“Are you Owen’s assistant on the play?” She asked.
“Hah! More like his gopher.” He laughed bitterly. She looked confused and he clarified. “I go for this and go for that for him. A glorified slave, that’s me.”
“Why do you put up with it? Aren’t you supposed to be his friend?” Beatrice was curious.
“Because he doesn’t mean to be so chippy. He’s a good bloke underneath.”
Beatrice nodded. It was what she had always thought, and now Owen’s best friend had confirmed it. Owen was still a brave knight, his armour had just gotten a little rusty along the way.
Jerry used his sleeve to brush the last of the tears off her face. “Don’t let Gabriel upset you, he takes it too seriously.”
“It isn’t what he said,” Beatrice felt tears welling up again. “It’s because he was right. I want to act as a career, but I don’t have a tenth of his talent. I can’t even perform well in a stupid school play.”
“Are you serious? You want to do it professionally?” Gabriel’s voice made them both jump as he appeared in the doorway. “You are good, Beatrice, but not good enough.”
She silently agreed, and the tears began to trickle down her face again.
“But I’ll help you if you like.” Gabriel jerked his head at Jerry and then at the door. Jerry gave Beatrice a last pat and a reassuring smile before taking his cue to leave.
“You’ll help me?” Beatrice fumbled for a tissue. “Why?”
“Mostly because I care about the stupid school play.” He echoed her own words. “Do you want to work together to make it better?” When she nodded he continued. “Good. Can you do Wednesday evenings? Instead of prep? Fine, I’ll meet you in here tomorrow night at seven then.”
Beatrice stared at the door once he had walked out. What a turn-up for the books! He hadn’t apologised, but he’d offered to help her improve; if he wasn’t so scary she might just have hugged him. And Jerry – his kindness was totally unexpected too. Beatrice began to smile again.
Chapter Seven
“It is wonderful what tricks our dreams play us, and how conveniently we can imagine.”
Bram Stoker, Dracula
Beatrice wiped her brow. It was her second session of being tutored by Gabriel and she was exhausted.
He had started the first evening by asking her if she knew about the “Stanislavski Technique”.
“I’ve read about it, but never used it,” she said, feeling like an idiot.
“It’s pretty much the same thing as the Americans call Method Acting. It’s basically drawing on memories and emotions from your own past and using that feeling to act realistically. Here, I’ve bought you my book on Stanislavski, read it before next week.”
So she read it, and now he was making her put it into practice. So far he had forced her to howl with laughter, to break down in tears, to go through a range of emotions she wasn’t sure she had ever felt that clearly the first time round. It was incredibly draining. Not to mention embarrassing, but she was determined to work through that.
Finally, he decided they would practice their first love scene. The idea scared the bejesus out of her. She had never kissed a boy in her life and now she had to kiss Gabriel Brenner. He was much taller than her, and much thinner too. He was so graceful and handsome that she felt it would be like touching one of the gods, and her hands began to shake slightly.
Gabriel picked up the script. “OK, so the first bit is a voice-over, we don’t have any lines; we just act it in silence, right? I’ll pick up my helmet and you sort of try to keep me from leaving, then we kiss. I’ll read the Prologue out first so we can hear it and then we’ll try acting it.” He began to intone: “Constantinople had fallen. Muslim Turks swept into Europe with a vast, superior force, striking at Romania, threatening all of Christendom. From Transylvania arose a Romanian knight, of the Sacred Order of the Dragon, known as Draculea. On the eve of the battle, his bride Elisabeta whom he prized above all things on earth knew that he must face an insurmountable force from which he might never return.”
Gabriel picked up an imaginary helmet and Beatrice tried for tears as she clung to his arm and attempted to pull him back from the door. Gabriel, his face full of resolution and sadness, pulled her against him in a crushing hug. The moment he looked down at her she knew he was about to kiss her, and Beatrice shut her eyes and puckered her lips.
Nothing happened.
She opened her eyes. Gabriel was still holding her close but obviously not about to kiss her, instead he seemed to be trying not to laugh.
“What?” she said self-consciously.
“You look like you’re going to kiss your Grannie, not your lover.”
“Oh.” She was lost trying to work out what she should do differently. How could she tell him that she was seventeen yet had never been kissed?
“We’re not going for a peck on the cheek here. Your beloved husband is about to leave for war! Try to think when you last felt real passion for someone.”
He looked down into her nervous eyes and read the truth there.
“Oh, right.” He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. “I tell you what; let’s start with a gentle kiss, and work up to passionate, OK?”
She nodded, wishing her hands would stop shaking.
He smiled kindly. “Close your eyes. Tilt your head to the right, a little bit less. Open your mouth, not that much, just part your lips slightly and don’t use any tongue.”
His lips met hers and softly moved against her own.
It felt…nice.
He stopped and she opened her eyes.
“You alright so far?” he questioned, still looking as if he was trying not to laugh. “Of all the things I thought I’d have to teach you, this was not one of them.”
She grinned back at him shyly. “Did I do it right?”
