by Nancy Warren
They’d been shooting for five straight days. The shoot was so smooth it was spooky. George was as natural and charismatic on camera as she’d known he would be. If she said to him, “Why don’t you take us through the portrait gallery, and give us the highlights,” he could do it, without a lot of fumbling or repetition or overuse of the word um.
So often, when she was on location, there’d be an unforeseen delay. Equipment malfunction, or illness, or the roof would start leaking, rain would hold things up. But not this week. They’d shot outside in the rose garden and he’d told the story of his parents charmingly, focusing on the falling in love and happy times. She’d cut in with some old family movies and stills showing the Anglo-American love match.
Even the dramatic telling of the ninth earl had been comparatively easy since they were able to hire local actors. Soon, they’d be done here, possibly a day ahead of schedule.
How ironic, that of all locations, this was one where she’d have happily been stranded for a while.
They turned away from the painting and she checked out the current earl with a critical eye.
He stood still for a few seconds while she studied him and then said, “Well, will I do?”
“You’re gorgeous. But the tie’s too bold. It’s going to draw the attention away from your face.”
“Sounds like a good thing, to me.”
“Give it up with the false modesty. Something blue and muted would be much better. Want me to go and choose something?”
“No thank you. I’m capable of selecting a tie on my own.” He pulled out a cell phone and dialed. “Ah, Wiggins. Sorry to bother. Can you bring me a tie?”
“Yes, I know. I thought so too. But they want something blue and muted. Will do. Thanks.”
“I can’t believe you sent a servant for a tie. I would have gone.”
“But I need you with me. Besides, there ought to be some advantages to being a relic of a bygone era.”
A few seconds ticked by uncomfortably. “You read the intro?”
“Your assistant producer sent me a copy. In error I’m sure.”
“Look, you have to understand that this airs in the States, that’s our primary market, so we need to make it…I don’t know, appealing to people who chose a republic but who still love the pomp and glory of royalty.”
“Do you think I’m a relic?”
She stared at him, thinking of how he’d been with her last night, so passionate and – well, there was nothing old-fashioned about the way this man made love.
“No. No. Not at all.”
“Well, then…did you write the script for today?”
“You mean the questions? No. I gave Suz, my assistant, a general idea and she wrote them. You don’t need to worry. We’ll edit the tape to make you sound good. I promise.”
“It’s a question and answer format. Like an interview on the telly.”
“That’s exactly what it will be. An interview on the television. It’s part of the show.”
“And you didn’t tell Suz what to write?”
“No. I gave her some direction. We want to know about you, the man, as well as you the young earl in an old estate. Why? Is there something that bothered you about the questions? She’s got a degree in film and majored in screenwriting. She’s great.”
He looked at her oddly. “No. The questions are fine. Not to worry. You will be there?”
“Good. I’ll be there, of course, so if there’s anything that makes you uncomfortable, give me a signal.”
“All right then.”
Soft footsteps sounded and she turned to see Wiggins arriving in his slow, genteel way, with four ties over his arm. “All blue, your lordship.” Wiggins was too well-trained to glare at Maxine, but she thought his respectful tone, containing the tiniest note of censure, was masterful. “All muted.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” George turned to her. “Well?”
She chose a grey-blue background silk with a restrained paisley pattern. “Here. This one.”
He pulled off the tie and handed it to Wiggins. She took the muted blue tie and looped it around his neck. When Wiggins would have stepped in, she said, “I’ll do it.” There was something about putting on a man’s tie that always seemed so intimate, so wifely. Weird word to come up with, when she wasn’t ready to settle down and he’d all but promised dear old dad not to marry a girl from the States. He lifted his chin and she snugged up the knot.
“All right then. Are we ready?”
“Yes, be yourself. Your charming, lovable, lordly self. You’ll be wonderful.” She stood on her tiptoes. “And here’s a kiss for good luck.”
She’d meant to give him a quick peck on the lips, but he pulled her in close. She held back for a moment, worrying about creasing the silk tie she’d so neatly tied, then gave in and kissed him back.
Wiggins, the perfect butler, had vanished when the pulled apart.
“Come on,” she said. “We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”
They’d decided to do the interview in the great room, where the furniture was the most ornate, and the paintings the most overpowering. She and Simon, her cameraman, liked the juxtaposition of the ancient grandeur with the young, modern earl.
When they crossed the threshold, he said, “Good God,” under his breath. From his perspective, this must look pretty overpowering. Not to mention intrusive. Power leads stretched and coiled like thick black snakes across the priceless rug, two cameras were set up. One to record the interviewer and one to film George. Two cameramen, the lighting technician, sound tech, the interviewer, a gopher, and Suz. The room seemed to be crawling with people who clashed with the furnishings, the décor, the very elegance of the room. The lights were huge and hung like twin suns.
He must feel that his ancestral home had been invaded by aliens.
“Don’t worry,” she said, squeezing his arm. “We’ll be finished soon and you’ll get your home back. You must be looking forward to that.”
He glanced down at her. “I’ve never anticipated anything with less pleasure.”
