The Pleasures of Spring

by Evie Hunter

  Well, that bit was technically true. He pressed on before his mother could interrupt. ‘She’s one of the O’Sullivans. You know – the airline family.’

  ‘Tim O’Sullivan keeps a fine stable,’ his father agreed. ‘Horsey girl, is she?’

  ‘I have no idea, Dad.’ He knew Roz was good with a whip, but he didn’t know if she had ever been near a horse. ‘We only got together quite recently.’

  Like a few days before, in the middle of a gun battle, when he believed she was pregnant.

  ‘And do you like her?’

  His mother’s question put an end to Kirsty’s interrogation.

  Did he like her? It was a simple question. One he should have been able to answer without thinking about it. Roz was a thief and a liar and lord knows what else. He had been on her trail for more than a year and he probably knew more about her than he did about his last five girlfriends. But did he like Roz? He only knew that she intrigued him more than any woman he had met for years.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I do like her.’

  After dinner, they returned to the sitting room and sipped drinks beside the fire. Brenda and Deirdre took turns playing the piano, earning them a smattering of unenthusiastic applause. Kirsty rolled her eyes at them, pulled out her iPhone and logged on to E! online.

  Five minutes later, she straightened up with a squeal. ‘Oh, Jack Winter is in Ireland!’

  She flushed when Brenda stopped playing and demanded, ‘Show me.’ All eyes turned to Kirsty.

  ‘It will be on the TV,’ she said. ‘Put on E! News.’

  To avoid any more torture from the piano, Andy switched on the television and within minutes he found the news clip about Jack Winter. A student film-maker had managed to get onto the set of Jack’s latest movie and persuaded the star to give him an interview. A large castle loomed in the background.

  A bearded Jack was surrounded by a bunch of rough looking Norsemen who waved their shields at the camera.

  Andy’s attention was drawn to a group of actors in the background. One woman nodded as she listened to instructions from the director. The hood of her cloak fell back and a mass of strawberry blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders.

  Under the director’s orders, an actor approached the woman and aimed a blow. The redhead staggered and fell to the ground, only to get up a moment later, smiling. The delicate line of her profile was one that he had last seen in a London hotel room. Roz Spring. The latex belly was gone, revealing that she was in good shape. Excellent shape.

  Excitement thrummed in his belly at the prospect of the chase. He had her. He had finally tracked Roz down. Andy gulped down his coffee and wondered how soon could he make his excuses and leave the party.

  He calculated swiftly. It would take about three hours to drive there. He could imagine her face if he turned up in the middle of the night. No. That would encourage her to run. He would have to be patient. Turning up while she was working and couldn’t leave the set would be so much better.

  He would be able to observe her from a distance while he let Niall and Sinead know where she was. Then it would be job done. He wasn’t sure why the prospect of that made him edgy. He wanted this over. Right?

  As if sensing his indecision, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and touched the screen. It was her.

 

 

 

  Yeah. Roz was watching a movie alright – one that wouldn’t hit the big screen for at least six months.

  he typed.

 

  Andy glanced around the room. Deirdre and Brenda had disappeared. Kirsty was bored. Lily was chatting to Isobel. She looked as if she’d had a little too much to drink and Isobel was patting her hand in sympathy. They were probably talking about the kinky doctor.

 

  A message flashed across the screen that she had gone offline.

  Andy laughed. Was she jealous? Was Roz actually interested?

  ‘Anything important, dear?’ His mother was frowning. He probably shouldn’t have checked his phone. He was about to say ‘nothing’ but then paused. He needed to borrow a car for a few days.

  ‘It’s Roz. She’s just arrived in Ireland. I’m driving south tomorrow to see her.’

  The early morning traffic on the motorway south was mercifully light and Andy made good time to Tullamore. He took the road out of the midlands town and drove towards the castle. He had checked for the latest news about the movie and a company that specialized in recruiting film extras had put out a call on Facebook looking for Norsemen for a battle scene they were shooting that day.

