by Brigid Coady
‘Why?’ Annie choked. ‘Why would you do this to me?’
‘It seemed like a good business gamble at the time.’ Cassie’s voice was stronger than before as if she could tell that Annie was caving.
‘So you sold me into bondage without consulting me?’ Annie couldn’t shout. It was taking enough energy to stop the tears that were gathering at the back of her throat.
‘What is the difference of you keeping the Terrible Twosome in check at home or on location?’ Cassie asked.
If only it was as simple as that. How could she say that it wasn’t them, it was the love of her life who would be on location too? The only man she’d ever thought of in terms of for ever would be there every day. Close enough to touch but … She could feel the ghost of tattoo needles on her shoulder, the memory of Austen’s chin on her shoulder hugging her close. His chest against her back.
But she couldn’t tell Cassie all that because who would believe that once Austen had looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars. That he’d whispered Donne in her ear as he’d acted out the poems with his own roving hands. That her tattoo was supposed to have a partner. No, she couldn’t tell Cassie because it made Annie sound delusional and unhinged. As if she was trying to live out a work of fan fiction.
‘Come on, Annie. You can do it, can’t you? For the agency? For your family? This way they will be earning money. It isn’t for long,’ Cassie cajoled in the same manner she had with difficult directors. ‘And Marie will be on hand to distract William and Immy.’
‘Marie will be what?’
Cassie stared back. ‘Did no one tell you that ITV has done a deal to have Marie on set and broadcasting as part of cross promo?’
What the hell was her life? After thirty-two years she had managed to move out of home and land her dream job just in time for her family to all go on location with her. And if she turned down the job, she ruined the company.
Annie took a deep breath, trying to take some oxygen in, anything to shake off the feeling of being trapped.
‘Annie? Are you okay?’
She wondered what Cassie saw in her face to make her sound so panicked. If she was going to survive this job then she needed to get her game face on. Fast.
‘Fine. I’ll do it,’ Annie said and closed her eyes as the wave of panic that rose up in her threatened to sweep all her defences away. ‘But you’d better never let another cupcake cross the threshold of this agency ever again.’
Who said Annie couldn’t bargain with the best of them?
***
The hotel they would be staying in for the production was at the edge of a small town in Hertfordshire. Not far away was the stately home where the externals of Netherfield would be filmed and most of the internals.
Annie dragged her bags from the train station to the hotel and hoped the sunglasses she was wearing hid the damage from a week of restless nights. She could only hope she could cover her heartache in a similar manner.
Although the office has been uncomfortable for the past week since Cass’s betrayal, it was still preferable to being here. She would even take having cupcakes.
Annie had never dreaded being on location more in her life. Even if a small, masochistic part of her yearned to see Austen again.
With the perfect storm of her professional and home life converging all in one place with the potential to be cataclysmic, she could only hope that she would come out of it at least with some dignity in tact, and with minimal psychological scars.
But it would be like ripping off a Band-Aid; at least it would get it all over and done with quickly.
She found what she hoped was the end of the check-in queue and dropped her bags with a sigh.
‘Oops,’ she quickly grabbed one of them that toppled on its edge and knocked into the jeans clad leg in front of her.
Of course Band-Aids coming off hurt quite a lot when the cut they cover isn’t completely healed. Because her luck sucked this week, it seemed that the leg she was attacking with her luggage belonged to Austen.
She could feel sweat starting to run down between her shoulder blades, her body on fire. She didn’t want to look up and see Austen’s disgusted face. She stared at his battered suede boots, his toes pointing inwards. She remembered telling him that she thought his pigeon-toed stance was sexy. Now the whole world knew it; large sections of the internet were devoted to it.
‘Sorry,’ she said as she grabbed for her bag, hating the way the past kept hijacking her thoughts.
He beat her to it, holding the handle towards her.
‘Annie, where are our bags?’ Immy’s voice cut through the chatter in the lobby.
Everyone turned to see who Annie was.
Was it possible to divorce your family? She knew Drew Barrymore had done something similar when she was a teenager, but Annie thought it might be too late for her.
Annie glanced up from Austen’s feet, automatically checking, hoping he hadn’t heard Immy but knowing he had. Briefly their eyes met, his eyebrow raised.
Her face burning and the feeling of tears in her throat, she looked away.
‘Annie,’ Immy was still calling. So much for Annie having set boundaries about professionalism.
‘Immy,’ she croaked.
Coughing she tried again.
‘Immy, the bags are in the car you came in.’ Annie hadn’t even travelled down with them. Was she supposed to be their bellboy now?
‘Well aren’t you going to get them for us?’
Annie didn’t think it was possible to feel hotter but her cheeks felt as if they were on fire; and soon the smoke would take over the room and her skin would flake off into ash.
She felt Austen move away from her. Everything in her was still attuned to him and where he was in the room.
The sweat on her back went cold and clammy.
‘Need a hand?’ The voice was smooth and somewhat familiar.
Annie turned to see a slim blond man with foxy features staring down at her. He winked and turned towards Immy. He looked familiar; but she couldn’t place him.
