“Deal with what?”
“The hysteria of the paparazzi? I didn’t really think that was part of the plan. It’s one thing for Greyson to be here because no one really knows he’s here except us. Mum turned away a lot of bookings so he’d have some privacy, but--”
I leave the spoon in the simmering gravy and spin to face Scarlett. “What? Why? I mean, when did she know he was even coming?”
“A couple of weeks ago, I think. She called and said your grandmother had been in touch about Greyson joining us for the weekend you were all coming. Mum felt bad because your grandmother was really nice about asking and said they’d pay extra and whatever, but it meant cancelling a few people who’d already booked to ensure it was only family this weekend.” Scarlett shrugs. “It was fine. She’s just rebooked them for another time, but the hotel’s under-booked at the minute for Greyson’s benefit.”
My immediate instinct is to apologize. Which is ridiculous because I certainly didn’t know Greyson was going to be here. But… “You knew he was going to be here and you didn’t tell me?”
Scarlett has the grace to look contrite. “I was so busy at work catching up after our annual shut down I absolutely forgot.”
“Even when you were already here and texting me whilst I was on the train?” I’m not sure what difference it would have made. Probably none except to make me dizzy with anticipation so when I met him in the drive, I’d hyperventilate and when Scarlett told me about Michael’s little scheme I’d faint. Or throw up. Or both.
“He wasn’t here yet, and you know how my mum is about getting stuck in with all the jobs that need doing.” Scarlett rolls her eyes. “Besides, that’s not the point. The point is I know what you’re trying to do, but I think going out and making a big, bold in-your-face statement looks desperate.”
Scarlett says it nicely, but I bristle. “Do you remember Adobo? The Mexican restaurant chain? The way the CEO got out in front of all the criticism by doing PR every minute?”
“No.” A smile plays at the corner of Scarlett’s mouth. “But I don’t think it’s the same thing. Greyson isn’t a mid-range Mexican food chain. He’s a hot actor caught up in a scandal he’s worried is going to damage his career.”
I want to stay irritated, but I can’t because Scarlett’s words conjure up the image of Greyson dressed as a taco. “So what do you suggest?”
I feel a tap on my shoulder and Lou stands behind me. Her spattered apron covers a red jumper and her cheeks are pink from the heat. “I suggest you finish the gravy.” I turn to pick up the spoon again, but Lou’s already got it, stirring briskly before removing it from the heat. “You’re lucky it’s done. Can you help me strain and pour it into the gravy boats? Also, the side dishes should be ready to put on the table, if you want to start taking them out.”
I nod, already moving to grab the handle of the pot. “Sorry, Lou. I was distracted.”
“I see that.” She smiles. “I’m looking forward to seeing this young man who’s got your knickers in such a twist.”
“If she’s lucky, he’ll have her knickers, full stop.” Scarlett cackles as she lifts the tray of parsnips from the oven.
“Oh my God, that’s so not an option.” Or maybe it is. A little.
“I don’t see why not,” Scarlett says. “I mean, if the opportunity presents itself, you know you’re obligated to take it, right? For the sisterhood of women everywhere who’d give their left leg to shag Greyson Vaughn.”
Now it’s my turn to cackle, echoed by Lou, who says, “Now I really want to see this boy.”
“Trust me, Lou, he’s no boy. This one is all man.” Scarlett makes a loud kissing noise and we all burst out laughing.
For the next few minutes we work in easy silence. Scarlett scoops vegetables into warm bowls, I put gravy into the jugs, and Lou carves the chickens. Hannah appears and starts ferrying dishes to the dining room and even Paul, Scarlett’s dad, takes a trip or two. By the time I untie the apron from around my waist, the only thing left in the kitchen is a stack of dirty pots and pans. I wash my hands and furtively smell my hair for telltale cooking odors, but Scarlett catches me and holds up her index finger, darting into the closet.
She comes back out a second later with a small bottle of Jo Malone perfume and spritzes it in my general direction before I can protest. “There. Now you smell irresistible.”
