Kay’s eyes widened. Wentworth House, Marine Parade, Lyme Regis. She liked the sound of that address and immediately visualised the headed paper she could make. She looked out across the sea and tried to imagine what it would be like waking up to that view every morning. Life in Lyme would be like a permanent holiday.
‘Here we are,’ Mr Piper said a moment later. They had arrived at Wentworth House.
It was a large Victorian building with bay windows at the front that would make the very best of the fine views. It was painted the palest of pinks, like the inside of a shell, and it had a brilliant blue front door. That was all that was needed, really, for Kay was in love before she even crossed the threshold.
The door opened with two determined pushes, and Mr Piper turned to look at her with a nervous smile. ‘Just needs a bit of oil,’ he said.
Kay nodded. She wasn’t going to let a drop of oil come between her and her dream home. Nor was she going to be put off by the strange, musty smell, like a cross between a wet dog and a peed-in bus shelter.
‘Just needs a good airing,’ Mr Piper said.
Kay nodded again, following him inside.
‘The breakfast room,’ Mr Piper announced as they entered a room at the back of the house.
Kay grimaced, thinking that she wouldn’t want to eat in there. The walls were covered in thick, gnarly wallpaper the colour of nicotine.
‘Just a splash of paint here and there,’ Mr Piper said.
Kay nodded, and he led her to the kitchen, which was a long, thin room in need of some modernisation. Still, it had everything she needed.
The rooms at the front of the house looked far more promising, with a proper dining room and a living room, both with bay windows overlooking the sea. Unfortunately, the nicotine-coloured wallpaper put in another appearance, but Kay could see beyond it to the rooms’ true potential.
Upstairs was more of the same with six rooms, all en suite, that needed a bit of a makeover to bring them into the twenty-first century. There were tatty floral wallpapers with the edges peeling by the doors and window frames. There were carpets covered in dizzying swirls, and everywhere she looked, the ugliest brass light fittings she’d ever seen. It would all have to go.
One thing about the house didn’t need to be changed, though, because it was absolutely perfect, and that was the view. Wentworth House was situated in the very heart of Lyme Regis, which meant it had an unrivalled view of the Cobb. Kay gasped when she caught her first glimpse of it from the first bedroom. The vista looked like a huge grey runway stretching out to sea, and people were walking along it to enjoy the views just as they would have done in Jane Austen’s time.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she said to Mr Piper.
‘Hmm? Oh, yes,’ he said, noticing what she was seeing. ‘You’re in a very good position here,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the beach, the Cobb, and plenty of shops and restaurants. If you really wanted to make a go of this as a bed and breakfast, you should have no trouble at all.’
Kay nodded. A bed and breakfast would be perfect. She could make a good living without having to leave her home, which meant she could paint whenever things were quiet. And she liked working with people. Peggy had often told her how good she was with people.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said, realising that she’d be spending every penny of her inheritance if she bought it.
Mr Piper looked astounded. ‘But this is the first property you’ve seen.’
‘It’s the only one I need to see. It’s perfect.’
Mr Piper didn’t try to dissuade her. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘shall we get back and make a start on the paperwork?’
Kay smiled. She’d just bought a house—a six-bedroom house and a business venture—on the seafront in Lyme Regis. Peggy would be proud of her.
Chapter 5
Three months later
The rehearsals were over.
Gemma Reilly stood in a corner by the bar, anxiously surveying the rest of the cast. They had just checked into The Three Palms Hotel in Lyme Regis, and welcome drinks were being served in the lounge. A pair of double doors had been opened onto a terrace, and most of the cast members were enjoying the views of the sea. Most of the cast except Gemma, that was. She felt more like the new girl at school. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. The director, Teresa Hudson, obviously knew everyone, as did the assistant director, Les Brown. Not that he was talking to anyone. He was known as Les Miserable, because of his permanent scowl and lack of humour, and he wasn’t known for his small talk. Right then, he was emptying a bowl of nuts into the palm of his hand and chasing them down his throat with a gulp of whisky.
