“I’m Sara,” she said, starting to lift a hand, then thinking better of it, as she noticed the patches of dough on her wrist.
“No, my dear. I’m not looking for the cooking staff. I need to speak to Sara Evans.” The woman smiled with amusement in her eyes.
“I am Sara Evans. How can I help you?”
The dark eyed lady glanced over Sara’s shoulder in obvious disbelief.
“No, really. Please excuse my appearance. Myrtle and I are making Cornish pasties. I’m afraid you have caught us at a crucial time. The dough is almost ready and we have sprinkled the countertops with flour.” Sara smiled in explanation.
“Ah,” the visitor responded, avoiding any touch of her Hermes jacket to Sara’s powdered garb. “May I come in? My name is Sophia, and I would wish to speak with you.”
“Of course.” Sara moved from the doorway, allowing her to enter. Her face was suddenly flushed with heat, having encountered this unexpected visitor, Alex’s supposed ‘fiancé’. “If you would wait in the living room, just over there, I’ll clean up a bit and join you in a moment.”
The tall and willowy woman entered the foyer, briefly eying the wall covering and the small chandelier that hung above their heads.
“Hm,” she said, entirely to herself. “This will need replacing.”
Sara heard the clack-clack of her stiletto heels on the parquet floor as she continued her walk down the long hallway.
“Something will need replacing, but it won’t be the chandelier,” she muttered to herself in agitation, hurrying up the stairway to the bathroom and a change of clothing.
“So, I will speak Italian,” Sophia said, having made herself comfortable on the sofa. “I can then much more easily express myself.”
“Then you had better call for a translator, because otherwise you’ll be talking to yourself,” Sara answered with a cool smile.
“You don’t speak Italian? How odd,” Sophia shrugged. “But then, I suppose a scullery maid from America wouldn’t be expected to know more than one language.”
“I speak French and German, as well as English, and I’m quite fluent in the Finish language, since my husband was from Helsinki, but no, I’ve never had the need to learn Italian,” Sara retorted, the smile remaining on her face. “But if it is proper in your country to insult someone you know nothing about, I’m not the least bit interested in learning anything from you.”
“Oh my, you speak too fast. I would not understand…”
“Hogwash. You understand just fine. And I understand you just as well, so let’s stop playing games. I must assume that Alex has spoken to you, since you’re here now. Did you think that by planting that article in the tabloids he would feel obligated to go along with your little ruse?”
Sophia rose and stepped forward, towering over the diminutive Sara, and glared down her nose at her.
“Alex will marry me. I have, how you say… invested too much time in acquiring him. I will not allow you to ruin my…”
“Scheme, swindle, con, fraud?” Sara finished for her. “There you go - some English words that I’m certain you understand.”
“Call it as you wish,” she said, bristling, and stooped over to retrieve her purse from the sofa. “But I will win. You will see.”
She turned to walk from the room, nose flaring in anger.
“Just how long do you think that you can deceive him?” Sara seethed, her eyes flashing. “I know that you were very clever in worming your way into his life, but surely you can’t believe that he will accept your lies forever? What makes you think that I won’t tell him about your visit here today?”
Sophia whirled back abruptly, an unpleasant smile covering her face. “No, I do not think - I know. Because if you do, I will go to every newspaper in town and tell them how you were responsible for breaking our engagement. How he, the famous Alex Fleming, the pure and clean Alex, plans to leave me and break my heart for a… a scullery maid. His reputation will be ruined in this town and Hollywood as well.” Her smile widened. “My father and I will see to that.”
Sara remained standing in the living room, her anger from the ugly confrontation still throbbing in her chest. Sophia had exited, leaving behind a cloud of unpleasant, heavy perfume, mixed with the even more noxious odor of her threats.
“Oh Alex,” she whispered to herself, and walked to the window, throwing it open to let in the clean, fresh air.
The telephone rang in the study and Sara hurried to pick it up. Alex always called at seven sharp, and the hallway clock had just struck the hour.
