The Austen Playbook

by Lucy Parker

  Freddy was frozen. “He wouldn’t do that,” she managed to get out. “How-however concerned he is with the business side of things, Dad’s always had integrity. He’s always made it clear to me that this industry can be brutal and—and dirty.” Her voice shook hard over the words. “So it’s important to do things the right way.”

  “Well, for someone who turns up his nose at brutal, dirty tactics,” Griff said sarcastically, “he’s taking to it like a duck to water. End result: unless I can push back with my own connections in London, my film is on the backburner. Not indefinitely, if I have anything to say about it, but it’s certainly not going to provide the cash injection we need here any time soon.”

  “I’m sorry,” Freddy said, after a moment, her voice strained. In the absence of anger, she was feeling naked—although her emotions seemed starker than her bare legs—but she didn’t move, just kept very still. “I d-didn’t know he was going to do that.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. If we’re talking about family relationships built on mutual honesty and respect, you and your father aren’t doing much better than me and Charlie, are you?”

  Freddy flinched, and Griff turned away with a jerky movement and swore again, viciously, under his breath.

  In the silence between them, that seemed to echo over a widening distance, her gaze went to the letter on the bedside table. “Griff—”

  It was all there on her tongue; she wanted to just spill it out, all of it, everything that was nagging away at her. She wanted him to tell her she was being a typically melodramatic actor, looking for trouble where there was none.

  But the derision in Sadie’s eyes had fixed in her mind, a lingering echo of her own past regret, completely throwing her off-balance. There was probably nothing in Freddy’s life that she was more ashamed of than that episode with Drew Townseville, and that shot had come unexpectedly and hit hard.

  And her father’s face, the implacability. The end of the road when it came to hedging and dodging, putting off the inevitable. Show up at the audition, win the role of Marguerite, or forever alter their relationship.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the physical pain that had carved grooves into his face. His intense pride in his mother’s achievements. In Freddy’s potential.

  A weight was pressing on her chest.

  She was driving herself mad, turning in mental circles of “what if.”

  She needed to catch her breath. And this wasn’t the time for this. She was due back at rehearsal shortly and needed to turn in a better performance than the shite she’d managed earlier.

  After all, as Sadie would no doubt point out, with everything she’d sacrificed so far for her career—a lot of time, sleep, and sometimes self-respect—it would be a waste of effort to blow it now.

  “I have to get back to rehearsal,” she said. “And I have to get dressed.”

  Griff’s mouth twisted. “Are you chucking me out?”

  “Be a bit of a cheek, wouldn’t it, in your own house?” Everything about this was so wrong. Freddy felt like she was having an out-of-unusually-serious-body experience, watching from afar this solemn person with her face. She wanted to be smiling, flirting, becoming exasperated because it was like trying to get a reciprocal flirtation out of a member of the Queen’s Guard. Exercising her snogging licence. How had things escalated this quickly, and then fallen apart so fast? She hugged herself. “I really do need to get ready.”

  She saw a flicker of something she couldn’t define in his expression, then he nodded once. For a few seconds, he didn’t move, though, just stood looking at her, his hands shoved into his pockets. She watched the rise and fall of his chest beneath his shirt. He hadn’t changed since they’d left Mallowren.

  His clothing, at least. His demeanour had changed dramatically.

  To be fair, so had hers.

  With her arms still folded tightly, her gaze slipped down his body and lowered, and briefly, she squeezed her lashes shut. She heard him exhale, and then his footsteps as he turned. The door closed behind him.

  Opening her eyes, Freddy released a shaky breath of her own, long and slow. And finished getting ready.

  Her mixed-up emotions could stay in here for the rest of the day; Maf had requested Lydia, and she would get Lydia.

  Who, fortunately, didn’t give a shit about family expectations.

  And would never worry that she’d lose a man before she’d even really had him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tuesday—Three days until showtime

  Biting back a stream of four-letter words that wouldn’t advance his cause, Griff said a curt goodbye to the pompous prick at the broadcasting corporation and hung up. Tossing the phone aside, he rested his hip against the desk, his attention snagging on the scene outside the library window. It was Tuesday morning, the second day of tech week in the short rehearsal schedule for The Austen Playbook, and the core cast were emerging from breakfast and heading in the direction of The Henry. He didn’t see Freddy. He’d hardly seen her at all since Friday, and the current distance between them seemed to have settled over him like a layer of ice.

  It was unbelievable that of the multiple things that had hit the fan over the past few days, it was having Freddy push him away after they’d grown close so quickly that was causing the most disruption. Or he’d pushed her away. He didn’t even know anymore. The scene in her bedroom seemed to have faded into a blur, from the adrenaline spike of coming in to find her dangling off that rickety balcony to the moment he’d been given his marching orders while she stood there looking utterly miserable. He’d had no intention of losing his cool when he’d gone looking for her, but he’d been pushed to the edge by the red light from the studio coming right after the confrontation with his parents. Who were still happily carrying on with their plans, with the impulse control of a couple of middle-aged toddlers, and just as much awareness of consequences. Walking in on yet another reckless action by someone he cared about, and was coming to feel incredibly protective of, had tipped the balance.

