’t called Jack yet, but she felt too sick to do so. After a good night’s sleep, she was sure she’d feel more up to it.

  Rebecca dreamed strange dreams that night. She was in the cottage on the moors and there was danger, but the door was stuck fast and when she tried to open the windows, the ivy covering them curled round her hands and held her fast. Once again she smelt the heady scent of perfume as a hand closed over her nose and mouth and she could no longer breathe . . .

  Rebecca jumped awake with a start, her heart banging against her chest. She reached for the light, knocking over the glass of water on the night table beside her. Climbing out of bed and reassuring herself that it had simply been a nightmare, probably born of a fever – she certainly felt warm when she touched her brow – Rebecca opened the door and stumbled along the corridor to the bathroom to refill her glass. Washing her face in cold water, she emerged and walked back in the dim light towards her room.

  She stifled a scream as a shadowy figure accosted her by her door.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I –’ She managed to focus her eyes on the shape and saw it was Anthony, clad in a paisley dressing gown. ‘I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone,’ she said as she tried to catch her breath.

  ‘I’m sorry to have startled you. I heard someone cry out from along the corridor and came to investigate.’

  ‘I guess I just had a nightmare. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, I rarely sleep soundly,’ Anthony comforted her. ‘Well, if you’re sure everything is all right, I’ll say goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’ Rebecca opened the door to her bedroom and closed it firmly behind her.

  ‘Jack’s called again,’ said Steve, finding Rebecca the next morning. ‘Go to the study and call him now whilst you have a break, before I end up in the tabloids accused of thwarting your fairytale romance.’ He grinned at her and walked away.

  Rebecca left the set on the terrace where she’d just finished filming and walked towards Anthony’s study. Her headache had cleared this morning and she finally felt able to cope with speaking to Jack.

  As was typical, both his home number and his cellphone went straight to voicemail. Sighing in frustration, Rebecca wandered back to the far end of the south terrace, where location catering had set up tables in the sunshine and joined the rest of the cast for lunch.

  ‘Come here, darling, and sit next to me,’ Marion Devereaux said, patting the empty seat beside her.

  ‘Thanks,’ Rebecca said, smiling, and feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach. So far, she’d been too shy to approach the legendary actress, whose career had brought her every award and accolade under the sun.

  ‘I was watching you on set this morning, darling, and I want to tell you that you’re good. In fact, you’re very good.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rebecca blushed with pleasure.

  ‘Yes, you have a lovely, natural quality in front of the camera. Have you done much stage acting?’

  ‘I did when I was at Juilliard in New York, but since I graduated I’ve only appeared in films.’

  ‘I hope you’ll find a chance to be on the stage again. Nothing like a live audience to make the adrenaline run and pull the best out of an actor.’ Marion smiled as she lit a slim cigarette. ‘Mind you, one is paid a pittance.’

  ‘I don’t care about the money, I never really have.’

  ‘No, darling, I don’t suppose you would, what with all those big Hollywood films under your belt,’ Marion commented drily.

  Rebecca reddened at the obvious inference. ‘Would you have any advice for me? Any ways I can improve as an actress?’

  The old lady’s famous violet eyes turned to her. ‘Yes, darling, simply live. Gather experiences and know yourself. Understanding of the human psyche brings gravitas and emotional substance to a performance that technique can’t replicate. Act from your soul as much as your brain,’ she said, clasping her hands to her considerable chest.

  Part of Rebecca wanted to giggle, but she agreed solemnly. ‘Thank you, Marion. I’ll try to do exactly that.’

  ‘How I wish I was you, just starting out, with a whole host of wonderful parts in front of me.’ She sighed. ‘However, I’m a far better actress these days than I ever was at your age. We must have dinner together one evening before the shoot ends. Now, I’ll take my leave,’ she said, rising. ‘The sun is playing havoc with my make-up.’

  Rebecca sat where she was, relishing the praise, the warmth of the day and her current headache-free state. James appeared and sat next to her in the chair Marion had vacated a few seconds earlier.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asked. ‘You certainly look it.’

  ‘Yes, I am, thank you.’