“Good gods, I miss you,” he sighed, hearing her voice.
“Really? I haven’t thought much about it, what with the parties and dances and chorus-line boys,” she chuckled.
“You really shouldn’t do that, even in jest,” he growled, his voice hoarse and deep. “I prefer to picture you locked in the bedroom, wearing a chastity belt.”
“I am pure as the driven snow,” she replied, laughing into the receiver.
“Good. I think I’ll be home for the weekend, though, so you might want to loosen that belt.”
“Alex! Really?” The joy on her face lit her blue eyes to an aqua hue.
“Yes. We wrap another scene on Friday.”
“Are there any other wraps you care to tell me about?” she asked, suddenly serious. “Have you spoken to…”
“Sophia. Yes.” His voice was now a shade darker. “All I can say is that it didn’t go well. I’m afraid that this is tearing her up. I had no idea how seriously she was involved with me; in her mind, anyway.”
“Mm,” Sara murmured.
“At first she refused to believe it, then she was angry. Now she is just very sad.”
“Mm.”
“But I suppose that time will fix it,” he said, hopefully.
“Yes,” she replied quickly. “But speaking of time, what time can I expect you? Friday night or Saturday morning?”
“Once we wrap, I’ll be on the first plane to London. I’m bringing my street clothes to the set, so I would say Friday, barring any unexpected problems.” His mood again was light and easy.
“Good. I’ll break open that lock on the bedroom door,” she whispered with a grin.
The phone rang in the study Friday afternoon. Sara hurried through the kitchen to pick it up, on the way chastising herself for forgetting the mobile.
“Hello,” she answered, out of breath.
“What were you doing? Running a footrace?” His voice touched her ear.
“No, I was in the kitchen baking brownies for you - the ones you like with the nuts and the icing.” She warmed at the sound of his voice.
“Yes, about that, Sara,” he stammered, “I’m afraid I won’t be… I can’t…”
“Oh no. You didn’t wrap the scene?” she asked, not knowing the proper terminology.
“No, we actually did. But it’s Sophia. She’s in the hospital. She’s had some kind of a nervous breakdown, non-stop crying. Her father begged me to accompany him to the hospital, until they release her in a day or two.”
“Does he blame you?” Sara asked, biting her nail.
“No, no. I don’t think Sophia has told him about our breakup. Bloody hell, that sounds as if we were actually together.” His voice was tense with frustration.
Sara felt like screaming, but bit her tongue instead.
“She has been in denial. I’ve met with her every night this week and she just doesn’t seem to understand that we are no longer… whatever it was that we were,” he growled, perturbed at his own words.
“Alex, do you think you should approach the media? Come straight out with the truth of how the misunderstanding took place? Perhaps the sooner the air is cleared, the easier it will be for everyone.”
“As much as I detest that sort of public laundry-airing, I did think about doing just that, but I couldn’t possibly now, not while she is in such a fragile state. I would feel terribly responsible if she should attempt something rash.”
<
br /> “Hm.”
“Well, what do you think, Sara? You are a nurse. Surely you have some thoughts on this.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” she answered, feeling her face burn. “But of course it would be unprofessional of me to try and diagnose.”
And how can I tell you that she is a calculating and conniving shrew? - Because, if I did that, she would go to the ends of the earth to destroy your career.
“Alright, Alex, I guess I will just have to wait until another weekend.” The words grated her throat like gravel.
“My love, I am so sorry. If it weren’t for this emergency that I seem to be the cause of, nothing could keep me away.” The misery was evident in his voice.
Sara threw the brownie dough into the waste bin and slammed the pan into the sink.
“Aaarrrghhhhh!” she screamed, stomping her foot.
She turned and picked up the mobile that she had this time remembered to bring with her, and dialed.
“Ian? Can I borrow a cup of sugar?”
“Anytime, my darling. Where are you?” She could almost hear the smile in his voice.