  Andy hoped that he could blag his way past security at the gate. He rolled down the window of the Jeep. ‘Kate sent me. I’m here for the battle scene.’

  ‘Corpse or fighter?’

  ‘Fighter,’ Andy replied. He could wield a sword if he had to.

  ‘Okay, mate. Drive half a mile up the road and take the turn-off marked western meadow. They’re doing wardrobe and make-up there.’

  He waved him on and Andy made his way up the rutted drive of the castle. Someone had filled the worst of the potholes with gravel, but he was glad he’d borrowed a Jeep. Up ahead, a group of armed Norsemen were making their way through the woods in the misty rain.

  He hesitated at the turn-off. Maybe he should ‘borrow’ a costume. It would make it easier to move around the castle grounds without being noticed. Andy reversed a couple of feet and took the turn for the meadow.

  After parking the Jeep, he headed for the costume depot and smiled at the girl behind the desk.

  ‘Norse or native?’ she asked, giving him an appreciative glance.

  Beside him, a middle-aged man was being painted up to look as if he had received a spear wound. He wasn’t going there. A costume that involved chain mail might be heavier, but the long tunic beneath would at least be warm. ‘Norse,’ he replied.

  She checked the rail for sizes. ‘Haven’t I seen you in something before?’

  ‘I’ve done a bit of theatre and film work, but to be honest, I’m waiting for a break.’

  The girl studied him carefully and brushed his hair back from his face with her fingers. ‘You have great bones. The camera will eat you up. Benny might be able to use you for some scenes up around the castle. Two of the guys are injured.’

  ‘Benny?’

  ‘Benny D’Angelo, the art director.’

  She punched a number into her phone. ‘Benny, I have someone who can fill in for Rory. Do you want him?’

  ‘Mmmm, yeah,’ she continued. ‘No beard, but he’s dark and unshaven.’

  She put her hand over the phone for a moment to ask Andy, ‘Do you have weapons experience?’

  He refrained from telling her that most of the weapons he used were the twenty-first century kind. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Horses?’

  He’d very nearly been born on one. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great.’ She pointed to a curtained-off area. ‘You can change in there and then head over to make-up.’

  No wonder it cost millions to make a movie. Make-up took forever and he looked little different than before. Perhaps a bit more rough and dangerous but nothing to warrant two hours sitting in a chair being painted up like a ponce.

  He made his way to the castle, itching for his first glimpse of Roz.

  The area in front of the castle was full of trailers, trucks and portable generators. The men in jeans and T-shirts were obviously crew. The women carried clipboards, wore wellingtons with velvet skirts and constantly spoke into their Bluetooth headsets.

  Ignoring the rule about no phones on set, Andy found a quiet corner and checked his messages. Nothing from Roz. He risked a message to her.

 

  There was no reply and he was about to give up when his screen fla
shed.

 

  Andy wanted to punch the air. He had reeled her in. If that wasn’t jealousy, he would eat his chain mail, link by link.

 

 

  When she went offline, Andy looked around him, checking each of the trailers grouped near the set. The door of the one furthest away opened and two women emerged, both dressed in similar costumes. Even from this distance, he recognized her. Roz.

  His heart thumped. Something primal awoke in him at the sight of her. A ravening hunger licked and gnawed at his insides. Andy hesitated, struggling to process a physical reaction to her. It wasn’t the usual satisfaction when he tracked down the bad guy. This was more than a job. He fancied her. He actually fancied Roz Spring. Without conscious thought, he set out across the set only to be brought up sharply by a roar.

  ‘Oi, mate, it’s this way.’

  Fuck. He turned to see who was shouting at him.

  The man was shorter than he was and intelligence shone in his blue eyes. His skin was tanned and his bearing looked military. Andy almost saluted.

  ‘We’re shooting a scene at the old stables. How’s your sword arm?’