“Correction. Now I smell like you.” I smile. “But it’s better than smelling like roasted potatoes.”
“Who knows? Maybe Greyson has a thing for home cooking?”
“Will you stop? He’s not interested in me. I’m a means to an end.”
“Have you ever thought of making him interested?” Scarlett raises her eyebrows and bats her eyelashes. “He obviously likes you.”
“Obviously.” I roll my eyes. “Because he’s in the middle of nowhere and we’re fresh out of supermodels.”
“I watched an interview with him where he explicitly mentioned he’d never date a supermodel. He said he’s too insecure for that.”
“Greyson’s about as insecure as you are.” I smile despite myself. “But whatever. You know what I mean.”
Scarlett starts towards the door. “I do know what you mean, but it’s not the craziest idea I’ve ever had. At the end of the day, he’s a guy you’re going to snog either way. The question is what happens when no one’s watching?”
“Um, nothing?” Greyson and I veer from prickly to flirtatious, with stops in the middle at businesslike.
“Well, that’s where I think you’re wrong. If you want to be.” Scarlett holds the door as I follow her through. “I’m just saying, I don’t think hooking up with Greyson Vaughn for real would be half bad. Live it up a little.”
I think back to the minute outside the library when I thought Greyson was genuinely coming on to me. And then again last night at the bar. He definitely knows how to turn on the sexy and if that was directed at me full stop? I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Chapter Eleven
Dinner is delicious. The chicken is moist, the veg is perfectly seasoned, and the gravy, if I do say so myself, is just right. I eat so much I seriously contemplate unbuttoning my skirt at the table so I can make room for pudding too, but with Greyson on my right and Grandmother on my left, one of them will notice. Grandmother’s extended an olive branch, not commenting on my never-empty glass of fizz. Too bad I’ve eaten so much that I barely feel the effects.
She leans over as I pick up my glass and says, “It was a lovely dinner, wasn’t it?”
“Lou’s an amazing cook.” I nod at the opposite end of the table where Lou sits with her husband and two daughters. I vaguely remember that the older daughter’s boyfriend was supposed to join us for dinner today, but he’s nowhere in sight, which might be why she looks so glum. I need to try to remember to chat with her later. I know a thing or two about my guy not showing up.
Grandmother’s gaze is still fixed on my face and I train my expression into mild interest and say, “What are you and Michael doing once you leave here?”
Grandmother’s face lights up. “He’s booked us to go to Paris, which I think will be lovely. We’re taking the Eurostar over and spending a few days.”
That does sound lovely and my smile is genuine when I say, “That sounds fab.” I lower my voice. “You seem really happy with him. I’m glad.”
Grandmother and I talk about emotions about once every other year, so it surprises me when she nods and says, “He’s a wonderful man. I do feel lucky I’ve found him. Of course, Anne holds herself personally responsible. You remember my friend Anne, don’t you?”
“Was she the one who always tried to make me eat pears with bleu cheese?” I stick my tongue out at the memory.
“Pears, bleu cheese, and candied pecans are amazing together,” Greyson says, leaning in. “Best with a spinach salad, but you could go with arugula if you want sharper flavors.”
I swivel my head toward Greyson, my mouth slightly agape, as Grandmother
says, “Those sound like the words of a man who cooks.”
Greyson nods. “I don’t get to do it as much as I’d like, but when I’m home in L.A. I cook a lot.”
“Claire, darling, you’ll have to make sure to introduce Greyson to Lou. They could compare notes,” Grandmother says.
“Sure. No problem.” I’m still trying to wrap my head around the thought of Greyson Vaughn cooking something, never mind cooking it well. “So what’s your specialty then?”
“I make a pretty decent chili, even though it’s never really cold enough in L.A. to feel like it’s worth making. And I do a good garlic shrimp with tomatoes and capers.”
Greyson is being one hundred percent earnest, which has me back to gaping. “Capers? Really?”
He grins. “They’re surprisingly versatile and add just the right amount of sweet and sour.”