Gemma let her gaze roam the room, and it rested next on actress Sophie Kerr. Gemma knew of her work—mostly an impressive stint with the Royal Shakespeare Company, wowing audiences with her varied performances from her wonderfully witty Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing to the most heartbreaking Ophelia in Hamlet. She watched as Sophie flirted with ease with one of the guys who was always carrying cables around. Gemma wasn’t quite sure what he did, but he was absolutely spellbound by Sophie, and why shouldn’t he be? With her bright blond curls and bubbly personality, she was the answer to most men’s dreams.
Nearby stood another well-known actress, Beth Jenkins, in a dress that was slashed to her very navel. She had striking red hair that fell to her shoulders in an immaculately straight curtain and lips painted a dangerous-looking red. She was beautiful. She was playing Louisa Musgrove, and from the rumours Gemma heard, nobody would mind too much if she really did crack her head open after flinging herself from the Cobb during the famous scene from Persuasion, because Beth Jenkins was a grade-one bitch.
‘I heard she ran off with the producer’s husband on the set of her last film,’ Gemma heard somebody say behind her. She turned to see two young girls serving behind the bar. They were giggling and whispering, pointing at each actor in turn.
‘Wasn’t she having an affair with that pop star at the same time?’ the other girl asked.
‘What pop star?’ her colleague asked.
‘I don’t know. All of them, probably.’
The both giggled again.
Best keep my distance from her, Gemma thought.
That was the problem with filming, though. Casts became like families, in that you couldn’t easily escape one another. Gemma had already learned that lesson on her first production—a TV drama called Into the Night. Part love story, part whodunit, it had been cruelly slated by the critics, as had Gemma’s performance.
‘Destined to play nothing more than the blond bimbo,’ the television critic from Vive! had said.
‘Legs like runner beans,’ Star Turn had said, ‘and they were her best feature.’
Gemma had been mortified and went into hiding for months, dyeing her hair black and building her leg muscles up at the gym.
Things weren’t helped by the fact that her mother was the much-loved actress Kim Reilly, who starred in the 1970s cult TV show, Bandits. As soon as Gemma had dared to follow in her footsteps, comparisons had been made. It was inevitable, she supposed. Her mother had been beautiful, talented, and lucky. Bandits had been one of the biggest shows of the time, with sky-high ratings. It had run for five series before the lead actor was tragically killed in a motorbike accident. If that hadn’t happened, the show would probably still be running today, Gemma often thought, her mother dressed in her trademark skintight trousers and skimpy tops, her hair blow-dried and bouffant.
Her mother never topped her performance in Bandits, although she tried to top herself a couple of times. In the public’s mind, she personified success; women wanted to be her, and men wanted to bed her. She was incredibly fragile, though, and although she adored attention, she also found life in the public eye difficult to cope with, and Gemma, it seemed, took after her. She was a bag of nerves just thinking about taking part in a film, yet there was something in her that compelled her to do it. At stage school, she used to get physically sick before goin
g on stage, but then she always gave a dazzling performance—well, that’s what the other students and her tutors told her. What happened with the fated TV drama, then?
‘Just critics trying to get a cheap laugh,’ one of her old stage school friends had told her when they met down at the pub to discuss it. ‘Don’t pay them any attention. You were marvellous!’
‘What could you possibly do with a script like that?’ another—more honest—friend had told her. ‘I think you did very well, considering.’
Thank goodness Teresa Hudson had believed in her and gave her a much-needed second chance. There had obviously been something in her performance that she liked. If only Gemma had that belief in herself, she thought.