Immy shut her mouth and stared at him.
‘Will Elliot,’ he said sheepishly and holding out a hand to her. ‘I feel that I should do something to help family relations as we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future.’
Annie couldn’t help but smile at the way he defused the situation. Immy was positively fluttering. Now if he could get Dad onside then she might just have an ally.
‘And you must be Anne.’ Will held a hand out for her to take.
‘Have we met before?’ Annie couldn’t help asking. When she saw him she had the memory of the smell of butter and sugar. The feeling of pastry melting in her mouth.
‘You might have seen me around Notting Hill Gate; I know your agency is round there. I live on Campden Hill and like to go to …’
‘… Maggie’s Patisserie,’ Annie finished, as she remembered falling into him. And that smile he was flashing was the one she’d seen a few months ago.
‘I didn’t know if you’d remember. Those custard tarts are to die for, aren’t they?’ He winked at her and Annie felt her cheeks warm up.
‘It’s obvious that Annie always did like pastries a little too much,’ Immy said as she put her hand on Will’s arm to get him to turn back to her.
Annie wished for the ground to open up and swallow her.
Will looked down at Immy, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smile.
‘Shall we go then?’ Immy asked, deflecting her attention from Annie.
She watched Will lead Immy out to the car. It would be wonderful to have someone else to help manage the terrible twosome, she thought. And he was family.
Annie put the back of her hand to her face. It was cooling slightly. She wasn’t sure when she had last blushed so much.
She turned around to find that Austen had now checked in and was leaning against the counter. He was staring at her. Was that pity or was it impatience? She hated that he could now m
ask what he was thinking from her.
Annie could feel her face starting to glow again but she refused to drop her eyes. She needed to face him, stop looking down. This was her job and if she couldn’t quit then she was going to have to deal with him like a grown-up. And if Austen wanted to pity her every time her family pulled their crap or she spoke to another bloke then he would have to suck it up.
Austen turned away to speak to the receptionist as he checked in. Annie fidgeted, as he seemed to be bantering with the man behind the desk.
‘Thanks, I owe you,’ Austen said as he grabbed his key card and bag. He left reception without once looking at Annie again.
Had the receptionist promised to keep his room number secret so he didn’t get any fans or members of the cast making unscheduled visits?
‘Hello, can I help you?’ The man smiled at Annie and gave her the ghost of a wink.
Weird.
She shook it off. Better book in Dad and Immy as well, she thought. Then at least she could hustle them away. Emotional scenes shouldn’t be enacted on the first night.
‘Hi, can I please check in William Elliot, Imogen Elliot, and Anne Elliot,’ she said.
‘Certainly, Madame.’ He clicked on the keyboard and then flourished some key cards. ‘Now, I’ve put William and Imogen in the new wing. That is across the courtyard and over our conference facilities. Rooms 709 and 710.’ He pushed them over in their little paper cases.
‘And for you.’ He smiled conspiratorially and winked again.
How did she say he wasn’t her type politely?
‘You are in the old section – a very nice executive suite on the third floor.’
Executive suite? Why would she be in one of those?
‘There must be some mistake,’ Annie said.
‘No, no mistake. And it is just down the corridor from the presidential suite …’ He winked again.
‘Oh, thanks?’ Annie took the key card and pocketed it. She clutched the other cards in one hand and her bags in the other.
‘Enjoy your stay,’ the man said.
Maybe he wasn’t winking, she thought as she walked away, maybe it was a facial tick.
Chapter Eleven
There were some productions that went smoothly through pre-production, through production, and into post-production. Every one got on. There were no technical hitches to delay things. Annie had heard of these unicorns of the film and TV world but she had yet to work on one.
Annie stood with her hands on her hips staring at the production office, which was listing gently to one side as the inadequate concrete footings sank slowly into the muddy ground.
‘It’ll settle and even up,’ the man from the hire company said uncertainly as if he didn’t believe it himself. ‘It’s all hooked up for power and Wi-Fi, plus the toilet is plumbed.’
It could be plumbed all it liked but it could turn into the Leaning Tower of Pissoir if she wasn’t careful.
‘Can’t you get the guys back to redo the concrete footing?’ she asked.
The man sucked air in through his teeth. ‘It’ll take a couple of days,’ he said with the unspoken part being that it would cost her.
She gingerly made her way up the stairs to the door, hanging on to the railing. She felt like she was on a ship. A sinking ship.
She opened the door and watched it swing open as gravity took it.
Annie needed an office and she didn’t want to spend money the production could ill afford on making her office level. As long as she could work and she could get the printer to stop sliding off the table then she would suck it up.
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said as she waved the man off.
‘Full cast meeting in five,’ a breathless Tanya, one of the ADs, interrupted her musings a few minutes later. Annie was trying to work out if you could get seasick when stationary but always listing to the right.
Full cast meeting. The first time they would all be together. Annie shuddered. The rehearsals before this had mostly been just about Diana and Austen. Ensuring they had the chemistry they needed.
Now she had to sit in a room with her dad, her older sister, her godmother, her sister-in-law, and the love of her life. Throw into that a black sheep cousin and a temperamental director, and she would be luckily if she got out of it alive.
