He was like a wild colt, belying his almost fifty years, long arms and legs splaying and crossing as he attempted to sit still for mere moments, only to bounce up in a quick jolt when needing to give a visual on some point that he was making.
His deep-set black eyes danced like quicksilver one moment, then drooped dramatically, shadowed by long dark lashes, the next.
His energy was never ending, and Sara could sense that he might easily slip into moments of boredom or brooding if left without a challenge.
They had spoken on the phone three times during the week, and by the week’s end he had asked her to come and work for him as his personal assistant, his long time and very pregnant assistant, Emily, scheduled to go on maternity leave for a year.
Sara had checked into a bed and breakfast in the nearby town, coming in to Emily’s office early each morning for an orientation of the duties she would be required to fulfill. Both Ian and Emily’s offices occupied the west wing of the castle.
“Sara, it’s silly for you to dash back and forth every day,” Ian declared after a week of her orientation. “I have more rooms than I know what to do with here at this sprawling, ancient wreck, some I have yet to enter myself, and I’ve had my housekeeper make up one of the back suites for you while you’re working for me.”
When Sara opened her mouth to protest, he put a finger to her lips and eyed her sternly. “Sh, sh, sh. I won’t hear a word of it. You will be doing me a favor since quite often I will need your advice and assistance at odd hours of the day and night. Am I right, Emily?”
Emily groaned. “Oh, you mean the one a.m. phone calls that start with… ‘Darling, do you mind reading lines with me for just an hour or so? I’m beside myself and I can’t sleep.’” She had perfected his voice and they both laughed at her impersonation, complete with hand motions.
“Oh, that just happened once, and it was because I was nervous about the next night’s performance. I’m not that bad, am I?” he asked, kissing Emily on the cheek and ruffling a hand through her hair.
Sara smiled at their playful interaction. It was obvious to her that Ian and Emily were quite fond of each other, seeming to have an easy, relaxed relationship, and she found this reassuring.
“Alright, but I don’t do windows.” She held up her palms in a determined gesture, eyeing the dozens of high glass panes in just one room alone.
“Not to worry. Neither does the housekeeper,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. “But who can blame her? Have you counted all the glass in this monstrosity?”
Sara was given her own suite on the second floor of the main castle, complete with an enormous and weighty four-poster bed where she could actually enclose herself with draped gauze curtains.
“Oh, my gosh, Emily, I’ve only seen these kinds of beds in films. Isn’t this how kings and queens slept in the olden days?” Sara’s eyes were wide with astonishment at the grandness of her suite with its impossibly high ceiling, and as both of them were quite short, it made for a comical sight. “If this room was used for a movie set, we could easily be two of the seven dwarfs.”
“Ian said to give you the biggest and most decadent room,” Emily said, answering her with a wide smile while opening the door to the large closet. “He seems to be very fond of you and I think he is nervous that you will change your mind. Although, I see your point - it is a little overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“Do you suppose there is a ghost?” Sara took Emily’s arm by the elbow as if for protection, peeking around the corner into the marble bathroom. This, however, turned out to be newly modernized, with a sunken, marble tub and spacious shower. “Ooh, now this I like!”
“Of course, there are ghosts. There always are in these drafty, old castles. Not really worth owning one unless you have a ghost or two, is it?” Emily answered with authority. “But they only show up after the third tumbler of whiskey, and then you don’t remember them in the morning anyway,” she added, a beautiful lilt to her speech. Emily had been born in Ireland and looked it, with deep ginger-red hair, and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her emerald green eyes always held a glint of amusement, which complimented the glow of her pregnancy.
“Well, with twin boys on the way, I had better have a good sense of humor,” she would add with a grin, whenever people pointed out her mischievous side.
“I thank you for staying and helping me with the training and orientation,” Sara said, watching as Emily braced her hands into the small of her back, making her enormous stomach extend even further. “You shouldn’t have climbed all these stairs, though. This far into your pregnancy, it could bring on labor.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear,” Emily snorted, crossing herself. “I’m thinking that these two are going to be circus acrobats, with what they have done to my kidneys, and I’m more than ready to have them evicted. I’ve begged Liam all week for a good roll in the hay to get us started, but he’s as skittish as a spooked yearling around me these days.”
Sara had to reach mightily around her to give Emily a decent hug, and they both laughed as her reward for this was a hearty kick from one of the tiny circus people.
“It’s good to hear you laughing, though.” Emily gently massaged the little hand or foot that had formed a bump on her rounded abdomen. “I hope that whoever it is that keeps bringing tears to your eyes gets a bit of them himself.”
“It’s really complicated,” Sara answered her, not surprised in the least that Emily had figured out that somehow an ‘himself’ had been involved; she was a bright and clever girl with good instincts. “But to be honest, my mind is a bit more occupied now with my new job. In all truth, I’m terrified!”
“No, you are not,” her friend patted her arm. “You’ve been taught by the best, and you will make me proud,” she said with a wink. “I’m serious, Sara, you’ll do very well. You’ve got great organizational skills and you are outstanding at multi-tasking. As soon as you feel a little more comfortable around the celebrities, you’ll do a bang up job, and that will come easily enough. Just remember, they put their trousers on the same as us, one foot at a time.”