“London. But I can be there by seven.”
“Oh no, I don’t want to talk about it at all. I don’t even want to think about it. Most of all, I don’t want to burden you with more of my melodrama,” she said, sinking into the sofa and accepting his offer of scotch from her favorite goblet. “Tell me about you. How are things in Ian Donnelly land?”
“I’m good. I miss you dreadfully, but I’ve been keeping myself busy. The new play opens at the Donmar in the fall, and hopefully we’ll take it to New York next year. And I’ve been having a great deal of fun playing Uncle to Emily’s boys. They are here with her every day and we’ve built a play room and nursery for them.” He grinned ear to ear. “They are both walking now and into everything. Don’t let this get around, but I rather enjoy getting on the floor and playing horsey.”
“Ian! Is this the same man who makes the fan girls faint and swoon at the rope line?” She patted him on the shoulder, loving his happy smiles.
“They wouldn’t find me quite so romantically appealing with drool on my shoulder, would they?” He covered her hand with his. “But something tells me that your romance isn’t going so well, either.”
She shrugged.
“Oh, I knew that he would eventually disappoint you.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Let’s see, what could it be? Hm. I’ll bet it’s his willy. Tiny, right? The size of a peanut?”
She giggled at his jokes and slapped him on the wrist. “What is it with you men and the constant penis references? Like it’s some kind of a contest, where every one of you claim to be the winner, but never actually volunteer to get up on the stage and parade around in front of the judges.” She laughed with a loud hiccup.
“Yes, but wouldn’t that be amazing on the telly?” he joined in. “It could be done in a Miss America fashion. Swimming suits and talent contest.”
“Talent contest?” She snorted, tears of laughter flooding her eyes. “What kind of talent does a willy have, other than the obvious?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised, darling!” His raised brows led them to another round of raucous laughter as the scotch hit them both at the same time. “I once saw a fellow who could…”
“STOP! Stop it! I don’t want to know!” she yelled, muffling his mouth with her hand.
They were both quite out of breath at that point and sniffling from their continued giggles.
“So, are you ready to talk about it now?” he asked, holding up her chin in his hand to look into her face.
“Well, it’s not his willy,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and patting him fondly on the elbow, having missed their silly conversations. “The last time I saw him was in this very room. He left for Switzerland and I moved into the London house. There has been no time for romance of any sort, let alone the kind you are describing — as if I’d ever give you a detailed willy description,” she said with a laugh, hoping to stall the more serious side of the conversation.
“But it hasn’t been that long, Sara. I’m positive that he’s just as anxious to be home,” Ian said, in an attempt to ease her frustration.
“No, just a few weeks, and that’s not the problem. I’m not holding him to a time schedule. I know that he has a huge obligation with the recent Beekeeper film.” Now they had reached the core of her problems and she wrinkled her nose and took a sip of her drink. “It’s the other thing.”
“Sophia? Not yet resolved then, I presume.”
“No, not even close,” she murmured. “In fact it has become, as the English say, a real sticky wicket.”
“But she can’t possibly…”
“Oh she can, and she is.” Sara nodded with vehemence. “I met her, you know. She came to the house.”
“Ah, and let me guess? She’s not quite the sweet and innocent angel of mercy that she presented herself to Fleming?”
Sara told him about the confrontation and the threats that Sophia had made before leaving.
“I see - the threat of retribution from the famous father.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know Scala. I’ve worked with him and he can be formidable; but I sincerely doubt that he would involve himself in this type of a scandal. He is very professional.”
“Do you think it’s a bluff?” she brightened.
“Difficult to say. He is also quite a passionate Italian. He must know his own daughter, and if she is truly as spoiled and conniving as she sounds, I’m certain he is quite aware of it.” Ian scratched his head. “But then again, blood is thicker than water. Being concerned for her health, he may follow his heart rather than his head.”