  ‘A little rusty.’

  ‘But you can ride?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The man grunted his approval. ‘Which branch were you in?’

  He was sharp, Andy thought. ‘The Wing.’

  ‘And what are you doing now?’

  ‘This and that. A bit of private security here and there – you know how it is.’

  ‘Indeed I do, my son.’ He thrust out his hand. ‘Frankie Fletcher, pleased to meet you.’

  Old was an understatement. The stable block looked as if it had been there since the Vikings invaded Ireland and was about to collapse at any moment, but it was suitably authentic for a Norse raid. Andy was introduced to his fellow actors and he listened as the fight scenes were planned out in meticulous detail.

  He had to hand it to Frankie, he knew his stuff. The guy might be in his fifties, but he was fitter than all the twentysomethings on set.

  The director clapped his hands and called for silence. ‘And action.’

  By mid-afternoon Andy was exhausted. This was as bad as the army. Although the old stable block was freezing, it was like the Bahamas under the heat of the lamps. His shoulders ached from swinging the heavy sword and beneath his chain mail and long tunic, he was sweating.

  He was never so relieved as when the director yelled cut. ‘Nice work, guys.’

  Andy sat down on a bale of hay and mopped his brow.

  Frankie took a seat beside him and drew an electronic cigarette from his pocket. ‘Filthy habit, I know. But I can’t seem to give it up.’

  They sat in companionable silence until one of the assistants approached them. ‘Rory is going to be out of action for a week. Can you come back tomorrow? Benny has more work for you.’

  Andy nodded. Things had just taken a turn for the better. There would be no sneaking around the set now that he had a job. All he had to do was find Roz.

  10

  Abbie Marshall was an average looking woman. Average size, average looks, barely any make-up, brown hair cut into a no-nonsense style that required zero maintenance. Nothing compared to the beauties dressed up for the camera. But when she arrived at Charleville, she took the castle by storm.

  Her taxi swept up to the front of the castle, and she leapt out, all energy and inquisitiveness. She grabbed her small bag, threw a handful of money at the driver, and glared up at the tower.

  Roz was picking up a script when she arrived, and had no difficulty identifying her. Jack Winter’s marriage to Abbie had been a media storm, and the fact that Abbie hadn’t taken Jack’s surname had all the gossips predicting an early end to the marriage. But right now, she looked like a woman on a mission.

  ‘Where’s Jack Winter?’ she asked Roz.

  ‘Come with me.’ Roz led her around the corner and pointed to where the filming was going on. In spite of the trainers under her velvet dress, she could barely keep up with Abbie. The reporter hummed with anticipation.

  The director called, ‘Cut!’ and the actors all relaxed.

  As if he could smell his mate, Jack’s head came up and turned in her direction. A wide smile lit up his face, and his eyes gleamed impossibly blue. It was as if someone had plugged him into a power source. He ignored everyone around him and headed straight for Abbie.

  When he pulled her into his arms, the electricity between them crackled. He kissed her, oblivious to the audience watching him. And Abbie reached up and pulled him down to her, as hot and passionate as he was.

  Every single member of the set stopped to watch. It was like watching a perfect storm. The power and fury of the two lovers was mesmerizing.

  The sight of them made Roz smile, but it also awakened a sense of dark resentment and jealousy. God, she wanted that. She wanted a man who would ignore the world for her, someone who treated her as if she was the only woman in the world.

  That was what her sister had. And what she didn’t.

  Roz was never going to be the one with the prince telling her how much he loved her. Better get used to it. No one loved her. Hell, there were a few people who liked her, who were fond of her. But no one who loved her like that.

  Get over it. This is your life. You live in the shadows and watch other people love.

  She wouldn’t cry.

  To distract herself, she copied everyone else and pulled out her phone to record the scorching kiss binding Jack Winter and Abbie Marshall.