He gave into his laughter. “Oh, Beatrice, we’ve only just started. You wait and see. I’m going to kiss you again now, but it will be a much deeper kiss. Just follow my lead.”
She closed her eyes again, tilted her head and parted her lips. His mouth brushed against hers once, twice, before their lips joined. He held her tightly and she tried to remember to breathe. He moved more this time, kissing the corners of her mouth, sucking at her bottom lip a little; his teeth nibbled on it and then she felt his tongue. He ran it across her lips, and despite his telling her not to use her tongue, she instinctively touched his with her own. He carried it on for a few more seconds, before breaking off again.
She opened her eyes slowly. She hadn’t wanted him to stop.
“Not bad, Miss Greene.” He teased her, “I think you’re a natural.”
She smiled at him dreamily, aware that she wasn’t nervous anymore. Gorgeous Gabriel had just kissed her, and she liked it.
When she was fifteen she had written in her diary about how she fantasised her first kiss would be. If she could go back and tell her fifteen-year-old self that it would happen with Gabriel Brenner, she would never have believed it.
A small part of her had always hoped it would be with Owen. Her face clouded slightly. She would be the envy of every single girl in the school if they knew she had just snogged Gabriel, but it wasn’t real. It would count as great practice, but her first kiss should have been with someone who properly liked her.
“Lang is an idiot.” Gabriel said grimly, watching her.
She stared at him for a second, wondering how he did that, how did he know what she was thinking. Then mortification kicked in. She covered her eyes with her hands.
“Oh my god. You know? Does he know?”
Gabriel removed her hands from her face gently. “Everybody knows. You could do a lot better.”
He ran one finger down her flushed bumpy cheek. “Do you want to do something about these spots?”
“Well, obviously!” She became defensive to cover her embarrassment.
“Mix some rock salt with a little lemon juice and rub it into them,” he advised.
&nb
sp; “Really? Does that work?”
He nodded. “If your skin gets too dry from it, then beat an egg white and smear it on like a mask. Just don’t forget to wash it off after a few minutes or it will really smell!”
“That’s kind of a girly thing for you to know.” She started to laugh, feeling cheered up. She was really warming to Gabriel. He wasn’t nearly so cold as he made out.
“Nate got it out of one of his mother’s books. He had really bad acne in the third year. But don’t tell anyone or he’ll kill me.” They both laughed. “Right, then,” he said, getting all businesslike again. “Are you ready to try for passionate kissing?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That wasn’t passionate?” she asked, referring to their last kiss.
He smiled and shook his head condescendingly. “Not yet, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, OK, well, let’s get it over with,” she joked, already feeling the adrenaline high at the thought of kissing him again.
Gabriel glanced at the door, double-checking the blind was down over the little window in it. Beatrice followed his gaze.
“No one would believe it if they saw it!” she commented.
“You have to believe it, otherwise we can’t make it look real on the stage. Would it be so hard to feel something when you kiss me?”
Beatrice wasn’t sure how serious Gabriel was. Was he mocking the fact that she should be overcome by his kisses, because he was hot and she was a nobody, or was he not like that and genuinely concerned about the play? She knew he took his acting very seriously.
“I’ll try my best,” she said lightly.
“OK. It’s going to be a bit more full on, stop me if you get uncomfortable.” Gabriel advanced on her and she giggled, getting nervous again.
This time he pulled her right against him; they seemed to be joined all the way from their feet to their mouths. She hadn’t ever been this intimate with anyone before, it felt weird but definitely passionate.
This time when he kissed her she knew what to expect and moved her mouth against his, following his pace. When his tongue touched her teeth she met it with her own and their tongues danced together. She bit down on his lip a little, and he seemed to like it and pulled her head even closer. His other hand roamed down her back and came to rest on her bottom, holding her firmly against him.
That was when she forgot it wasn’t real. Passion was definitely igniting inside her. She wanted to get even closer and her own hands moved up his back and into his hair. Gabriel almost crushed her mouth as the kiss went into warp drive. She gave a soft moan of enjoyment and he released her instantly – putting a good foot of distance between them.
“Sorry.” She blushed yet again.
“No, I’m sorry.” He actually looked a bit flushed himself. “Blimey, it’s a good thing I’m not going out with Vanessa anymore, I think that would almost certainly have counted as cheating!”
“Was it passionate enough?” Beatrice was pretty sure it had been.
“Definitely. I think the kissing lesson can be called a success.” He rubbed the back of his neck again and Beatrice wondered if just maybe it was actually a nervous thing. It would be nice to think she had some effect on him too.
He cleared his throat. “So it will be like that on stage, only without the tongues and stuff. But you needed to experience it properly so you can remember how it looks when we fake it.”
She felt butterflies in her stomach. There was going to be more kissing. Not for real, but they had two scenes as well near the end where they kissed. At least she knew it was going to look realistic when they did. She just hoped she didn’t forget where she was again!
Gabriel looked at his watch. “Shall we go over the script for a bit? We’ve got about another half an hour. It can’t all be fun.” He moved away, trying to lighten the intensity between them.