“How did you get to be so wise?” she said, hugging him. “You have the most marvelous way of looking at a problem from all sides and breaking it down to the nitty gritty.”
“It’s all part of the training, sweetheart. I have to look at my characters from all angles. Nothing is ever black and white.”
“You would make a wonderful psychiatrist. I feel worlds better just talking it out with you.”
“Good lord, Sara, I run into enough crazy people as it is in the career I’ve chosen. I don’t really want to analyze them,” he croaked. “Besides, analyzing the problem doesn’t solve it, does it?”
“Well, you’ve helped me. Just the knowledge that you have worked with “the formidable father” and put a face to him in my mind is helpful. Much better than feeling like I’m being pursued by mysterious demons.”
“As it happens, I know him quite well,” Ian said, rubbing his ear. “I worked with him on both a film and a play, and there is some talk about us reuniting for a tribute to a mutual friend.”
“Yes, the incestuous world of the theater. You all seem to know each other,” she nodded, repeating the phrase that she had once heard from Colin.
“In fact…” Ian was now up on his feet and pacing the room, hands in pockets.
“What? I know that look on your face, and something is brewing in your mind,” she said, giving him an accusatory glance.
“No, I was just thinking that perhaps this would be a jolly good time for me to pop over to the shoot and take papa bear out for a drink and a talk about our tentative mutual project.”
“Ian…”
“No, truly! I’m quite curious to meet the mystifying lady Scala, as well.” He smiled to himself, now lost in an imaginary scenario.
“I don’t know, Ian.” Her thumbnail was now completely ragged from being gnawed. “I’ve involved you in this mess up to your eyeballs as it is. I really don’t want to put you in any kind of jeopardy with your colleagues.”
“Nonsense, darling,” he winked. “I haven’t gotten into any serious good trouble in ages, and it is ruining my image.”
His eyes held the sparkle that she well recognized from the past and had once labeled ‘Ian On A Mission’.
“Just don’t tell me about it.” She covered her face with her moist palms, her stomac
h whirling.
“Not a clue,” he cackled, rubbing his hands together in glee.
“Roberto,” Ian said, clapping a hand on the elderly man’s shoulder. “It will be an honor and a tremendous pleasure to work with you once again.”
“That’s kind of you, Ian. I’m afraid that not all the actors” – he stressed the word – “in this show business feel the same warmth toward me. You know that I do have a reputation for being…”
“Professional. And a demanding task master,” Ian interjected. “Which happens to be just the kind of person I look forward to working with.”
Scala sipped his iced tea, his face glowing at the compliment, despite his somewhat fearsome reputation.
They had enjoyed their patio lunch, relaxing in the warm spring sun, and now Ian spotted the opportunity he had been waiting for.
“I’ve heard through the grapevine,” he said, treading lightly with a reverential tone, “that your daughter has been ill. I hope that she is faring better.”
“Sophia,” Scala sighed, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “She is quite an emotional creature. Being my only daughter, I’m afraid I have spoiled her badly. When she doesn’t get her way, she sometimes has… moments. It’s better to have sons, you know? When I shout at my sons, they don’t cry. But this one, she is…” He raised his arms high in the air, looked to the heavens, and shook his head.
“Oh, I do love a good spoiled female.” Ian’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “All women should be spoiled, in my opinion. It gives them a certain patina,” he chuckled.
“Then you would adore Sophia.” Scala nearly choked on his ice, laughing. “She has a layer of this patina an inch thick.”
“I would love to meet her!” Ian said with gusto, dangling the hook in front of the director provocatively. “I relish a good one-on-one conversation with a spirited woman.”
“That could be arranged, of course, if you seriously mean it,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “She has praised your work for years. I could ring her…”
“What an excellent idea, Roberto.” Ian grinned, accenting the dimple in his cleft. “I have the rest of the day before I have to catch my plane, and I know that you are on a tight schedule. I was debating on how to while away the hours. If she’s not too busy, perhaps she would volunteer to keep me company.”
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