Sara had a sudden memory of Alex sitting on her bed on their last night together – Be quiet, Sara. This is the only party I want to be at tonight.
“It’s not when they put their trousers on that I worry about. It’s when they take them off,” she giggled, and slapped her hand to her mouth in surprise.
Emily glanced down at her protruding belly and gave Sara a high five. “Now you’re getting my point, cherub!”
They had just reached the landing of the long and steep staircase when Emily looked at Sara, her eyes widening with surprise.
“What?” Sara began, but didn’t need to finish, as she heard the water gush onto the marble floor around Emily’s feet.
“Hallelujah, it’s time,” whispered the red haired girl, a look of both relief and anxiety lighting up the green eyes.
Sara swung into instant nurse mode. “Have you had any pains yet?”
“No. Only the wee backache all morning.”
“Listen closely, Emily” Sara said, keeping her voice calm and light, laying out the instructions with care. “You call Liam on your cell phone and tell him to meet us at the hospital. I’ll go and find Ian to drive us. Oh, and you may want to call your doctor and tell him that we are on our way.”
Emily took a deep breath. “Alright. Thanks Sara for doing the thinking. I’m a bit flustered at the moment.”
“No worries. Now we are in my area of expertise.” Sara gave her a wide, reassuring smile as she turned to head for the kitchen to give Ian his instructions. “I’m very anxious to meet your sons, so let’s get this show on the road.”
Ian threw his hands to his head, making all the hair stand up in a rather comical bundle. “Now??”
“Yes, boss - fire up the van. I’ll get some towels and blankets and we’ll be on our way.”
“Towels? B-but, you don’t think we will need…” he stammered, his ey
es huge.
“No I don’t, but it won’t hurt to have them in case we do.” Sara grabbed a pair of sharp scissors from the kitchen knife shelf, rummaged the cupboard for a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, and threw them into her large, quilted purse. One never knew, in these situations, what one might need at a moment’s notice, she thought.
“Scissors?”
“Ian, we won’t need them, I promise. But please go now and bring the van around to the front door.” Her voice was steady and authoritative, and he immediately moved in that direction.
“Ian.”
“Yes?”
“The keys?”
“Oh, of course!” He backtracked and grabbed the set of van keys from a hook by the kitchen counter, his face taking on a purple cast.
“And Ian?” she added before returning to Emily.
“Yes?” He twirled around to face her.
“Breathe.”
Emily had her first hard pain as they pulled into the emergency wing of the hospital, complete with the sound effects of labor. Ian shot out of the door like a Roman candle, seconds later returning with an orderly bearing a wheelchair, and the expectant father.
“Good job!” she said to the normally composed star of stage and screen, patting his shoulder, now covered with a sweat-soaked shirt sleeve.
Ian’s face was dewy with perspiration, and his eyes were moist with nervous tears.
“Oh Sara,” he puffed as they watched Emily being wheeled through the sliding doors of the hospital. “I wasn’t this nervous when I first played Hamlet as a young boy.” He rubbed the palms of his hands down the side of his pants. “Thank heaven you were here, calm and cool and knowing just what to do.”
“Oh this? Piece of cake.” She reached up and smoothed the hair down on his forehead. With the damp sweat covering his face, he looked as if he had just gone through a carwash; this would be about the time when the paparazzi would show up.
“Piece of cake? Hardly! Look, my knees are shaking.”
“I know. I’ll drive home. You might want to change your shirt before we return with the champagne and stuffed toy animals,” she said, taking the van keys he gladly relinquished to her.
“Well, at least I know that I made the right choice when I hired you!” He drew in an enormous breath, giving her a massive hug.
“Well, yes, if you have any more pregnant women on your staff.” Her eyes crinkled in laughter. “As far as being helpful as your assistant, though, I might be in the weeds for a bit.”
“Dear Sara, I have a feeling that you will out-do all of my expectations. You’ve already proved that you can take over and order me around, without a moment’s fear, despite the fact that I am a very famous and important person.” He threw his arm over her shoulder, the laughter rumbling in his throat. “That’s really the most important thing this assistant gig is about - getting me to the right place at the right time.”
“Oh, I can do that, alright.” She took in a deep breath herself. Perhaps she too had made a good decision, after all.
Although her new position was quite different from both the nursing and housekeeping she had done in the past, she found it to be both exciting and nerve wracking. She accompanied Ian to all of his appointments and meetings, and within the first few days was expected to be on a first name basis with stars she, up until then, had only dreamed lived in the heavens.
Dame Margaret Dunning complimented her on her lipstick and both of them spent several minutes talking about the frustration of finding a perfect color, only to discover the next time they went shopping that it had been discontinued.
The seductively handsome and talented Colin Trent asked her to dance at a cocktail party held by his friends in honor of his birthday, to her astonishment remembering her name from a brief introduction hours earlier.