The only place big enough to squeeze everyone in was the craft tent. Annie picked her way across the mud towards the tent.
It was half full when she got there. She found herself a seat at a table with the make-up crew.
‘Hi,’ she said to the tall blonde woman next to her.
‘I’m Sasha.’ The girl grinned at her.
‘Annie,’ she replied. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’ Annie decided she could do small talk. The best sets were when crew, cast, and production all got on.
They both turned at the commotion at the door to the tent. Austen fell through it, with Harry Harville grasping his arm so he didn’t fall down. It seemed Austen hadn’t got over his propensity to be like Bambi on ice. All limbs and no coordination.
‘Oh, I’m definitely looking forward to it,’ Sasha said and Annie tore her gaze away from Austen, wondering what they had been talking about.
Ah.
She watched as Sasha licked her lips as she watched Austen.
Annie was glad one of them was.
‘Okay, are we all here?’ Tanya the AD called.
Annie looked round and realized that although the tent had filled up, there were still two very familiar faces missing. Much as she would be glad not to have them here, she needed them to be at least professional at the start of filming. They could slack off once it was too far-gone to recast them.
She wondered if she could hide away. Surreptitiously, she started to slide her phone out of her pocket.
Where are you?
She didn’t bother sending it to her dad. He wasn’t the sort of person who texted. Annie had been known to write emails for him.
Annie wondered whether she should point out that they were missing Mr Bennet, Caroline Bingley and – she looked round and realized she was the only Elliot in attendance – Mr Bingley.
She couldn’t believe that Cousin Will was also a bad timekeeper. Was it something in the genes?
‘Hold on,’ Will called through the door and ushered in Immy and Dad. Thank God. Annie couldn’t help the relieved grin that pulled at her mouth as she looked at Will.
At long last an ally to help her with the family.
Annie felt some of the tension she’d been feeling in her chest uncurl. If she had Will on her side during this production maybe it wouldn’t be so bad?
Will looked back at her, returning her grin and winking to her as he directed Immy and Dad to a seat near the front.
‘Someone likes you,’ Sasha whispered nudging her and gesturing towards Will.
Annie could feel her cheeks heat up. It was nice to have someone to rely on; it wasn’t anything else. It couldn’t be.
She really didn’t want to look but she couldn’t help the automatic reaction to look to see what Austen was doing.
He was staring at Will with a frown, as he listened to something Harry was whispering to him. He was biting his lip. Annie wanted to reach out to stop him, smooth it with her thumb. Maybe kiss it better.
Her face heated even more.
Nothing would happen with Will.
***
‘Okay, people, I know that there are a lot of us but I’d like everyone to go around and introduce themselves.
‘Wait for us!’
What the …
And crashing through the same entrance that Austen had almost tripped over came Marie, followed by a cameraman and a sound man and a girl carrying a clipboard and wearing a resigned look.
Ah, so the unholy trinity was complete.
‘Hello, everyone, I’m Marie Elliot but I’m sure you all knew that. I’m here for Easy Ladies and we’ll be filming behind the scenes. You’ll hardly notice we’re here.’
There was a resounding silence as cast and crew sat and stared at her beaming at them.
‘So as Marie has started us off, why don’t we go around and say who we are,’ Tanya said without waiting for Marie to get set up.
Annie shifted so her chair was partially hidden behind Sasha’s. Marie made more noise as she pretended to tiptoe out of the way.
Was it too late to change her surname?
***
‘Annie?’
She cringed as she realized someone had found her hiding place on set.
On most locations the production accountant slash producers would be in the production office, the glorified name for the Portakabin that was stuck in the small huddle of dressing rooms, wardrobe, and make-up rooms. But due to it turning into the Leaning Cabin of Production, Annie had found somewhere else to work. She wasn’t hiding from the series of visitors she was being inundated with who all wanted to complain about something. She really wasn’t, well not much. Was it only day four?
Hiding at the back of the makeshift stables was probably a little extreme, but who the hell had found her?
It wasn’t that she didn’t need to know that Olivia Styles and Diana Tomlinson didn’t like the fabric of their dresses, how they both said the dresses made them look shabby and were asking for them to be remade. She had to make sure everyone was happy. The costumes were rented from a big theatrical supplier; they were historically correct. And they didn’t have the budget to remake their wardrobes. She needed to know the details, but right now she was staring down at a massive hole in the finances and no matter what she did she couldn’t work out where the money was going. Annie wanted to tear her hair out.
Then the damn carriages and horses had arrived late, pushing them back at least one day of filming, so they’d paid everyone for four days but they’d only got three days worth of work done.
And as if to rub her nose in it a disgruntled horse had taken exception to Mrs Bennet’s hat, and instead of just running off with it, as any self-respecting equine would, it had reared and deposited Harry Harville in a huge puddle. Luckily he hadn’t been injured and had laughed it off but his breeches couldn’t be saved. Annie made another note on the finances, watching the cell at the bottom change. It was good that the forecast couldn’t go any redder than it already was.