His gaze was serious, all the usual light charm and humor gone. She felt her heart skip a couple of beats as they stared at each other. How had it happened? How had they slipped from a light, carefree, secret affair, much aided by the hidden passageway, to this searing intimacy? She hadn’t allowed herself to think about how soon they’d be packing up and moving on. She always packed up and moved on. It was part of her job, part of her personality, in truth, so that the job was often a handy excuse.
Now, for the first time ever, she realized she wasn’t ready to leave. “Oh, George,” she began. She didn’t know what she wanted to say, only that it was important, but before she’d got more than those two words out, Simon caught sight of them. “Great. You’re here.”
The spell was broken, and she wasn’t sorry. What would she have said? What did she want to say? George was wonderful. Gorgeous, funny, sweet, even rich if you didn’t count the burden of debt and the fact that he could never sell Hart House. It was sort of like inheriting a museum. The responsibilities balanced out, and possibly outweighed, the benefits.
But he’d got to her, in a way that no other man ever had. She didn’t even know when or how it had happened. She’d been so busy making the documentary, getting to know him as a subject, and then as a man, that she was half in love with him before she’d realized she was beginning.
She watched George take his seat, let the sound technician fuss with his lapel mic, while she stood frozen in the background.
Suz went to him with the Max Factor foundation powder. Honestly, the way he’d recoiled you’d think they were going to curl his eyelashes and put him in drag.
Love.
That was what was different about this affair from every other. She’d gone and fallen in love with George the way an unwary pedestrian falls down a flight of stairs. One minute she was heading straight down a chosen path, the next minute she was tumbling head over heels and landing on her ass.
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br /> Moving closer, she hovered outside the circle of light. Janine Wilkins, the on-camera interviewer was going over the questions. Janine had enjoyed a respectable career on Broadway and she’d played a series of minor characters on TV.
Max had seen her in an episode of Law & Order. Janine had played a judge. She had an accent that was upper crust, a demeanor that was mature, but attractive. Elegant but approachable, she exactly the right voice and look for the talking head for the Grand Titles, Great Estates series.
Today, they’d dressed her in a blue suit. She and the earl could sit down to high tea and look perfectly matched. Her blonde hair was upswept, her makeup subdued.
Walking up to Janine, and said, “You look gorgeous, Janine. As usual.” They air-kissed. Then Max walked their program host over to George and introduced them.
The two shook hands and Janine said how much she loved his estate. He, in turn, complimented Janine on her work. He’d seen her host a previous program. They were off to a good start.
George then turned to Max. “Any last minute advice?” he asked her.
“Yes. Stop being a big baby about that makeup. It stops you shining and makes you look better.”
He had on his I-will-throw-you-in-the-dungeon-if-I-don’t-get-my-own-way expression, so she grabbed the powder from Suz. “I’ll do it.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue, simply went at him with quick strokes while he frowned at her. “There. That wasn’t so bad.”
“I feel like a bloody great poofter,” he whispered. “This stuff smells like my old aunt Edith.”
“Trust me. It’s good. You’ll wash it off after and no one will know.”
“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” he complained.
“This time, you don’t look at the camera. Look at Janine, or at least in her general direction.”
“Right. Okay. Where will you be?”
“I’ll be standing at the back, watching.” She couldn’t kiss him in front of all these people, so she touched his shoulder. “Break a leg.”
Janine was settling herself in the chair, getting her own makeup touched up when Max leaned over and said, “You’re a natural interviewer. Use those questions as a guide, but go ahead and press him a bit if you sense he’s holding back. I think he might be a bit elusive.”
“Sure. No problem.” Janine flicked her a glance. “Easy on the eyes, too.”
She chuckled. “You noticed.”
She checked her monitor. Said to her lighting tech, “There’s a shadow on the right side of his face. Can you fill a little bit?”
When she was satisfied, she nodded to Simon who started rolling. She watched her monitor. Simon did his wide, establishing shot of Janine and the earl. He then went in tight on Janine for her intro.
“I’m here in the Great Room of Hart House,” Janine said to the camera, “with the 19th Earl of Ponsford.” She talked about George, his ancestry, including his American mother, of course, and then turned to the earl.
George, she was pleased to note, looked relaxed and urbane. He’d probably learned interview protocol in nursery school.
The second camera was trained on George. After a few preliminaries, Janine turned to George.
“You studied to be an architect, I understand and, until recently, worked for a London firm.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m still employed by the firm, but I’m on leave at the moment. Since losing my father last year, I’ve had to step in and run the estate.”
“That must be a lot of work.”
George had obviously read the questions carefully, for his answers were smooth. He gave enough detail about the estate, but not too much. So far the whole interview was going so well there’d be little editing needed.
Max left the monitor and moved around until she was standing behind Janine’s chair, but out of camera range. From here she had a clear view of George and had the leisure of staring at him without being thought crazy. Or crazy in love.
“You were named by Hello! Magazine, one of England’s twenty-five most eligible bachelors,” Janine said. “How did that make you feel?”