Emily was right; her organizational skills helped her make it through the first hectic week without appearing to be drowning, and Ian often presented her with happy grins and “You Got It!” praises.
By her second week, she was exhausted and elated at the same time, and as she made her way up the huge winding staircase to her quarters, Ian entered the front door, dripping perspiration from his ride. He was an experienced horseman, and attempted a ride after the grueling grind of each workday.
“Sara!” he shouted up the stairway, spotting her a split second before she disappeared into the safety of her room.
“Don’t start with me. I’m off duty now,” she shouted back at him, giggling at his childish grin, as if he’d won at an impromptu game of hide-and-seek.
Puckering his lips into a theatrical pout he put his hands together as if in prayer. “Please, please, just one more favor before you end your day,” he begged.
“Whhhaaaattttt?????” She covered her face dramatically with her hands, fingers splayed, and drew out the word for long seconds. She could match his theatrics, she smiled to herself, as long as she didn’t have to do it on a stage.
“I’m dying to get pissed tonight and I need a companion!” He held his arms outstretched up to her as she observed him standing at the bottom of the steps.
“You need me to help you in the bathroom?” She scratched her head.
“Ah, NOO! Pissed. Drunk. Wasted, as you people in the colonies say,” he grinned.
“In that case, you pour while I change my clothes.” She swapped grins with him, deciding not to spend another evening alone. “I just might be up for it!”
“HOORAY!” he shouted and walked away, rubbing his hands together with glee.
She laughed and sprinted into her room. A sudden reminder of nightly wine by the fire with Alex made her come to a dead stop.
Well, at least I won’t have to think about him tonight. She drew in a breath, looking forward to the drink and the conversation with her new boss.
“So tell me,” he said as he stood before her in his white, terrycloth robe, fresh from his shower. He handed her a heavy, crystal cocktail goblet filled with scotch and water, a favorite of them both. “How was it, working for my friend Alex?”
Sara choked on her ice cube and was reduced to a coughing fit, her eyes filling with tears, as Ian clapped her on the back.
“It’ll take more than one drink to make me talk about that.” The words fell out of her mouth, and her hand flew to her face.
What is wrong with me? she thought. Surely she must have Tourette’s syndrome, the way she sometimes was unable to control her speech.
“Oh dear, doesn’t sound good,” Ian said, reaching to take her hand in his.
“Oh, I guess you misunderstood my words.” Her mind worked at a furious pace as she hastened to cover up her faux pas. She let him escort her to the plush, high bar stool next to his and replied gingerly, “Working for Mr. Fleming was a pleasant experience. He was… ”
“ …very kind and very professional… ” he interrupted her sentence. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the whole spiel - the standard sentence that past employees are expected to say. It’s on page one in the instructional manual.”
“Yes, but it’s also true,” she stated in a firm voice, at the same time avoiding his eyes. “I only meant that it’s a little dangerous to talk to my new employer about my former employer. How could you ever trust my confidence that way?”
“Oh, yes, I see. But you know, you did tickle my curiosity with that provocative little remark,” he teased, his eyes twinkling.
“I think you know by now that I am full of jokes,” she tried it out.
“Yes,” he said, refreshing both their drinks, “yes you are. But I’m also a pretty quick study of people. It’s my job.”
“And you are the very best at it, no argument there. Convincing the world that you were King Edward; you deserved that Oscar,” she said, attempting to veer the subject in a different direction.
“Edward was difficult to read. You, my dear, may as well be a fully illustrated book with Braille included. You wear your feelings on your sleeve.” He set down his drink, stood up, and
wrapped her in his long arms, the thick, soft robe smooth against her cheek.
“Oh, I don’t think I’m all that transparent,” she said, smiling up at his handsomely cut jaw, “am I?”
“Well, let me see.” He walked over to the window. “In a room full of the most dashing figures of the film world, I catch you standing here looking out at the clouds, soft tears in your eyes.” He pointed to the sky.
He moved to a row of books on the shelf. “In the evenings when you are invited to join the party, you pick up one of these,” he pulled out a book, “and retire to your room.”
He walked back over to her and took her in his arms once more. “Something is going on in that pretty little head of yours, and the mystery is driving me mad.”
She stood and paced the carpeted floor, arms crossed. What should she say? How much should she say?
As if reading her mind, he reached out and gently caught her by the arm. “Sara. You could choose to say nothing and I promise I won’t ask again. But then you must know that I will come to my own conclusions.”
She continued to stand, arms crossed, deep in thought.
“Or you could tell me some things, in dribs and drabs, and I would try to help you sort out your problems based on clues,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Or, you could just sit down, right now, and tell me the whole story. And then I might be able to be a friend to you as well as an employer.”
Those words, along with the hefty glass of scotch, uncorked the dam, and the tears came pouring from her eyes. He was at once by her side, taking her by the arm and ushering her to the dark leather sofa, setting her down and drawing her into him, patting her arms and her hair. “It’s alright. Talk to me. We’ll work it out, little one,” he whispered in her ear.
Don't Tell the Moon Page 10
