by Carrie Elks
Carrie Elks lives near London, England and writes contemporary romance with a dash of intrigue. She loves to travel and meet new people, and has lived in the USA and Switzerland as well as the UK. An avid social networker, she tries to limit her Facebook and Twitter time to stolen moments between writing chapters. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can usually be found baking, drinking wine or working out how to combine the two.
Visit her website at www.carrieelks.com and follow her on Twitter at @CarrieElks
COPYRIGHT
Published by Piatkus
978-0-3494-1556-7
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Carrie Elks
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
PIATKUS
Little, Brown Book Group
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DZ
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
A Winter’s Tale
Table of Contents
About the Author
COPYRIGHT
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
1
I am not bound to please thee with my answers
– The Merchant of Venice
‘Kitty Shakespeare,’ he said, looking up at her, his lips curved into a smile. ‘That’s an unusual name. Where does it come from?’ Drake Montgomery was the executive assistant to the famous movie producer, Everett Klein. He had her resumé balanced on his lap like a napkin on a diner. His long legs were crossed in front of him, his elbows casually balanced on the armrests of his chair. On one side he was flanked by a beautiful woman he’d introduced as Lola, giving no clue as to her job title or reason for being there. On the other was Mr Klein’s other assistant, Sheryl. Older, with glasses that kept sliding down her nose, leading to a constant battle with her finger. She pushed them up, the glasses slid down. It was almost hypnotic to watch.
Taking a deep breath, Kitty looked around the room. Like all the others she’d been interviewed in, it was bland and impersonal. She’d long since given up hope that she’d be allowed into the producer’s office, where no doubt the walls were plastered with movie posters and photographs of actors, and the shelves stacked with constantly dusted awards. A mere intern – no, not even an intern, more a wannabe – didn’t merit entrance to the inner sanctum, and certainly not an introduction to the producer himself. Which in Everett Klein’s case seemed like more of a blessing than anything else. One of the top producers in Hollywood, he had a reputation that struck terror into everybody that came into contact with him. He was larger than life, with a temper to match.
And of course, everybody wanted to work for him. Having an internship at Klein Productions would be like getting a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. According to her supervisor at UCLA, even God stopped talking whenever Everett Klein opened his mouth.
With every second that passed, she could feel her heart rate increasing. She hated interviews. Hated talking about herself at all. Every time she opened her mouth she could feel her face heating up until she resembled a ripe strawberry. No wonder she hadn’t got an internship yet.
Drake lifted her resumé up to his eyes, frowning, as if it was the first time he’d read her details. Then he laid the paper back down on the table, folding his beautifully manicured hands on his lap. His eyes scanned her, taking her in. Was he staring at her bitten fingernails? She self-consciously shifted in her seat, trying to hide her hands beneath her as she kept the friendly smile on her lips. ‘Kitty’s the name my older sister gave me when I was born. She said I looked so cute all curled up in my cot, she thought I was a kitty cat. The name stuck.’ She glanced up at him to see if he believed her. It was only a partial lie, after all. The truth was much less heartwarming.
Though according to family lore it was Lucy, the eldest of her three sisters, who gave her the name, the rest was a fabrication. In reality their mother had walked back into the house from the hospital, carrying a newborn Kitty in her arms, and told Kitty’s sisters she had a present for them.
‘A baby?’ Lucy had said, her distaste obvious. She already had two sisters – why on earth would she need another? ‘I’d much rather have a KitKat.’
Yeah, Kitty wasn’t planning on sharing that one with the perfectly coiffed Drake Montgomery.
‘And you’re British?’ he asked, as if her clipped accent and place of birth on her resumé wasn’t enough to give it away.
She could feel the tell-tale beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. Why wouldn’t her foot stop tapping? She really needed to focus. ‘That’s right. I was born in London. I moved here last year for a postgraduate course in Film Studies.’ She could feel the self-consciousness washing over her again. She swallowed hard, though her mouth felt as dry as the desert. They were all so intense as they stared at her, she felt more like a specimen than an interviewee.
‘And before that you worked with children?’ He winced, showing his perfectly white teeth.