  ‘Well enough to join me for dinner tonight? We could drive out to that great pub you told me about.’

  ‘Why not?’ Rebecca replied, feeling that perhaps she did need a break from the confines of Astbury Hall.

  ‘Great, we’ll have to be there by eight, mind you. Everything closes so early out here in the hinterlands.’

  ‘Spoken like a real city boy,’ teased Rebecca.

  ‘Yup, not really cut out for the country – more of a smoky nightclub at two a.m. sort of chap myself. But when in Rome . . .’ With that, James strolled off.

  ‘Where are you off to this evening?’ asked Mrs Trevathan as Rebecca let her into her room. ‘You’re all dressed up.’

  ‘Not really, this is just a new shirt I bought on Saturday. I’m going out to the pub with one of the actors.’

  ‘So, you’re not in for supper tonight?’

  ‘No, not tonight.’ Rebecca was tempted to add, ‘As long as I have your permission, that is,’ but she held her tongue.

  ‘Lord Astbury was hoping you’d join him. He wanted to speak to you about that story the Indian gentleman gave him and he’s invited him here again for dinner tomorrow night. You will be available then, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Please send my apologies and tell him I look forward to seeing him tomorrow.’

  ‘Right then, I’ll see you later, dear. I’ll be waiting up until you’re safely home. His Lordship always likes me to lock and bolt the house before I go to bed.’

  ‘There’s no need, I don’t want to keep you up. Perhaps I could borrow a key just for tonight?’

  ‘That really won’t be necessary,’ Mrs Trevathan said firmly.

  ‘Okay,’ Rebecca conceded. ‘I won’t be very late, I’m sure. By the way, I have something to ask you,’ she added tentatively. ‘What part of the house is His Lordship’s bedroom in?’

  ‘In the west wing corridor, on the other side of the main staircase. W
hy do you ask?’ Mrs Trevathan looked both surprised and defensive at Rebecca’s question.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing, I just thought I heard someone talking outside my door last night, but I was probably dreaming.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure that was the case. Have a nice evening, dear.’

  As Rebecca walked across the drive towards James, who was waiting for her in Graham’s car, her mind was awhirl. If Anthony slept at the other end of the house, he couldn’t possibly have heard her cry out last night. So what had he been doing standing outside her bedroom door?

  James jumped out to open the passenger side door for her. ‘Darling, you look so – modern!’ he exclaimed jokily.

  They gossiped about the shoot on the drive to the Rugglestone Inn. On arrival, they were seated in a discreet corner.

  James went to the bar and returned with a bottle of wine. He sat down and poured some into the glass in front of Rebecca.

  ‘That’s enough!’ she countered when it was half full. ‘After my terrible migraine, I don’t want to risk doing anything to bring it back.’

  ‘Not much of a drinker, are you?’

  ‘You say that as if it’s a bad thing,’ she chided him.

  ‘Of course not. When I went to Hollywood I noticed all the American actors seemed to be teetotallers. Whereas the British are a bunch of raging alcoholics. Cheers.’ James clinked his glass against hers. ‘Here’s to celebrating one’s vices. So,’ he continued with a smile, ‘how’s life at Astbury Hall?’

  ‘Well, between you and me, the longer I stay there, the weirder it seems to me,’ Rebecca confessed. ‘For example, the housekeeper, Mrs Trevathan, is so protective of Lord Astbury it borders on obsessive.’

  ‘Maybe she’s in love with him; female servants often fall head over heels for their employers. It’s a cliché, but it happens.’

  ‘Possibly, but also, she’s constantly in my room, fussing over me, bringing me things to eat and drink.’

  ‘Sounds like heaven to me. I rather enjoy an attentive woman fussing over me,’ James said, grinning.

  ‘I know she’s only trying to be kind, but I feel like she never leaves me alone.’

  ‘I would have thought it was rather wonderful living like a princess in a palace and being waited on hand and foot. We don’t even have room service past ten o’clock at our hotel.’ James raised his eyebrows. ‘Anyway, surely it’s done you good to have some peace for a while, given the circumstances?’