  He picked up a handful of the invoices stacked on the desk. One bill after another was coming in for the miniature world that had sprung up on the lawn, the artistically beautiful, gold-plated road to bankruptcy out there. He’d worked out the budget to keep the estate running for the next couple of years: mortgage payments, staff wages, utilities, rates, repairs, the never-ending list that didn’t include whatever scheme his parents would come up with next. It added up to a total so beyond their means right now it was almost laughable.

  If Rupert Carlton got his way and Griff’s film was shelved indefinitely, it would mean the waste of months of work, and it would put the situation with Highbrook at crisis point.

  Selling up was the sensible thing to do. It was bloody ridiculous to attach so much sentimentality to crumbling brick and mortar that they drove themselves into financial ruin. But evidently, there were two subjects in life that he was incapable of approaching with a cool head. Highbrook. And the woman who’d teased, flirted, annoyed the fuck out of him, and could stop his breath in his chest when he saw her.

  Some force in the universe was smirking down at him, because he’d reviewed dozens of plays during the past few years with plots grounded in characters who fell fast and hard, and he’d always scorned the idea of it happening that quickly. Past the teenage years, it was naïve to think that intense attachment after a few looks, a few touches, a single sexual encounter, was anything but infatuation that would burn out equally fast. Ironically, many of those infatuated characters he’d dissected in print had been played by Freddy.

  And here they were. And the cheerful, frivolous flirt of an actor he’d criticised professionally and dismissed personally was breezily shredding every conviction he had on the subject.

  Not always cheerful. His gut twisted. His first experience of Freddy had been the girl who was still so fired with enthusiasm and ener
gy after a three-hour show that she bounced on the balls of her feet during curtain calls. He’d always found it exhausting just to watch—but after seeing her with a dark ghost in her eyes that he didn’t understand, her whole bright, shining spirit dulled, and hearing the crack of tears in her voice, she could hop and skip all over the place and he’d just sit back and be profoundly grateful.

  It was too soon to know what would happen between them, whether the way he felt now would survive the first hurdle—or the second, or every obstacle that arose—but he wanted to find out.

  Providing she was even prepared to have dinner with him at this point, and hadn’t just written him off an unfortunate one-night stand.

  At least she’d tell him straight. That disconcertingly direct approach of hers when it came to situations where she wanted snogging licence. He smiled faintly, for the first time in a while.

  The door opened, and Charlie stuck his head in, very tentatively. “Morning.” He caught the tail end of the smile, and craned around the door, scanning the room. “No Freddy?”

  “Not unless she’s hiding under the desk. Which, to be fair, I wouldn’t put past her if the whim struck.” Pushing his hands into his pockets, Griff studied his brother.

  With work on hold and Freddy mysteriously vanishing every time he got within a hundred metres of her, he’d had time to think about several things this weekend. Her blunt words about Charlie were one thing he remembered with crystal clarity from that vicious volleying of home truths and angry retaliation.

  “I thought maybe you two had made it up.” Charlie ventured into the room, still eyeing him a bit warily. “You don’t have a face like Mr. Freeze this morning, the caterers have stopped tiptoeing when they pass the library door, and I haven’t seen any weeping production assistants fleeing your path.”

  “Did you actually want something?”

  Charlie was looking through the pile of invoices. He tucked his lips in, pressing them together, and shook his head. “Is any of this stuff returnable?”

  “Since it’s already been transformed into a dozen varieties of magical beast, I’m guessing not.”

  His brother walked over to the window. “It is impressive. They do have talent.”

  “Yes, they do.” Griff joined Charlie at the window, and they both looked down at the intricately detailed miniature world below. The construction crew had got the train track working. Children would be transfixed. Pity that the youngest member of their family was twenty-six. Although he was their resident balloonist. He’d probably fancy at least one ride if he could squeeze onto a carriage. “I just wish they were the sort of artists who make use of whatever materials they have on hand, and weren’t on first-name terms with luxury suppliers across Europe. I’m not denying their talent. It’s their business acumen that’s shite.”

  “Bit like me, then.”

  Griff turned his head. Charlie was still smiling a little as he watched the mechanics of the village below, the drawbridge of the castle lowering and lifting, the wheels of a carriage rolling over tiny pebbled stones. The bitter twist to his lips, a shade of something in his expression, were easily missed if you weren’t looking. If you didn’t take the time to look.

  “We’re all stronger in different areas,” he said at last, and Charlie snorted.

  “My strength certainly isn’t the entrepreneurial life, is it? How many times have I tried to help and made things worse?”

  Griff didn’t deny the facts, but—“But you tried.” Charlie turned his head sharply, and Griff managed a faint smile. Wryly, he added, “And I’m not doing any great shakes financially right now, either.”