Looking around the room again, she saw a young man with dark, tousled hair. A pair of bright grey eyes sparkled from behind his glasses as he listened to Teresa talking about something or other. Gemma had seen him at rehearsals. He was the screenwriter and one of the producers, but he never said much. He had a kind face and a nice smile and seemed almost as shy as she was. There was another man just behind him, and Gemma suddenly caught his eye. He smiled, and his eyes almost disappeared into two happy creases. He had thick brown hair and looked as if he was about to cross the room to talk to her, but Gemma turned her back to him. She wasn’t interested in being chatted up. She had heard plenty of stories about on-set relationships, and they never ever worked out.
She watched as a couple of actors came in from the terrace and approached the bar. They nodded at Gemma but didn’t start a conversation. She was glad, for there was only one actor there that interested her, and that was Oli Wade Owen.
Gemma swallowed hard. Of all the actors in the world to play Captain Frederick Wentworth, why did it have to be Oli Wade Owen? She’d had a crush on him for as long as she could remember. All of her walls at stage school had been covered in posters of the young actor, and she’d gazed longingly at them, fantasising about playing Juliet to his Romeo or Cleopatra to his Antony.
He was tall and classically handsome with soft blue eyes and thick blond hair that she just wanted to reach out and touch, but it was his smile that was his best feature. ‘The smile that stole a thousand hearts,’ the press had called it, because Oli Wade Owen was never short of a girl or two. Frequently photographed coming out of expensive restaurants and exclusive nightclubs, he was front-page tabloid news, and there was always endless speculation as to who was accompanying him.
Gemma watched him as he chatted with Beth Jenkins. She was obviously enjoying the attention and was in full flirt mode. How could Gemma ever compete with the likes of Beth? she wondered. It was a whole other league of womanhood.
But it was you Teresa chose for the lead role, a little voice told her, and it was true. She wouldn’t be surprised if she’d made a mortal enemy of Beth in the process, but nevertheless, here she was—about to act opposite Oli Wade Owen on a big-budget film.
As Oli suddenly turned and flashed her a dazzling smile that almost melted the ice in her drink, Gemma still couldn’t believe it. She didn’t feel ready for this. The role of Anne Elliot was her first in a film, and she had the feeling that everybody was waiting for her to fail. Even worse, she herself fully expected to fail.
Chapter 6
It was late by the time Adam left The Three Palms Hotel and headed back to his home in the Marshwood Vale. He had to admit that the party had been fun. He usually tried to avoid social situations. He was far more of a stay-at-home-with-a-bottle-of-wine-and-a-good-film type of guy, but he had enjoyed chatting with the cast and crew. Teresa, the director, although never the life and soul of a party, had nevertheless been fascinating, telling him about the ideas she had for the film and how she hoped to use Lyme Regis to its best advantage. She was also excited about the two locations Adam had found for Kellynch Hall and Uppercross but was a little concerned about the weather reports, which were promising rain, rain, and more rain. They’d just have to keep their fingers crossed.
Adam had been delighted when he found Marlcombe Manor. He knew immediately that it would make an ideal Kellynch Hall, and he was thrilled when the owners and the film company agreed with him. Situated just five miles from Lyme Regis, the Jacobean manor house was the perfect answer to the great seat of the Elliots, and the nearby village of Ashbury was going to stand in for Uppercross, with the exterior of a fine Georgian house being used for the home of Charles and Mary Musgrove.
It was always so much easier when filming could take place in as few locations as possible. It saved time and money and cut back on hassle. It was also particularly welcome for Adam, who was able to stay at his own home instead of booking into the hotel along with the cast and crew. He valued his privacy and preferred his own company once the working day was over.
He thought again about the party. He’d done his best to make conversation with the assistant director, Les Brown, but nothing had come of it. Les had grunted and mumbled and then left to go to the Gents’.
‘Take no notice of him!’ Beth Jenkins had said, sidling up to him in her slinky slashed dress. ‘He’s a total bore. You do know his nickname, don’t you? Les Miserable.’
Adam laughed, and Beth took the opportunity to link an arm through his.
She hadn’t been interested in him really, though. Adam noticed how she kept glancing back at the terrace, where Oli Wade Owen was standing.