“I think it sounds wonderful.” Grandmother speaks across me. “Maybe you could sneak into the kitchen sometime this weekend and have a go?”
“Only if you want to incur Lou’s wrath. She’s very particular about her space,” I warn.
“But you’re in there all the time?” Greyson asks.
“I’ve worked here every summer for the past ten years, so I’m practically family. But I still haven’t earned my stripes to properly cook. Sous chef all the way.” Not that I’d want it any other way, but Greyson doesn’t have to know that.
Until he asks, “So what’s your specialty? If you had free reign of the kitchen, what would you cook?”
Um. I pretend to think for a minute, but I answer with the only thing I’m actually confident making. “Spag bol. It’s my favorite.”
Greyson furrows his brow and Grandmother pipes in. “Spaghetti Bolognese was Claire’s birthday meal for at least eight years.” She glances at me with a small smile. “Do you remember that place in London that used to have the five-hour sauce? Do you ever go there?”
I resist the temptation to remind Grandmother I live in Bath, not London. Maybe she’s thinking of when I visit Scarlett. Plus, this is the most we’ve spoken since I’ve arrived without an ulterior motive fueling the conversation. I shake my head. “I haven’t been there in years, but I’d say my sauce is a pretty close second.”
“Restaurant quality cooking? And you’re giving me a hard time about capers?” Greyson laughs.
“Spag bol is every man’s food. Capers are for food you eat with a polished silver fork and your pinky sticking out.”
Greyson’s laugh swirls in the air around me. It’s a good sound and he looks damn good doing it–head thrown back, perfect white teeth on full display, his throat tan above the collar of his black sweater. The force of his appeal hits me like it’s brand new and I feel my cheeks heat up. It spreads to my chest when he says, “I’m going to cook for you and prove you wrong. It’s not fair you have such a bias against an ingredient that has done nothing to you.”
I shrug and turn to Grandmother. Maybe she’ll throw me a save. “Do you like capers? Better yet, do you remember the last time you intentionally ate one?”
Grandmother smiles a little. “I can’t remember the last time I thought about it, but I’m sure they’re a rather innocuous ingredient.” She looks to the door and then back to me. “Claire, darling, would you mind showing me where the loo is? I’m afraid I always get a bit turned around when I’m in this part of the castle.”
I’m about to tell her it’s through the doors, take a left, and then a right, but I stop when Grandmother’s hand squeezes my elbow. Grandmother wants a girly trip to the loo? This has got to be a first. I nod as she rises and takes a step towards the door. “Sure, no worries.” I turn to Greyson and say, “Please excuse me. When I get back, I’ll introduce you to Lou and you can both wax poetic about capers and shallots.”
“You have something against shallots, too? We will definitely talk when you get back.” Greyson gives me a grin and I follow Grandmother out of the dining room with a silly smile plastered to my face.
However, as I walk out of the dining room and catch sight of Grandmother’s stormy expression, it fades immediately. She takes my elbow again and leads me down the hallway towards the entryway. “What are you doing?” I ask, tugging my arm away.
Grandmother doesn’t say anything until we reach the empty foyer. The ceiling is high and, despite the fire crackling in the gigantic fireplace, it’s at least ten degrees cooler here than it was in the dining room. I cross my arms over my chest and rub my hands on my arms. Grandmother, by contrast, places her hands on her hips and her voice comes out in a low hiss. “What exactly are you doing in there?”
“Doing? I’m not doing anything?” The last bit comes out as a question, which I hate.
“Greyson is trying to have an enjoyable conversation with you and you’re arguing with him at every turn.” Grandmother purses her lips at me. “And about capers? Really, Claire?”
I feel my face scrunch up. “I’m not arguing with him. It’s just…banter.”
Grandmother lets out a sigh. “You have such an opportunity here, darling, and I hate to see you throwing it away like this.”
Understanding dawns like a hammer thrown at my forehead. But still I have to ask, “What do you mean?”