‘I was a nanny for a few years, yes.’ She nodded vigorously. Was she overcompensating? She was definitely on her way to hyperventilating. ‘After I graduated with my bachelor’s degree I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do next, so I took a job with an American couple living in London.’
Unlike most of her fellow students at UCLA, she hadn’t gone straight onto the course from her undergraduate studies. She hadn’t been able to afford to, for a start. It had taken two years of vigorous saving to pay for her year over here.
‘That must have been interesting.’ Sheryl, the other assistant, offered her the tiniest of smiles. ‘I imagine it’s a bit like looking after the acting talent.’
‘Except children have less tantrums,’ Lola joined in, her voice deadpan.
‘Well, yes.’ Drake cleared his throat, then hastily changed the subject, as though the possibility of children might be catching. ‘What made you decide to move over here to study?’
Kitty grabbed the glass of water that Sheryl had kindly placed on the table in front of her, lifting it up to moisten her lips. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to remember the words she’d rehearsed over and again in the mirror. How was it possible to explain the way that movies had saved her as a child? The way she’d immersed herself in the silver screen, found herself comforted by strangers pretending to be somebody else. The way she’d dreamed of having the kind of Hollywood family that only existed in fairy tales.
She swallowed down her mouthful of water, catching Drake’s expectant gaze as she replaced the glass on the table. ‘I’ve always wanted to make movies,
’ she said quietly. ‘From the earliest age I was fascinated by films. Not just the stories, but how they’re made.’ She offered him the faintest of smiles. ‘I want to transport people to another world, take their worries away for an hour or two. I want to inspire them and entertain them, and make them leave the movie theatre wanting more.’
It had sounded so much better when she said it in front of the mirror. For a start, her voice hadn’t been wobbly. And she hadn’t been wriggling in a hard plastic chair, either.
Lola checked her phone, then whispered rapidly in Drake’s ear, her voice too low to make out her words. Drake’s eyes grew wide. ‘Tell them I’m busy,’ he whispered back. He pulled his own phone out and looked at it, swallowing hard when he read the screen. He flicked the button on the side that turned the volume on to mute. The girl shrugged, and tapped a message on her own phone without bothering to look up.
Kitty’s hands started to tremble in her lap. How many interviews like this had she been on? She’d already lost count. The rejection letters were piling up on her desk in the Melrose apartment she shared with three other girls, and they were just from those who bothered replying. But this one felt even worse – they seemed to have forgotten she was even here. The bead of sweat that had been clinging to her hairline finally started rolling down her overheated face.
A buzzing noise cut through the loaded silence of the room. Drake checked his phone screen again, wincing when he saw the caller. ‘Shit,’ he whispered, clearly not wanting to be heard. ‘Now she’s calling me.’
Clearing his throat, he looked up at Kitty. ‘I really need to take this,’ he said, sliding his thumb across the screen, and lifting the phone to his ear. ‘Drake Montgomery speaking.’ He paused as he listened to the person on the other end. ‘No, Mr Klein’s on set today, he can’t be disturbed. He left strict instructions not to forward any calls.’ Another pause as he winced again. Clearly whoever was on the other end of the line wasn’t happy with the brush-off. ‘I understand, Mrs Klein, I really do. That must be awful. But I still can’t patch you through.’
The shouting that resulted from his refusal echoed around the room. Drake pulled the receiver away from his ear, his face a picture of panic.
‘Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a nanny around here?’ the female voice screeched. ‘I need Everett to pull in some favours. You get him on the phone right now, before I lose it, Drake. This is a life and death situation here.’
Lola let out a little snigger, and Drake looked at her, his eyes wide. ‘Hold on, Mrs Klein, I’m just in a meeting. Let me take this call outside.’ He stood up, and covered the mouthpiece. Kitty didn’t dare meet his eye, she was too afraid she’d join in the giggles.
‘I’m so sorry, I have to go, I think we have enough to make a decision, though,’ Drake said, looking almost apologetic. ‘Sheryl will show you out. Thank you for your time.’ With that, he pulled the door closed behind him, leaving her staring open-mouthed at the two women left in the room.
A glance at her watch told her she’d been here for less than ten minutes. That had to be a new record. It was only a matter of time before the rejection letter arrived in her mailbox, and she added it to the stack she already had.
It was officially time to start panicking.