As Adam slowed down to take a bend by a church, he chuckled to himself. The only reason a beautiful actress would fling herself at him was in the hope of making another man jealous.
Then there’d been Gemma. Sweet Gemma Reilly. At last Adam had met a woman who was as shy as he. He watched her hovering around the bar, stirring her drink, and watching the action from a distance. He’d spoken to her briefly before and had immediately warmed to her.
‘All ready for the big day tomorrow?’ he asked as he approached her.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ she said.
He looked at her pale face and the look of uncertainty in her eyes. ‘You nervous?’
‘Yes!’ she said, the word leaping from her mouth. She looked surprised that she’d confessed such a thing.
‘But you’re a great actress,’ Adam told her. ‘I’ve seen you in rehearsals, and you’re fabulous. I’m really excited about this production.’
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘That’s really sweet of you.’
‘I’m just being honest.’
‘It’s just—’ she stopped.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘This is my first film, and I’m terrified of letting everyone down.’ Her eyes were wide and fearful.
‘But you won’t,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I mean, what if I’m just not a very good actress?’
Adam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was one insecure lady. There was only one thing for it—to lie. ‘But everyone feels like that on a film set.’
‘They do?’ She didn’t look convinced.
‘They certainly do. I was talking to Beth Jenkins before. She was shaking with nerves. I couldn’t believe it.’
‘No way! Beth Jenkins is nervous?’
Adam nodded, wondering where all this was coming from and if he could keep it up. He supposed it was just an extension of his storytelling abilities. ‘She said there hasn’t been a single film where she’s felt confident beforehand, but it’s those very nerves that drive a good performance.’
Gemma nodded. ‘I was the same at stage school. Every performance gave me the shakes.’
‘But I bet every performance was brilliant,’ Adam said.
‘I’m not sure about that,’ she said with a little blush.
‘You wouldn’t be standing here right now if anyone doubted your ability. A film’s too expensive a project to cast the wrong person,’ Adam said and then regretted it, as he saw her pale again. ‘Which is why you’ve nothing to worry about. Teresa was just telling me how wonderful you are. This production’s already in the can. It was, the day you
were cast.’
Gemma let out a long sigh and reached out a hand to touch his arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
Driving back through the darkening country lanes, Adam thought about Gemma’s beautiful young face and how genuinely scared she’d been. He hoped his words had calmed her, and he hoped he’d be around to comfort her if she had another attack of nerves.
***
Later that night, Gemma woke up with the strange sensation of feeling wet. She flung back the bedclothes and leapt out of bed, turning on her bedside lamp, and shrieking as she saw a huge wet patch on her pillow. She looked up to see the ceiling dripping.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ she exclaimed, stuffing her feet into a pair of shoes and grabbing a jumper from her suitcase. Where was it coming from? Was the ceiling about to collapse? Was she in danger of dying before she could make her mark in the world of film?
There were voices in the corridor, and Gemma opened her door.
‘My room’s turned into a swimming pool!’ Beth squealed. Gemma noticed the woman had still managed to brush her hair and apply a coat of mascara and lipstick in her panic.
‘My bed’s completely soaked,’ Sophie said. She was wearing a cute pair of pyjamas covered in teddy bears, and like Gemma, hadn’t been anxious to apply makeup in such circumstances.
‘Everyone all right?’ Oli asked, coming down from the floor above them. ‘There’s a burst pipe. Everywhere’s drenched.’
‘Oh, this is dreadful!’ Beth said.
‘You should see our rooms,’ Oli said, and Gemma noticed that his jeans were soaked and his hair was plastered to his face.
Teresa appeared on the landing, her face dark and drawn. ‘Grab your things as quickly as you can,’ she said.
‘I’m not going back in my room,’ Beth said. ‘I could drown!’
Oli shook his head and dashed in for her. Gemma returned to hers and packed, grabbing her things as quickly as she could and meeting everyone out on the landing a few minutes later.
Dreaming of Mr. Darcy Page 3