Whoa, Maxine thought. Good one, Suz. Hah, she was sleeping with one of England’s most eligible bachelors. How did she feel about that?
“Bashful. And a little nervous.” Here he gave a glance around as though being pursued by a bevy of female Hello! readers and that made Maxine smile. It would go over great in the broadcast.
“What do you look for in a woman? In a future countess?”
“Well, obviously, I’m looking for the woman first. We’ll worry about her being a countess later.” He paused, crossed one leg over the other. “What am I looking for in a woman? Humor, intelligence, someone I can laugh with and be myself with.” He glanced at Janine with his naughty boy flirty eyes. “I’ve always fancied the idea of someone who worked in television.”
Janine was an old pro, and she handled him perfectly. You could feel the warmth and slight older woman, younger man thing batted between them like a badminton birdie.
“Of course, any woman who married me would have to give up a lot. I’m running the estate now, and so I can’t go off and live in London, say, or Los Angeles. She’d have to be willing to live here a great deal of the time.”
L.A.? Odd he should mention L.A. He might have been talking about her. Janine waved her hand graciously at the antiques and magnificence of the Great Room and smiled. “I think a lot of young women would be willing to live in Hart House.”
“It’s not all garden parties and spreads in posh magazines,” he said. “This is a working estate. The livelihood of one hundred and eighty-two people depend on it, the village depends on it. Frankly, it’s a lot of work.”
“You wouldn’t give it up?” Janine sounded alarmed. She’d gone way off the script, Maxine was fairly certain, but it didn’t matter. Janine was a born interviewer. She knew instinctively when to follow a line of questioning and when to revert to her script.
“No, of course not. I was born and raised to be the Earl of Ponsford. It’s my duty as well as an honor, but for a woman who wasn’t born to it, helping run the estate might be a bit more than she bargained for.”
“Is there a special woman in your life?”
Oh, no, Max thought. If only she’d had time to check the script over, she’d have cut that line. It was personal, impertinent, it was…
George’s eyes drifted over Janine’s shoulder to rest on her. He’d been following her movements then, he knew exactly where she was. “Yes,” he said. “There is.”
Through the bright lights, the cables, the technicians, the whirring cameras, she felt that gaze and they could have been alone. She shivered as she realized he had been talking about her. She didn’t realize her hand had moved to her chest until she felt her heart pounding against her palm.
“So, the estate may get a new countess fairly soon?”
“That depends on whether she’ll have me,” George said. His eyes had never left Maxine.
She wanted to run forward and throw herself into George’s arms and yell, Yes! Cameras and all. Wouldn’t that make a dramatic scene for Grand Titles, Great Estates? At the same time, she was conscious of an equally strong desire to turn around and run the other way. Out of the Great Room, out of Hart House, out of England as fast as commercial air service could take her. She was from L.A. She had a job she loved, a life. George was right, he couldn’t be the kind of modern man to follow his woman even if he wanted to. He was stuck here. As rooted as the five hundred year old oak trees lining the drive.
That meant that if they were serious about each other, she was the one who would have to move.
She loved George. The feeling was still new and tender in her chest, but it was undeniable. But did she love him enough to give up her job? Her life? Her country?
Chapter 9
When the last question had been asked, Janine removed her mic and the assistant producer unhooked George. They both rose.
Max joined them, trying to a
ct like her world hadn’t tilted.
“Well,” Janine said to Maxine, when she joined them, “I thought that went really well, didn’t you?”
“Ah, yes. Absolutely. Yes. Really well, really, really well.” Shut up, she told herself. Quit babbling. The quick smile George sent her was as intimate as his answers to Janine’s questions had been.
And she felt as unsettled as she had listening to him.
“Well,” she said, “I’d better get down to the pub and see how things are looking. We shoot there tomorrow.” And with a wave, she was gone.
The ornate walls, painted ceiling, priceless, irreplaceable furniture, paintings, carpets, the thirty foot ceilings seemed to oppress her. Even the marble floor glared up at her as she clacked across it on her way out. Once she’d made her way outside she felt the great weight of the building behind her, grimacing at her back, as though telling her she didn’t belong. She strode down the long, oak-lined avenue, her mind in turmoil, her heart the same.
“Max.” She heard George shout out her name but didn’t turn.
Maybe he’d go away. She wasn’t ready to be alone with him. Didn’t know what she wanted, what she felt, what she ought to say.
The unmistakable crunch, crunch, crunch of a man running on gravel came to her ears. He was getting closer. Unless she tried to run away – and his legs were so much longer than hers he’d catch her anyway – she might as well face him.
So, she turned.
His muted tie flapped as he ran, his polished shoes were getting dusty, but he still looked aristocratic, elegant, and yet sexy. His long-legged stride was athletic, and he ran like a guy who’d run a lot of miles in his time, whether on the tennis court, the soccer field or – like now – running after women.
“You scampered off awfully fast.”
“I did.”
They walked on in silence. She was aware of him looking at her face, but she kept her gaze resolutely forward. “You’re a natural on camera, you know.”
“I wasn’t thinking about the camera. When she asked me those questions, I was thinking about you.”