  Finally, Abbie allowed an inch of space between her and her husband and saw what was happening. She wiggled enough to free one arm and pulled out her camera. She twisted around, recording all the people recording her and Jack.

  Jack laughed and kissed her cheek, but was careful not to get in her way.

  Roz moved back before Abbie could record her. She couldn’t afford to get distracted by this, she had a dangerous stunt to do.

  Andy crossed the meadow back to the castle. The damp spring air was chilling and the crew wore padded jackets and stamped their feet in an effort to keep warm. A spotlight was aimed at the turret where an action scene was unfolding.

  High overhead, a desperate fight was taking place on the battlements. A woman screamed as she tried to fight off a rapacious group of invaders. She screamed again and clambered onto the stone wall. Andy held his breath.

  ‘Jesus!’ he hissed as the slender figure, clad in a nightgown, fell from the battlements.

  There was a loud thump as the stunt woman hit the giant airbag below.

  The crew clapped. ‘Nice work, Roz,’ the director yelled. ‘Let’s do one more take and we’ll call it a day.’

  That was Roz? Andy’s heartbeat stuttered.

  Holy fuck, she was jumping from at least sixty foot up. She could get hurt. Every instinct in his body urged him to rush in and stop her before she broke her fool neck, but he knew he couldn’t. No one else was looking the least bit worried, and Roz was grinning as she vanished back into the tower.

  It was her job, he reasoned. She was a stunt woman. Roz was paid to get hit with swords and jump out of towers and fall off horses. Every detail was orchestrated and planned. There was no reason for the cold sweat that covered his back.

  The second fall was more spectacular than the first. A gust of wind caught her nightgown and it billowed out exposing pale, slender limbs. The cameraman beside him whistled in approval and Andy beat down the urge to thump him.

  Finally, the director called it a day and Andy hurried across the lot. At the airbag, there was no sign of her.

  ‘Looking for Roz?’ one of the crew asked him. ‘She’s gone back inside. She left some gear up there.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Andy said.

  He stepped back to allow two ladies in period costume to exit and hurried up the broad oak staircase to the l
anding. Ignoring the sign that warned him not to enter, Andy opened the door to the turret staircase and bolted it behind him. He had promised Roz a reckoning and by god he was going to have it.

  The spiral staircase was dark and narrow, but Andy took the steps two at a time. Around the next bend, he almost collided with a woman descending. The linen shift was now covered by a blue gown belted at the waist with a golden girdle. Her strawberry blonde hair was bound in a loose plait that fell over her shoulders.

  A vision invaded his head of a painting he had seen as a child – one of a knight and his lady meeting on a staircase. The woman’s face was obscured, the knight’s full of tender emotion.

  The romantic image was utterly at odds with the raging heat bubbling inside him. Lust, frustration and anger battled for supremacy.

  Vivid blue eyes widened as she recognized him. Her wide pink mouth didn’t have a chance to scream before he dragged her into his arms and fastened his lips on hers.

  He forgot tenderness, forgot finesse, forgot every practised move he had ever learnt in the art of seduction. Andy ravaged her mouth, thrusting his tongue against hers. He caught her hair in one gauntleted hand, holding her in place while he continued to kiss her.

  Her surprised squeal at the sudden assault changed into a soft moan. Roz tasted sweet, like strawberries. Andy tightened his grip around her waist. He wanted to devour her and never stop.

  She wound her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with a hunger of her own. A lustful fire raced through his blood, making his nerve endings scream. He tore his mouth away from hers to kiss her jaw line and down her neck, biting and nibbling on the tender flesh.

  Damned costumes. They were wearing far too many clothes.

  Andy McTavish, in the flesh. When she saw him, Roz was convinced she was dreaming. Or that he was a ghost. She had been in Charleville long enough to learn that it was the most haunted castle in Ireland and was surprised to hear how many of the crew claimed to have seen something moving in the old tower.

  She had ignored them all. She had seen enough real-life horrors to pay any attention to silly ghost stories.