Even after living in Los Angeles for a year, she still hadn’t got used to the temperate climate. As she left the shiny office building that housed Klein Productions, Kitty stepped onto the pavement, feeling the sun warming her skin as she walked towards the parking garage. It was early December, but the temperatures were still in the mid-sixties, warm enough to walk about the town without a jacket. She couldn’t remember the last time it had rained. Over here, a bad day consisted of a couple of wispy clouds that occasionally obliterated the sun. No wonder everybody looked so healthy and tanned all the time. It was almost impossible not to.
In a desperate attempt to look festive, the shops and offices lining the street had decorated their windows, filling them with fake snow and tinsel, and trees that sparkled with hundreds of tiny lights. But even with the faux bonhomie it was almost impossible to feel Christmassy. For a moment she thought about London – of the wet streets, of the darkness that descended before four in the afternoon, of the roasted chestnut stands and the hot-chocolate sellers, all the sights and aromas that made the season feel right.
And none of them were here.
It was strange, really, that a city whose livelihood depended on selling the idea of the perfect American Christmas had to fake it for themselves.
Climbing into her small Fiat, she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket. She slid her keys into the ignition, leaving them dangling there, before lifting her mobile and checked the caller.
Cesca.
There was something about seeing her sister’s name that always made Kitty smile. As the youngest of four sisters, Kitty had always looked up to them, and even as adults she looked forward to speaking to them.
‘Hello?’
‘Kitty? How are things over there?’ Cesca’s voice was warm. ‘It’s pissing down here. I told Sam that next time he wants to film on location he needs to choose somewhere warm with a beach.’
‘I thought he was over all that lifeguard stuff.’ Sam Carlton – Cesca’s boyfriend – was an Italian-American actor, best known for his role in Summer Breeze – a movie franchise about a sexy teenage heart-throb. He’d met Cesca the previous summer, when they’d both been staying at a villa in Italy. She’d spent hours on the telephone telling her sisters how arrogant he was, and how much she disliked him, when they’d all known she was falling for him. The rest was Hollywood history. He’d declared his love for Cesca on a TV chat show then flown into London to sweep her off her feet.
One of the best parts of living over here in LA had been when Cesca and Sam were in town. Sadly, their visits to the city of stars were all too rare these days.
‘There’s only so much of the tortured, rain-soaked character movies I can take. Give me Sam in a pair of red shorts and nothing else any day.’
‘A million American girls would agree with you,’ Kitty said, smiling. ‘There was an outcry when he said he wouldn’t be starring in any more Summer Breeze movies.’
‘Yeah, well everybody’s replaceable, even Sam. And don’t tell him you said that thing about a million girls – his head is big enough already.’ Cesca’s voice lowered an octave. ‘And how are you? Have you had any news about your internship yet?’
‘I just left another interview,’ Kitty told her. She leaned her head back on her seat, her legs stretching out until her feet hit the pedals.
‘How did it go?’
‘About as good as the others,’ she said. ‘Which means terrible. I got all sweaty and panicky again, and said the stupidest things. I even made up an idiotic story about Lucy calling me a cat.’ It was time to face it, she was terrible at interviews. ‘Every time they asked me a question, I felt like an actor who’d forgotten his lines.’
‘Who was it with?’ Cesca’s tone was sympathetic. ‘Maybe Sam can have a word for you?’
‘It was for an internship with Everett Klein.’
‘Oh. Yeah, I don’t think Sam could say much to change that guy’s mind. I’ve heard on the grapevine he’s a bit of an arsehole.’
‘So have I,’ Kitty confessed. ‘But to be honest, I didn’t even meet him. It was his assistant who was supposed to interview me. But even he couldn’t concentrate on me, he was too busy talking to some screaming woman on his phone.’
Cesca sighed, her soft breaths echoing down the line. ‘Do you want me to talk to Sam about helping you with this? He must have connections, I bet he could help you find an internship in no time.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but no thank you.’ Kitty closed her eyes, blocking out the shaft of sun that had found its way through the gaps in the concrete wall. It wouldn’t feel right asking Sam for help. She didn’t want to be known as the girl who only found a job thanks to her sister’s boyfriend. ‘I
want to do this by myself.’