She agreed and they sat down at a table, talking over some of the scenes. They didn’t mention the kiss again.
After half an hour had passed he yawned and stretched, and put his script back in his bag. As they tidied up the chairs he asked, “Will your parents be coming to the play?”
She shook her head, “No parents, they died when I was ten. I’ve only a got a grandmother, and I doubt she’ll come.”
“Me too!” He spoke before he’d thought about it. “I mean the bit about being ten. My mother died then. I’ve still got my dad though. I’m really sorry about your parents.”
She nodded, “I’m sorry about your mother. It’s a tough age to lose them, isn’t it? But it’s a long time ago now. I still get sad and lonely, but it’s easier than it was.”
Gabriel probed at the bitterness inside himself and decided it hadn’t eased at all over the last eight years. But he’d shared enough with Beatrice already – he had never told anyone at school about his mother except Nate – so he simply nodded and left the room.
Lying on his own bed ten minutes later, he looked at the photo of his father and his brother on his chest of drawers. He was luckier than Beatrice, he accepted; he hadn’t lost them as well. The three of them could have been so much closer if it hadn’t been for Francesca. She had swooped in to comfort the grieving widower only six months after his mother’s death. Though if it hadn’t been her it would have been one of the others, he acknowledged. Women had been visiting the house like vultures circling over a carcass. They were all desperate to be the next Lady of the Manor. Why his father couldn’t have just had fun with them instead of marrying one of them was something he had asked his father at the time. Even at ten he’d been a bit precocious. His father had sat him and Michael down and said he felt they needed a mother’s influence. Gabriel had sworn that Francesca would never be a mother to him but it was different for Michael, he’d been only seven when their mother died and he desperately craved the maternal comfort Francesca was offering. She had tried her best with Gabriel too but he had shunned her every attempt. Things had gone from bad to worse after the wedding. Francesca had begun to redecorate Wentworth Hall and Gabriel had freaked out at every change.
“How dare you take down those curtains!” he’d screamed at her once. “My mother loved those curtains.”
His father had taken him aside and pointed out none too gently that in fact his mother hadn’t given a damn about the curtains; she’d never actually done anything to change the house since the day she’d moved into it, preferring instead to channel her energy into the gardens, which remained just as she’d left them. The curtains had stayed and Gabriel had enjoyed the victory. But his victories were few and far between, and the crunch had come one dinnertime when Michael had accidentally called Francesca “Mummy”.
Francesca had looked so pleased, sitting at the table in his mother’s chair, that Gabriel had shot to his feet. “She isn’t our Mother!” he’d shouted, “She’s just some money-grabbing tramp!”
“My study, now!” his father had thundered back, as Francesca fled the room crying.
Following his father into the study, Gabriel had pre-empted his punishment.
“I want to go to boarding school. I’m eleven, I could start this September at Compass Court.”
Compass Court was the boarding school his father had attended. It was also the same school that his grandfather and even his father had all attended. Gabriel knew that his mother hadn’t wanted her sons to go to boarding school, that she had planned for him and Michael to attend the local school instead; but things had changed now, and he hoped his father would see that.
His father never did tell him off, had instead quietly said he’d think about it. Less than three months later Gabriel left for Compass Court. He’d expected Michael to join him there when he was old enough, but Michael liked Francesca, he’d been given the choice and had chosen to stay at home.
Another victory for Francesca, he thought bitterly, his mind returning to the present day.
He felt good about the private rehearsal he and Beatrice had just had. Kissing her had definitely been pleasant; she had surprised him.
She was a good kisser and much more passionate then he had expected. He was also sure she had what it took to be a professional actress. She worked really hard and didn’t shy away from looking like a fool. He made a mental note to talk to her about applying to the London Acting Academy, where he wanted to go. But he was cross with himself for getting carried away with the kiss. He hoped she didn’t read too much into it. He missed Vanessa so much it hurt.
Chapter Eight
“You don't know what it is to doubt everything, even yourself. You couldn't, not with eyebrows like yours.”
Bram Stoker, Dracula
Alexander Parkhurst was in the library studying when an envelope icon popped up on his computer screen. Clicking open his email, he was surprised to see it was from his brother Jack.
Jack hardly ever emailed him. Usually he only emailed their sister, Ellie. Despite the four-year age gap between them, Jack and Ellie had always been extremely close. Alex, as the middle brother, had often felt excluded. He didn’t say so but he envied their constant support of each other that didn’t seem to extend to him, and he was often irritated by their little codes and silly in-jokes and phrases that made both of them laugh but were meaningless to him.
They were so similar, both of them outgoing. It was tough being the only serious one in a family that were all so vivacious. Even his gentle mother had a devilish sense of humour, another quality that seemed to have passed him by. Their father, a Captain in the British Army, had always been ridiculously pleased by Jack’s sporting achievements, particularly the boxing, always clapping Jack on the back, calling him a chip off the old block, and boasting to his friends.
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