  “It’ll work out for the best, whatever film you make,” Charlie said, propping his shoulder against the wall. It was that blind optimism based on no evidence at all, that Griff usually found totally irritating, but he said nothing this time. “I’m not just throwing out happy-happy-joy-joy statements with no basis in reality. It’s faith, based on twenty-six years of knowing you. You sort things out. It’s what you do.”

  It was Griff’s mouth that twisted this time. “Not always.”

  “I’m not saying you’re infallible.” Charlie paused. “Although you give a good impression of it. I know we might have reached the end of line where Highbrook is concerned.” They were both silent then, and with no planning, they each reached out and placed a hand against the carved wall of the structure that had sheltered their childhood, during times when little sense of security was to be found elsewhere. “But it’ll...be okay. Whatever happens.” His smile turned crooked. “You might be a bit of a bastard at times, but you’re a very reassuring person to have around.”

  Griff shifted. Freddy might be having an alarming influence on him, but he hadn’t had a personality transplant, and he was still on edge wading into sentimental territory. Gruffly, he turned the subject down a more comfortable path. “Charlie, do you want a career with cars?”

  Charlie jerked, then his expression turned rueful. “The fair Freddy’s been whispering in your ear, has she?”

  “More like hurling verbal knives at my head. You’re obviously enthusiastic about them—”

  “You mean I spend too much money on them?” Charlie asked. “I don’t, you know. Any car I’ve ever bought I’ve got for cheap, usually because the engine hadn’t worked since 1952, and I do most of the work myself.”

  What had Griff always thought, that people were rarely what you projected onto them? He hadn’t gone very far in applying that to the people closest to him. He pushed away from the wall and straightened. “There’s a lot I haven’t bothered to notice, isn’t there?”

  “S’all right,” Charlie said, looking a shade uncomfortable himself. Then suddenly, he grinned. “Turns out you’re full of surprises, as well. My stoic big bro, falling arse-over-boots for the West End’s answer to Pollyanna, quick enough to make Romeo look slow on the uptake. She seems to be merrily throwing curveballs right and left. What’s next for the Freddy Effect?”

  Good question.

  Especially since, if Griff was correct in what Freddy had risked her life to retrieve from the ivy on Friday, she’d now taken to pinching other people’s love letters.

  * * *

  It was raining in London. Freddy stared through the car window, but rivulets of water were running down the glass so quickly it was difficult to see clearly.

  “This was where you wanted to go?” The taxi driver’s voice made her jump, and she blinked back into reality.

  “Oh. Sorry.” She fumbled for her purse and paid the fare. It was steep; she’d tossed and turned in bed so much last night that she’d overslept and been late leaving Highbrook, and the traffic had been horrendous. If she were going to read signs into things, the universe wasn’t all that keen on delivering her here in time. She could almost hear Griff snorting over that one.

  She bit her lip. She hadn’t spoken to him all weekend. She’d barely even seen him. Just one moment, when she’d been crossing the grass on her way back from the theatre, and she’d looked up and their eyes had met through the glass of the library window. Very filmlike. Except in a film, they might have followed up with a reconciliation scene and some passionate shagging by now. The nonfictional world was a bit shite, sometimes.

  “You sure you don’t want me to take you somewhere else?” The driver was getting impatient, but really, he was reading her mind. It was like the voice of her internal narrative had a deep Geordie accent.

  She did want him to take her somewhere else. Just about anywhere, at this point.

  But she’d been going back and forward on this all weekend. Go to the audition, or don’t. Accept what was essentially an ultimatum, or go with her own instincts. Her own conscience. For several reasons, it would be a terrible idea to take a part in The Velvet Room. Only one reason to do it. And her mind kept sticking on the moment in Henrietta’s office when her father’s stance had falte
red and he’d seem to hoist himself up by sheer pride rather than physical strength. So much had been taken away from him in the past.

  She’d felt she had no choice. She owed him her loyalty. She’d had to come.

  Now that she was here, though, her stomach was queasy. And her heart felt like lead.

  “No,” she said. “Thanks. I’m expected.”

  When she shut the door behind her, the car immediately pulled away, sloshing a puddle of water over the back of her legs. Not a good beginning, but then none of this felt right.

  Freddy stood in the rain, feeling drips of water wiggle under the hood of her coat, looking up at the impressive frontage of the Metronome Theatre. It had fallen down a few years ago and been rebuilt super posh.

  It would probably be wrong to hope it spontaneously and harmlessly collapsed again, thereby solving the immediate part of the problem for her.

  Sighing, she ran lightly up the steps and pushed through the door. Pushing back her hood, she shook out her curls and handed her ID to security, who checked her name off against a list.

  Her footsteps echoed as she followed the back hallway. The foyer was richly carpeted, but backstage they’d put down polished wooden floorboards. She’d performed here only once since the renovations, but it had been one of her favourite old theatres before the incident, and was now one of the nicest modern ones.

  When she approached the door that opened into the stands, she heard voices, the enunciation so clear and resonant that somebody was obviously already reading lines onstage. She put her hand on the wood panelling to push it open, and sentences were suddenly audible.