“Men like to be complimented. Greyson is obviously proud of his culinary skills and it’s an opportunity for you to tell him how exciting that is because so few men you know can cook well. Or you could say something about how you can’t wait to try his cooking, thereby creating an opportunity for him to offer to cook for you.” Grandmother leans in and her tone is almost conspiratorial as she says, “It’s about creating an opportunity, darling.”
I’ve been biting the inside of my cheek so hard I’m shocked I don’t taste blood. “Aren’t you really saying it’s all about massaging Greyson’s ego?” My voice rises. “Men like to be complimented? Really?”
“Yes, really.” Grandmother’s tone softens. “This thing with Greyson might be for show right now, but he does seem to enjoy your so-called banter and you never know what might happen.”
“If I play the doting female?” I make myself meet Grandmother’s eyes. “You know, I actually thought you were talking to me in there. It didn’t even occur to me that you were speaking so Greyson would overhear.”
“Which was brilliant.” Grandmother shakes her head a little. “Women like us, Claire, we have to maximize our opportunities. I met Michael at Anne’s party a few months ago, but it wasn’t as if he looked at me and said, ‘Why, yes, I’ve finally met my soul mate,’ even though he did ask me to lunch during our first conversation. I did my homework and by the time he took me out two days later, I could ask intelligent questions about his work, and I knew what he found unbearable in a woman, based on his ex-wives.”
I think of Scarlett stalking Greyson via YouTube and my refusal to hear it, let alone partake in it. But then I think of my failed relationships, combined with Greyson’s earlier accusation about running when I feel uncomfortable, and I’m struck with a realization that makes me open my mouth then close it again.
Am I trying so hard not to be like Grandmother that I’ve taken it to the other extreme? Rather than being fawning and overly solicitous, I’m closed off and cold?
I try once more to speak, but I can’t. So I do the only thing I can. I turn and run up the stairs, leaving Grandmother standing in the cold foyer calling after me.
Chapter Twelve
I’m sitting on Jasper’s bed, staring at the ceiling clutching my phone. I know I should stay away from social media, but I haven’t even seen the pictures from last night and I should. I mean, it’s irresponsible not to, right?
Sod it. I work my fingers over the smooth surface to type in my password and tap the Twitter icon. I follow Greyson, but he’s on my B list. Which is kind of funny, in a satirical way. My A list is marketing and branding pros, a bunch of writers, and corporate communications officers from a few companies. My B list is basically everyone else–a handful of actors, a few rom
ance authors I like, and a random assortment of real-life friends.
I scan the left sidebar of trending topics. No #VaughnGayle or any mention of Greyson or Alexa. A quick scan of my B list doesn’t show anything either. I half hold my breath as I type Greyson’s name into the search bar and press search. The screen fills with tweets, some of them random like the one from @ladym that says: Just watched Savannah for the 10th time. Still swooning. Greyson Vaughn brings it - and he brings it shirtless.
I smile because I agree with her a thousand percent. But another flick down the screen and there’s one from @meggie_j: Who's seen pics of Greyson Vaughn and mystery gf? Is she hot? Where can I find them? #WhosThatGirl
Ugh. My stomach twists as I tap Meggie J’s tweet to see the replies. Sure enough, there are a string of them, some with just links, but a fair number answering the hot-or-not question, too. Consensus seems to be that it’s hard to tell, which makes me feel a little braver about clicking on the link.
It takes me right to Elias Craig’s Hollywood Insider website. And there we are, Greyson and me sitting at the bar last night. The biggest picture is focused mostly on him. His arm rests on the back of my stool and our legs look tangled together. From his profile, I see his smile as he leans towards me looking at something on my phone. I remember that moment, or if not that exact one then the moments surrounding it. We were easy with each other, having fun, and it shows.
I’d believe we were a couple if I saw this photo. And the next three. I’m in the shadows in all of them, except the last one, where I’m laughing at something Greyson said and my hand is on his knee. He’s smiling and looking at me with…affection? I know it’s not real, but fuck a duck, it’s convincing. Like warmth-in-my-chest, does-he-really-like-me convincing.
A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2) Page 8
